#will post on a03 latter

[missrosegold]

someone new

Synopsis: Post-war!AU. It’s the quite moments that Touya enjoys the most. Sometimes he still has a hard time believing they’re real. That you are real.

He has no problems allowing you to remind him of the latter.  

Word count: 16K

Paring: Dabi x Reader (fem!reader)

Warnings: Mentions of post surgical interventions, Touya has hints of survivors guilt and some suicidal idealization if you squint, Smut and additional warnings listed below and on A03 so Minors or Ageless Blogs please DNI. This is rated 18+

Playlist: Omar Apollo - Evergreen (You Didn't Deserve Me At All)

Authors notes: Written for @shibaraki Komorebi collab! Thanks for having me love! Hope you enjoy!

Title is from Someone New by Hozier

**You can read it on A03 here if the formatting on Tumblr is throwing you off! I cross-post all my works onto my A03 account!

Sometimes Touya wonders how he got here.

It’s a loaded question and he knows as much. He knows exactly where he is, and he’s painfully aware of the series of events that led him to this moment in time – but he often finds himself struggling to believe it.

A part of him doesn’t want to believe it – a gnarled, still-angry part of what remains of his soul is convinced that it’s all part of some elaborate dream – one that will fade away and leave him alone and bitter once more as soon as he opens his eyes.

He falls asleep again and again, trying to prove his theory, but every time he wakes back up, he’s still in the same place:

He wakes up in your sun-lit apartment, more often in your bed, with you – always close by, never too far away.

It’s where he is even now: nestled into the soft sheets of your—no, the bed you shared together, even though it’s pushing noon on a Tuesday. Despite his body screaming at him to move, he can’t bring himself to get up just yet.

It’s not like it matters if he stays in bed anyways, he doesn’t have anywhere to be. He doesn’t have his court mandated therapy appointment until Thursday, and it’s not like he has a nine to five job like most people do. Christ, he can’t even leave your apartment building without you or a Pro-hero escort with him. (Who, ninety-five percent of the time ends up being Shoto, since he’s about the only person who wants to deal with him these days aside from you, his mom, and sometimes Fuyumi and Natsuo.)

He rolls over slightly and listens for you, trying to hear the tell-tale tread of your footsteps echoing through the halls, or the sound of you humming a gentle melody under your breath as you do your menial chores around the apartment; before it finally occurs to him that it’s a weekday and you’re at work.

He stifles a groan as he finally pushes himself up, and makes his way towards the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, flicking on the light and shutting the door behind him.

That was his biggest problem these days: not wondering when his next meal would be. Not obsessing over ruining his father’s life as he had done his. Not charring himself past the point of no return as a means of exacting vengeance upon the world of Pro Hero’s that had long since turned their backs on him. No. That was all in the past.

For the first time in his life, it was boredom that was getting to him.

That was a joke if he ever fucking heard one.

Looking at himself now it’s hard to believe that he was once a homicidal serial killer, with a rap sheet several miles long.

He looks different now. He fights the urge to snort as he turns away from his reflection in your bathroom mirror while he goes about his business.

Like a snake that sheds it’s skin every couple of years, he’s changed his form once again; though this transformation wasn’t up to him. He had no choice in the matter; what happened to him after the war was decided for him. His opinions be damned. (Though, if he thinks about it, he didn’t really give All For One and his fucked up scientist permission to piece him back together after he incinerated himself up the first time. The irony almost makes him laugh.)

He forces himself to face his reflection in the mirror as he begins the painstaking task of his skincare routine – burning turquoise eyes staring a little too long at who looks back at him.

The worst of his burn scars are gone, though the shadow of them remains. His two-toned flesh has been concealed by pale, raised skin, but he can still see the lines in his face from his first Escharotomy – a reminder of Dabi; always lingering, never fully gone, even if he wears a different face.

The rest of his body is like that as well. No longer is he marred by wicked burn scars and surgical staples; he is one even skin tone now. He is complete by all accounts, even though he feels anything but whole. The skin grafts aren’t perfect – they’re textured and prone to drying out, and the skin around his eyes always looks bloodshot – but for the first time in years, when he looks in the mirror; the person staring back at him actually looks like Touya.

It's not a perfect visual, but it’s still closer than he ever thought possible.

Truth be told, he still has a difficult time looking at himself in the mirror. It’s jarring honestly. He’d gotten so used to seeing the horrific scarring on himself, that seeing his reflection without them makes him feel like he’s staring at someone new.

The skin grafts he received at some point after his barely responsive body was all but dragged off the battle field, still itch sometimes, but he knows it’s all in his head. He can’t feel anything. He hasn’t been able to feel anything since he was discharged from the hospital he been taken to after he collapsed.

His memories of that time are hazy – he had been doped up on heavy narcotics and other nerve blockers as he was subjected to surgery after surgery in a desperate attempt to fix his scorched body – so much so, that he doesn’t know how long he was out for, or how much time passed while he was in recovery.

He remembers Shoto coming to visit him shortly after waking up from the worst of his many surgeries, and explaining that while the doctors had been able to successfully graft new skin onto him, (how his mangled body had been able to withstand another set of skin grafts was beyond him), they hadn’t been able to fix his damaged nerve endings, and had opted to cauterize the few that still worked; leaving him completely numb to any and all feeling.

Truthfully, he hadn’t cared at the time, he hadn’t been able to feel much of anything for years before that, and the little he was still able to feel was nothing but chronic pain, so at the time he has seen the news as a blessing.

And then he met you.

Shortly after that, he found himself cursing the fact that he couldn’t feel anything at all.

-----

He remembers the first time he met you.

After he had been cleared to leave the hospital, he had been taken to a heavily fortified psychiatric ward, eerily similar to the med-bay in Tartarus: all sterile white walls and armed guards. His room hadn’t been much better: just a mid-sized white box with a cot and a small window for him to look out of, though there wasn’t much of a view outside. He had no idea where the fuck he was anyways.

There he had started his rehabilitation. 

It was hell. The first few months he spent there, he adamantly refused to speak to any of the doctors or physiatrists who came to work with him. Some were more persistent than others, poking their nose into his past (like he hadn’t just aired his dirty laundry out for all of Japan to witness), and those were the ones he got pissed off at the most.

In another life, Dabi would have had no qualms about turning the doctors to ash, just like he had done to everyone else who had annoyed him in the past, only; he wasn’t Dabi anymore. He wasn’t sure who he was now.

It didn’t help he had been hopped up on quirk blockers that canceled out his quirk, otherwise he probably still would’ve tried to incinerate them. But he couldn’t, and for the first time in his life, Touya Todoroki was fucking cold.

Turns out his quirk did a wonderful job of insulating him against the ice he kept hidden inside his chest all along.

He supposed he couldn’t blame them for rendering him quirkless while at the facility. Hell, he’d render himself quirkless if he was a staff member, having to deal with someone like him. Footage from the fight with his father and the all-out brawl with Shoto had been leaked to the public, showing his quirk’s true power in all of its devastating glory.

He had been told the aftermath of both fights had done irreversible damage to the surrounding areas, and no one was sure if they’d be able to fix the carnage he had created.

Good. The bitter, angry part of himself thought when he had been inadvertently told of the news. Suffer like I am.

He had been kept in isolation most of the time as the doctors tried to figure out what to do with him. His family hadn’t been allowed to visit him yet, and for that he was grateful – he hadn’t been particularly keen on seeing them after his recovery anyways. It was still too soon to face them, and he wasn’t ready to deal with the inevitable aftermath of what was to come. In the meantime, he still refused to respond to any of the medical staff who came to try and work with him, outside of sarcastic remarks and biting jabs that made the whitecoats squirm in their seats, much to his enjoyment.

Curiously, during one of the very few times he did speak to one of the doctors responsible for his treatment; he found himself asking about what happened to the rest of the League. Of course, no one would give him any answers aside from the fact they were alive and they were in custody.

He was more relieved than he thought he would be.

More time passed, and he still refused to open up to any of the staff who came to see him, though he had become more vocal with them – aggressively so – to the point he started to notice there was a continuous rotation of people now; it wasn’t just the same staff he was used to seeing when he first arrived at the facility.

Turns out, even the professionals were still scared of him – quirk or no quirk, his fiery reputation preceded him.

Eventually, the facility couldn’t keep cycling through their therapists, so they had switched tactics. Whether it was out of desperation, or the fact he made so many professionals break down after a session with him, he wasn’t sure, but he can’t say he regrets his actions, because in the end, he met you.

He remembers the day you met for the first time.

He had been forced out of his little cell and taken to one of the treatment rooms where he spent most of his time outside his own room. He had been shoved in there before he could make a snarky retort, and then… he saw you.

You had been sitting on the couch adjacent to the spot where he normally sat during his apptioments. He had been so stunned to see someone new, he’d been rendered silent. You’d looked up towards him, and for the first time since he arrived, you smiled at him.

“Hey.” You’d greeted him casually. He hadn’t responded, still unsure of who you were and what you were doing here instead of the usual staff.

You nodded to the couch across from you. “You wanna sit?”

He sat.

He fully expected you to introduce yourself, but you hadn’t. You’d just leaned back into the couch you were seated on and crossed your legs, giving him a content smile as you regarded him casually.

A few beats of silence passed. You didn’t speak and neither did he. A few minutes passed, then a half hour, and then an hour. Finally, one of the assistants came to bring him back to his room.

He stood up to go but you still didn’t say anything. He’d allowed himself to be taken back without a fuss but, he didn’t think anything more about it. The next day it was the same thing. He was taken out of his room back to the same treatment room, and surprisingly, you were already there waiting for him.

You gave him a little grin and nodded to the couch opposite you, and just like the last day, he sat.

Once again, you didn’t say anything, which was unusual, since all of the other doctors had always started off the conversation, but you sat in silence across from him – the gentle smile never leaving your face all the while.

A half hour of silence passed before he finally broke. “So, what exactly is this?” he remembers his voice sounding dry and scratchy after weeks of misuse. “This the part where you try and butter me so I’ll talk to you?”

You’d grinned at his remark. “No.”

“No? Then what the hell are you doing here? Is this some new technique the therapist’s showed you to try and get me to spill my guts to you? Reverse phycology or some shit?”

“Nope. None of that I can assure you. Actually, if I’m being honest, I’m not even a doctor.”

That caught his attention.

“The hell do you mean you’re not a doctor? How the are you in here then?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

He remembers being completely caught off guard by your answers, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit intrigued by you. He remembers squinting at you carefully – taking you in – and for the first time, he saw you. Really saw you.

He could tell that you weren’t lying to him about not being a doctor. You were dressed casually, though you were still covering up a fair amount of skin – no doubt something they told you to do ahead of time. You looked more alive than the rest of the staff in this place as well.

He was loathed to admit it, but you were pretty.

He remembers you flashing him a knowing grin, clearly able to tell he’s been shamelessly checking you out, and it was enough to make him recede back into his shell; his walls going back up once more, as he rolled his eyes condescendingly at you.

“So what’s your angle then?” He’d asked you. “You’re not a doctor but you wouldn’t be in here with me if you didn’t want something from me.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I was simply here to talk?”

That had gotten a laugh out of him. A short breathless laugh, but it was the first one he’d uttered since he’d tried to incinerate himself along with his father. It felt weird leaving his throat, foreign even, and he’d cut himself off as soon as the sound exited his mouth. So, he settled for snickering instead.

“Really now? You want to talk to someone like me? Why do I not believe that?”

You had sighed, and leaned forward so your forearms were supported on your knees, fixing him with a stern gaze. The intensity of it had made him flinch before he remembered who he was. He returned the look best he could, but it hadn’t deterred you in the slightest. Instead, you sighed again.

“Look I’ll be honest with you: the staff here filled me in on your situation. I don’t know what they’ve told you, but from how it was explained to me; your family wants you back home with them. They’ve made a bunch of deals with the authorities about getting you out of here and not spending the rest of your life behind bars, but you have to successfully go through rehab first. The reason you’re here is so they can determine that you’re not a threat to society or to yourself, but the staff don’t seem to be having much luck getting through to you, and they’re desperate. They sent out a request to bring in outside help and I applied. They picked me because we’re the same age, and well… no one else really wanted to. Turns out most people are pretty scared of you.”

“Fucking figures. And you’re telling me you’re not?”

“Of you? No.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I’m not. I’m a little nervous maybe, but I’m not scared.”

That had made him pause. He’d swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling like it was packed with cotton.

“Why’s that?” he’d finally asked you after a moment.

You had gone quiet, seemingly mulling over his question before you finally responded: “I think you have a lot to say. More than you already have, and more then what people think. To be honest, I want to hear it.”

He had laughed again, but this time it sounded forced, even to him.

“If you watched my broadcast then you know it all already.”

“Oh, trust me, I think the whole world saw your broadcast, not just Japan. No one would shut up about it for weeks. But I think there’s a lot more to you. I think a part of you wants to talk to someone else – none of that scripted bullshit – and I want to talk to you. Honestly, I think you’re pretty fascinating.”

He had been very tempted as ask you if you had a thing for villains, but he held off.

“You must be crazy if you find talking to me enjoyable. The other quacks can’t even stomach me, let alone stand to be in the same room as me for more than a few minutes. Just how fucked up are you really?”

You’d grinned and wiggled your eyebrows mischievously at him as you leaned back and spread your arms out along the back of the couch. “The only way you’re going to find that out is if you agree to talk to me. I don’t just give up all my secrets willingly you know.”

It was his turn to go quiet as he thought about your words over and over in his head, taunting him. He hadn’t been in any rush to leave the facility and go back to his old house, even if his mother and siblings were waiting for him. On the other hand, this was the most enjoyable conversation he’d had with anyone since coming to this white hellhole they called a hospital.

He figured maybe he would entertain you for a little while. If nothing else it would get you off his back.

You were lucky you were attractive.

The sound of your voice calling out his surname brought him back to the present.

“Mr. Todoroki?”

“… Fine.” He had finally relented. “We’ll see who you really are, and for fuck’s sake don’t call me that. I’m not my fucking father.”

“What do you want me to call you then?”

“D—” he stopped short. Was that his name any more? Did he get to call himself that after everything was said and done? It was the name he had given himself when Touya died all those years ago, but for some reason, saying it now just seemed wrong.

“…Touya.” He finally muttered. “Just Touya.”

You had smiled at him and for some stupid reason, it made his heartrate pick up. Just a little.

“Okay then. Touya it is. It’s nice to meet you.” You extended your left hand, and he had clumsily fumbled around for a moment before shaking your hand. As soon as your hands touched, and he felt the gentle pressure of your hand in his own, he was struck with the realization that this was the closest to human he’d felt in God knows how long. The other doctors that would come in and out of his cell treated him like he was some kind of feral animal, but you had extended your hand to him without any shred of fear or disgust. 

Once you’d both settled back into your respective couches, he’d shrugged.

“So, what now then?”

“Now we talk I guess.”

“About what?”

“I think that’s up to you. The people who brought me in here didn’t specify what we have to talk about, but I am supposed to tell you that I can’t talk to you about the UA students, politics, current or former hero’s, or the League.”

Fuck. It didn’t seem like he’d be getting any answers out of you regarding his former group either.

“…fine. Ask away, I guess.”

To his surprise, you shook your head. “Can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I’m the one doing all the asking, then we’re only going to talk about things from my perspective, which isn’t the point. The only way this is going to work is if you talk to me first.”

That’d had thrown him through a fucking loop. Ever since he had arrived at the ward, all the doctors had done is talk at him, hoping he’d respond eventually. You may not have been a doctor, but you made for a better conversation then any of them ever did.

“…Well… Where am I supposed to start?” he’d finally asked, feeling like an idiot. To his immense relief, you’d simply shrugged.

Wherever you want. From the beginning maybe? It might be easier that way.”

He remembered swallowing hard. “Alright… from the beginning then.”

He remembers pausing and looking up at you, taking you in. “What the hell is your name anyways?”

You told him with a smile, and that was how it started.

For the next year, you came to see him almost every day.

He was taken to the same room where you were always waiting for him without fail at the same time every day. Even though at that point, he’d rather choke than admit it; he began to look forward to your visits – finding that they gave him a reprieve from his mundane existence at the mental ward.

He knew the doctors were always listening and recording everything you talked about during the hour you were together, but he found he didn’t care as much as you managed to keep the meetings interesting.

True to your word, you wouldn’t talk to him about current political events, or any news related to heroes (he knew better then to ask anyways), but you were open to chatting with him about anything that he wished to talk about, even though conversations were often hard for him to start – but you were kind and patient with him, more so than anyone had ever been to him for the majority of his miserable life.

He found himself growing found of you, the little smiles you give him when he’d sit across from you, bringing a hidden grin to his own lips, though he was quick to push it down, never letting his passive façade drop for more the a few seconds, lest his supervising doctors notice and assume shit, as they tended to do.

You may not have been a licensed doctor, but you helped him more than any of the ones who worked at the medical ward did.

There was a gradual shift in your relationship as time passed. Around the six month mark he could feel it, and he was almost positive you could too.

Your conversations had become more fluid, more casual. You were relaxed as you could be around him, and he found himself opening up more and more to you without being prompted. Most times he liked to keep the conversation light, but every so often, he’d tell you bits and pieces about his childhood – before everything had gone to shit. He never bothered telling you about everything that happened after Sekoto; he didn’t want to tell you about the years he spent on the streets, or his time in All For One’s medical center with the other children turned Nomu’s, and to his immense relief, you never asked him to.

In return for his openness, you rewarded him with tidbits from your own life growing up. You didn’t name anyone specific (he couldn’t fault you on that one), but you’d tell him about your childhood and some of the adventures you’d had when you were young, well into your teen years.

He learned that you were born an only child to your parents, raised in a caring household. All the idealistic, quaint things that he had wished from his own family. He’d told you as much one day, prompting you to laugh softly.

“Not always.” You’d told him quietly. “I had my own pressure on me when I was growing up. My parents and I fought a lot. We rarely saw eye to eye – they didn’t agree with a lot of choices I made when I was younger, but it was okay aside from that.”

“Still sounds like your parents were better than mine.” He’d told you with a bitter smirk. “My dad’s an abusive asshole, and my mom—”

 It was then he realized that he struggled for words to properly describe her. Broken images from his fire fight with Endeavor had come back to him, and he remembered his mother’s fierce determination to try and cool him down – to save him – even as the heat was melting her flesh. She had thrown herself into the fray to try and stop him from ending it all without a second thought for her own safety. Up until very recently, he would’ve described his mother as weak and submissive, always bending to his father’s whims, even though he knew she didn’t have much of a choice back then, but now… that description didn’t seem to fit her anymore.

“—she used to be a doormat for dear old dad to walk over when I was a kid… but she’s changed. She’s a lot stronger than I remember her being.”

“I saw bits and pieces of your fight with… him.” You’d admitted quietly then. “I saw the aftermath. Your mom, your siblings… they all ran in to save you.”

He’d fallen quiet at that, not truly knowing what to say, but when he looked up again, you had offered him a gentle smile. “I’m sorry if this oversteps a boundary but… they never forgot about you Touya. Even if it felt like they did, they never stopped thinking about you.”

For once, he remembered being grateful that his tear ducts were permanently sealed shut, because he suddenly found himself in danger of crying. The tell-tale prickling behind his eyes caused his face to scrunch up as he pushed the thought of his mom and siblings down. He had quickly forced his expression to go back to neutral, and prayed that you hadn’t noticed the switch, but if you had, you didn’t comment on it – another thing he liked so much about you. 

Instead, you asked him something that caught him off guard.

“Have you seen them? Your family? Since you were placed here?”

“No. Didn’t think they were allowed to come here. Why?”

“I think… maybe you should let them come see you – your mom and siblings I mean. Not you know who. I don’t think you’d be doing yourself any favours.”

“Why?” He remembers pressing you. “Have you seen them?” You’d shook your head.

“No, I’ve never met them, but I think it might help if you sit down with them and actually talk to them one on one. You must be getting so bored just talking to me day in and day out.”

“No!” he remembers saying a little too quickly, causing another one of those knowing smirks to creep up your lips. “I—no, you’re fine. I like talking to you.”

“Do you not want to see them?” you had asked him seriously. “Is it too soon? I understand if you’re not ready. That’s a decision you have to make on your own. No one can make it for you.”

“… I’ll think about it.”

Because in truth: there were things he wanted to say to them, and conversations he wanted to have.

In the end, it was you who finally convinced him to let his family visit. They had been cleared to see him at the faculty a few months prior, but he had always declined a visit from them, not wanting to see them so soon, since the last time they were all together had resulted in him almost melting his mother, Fuyumi and Natsuo.

There had been strict rules set in place for his family’s visitations: only one person could see him at a time so he wouldn’t get overwhelmed. they weren’t allowed to talk about outside events with him, and finally, under no circumstance was Endeavor allowed anywhere near the faculty. He was fine with his mother and siblings coming to see him if they wished, but he didn’t want his father to be anywhere near him.

He wasn’t ready to see him again so soon. Even after his apologies. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready to see his father again.

Thankfully the faculty had minimal difficulty honoring his last wish, as it seemed that Enji didn’t want to be around him either – or maybe he was purposefully keeping his distance. Either way, the old bastard wasn’t around him, and he figured it was for the best.

Once again you had been right; seeing his family again had been as cathartic as it had been terrifying.

There had been tears (from his family – he still was unable to cry), and there had been a lot of long, overdue heart-to-heart conversations with them of things that should’ve been said long ago.

It had been hard to sit down and listen to each of his family members without feeling the intense urge to get up and run when the guilt became almost unbearable, but he had forced himself to sit through it all for their sakes (and even his own), and soon he found himself scheduling more visits with his family, as well as seeing you for your daily interactions.  

You never prompted him to tell you how his now daily visits with his family went, but he’d told you anyways – not what was discussed, that would stay with him – but he had told you about his favourite visit. Hilariously, it had been with Shoto; something he never thought he’d ever say.

He’d told you about how Shoto had brought him lunch from the outside the day before. It wasn’t anything special; just piping hot udon noodles with vegetables in pork broth. They had sat down in silence and eaten together, sharing a meal for the first time in their lives. Nothing had been discussed, and yet everything had been said.

It had been nice. Comfortable, even.

He remembered telling you with a soft smile on his face, and you had pointed it out, causing him to scoff and wave you off.

“It’s better food then the shit they feed me in this prison. Seriously, that was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

“Well, once you’re cleared to leave, I’m sure you’ll be able to eat all the udon you want with your brother.” You’d told him as you tucked your feet under you. He’d shrugged, brushing you off, but you were ever observant, and had called him out on it.

“Do you not want to go back to them once you’re able to leave this place?”

It was a simple question in theory, but it wasn’t easy to answer.

He’d shrugged again. “Don’t really know if I can. Not after everything. I won’t go back if he’s there.”

“I don’t think they’d push so hard for you to come back to them if he was.” You reasoned with him gently. “Where would you want to go, if not there?”

You and your questions. Most of the time they were harmless, but sometimes they really made him think. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had an answer for you at that point, and you had quickly switched the conversation topic.

At that point, he’d be lying if he said he was thinking about what he’d do once he was released. Truth be told he hadn’t thought about it much at all. To him, it felt like he’d be in the psychiatric ward for the foreseeable future. He had no real plans for what he’d do once he was out. Maybe he would go back to his old house with his family, or maybe he’d try staking out on his own since that was what he was used to, if he was even allowed to go off on his own. He wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do once he was let out – but he certainly wouldn’t be free, he knew that much.

Maybe he’d try and reconnect with the League – assuming that any of them were even allowed to be released from custody.

It still bothered him on some level that he had no idea about what happened to them after the dust had settled. He had been carted off the battle field before any of them, after his attempt at going nuclear failed, and had been in and out of the hospital and the physiatrist wing ever since.

When he had first arrived, he’d asked the staff about what had happened to the remainder of the League, but they hadn’t told him anything aside from the fact they were alive – but he wasn’t sure how much of that he believed.

The only one he’d really trusted in the whole building was you. He knew you weren’t allowed to talk to him about any villains or heroes, but maybe if he asked you discreetly, you’d be able to tell him something more than what the medical staff had. He didn’t want you to get in trouble, but the curiously was eating away at him. 

Finally, one day he risked it, and asked you if you knew anything about the fates of his former teammates.

You had paused after he’d voiced his question, and went quiet for a moment, seemingly debating on what you could say to him. For a moment you looked like you were almost about to tell him that you couldn’t say anything, but the look on his face must have been desperate enough that you cracked.

You had given the cameras in the room an unreadable look before sighing loudly. “I don’t know where they are exactly. I never looked into it, and it isn’t public knowledge anyways.” You told him gently. “What I do know is that they’re alive, and they’re in different treatment centers receiving help. I know they were beaten badly and some of your friends almost died – but as far as I know, they’re doing okay.”

You’d then sat straight back up on your chair and loudly proclaimed, “I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to say that much to him, right? Don’t take it out on him or me once we’re done here.”

It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, but at least they were alive, and were in similar situations to him. It made him feel slightly less alone.

When the timer beeped shrilly, signaling that your hour was up, you had stood up to leave just as you always did, but before you could say goodbye to him, he’d quickly lunged forward and grabbed your hand, incasing it with his large cold one.

You’d stared at him in shock, as he’d never made a move to touch you once in the six months, you’d been visiting him, but before any of the guards could rush in and pull him off, he’d let your hand drop, but not before muttering a quiet “thank you” under his breath to you, before backing off and allowing the armed guard to escort you out of the room.

He distinctly remembers feeling the pressure of your small hand in his own, but he hadn’t been able to feel anything else aside from that. He hated it. He suddenly found himself hating that all of the nerves in his body had been severed, rendering him unable to feel anything. He couldn’t feel the texture of your skin against his own, or if your hands were cool or warm like his.

He was forced to admit to himself that for the first time since he’d left the hospital; he wanted to feel something again.

He wanted to feel you. But he couldn’t, and it aggravated him more than anything.

There was another thing he remembered distinctly about that day as you were leaving him behind: For the first time since you had started your daily interactions with him; you had looked back.

You had looked at him like you were seeing him in a different light.

He didn’t see you for a few weeks after that. When he had been pulled from his cell, and into the room where you usually met him, he was instead greeted by several doctors that had overseen his treatment when he first arrived.

He had asked them where you were, and when they refused to answer his question, he had immediately become hostile and threatening. The walls that were slowly starting to lower since he first met you went straight back up, and Touya turned into Dabi once more.

For the first time in roughly seven months, he lashed out (quirk be damned), and was immediately taken back to his room and put on lockdown. He wasn’t allowed visitors, and the only times he was allowed to leave his cell was to go back to the same room with the same doctors who poked and prodded him – asking him increasingly invasive questions, until he shut his mouth and refused to speak to them once more. One last act of defiance on his end since he still didn’t have use of his quirk.

When it had become apparent to the doctors and specialists that he refused to speak to any of them, they stopped taking him out altogether. He spent countless hours staring out the tiny window in his room, basking in the weak sunlight and taking in the menial views he could see from his window.

He had wondered where you had gone; if you had been forcefully sent away after he had asked about the League. He hoped that wasn’t the case – he liked you, probably more then he should if he was honest with himself – and you were just about the only person he could actually carry on a conversation with in this shitty place.

A few more weeks in solitary had him about to snap. He had reached a point where he was about to try and strike a deal with the overseeing doctors about bringing you back if he answered their shitty questions, when one of the armed guards opened up his door and guested for him to follow.

Once again, he had been taken back to the same observation room, but to his pleasant surprise; you were there waiting for him.

You had beamed at him and before he could think about what he was doing, he had crossed the room towards you in three long strides until he was standing directly in front of you. He had begun to lift his hand up towards you, only for his action to halted by a curt bark from the guard who was still standing at the door. You had shaken your head, motioning to the guard you were fine and sent him on his way. As soon as the door had closed, he rounded on you.

“You left.”

You had nodded, a small, sad smile on your lips. “I did, yes. Not really by choice though.”

“Why did you go?”

You’d barked out a laugh. “I’ll be honest, the supervisors weren’t too happy with me when I told you about the League. I broke one of their rules, so they told me I had to go for a bit.”

He’d narrowed his eyes, confused. “But now you’re back.”

You’d given him a slight smirk. You turned to sit down on your usual spot on the couch, but this time, instead of having him sit across from you, you’d gestured for him to sit beside you, which he’d done so embarrassingly fast.

“You’re very stubborn.” You’d told him with a light laugh. “From what I was told, you refused to talk to anyone after I left – heard you got downright nasty with some of the staff, and they put you on probation. They called me a few days ago almost begging me to come back. Guess they felt you made the most progress when you were talking to me.”

You’d given him a look that was hard for him to read. “Why did you snap at them?”

He figured there was no point in lying to you – you’d find out somehow. “Didn’t know where you went. Fuckers wouldn’t tell me, and they kept prying into my shit. Didn’t want to talk to them so they put me in solitary.”

He remembers you looking sad at his answer. “I heard you were in there for several weeks. I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to happen to you. Not on my account. I didn’t… I don’t want to be the reason your release got delayed.”

For some reason, it bothered him that you blamed yourself for what happened, and he reached out to gently take hold of your wrist. To his surprise, you hadn’t stopped him, or made any move to pull your hand away from his, so he allowed himself to rub circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, even though he couldn’t feel it.

“Not your fault. Don’t worry about when I’m getting out. It’s not like it really matters anyways.”

“Do you know why they were pushing you so much?” you’d asked quietly, still not making any more to remove yourself from his hold. He’d shook his head and you’d simply leaned into him, damn near making him freeze up in surprise at your boldness.

“They told me that they’re planning on releasing you soon – with restrictions of course – but they were thinking that you’d be able to leave here sooner than expected. That was before your outburst, but if you’re willing to just hear them out and answer their questions, it’ll help speed up the process.”

“They seriously think that I’m fit to send out into society again?” he remembers scoffing, hardly believing what he was hearing. “Pretty sure the majority of them think I’m an irredeemable sociopath.”

“They’ve seen the way you act around me and your interactions with your family. You’re not perfect, but you’re trying, and sometimes that’s all you can do.”

“You do realize I have killed people, right? I’ve maimed countless others. They’re… not exactly wrong about me.”

Surprisingly, you’d simply rolled your eyes at his statement, acting like he’d just told you the sky was blue. “Of course I know that Touya. I’m not overlooking what you did. But they—your family – are fighting hard to try and get you another chance, a fresh start. They think you deserve it, and they’re out there right now, day and night, trying to convince others that you deserve a second chance too.”

You had twisted your hand in his so your palms were kissing, fingers laced together, and he could feel his heart pounding in his ears as you gave him that damn smile of yours.

“You’re right: the past never dies, but that doesn’t mean that it has to be your future as well.”

That simple statement had stunned him. For the first time in a long time, he hadn’t had anything to say in response to you.

He remembers fighting an internal battle in himself, trying to find something to say to rebuttal what you were telling him. A part of him understood why his family was fighting for his uncertain future outside the psychiatric ward, but on the other hand… he didn’t necessarily believe that he deserved it.

What kind of life would he be able to have even if he was allowed to be released? He had never planned on living this long, as morbid as that was. His original goal had been to go out in a fiery hell-blaze with his bastard of a father, but clearly that hadn’t happened. He was known a global terrorist, the right-hand to the symbol of fear. His quirk was legendary for all the wrong reasons. How could he possibly be allowed to live on the outside? There was no way the rest of Japan wanted him released, let alone wandering around. What kind of future could he possibly be allowed to dream about? Did he even dare to think about it? He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about what he might do if he was ever allowed out of the ward from time to time, but now that his impending release seemed like more of a possibility; he was starting to think maybe it was better for everyone – and maybe even himself – if he stayed locked away.

Thankfully, you and your perspective nature had picked up his internal struggle. You’d leaned into him and taken his hand in both of your own, allowing him to breathe again.

“What do you want Touya?”

What did he want? Christ he wasn’t sure.

“I… don’t know. Honestly: I never planned on living this long from the get go. Everything has always been decided for me. I kinda figured that this would be the same.” He had admitted quietly, the gentle pressure of your hands on his own, grounding his rapid thoughts.

“Do you think you’re ready to leave soon?” You’d asked him gently, prompting him to laugh, a bitter, ugly thing, but you hadn’t flinched.

“No.” he’d admitted after a moment, scrunching up his nose. “Dunno if there’s much of a point. I’ll never be free. No matter where I go, I’ll always be a prisoner. What kind of life could I even have outside of here? I don’t know how to live any other way aside from how I’ve been living since I escaped that damn—” he’d cut himself off last minute, reminding himself that you didn’t know about All For One’s hellish medical facility he had woken up in, and he had no plans on telling you about that.

“I just…” he remembered breathing out hard through his nose as he tried to collect his thoughts, focusing on the faint heat he swore he could feel emanating off your hands and leaching into his cold skin. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if they decide to let me out. Dunno if I can go back to the old house after everything that happened, and I’m not sure if I could bring myself to live with my mom or my siblings after… well, you saw bits of what happened on TV already.”

He hadn’t needed to say it for you to know that he felt a tremendous amount of guilt towards his mother and siblings – especially Fuyumi and Natsuo – for nearly charring them in the heat of battle. He may have held onto so much resentment and anger towards his family for his mistreatment as a child, but he was also self-aware enough to know that it hadn’t been their faults, and they had tried to help him in the only ways they knew how.

You had been quiet as you let him vent to you. You hadn’t said anything for a while afterwards as you mulled over what he’d told you. Finally, you had nudged his shoulder with your own.

“I think that everything you just told me is proof enough that you deserve a chance to have a life outside of these walls.” You admitted. “What you said isn’t something an ‘irredeemable sociopath’ would say. That’s something a self-aware person says. You’re not perfect Touya, but Christ if you’re not trying. I can see it, your mom, sister and brothers see it, and I think a lot of your other doctors are starting to see it too. I think there’s a point, even if you don’t think there is.”

In that moment he’d been convinced that if he could cry, he would’ve been.

“Yeah? Well, thank you sweetheart.” He’d muttered into your hair, fighting hard with himself to try and keep his voice steady. “I have no fucking idea why you’re so nice to me, but it’s… yeah.”

“I think someone needs to treat you like a normal human being, because I don’t think anyone did for a long time.” You’d looked up at him pointedly, but he’d seen traces of something else in your eyes when you’d asked him, “Did they?”

A simple flat look from him had been answer enough for you, and prompted you to squeeze his hand. “Didn’t think so.”

You’d both lapsed into a comfortable silence aside from the steady ticking of the clock, and he’d known without looking up that your time with him was coming to an end. Now, he was dreading it more then he normally would’ve been. You’d spoken up again, but what came out of your mouth next, had shocked him.

“When you’re released… If you’re still unsure of where you want to go afterwards… I could… if you can clear it with the people overseeing your progress once you’re cleared to leave… Maybe… you could come stay with me.”

He remembered staring down at you, shocked. “Is that even allowed?”

You’d shrugged in response. “I’m not sure. I think you’re going to have to initially stay with your family for a while, but if you’re really having a difficult time staying there… maybe I could work something out with your family, as long as it’s approved. It’ll probably take a while, but I can try.”

He had a difficult time allowing what you were implying to sink in. How? How could you be so trusting? To even suggest the idea of someone like him staying with you? Forget if it was even possible or not, the fact you’d even offered in the first place was mind-blowing. Before he could think about what he was saying, he’d voiced his thoughts to you:

“I’m sure your parents would be thrilled, you bringing a villain back to your home.”

You’d simply given him a small smile. “I’m sure they wouldn’t like it… if they were around that is.”

“Oh. They not in the country, or—”

“We’ll go with that.”

Ah. Seemed like he wasn’t the only one with secrets. That was fair, you were allowed to have your own. He wouldn’t pry.

“Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t know.”

You’d both fallen back into the same silence from before. You were still leaning on him, his hand trapped in your smaller one, yet he’d made no move to remove it from your grasp. Honestly, he was shocked the guards from before hadn’t barged into the room and forced him away from you. The close proximity must have been violating a rule of some kind, and yet no one had made any move to separate the two of you, Maybe the medical staff really had been as desperate as you’d claimed, and were willing to let some things slide. Either way, he wasn’t complaining.

“You’re a lot colder than I thought you’d be… with your quirk being what it is and all.”

He’d glanced down at you, only to see you staring down at your intertwined hands. You’d squeezed the appendage again, prompting him to respond.

“It’s the quirk suppressors. Haven’t been able to use my quirk since before I got here. The quacks made it so I’m hopped up on suppressors around the clock, just in case. Turns out I’m pretty fucking cold without my flames. Must be from the ice side, but I can’t use that either.”

“Well, maybe if you keep being nice, you won’t have to be on them indefinitely.” You had tried to give him a hopeful smile, but he knew what the likelihood of that happening was, and you must have too, since you didn’t say anything else on the matter.

The timer had sounded then, signaling the visit was over. Before the guard could come to collect you, he’d quickly pulled his arm out of your grasp, and had wrapped it around you tightly, much to your initial surprise. He’d begrudgingly let you go so he could help you stand, sending the guard at the door a pointed look as he’d seen him casting an unsure look between himself and you. You hadn’t been the least bit bothered by the anxious glances the guard was trying to send you as you stood slowly and sent him one of your little smiles he’d come to expect from you.

“You’re coming back?” he’d blurted out before he could stop himself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time.” You’d told him confidently as you’d turned to leave, brushing your knuckles against his. “Don’t worry Touya. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time since someone had promised him anything in a very long time, he’d believed you.

In the end, you’d kept your promise.

It had taken close to another year before he was allowed to leave the psychiatric facility (some minor setbacks had pushed his initial release date back), but you had come to see him almost every day at the same time.

Over that time, you’d grown exceptionally close to each other, even more so from when you’d first started visiting him initially. It was almost impossible for him not to grow attached to you – you were his constant source of company, his companion. You were the one person he could tell anything to and not have to worry about being scrutinized for his thoughts. You were his safe space – something he’d never thought he’d ever say about someone else – and once he’d worked out how he saw you; it had been game over. He’d fallen for you fast and hard before he’d realized it, and by the time he did, it’d had been too late. He was hopelessly and utterly drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.

Surprisingly, you’d felt the same as him.

You’d openly admitted it to him one day near the end of his stay at the ward – even at the cost of possibly being prevented from seeing him again, since both of you knew you were crossing boundaries you hadn’t been meant to cross. He’d warned you as such, heart pounding in his ears at your confession, but you’d told him that he’d deserved to know with a simple shrug.

“Besides; if you keep up the good behavior and don’t have any more outbursts, you’ll be out before the end of the year anyways. Even if they don’t let me back after this – you can find me on the outside.” You’d told him matter-of-factly, boldly taking his hand in your own, before sending a shit-eating grin to the cameras set up around the room – knowing the doctors were monitoring every move.

He'd been certain that he could’ve kissed you right there and then.

Surprisingly, the medical staff had allowed you to continue coming back, even though it was apparent both of you cared for each other in ways that crossed professional boundaries. As much as the doctors were against how close the two of you had become, they couldn’t deny how far he had progressed since meeting you. He had gone from being the bitter, angry husk of a man, to someone who was still, and would always be forever scorned by the past, but overall, in a better place mentally.

Not too long after he’d sorted out his own feelings for you, he’d made you a surprising request:

He wanted you to meet his mother and siblings.

The meet up had taken almost a month of careful planning on the medical staff’s end, and had initially been met with some hesitation on both sides, but eventually you had agreed to it, and you’d sat down with him and the members of his family who he kept in contact with.

His father hadn’t been invited for obvious reasons.

The medical staff had allowed him out of his normal room so he could meet with you and his mother and siblings in one of the spacious sitting rooms normally reserved for guests. A row of floor to ceiling windows lined the far wall, allowing him to get a view of the outside gardens. He remembered the outside weather was slightly overcast that day but warm rays of sunshine would occasionally stream through the gray clouds, as you and his family slowly met with one another under his watchful gaze.

His mother had taken to you almost immediately, as well as Natsuo – both seemingly happy he’d bonded with someone who was relatively normal – Fuyumi and Shoto had taken a little more convincing. Shoto was more curious of you, while Fuyumi had been downright distrustful. She’d asked you right off the bat what your intensions were with him, but he’d seen right through her: she was concerned that you were somehow affiliated with the now disbanded League, or maybe even the Paranormal Liberation Front.

Thankfully, you weren’t so easily put off by her upfront questioning. You had been calm, almost amused, as you answered her questions; reassuring her that you were in no way affiliated with any criminal organizations, and how you were someone who’d been presented with an opportunity to help with his rehabilitation, and had taken a leap of faith when no one else would.

“Why though?” he remembered his sister pressing you. “Why would you want to help him even after knowing everything he’s done?”

You and him had shared a look then, and he’d known what you were thinking before you said anything.

“I guess I wanted to understand why things went so wrong.” You’d told her honestly, your shoulder brushing with his as you spoke. “I wanted to get his side of the story – the unscripted one. When the chance to talk to him in person came up, I took it. Everyone deserves to have their story told, and I wanted to hear his.”

“You’re a lot closer than just a support person to him.” Fuyumi had countered, making him bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from snapping at her to back off with her invasive questioning, knowing that he’d only land himself in trouble with the medical staff overseeing their visit if he had any outbursts.

To your credit, you’d simply shrugged, totally unbothered by her statement. “Yeah, well, that tends to happen when you see someone basically every day for over a year. Same time, same place. For as clueless as he is at normal relationships, your brother can be pretty charming when he wants to be.”

He’d been pretty sure the only reason you were outright lying to his sister was to try and make him look better in her eyes, but he almost hadn’t been able to stop the laugh that threatened to escape past his lips. Almost.

His sister had almost deflated then. Whether it was from disappointment in being unable to shake you, or relief, she’d simply nodded; finally accepting your answers.

“Well… if he’s happy… then that’s all any of us really need, I guess.”

The rest of the visitation had gone incredibly well, not that he was complaining. Plans for future meetings had been put in place, and from there, you and him had gotten into a semi-regular routine of seeing his mother and siblings, or whoever was available to come.

He never wanted to admit it to you, but the visitations you helped arrange with his family made his transition from the psychiatric hospital to his eventually moving into his mother’s new house after he’d been cleared for release, far smoother than he thought it would’ve been.

Eventually though, he was proven right about his earlier assumptions on living with his family – or rather – his mother and his siblings, again after so long:

He couldn’t do it. It felt almost wrong.

He’d felt like a ghost, wandering up and down the halls, looking at the pictures that lined the hallways of his mother’s house; comprised largely of his younger siblings. He’d watched as they had slowly grown up in each one, filling him with sense of melancholy.  

He’d missed the opportunity to watch them grow up. They’d done that without him. That was time he couldn’t get back – memories that weren’t there.

He’d felt isolated, and no amount of comfort or reassurance from his mother could change that deep-rooted feeling in him. Not even Natsuo’s constant presence in the home made him feel better, much to his younger brother’s disappointment, though thankfully he understood. 

He’d lasted two months before he’d finally cracked and called your number which you’d given him immediately after he was released. You’d both stayed in contact, texting every day (under strict monetization from police tech sectors), but you hadn’t been able to see him in person since he’d gotten out, as you’d both agreed that it would be better if he focused on trying to settle into his new home. He’d missed you terribly during that period – not used to not seeing you for such a long period of time.

He'd called you in the dead of night, and asked if your offer to have him come stay with you was still open. From there, you’d gotten in contact with the authorities in charge of his release to try and gain permission for him to come live with you, while he had the difficult task of trying to explain to his family why he couldn’t stay with them any longer than he’d already had.

As expected, you’d been met with resistance on both sides, but eventually his overseers had come to an agreement: he would be allowed to live with you, but he always had to have a tracking monitor on at all times, he had to be on constant quirk suppressors, he couldn’t leave your building without you and a Pro hero escort of some kind, and finally, he had to attend mandatory therapy sessions at least once a week, as well as call his probation officer weekly and give them updates about what he was doing. If he failed to meet any of the rules set out for him; he’d earn himself a one-way ticket to Tartarus, no questions asked.

As much as he’d wanted to argue some of what they wanted from him, he’d agreed to their stipulations, knowing full-well unless he agreed to their terms, he’d be stuck at his mother’s for the rest of his life, and while he didn’t hate living with her and his siblings, it was too awkward for him to try and face them every day, knowing his past atrocities towards the rest of the country and even them, would continue to haunt him for the rest of his days.

He couldn’t pretend that he was still the same person he was when he’d burned up at the tender age of thirteen. He was different, older, harder. Things would never be able to go back to what they’d once been, and honestly: he didn’t want them to. He couldn’t go back to living with them after such a long time apart, because he had no idea how to co-exist with them normally.

Thankfully, as much as he knew it hurt his mother to hear him express his innermost thoughts, she seemed to understand how he felt the most, and had simply told him that he was always welcome in her home, and she still wanted him to come stay with her from time to time.

“You’re my son Touya. No matter how old you get or no matter what you do, you’ll always be my baby.” She’d told him gently just before he’d left her house, wrapping him into a tight hug.

Sometimes he found himself grateful he couldn’t cry anymore. He’d just wished this side of his mother had been more prominent over ten years ago. Maybe things would’ve turned out differently if it had.

He’d seen you then for the first time in several months when you’d come to pick him up. He’d managed to keep himself calm while you spoke to his mother, but secretly he was elated to see you again after months apart. His excitement over seeing you again had probably shown on his face, since you’d made it a point to keep yourself close to him as his brothers had moved his important possessions into your car.

It was as you were talking to his mother; he’d learned that you had moved to a new apartment building some weeks ago, following the news that one of Japan’s former most wanted was coming to stay with you. Naturally, the people in your old building hadn’t been pleased, so you’d forced to switch buildings to an apartment located near several hero agencies, where the residents hadn’t been as concerned about an ex-super villain moving in, due to the multitude of patrolling heroes in the area. The change had been frustrating for you, but it was the only way he’d be able to stay with you without anyone kicking up too much of a fuss.

Eventually you’d both been on your way back to your apartment with Shoto in tow to help with moving his things into your apartment. Your new place wasn’t massive, but it had two bedrooms and a decently sized living room and kitchen. Shoto had helped him set his things up in the spare bedroom before departing, but not before giving you his number with instructions to call him if you ever needed help.

As soon as the door had shut, he’d been on you.

He’d slammed you up against the door, causing a started yelp to escape your lips, as he grinned down at you wolfishly.

“What’s the matter sweetheart? Nervous? It’s not like we haven’t been this close before.”

You’d turned beet red as you shyly traced your fingers up his chest. “No, but we certainly haven’t done this.”

He’d grinned as he dipped his head down so you and him were eye to eye. “Tell me no then. Tell me you don’t want this, that you don’t feel the same as me.”

He’d listened to your breath hitch, watching with delight as the flush deepened on your cheeks. “You wanted me to talk right? To be open with you about how I’m feeling? Well, I want you, and I think you want me too.”  

You’d looked up at him through your lashes, reaching up to lace your hand around his neck. “I do.” You’d told him gently, and your simple admission had made up his mind.

“Fuck.” He’d muttered, just before he’d dipped down and captured your lips with his.

The effect had been instantiations. His lips molded with yours, breathing in your air, as his hand cupped your cheek, long fingers curling around the back of your neck to keep you close to him.

You’d slowly peeled yourself off the door and grabbed at the collar of his shirt, pulling him with you further into the apartment, and into your bedroom. You’d managed to slam your door shut, just before he’d pushed you onto your bed – his lips never leaving yours as he pressed you further into the mattress.

He couldn’t keep his hands off you as you helped him take your clothes off. He could touch you, really touch you the way he’d wanted to for so long now. Nothing was there to hold him back, no cameras, no guards, no medical staff dictating his every move. It was just you and him.

He’d almost froze when he’d seen you’d laid out bare beneath him, soft and glowing against the pale sunshine streaming in from your bedroom window, warming your frame. You’d beamed up at him, tracing your hands up his arms.

“You can touch me.” You’d told him gently. “I trust you. Just be gentle.”

Gentle. Now that was a word he was certain he didn’t have in his vocabulary – but for you, he’d try.

He’d traced your curves gently, listening intently as your breath hitched, or how a small moan would escape past your lips when he touched a particularly sensitive area. Finally, you’d reached up to tug at the hem of his shirt, but he’d grabbed at your hands, making you pause.

“It’s not… I’m not… the scars… aren’t much better under there.” He’d tried to warn you. You’d given him a gentle smile, cupping his cheeks with your hands.

“I don’t mind Touya. You know I don’t care about all that.” You’d smoothed your thumbs over the raised skin of his face. “I love you for you. Regardless of what you look like.”

Love. You… you loved him, didn’t you? Even after everything he’d done while he was an active criminal – you’d somehow grown to love him, while most of the world hated him.

He didn’t necessarily think he was deserving of your love, but hell if he was ever going to point that out to you. He’d almost been tempted to ask you if you were a little bit crazy yourself, but you’d even told him when you had first met that he’d have to find that out for himself.

Maybe you were – just a little bit – but that suited him fine.

A normal girl would never have been able to handle him anyways.

He’d allowed you to help him out of his clothes then, and to your credit, you hadn’t batted an eye at the less than perfect skin covering his body. He may not have been held together by surgical staples anymore, and his body may not have been a mess of burnt patchwork skin like it used to be, but the new skin grafts were raised and patchy – never fully settling properly. It wasn’t often that he got self-conscience about how he looked, but you were different.

You had run your hands up and down the length of his body and marveled him like he was some work of art. He didn’t think he was, but you clearly saw him differently. You’d kissed his marred skin, and if he’d been able to cry, he would have.

You had pulled him down onto your bed and climbed on top of him, much to his surprise. He’d tried to prop himself up, only for you to gently push him back down onto your mattress, giving him a knowing smile all the while.

“Let me take care of you.” You’d whispered to him softly. “We’ll go slow. Gentle. It’s just me and you now.”

It wasn’t like he’d never fucked someone before, but it had been a while, and it was just that: he’d fucked, never loved. He wasn’t sure if he knew any other way when it came to sex, but he knew that he didn’t want to be rough with you like he’d been with his past flings, and so he had relinquished control to you.

He had allowed himself to relax into the mattress as you’d hovered above him, lining him up with your entrance. He was already painfully hard, his body reacting to yours as soon as he’d kissed you. You’d bent down to kiss his throat, relishing how he’d let out a shuddering breath as you’d sunk down onto him. He’d cursed as your tight heat had enveloped him, leaving him boneless and shaking.

He’d brought your face down to his to kiss you as you started moving, moaning as you slowly moved up and down on his shaft. You’d knocked the breath out of his lungs as you whimpered against his lips, still moving your hips against his own.

“Shit.” He’d growled as he’d reached up to wrap an arm around your hips. “Fuck baby. You feel so good. You’re so good for me.”

“You feel so good.” You’d sobbed. “I want you – want to make you feel good.”

“You do. Fuck you do. I want you. I need you.” He’d grunted as he planted his feet into your bed, pistoning his hips up into your body.

“Fuck.” You’d cried out, as you continued to bounce on his cock. “Touya!”

“I’m here. Fuck I’m here, with you. I love you.”

He’d remembered your eyes blowing wide at his confession, just before your body had stiffened up, and your mouth had opened up into a silent scream, as your orgasm had ripped through you – your end triggering his own.

You’d both stayed there for a moment, trying to regain your breath, before you’d slowly separated yourself from him. He hadn’t let you go far – pulling you down to lay beside him, and wrapping himself around you as you nestled into the broad expanse of his chest.

“Stay.” He had rasped as he held you close to him, curling around your smaller frame protectively. He’d known what he was saying was nonsensical – he was in your apartment, you weren’t going anywhere, not really – but thankfully, you seemed to understand what he was trying to say without him outright telling you. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere Touya.” You’d breathed, placing a kiss on the side of his temple. “You’re home now. With me.”

That simple sentence had brought him more comfort than he’d experienced in recent memory. He’d passed out sometime after with you still nude and curled into him, sharing in his warmth.

That had been the best sleep he’d had in years.

After that, he’d fallen into a steady routine of normalcy with you. You’d go to work, while he’d keep himself entertained during the day. Normally, he’d open up the windows in your living room and perch himself on the couch near them, soaking up the feeling of gentle sunbeams on his face, and watching the outside world go by as he waited for you to return later in the evening. You had set up therapy appointments for him every Thursday, and either you or Shoto would take him depending on your schedules. Life settled down, and the outside world continued on around him, even though his world now consisted of your apartment and what he could see outside from your windows.

It wasn’t a coincidence that three pro heroes moved into the building roughly a month after he had moved the last of his menial things into your apartment.

He couldn’t say that he was surprised by the less then subtle way the newly reformed hero commission chose to keep an annoyingly close watch on him, but he was still allowed some freedoms with you, so he figured he could keep his jabs to himself for the time being. 

All and all, life with you was simple easy. For the first time in his life, he could say he was appreciating the little things he never could’ve before his life had turned into a living hell.

For the first time in a very long time, he had hope – something he’d never allowed himself to have before, because what had been the point? He had fully planned on taking himself out in the final fight against Endeavor… but life was strange, and it turned out that it had different plans for him.

While he couldn’t be sure what those plans were yet, they had brought you to him, and that was enough.

He had you, and in the end, that’s all that really mattered—

-----

The sound of one of his skin care products hitting the floor snaps him out of his reprieve. He blinks, and once again, he is standing in your bathroom with the sink running, halfway through the skin maintenance routine that you forced on him once he came to live with you. 

He swears under his breath as he bends down to retrieve the plastic tube with his right arm, only to freeze as he suddenly remembers:

His right arm is gone. He tore it clean off in the brawl against his dad.

He finds it surprising how often he forgets he doesn’t have both his hands anymore. Half the time he swears that his right arm is still intact because he can feel the damn thing, only to look down and see it’s still gone from mid bicep down. You once called it a ‘phantom limb’ and he thinks you might be onto something with how often he’ll go to do something with his right, only to remind himself the arm doesn’t exist anymore.

It doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. Natsuo had offered to set him up an appointment to get him fitted for a prosthetic, but he hadn’t made up his mind on it yet – finding most things pretty manageable even with the lack of his right arm – but he does have days where he wishes he had all of his limbs, and there are certain tasks were having two hands would be more useful than one.

His extensive skin care routine is one of those tasks.

Hilariously, it was one of the conditions of him coming to stay with you initially: for the first time in his life, he was being forced to look after himself.

He had protested initially when you had come back home one day with a plethora of different specialty products for sensitive skin – not seeing the point – but you had insisted that he use them to take care of the newer skin grafts, telling him that if he wanted to continue to stay with you, he’d have to start properly taking care of himself, or you would do it for him.

He had begrudgingly accepted, and he gradually incorporated it into his daily routine. Realistically, he knew he didn’t have much to complain about: he didn’t have many responsibilities as it was, and you had promised him if he kept up with it, you wouldn’t tell his parole officer that you weren’t forcing him take his quirk suppressor medication – one of the conditions of his release.

He grins inwardly to himself as he turns the sink off and pats his face dry. You hadn’t seen the need to enforce that particular rule, seeing how you were quite confident he wasn’t going to burn down your apartment building, and he didn’t have any plans to – lest he be forced to return back to his mother’s home.

Besides, after spending over a year feeling unnaturally cold without his quirk, he was in no rush to return to the weak, powerless state the psychiatric ward had left him in. Even if he couldn’t use his quirk to it’s full, destructive potential like he used to, just knowing that he still had use of his quirk intact was a comfort to him.

He makes his way out of the bathroom, flicking the light off behind him and, pads over to his side of your shared closet, stripping out of his sleep clothes and pulling on a loose shirt and baggy sweats, before heading out into the small living room.

If his younger self could see how he lives now, he’s sure he would’ve turned his nose up in disgust before calling him a sell-out, and a gnarled part of him still thinks that to some level, however; when he thinks back to how he used to live on the streets for close to a decade, he’ll take the easy, comfy life-style you allow him to live in your home in a heart-beat.

He used to wonder about where he would get his next meal – now his biggest inconvenience is that he’s bored whenever you’re not at home. How the times change.

He turns on the T.V. and sets it to a low volume as he moves into the kitchen and opens the fridge, pulling out a few miscellaneous items and setting them on the counter, before getting to work on prepping the food.

He doesn’t eat much, even now his metabolism is still messed up from the years of cumulative damage his body sustained, but he found himself making food for you when he first moved into your apartment as a way to keep himself occupied while you were at work. Most of his cooking attempts consist of cup noodles, and whatever else was easy to make, but every once in a while, he’d put a bit more effort into what he made, so long as you had the ingredients for it.

He curses to himself as he painstakingly prepares an easy meal of miso soup and yaki, his lack of a right arm slowing down his progress. Eventually he finishes his meal prep and puts his creation away as he waits for you to come home, moving to his usual spot by the window on your living room couch, before sitting down and indulging in some mindless reality T.V. show.

He watches the show absentmindedly, barely paying attention to what’s playing on the screen as he basks in the warm sunlight streaming in from outside. He glances over to his left to see his reflection staring back at him from a hanging mirror across the room, and has to fight the urge to flinch at what’s staring back at him.

Even after all of the love and tenderness you allowed him to experience while living with you, he still looked rough, and there were days where he felt it more than others. He may not have been able to feel pain in the normal sense, but his body aches constantly and there are additional issues he deals with daily. 

He’s painfully aware that he probably doesn’t have a lot of time on the earth. He’s in his late twenties, too damn early to be faced with his own mortality, but he knows there’s no use in trying to dance around the subject. With his body being what it is, he’d be surprised if he made it to fifty, but he knows better than to voice that out loud. The one-time he had confessed his inner thoughts to you, you had damn near burst into tears, and he found that he couldn’t stand to see you like that, so he keeps his morbid thoughts to himself.

The sound of the apartment door opening snaps him out of his depressing reprieve. He looks up, only to see you closing the door to the apartment, hanging your keys up and kicking your shoes off.  He gets up off the couch and pads over to you, greeting you with a little smile.

“You’re home early.”

You turn around to face him, smiling. “Yeah, I finished early today. Figured I’d come back and see what you were up to.”

He snorts as he takes your bag from you, setting it down on the small bench you had set up near your front door. “Not much, you know that. S’not like I can leave the building without you or Shoto escorting me.”

You roll your eyes, gracing him with a teasing smile. “How is he anyways? You talked to your family at all recently?”

He shrugs. “Not really. You know my phone usage is heavily monitored anyways.”

“I told them that – your mom reached out to me recently – she was hoping to meet up with you for lunch soon, and she hadn’t heard from you in a bit.”

“Ah. I don’t look at my phone very often. Tell her that I’m down. I’ll reach out at some point.” He nods towards the kitchen. “I made dinner.”

You beam at him. “You didn’t have to do that.” You lean in to press a kiss to the rough skin of his cheek, and he feels his heart speed up in his chest. Even though the physical affection you gave him isn’t anything new, it’s still amazing how much of an effect you had on him.

The fire that he keeps buried in his chest flares to life as you turned away from him briefly, but he doesn’t let you go far. He snakes an arm around your middle, pulling you back to him, causing you to look up at him.

“I’ve missed you.” He mumbles quietly into your hair. You simply wrap your arms around his torso and snuggle into his chest.

“Missed you too.” You tell him quietly. He swallowed thickly, as he allowed his hand to splay further down your back.

“I really missed you; I mean.”

You smile up at him gently, wiggling your eyebrows. “Did you now?”

“Mmmm.”

His hummed response causes your grin to grow wider. “Wanna show me?”

He doesn’t humor you with a response – instead opting to take you by the hand and lead you towards your shared bedroom with teasing grin of his own. He allows you to kick the door closed behind you, before dipping down to bite on the skin of your neck, causing a giggle to escape your lips as his hands wander up and down your frame.

“Off.” He grunts, tugging on your clothes. You smirk at his demand, pulling at the hairs at the nape of his neck to get him to look at you.

“I think you could ask me a bit nicer, right?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “Please.”

“That’s better.” You smile sweetly at him, separating yourself from him long enough to shimmy out of your pants and strip out of your shirt, leaving you in your bra and panties before him.

He kisses the back of his teeth as he closes the distance between you, wrapping a muscular arm around you as he captures your lips with his rough ones. He feels you sigh into the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck.

It wasn’t often that he initiated physical contact like this – he not shy by any means, but he’s not used to having such close relations with another person. He’d been a loner for such a long time after escaping the hospital, and any physical contact he somehow managed to receive from woman he’d met in sketchy bars during those miserable years had never been meaningful or fulfilling. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

But you wanted him, and you weren’t shy about letting him know just that.

He had no problems letting you remind him of the latter.

He feels your hands travel down from around his neck to the bottom of his shirt, tugging on it. “Off please.” You murmur against his lips, and he separates from you long enough to yank his shirt off, before coming back to embrace your soft body with his own hot one.

He presses you back against the bed, gently pushing you down to lay on the mattress as he hovered above you. He dips back down to seal his lips with yours, as he feels your fingertips trail down the rough skin of his stomach until they reached the waistband of his sweats. He smirks as he feels you undo the drawstrings and push them down his slender hips, pushing them down low enough for his cock to spring free.

“Seems like you’re just as eager as me.” He sniggers as he sits up long enough to shuck them off, giving you a moment to unhook your bra and toss it across the room.

You don’t humor him with a response as you sit up to stroke his cock, causing him to hiss as your fingers wrap around his shaft. He lets you have your way for a moment before gently pushing you back down onto the mattress, causing you to look up at him quizzically as he shakes his head.

“Not today babe, let me do the work.”

He feels his heart pound in his ribcage, as a look of realization passes over your pretty features. A smile pulls at your lips as you open your arms and beckons him down to you, which he eagerly accepts. He nips and kisses the skin of your neck as he makes quick work of your panties, causing you to moan softly as he runs his fingers up the length of your dripping slit.

“God.” He groans as he attacks your lips again. “So, fucking wet for me. You want me, right?”

“Yes Touya.” You breathe against his lips, allowing your fingers to trace patterns into the scarred expanse of his back. “Always. Always you.”

He feels his destroyed tear ducts sting slightly at the sincerity of your confession. Even though you’ve assured him you only want him countless times before, it was something he never quite got used to hearing.

The entirety of his life before you was spent in fire and hardship. Kindness was something foreign to him, and being allowed to be vulnerable with another person was something he never even considered. He never thought he’d live long enough to be able to do so regardless – accepting that he destined to spend what was left of his life alone – and so the thought had never crossed his mind.

But he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. Not since you had unexpectedly come into his life.

He had you. Body, mind and soul, he belonged to you. He knew there was no way he would ever have the words to tell you that, so he hoped that he could convey his message clearly enough by showing you just how much you meant to him.

He taps your leg, getting you to wrap your legs around his lean waist, as he lines himself up with your opening. You thread your fingers through his soft white spikes as he slowly begins to push himself into your pussy, causing you to whimper as he begins to stretch your walls out.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He growls as he bullies his way into your tight heat. “You’re perfect for me. Just you – you’re the only one I want.”

“Me too.” You gasp as you dig your nails into his shoulder to ground yourself. “I’m so glad I got to meet you. S-so glad you’re here with me—”

Your eyes open impossibly, as he suddenly snaps his hips forward and drives himself home deep inside your walls, causing you both to moan. He barely gives you any time to recover before he starts moving. He fists his hand in the sheets beside your head as he focuses his energy into keeping his thrusts deep and strong, just how he knows you like it.

He grins down at you almost sadistically, watching as your eyes roll back from the force of his thrusts. “S’matter? Don’t tell me you’re giving up already?”

“N-no.” you moan as he gives you a particularly hard thrust. “I just—oh, fuck!” you wail as you feel him hit a practically sensitive spot inside you, causing him to grin wickedly.

“Eyes on me gorgeous.”

“You’re mean.” You huff, but center your attention on him regardless, causing him to chuckle, and reward you with another harsh thrust.

“I know.” He practically purrs as he shifts his weight to his knees. He grabs the meat of your hip, and starts pounding you harder than before, making you keen and fist your hands into the sheets as his pelvis brushes up against your clit deliciously.

“Fuck, Touya! I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum!” you cry out, warning him of your impending release, but it only makes him double down and fuck you harder, determined to see you climax before him.

“Yeah? Well, go ahead sweetheart: come on this cock. C’mon, c’mon; I know you’re going to, I can feel you squeezing me just right, so do it. Let go for me pretty girl, just let go.”

He feels your walls convulse around him and your back arches slightly off the bed as you climax with a desperate cry at his words. The sight of you coming undone beneath him is so hot it does him in a few strokes later, spilling deep inside your walls with a feral growl of his own.

You both stay like that for a few minutes, fighting to catch your breaths, before you unlock your legs from around his waist, allowing him to pull out of you. He pulls back to grin at the combination of your fluids that leak out from in between your legs, and you roll your eyes. He makes a move to the bathroom to grab you a towel, only for you to shake your head.

“Later.” You murmur, as you pat the spot on the bed next to you. “Come lie with me for a few minutes.”

He laughs quietly at your antics, but obliges your request, and climbs over you to collapse into the vacant space on the bed next to you, and you don’t hesitate to move over to him. 

“God, you can be relentless sometimes.” You pant as you curl up into his side. He simply snorts at your assessment as he drapes his arm around you protectively.

“Maybe. I am a villain after all sweetheart.”

“You were.” You manage to grumble as you make yourself comfortable, eventually settling on resting your head on his chest so you can hear his heartbeat. “You’re not now.”

“Yeah, well. Attitude never changed. Surprised you put up with me for as long as you did.”

“You weren’t so bad.” You murmur softly, tracing shapes into the rough skin of his stomach. “If I thought you were, I wouldn’t have come back after we first met.”

“Why did you come back after the first time anyways? I can’t remember if you ever told me.” He suddenly raises his head so he’s looking at you. You meet his blazing turquoise irises with a calm gaze of your own and wink at him teasingly.

“I’m crazy remember?”

“Must be, if you came to see one of Japan’s most wanted almost every day for damn near two years straight. But seriously, why?”

You’re quiet for a moment before you answer him. When you do, you shift your head slightly on his chest so you can see his face better.

“I suppose it’s because all your rage… all your anger towards the injustice of everything you’d gone through up until that point… it reminded me of myself, in a way.” You admit softly, causing him to quirk a snowy brow at your confession.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things you said on your initial broadcast—" you continue on before he can ask. “—like how there were a lot of shitty things about hero society you weren’t wrong about. Honestly, for a long time there, I felt just as pissed off with some of those so-called “Pro’s” as you. Some of them were only doing it for the money and fame, you could tell.” You exhale through your nose.

“But, on the other hand, there were so many good things happening to change those problems that you didn’t see because you were on the outsider.” You fall silent for a moment before adding:

“You just seemed so hurt, so raw with everything you were saying. I told myself there and then, if I ever got the opportunity to meet you, I’d show you not everything is as bad as it seemed. Never thought I’d get the chance honestly, and yet, one day, the opportunity to meet you face to face practically dropped into my lap. How could I not take the offer?”

“Was I what you’d thought I’d be?” he finds himself asking you, not completely sure if he wants to know the answer. You simply send him one of your glowing smiles that sends tingles down to his stomach.

“No, you were better.”

He snorts, shifting his arm so he’s tracing his warm fingertips up and down your nude body. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m serious. Even now, you’re doing so much better with handling everything then I thought you would. You’re resilient, and you adapt when you need to, but you’ve definitely changed… in a good way. You’re not as hateful anymore… you’re calmer, more accepting.”

“Yeah well, the shrinks have you to thank for that. Far as I’m concerned, they don’t do anything. I just see them so I can stay with you.” He grumbles, prompting you to giggle, before shifting you so you’re lying on your sides, facing each other.

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, inwardly softening as he watches you lean into his warm touch, before dropping his hand back down in between your bodies.

“I know I’m not very good at these sorts of things, but… you know I love you, right?”

He’s hopeful that you understand. He doesn’t say it often to you, and he knows he probably should, but even after all the time he’s spent with you, that involves you showing him what a healthy relationship looks like, it’s still not an easy thing for him to say. Hell, he has a hard enough time saying it to his own mother, let alone anyone else.

He’ll probably always have a difficult time admitting it. Love is an emotion he’s never had a good understanding of, seeing how it was so sked for him a s a child. Even now, the concept is a foreign one for him to understand, but thankfully, you seem to be more aware of this than anyone else.

You find his hand with one of your own and lace your fingers together, squeezing it tightly.

“I know Touya. I’ve always known.”

FIN

[radioapple-heathen]

My Top 10 Radioapple Fic 'Series' Recs

I've been working on this for a while. With nearly 4k fics for this ship on A03 (at the time of me writing this rec list), it can be difficult to find gems. I was really grateful for the rec lists I stumbled upon when I first joined this fandom, and I want to share the fics that have changed my brain chemistry with both newcomers and oldtimers alike. As with all rec lists, this list is completely subjective and curtailed to my tastes/preferences. I'm also sure this list will change with time as more fics get added to the fandom. As of mid-2024 though, here's where I'm at.

For background, I am an acespec 30+ married woman with ADHD raising a AuDHD child, and I appreciate fics that handle these aspects with respect and care. I've also been in fandom/writing for 20+ years, never professionally, always for fun.

My fic preferences:

I gravitate towards crisp prose that is sophisticated but not weighed down by excessive $5 dollar words. I like my fic like I like my food: digestible. The writing doesn't have to be perfect (typos and grammatical errors happen, that I can deal with) but the characterization is important to me.

I gravitate towards top!Lucifer because Alastor is a prissy little power bottom, but there are certainly exceptions to that on this list. At my core, though, I think they're switches with preferences.

I gravitate towards fics that have a nice balance of plot and romance, preferably leaning more towards the latter. I read fanfic for the relationship so if the plot supersedes the 'radioapple'-ness, I tend to find myself drifting/skimming, before giving up altogether.

I gravitate towards fics in sub <200k. Again this is an attention thing, no fault of the author, people loveee long fics. But often, even if I'm loving a fic, I'm like okay, where are we going with this? Again, some exceptions, which I'll highlight below.

I can be picky about my slow burns, like if it takes 100k to hold hands, I'll prob pass? BUT THIS IS JUST ME AND I HAVE THE ATTENTION SPAN OF A GOLDFISH AND I WANT TO FORCE THEIR HEADS TOGETHER AND MAKE THEM KISS ASAP?????

I gravitate towards genderfluid or intersex Lucifer, he's a shapeshifter and an angel, it just.. makes sense to me.

I have a preference for M or E-rated fics. I just really love the vulnerability and character development that can be explored through intimacy, especially in re: to Alastor's ace-ness. And what can I say? I wanna read about twink king getting it on with his deer man. That being said, I do have some T+ recs in my multi-chap/oneshot rec list.

Anyways. With all that said, let's get into the actual fics. Note, this isn't an exhaustive list, I could rec fics forever, there's so much talent in this fandom. These are just the ones that have altered my genetic makeup.

Top 10 Series

1.) All changed, changed utterly by @tollingreminiscentbells

Series: Complete. Rated: E. POV: Alastor for installments 1-5. Last installment (6) it switches. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

This is actually my favorite radioapple fic/series in the entire fandom. This series has rendered me somehow both speechless and bursting at the seams with praise. The writing is superb, the prose is elegant, but also easy to parse. Alastor meeting Lucifer as a human (and then again, in Hell) is by far my favorite trope of this ship, and this author takes said trope and weaves it into a masterpiece. The way they write Lucifer’s character (grieved by wrongs and loss, ancient and capable and so, so loving) is such a joy. And Alastor, god. I personally find Alastor’s POV tricky to write. He is a very complex character with a very specific narration voice, whimsical and deadly and clever and emotional stunted and possessive of what's his — which in this case, is Lucifer. I will never be able to sing enough praises. It truly cemented my love for this wonderful, complex, violently loving ship.

2.) Between the Shadow & the Soul by winterveritas

Series: In Progress. Rated: E. POV: Alastor. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

This author will pop up several times because everything they touch is gold. I really love this take on the radioapple dynamic where Alastor is rather smitten from the start, because I feel like many fics drag him kicking and screaming into admitting he cares (mine included, no shade). But like, Winter is able to write him this way while still keeping him in-character imo, and I just... love it???

3.) Lucifer and his Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Relationship by @keelywolfe

Series: In Progress. Rated: E. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

You might actually be living under a rock if you haven't read this series. If that's the case, I IMPLORE YOU, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, read this series. It has one of the best Lucifer's narration voices I've ever read. Also, it has one of my favorite tropes: "slow burn but they're fucking the whole time." AND AND AND intersex!top!Lucifer, YES PLEASE???? This series also is one of my 'typical attention span for fics' exceptions because it just hit 200k, and I am still 100% invested. I could read about these two idiots forever.

4.) Wicked Game by TrashDemonX

Series: In Progress. Rated: E. POV: Alastor. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Not gonna lie, I went into this with the idea of just like, Smut Galore (and it is, bless), but it's actually become just a fascinating character study on Alastor. Impeccable writing, and there is currently one chapter left of part 3 AND I AM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH FOR IT???? This is a top!Alastor fic but Lucifer isn't like a pillow princess, my man is involved and so for me, it works well. I can't say enough about how WELL this author writes Alastor's voice. Again, not an easy feat imo.

5.) Radioapple Broadcast by blatantblue

Series: Complete. Rated: E. POV: Alastor for Part 1, Lucifer for Part 2, Alastor for Part 3. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: This was a positive JOY. Incredible writing and storytelling. Dom/sub undertones which is a huge plus for me, especially when Alastor is the sub. I reread this series often (and I usually am not a huge reread-er unless its been a while), but this is just a comfort fic, I think.

6.) Cataclysmic Cathechism by @wyldefire-writings

Series: Complete. Rated: E. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: MPreg.

Notes:

I am about to show my entire ass right now but this series. My LORD.

Not gonna lie, MPreg was actually a squick for me before I joined this fandom/ship, but after reading this fic specifically, I'm now like, Al, my deer, my main man, knock that KoH the fuck up. Honestly, this was such a ride, and both of the boys were written SO WELL. Also, this author has the funniest A/N's I've ever had the pleasure of reading.

7. Hunger Pains by @theaffablescamp

Series: In Progress. Rated: E. POV: Switches. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

Excellent writing and some very intriguing plot happening right now. Has arguably the most intense wing preening session I have ever read that legit lives rent free in my head. Another "slow burn but they're fucking the whole time" fic which is just delightful.

8.) machinations by fiveandnocents

Series: Complete. Rated: T-M. POV: Switches. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes:

AHH I love this so much. Essentially, Alastor strikes up a relationship with Lucifer, as a means to manipulate him AND THE IDIOT FALLS IN LOVE UGHHH. It's chef's kiss. Spectacular characterization, this could be canon, and I'd be like yep, this happens in season 2, haha.

9.) By Name by @eunicorne

Series: Complete. Rated: E. POV: Switches. Genre: Canon Divergence/Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: Gore, Consensual Murder? He regens, it's fine.

Notes:

So. I will continue to show my ass. As a note, I don't like violence/gore for violence's sake but when there are BDSM undertones and aftercare, I'm a fucking goner. This was one of my first dives into very dark aspects of radioapple, and I.. my brain chemistry has been altered by this series.

10.) imagine being loved by me by deliciously deviant

Series: In-Progress. Rated: E. POV: Switches. Notable Warnings: Gore, Consensual Cannibalism, I have never met a deader dove.

Notes:

Incredible writing and character voices BUT HOLY SHIT not for the weak or even average stomach. Again, I am soft for the whole, "I'm gonna cause you pain that you want/need to get out of your head" and I feel like I couldn't leave this rec out just bc of the content matter, but I am serious, read at your own risk.

AND THERE YOU HAVE IT. If you have any series recs of your own, feel free to share in the comments!

I also have my top 10 Multi-Chaptered (non-series) and top 10 oneshots recs list in my drafts rn, I'll be posting those in the next few days!

[illuminatedquill]

🖌️ 🧠 🖼️ for the Sabezra Secret Santa Ask Game?

Another one, thank you

Here we go . . .

🖌️:

Favorite Sabezra work I’ve made - Sweet Christmas anon, you’re asking me to pick a favorite among my children? Sheesh.

. . . Well, gun to my head, I suppose my favorite would have to be Princess Lenora and the Starboy. That one came while writing another fic because Sabine needed a favorite fairytale and I just came up with it on the fly. The idea was so good that I had to write it out fully.

It’s my favorite because Star Wars is, at its heart, a modern fairytale. All the best stories are, really. So, I always jump at the chance to add to the tapestry that is Sabine and Ezra because I think their relationship is essentially a core theme of what makes Star Wars great.

This one is near and dear to my heart because of how nicely it wraps up with Sabine and Ezra’s last words to each other. It was a joy to write.

🧠:

Favorite Sabezra headcanons - hoooo boy, do I have lots of thoughts about these two.

- I wrote about this recently in my domestic Sabezra fanfic Quiet Night, but Sabine and Ezra split the house chores between cleaning and maintenance. Sabine handles the latter, with Ezra doing the former.

- Since these two were denied a proper childhood/teenage experience, they are absolutely silly in their adult years and indulge in stuff that others of their age would deem childish.

- Sabine is horrendously down bad for post-exile Ezra. Who can blame her.

- Ezra continuously grapples with Sabine’s Big Decision during the events of Ahsoka that allowed her to find him. He tries to make up for it by constantly pushing himself to be the best he can for everyone around him. Anything less, in his eyes, would make him unworthy of what Sabine did and the cost it took on the galaxy.

- Sabine does not cook. Ezra handles all the cooking.

- Ezra and Murley are secretly rivals for Sabine’s affections. They play nice when she’s around, though.

- Sabine is secretly filthy rich thanks to being from high ranking Mandalorian family but she doesn’t really care about money. Ezra, having lived on the streets of Lothal as a child, almost has a heart attack when he sees how much money Sabine has when they make a joint bank account.

- If there is a Tumblr or A03 that exists in-universe, then Sabine has an account and constantly looks up Sabezra content. She shares the best stuff to a group chat with Hera, Zeb, and Ahsoka.

- Sabine and Ezra have really good singing voices and actually release some albums under a pseudonym band name (Starbird and the Wolf).

- Sabine never returns to Krownest, instead choosing to rebuild her clan with Ezra on Lothal, with their beloved comm-tower as the new Clan Wren residence.

- As a surprise gift for Sabine on one of her birthdays, Ezra takes her to an art gallery with portraits of her during candid moments that were all drawn and painted by him. Their first child, Mira, is conceived later that night.

- Did I mention that Sabine is down horrendous for Ezra. Well, I’m mentioning it again. It’s important.

I have so many more. Maybe someday I’ll write about them later.

🖼️:

Favorite Sabezra work that someone else has made.

Any art by @alphaofdarkness. Go check out their work, it’s super gorgeous, and also Eman Esfandi and Natasha Liu Bordizzo have seen and liked it.

[ao3feed-piltovers-finest]

CaitVi a03 rss feed update Jan 2025

Okay, this has been a long overdue PSA, seeing that S2 came and went and, regardless how any of us feel about it (or because of it, seeing the amount of fix-it fics?) it left an amazing power of inspiration, seeing that there are.. .70-100 new fics being posted every day? Now, since the very beginning, back in Dec 2021, the point of this place was always the convenience, as well as to connect all those talents out there to a hopefully wider audience - while at the same time sparing everyone from the problematic stuff also being written/posted (that most of us would like to avoid) so therefore, for the overwhelming number of the new followers – here are some basic house rules:

CONTENT: It is at this point absolutely impossible to read everything, so we can not offer guarantees about any content quality. So it goes without saying that, based on what’s presented from descriptions and the tags - it’s your choice to peruse, or respectfully move on. It is the responsibility of both author and the reader - the first one of creating the content (and of course marking/tagging it appropriately) and the latter one making their own choice about consuming and engaging. 

TAGS: To prevent any unpleasant situations, ALL posted fics must have pertinent, unambiguous tags - main, as well as all the additional ones. The content itself is naturally writer’s prerogative, but the issue of the reader’s choice to engage or not is also non-negotiable, and then everything is simple: if forewarned about the content, one can still choose to give it a shot, or not. Insufficient or inappropriate tagging may lead to misunderstandings and/or dismay, and that’s exactly why everyone out there usually does abide to the common tagging courtesies. On the other hand, if a fic has been tagged with something possibly problematic only as an act of cautiousness - while it does not really contain any graphic content like that - it might still be posted, upon careful screening. In that case, all readers are still advised to use their blacklists.

BLACKLISTS: People create these spaces to present their content and all the safewords and blacklists are unfortunately a necessity, ultimately to protect ourselves as well as everyone else. As stated in the initial post - we will be filtering all extreme content (rape, underage, gore, incest, beast, etc) but please use your own regular blacklists for anything else. If there are any other discrepancies or inconsistencies to this rule, please inform us and we shall review accordingly. 

MISSING FICS: With the overwhelming number of fics, there’s also a problem of cross-posted stuff that does not belong here. Namely Jayvik or Timebomb (M/M and F/M) where Cait/Vi are tagged regardless of being just a background ship, or barely present as characters. Due to the limitations of the RSS feed app we utilise here (and no, they are not free - in case anyone cares) the conditions, as broadly defined as we tried to make them - category, relationships, specific additional tags - simply HAD to be set. Therefore with such filters, some fics may not pass. In which case, if it’s your fic – and you feel it still belongs here, let us know and we'll see what we can do about it. But if you do, please act immediately as we cannot go through hundreds of month-old posts.

FIC SEARCH: Unfortunately this page is NOT a "can you find a fic for me" page. We tried to facilitate that in the beginning - but alas, not a lot of you were interested in partaking - and helping others. And we here do not (and can not, physically) read everything, nor we keep libraries. So, if there's a general interest we can still set up a tag, or start a community with that purpose - fic search or general fic chat. But again, there would have to be an interest from a lot more than the few of us here - for that thing to work. In the meantime, you have "AUTHOR-FIC-TAG-POST SEARCH" option on the non-dash version of ao3feed-piltovers-finest.tumblr.com main page if accessed from your browser, and not the app.

DISCUSSIONS: Not really here to facilitate discussions (be it about systemic issues, encroaching the spaces of others - or authorial egos and other similar nonsense) nor to arbitrate personal issues and conflicts - this page is here ONLY for the fanfiction, good vibes and (hopefully great) stories about the characters we all love. So if you feel inclined to, only fanfiction reviews, recommendations, suggestions and proposals will be encouraged.

FIC RECS: Occasionally, per request - we did provide some fic recommendations in the past. Not sure if/when it might be occurring again - but as always, do feel free to share your own. As posts, comments and/or submissions, but with brief or detailed reviews, please. And we will all be grateful.

That’s it. Keep enjoying the fics, and if you do… as always - make sure to let the authors know.

Cheers! 🌈

[carleyt]

It’s been a while since I posted here, but for the past several months I’ve been writing a story for the Heartstopper fandom, which I’ve been enjoying very much.

If you like Heartstopper and are looking for something new to add to that reading list, I have a boarding school au you might like: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55030384/chapters/139509187

Rating: Mature

Words: 71,128

Chapters: 12/30

Status: In progress

Tags: listed in bold at the start of each chapter (as well as listed in the tags portion of A03)! Please be aware this story contains angst surrounding mental health, ED, and SH. It does have a happy ending, and there is plenty of fluff interwoven in each chapter as well.

Summary: ‘God, I’ve jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. He only needs to hear the loud voices and taunts to know that he’s attending another school full of insufferable (this time rich) twats who would most likely look down on him the second they somehow found out he got lucky enough to attend on a last-minute scholarship. And what’s worse? He can’t escape them.’

***

Charlie Spring had two options: move to Spain with his family, or go to boarding school two hours outside of Kent with Tori. He chose the latter. He’s starting to think he picked the wrong one.

Nick Nelson counted down the days until he could be a Prefect. He couldn’t wait for the power and respect it would garner him. He’s starting to think he doesn’t want that anymore.

***

Or, when secrets are spilled Charlie has to learn how to rely on his new friends and Nick needs to learn who his real ones are. And maybe along the way they’ll learn how to rely on each other.

[duchessdepolignaca03]

several sentences Sunday - except its 500 filthy crack words

It wouldn't be a Several Sentences Sunday if I wasn't posting on technically Monday morning, and if it wasn't much longer than several sentences. Thank you for the tag @onthewaytosomewhere @sparklepocalypse @priincebutt @hgejfmw-hgejhsf and @taste-thewaste. I'm not going to tag anyone else because its MONDAY.

I seriously contemplated posting some bullets for my interview assignment just to troll/bore everyone. But after my work computer died, I decided to put my brain to better, less productive uses. And this is what happened to answer the question: What if Alex is a journalist who is tasked with confirming a scoop that Prince Henry is gay as a maypole?

It's 500 words. I don't know if there's more to this. Probably not. So I'm going to post it here and decide whether to post it on A03 later.

Warning: EXPLICIT and Spicy! This is the spiritual sequel to "Pull It, Sir, Prize" I suppose, with far less gloriously unhinged vocabulary.

This is the story of how Alex Claremont-Diaz found himself doing a Grand Plie at the end of a kitchen island in Kensington Palace, eating the deliciously majestic ass of His Royal Highness, Prince Henry of Wales. 

HRH is making the most obscene sounds as he fellates a cornetto, licking it from cone tip to the top of the rapidly disappearing mound of strawberry ice cream. Alex watches from his vantage view between the Prince’s legs, though his view is partially obscured by the enormity of the Prince’s cock. His Royal Cock (HRC, for short), by the way, is wet with precum and Alex’s saliva from when Alex was the one doing the fellating. The HRC, not the cornetto - the latter of which is objectively less delicious than the former.

Alex’s own WCC (Working Class Cock), is sadly helpless and lacking for friction besides the kiss of the cold marble. It twitches when HRH starts lewdly licking the cornetto drippings from his unexpectedly and hornifingly muscular forearm. Alex squeezes his glutes to steady himself, but they are burning with effort, especially as they are already slightly sore from the brutal spanking HRH had given him in the backseat of his opulent Rolls-Royce. 

Better speed this up, he thinks, before he comes untouched or his knees and glutes give out from the uncomfortable position. He presses down on HRH’s prostate with his finger as he licks broad stripes with the flat of his tongue along HRH’s perineum, giving him some dizzying internal and external stimulation.  He’d found the Royal P-Spot a while ago, but stimulated it sparingly out of a desire not to see the cornetto flung into his hair by the overly aroused Prince. 

It’s clear he’s made the right call when the cornetto does get flung across the room as HRH’s orgasm rips through him, HRH shouting obscenities that only makes Alex work harder, like the sadist he is. When he’s come down enough, HRH wipes the cum off his own belly with the flat of his palm, then shoves that hand through Alex’s curls, gripping tightly and pulling Alex up to face him. Rude. And filthy. Turns out Alex liked that.

“So, does this confirm you’re gay then?” Alex asks, grinning cockily. How HRH still manages to look imperious is beyond him, especially when he barely seems able to catch his breath. Alex takes a moment to wipe his face with a wet-wipe and rinse out his mouth with some whitewash. They learned from Round Two. Breath smelling minty fresh, he walks to the other end of the kitchen island to place an upside down kiss on HRH’s “dictionary definition of dick-sucking” lips. 

“I’m still not sure. I think I’ll need at least four more go-rounds to make sure before we put it on the record.”  “Four rounds? Let’s make it five. For the sake of journalistic integrity.” “Well, in that case, if it’s for the sake of journalistic integrity, we should make it at least ten sex sessions, and two romantic dates. We’re going to get you that Pulitzer Prize for Investigative Journalism, baby.” 

“Deal.”

[patternwelded-quill]

Myka's (New) Intro!

I'm going to make me a fresh 

Writblr Intro

Just like revising a story!

I kinda-sorta did before, but not really, so here's a new one. I'll also be rolling the status updates for my fanfics in here for those of you following me for my apparent obsession with Ranma and elves...

My name is Myka, she/her. Nice to meet you!

I'm a trans swordsmith, armorer, jeweler, and watchmaker. I'm also an artist and author, and like all creatives, I have my days where I love my works and days where I hate them and think they're trash. For example, I did the trans flag colors on the rank pips of my PFP, but they're too tiny to see, so I'm planning to redo it out of frustration!

I'm here to build friendships and community. So feel free to send me a message or an ask about metalwork if you're looking for answers or curious. Tag games are great, too, I try to get to them within a day or so of the notif.

Original Works:

Red Angel Saga (Irae, Interitus, Impere): The story of Relarial, an elven mercenary warlord and grandmother, as she attempts to avenge the death of her family, recover from that terrible loss, and return to some semblance of a life she understands. Rated R (for Relarial, hah!) for ultraviolence and the fact that she can't avoid constant profanities.

-Status: Book 1 is being revised/rewritten, book 2 is rough drafted, and book 3 is outlined and halfway drafted.

Blades of Fate (Iron Fist in a Velvet Glove): Captain Malekah Thaynn was a divisive figure, known to some as a hero and others as the 'Butcher of Borderwatch.' The latter helped get her tossed into a dark hole for years until someone thought she'd be useful to their ambitions. But you don't pick up the epithet of a butcher of anything by playing nice with assholes.

-Status: Book 1 is a rough drafted hot mess, but it's my hot mess, I guess.

Fanfiction:

Wet Behind the (Long) Ears: What if Ranma was knocked into the 'Spring of Drowned *Elf* Girl'?

-Status: Part 1 is complete, and I am contemplating continuation!

The Stone Will Sing: Thematic companion to WB(L)E. Maybe Ranma's so short as a girl is because it was a young dwarf girl who drowned in Nyannichuan. Or perhaps the Khazad didn't die out, but vanished as a distinct race. Worldbuilding crossover with LoTR.

-Status: Up to chapter nine, linked above. Have yet to be accused of blasphemy against Tolkien.

Twice the Curse? Double the Fun!: Ranma discovers that P-chan is actually his old frenemy Ryoga. But somehow the Lost Boy managed to get himself *two* Jusenkyo curses. ...or, did he? One-shot for muffinmoonn.

-Status: Drafting, using as a nice palate cleanser when I get stressed with other writing.

Child of Sin: Soun and Genma end up in debt to an old-school fae, but one of them (nobody is surprised) reneges on the deal. Amusement at his suffering ensues.

-Status: Drafting

Big Wish in a Small Pond: What happens when you mix video games, wishing swords, and a damn fool? More trouble for Saotome Ranma, that's what.

-Status: Up to chapter 10!

Once We Were Warriors: OC Relarial is isekai'd into a 1996 Tokyo shared by Ranma 1/2 and Sailor Moon. This was prompted by a convo w/ a friend about our OCs as Senshi.

-Status: Book 1 is posted on A03, book 2 is rough drafted, and book 3 is being outlined.

[cosmicjoke]

This isn't a question but you know, you're right about how fandom tends to focus on shipping a lot. I noticed it myself in the statistics of some of the stuff I post on ao3. The data for this really short, whimsical romance work that popped in my head as a spontaneous idea is significantly higher than the non-romantic, character-study-like work I'm writing, yet I put a significantly greater amount of effort into the latter work. Obviously, it's not the same in things like genre or length, so it probably isn't very accurate in comparison, but somehow I feel the point still stands. It was pretty disappointing to see, and I wonder if you've noticed a similar pattern in your own ao3 works.

100%. My romance based stories consistently get more views and comments than my stories that focus on other things. For "Attack on Titan" specifically, I've written a lot of stories that focus on Levi's life growing up in the Underground, or his relationship with Furlan and Isabel, and those stories get way fewer hits and comments than my AoT stories that pair Levi romantically with someone. And then there's levels to that, too. Like my story that pairs Levi with Onyankopon gets way fewer hits and views, on average, than my eruri stories, for example. And my Levi/Onyankopon story doesn't even really focus primarily on romance, so much as it does Levi's disabilities post-canon. But yeah, it is disappointing, because for me, personally, character studies are way more interesting to read than some generic romance story, lol. Especially if you've put a great deal more effort into a piece of writing than another, but it's the one you put less effort into that gets the most attention. But people are preoccupied with romance and shipping, so what can you do? A lot of people read fanfic to indulge in their sexual fantasies it seems. The vast majority of stories on a03, at least in the AoT fandom, seem to focus on smut, and majority wise, a lot of that is Xreader fiction, or again with Levi specifically, the most popular ship outside of LeviXreader fiction is Levi/Eren, which... yeah, no thanks, lol.

I think in other fandoms, maybe it isn't so prevalent. I have a few stories in other fandoms that aren't heavily focused or at all focused on shipping, and they're more popular and get more hits and comments than any of my AoT stories. I feel like the AoT fandom in general has a shipping problem, which is so bizarre, since AoT has almost nothing to do with romance as a theme at all.

[lololollywrites]

My Sherlock Fics (AO3):

Current Count: 9 Stories (1 series [3 works], 6 standalones); 168,513+ words)

Profile: Lololly

(I also have some Harry Potter fics if you're interested, despite my vehement hatred for JK Rowling. They were originally written or started in 2012, so I hope that explains that.)

Fic Series: Earthly Pomp (Is But a Dream)

Please check all story tags on A03 prior to reading. No major archive warnings apply for the first two fics in the series; none are E-rated. The series is canon-compliant post S4 - it's my attempt to make things right in my own mind. John and Sherlock come back together, talk things out, confess their love, and then... run into some difficulties of the Serbian variety in the third fic. That's where the warnings will come in. This has been so fun to write so far!

Link to entire series on AO3

Part 1: Step. Jump. Leap. Step. Ficlet. John comes home. (775 words)

Part 2: Of Sweat, Sociopathy, Scars, and Secrets. Oneshot. John approaches Sherlock with a theory. Much more is revealed than he anticipated. And Sherlock, well... he had been waiting for this. Inevitable. (Here's the Johnlock, ya'll. 8,206 words)

Part 3: Winter’s Storm Sherlock had buried the past. Shut Serbia away in the attic of his mind palace. Muddy footprints at a heinous crime scene, however, have led him right back to old enemies. And right back to captivity. For God’s sake, Mycroft. (Check the warnings on this one - Sherlock gets tortured, but it's not super-explicit. BAMF!John. 11 Chapters; 51,816 words)

Standalone Fics (list below to be continuously updated)

The Waning of Withdrawal Sherlock holds a weeping John in his arms and… does something that will forever change things between them. For better or worse. He fears the latter. (This one is rated E for a brief smut scene; as always, heed the tags). (8,249 words)

Never Been Better John gets married. Sherlock leaves the wedding reception early, but he’s fine. Fine. The seven percent solution? It helps him think. If only Baker Street didn’t seem so empty. But he’s perfectly okay. Never been better, in fact. Never been better.  **Update: Chapter 3 has now been added - NOW COMPLETE Canon breaks during Chapter 2! Chapters 3/3 (16,107 words)

Pressure Points The bonfire doesn't happen during The Empty Hearse. Instead, both John and Sherlock are placed into a life-or-death situation. One that may prove too much for a still-wounded Sherlock. **NOW COMPLETE: FTH 2023, for @discordantwords. Chapters 4/4 (19,892 words) 

Cold Inside Sherlock has just shot Magnussen, and John feels adrift. Everything is wrong. He's fairly certain he hates his wife, too. The regrets are too numerous for him to count. Sherlock is in prison, his ultimate fate unknown and the isolation slowly (or, rather, worryingly quickly) whittling away at his sanity. Mycroft is equally untethered, scrambling for options. Perhaps John can help. And perhaps, just perhaps, they can manage to save Sherlock and rid themselves of Mary in one fell swoop. (HLV fix-it; rated E for smut in Chapter 4)

NOW COMPLETE. FTH 2023 for @shakespearelovedladymacbeth.

Chapters 5/5 (26,841 words)

Breathe Sherlock's death is announced a bit... prematurely. Things spiral from there. --- “Sit, Dr. Watson. I beg of you. I’ll get you some water and then I’d be happy to take you to him so you can say goodbye.” “Ah. Mm. No. No. It’s not possible, all right? It’s Sherlock. Sherlock. I already… I already…" I already suffered this once. This time, it’ll kill me. “Is there anyone we can call for–” But John was no longer listening. He was walking. Fast; in strides as long as his legs could manage. Away from Dr. Fredericks. Far from the A&E waiting area. Toward the grand glass entryway. Shouts followed him as he went – requests for him to come back, to sit down, to listen. They faded in volume the farther John’s feet carried him and dissipated entirely as soon as the automatic doors slid shut. Chapters 1/1 (8,517 words)

Wasteland, Baby Things hadn’t felt right in 221B since John and Rosie moved back in. Everything was off. Wrong. If only Sherlock knew it was about to get even worse. But, for vegetation to return to a barren wasteland, rain from thunderstorms is necessary. A brushfire, even, to burn away the old and provide nourishment for the new… and to expose a truth that’s been present all along. ___ He stumbled as he was yanked backwards by the chain of the handcuffs, Mr. Morrison’s cruel hand having snaked under his Belstaff to assert his control. John met his eye. He nodded once, almost harshly, in the regimented yet reassuring manner of a soldier. Sherlock knew he was painfully squeezing his hands together behind his back as if to punish himself; lips bitten red and a tightly clenched jaw also betrayed the worry behind his steely façade. “I’ll kill him,” John said, terrifyingly calm. “I’ll kill him and bring you home. I will.” Chapters 5/5, (23,115 words)

[valandhirwriter]

20 Questions

20 Questions for Fic Writers

I came across this in @andordean blog and decided to invite myself to the party. As I have two Ao3 Accounts, my answers will list them as needed.

Taggig @do-androids-dream-ao3acc @regis-favorite-raven @lohrendrell @tumbleweedtech

How many works do you have on A03?

Valandhir: 11

Cardhwion: 40

What's your total A03 word count?

Valandhir: 1,249,377

Cardhwion: 644,842

What fandoms do you write for?

The Witcher, and Lord of the Rings. I would love to write for Star Wars, Dragon Age, Wheel of Time, but haven't gotten around to doing it yet. General Bel Riose brought the idea of Foundation writing on my to-do list.

What are your top five fics by kudos?

Valandhir: Durin's Bane, The Twilight years, The heart of the journey

Cardhwion: Strange Blood, In my father's house

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to, because I enjoy the conversation. But sometimes I forget, because there is too much going on, or I have no idea what I should reply.

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Valandhir: Wishes are no horses or maybe Durin's Bane, the latter does only half-count because the next part, the Twilight Years changes something about the death at the end of Durin's Bane.

Cardhwion: In the darkest places, or maybe In my father's house. I just realise, I killed Eskel a lot.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Valandhir: The Heart of the Journey

Cardhwion: Song of the Dragon

Do you get hate on fics?

Yes.

Do you write smut?

Sometimes, I need characters that have that dynamic and need to be in the mood.

Do you write crossovers?

Haven't yet, but do have some in mind.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

As English is my second language, I did translate the whole Raven's Blade series on my Valandhir account into German myself. But only posted two parts. Would need a beta to read over it, to ever post it full.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, with @do-androids-dream-ao3acc, titled "The Unforgiven"

What's your all-time favourite ship?

That's a hard one, I love so many ships, and am a passionate multi-shipper. So a real favourite is hard. Coën/Erland of Larvik comes close.

As far as the sheer hilarity is concerned nothing ever beat Henselt/His throne.

What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Song of Stone on the Valandhir Account

What are your writing strengths?

Description and Detail I think

What are your writing weaknesses?

Emotions, romantic feeling

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Full dialogue I use rarely but having some arrogantly spit a line in Latin, or use a spell in Gaelic is fun.

First fandom you wrote for?

Three Musketeers

Favourite fic you've ever written?

The Raven's Blade series

[seancamerons]

just thinking about my last reblog, "I hope the fic you are working on right now finds a reader who will think about it constantly for years"

there was this fic years and years ago for semma on fanfictiondotnet. a lot of these stories are probably endangered bc of uncertainties and all the writing people movin' on to different spots on the internet such as a03 and even here on tumblr.

getting back to the stories, super romantic and was set sometime in season 3. unfortunately it never was completed, but i still think about how it could've ended.

i never at least to my memory ever personally spoke to the author, but would leave reviews when they were still posting chapters and even wrote one like a year or two ago in hope. they moved on whatever i guess. i'll never forget how cute it was though. there are two stories like that.

the first was called you are my miracle and the second one was called falling back. (also anything like not a title of a fic but any writing by evablue, iyykyk.)

sometimes you'll always remember some fic you read when you were younger, or whatever, and it has left a lasting mark and impression on you. very inspiring stuff.

just saying, that sometimes there are people who never say anything about your writing and you assume nobody cares but in reality, there are people afraid to talk to people on the internet bc it could potentially be a vulnerable or scary thing, confidence and shame/being ashamed, or whatever barriers hold people back from contacting complimenting others or in turn not comfortable accepting compliments. not just for a writer but also for a reader.

so i'll never forget these two random fics among the countless others i read as i wrote too. there's sometimes a little inspiration there, a little bit of borrowed elements, incorporated in pretty much all the stories at that time and beyond. some established canon norms or even fanon lived there or existed between the lines and throughout the lines. it's not necessarily copying but rather, almost like it's all part of the picture and what fans accept as unwritten or written truths if that makes sense. piggybacking off of ideas and brainstorming solo or with others is a true gift.

in short, i truly love to read, rediscover things, and discover new things, writing to create worlds when i write is fun and is a hobby for me that brings me comfort and peace regardless of how noticed i am or not at all (going with latter). the story may not be allll mine (because it's based on something such as a television show and not wholly original), and the ideas that are somehow claimed to be mine were born out of what to do with the scraps the show decided to gift us? i throw in things that happened, maybe motivations of characters, lil flashy backs, and such to make it more significant and special.

i will never forget, literally ever those semma stories. i don't know if i'd be all that interested in writing back some 20 years ago without reading these, there's more but these come to mind.

if i could track 'em down i'd do a ficrec with a bunch i loved over the years. some complete, some incomplete and some of those cute drabble one-shots. some are better written than others, or some are just masterpieces. it's a beautiful thing.

if anyone read this and have recs of their own or wanna gush about a favorite story? i am all ears in tag or comments. thanks for reading.

[ao3feed-piltovers-finest]

What could have been

by amariatonight

Vi spoke: “We have no idea where Pow- Jinx is. Perhaps we should group our efforts in the city and only then-

“No.” Caitlyn interrupted. “If Jinx shows up, she will set all our efforts ablaze. “

She said that bitterly, as she always did now when she talked about Vi’s sister. She had this anger and disgust in her eyes and when they met Vi’s, the latter felt ashamed, as if she was the murderer. And maybe Caitlyn was mad at Vi, but she stayed quiet. She was cold all the time and had forgotten what Vi’s warm embrace felt like. But she wouldn’t ask. And Vi doesn’t dare. They don’t talk about it. Caitlyn continued:

“Jinx is the bigger threat.” And then, so low it seemed she only spoke to Vi: “It has always been Jinx”

Or

What I think happened after the end of season one, that lead them to once again break up without even dating.

Words: 2494, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Caitlyn (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends), Jinx (League of Legends)

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends), Jinx & Vi (League of Legends)

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Post-Season/Series 01, Angst, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Jinx comes and makes it angstier, they just need to talk, and make out, who said thattt, Vi still cares for Jinx trust me, angst as a cockblocker, they will have their happy ending trust, just not in this fic specifically whoops, Yearning, Mutual Pining, no beta we die, we just die

Read on A03. from AO3 works tagged ‘Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)’

[phoenixblack89]

Hi! This is kinda random oopsies but I saw a post you made about it a while ago and was wondering about it. I’ve been looking for the walking dead transcripts (it’s literally impossible why is it so hard like they had season one and two with decent transcripts but I need season 3 and above which of course is where it’s just dialogue like whyyyyy) and was I wondering if you had found anything good for it? Like specific websites that don’t just throw all the dialogue in without characters attached to it? Im desperate as this point and I’ve been searching for websites for legit an hour and NOTHING.

I haven't unfortunately. I'm so tempted to do it myself when I come to writing series 3 and making it a post on my a03 account but I don't know if that's allowed. If I do it I'll post on here about it.

I generally have the episode playing while I write as the transcripts I've found don't have the latter half of series 2 with who said what and often if it's one character it's in a big chunk.

I'm sorry I can't be of more help atm. Good luck with your search and please do. Let me know if you find a place for the transcripts.

[thedo0zyslider]

Explosions Acorss Lifetimes notice!

(Copy pasted from a03)

I'd mentioned before that I'd be slowly working on this until season 2's ending but uhhh

Fwhip posted his final episode today (sorry if this is how you found out) and the season as a whole is ending this month, so more regular updates will begin happening!!! Come get your empire's copium baby!!

Fwhip's finale also gave me a better idea of where to take the latter part of the fic! :D See you soon, Chapter 5: Stress Reliever will be out in next few days (hopefully)

[lilacmoon83]

Operation Castle

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 6: The Banshee's Cry

"What do you mean, ripped out? Cause this doesn't look like it was done with a knife. There's no knife wounds," Emma reasoned.

"Because it wasn't," Casey said.

"Wait…are you accusing someone of ripping a heart with magic?" David asked.

"It's possible…but we're not sure. The only two people we know about that can do something like that were accounted for at the time of death," Casey replied.

"Yes…they were with us at dinner last night," Killian agreed, referring to Gold and Regina.

"Which means we have someone that has either figured out magic or a way to use science to replicate a heart rip, as I understand it's called," Alivia said.

"That means it's someone from our land…or someone from your ranks and since you've assured us no one else is awake…that means it's the latter," Gold replied. There was a pregnant pause between them.

"We're aware that this could be the case, but the General isn't ruling out the possibility that this could be another magical creature that's popped up as another anomaly," Casey said. David raised an eyebrow.

"And they just got lucky and happened to choose someone from our land to kill?" he asked.

"Dave is right…what the bloody hell are you hiding? Is someone from your damn government hunting us?" Killian accused. Emma noticed the slight widening of Alivia's eyes, like she was surprised that he had made that conclusion so quickly. So they were hiding something.

"I'd watch your tone…Captain," Casey warned.

"I'm more than three hundred years old, mate. I've seen more bloody carnage and just pain bonkers stuff than you can imagine. The only thing I know about government or royals…" he said, as he paused for a moment.

"Save a few in my company…is that they can't be trusted," he growled.

"You have no power here…and you know it. We have told you what we're authorized to tell," Alivia said sternly.

"That wasn't a no," Emma said.

"Indeed," Gold agreed.

"Look…finding who did this is top priority. Regardless of who it was…someone has been killed with magic," Casey said.

"Or what looks like magic," Gold replied, as examined the autopsy photos.

"When I rip a heart…my hand passes cleanly into the chest. These are burn marks, if I'm not mistaken," he added.

"So someone did come up with a synthetic way to do it," David said.

"Enough," General Shaw bellowed, as he appeared on screen.

"Tell us the truth then. Are we being hunted?" Killian replied. There was another long pause.

"It appears so…we have another body, from your land," he revealed, as a picture of the body, post mortem, appeared on screen.

"Do you recognize him?" Emma asked.

"Not this one…which begs the question on how exactly you know he's from Storybrooke," David replied.

"That's classified," Shaw responded. He snorted in response.

"Of course it is," he replied, as there was an alert.

"Guess you're saved by the proverbial monster…for now," Emma said, as the image came in from the NSA main office, where they were monitoring all paranormal activity.

"What the hell is that thing?" Emma asked, as she watched an wispy, astral-like apparition float around what seemed to be a four block radius. Then they were all covering their ears, as it screeched an unholy sound.

"A Banshee…" Killian said.

"Yep, definitely, which is kind of new, but not all that surprising, considering our current situation," David replied.

"What do you mean?" Alivia asked.

"He means that a Banshee, at least in our land, heralds the death of someone. Usually it's a family member, but in the grand scheme of things, one of us is dead," Rumple reasoned.

"Wait…are you saying that the banshee has appeared, because someone from your land is dead?" Casey asked.

"There's no way to prove such…but it's a reasonable theory," Rumple replied.

"What kills a banshee? It looks like it's transparent," Alivia said, clearly freaking out a bit.

"It looks transparent…but she can be banished. They hate iron and steel. The reflections from our blades will eventually get her to flee, but the bright light of magic works even better," David said, as they armed themselves.

"Which we haven't figured out yet," Regina argued.

"No time like the present…" he said.

"It's not that easy!" Regina argued hotly.

"Then we'll have to figure it out…because right now, there's hundreds of cameras on this thing and this one won't be so easily explained away," Alivia said, as they hurried out to the cars.

~*~

Snow looked up from the papers she was grading. This was her free period, but she was covering a seventh grade study hall for an ill teacher that period. She noticed a couple boys on their phones, whispering about something, while occasionally casting looks at her.

"Is there something I can help you boys with?" she asked, calling them out. Others around them snickered and they clammed up pretty quickly.

"This is study hall and I'm sure you have homework to do," she said sternly. She was sure the boys would have needed further reprimanding, but fortunately for them, the period ended and she proceeded to the teacher's lounge to grab her lunch. She noticed a couple of the other teachers gathered at the table, watching something on one of their phones. Oddly, they looked up at her and back down at their phones, almost in disbelief. She didn't have time to ponder this though, as she turned when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

"Mrs. Nolan…I'm Dana Bishop, your new student teacher," she said, introducing herself with a meaningful look.

"Of…of course, I'll show you to my classroom," she replied, as they stepped out into the hallway.

"What's going on? I assume you're really from the NSA?" Snow asked. The woman nodded.

"There's another attack…your husband and the others are enroute already. There is a car waiting out front for you," she said. Snow sighed. It's not that she didn't want to go, but she had a feeling that people were already noticing something was off with her.

"How exactly are my absences being explained?" Snow asked.

"The Principal was informed that you are an asset and nothing more. No questions will be asked," Dana replied. Somehow, Snow doubted that, but walked away toward the front entrance of the school. She wanted to be there to watch the backs of the people she loved, after all.

~*~

Neal and Robin arrived at Lake Nostros a few hours later, but whatever Neal was expecting to see when they got there…it was anything but this.

"I guess we now know why the locals think it's quick sand," Robin mentioned, as they saw the dried up lake was nothing but sand again. But in the center, the sand was moving continuously.

"Except quicksand doesn't actually look like that. Usually you don't know you're in quicksand until it happens. It certainly doesn't move like that," Neal replied, as he cautiously moved closer. He knelt down at the edge of the moving sand and touched it. He saw it turn green at his touch and then he moved more sand around, again seeing green, just like the portal he had fallen through.

"What is it?" Robin asked.

"Call me crazy…but I think this is a portal," Neal replied.

"But how can that be? Portals don't stay open," Robin reasoned.

"You're right…that we know of. I've never known of a continuous portal opening. If the wrong people knew there was an open portal to other realms…" Neal realized.

"What are you going to do?" Robin asked. He grabbed his pack and shouldered it.

"I'm going to take a really big chance…and jump through it," Neal said.

"Are you crazy? You have no idea where that thing goes," Robin replied. Neal looked at him.

"I know…but this might be my only chance to find Henry and Emma," he said, as their eyes met and Robin understood. Neal would do anything for his son, just as Robin would for his.

"This…this isn't normal and it means something. If there is even a chance that Henry and my family are in danger of some kind…I have to take it," Neal said.

"You think Storybrooke is in trouble?" Robin asked. Neal snorted.

"Wouldn't be the first time. Who knows what Tamara and Greg did after I fell through the portal," he said. Robin nodded. He was familiar with them from the story that Neal told.

"I'll travel back and tell Mulan about this. It is likely that Phillip will want to send a rotation of guards here now to keep watch on this portal," Robin said. Neal nodded.

"It's a good idea. Trust me, Storybrooke doesn't need anymore crazies," he replied, as he took a deep breath.

"Good luck, my friend," he said, as they shook hands.

"Thanks…something tells me I'm going to need it," Neal said, as he took another deep breath and jumped into the moving sand. It flashed green briefly as he did and then returned to the moving sand. Robin sighed and took Roland's hand.

"Come along Roland…we need to go visit Mulan," he said.

~*~

They arrived at the scene where people ran screaming through the two block radius that the Banshee was terrorizing.

"Level with me…is this about where the body was found?" David asked.

"Yes…this is the neighborhood that the victim lived in," Casey confirmed.

"Mate…in my three-hundred years, I've never seen a Banshee act like this. It wails and shrieks, but flees once the victim is either properly buried or avenged or both," Killian mentioned. David clenched his jaw.

"But the body is probably in a morgue right now, being dissected. She's angry," Rumple said.

"That's standard procedure," Alivia said.

"Your procedure created this one!" David snapped.

"No…we didn't create this! This doesn't happen in our world!" Alivia shot back.

"Well, it does now…so how do we get rid of her?" Emma asked.

"Not sure…we've never seen one that wasn't able to go away on their own or one that turned violent," David replied.

"But it's an apparition…it can't really hurt anyone," Casey said. As he said that, an electrical box exploded above one apartment building, sending downed electrical phone lines into the streets and people scurrying to keep from being electrocuted.

"No…but she can cause a lot of damage that could," David said, as they rushed into the street to confront the being. A car arrived moments later and Snow and Belle got out, rushing to join them.

"A Banshee…" Snow realized.

"Yeah…I'll fill you in later, but we could use a magical solution right now," David said.

"I'm trying…I can almost feel it in the air, but it's not answering my call," Regina replied, as she held her hands up.

"She's right…it does not flow in the air like it did back home," Rumple agreed, as they saw his hand spark red momentarily, before fizzling out.

"There may be another way…" Snow said.

"Really?" David asked. She nodded.

"I saw the villagers deal with them a lot…you know, after many people were slaughtered by…" Snow said, as she looked at Regina, who shook her head in annoyance. Emma ignored the Queen though.

"How'd they do it without magic?" the blonde asked.

"A bonfire…which the Banshee's hated and would flee from, except they weren't able to, because of the rattling," Snow said.

"Rattling?" Killian asked.

"The villagers would rattle tin cups or whatever metal they could against another metal object to create a rattling noise. The Banshees can't stand it and they plunge themselves right into the fire," Snow recalled from her memories.

"This is absurd! You want us to build a bonfire in the middle of Brooklyn?" she asked. David spotted some trash cans in an alleyway.

"We don't need a bonfire for one," he said, as he dragged one that was only half full into the street. Casey rummaged through the glove box in the SUV and tossed a pack of matches to the Prince. David tossed a lit one in the can and a fire was soon roaring.

"Now for the rattling," Killian said, as he pulled something from his belt, revealing his old hook and grabbed a trash can lid. He started banging the metal hook on the tin trash lid and the Banshee shrieked and covered her ears in agony.

"That's it…more!" he called.

"This is insane…" Alivia growled, as she picked one up and started banging on it with a piece of discarded scaffolding from the alley. Emma grabbed a tire iron from the trunk and started banging on another trash can lid. This was enough to drive the one Banshee insane and it dove head first into the fire, burning up and dissipating. They all breathed a sigh of relief. And there was no way to hide this one, as they looked up at the dozens of apartment windows where people were filming with their camera phones.

"This is bad…" Emma said.

"The NSA will handle it," Alivia argued.

"There's no handling this! We're exposed like a vein! Believe me…I know what this world does to you when they think you're a freak!" Emma shouted.

"Enough…back to Castle," Casey ordered. Snow and David joined hands, as they walked toward the SUV.

"David…why was there a Banshee? They only occur under certain circumstances," Snow said. He looked over at her.

"I'll explain everything on the way back," he promised, as he kissed her cheek.

~*~

"Well…that wasn't inconspicuous at all," Tamara said, as they watched the spectacle taking place in Brooklyn now.

"Yes…there will be no keeping this under wraps now," General Aza replied.

"Guess it's time for our first broadcast, live from Brooklyn," Greg said, as his phone chimed. Tamara smirked.

"I'm going to enjoy this. Do you want us to reveal their identities?" she asked.

"Not yet…but dangle the reality that you will soon know who they are. They'll regret not masking their identities. Let the public do the rest," Aza said.

"Fine…as long as the Queen eventually pays," Greg said.

"She's already paying in a way…she doesn't have her son," Tamara reminded him.

"Not good enough…she killed my father and I want the whole world to know. I want her locked up at the very least," he said.

"And that time will come…if we do this right," Aza said, as he gave him a steely look.

"Do not think for a second about going rogue, Mr. Mendell. It will not end well for you if you do," he warned, as they were dismissed to do their first broadcast. They would be introduced as rookie beat reporters, but the subject of their reports would quickly see to it that they became very well known.

~*~

Unfortunately, on the way back to Castle, they discovered that there was a second Banshee and they had gone to deal with it too, much in the same way as the first one. Now it was clear. Two deaths of people from Storybrooke. The mood was somber, as they made their way into Castle for debriefing and General Shaw was waiting on the line.

"Who is hunting us?" David asked bluntly, as he stood at the head of the table, leaning against it with his hands firmly gripping the edges. Snow had seen this stance many times before, back in their land, in the castle war room.

"At ease, Agent Nolan," Shaw warned, but David didn't soften his stance or his glare.

"We don't know…but we fear we have a rogue operative. It is the only way someone could even know about your kind," Shaw said.

"Uh…our kind? We're human, just like you," Emma protested.

"You are…except your hearts are not like ours and it shows up as an extra marker in your DNA," he revealed.

"Bloody hell…" Killian said.

"So I was right…you've cataloged us all in your little database," Rumple said. Shaw gave them a stern gaze.

"As far as we know, your lot is the reason for all this insanity we're facing," he said.

"You can't know that…" Snow protested.

"I'm afraid we can and we do. The magical radiation from the trigger has so far had untold consequences for this country and possibly the entire world. The only reason you are walking free is we think you can help stop it," Shaw said.

"Then we need to know everything…but you're hiding half the picture from us," Emma replied.

"You'll know what you need to know. For now, you'll stand down," Shaw said, as his image blinked out.

"Stand down? He's got to be kidding! We're just supposed to stand by while one of our people could be the next victim?" David shouted.

"We've got more problems than that…" Casey said, as he unmuted the television, which was broadcasting a special report.

"Oh my God…" Regina uttered.

"Is that…" Snow also uttered.

"Bloody hell…these wankers," Killian said.

"They survived too…" David said.

"Greg and Tamara…" Emma said in shock.

~*~

Neal felt himself deposited unceremoniously on the hard ground.

"Oof…definitely need to work on my landings," he joked, though no one was around to hear him. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was, but he instantly saw something he recognized. He smiled and saw the well, before he hurried through the woods and when he emerged from the edge of the woods, expecting to see the familiar site of the clocktower, his smile quickly faded to a frown. He found there was a small clearing, but then more woods where Storybrooke should have been.

"What the hell happened?" he wondered, as fear gripped him. Storybrooke was gone…and so was his family.

[marypsue]

#wait where even?? how would you even post stuff like that on A03? of course I’d love to place my insights on there but like where? (via @squeiky)

Legit you just post them the same way you would a fic, but you use the appropriate tags for a non-fic fanwork. If you have a theory or meta, you can use (or browse works tagged with) Fan Meta or Meta. There's a Fanart tag and a Podfic tag and I'm sure other tags for other forms of fanwork. Using the Tag search for terms you think might be related to the type of fanwork you want to post can help you find which ones have been marked Common and can be filtered on.

You can also tag Not Fic or Notfic for something that isn't fanfiction, although that latter one seems to be more about sharing theories/meta/headcanons and not to designate non-fanfic fanworks.

I desperately wish people would start actually reading the AO3's TOS before confidently making 'user guides' to the AO3 that are just blatantly, flatly wrong.

Yes the AO3 has banned content. They do not allow anything that's illegal under US law - though US law, importantly, does not ban fictional depictions of things - and they do not allow any commercial content. That includes your ko-fi link, or mentions that you do fic commissions. If you do post fic commissions to AO3 and want to mention the commissioner, the fic is a 'request' from the commissioner. This protects the AO3 and you from copyright law.

No the AO3 is not 'a creative fanfiction archive'. It is a fandom archive. Your meta, insights, and theories are absolutely welcome and encouraged there. AO3 also encourages you to post other types of fanworks, like fan videos, podfics, and art, but unfortunately isn't able to natively host those like it does text, so fic has kind of become what it's known for. That absolutely does not mean that other types of fanwork aren't allowed, or are discouraged by the site culture! Anybody who tells you otherwise is just plain wrong!