#how many drawings can I do for this fic before writing it? hah.

[babygirlthor]

I’ll keep you safe till tomorrow

#art #tesseroki #brodinsons #my doodles #doodles #loki fanart #yes these are all different versions yes I know you can barely tell the difference #how many drawings can I do for this fic before writing it? hah. #cryptid tess au #fic: the one you run to

[anyasathenaeum]

hi,, i don't see many fics like this, b-but what do you think ab pregnant sex w vash? 👉👈 *drops mic and runs away

A/N: GODDAMN YES, YES, YES. THIS IS A BRILLIANT IDEA. PERFECT. THANK YOU ANON, MY BRAIN IS NOW ALL ABOUT THIS

Warnings: MINORS DNI, AFAB!reader, reader is able to be pregnant, mentions of pregnancy, nsfw writing, smut to the max, female terms are used, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (even though reader is already pregnant, PRACTICE SAFE SEX PEOPLE), super soft Vash, Vash has a huge thing for pregnant!reader

To say you weren't expecting this to happen was an understatement.

Neither you nor Vash had been aware that human-plant hybrids could exist, and so, when you discovered you were pregnant, it had been a shock to you both.

Your body had begun to adjust, and given that your baby was a hybrid, your pregnancy had been progressing differently than a typical human pregnancy - your baby was growing faster, forcing your body to adjust faster and more intensely than it would've with a regular pregnancy.

Vash had become extremely protective of you as your pregnancy continued and your baby grew, his near-constant hovering a sign of his love and worry for you as you carried his child. He always ensured to be near you, showering you in love and affection, doing his best to take care of you in every possible way.

"(Y/N), you're not supposed to lift anything heavy! Here, let me do that!"

"Mayfly, don't stand on a stool like that! What if you fall?! You could really hurt yourself and the baby!"

"What can I do, my love? How can I make things easier for you?"

However, what you also hadn't anticipated, was how attractive Vash seemed to find you now that you were pregnant, your belly swollen with his child. His hands were always on you in some way - resting protectively over your belly, pressed to the small of your back, wrapped around your waist, gently massaging the back of your neck, Vash always had to be touching you somehow.

And in bed? Vash was insatiable.

"V-Vash! H-Hah, slow down, I- sensitive!"

Vash's tongue continue to swirl around your sensitive bud after already drawing several orgasms from you, his fingers continuing to stretch you open and thrust into you simultaneously, stoking the fire of desire deep within you yet again.

Your hands had long since buried themselves into Vash's hair, tugging on the roots hard enough to get Vash to moan into your pussy, pulling a moan from you in turn.

"S-Sorry, Mayfly, you just- you taste so good. Can't get enough of you."

Vash's eyes were wide and filled with desire and want as he looked up at you, as well as something softer - love, and tenderness, and a kind of deep-rooted happiness, despite the fact that his mouth and chin were coated in your slick. He couldn't help but smile at you warmly, as if he wasn't in the middle of eating you out like you were the first meal of a starved man.

You could feel the heat rising to your face as Vash gazed at you, especially when you saw Vash's gaze drift to your swollen belly, a fire evident in his eyes. Something about you like this, in his bed, your belly round with his child, drove Vash to the edge, a single word echoing over and over in his mind as his desire for you grew and grew and grew: "Mine."

"Vash... please..."

Your voice was whiny and desperate for him, begging him to continue touching you, to feel him against you, in you.

"Patience, my love, patience," Vash replied, snapping out of his trance with a gentle smile on his face.

Vash took great care as he adjusted you, tucking a pillow beneath your hips to shift your belly to your side, "I want you as comfortable as possible, Mayfly."

Of course, despite Vash's desire and increasing need for you, he was still kind and caring and loving, putting you above all else.

"I love you, Vash," You whispered to him gently, reaching up to caress his face with a gentleness Vash had never felt before, a tenderness so genuine that it brought tears to his eyes.

"I love you, too, Mayfly. My love... my (Y/N)."

Vash took your hand in his much larger one as he spoke softly, pressing the gentlest of kisses to the palm of your hand before pressing your hand up against his cheek. He let his eyes flutter shut as he reveled in your touch, at how much love Vash felt for you and just how badly he wanted to give you every possible thing in life.

"Yours," You panted softly, reaching down with your other hand to stroke Vash's cock oh so gently, "I'm yours, Vash."

Vash twitched as soon as he felt your hand on his cock, and he bit down on his lip to stifle the moan escaping his lips at the feeling of your touch. Every time you touched him, Vash felt like it was the first time all over again - his body reacted to you like it was, becoming highly sensitive to your touch, to your scent, to your warmth, to you.

"H-Hah! Mayfly, I-I-"

"Shh," You cooed gently, stroking his cock a bit more firmly, feeling precum leaking from his tip as you did so, "Let me feel you, Vash."

Vash couldn't help but whimper at your words, his desire feeling amplified as he watched you touch him, as he watched you make him feel so good, your gaze warm and loving and yet, still filled with desire for him.

You could feel Vash's cock twitch in your hands, and that, paired with the whimpers and moans and gasps escaping Vash's lips, let you know that he was getting close to release. And so, you quickly let go of him.

"(Y/N)!"

The whine that Vash let out was desperate and soft, causing you to squeeze your thighs together in anticipation and desire. You gave Vash a few moments to come back down and away from the edge, before taking him in your hand again and lining him up with your entrance, letting his cock brush through your folds and feel how soaked you were.

You could see Vash's eyes widen as he felt how wet you were for him, and you couldn't help but smirk a little as you watched how his eyes got even bigger as he slipped into you at last.

"Ha-ah!"

A broken gasp escaped Vash at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him, your warm walls squeezing him and enveloping him in the most intimate and perfect way. You let out a moan as Vash sheathed himself all the way inside you, the feeling of his cock stretching you out overwhelming you.

"V-Vash!"

You couldn't help but call to him as he began to thrust gently, taking care not to move too hard or too fast so as to not jostle you or your belly too badly.

"(Y/N)! G-God, (Y/N), you feel incredible," Vash babbled against your lips as he continued to thrust into you, absolutely drunk off the feeling of you tightening around him, "You're so beautiful, (Y/N). So beautiful. You look so beautiful carrying my child, (Y/N), God, s-so beautiful."

Vash felt your pussy clench down hard on him as he spoke, and he couldn't help but moan and move a little bit faster, a little deeper, all his thoughts and emotions and words spilling forth without him being able to stop himself.

"S-So beautiful, (Y/N), you're beautiful like this, belly swollen with my child, with our child, so beautiful, y-you're amazing, I-I love you, (Y/N), God, I love you! I love you so much!"

"I love you, V-Vash!" You moaned out in reply, feeling your body tensing as your orgasm approached once again, your fingers intertwining with Vash's by your head. You couldn't help but turn your head and kiss his fingers gently as he continued to thrust into you, cries of pleasure escaping you both.

"O-Oh, God, (Y/N), I-I'm gonna cum, I-"

"Vash!" You cried out, feeling your orgasm hit you full force as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, causing your pussy to clench down on Vash so tightly that it immediately sent him over the edge, too.

"I love you, (Y/N), I love you," Vash mumbled as he kissed you passionately, feeling himself spill into you as his orgasm washed over him, his seed coating your walls.

Once you both calmed down, Vash slowly withdrew, allowing himself to collapse next to you as he panted softly, his arms pulling you into him and enveloping you in his gentle embrace.

"I love you so much, Vash," You mumbled against his skin, resting your head against him as you tried to catch your breath, just enjoying the feeling of Vash's skin against yours.

You felt Vash brushing your hair away from your face as he gazed down at you, his eyes filled with such love and tenderness that it warmed you down to your soul.

"I love you, too. You mean everything to me, (Y/N). You're my world," Vash whispered to you gently, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before moving his hand down to your belly, caressing it gently, "You both are. And I'll do whatever it takes to keep you both safe. I promise."

#anya's athenaeum #answered #trigun stampede #trigun stampede x reader #trigun x reader #trigun #vash the stampede #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #vash the stampede smut #vash smut #trigun smut #trigun stampede smut

[des-no9]

Tell me about the utterly chewable the one who bleeds!

Patient, Voss waits for Orpheus to settle.

Patient, he watches him not as Prince, but mine. Yours.

“Are you quite done?”

Indignant, Orpheus just blinks, exhaling a long breath as he relaxes into the cushions at his back, enjoying the weight of Voss in his lap.

Before needle, quill.

How many of the istik write. Sometimes draw. And with some adjustments, practice, Voss had adapted one so that he could draw temporarily onto skin, so he had an outline to follow.

(sometimes, it scrawled runes of ruin, shame on Orpheus that he couldn’t see, face down for a fuck; mouth full of Voss)

Orpheus watches Voss write the runes on his chest, mouthing it slowly as he does. An elegant, careful, and skilled hand. He wonders if he’s ever just told him so. He must have in all these turns, in the Astral; all these days in the Material, together.

He almost does, now.

Almost.

“Will you be raiding soon?” he says instead.

“Yes.” Simple, as he pens the last rune, tipping the edge of Orpheus’ clavicle. “You could come.” Puts down the quill. “Should. You’re waning.”

“I’ve never waned once.”

Voss thumbs beneath Orpheus’ eye, a rumble of contempt rippling under his skin. “Not even you can refuse to bend to the Astral Sea’s laws.”

“I bend to nothing,” he leans closer, “no-one.”

“I recall…different.” Close enough and a kiss, Voss smiles as he feels Orpheus bite his lower lip, and pull.

Voss pushes him back in satisfaction. And he’s heavier again in his lap as he picks up the needle, wiping it dry.

Then with ink, with one poke, he starts.

Ahhhhh thank you thank you so much love!! I'm thrilled you enjoyed this one. It's so, so dear to me.

It actually took me way longer than I wanted and expected to write, purely because I had to get down a cohesive timeline of the githyanki's past, and kind of flesh it out a bit more for my understanding, to see how Orpheus fits into it all and the dynamic with his mother, Vlaakith and Zerthimon.

They're quite young here, but I'm writing some where they're even younger. When they first meet, before Orpheus even has any tattoos, maybe even still has hair, hah. And he's fully into his Fresh Prince of Tu'narath era.

But here...it's finally sinking into his bones the responsibility of what he is, has to do, and a lot of it has been because of Voss almost guiding him in the right direction, for even thought he's the Prince, I see Orpheus as looking up to Voss a lot.

I think...Voss is very clever, with the wired mind of a general, even now. I HC that Mother Gith (advised by Vlaakith, who was like her guiding path for so long, until everything, and they, began to unravel too) picked him early as her own personal guard for more than just his prowess in battle. But his strength of mind, intellect, sharp tongue-

And between them, I think they are only one of the few people who completely have each others trust, but I'm not expressions of affection, and as we know it, languages of love to the githyanki are ever really words. It's like a dance around confessions of the tongue. Anything else - Orpheus submitting physically, sexually to his partner, even other words spin around the meaning, here.

Orpheus' small concern at Voss going raiding, with his pang of longing to join him, be reckless and fuck all this.

Voss' larger concern at Orpheus waning. Expected, of course. A githyanki must be in peak shape at all times. Especially the Prince.

Now up to this moment, it's always been Voss (and a few by Orpheus) who has done the tattoos on Orpheus, and they're almost in a way, a written journey of their lives to that point. Either of them look at one, touch one, are asked about one - they can recall exactly when it was done, where - and why, then.

And now, it's like the final page of a chapter. No. I'd say book. Or slate, for them. Before they start something new.

A last rite.

Someone said something to me about this fic that really just hits me for a lot of things I write -

"nothing says I love you more than permanently altering someone's body"

and yeah, that's it.

Thank you so much love for letting me talk your godamn ear off about this and ramble probably (very) incoherently <333

#orpheus/voss #voss/orpheus #des talks #des replies #thank you!!!!! #god don't i half go on #sorry lmao i just these two #githyanki #bg3 #about my writing

[chawarin-panich]

See this is why I first starting talking to you. The insightful, heartfelt way you write about FK.

Would you believe that before I read all your FK fics I've read less than 10 RPF in all my time in fandom? (And not gonna age myself but thats quite the number of years.) Like I will admit if there was ever any couple to get me to consistently read fic about them it would be FK, but I've always been very happy to keep the boundary between CPs and their characters separate. I was always content to watch videos and see pics settled firmly in what they display to the public and nothing else.

And then you came along with your AK fic and I wanted more kind of fics like that from you I had to try reading your FK fics - and of course they were so wonderful I read them all and lost control of life. I'm obsessed. I've written fic! I might write more! I have a FK fic idea I kind of teased to you. I'm probably gonna draw them too! I don't know what has become of me! 🤯

There's less than a week left until moonlight chicken comes out and I'm a bundle of excitement for two characters that if they even show up in the same area at the same time I may vibrate out of existence! It's 100% your fault! Thank you for the insanity and obsession! I mean it truly! Thank you for inspiring me into a frenzy of fandom creation. It's been so long since it's gripped me this hard. And so I'll continue to send you as many asks until you ask me to stop. Because I blame you and that's absolutely a compliment! =D

hahahaha vibrating out of existence if alan and kaipa are in the same scene is SUCH A MOOD. I cant even blame anyone else. I really did wake up one day and was like alan and kaipa should be in love and everything has been madness since.

ahhhh!! anon this ask!!!. I seriously need to print it and put it up on my wall because i don't think ive ever been complimented quite like this. I am honored to be at the center of your brainrot!! I know I infected a few people with the AK brainrot but to think that contributed to your FK brainrot too!!! aahh!!! we are so brainrot compatible 🤧 and I am ready to take full responsibility and keep writing hahaha and like i can tell that you're feeling some genuine joy and excitement over it! this is it!!! this is how fandom is supposed to make you feel. I try very hard to keep my own energy within this wavelength and to think i helped you find this - im on such a high right now lol i seriously was clapping and squealing and outright cheering reading this. you have no idea how happy you made me. i am really shy about promoting my fics and only do it in the most inconsistent way 😅 (you may notice i dont have it linked anywhere on my blog) but this is such a stellar advertisement that well....if anyone else is curious here's my ao3 hah!

#nani answers #nani writes #alankaipa anon #things i like #serotonin boost #nani's writing shenanigans

[fozmeadows]

race & culture in fandom

For the past decade, English language fanwriting culture post the days of LiveJournal and Strikethrough has been hugely shaped by a handful of megafandoms that exploded across AO3 and tumblr – I’m talking Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Dr Who, the MCU, Harry Potter, Star Wars, BBC Sherlock – which have all been overwhelmingly white. I don’t mean in terms of the fans themselves, although whiteness also figures prominently in said fandoms: I mean that the source materials themselves feature very few POC, and the ones who are there tended to be done dirty by the creators.

Periodically, this has led POC in fandom to point out, extremely reasonably, that even where non-white characters do get central roles in various media properties, they’re often overlooked by fandom at large, such that the popular focus stays primarily on the white characters. Sometimes this happened (it was argued) because the POC characters were secondary to begin with and as such attracted less fan devotion (although this has never stopped fandoms from picking a random white gremlin from the background cast and elevating them to the status of Fave); at other times, however, there has been a clear trend of sidelining POC leads in favour of white alternatives (as per Finn, Poe and Rose Tico being edged out in Star Wars shipping by Hux, Kylo and Rey). I mention this, not to demonize individuals whose preferred ships happen to involve white characters, but to point out the collective impact these trends can have on POC in fandom spaces: it’s not bad to ship what you ship, but that doesn’t mean there’s no utility in analysing what’s popular and why through a racial lens.

All this being so, it feels increasingly salient that fanwriting culture as exists right now developed under the influence and in the shadow of these white-dominated fandoms – specifically, the taboo against criticizing or critiquing fics for any reason. Certainly, there’s a hell of a lot of value to Don’t Like, Don’t Read as a general policy, especially when it comes to the darker, kinkier side of ficwriting, and whether the context is professional or recreational, offering someone direct, unsolicited feedback on their writing style is a dick move. But on the flipside, the anti-criticism culture in fanwriting has consistently worked against fans of colour who speak out about racist tropes, fan ignorance and hurtful portrayals of living cultures. Voicing anything negative about works created for free is seen as violating a core rule of ficwriting culture – but as that culture has been foundationally shaped by white fandoms, white characters and, overwhelmingly, white ideas about what’s allowed and what isn’t, we ought to consider that all critical contexts are not created equal.

Right now, the rise of C-drama (and K-drama, and J-drama) fandoms is seeing a surge of white creators – myself included – writing fics for fandoms in which no white people exist, and where the cultural context which informs the canon is different to western norms. Which isn’t to say that no popular fandoms focused on POC have existed before now – K-pop RPF and anime fandoms, for example, have been big for a while. But with the success of The Untamed, more western fans are investing in stories whose plots, references, characterization and settings are so fundamentally rooted in real Chinese history and living Chinese culture that it’s not really possible to write around it. And yet, inevitably, too many in fandom are trying to do just that, treating respect for Chinese culture or an attempt to understand it as optional extras – because surely, fandom shouldn’t feel like work. If you’re writing something for free, on your own time, for your own pleasure, why should anyone else get to demand that you research the subject matter first?

Because it matters, is the short answer. Because race and culture are not made-up things like lightsabers and werewolves that you can alter, mock or misunderstand without the risk of hurting or marginalizing actual real people – and because, quite frankly, we already know that fandom is capable of drawing lines in the sand where it chooses. When Brony culture first reared its head (hah), the online fandom for My Little Pony – which, like the other fandoms we’re discussing here, is overwhelmingly female – was initially welcoming. It felt like progress, that so many straight men could identify with such a feminine show; a potential sign that maybe, we were finally leaving the era of mainstream hypermasculine fandom bullshit behind, at least in this one arena. And then, in pretty much the blink of an eye, things got overwhelmingly bad. Artists drawing hardcorn porn didn’t tag their works as adult, leading to those images flooding the public search results for a children’s show. Women were edged out of their own spaces. Bronies got aggressive, posting harsh, ugly criticism of artists whose gijinka interpretations of the Mane Six as humans were deemed insufficiently fuckable.

The resulting fandom conflict was deeply unpleasant, but in the end, the verdict was laid down loud and clear: if you cannot comport yourself like a decent fucking person – if your base mode of engagement within a fandom is to coopt it from the original audience and declare it newly cool only because you’re into it now; if you do not, at the very least, attempt to understand and respect the original context so as to engage appropriately (in this case, by acknowledging that the media you’re consuming was foundational to many women who were there before you and is still consumed by minors, and tagging your goddamn porn) – then the rest of fandom will treat you like a social biohazard, and rightly so.

Here’s the thing, fellow white people: when it comes to C-drama fandoms and other non-white, non-western properties? We are the Bronies.

Not, I hasten to add, in terms of toxic fuckery – though if we don’t get our collective shit together, I’m not taking that darkest timeline off the table. What I mean is that, by virtue of the whiteminding which, both consciously and unconsciously, has shaped current fan culture, particularly in terms of ficwriting conventions, we’re collectively acting as though we’re the primary audience for narratives that weren’t actually made with us in mind, being hostile dicks to Chinese and Chinese diaspora fans when they take the time to point out what we’re getting wrong. We’re bristling because we’ve conceived of ficwriting as a place wherein No Criticism Occurs without questioning how this culture, while valuable in some respects, also serves to uphold, excuse and perpetuate microaggresions and other forms of racism, lashing out or falling back on passive aggression when POC, quite understandably, talk about how they’re sick and tired of our bullshit.

An analogy: one of the most helpful and important tags on AO3 is the one for homophobia, not just because it allows readers to brace for or opt out of reading content they might find distressing, but because it lets the reader know that the writer knows what homophobia is, and is employing it deliberately. When this concept is tagged, I – like many others – often feel more able to read about it than I do when it crops up in untagged works of commercial fiction, film or TV, because I don’t have to worry that the author thinks what they’re depicting is okay. I can say definitively, “yes, the author knows this is messed up, but has elected to tell a messed up story, a fact that will be obvious to anyone who reads this,” instead of worrying that someone will see a fucked up story blind and think “oh, I guess that’s fine.” The contextual framing matters, is the point – which is why it’s so jarring and unpleasant on those rare occasions when I do stumble on a fic whose author has legitimately mistaken homophobic microaggressions for cute banter. This is why, in a ficwriting culture that otherwise aggressively dislikes criticism, the request to tag for a certain thing – while still sometimes fraught – is generally permitted: it helps everyone to have a good time and to curate their fan experience appropriately.

But when white and/or western fans fail to educate ourselves about race, culture and the history of other countries and proceed to deploy that ignorance in our writing, we’re not tagging for racism as a thing we’ve explored deliberately; we’re just being ignorant at best and hateful at worst, which means fans of colour don’t know to avoid or brace for the content of those works until they get hit in the face with microaggresions and/or outright racism. Instead, the burden is placed on them to navigate a minefield not of their creation: which fans can be trusted to write respectfully? Who, if they make an error, will listen and apologise if the error is explained? Who, if lived experience, personal translations or cultural insights are shared, can be counted on to acknowledge those contributions rather than taking sole credit? Too often, fans of colour are being made to feel like guests in their own house, while white fans act like a tone-policing HOA.

Point being: fandom and ficwriting cultures as they currently exist badly need to confront the implicit acceptance of racism and cultural bias that underlies a lot of community rules about engagement and criticism, and that needs to start with white and western fans. We don’t want to be the new Bronies, guys. We need to do better.  

#race #racism #c-drama #fandom #fan wank #fandom wank #microaggresions #culture #the untamed #bronies #whiteness #ficwriting #fanwriting #cultural bias #discourse

[seimeinotaka]

Rêverie (An OberonXGudako fic)

MASSIVE LOSTBELT 6 SPOILERS INCLUDING OBERON'S PROFILE AND BOND CE

Summary: Oberon has been unexpectedly summoned to Chaldea. He wonders why he is even there as he reminisces what happened in Avalon Le Fae. But it seems Ritsuka isn't leaving him alone, much to his annoyance.

Thanks to jellyfishy for beta-reading this!

Once again, the story has major spoilers for LB6, Oberon's profile and Bond CE, as well as important plot points of Solomon, LB1 and LB5.

There's implied one-sided love, mentions of heavy topics such as loss, and mentions of deceased characters.

"Master, Master, you've gotten better at this!"

"Thank you, Gogh! I've been practicing a lot using the tips you and Oui gave me. Even Jeanne Alter praised my background, hehe!"

"Hey, I said it was passable. Pas-sa-ble!"

Ritsuka Fujimaru has been drawing something in the cafeteria, surrounded by many servants that come and go. No one asks what she is doing, they all seem to know or if they don’t, they don’t bother to ask.

It is so bothersome. Annoying.

So many people surrounding her, like an ultraviolet lamp that attracts all the bugs. Never mind that they end up getting zapped the moment they ever dare to touch it.

The people, the sound, the merriment, it all annoys Oberon, who only watches in silence as he eats some ice cream with melon.

To be able to smile like that, even after discarding all of those stories...Oberon doesn't hide a crooked smile. In the end, the lostbelts are no more than faint dreams doomed to end, forgotten by the winners, the panhuman history citizens. Ritsuka Fujimaru isn't different. For her, it's like reading the doujin the swimsuit berserker is making. Once the pages are closed, the story ends and it ceases to exist. She can choose to forget.

Truly detestable.

-

Oberon stares and then walks away, just as Ritsuka lifts her face. She looks around, the feeling of being watched faintly breaking her concentration.

But in the end he doesn't say a word as he leaves.

-

“Hey, you keep looking at Master!” Jeanne Alter slams her hands on the table where Oberon is sitting. Said Master is working again, too enthralled talking with Gogh to notice Jeanne Alter slipping away to talk to him.

“Does it bother if I do?” He gives her a crooked smile as she huffs and scowls. Though of course her face turns slightly pink.

“Tch, of course not! It's just your stare is getting on my nerves! Wouldn't you get distracted if someone is looking at you intensely?”

“I am a creation, not a creator. I wouldn't understand what you're saying. Besides, I wasn’t looking at her or you anyway,” he says mockingly.

“Hmph, whatever you say. Leave when Master is drawing, what she is doing is very important and I won't let you make it messy.”

“Hah, a page of your little comic? As if you need a lot of care. But fret not, I am certain that with your keen insight and guidance it will be something so memorable, up to the level of the famous writers here in Chaldea.”

“You bug...Bring it, I will burn you to a crisp! Moths do like fire, don't they? Surely you will feel at home then!” Jeanne Alter laughs. “I'll let you know that it is something so impressive that it would make you cry, if you're capable of that anyway.”

Though her Saint Graph right now is one of a Berserker, it seems the insight of the Avenger still exists deep within. After all, only those who are similar can recognize each other. Fake recognizes fake. Emptiness recognizes emptiness. Hate can only recognize hate.

Though come to think about it, Ritsuka has always been writing, he noticed she kept a small book on her, during quiet times. Perhaps a diary of sorts. It wouldn’t be surprising, to record everything she has experienced, as the writer of the winning history.

-

When we die, we'll become like those stories. Our lives are stories that might be discussed and forgotten, so it's not that different from your midsummer night dream.

A dream you forget once you wake up from your slumber.

“You're a tsundere,” Ritsuka says flatly as she rests her chin on her hand. She even dares to give Oberon a shrug and a smile, as if she can tell the truth between the lies.

“Ah, you're annoying.”

“That's exactly what I'm talking about, hehe!”

An obnoxious smile continues to be on her face, and he simply looks at her with unveiled disgust and apathy.

“Why am I even here?”

“Well, you answered the call, so you can only blame yourself for that.”

“What.”

“The rayshift system call can be refused. That's an inescapable truth. You lie a lot but there are some truths in your words. Or actions in this case. You wanted to be in Chaldea, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

“Ah there it is, your virtuous nature shining through. One day you'll be fooled by someone who is pretending to be your ally...ah, my bad, that has already happened, isn't that right? Maybe you should learn your lesson.”

“Ah, yes. But it doesn't change that you are here. And because you lie often, that means I can just take it whatever way I like. You'll just deny it even if I'm right. But you can't deny we get along pretty well!”

“We do not!”

“See, that's a lie!”

“Ah, I'm going to the cafeteria! Don't follow me!”

Yet we thrive on dreams, don’t we?

“How long do you think I've been in this business? Have you interacted already with some of the servants here? I can tell you don’t mind my company.”

“I quit, I'll break the contract!”

“So, one cube or two?” Ritsuka dares to offer him the sugar cube container, even holding some tongs, just to put the amount he requests in his cup.

“You really want a poisoned tea, right, wonderful Master?~”

Even if they are something that doesn’t exist, we yearn for them, even to make them a reality. No matter how impossible. No matter how painful.

That is why we can never get rid of them.

Even if we forget once the veil of dawn has ended, something of it remains.

-

“There's so much that is subjective. For example, you were Artoria's Merlin, weren't you? For a moment you were Merlin, that was her truth. There's different Merlins, I mean we have different Artorias here from different eras and classes. You were a different Merlin than the one I know.”

Ritsuka is busy trying different colors. Oui and Gogh got into a discussion on how to best get the tones she was aiming for, and they even went to do some research on their own. The reds of a forest seem familiar yet not quite right, not that Oberon was looking at the notebook.

It has to have a dreamlike feeling, that’s what she wanted, but that’s not easy to pour into a painting.

“What we see as a lie or as truth, it changes with our perception. Your lies and my truths might be different, but it's ok. In the end we have only one perspective. That's why lies and truths can mix, that's why contradictions exist. I mean, that is why you are here.”

“Here's some advice from the bottom of my heart, don't quit your day job, Master. Stick to the world saving and leave the philosophical dissertation to virtually anyone else.”

In the end, does the truth really matter?

Something that can change when you close your eyes. Something that is as fleeting as a moth's life.

Would anything change in the grand scheme of things?

To protect Ritsuka, Chaldea forged a story, one where Romani Archaman was at fault for everything that happened.

To the world that is on the verge of disappearing, that became the truth.

To everyone in Chaldea, the truth is that this girl worked harder than anyone to protect this world.

That was what Sherlock Holmes said once they met. Oberon didn’t like him, but in a way he seems familiar. Holmes is a great detective, but since he keeps everything to himself, he might be wrong the entire time until the last minute.

So it’s not like Oberon can take him that seriously.

Even so, he told him the story of the great journey before Panhuman History was at risk by the Alien God. A story of which he was somehow aware, but it seems different when it is told by someone else.

To Oberon, it was a story of selfish survival. A fitting story of those who fight in the mud to continue existing.

To Holmes, it was a story of humanity bravely fighting to avoid destruction. An unlikely event that might have inspired others. Or rather, that is how the Leonardo Da Vinci from that time would have framed it, since Holmes isn’t an author and the current Da Vinci is someone different now.

The events are there, what changes is our perception of them. Perhaps this is where truths and lies take root, the lie of today becomes the truth of tomorrow.

The lie allows the fake existence to continue even when the dream has already ended.

But in the end, everything will fade, so nothing really matters.

-

"Well, I don't know if it has a meaning, but doesn't that mean you can give it your own? Just like how I can take your lies the way I want."

"Aren't you a simplistic one? No, perhaps it is that kind of thinking that has let you get this far. What a naive Master Chaldea has. Though it helps you accomplish your goals. "

He is not sure why they are taking tea while chatting, but here he is. Perhaps it is to hide his annoyance, the Master won’t stop until she gets what she wants anyway, so he is just avoiding a pointless squabble.

"You can think whatever you want~ and in any case, even if the feelings of today will be nothing in the future, that doesn't mean they are worthless. Because they affect the you of today and that is the moment when you are alive.”

The joy of living, that is something Oberon can’t understand nor tolerate. It angers him.

Of course, he is an entity of the abyss so how could he comprehend that?

The will of self-destruction, the cessation of existence. That something is so fundamentally wrong that it must wiped out, for there is no way to fix something that crooked.

Faerie Britain wished for him because it had to be wiped away from all records, because it had no way of being salvaged.

Therefore, he can only listen to those words.

(Perhaps it is the envy of not having something? Perhaps it is the bitterness of no longer having something to do, to dream for? Or simple ennui that no matter what, in the end it doesn’t matter?)

Ritsuka ignores his silence, as she continues.

“I don't know but for someone who likes stories you don't seem like you're actually enjoying them.”

“Would you enjoy a story where you fade away like everyone in the lostbelts you have erased? Ah, my bad. Surely, as the winner you can afford to disregard those stories. Silly me, of course you would be able to believe that as the victor you can claim to be the true history. Panhuman history is in the end mankind's right path, after all, and everything else can fade into the abyss.”

Her smile is complex, almost a facade. From one angle it looks like a forlorn frown, from the other a faint smile. She plays with the spoon on her table.

"Hmmm, I wonder..."

 Dr. Roman, we finally beat the British Lostbelt. It was unlike any other places we were, and I keep thinking of Percival's words...

   I wish you were still here.

The sacrifice of someone can mean the whole world for a single person. The sacrifices of millions can become a mere statistic, a simple cold number to show how bad an event was. In the end, it doesn't matter.

What was once lost will never come back.

The void left in one's soul will never heal, it only becomes more bearable with time.

But even so, that lingering pain is the proof that someone was alive, that they left a mark on the others they met as one looks at the twinkling stars and reminisces of the never-happening-again past.

“Did you know the true opposite of love isn't hate but indifference?”

“Haaah? Perhaps you didn't think so but I was being honest about my suggestion. Thinking too much will only hurt your head. You should only focus on what's in front of you.”

“Whether you love or hate, you end up putting a lot of attention to the object of your affections, but if you're indifferent to it, it ceases to exist. Perhaps your hatred of everything is because there's something you cannot afford to lose.”

Titania was the wife of Oberon in Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream. She was the only one who could accept the king's eccentric personality.

But in reality, she was just a creation for the story, a being who was never real.

Of course, there isn't a person like that in the world.

Someone who accepts a hollow entity like me.

“I don’t know, if Arjuna Alter was able to come to terms with his own humanity, well...nevermind. I was just thinking aloud.”

(Ideals are just that.

A concept not belonging to this world.

It is when you reconcile with the flawed reality that you can grasp your happiness, the one you have.)

“Heh-Hahahaha, that's rich, Master!”

This is so sickening.

Only Titania could have loved(tolerated) such an unpleasant existence. Only Titania could have loved(tolerated) a being born of hate, a destructive force whose only purpose is to rend everything to ashes.

But the fact is, Titania doesn't exist. This means no one could accept someone like him.

That is the unpleasant truth.

That is why people are entranced(poisoned) by falsehoods, lies to sweeten the body and protect the soul. It's a sweet elixir to hide from the harsh reality, the ultimate end of the journey of everyone, a pointless, worthless life. Because at the end of the dream, no matter what one has accomplished, it doesn't change the finale of this story and it is doomed to be forgotten. 

Just as the one princess from before, who also fell in love with the Fairy King. The one who tried to give fire to his cold body. But he didn't notice this, not even when her snow body had ceased to move, a protection of love.

So in the end, if it's not acknowledged, it is the same as it never had happened.

“Tell me, does it matter to you? Are you going to tell me you know how I feel? That you understand what I'm going through? Come on, tell me your important story, that everything is going to be alright as long as I'm not alone-”

“I can't. I don't know how you feel. Even if we had suffered the same, I wouldn't know how you feel.”

Her words or her smile, the same as before. He doesn’t know which but it cuts him short.

“All I know is the pain of losing someone important to me, but that's not what you're feeling, right?”

The Titania I wish for doesn't exist in this world. The Faerie Britain that gave birth to me no longer exists, even if I have accomplished my goal. 

I am merely a dream whose purpose has been fulfilled and thus, the curtain shall be down as I exit the stage.

The things I yearn for are merely dreams. Even so, I hope, because I saw it existed for someone else. For another Oberon, not the one I am.

The illusion of happiness, the hope of a love.

I don't know how it is to not be Oberon, the lying king. The king without any other purpose. The villain that has exited the stage having won, but now even that victory is pointless.

Then, why am I still here? 

“For what it's worth, I like you. You're nice company, lies and all.”

“You’re an odd one.”

“I've been told that often.”

“It's not a compliment, you have no taste.”

“You know, for Panhuman history I am the hero, ensuring our world survives. But to everyone else from every lostbelt erased...I am the worst of the worst, the villain that destroys their world.”

Ritsuka traces the notebook on her hands. The contents of the rest could be disclosed but Oberon doesn’t open any of the other pile of notebooks, so they all lie on her bed.

“Patxi cursed me for showing him a world that he thought was happier than his.”

Tears fell from her eyes as she smiled weakly. “I wonder if that was ever the right choice.”

“Panhuman history isn't the perfect utopia you can imagine. Humans seek hatred and war, there's suffering and agony. While some can lead happy lives, there's so many who can't even enjoy a warm meal or think of a future. Kirshtaria saw that, he wanted to make a better world because ours was so imperfect.”

“Why are we still going?”

“Why was ours the correct one?”

“Even now, I don't know. And I'm not sure if I'll ever know. Any justification might seem a rationalization, something to feel less guilty for killing all those people.”

“That is why I cannot forget, I cannot let the history of those lostbelts be erased. Even if I'm the only one who remembers,” her grip on the notebook tightened, “I can never forget them.”

Like a dream, one time Oberon caught sight of what she was drawing, finally reaching the dreamy red hue she long sought, depicting the autumn forest Oberon knew and hated.

The words depicting what happened in Faerie Britain, the stories of Artoria, Morgan, of Barghest, Baobhan Sith and Melusine, of Aurora, of Mike, of Ector, of Knocknarea, of him.

“Even if the rest of the world forgets, I cannot. That's why I want to record as much as I can. I caused them to disappear, remembering all of them is the least I can do.”

“That's guilt for you.”

“...Yes, I can't deny that. I've caused many people to suffer, that is why I cannot stop.”

“You're an idiot. Pursuing a fleeting dream that will only cause you to hurt, as your heart tears itself apart with these thorns you surround yourself with.”

“I guess. But someone has to do it right? But even so…

“I enjoy the moments with everyone here in Chaldea and I can say I'm happy.

But I also feel deep sadness for everything that I have done and continue to do.”

There are many contradicting truths, woven into each other.

Like overlapping threads in a beautiful(horrible) story.

“I could think Panhuman history is the correct one because it was there. There was a reason why it was chosen.”

“And if there isn't? If there is truly no meaning to your journey? That the reason your world was chosen was a mere whim of fate, a sudden lucky roll of the dice? That there is nothing special to your world that makes you worthy of the title of proper human history?”

“Then I guess I will have to make it so that there is one.”

“And if you can't?”

“Just because I can't doesn't mean I shouldn't try.”

“Trying doesn't mean you will succeed. Morgan tried her hardest, but in the end, she still failed, crumbling in despair as her Faerie kingdom burnt to ashes.”

“Well, that will come bite me when the time comes, but for now, that’s all I can do, right?”

In the end, as long as it entertains, does it matter?

What is the purpose of a story? To bring joy(tears)? To break one from that moment of boredom, of despair, and heal the soul even if just a little?

And in the end, does it even matter?

-

“I like this Saint Graph more.”

It’s been a long time since he has donned the clothes as King Oberon. Once the façade was over, once he could ascend, he has never worn anything but the colors of the depths of the abyss. Anyone else would think they are unsightly, hateful, depressing.

After all, the warmth of King Oberon’s butterfly wings makes children smile, makes people trust him. His monstruous limbs right now are not enchanting.

“I thought you were a butterfly girl. And I have been wearing these ever since, why are you even saying this up until now?”

“I just wanted to say that. I like the fluffy cape and the butterfly wings, but you sound less pained right now. And this outfit is cool too.”

In the end, perhaps Titania isn't meant to be someone who brings the sun to your eyes, with laughter so contagious that she makes the bitterness of a day go away. She's not a neverending warmth on a cold winter, nor a guiding bright star up in the dark sky. She's not the simple to your complicated, the light to your dark, the smile to your frown, the opposite of your miserable existence that brings joy to your life. An illogical being that accepts you in spite of your incompatibility. 

Was I wrong all along? 

A companion when watching a wonderful(decadent) play.

Someone who walks by your side in a crumbling world.

Someone whose company makes the poison more bearable and hell, tolerable.

Someone who simply loves me for who I am. Who gazed at the abyss, saw the void yet didn't run away.

Ah, this is so laughable, an amateur terrible tragicomedy, a hideous play with no sickeningly sweet ending.

(Perhaps it is because Titania is a wretched creature herself. Or perhaps because Titania's wings have been torn off that she understands a small fragment of you. Even if true understanding is a lie, a pipe dream. Titania has seen her own hell and can sympathize with yours, with the emptiness and resentment you hold. Not fearing it, not judging it. Just accepting you as the flawed existence you are.

If that is the case, then there is nothing beautiful about Titania.)

But even so...

"...You are..."

"Did you say something?"

"No, nevermind."

Ritsuka smiles as Oberon looks away. He grumbles about the cramped space as he hoards the bed, swatting a mosquito away while she writes in her diary. The boring stories she writes that he doesn't care about even if his fingers have traced those letters.

But even so, he stays.

Ah, love is a bothersome thing.

-

Thank you for reading!

Now, OH BOY WHERE TO BEGIN. Title comes from Debussy's Rêverie. I wanted to play with it, seeing that Oberon's Bond CE is called Pavane for a Dead Princess, which is the title of a melody by Ravel. I am sure it is no coincidence. Both Ravel and Debussy were considered the cornerstones of Impressionism in music, however, they both HATED being labeled like that.

Pavane for a Dead Princess is one of Ravel's solo compositions for the piano. However, unlike what the title implies, Ravel specifically said that it wasn't meant to be a melody of a funeral, but he wanted to evoke the idea of a princess dancing to the pavane. However, some people didn't really listen to him. So in this case, I think that rather than to see Oberon's CE as a funeral to Blanca, it is a way to celebrate her story, even if it didn't end on the happier note we would have wished. You can listen to it here

Now Rêverie is by Debussy and it's meant to feel like a dream, hence the name. The melody became a massive hit, though Debussy later hated this piece because he felt that he had written better pieces but this one was the one that made him famous. Since it was written when he was young, he felt he was still lacking a lot, but the melody became one of his most popular compositions nonetheless. I think that story ties nicely with what we perceive vs what others perceive. You can listen to it here

Now onto the actual fic, I had this vague idea when part 3 was released, especially after all the spoilers about Oberon's true identity. I really wanted to get him, and I was super lucky. In between getting him, his profile and bond lines being translated, I just got possessed to write this as a way to honor and thank him for coming home AND to give him a sort of happy ending after Avalon.

Oberon in that bed is thanks to that comic on Twitter where he is eating chips without any care and the kind reminder of his voice lines that in spite of him constantly complaining, he spends an awful lot of time on our room. Hehehe.

Best of luck if you are pulling for him! And once again, thank you for reading!

#fate grand order #ritsuka fujimaru #obeguda #fgo oberon #oberon vortigern #fgo

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Perceptive Blindness

Prompt: hi can i have some hurt/comfort lamp where virgil gets the others together and pines maybe? im feeling down and need to see virgil pining. ps i love all your fics (especially Is It Enough?)

Thanks to the nonny for this prompt! I hope it's what you wanted, I had fin with it. I love writing in Virgil's voice so much because I don't have to try and rein in my natural snark as much. 

Read on Ao3

Pairings: LAMP babeyy

Warnings: our buddy V has a panic attack but it’s not super explicit

Word Count: 4814

It should’ve been easy, right? To see it coming?

 Listen, Virgil’s job is to be observant, to pay attention to shit. Just because he’s notoriously, um, overreactive doesn’t mean he’s bad at paying attention. He sees a whole lot of shit and hey if you saw as much shit as Virgil did you’d be freaking out too, yeah? Okay, great, got that sorted.

 So. Here’s the thing.

When Roman starts sitting a little closer to Patton that he used to on the couch or offering to help him cook and clean when they all know Roman would rather do anything else, Virgil notices. When Roman starts getting up earlier and earlier so he can beat Patton down to the kitchen so they can do it together, Virgil notices. (It’s not like he sleeps, he notices this shit when there’s not supposed to be people up and at ‘em for another half-hour.)

 So yeah, maybe he sinks into Princey’s room one day and smirks when Roman startles terribly coming out of the bathroom.

 “Hey there, Princey.”

 “Don’t—goodness, Stormcloud,” Roman huffs, getting his balance back, “don’t do that. Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

 “You were in the bathroom, you wouldn’t have answered.”

 “How did you know I was—you know what, it doesn’t matter.” Roman shakes his head. “What do you want?”

“What, I can’t just pop my head in and say hi?”

 “I’ve never in my life heard you say ‘pop my head in’ and I never want to hear it again.”

 “That’s where you draw the line?”

 “Everyone has a line, Dark and Stormy.”

 Virgil shrugs, smiling when Roman glares at him for curling up on his bed. Which, alright fair.

 “So.”

 “You’ve yet to explain why you’re in my room,” Roman reminds, sounding less upset than confused.

 “Just thought I’d say hi.”

 “Yes, sure, that’s it.”

 “What, you don’t believe me?” Roman just stares at him. “Okay, okay, I...may have an ulterior motive.”

 “Aha!” Roman points at him victoriously. “I knew it! Now tell me, you fiend.”

 It’s only the slight uptick of Roman’s mouth that lets him know that’s probably supposed to be a term of endearment.

 “Oh, nothing much,” Virgil sighs, “just wondering about your sleeping habits.”

 “Considering you’re the only one in the Mindscape who gets less sleep than me, you’re in no position to—“

 “I’m not here to yell at you, Roman,” Virgil says quickly, relaxing a bit when Roman’s shoulders slump, “I just…you know, I hear you when you get up.”

 “That’s…kind of creepy.”

 “It’s my thing, Roman,” he sighs, “I pay attention to shit and it’s not like I’m asleep.”

 “I know, I know, I didn’t mean it like that.” Roman sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Are you asking why I’ve been getting up earlier?”

 “Yup.”

 “It’s nothing bad, Virgil.”

 “Never said it was.”

 Roman sighs again, more dramatically this time, flouncing over to his desk, definitely not pouting. “Virgil…”

 “What? If it’s not bad, why don’t you wanna tell me?” Virgil’s eyes widen. “Ooh, is it a secret? Are you keeping secrets, Roman?”

 “Shut up!”

 “No!” Virgil lobs a pillow at him. “Tell me!”

 He ducks quickly when another one flies back at him.

 “Hey!”

 “You threw it first!”

 “Yeah, and!”

 “Gah!” Roman throws himself up out of his chair, trying to hide how red his face is. It’s not working. “What do you want?”

 “I told you, Princey,” Virgil grins, “I want to know why you’re getting up earlier and why you don’t want to tell me.”

 “Because I want to!”

 “And why do you want to?”

 “No,” Roman insists, pointing his finger at Virgil, “I told you, that’s what you wanted.”

 “Giving me the vaguest answer that doesn’t actually answer the question is not an answer.”

 Roman stares at him for a second. “We’ve said the word ‘answer’ too many times. It’s not a word anymore.”

 “Pity.” Virgil shrugs. “Guess you’re gonna have to just tell me.”

 “That’s not—how does—“ Roman pinches the bridge of his nose. “That is not how this words. Works.”

 Virgil snickers.

 “Shut up.”

 “You’re so flustered, Princey. I haven’t seen you like this in ages.”

 “Leave me alone, Virgil.”

 The note of genuine irritation in Roman’s voice is enough to give Virgil pause. He slides off the bed and walks over to Roman, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels.

 “You mean that, Roman?”

 Roman looks at him from between his fingers, then looks away. “…no.”

 “Okay.” He bumps Roman with his elbow. “Sit down, Princey.”

 He winces when Roman lets his knees buckle and just collapses onto the floor.

 “I didn’t—okay fine.” Listen, Virgil has no respect for ‘normal’ sitting places at the best of times. He sits next to Roman and watches the prince worry at the cuffs of his sleeves. “Roman, you gotta—you’re gonna fuck them up.”

 “It’s fine,” Roman mutters absentmindedly, “I’ve done this before.”

 “…not exactly reassuring me here, dude.”

 “No, not—not this, I just meant the—my sleeves, they’re…they’re not…it’s fine.”

 Virgil nods, frowning as Roman starts to fidget a little more.

 “…Princey—“

 “It’s Patton,” Roman blurts, his face flushing even brighter, “I—that’s why I’m waking up earlier.”

 Something in Virgil’s chest twists.

 “I figured,” he says instead, bumping Roman’s shoulder again, “you, uh, you had that look about you.”

 “What look?”

 Virgil tilts his head a bit. “You…you do know what you look like when you’re in love, don’t you Princey?”

 If Roman’s eyes could go wider than when Virgil said he knew what was going on, well, they do.

“I—I’m—wait, what?”

 “You’re romance, aren’t you?” The corner of Virgil’s mouth tugs upward. “Passion, desire, romance, all of that, right?”

 “I am, but—“

 “You—alright, I gotta figure out a way to say this without being sappy as shit,” Virgil grumbles, looking away for a moment. “Okay, uh—you’re—there’s no way to say this and not sound absolutely ridiculous, but um…your color’s red, right?”

 Roman nods, still staring at him.

 “You…your eyes turn red, Roman,” Virgil mumbles, “like…you know how cartoon people get like…hearts in their eyes?”

 “I get literal heart-eyes?”

 “Kind of?” Virgil waves his hand. “You just—you’re—your irises go red and like…sparkly.”

 “They do?”

 “Have you seriously never noticed?”

 “No!” Roman looks like someone just told him Thomas got another Disney job or something. “I—oh my goodness, this is incredible! How can I see this!”

 “Here’s a tip,” Virgil snickers as Roman’s cheeks start to color again, “next time you’re in the kitchen with Patton or something, look at yourself in the mirror or something reflective right after you look at him.”

 “O-okay,” Roman mumbles, “okay, okay, I can do this, I can do this, I can do this—“

 “Hey—“ Virgil prods him— “you’re supposed to be downstairs in ten minutes anyway, just go now.”

 “Right!”

 “And…he’s gone,” Virgil sighs, getting up and sinking back to his own room. He pulls on his headphones and turns up the music.

 Had Roman…really never noticed his eyes did that? The dude’s had eyes for—well, as long as you have eyes for. Has he never looked at himself when he’s working before? Jeez, and here Virgil thought Roman was looking in a mirror every two seconds.

 Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s noticed something that none of the others did. But still, what with how…obvious Roman can be sometimes, had the others really never noticed this either?

 As it turns out, the answer is yes, but also no.

 They’re in the living room a few days later and Roman’s bouncing off the walls, as per usual, as Logan looks up every so often from his book, and Patton giggles. Virgil is decidedly not paying attention because of course he isn’t, curled up on the floor out of the way of Roman’s bouncing.

 “Watch where you’re going,” Logan scolds when Roman almost brains himself on the banister, “you’ll hurt yourself.”

 “Pfft,” Roman blusters, “I haven’t paid attention to a single thing in my entire life and I’ll be damned if I start now.”

 Virgil snorts. Patton makes a vague noise of concern. Logan just sighs.

 “Roman, you are clearly intelligent enough to demonstrate that you do pay attention to things.”

 “I dunno,” Virgil says, “he didn’t notice his heart-eyes when he’s in love until I told him about them.”

 Roman sticks his tongue out. Virgil sticks his out back. Then they notice that Logan and Patton are quiet.

 “Guys?”

 “Roman has what?” Logan closes his book. “I…I was also not aware of this.”

 “Hah!” Roman points at Virgil. “See, it’s not just me!”

 “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

 “Patton? Did you also know this?”

 “Y-yeah,” Patton manages, his voice strangely quiet, “I mean, I knew about Roman’s eyes, but…doesn’t he have that all the time? Not just when he’s in love?”

 Oh.

 Oh, shit.

 Roman freezes, his mouth opening and closing without making sounds. Logan looks quizzically back and forth between the two of them until Virgil clambers to his feet and knocks his elbow.

 “C’mon, L, let’s go somewhere else.”

 “Why?”

 “You’ll see.”

 Sure enough, after a few minutes of them walking away to give Roman and Patton some privacy, Logan makes a small ‘ah’ sound.

 “Yeah,” Virgil sighs, “took them long enough.”

 “I am pleased to say that this I did notice.”

 “Right?”

 “I mean it’s not like it isn’t obvious.”

 “That’s what I said.”

 “Honestly, did they believe we couldn’t see?”

 “I don’t think they knew until like, ten seconds ago.”

 “They truly are a bit oblivious, aren’t they?”

 “Oh, hell yeah.”

 Hey, you know how sickeningly adorable Patton and Roman are normally? You know how much more sickeningly adorable they got after this happened?

 Great.

 Now double that.

 Now you have like, some idea of what Virgil’s going through.

 Dates. Kisses. Flowers. Baking together. Sitting on top of each other. Whispers in the corner. Curled around a phone so tight they can’t tell whose legs are whose.

 All.

 The.

 Time.

 Is Virgil happy for them? Yes. Absolutely. Great for them. Is he also about to down a bottle of soy sauce to even out the amount of pure sugar he’s being forced to consume? Pass that salt factory over here, please, pronto. That’s probably why the feeling that twisted in his chest hasn’t gone away any.

 “Seriously,” Virgil huffs to Logan after the two of them vanish from the kitchen, “Thomas is gonna have so many cavities.”

 “That’s not how it works, Virgil.”

 “But it fucking could be.”

 “I must say I think this has had a…positive impact on Thomas,” Logan says instead, “that his heart and his ego are so…compatible.”

 Virgil snorts. “That’s one way to put it.”

 “I suppose it makes sense.”

 “Yeah, yeah, it makes sense. Right brain boys, we get it. Doesn’t mean I don’t feel like I’m drowning in a gallon of vanilla syrup every time I walk into a fucking room.”

 “Alright, enough,” Logan says, giving Virgil a reprimanding look that’s just this side of too smiley to be effective, “I need more coffee.”

 “Ooh, get me some too?”

 “I have a better idea: why don’t you come with me?”

 Virgil groans. “But that requires moving. And effort.”

 “You have legs.”

 “But—“ Virgil wriggles down into the nice little divot in the couch cushions— “comfy.”

 Logan sighs, shaking his head in what might be fond exasperation. “Very well. Hold this.”

 “Okay,” Virgil mutters, taking Logan’s empty coffee mug, “what are you—hey!”

 Logan, because apparently none of them have noticed that he can apparently do this, simply tucks Virgil under his arm like a sack of potatoes, conveniently ignoring the fact that Virgil is, you know, a fucking heavy-ass person, and walks off toward the kitchen like this is absolutely fucking normal.

 “Do I even weigh anything to you?”

 “Your weight is not insubstantial.”

 Well, judging by the way Logan’s just walking, like a normal person, uh, it doesn’t seem like it.

 “How—since when—what?”

 “Articulate as always, Virgil,” Logan remarks, stride never faltering, “I do seek to maintain some level of physical fitness.”

 “Some level of—Logan, you’re carrying me like it’s nothing!”

 Logan glances down and raises an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

 Nope. Absolutely not. Not from this angle. Holy shit.

 “No,” Virgil squeaks, “no, nope. I’m good. No problems.”

 Logan hums and looks away, easily setting Virgil back on his feet once they get to the kitchen.

 Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine right now. Everything’s so fine. Everything’s so fine and good right now in the way that it’s happening. It’s never not been fine. Virgil’s never been more fine in his fucking life.

 Holy fuck.

 Okay, so Virgil was not observant enough to pick that up the first time around—get it? No? Fuck you, that was funny—but he does start noticing it more often. How Logan can just sigh and pick up the couch to grab his pencil, or how he never balks at having to put away the really heavy dishes that Patton struggles with. It’s—okay. Yep, he can deal with this. Totally.

 Virgil just sees a lot, okay?

 Which means that he can see how Roman and Patton react when they first realize how strong Logan is.

 Patton’s looking for something in the top of the cupboard, straining on his tiptoes. He sighs and starts to try and climb the counter.

 “Patton!” Logan rushes into the kitchen past Virgil who sits back to watch the show. “Don’t do that, you know how dangerous it is.”

 “I know, I know, but I can’t find the brown sugar, I think I pushed it back too far!”

 “Just get the step stool, you know where it is.”

 “But it takes so long to reorganize the closet to get it out,” Patton protests, “and I know where it is, it won’t take long.”

 “We do need to fix that, don’t we?” Logan sighs. “Alright. You say you know where it is?”

 “Yes! I can see it, I just can’t reach it.”

 “Alright. Ready?”

 “Ready for—oof!”

 Patton squeals when Logan just…picks him up and holds him by the cupboard, clutching Logan’s arms like he’s going to fall.

 “L-Logan!”

 “Can you reach it?”

 “Y-yeah, I can probably—oh my goodness, Lo, you’re strong!”

 “I’m not going to drop you, Patton, just grab the sugar.”

 “Okay, okay, I, um…” Patton fidgets, still clutching Logan’s hands. “Gosh!”

 “Patton? The sugar?”

 “R-right!” Patton pulls the bag of sugar out of the cupboard as Logan lowers him gently to the ground. “Wow, thanks, Logan!”

 “Of course. Though we really must get the closet reorganized, the step stool does not good if we can’t easily access it…”

 Virgil snickers as Logan goes off about the closet. He knows damn well Patton is not paying any attention to what he’s saying. He catches Virgil’s eyes and just mouths ‘wow!’

 Virgil responds with a shrug of ‘what can you do?’

 “Virgil?”

 “What’s up, L?” He cranes his neck back to peer up at Logan.

 “Patton has requested that we all come to stay in the kitchen,” Logan says, offering a hand to pull Virgil to his feet. Virgil briefly entertains the idea of making Logan pick him up again when he decides against it.

 “Okay…?”

 “Do you happen to know where Roman is,” Logan asks as he pulls Virgil up, “or no?”

 “I think he’s in the Imagination?”

 Logan rolls his eyes. “Then you may as well come with me. We’ll have a better chance of finding him.”

 Virgil tips Patton a lazy two-fingered salute as they make their way up the stairs. Sure enough, the bright red door to the Imagination is ajar, and as Logan steps through, Virgil spots a castle, a briar garden, and many many cloud fortresses above.

 “Well,” Logan huffs as Virgil closes the door, “he’s not running out of energy any time soon.”

 “Good.”

 “Quite.” Logan glances around. “Well, we’d better start looking.”

 Virgil’s about to agree when he hears something whistling above him. He looks up and squints.

 He takes two steps to the left.

 “Virgil?” Logan turns around. “What’re you doing?”

 In response, Virgil just points up.

 Logan follows his finger, his expression changing from one of confusion to that familiar fond exasperation again. Virgil expects him to glance around for something soft, or squishy, or at the very least move out of the way.

 Instead, Logan simply sighs, takes two steps closer, and holds out his arms…

 …and catches Roman effortlessly in a princess carry.

 “Hello, Roman,” Logan says like he didn’t just fucking do that, “Patton wants everyone downstairs.”

 “I don’t think Roman’s got speech right now, L,” Virgil snickers.

 Indeed, Roman—which, hang on, let’s preface this by saying this is a reasonable reaction, okay? Logan just fucking caught him after falling from god knows how high like he weighs less than a fucking pillow, this is not something that just happens—is staring open-mouthed at Logan, panting heavily, frozen in Logan’s arms. Logan tilts his head.

 “Roman? Are you okay?”

 Virgil snorts when Roman suddenly flails and tries to struggle out of Logan’s arms.

 “Roman,” Logan says sternly and holy fuck, “if you want me to put you down I will, but if you do that you’re going to hurt yourself.”

 “Yep,” Roman squeaks, “you can—you can put me down, I can walk, you can put me down.”

 “There we go.” Logan puts him down only for Roman to quickly brush himself off and dart toward the door. “Where are you going?”

 “Patton! Downstairs! Forgot! Bye!”

 “Well, he seems to be in a hurry,” Logan sighs, adjusting his glasses, only to frown at Virgil when Virgil just bursts out laughing. “What?”

 “No, no, you gotta—holy shit!” Virgil doubles over, still cackling. “Oh my god, his face.”

 “I don’t understand what’s so funny,” Logan says a moment later when Virgil’s wiping tears from his eyes, “did I do something wrong?”

 The concerned question sobers Virgil, at least enough to stop dying. “No, no, L, you’re fine. Roman’s just…having a moment.”

 “Because he forgot about Patton’s request,” Logan nods, “and does not wish to offend him.”

 “…yeah, that’s it.”

 “Well,” Logan says, dusting himself off, “let’s not be late too, hmm?”

 “Sure, L.”

 Logan might not know why Roman and Patton are muttering furiously to each other and spring apart the second they appear around the end of the stairs, but Virgil does. He just chuckles and winks and settles in to watch a dinner of the three of them being absolutely idiots.

 It’s fine.

 It’s so fine.

 It’s probably because he was laughing so hard that his chest still hurts.

 This lasts for like a week, and Virgil’s fucking face hurts from laughing at their fucking faces and trying to hide how hard he’s fucking laughing. And yeah okay Virgil’s in no position to judge, he’s got no idea how ridiculous he looked when he got jump scared by Logan’s freaky strength.

 And it’s just not fucking fair because if it was Roman, they’d all expect it. He’d be sweeping them off their feet every two seconds and they’d be used to it by now. If it were Patton, he’d just pick them up and hug them and be the best dad ever and that would be great. But no, it’s Logan.

 Logan who’s…Logan. Who can calm them all down better than anyone else but also has that sharp-as-hell tongue and quick wit that runs circles around them. Fuck. He’s just—gah.

 Okay, at least Virgil’s not alone here. He’s seen Patton fumble through his words around a surprisingly patient Logan for ages now, and watched Roman stand way too close to Logan too. And yeah, okay, he’s seen the way Logan looks at them too.

 So much so that he bites the bullet one day and sighs, tugging Logan out of the living room and to his room.

 “Virgil? What’s going on?”

 “What’s going on,” Virgil sighs, “is that if I have to look at you pining over them for one more second I am going to scream.”

 Logan, to his credit, doesn’t try and deny it. Instead, he simply adjusts his tie and glasses, studiously avoiding Virgil’s gaze. “I suppose it really is that obvious.”

 “To me, yeah, to those two, not so much.”

 “I will get over this, I’m working on it.”

 “God, no, L, that’s not what I—“ Virgil pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just talk to them, okay?”

 “Are you certain? But you’d be…okay with this?”

 Virgil levels a stare at him. “Dude, have you not seen how they look at you?”

 “…no?”

 “What is it like for you guys? It must be so boring.”

 “I can assure you,” Logan says wryly, “I can see perfectly well.”

 “Sure, Specs.”

 “Alright, that’s enough.”

 “Yeah, uh-huh. Sure.”

 “Virgil!”

 “No, no, I’m just saying it’s interesting that—“

 “That’s enough.”

 Virgil gulps. “Mhmm. Okay. Yep. Got it.”

 He wisely does not go into the living room for the rest of the day.

 There’s a lot Virgil sees. He sees the way Logan makes two extra mugs of coffee, sits just so on the couch, touches the small of Roman’s back or the crook of Patton’s shoulder. He sees the way Roman smiles when he looks at Patton the way he doesn’t smile any other time, wraps his arms tightly around Logan’s waist and hooks his chin over his shoulder, keeps his door cracked a little more than usual. He sees the way Patton fusses over the cookies, making sure they’ve always got Roman’s chips and Logan’s pretzels stocked, walks in the middle of the two of them with their hands swinging.

 He sees a lot.

 And, uh…he realizes something.

 Remember that, uh, funny feeling in his chest that he totally thought was from somewhere else?

 Listen, just because he sees a lot of stuff doesn’t mean he’s the best at recognizing it.

 So yeah. He’s, uh…

 You know.

 Don’t make him say it.

 As it turns out, that can make you blind to certain things. When he’s hyper-focusing on the things he knows he’s going to see, he doesn’t really have the space to realize there’s a whole host of things he doesn’t see.

 He doesn’t see the way Patton’s smile drops when Virgil declines his invitation to movie night, saying he doesn’t wanna crash or invade. He doesn’t notice the way Roman makes a point to ask permission to hug Virgil too, cradling him with a tenderness he doesn’t notice that he’s only seen for the others. He doesn’t realize how much Logan’s behavior toward him is how Logan treats Roman and Patton now.

 He doesn’t notice much past the ache in his chest.

 Then he has a panic attack on their date night and the pain sharpens to an unbearable whine.

 They’re not coming. They’re not coming. There’s no one here to help him, he’s alone, he’s always going to be alone, in the dark, in the shadows, away from the light. They’re not worrying about him, why would they? They’ve got each other, they don’t need him, they’ve never needed him, not like he needs them, he’s—he’s all alone, he doesn’t have anyone, no one wants him, he’s going to die like this. He’s alone. It’s cold. The cold is painful. His chest burns from how cold it is. He can’t breathe, it’s so cold.

 “Virgil?”

 No one is here, no one is coming.

 “Roman, can you—?”

 Something bangs in the distance.

 “Virgil!”

 Strong arms wrap around him and pull him into something warm. More strong arms cover his hands and gently pry them away from his face. Something soft rubs his face and strokes over his back.

 “I need you to breathe with me, kiddo, come on…”

 “We’re right here, Stormcloud, you just calm down now.”

 “It’s okay, Virgil, everything is okay.”

 They’re…here?

 No, no, no, they’re not supposed to be here, it’s their date night, they—oh, god they’re missing their date night for him and he’s ruining it and they’re going to hate him now and—and—

 “Shh, shh,” comes Logan’s voice from somewhere above him, “hush now, Virgil, it’s alright. We’ve got you.”

 “You’re safe, sweetheart,” Patton coos, “I promise. You just sit with Logan for a minute, okay?”

 “I’m—I’m so—sor—sorr—“

 “None of that, shadowling,” Roman murmurs, brushing—wait, what?—brushing his lips over the back of Virgil’s shaking hand, “it’s not your fault.”

 The ache in Virgil’s chest expands and collapses in on itself again.

 Logan makes a comforting noise, tugging Virgil gently this way and that until he’s square in Logan’s arms, his head pillowed in the crook of Logan’s neck. Roman’s hand cards through his hair. Patton taps the 4-7-8 rhythm gently on his arm.

 “Virgil, honey?” Patton reaches up to dab at his damp cheek when he mumbles a full apology. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

 “Yeah,” Virgil manages, “y-you can go now, ‘m sorry.”

 Roman chuckles. “If you think we’re leaving you, little demon, you’ve got another thing coming.”

 “B-but you—“

 “Shh, shh,” Roman says quickly when Virgil’s breathing starts to pick up again, “take it easy, V, it’s okay, we’re not in a hurry.”

 “It’s your date night,” Virgil blurts, the words clumsy and too loud in his mouth, “you—you shouldn’t have to be here. W-with—“

 “…with,” Patton prompts gently, “with what, kiddo?”

 “…with me.”

 “Oh, kiddo…”

 “If you think,” Roman says quietly, “that we’d rather be anywhere else than right here, with you, at any time, you’re sorely mistaken, V.”

 Wait.

 What?

 “B-but we’re—you’re—I’m not—“

 “Not what, kiddo?”

 “…yours.”

 Saying it out loud punctures his chest again. Tears well up in his eyes as he buries his face shamefully in Logan’s neck.

 “…oh my god,” he hears Roman say faintly, “it happened!”

 “But I thought we—we were being more obvious!”

 “I know! I thought we were too! But this happened! It’s just like the stories, oh my goodness—“

 “Oh, kiddo…”

 Virgil can’t process any of that right now, thank you very much, because he’s currently hiding in Logan’s embrace and would rather never emerge again.

 If he had, well, he may have been a little more prepared for Logan to cup his face with one hand and pull back enough to look him in the eyes.

 “Virgil,” Logan whispers, “we thought you already were.”

 Stop.

 Wait.

 Pause.

 Go back.

 Rewind.

 “What?”

 “Surely you’ve noticed, kiddo, haven’t you?” Patton squeezes his arm. “We love you, Virgil.”

 “B-but—you—“

 “Stormcloud,” Roman whispers, brushing his lips over Virgil’s cheek, “we do, and you’re ours as much as you’d like to be.”

 “I—I—Logan—“

 “Patton’s right,” Logan says, still cupping Virgil’s face as he wipes away stray tears, “to be honest, I….well, I thought you and I were in a relationship long before Patton and Roman.”

 “You what?”

 In response, Logan leans forward and kisses Virgil’s forehead.

 “You don’t think I’d do that for just anyone,” he whispers, too quiet for the others to hear, “do you?”

 Hello, yes, hi, Virgil has precisely zero idea what’s going on right now, so uh, if everyone could just hold the fuck on for two seconds it would be greatly appreciated.

 “Aww, Left Brain boys!”

 “Shh!”

 Virgil isn’t interrupting date night.

 The others care about him.

 The others love him.

 The others want him to be a part of their family.

 Logan thought they were in a relationship already.

 “Shh, shh,” Logan shushes, his thumb stroking Virgil’s shaking cheek, “you don’t have to say anything right now, darling. This is a lot, I’m sure.”

 “Logan’s right.” Roman ruffles Virgil’s hair. “We’ll be here for you, Stormcloud.”

 “And that’s a promise.”

 Yeah, Virgil’s brain is way too fried by all of this to process any of it. But he does know that Roman’s hand in his hair is warm and soft and perfect. He knows that Patton’s murmuring something quietly that’s lulling him right to sleep. He knows that Logan is still holding him tightly, his lips pressed to his forehead, whispering how much they love him.

 “Go to sleep, darling,” Logan whispers, “we’ll be here when you wake up.”

 “…rude?”

 “You’re not being rude, kiddo, promise.”

 “Close your eyes,” Roman calls softly, his fingers scratching around Virgil’s head, “and you’ll see, Stormcloud.”

 As Virgil’s eyes drift closed, maybe…maybe they’re right.

 Maybe it’ll be a little easier to see that way.

General Taglist:  

@frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious  @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @private-snippers @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @elizabutgayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @such-a-dumbass

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#dragonbabbles #fic #sanders sides #lamp #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders

[hopelesshawks]

History of Us Part 3- Introductions

Summary: Once upon a time Todoroki and (y/n) were best friends. Now they haven’t spoken in years. When (y/n) is forced to transfer to UA, will she and Shoto reconnect or will their troubled past keep them apart? A childhood friends to enemies to lovers hybrid fic.

If you don’t want to see History of Us content blacklist #hopelesshou

Masterlist Kofi

You trudge downstairs already dreading meeting new people. Aizawa had assured you your last name would be kept under wraps but it still feels like it’s only a matter of time before everyone figures out who you really are. There’s a reason you dye your hair, your natural coloring is too recognizable and it’s a bitter reminder of a man you actively wish to forget. For years you hated looking in the mirror until you finally convinced your mom to let you dye it. Kirishima had been kind even after finding out but Kirishima is kind to everyone. You seriously doubt everyone is as much of a cinnamon roll as he is, especially if he-who-shall-not-be-named recognizes you and blabs to everyone like the little bitch he is.

As you walk into the lounge area it’s just your luck that you spot him first. It’s like a hit to the chest, physically stopping you in your tracks. Suddenly you’re that sobbing, confused eight year old all over again, just wanting to understand how her best friend in the whole wide world could turn his back on her when she needed him most. Kirishima calling your name snaps you out of it as you roll your eyes and make your way over. If Shoto doesn’t recognize you then fine, you’re not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing it’s upsetting you. You drop onto the couch unceremoniously in the small space between Kirishima and Bakugo, causing the blonde to shoot you a glare and huff as he and Kiri are forced to adjust themselves to make space for you. You give him a satisfied grin once you’re comfortable, which only causes his scowl to deepen more, before suddenly multiple unfamiliar faces are hovering right in your field of vision.

“Have none of you fucking heard of personal space?” you snap instinctively, feeling closed in. They seem unperturbed by your temper, instead a boy with long black hair and a wide toothy grin comments “You really are like Bakugo!” “Don’t compare me to that angry Pomeranian,” you scoff. “Hah!? The fuck you just call me half and half?” Bakugo immediately retorts, crimson eyes glaring you down as his palms spark in warning. “I called you an angry Pomeranian. You deaf or something? That why you fucking yell all the time?” you fire back as black shadows start to curl off your right hand like smoke. “You little-“ Bakugo starts to threaten, looking like he’s seconds away from launching into you and starting a proper fight, but both of you are distracted by the delighted laughter of the others. “I love you already! Name’s Mina Ashido,” the pink girl, Mina apparently, introduces herself. “Glad we’ve finally got someone who can keep Bakugo in check. I’m Kyoka Jiro,” another girl introduces. Your mind whirs as you process more and more new names. Denki Kaminari is the other blonde. The boy with the long black hair is apparently Hanta Sero. All of them introduce themselves with both their first and last names. You will not be following suit. “I’m (y/n),” you reply simply. “No surname?” the eager blonde, Denki you remind yourself, asks with a tilt of his head. The gesture reminds you of an overexcited puppy. “Nope,” is your simple reply. “Why not?” he presses. “Because I said so,” you shoot back, raising one eyebrow. To your surprise he immediately drops the subject and moves on. “So why’d you transfer?” he asks. “Moved too far from my old school,” is your quick reply. “How d’you know Kiri?” “Fatgum’s agency.” “What’s your quirk?” “Jesus Denki it’s not an interrogation. Let the girl breathe,” Sero cuts him off with a laugh, shoving Denki to the side a bit so that Sero becomes front and center in your line of vision. He openly gives you an appraising look from head to toe before saying “Don’t mind him he’s a little nosy. The better question is: are you single?” You can’t help but bark out a startled laugh at the boldness of the question. “Your laugh, while beautiful, is not an answer,” he grins. “God you guys are the worst,” Jiro groans with a roll of her eyes, “you don’t have to answer that.” “Thanks,” you laugh before turning back to Sero to say “but for the record I am single,” with a wink. Your laugh turns into a full on cackle at the way his face goes bright red. “Don’t tell me you can dish it and not take it,” you tease him. “Oh he definitely can’t take it,” Mina giggles before launching into a story to prove her point, much to Sero’s chagrin. A small part of you starts to hope that maybe this year won’t be so bad.

The sound of your laughter draws Shoto’s eyes to you. It’s such a stark contrast between how you’d looked when he last saw you. Guilt crawls up his throat like bile, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth. You’re different from when the two of you were little. Harsher. More acerbic. He’s not entirely surprised but it still saddens him. He wonders if things would’ve been different had he ignored his father’s warnings about you. He wants to ignore his father’s warning now. He wants to march right up to you and apologize for everything, lay himself out bare to prove to you he never wanted to abandon you, but something holds him back. He thinks it might be cowardice. God, how would he even begin to apologize? You were having such a bad time you moved to an entirely different prefecture and he did nothing. Of course you hate him.

Shoto is brought out of his musings by Midoriya nudging him, a questioning look in his green eyes. Midoriya would know how to right the wrongs of the past. Or at the very least would probably be able to give him some ideas. But to fully explain what had happened he’d also have to explain your father and reveal your identity. Judging by the fact your last name wasn’t even given on the list of students Aizawa gave Iida, you must be trying very hard to keep that information confidential. It’s really not his place to share and he’s hurt you quite enough already. Maybe he can talk around it a little bit though. “Midoriya, hypothetically, if you had hurt someone greatly many years ago and now had no idea how to start apologizing. What would you do?” Shoto finally asks after thinking carefully over how to phrase his question. “Hypothetically?” Midoriya asks skeptically. “Yes. Hypothetically,” Todoroki confirms. “Well I guess it depends how bad what I did was,” Midoriya hedges. “It was bad,” Shoto replies immediately, face darkening at the admission. “In this completely hypothetical scenario,” Midoriya replies with a knowing smile. “Yes exactly,” Todoroki says as he clears his throat. “Well I guess I’d start by just doing little things to show I’m sorry until we were both ready to talk and I could apologize properly,” Midoriya offers. Shoto nods thoughtfully as he mulls over Izuku’s words. Small things. He could do small things. “Hey, Todoroki-kun?” Midoriya prompts causing Shoto to return his attention to his friend. “Whatever you did to (y/n), I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think. She’ll forgive you eventually,” Midoriya assures him.

A loud boom causes both of them to jump in their seats, eyes seeking out the source only to land on you and Bakugo almost literally at each other’s throats as the two of you tumble over each other, the crowd around you still laughing at whatever had incited the tussle in the first place. Both of you look damn near feral, causing Midoriya to gulp. “Probably,” he amends, “she’ll probably forgive you eventually.” Todoroki nods almost solemnly. You may just kill him before he gets a chance to apologize. That doesn’t mean he can’t at least try though.

A/N: Am I back to daily updates on a fic again?? Maybe??? We’ll see lmao. It was fun to write more of the class and their dynamics but omg there’s so goddamn many students in class 1A idk how Horikoshi keeps up with them all 😩 also M*neta got kicked out for sexual harassment in this version of events, I refuse to write that little nightmare lol

Taglist: @sorrythatspussynal @miss-bakugo-writes @pixelwisp @larkspyrr @sokkaandzukosimp @akkaso

#hopelesshou #todoroki smau #todoroki x reader #todoroki x y/n #shoto smau #shoto x reader #shoto x y/n

[gureishi]

I really love your writing! Could I request #2 for Saeyoung? Perhaps a hurt/comfort :)

Ohhhh, thank you so much!! That makes me really happy to hear ♡

And here is the fic! I think a lot about making Saeyoung go to sleep and honestly don’t know how I’ve never written this scenario before. Darling sleepy overworked boy.

two: fall into your arms again

SaeyoungXReader, T, words: 1764

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

You’re dreaming of driving when he calls you—it’s a recurring nightmare of yours, where you’re at the wheel and suddenly you realize the car has no brakes. The ringtone makes its way into your dream, and you’re panicking, you’re panicking—where is the phone, why can’t you stop the car?

You wake abruptly, eyes flying open in the way they sometimes do after a nightmare. The phone is still ringing. You scramble for it and find it tangled in the sheets.

You squint at the screen: it’s after three in the morning.

“H-hello?” You yawn as you answer, your head falling back against the pillow.

“Ohh…did I wake you up? I guess I lost track of time,” he laughs, but it sounds forced. You push yourself up a little in bed.

“Saeyoung, are you okay? Did something happen?” There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach. Things have just finally started to go well.

“No, no!” He’s too loud, too enthusiastic. “We’re okay! Saeran is asleep.”

“Saeyoung, it’s almost four in the morning.”

He yelps. “Really? I didn’t even notice! I’m sorry, babe. Ignore me and go back to sleep. Please.”

You sigh, sitting all the way up, propping the pillows behind your head. “Will you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“God Seven is bothered by nothing! God Seven was just doing some work and wanted to hear his kitty cat’s cute voice! Ha-hah!”

“Saeyoung…”

“Activate kitty communication mode! Meow! Meow? Meeooow!”

He’s too adorable—his distraction tactics are too good. Once upon a time, you would’ve given it to it, would’ve let him ramble nonsensically until he wore himself out. You know better now.

“Saeyoung, when was the last time you slept?”

You hear him counting to himself. “Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…twenty-six, twenty-seven…” Oh no. “Forty-four hours ago!” he sings triumphantly.

“Saeyoung!”

“Whaaat?”

“Forty-four hours ago was when I last spent the night. You haven’t slept since then?”

“Nooope. But it’s okaaaay! God Seven can work for much longer without sleeping because it’s what he was programmed to do!” He draws out his syllables, speaking in a sing-song.

“Hey. Stop. Listen to me.” You know he hears the frustration in your voice because he shuts up right away. “You do not work for the agency anymore. Even Saeran is sleeping right now, like a normal person. You do not need to work through the night anymore.”

“But I do,” he says. His voice sounds a little more subdued now. “The agency may be done, but there’s still so much cleanup work to do. There’s so many loose ends. If I’m resting, they’re tracking Saeran, tracking Vanderwood, tracking you… I can’t—”

“No,” you say. “Uh-uh.” You’re already slipping out of bed, groping around in the dark for some sweatpants. “I know there’s still work to do and I know you’re worried about keeping us safe. And you can do that work. After you’ve slept for eight hours.”

He laughs and it sounds almost like a sob. “I’ve just found him,” he says, so quietly you can barely hear him. “I’ve just got him back. If anything happens to him…”

“I know,” you say. “I know, babe. But none of that matters if you work yourself to death in the process.”

You’ve got pants, you’ve got shoes. You grab a jacket and the keys to the rental car Saeyoung insisted on paying for so you wouldn’t be reliant on him while he was holed up in his bunker with Saeran.

“Hah,” he says. “It would take a lot more than a few hours of work to kill me.”

You’re outside, the cool air bracing you, waking you the rest of the way up.

“I’d like you one hundred percent alive instead of just barely hanging on,” you tell him.

You throw open the car door with perhaps slightly too much force.

He hesitates. “What was…are you outside?”

“Yes. I’m coming over.”

“You—g-gah, what?!” He sounds frantic. You hear a crash—almost as if he’s sweeping something (realistically, a pile of junk food) off his desk.

“I’m coming over right now and putting you to bed. If you don’t want me to stay, I won’t, but you are going to sleep one way or another,” you say. You start the car and you know he hears it through the phone—you’re not playing around.

“I’m perfectly capable of—” he whines.

“Thirty minutes. Love you,” you say, and hang up before he can respond.

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

You get there in no time because the roads are empty. He’s cleverly disabled the car’s built-in GPS so that the rental company can never access any of the data, never pinpoint his address (not that his bunker actually has an address). It doesn’t matter: you know the way by heart.

You give the password that will let you into the garage, park, and peer into the retinal scanner by the door—he’s added this feature for you, only for you. The door welcomes you by name and swings open with a soft click.

The bunker feels bigger and emptier at night; it’s completely dark except for the tiny ray of light coming from his office door, which is cracked open just a hair. You sigh. You’d had hope—just a little—that knowing you were coming would guilt him into just going to bed already. But he is stubborn.

You pad across the huge living room and knock gently on his door. He knows you’re here, of course—he’s probably been watching you on the cameras ever since you pulled into the driveway. But just in case—he’s not someone you want to ever catch off guard.

“Hi,” he says softly—his voice sounds far away. You push open the door.

“Oh, Saeyoung…”

His office is never exactly tidy, but this is a disaster zone.

There are chip bags and other assorted wrappers strewn over the desk and on the floor around it. Several creepy, half-built robots lay at odd angles on the couch and floor, as if he’s been fiddling with them as he works and then tossing them aside—one blinks eerily at you with its single eye. There are clothes thrown over the couch and the backs of his various desk chairs, as though he’s been managing to periodically change outfits without ever setting foot in his bedroom.

And there he is, your precious, anxious, manic boy, sitting in his chair with his knees pulled up to his chest, hunched over his desk, fingers still moving over the keys even as he turns to look at you.

“You didn’t have to come,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“That’s a crappy greeting for your favorite person in the world who just drove here in the middle of the night,” you say, but you’re not not really angry at him—how could you be, when he’s in this state? You cross the room, stepping over the piles of junk. Up close, he looks terrible—there are dark circles under his eyes and he has that pale, hollow look he gets when he goes too long without seeing the sun.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “Bright, wonderful people like you should be asleep at this time of night.”

“Everyone should be asleep at this time of night,” you tell him. You brush the messy, tangled hair off his forehead and kiss him on the cheek. He closes his eyes for a moment, humming contentedly; then he reaches for you, tilting his head up for a proper kiss. 

“Nuh-uh,” you say, and he deflates, pouting. “Find a stopping point—the first possible stopping point. Then you are going to bed.”

“Orrrrr…” he murmurs, nuzzling his head against your waist. One hand trails up your leg, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Saeyoung.”

“Fiiiine.” He reluctantly spins his chair around, types another line. “You go get in the bed,” he says, eyes on the screen. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Nope.” You cross your arms and sit on the couch, moving aside half of a robot dragon. “I don’t trust you.”

He makes a sound somewhere between a hiss and a groan and starts typing more quickly. Good. If he’s motivated to finish faster because you’re now losing sleep, then so be it. At least he’s stopping.

The sound of his typing soothes you. You fiddle with the little dragon—it will be very cute, once he builds the other side of its head. His typing slows. He hits a few more keys. You recognize the sounds of him finishing up—god knows how much collective time you’ve spent listening to him work.

“Okay,” he says at last, and you look up to see him getting out of his chair, a little clumsily.

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

You skip to him and grab his hand. “Bedtime,” you say seriously, tugging him behind you: through the door, down the hall. He laughs, and it’s the most genuine he’s sounded all night. You throw open the door to his room and take a running leap onto the bed. He’s still laughing, watching you from the doorway with warm eyes.

“Come,” you say, wriggling yourself into the blankets, holding out your arms to him. Obediently, he shuts the door and comes to you, falling headfirst onto the messy pile of pillows and blankets and you. He groans quietly, his shoulder muscles finally relaxing. You pull him toward you and he settles his head onto your chest.

“S’feels nice,” he slurs, snuggling into you. You see how hard the exhaustion is hitting him now that he’s closed his eyes; you make a snug nest of blankets around him, tucking them up to his neck.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper. “You can rest now.”

“Mmmmmm but…” His words are hard to make out, his voice already thick with sleep. “But there are soooo many other things we could be doing…in this bed…”

He tries to lift an arm, vaguely brushing his fingertips over your neck. You giggle.

“Shhhh, love. Maybe in the morning,” you tell him. You kiss the top of his head, nuzzling your nose into his messy, sweet-smelling hair. He doesn’t respond. “Babe?”

His head is heavy on your chest. You feel his breath on your neck, slow and steady. You smile to yourself—he’s already asleep.

So you wrap your arms tightly around him and close your eyes, head propped on top of his. You are a mess of blankets and limbs and heartbeats and you feel impossibly, indescribably safe. “Goodnight, Saeyoung,” you whisper.

#mystic messenger #mysticmessenger #mysme #request #gureishi writes requests #underscorekimaya #saeyoung choi #707 #saeyoungxreader #707xreader

[iron-mum]

I wish you would write a fic where Tony and kid Peter are being adorable father and son as retribution for the angst you’ve made me suffer through in the past hah! (JK I love you and your angst! 💛)

Well, well, well. What do we have here, eh? A request for adorable? I'm not sure, I'm very good at that 😌

Here's SIMTony who would stop at nothing to help his unwell son, Peter get better. Even if it meant using Extremis.

P.S. ILY3000 💕

In the final throes of the graveyard shift at the hospital floor, the elevator pinged for its frequent lone visitor. The front desk staff, whilst tense and sitting up suddenly straighter, knew not to actually engage. No ID was needed for their boss, one of them barely suppressing a gulp as his determined strides headed for the private room that had been deliberately placed near to the room equipped for every possible kind of emergency. Once inside, he carefully shut the door silently and took a seat at the bedside.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sharp blue eyes shifted from the persistent buzzing of the most technologically advanced medical equipment anyone, anywhere could offer before looking back down to something far more invaluable and precious. Tony’s entire world. His purpose in life. The little boy on the bed lay motionless, breathing slowly and evenly, nose occasionally scrunching up at the discomfort of the oxygen mask upon him. He should have been cocooned in a hug from his father but instead his son, Peter, was littered with wires attaching him to the very best modern medicine had to offer.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Pale, soft skin with the daintiest of freckles stood out against the dark curls spread across the far too big pillow. The small fingers of his left hand had loosely closed around the calloused thumb of his father, letting him know that whilst he had been rendered weak from illness, he was still aware of his comforting presence. Tony’s index finger gently glided across the small knuckles, willing himself to see a tiny curve of the lips on his son’s face.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

This had been the Avengers fault. Peter’s current critical condition. The young boy had been on a school trip when a battle had broken out and the wannabe heroes managed to cause more destruction than lives saved. A chemical explosion had landed most of the class in hospital and many of them had ended up becoming very unwell. Unfortunately for Peter, he already suffered many ailments so even under the wing of Stark’s finest medical personnel, the struggle had taken a toll. The genius shook his head as thoughts of revenge started to sprout from the many seeds that had been planted since the catastrophic incident. He shelved the many ideas he had that would lead to the demise of the reckless group once his kid was better.

It had been hours when the sound of a nurse's footsteps acted as the catalyst that would remove Tony from the room so he could head back to his lab. As he reluctantly moved his hand away, there was no reaction. Not even a twitch from the slender child. Bending down, he tentatively stroked a small amount of the exposed skin that was available on the boy’s face before planting a light kiss on his forehead. By the time the nurse was opening the door to the room to complete the routine checks, any sign of a visitor would be long gone.

The moment Tony was back in his workshop, he strode towards his desk. Music started to reverberate from the ceiling, the sound greatly appreciated compared to the low hum and incessant beeping from the emotionless devices that were currently keeping his son alive.

Tony didn’t believe in a higher power other than himself. So in no way, shape or form was he ever going to accept that he couldn’t save Peter from the incurable illness now ravaging his frail body. Feeling powerless was simply not an option.

Rolling up the sleeve to his top, the genius opened a drawer and pulled out a device meant for extracting blood as painlessly as possible. Not that pain meant much to him these days. No pain would ever compete with a parent having to watch their child deteriorate every single second of every single day.

Satisfied with the draw, Tony placed it into a diagnostic machine of his own making. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of his workshop, eyeing it like he was in the most intense staring contest of his life. Jaw clenching, his arm shot out allowing liquid metal to glide across his skin before firing a repulsor at the glass and shattering it. There was an element of irony to everyone loving his face except himself in the minimal but intrusive “what if” moments that surrounded his current situation. With a crack of his neck, his arm remained outstretched so the Endo-Sym armour could return to it’s housing tank.

“Boss, the results are back,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed as the music lessened in volume. “No adverse reactions detected still. The chemical composition indicates that the Extremis is unchanged in it’s integration with you on a genetic level and continues to remain stable.”

“And the sample from Peter?” Tony asked, confident that he knew what the answer would be.

“Also remaining stable.”

“Alert the staff intending to see Peter following tonight's shift that their presence will not be needed,” the genius demanded as he mentally reiterated the next steps of his plan in his head. Lips curled into devilishly handsome grin at his victory, eyes crinkling at the sides. The smile only softened when his eyes drifted to a framed picture Peter had drawn of the both of them. He’d done it.

“Certainly, boss,” the AI had responded without any acknowledgement. Tony was too busy in thought. Not only was the Extremis flowing through his own veins, leaving him feeling at perfect health. But soon, it would be doing the same for Peter too. Pain free, peak performance and at complete and optimal health.

“Have there been any sightings of the Avengers in the last hour? I feel a splash of revenge is in order for this special occasion?” The holo-screens in front of him started to flicker as social media sites were searched and hashtags refreshed repeatedly. Hulk had been trending within the hour and Hawkeye in the last eleven minutes.

"Well, how about that?" he grinned gleefully. "I really am being spoiled for choice."

Whilst the genius had been certain F.R.I.D.A.Y. had relayed the message to the morning staff, Tony still found himself exhaling sharply at the sight of someone sat by Peter’s side reading his file. The thin bag of Extremis in his hand was shifted into his back pocket as quickly as humanly possible. The good feeling from beating the shit out of one of the Avengers, plus the buzz of providing Peter with a cure that no meagre doctor had been able to, shifted into a tension as tried to work out who it was.

Their face was narrow with sharp features and glasz eyes remarkably penetrating when they met his perusing stare. His black hair had been combed back neatly, the sides of his temples a distinct light grey. The well fitted suit looked designer even for Tony’s impeccable standards.

“Your services are no longer required,” he affirmed with a dismissive flourish of the hands before the man could even introduce himself.

“I’m sorry?” the other man replied without hesitation, closing the file and rising from the chair. Tony’s chair. If he’d been expecting any pleasantries or introductions, he was thoroughly mistaken. Tony was already locked onto Peter, the gentle rise of his chest a welcoming sight as always. He refused to allow his attention to be divided, ignoring the piercing stare boring into him now. “I have an oath to this patient. He critically needs help from the best in all fields. He needs my help.”

The genius turned at that, an eyebrow raised as he looked the doctor up and down. He certainly held himself strongly for someone who had that much audacity in addressing the owner of everything within his current vicinity.

“Are you new around here… Doctor Strange?” He asked disingenuously, eyes narrowing as he scrutinised the name badge. The letters ‘VISITOR - Dr Stephen Strange’ jotted on the bottom, likely the reason he hadn’t got his AI’s memo. The receptionist who let him in would be fired whether it was her fault or not.

“Unlike everyone else in this building, no, I don’t work for you” the doctor shot back tersely. “However, you were so insistent on my consultation that, somehow, I found my diary completely cleared of all surgeries that were booked in.”

“Well, you can now stick them back in your diary. We’re done here.”

“I know this is difficult,” the doctor started, tone suddenly softer as if he were hoping a change of tact would get through. “You brought me in for my expertise, so use them.”

“I’m the most intelligent, capable person on the planet. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

“Your arrogance surpasses all the rumours and expectations I had of you,” Strange snapped back incredulously. Apparently nothing was going to get through. “Your child is-”

“You know, it would be a real shame if you were to lose your medical licence, wouldn't it, doctor?” Tony sneered dangerously low. This ungrateful little shit was going to get it for not only wasting his time and energy, but also his son’s. An insignificant speck like the rest of the world.

“Are you threatening me?” the doctor replied doing his best to keep his tone cool and unflinching when the other man removed all personal space between them. The lack of intimidation he was feeling only pissed Tony off more.

“Let’s not test my resolve, doctor.” Despite feeling completely wrong about leaving considering Peter’s condition, Dr Stephen Strange tucked the file he’d been reading under his arm and left the room in just a few strides. Tony had spotted the hand diving for a phone as the door shut behind him and clenched his fists in disdain.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., be a darling and ensure Doctor Douchebag doesn’t make it back home,” Tony demanded followed by a nonchalant sniff.

“Yes, boss. His phone has also unexpectedly lost all signal so will not be usable anytime soon.”

Satisfied with the course of action his AI had taken, Tony locked the door to his son’s room for good measure. He eyed the current equipment before making his move. One of the drips currently providing Peter with much needed medicine was switched to make way for a sample of the Extremis that Tony had meticulously created and tested on himself. He peered at his son, swallowing thickly that this would all be worth it.

Bag secured, the first few drops started instantly, the older man watching as they flowed along the thin tubes before entering the cannula imposed on Peter’s hand. The skin began to glow orange, the lava looking trail gliding all the way up the arm’s before entering the chest. Daring a glance at the monitors, Tony noted an instant improvement in the readouts. A smile spread across his face as sheet-white, sickly skin started to immediately brighten.

Peter’s big, brown doe eyes suddenly shot open as he took a huge gulp of air, eyes landing on his father who was remarkably in focus for the first time in his life without the aid of glasses. Tony removed the oxygen mask so he could take his son’s face in fully for the first time in well over a month.

“Dad?” the young boy croaked, clearly a little disoriented from the abrupt wake up.

“Hey, buddy,” Tony whispered, voice cracking with emotion as he closed the distance between them.

Peter lunged at his father, his small arms wrapping tightly around the genius’ neck and face burying into his chest. It had been far too long since either had been able to enjoy the tender, heart-bursting feeling of overwhelming, unconditional love from one another.

“I love you, kiddo.” Tony gushed as one of his hand’s lovingly cupped the back of Peter's head holding him as close as possible. The other enveloped around his back, his thumb slowly stroking up and down. When the older man's hand started to trail through Peter's hair, the boy somehow managed to burrow even closer. Tony soothingly lifted curls between his fingers and then let them ping back as new life continued to circle through his son’s body.

“I love you too, dad,” Peter whispered, a strain evident in his voice that Tony hadn’t been expecting. When he leant back, he saw the likely cause. Now unnecessary wires were tugging at his child’s skin.

“Let’s get these off you, bud. You don’t need them anymore,” he promised softly as he carefully went to work at removing the monitoring equipment clips and stickers. Peter’s curious eyes followed every step of the way, surprisingly not wincing even when some of the tougher stickers were peeled away. Although he was too young to even begin comprehending what had happened, he knew from vague memories he’d been hurt and that he’d slept a lot. Often he had been unsure if he was dreaming or awake when he’d hear his father read him stories, express his love and let him know how brave he was being. A slight tug on his hand drew him from his recollection as he looked down.

"I’m scared," Peter timidly admitted as he eyed up the last piece of medical equipment attached to him. The cannula in his hand.

“Here’s what we're gonna do, bud. We’re going to put on our brave faces and before you know it, it’ll be all done and over with. Can you show me your bravest, fiercest face?” Tony gently challenged, as part of his upper lip curled and he playfully growled.

The child’s dinky nose scrunched up and his lips pushed out into the biggest pout he could form. He shook his head a little and hummed in a way that likely felt fierce to him but could only be described as adorable to his dad.

"Wowzer. That was super mean, you nearly scared me!” Tony gasped dramatically, as he gestured for the boy to look down and see that the only thing on the top of his hand was a small cotton wool ball and a light pressure from his dad. Using his free hand to fish into his pocket, Tony revealed a green Paw Patrol sticker with Peter’s favourite character, Rocky, on it.

It had been a distant memory since the young boy had handed it to him, having spotted the numerous nicks and cuts that littered his hard working hands after a long day in the workshop. Extremis meant Peter wouldn’t even need it, but the placebo effect would make it worth it.

“Am I all better, daddy?” Peter asked as Tony eyed him up once more. The overwhelmed father cupped his kid’s face and planted another kiss on his forehead, relief washing over him that he was now free from the concatenation of medical instrumentation.

“You most certainly are. And that means we get to skedaddle out of here.”

Before his son could anticipate his next move, his father had scooped him up into his arms and they were making their way not only out of the room, but off of the floor for good.

They’d had a chance to change into matching casual wear and feasted on a huge breakfast before snuggling up on the sofa. Peter had selected an Octonauts movie to watch as he tucked into his father’s side and enjoyed the sound of his steady heartbeat.

It would be a couple of hours when Tony’s phone pinged with a notification he knew was F.R.I.D.A.Y. when she was being discreet. His son huffed at the movement as he shuffled to get the phone out of his pocket, muttering an apology to his kid before opening the message.

[Unfortunate accident on the Hawk’s Nest, Route 97. Vehicle crossed the barrier and rolled multiple times down the cliff’s edge before landing in the Delaware River. Initial scan from one of the Iron Sight Bot #364 shows one survivor.]

Tony’s smirk widened into a full blown smile. Peter’s heart-of-gold eyes suddenly on him, looking up from his position. It was likely a silent protest at the lack of head strokes he was suddenly receiving so the genius replied swiftly.

[Call off any emergency services and get him med-evaced here.]

“You know what I think we need. Celebratory cheeseburgers for lunch,” he announced as Peter let out a squee of joy.

#writer prompt game #thank you for sending this one in! #ill be working on the next over the weekend! 🐸

[scxrlettwxtches]

a marriage story pt. 2 | lee minho

Genre: fluff, angst, (to be totally honest I don’t even know what this is)

Warnings: some suggestive bits, swearing

Word Count: ~4.6k

Description: You were now truly the wife of Lee Minho, your best friend, your confidante, your number one bitch, but now you had to navigate through something much more challenging: becoming the heiress to Korea’s biggest tech company.

A/N: i’m back!!!! im so so sorry that i’ve been away for so long. the virus and with final exams, i just couldn’t bring myself to write at all. im still slowly coming out of my writing slump, and this fic really doesn’t meet my standards, so i feel really guilty putting this out. however, i’d feel even more guilty not putting this out at all, especially since so many people have been waiting! i really hope people enjoy this, and please look forward to my upcoming fics as well! <3 as always, my ask box is always open if anyone ever wants to be friends :) stay safe, love y’all!

i. 

It was always the same boring jargon. 

You could never understand your husband’s fascination with business, but you did know one thing for certain. He was damn good at it. As you sat by his side, listening to his managers report their latest updates, you could afford to tune them out. But from the corner of your eye, you watched Minho listen to every word, catch every little mistake, leaning forward on the desk to express his utmost interest. 

That must be the hardest part of running a business, you decided. You couldn’t imagine listening to old men drone on and on for 7 hours a day, and once again you wondered why Minho had dragged you to another one of his boring-ass company meetings for the second time that week. 

You could feel your eyes growing heavier and heavier as you struggled to look attentive. Almost everything was beginning to blend together; all the business rhetoric was flying over your head and you wanted nothing more than to go home.

Just as you were genuinely about to doze off, you felt a gentle, reassuring hand on your thigh. Sparing a glance to your left, Minho’s expression had not changed one bit, still listening to the presentation, but you could tell he was giving you some attention. Briefly, you wondered if he’d been keeping track of your mood since the meeting had begun.

After an eternity, the meeting adjourned and everyone filed out of the room to continue their work in their personal cubicles. Minho and you were the last to leave, and you went around the room fixing chairs and making sure the room was ready for its next use.

“You know you don’t need to do that, right?” Minho asked amusedly, but he helped you without complaint, pushing the projector back to the corner of the room.

“I can’t help it,” you shrugged, “Doesn’t it bother you when you leave the room and everything’s a mess?”

“I’m not going to listen to a word you say until you clean up the junkyard that is your work room.”

“That’s different,” you snapped with no bite in your voice, “That’s called organized clutter.”

“No, it’s just clutter.”

“You’re the worst.”

Minho laughed, finishing up with his side of the room and coming over to you. The meeting room had no windows to the rest of the building, and no one could see you, but it was still embarrassing when he leaned against the table beside you, tugging the hem of your shirt to pull you closer. 

“You know you can say things during the meeting, right?” he murmured, looking at you intently, “I don’t ask you to come just to doze off.”

“Talk, in front of those business sharks?” you laughed, “I’m not nearly qualified enough.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Minho retorted firmly, “And they’ll respect what you have to say.”

“How do you know that?”

“If they don’t...” Minho trailed off, a hungry gleam emerging in his eyes, making him look twice as handsome as usual, “I’ll make them regret it.”

“Oh, how terrifying, Mr. Lee!” you swooned dramatically, giving his tie a sharp tug so you could plant a chaste kiss on his lips, “Managing your business with an iron fist.” 

Minho gave your shirt a harsher tug, feeling cheated that the kiss had been so torturously brief. With an arm around your waist, he smirked, “Well, they know how whipped I am for you, darling.”

And if the two of you didn’t come out of that conference room for another half hour, it wasn’t anyone’s business.

ii.

Being married to the heir of one of the most promising tech companies came with a lot of obligations, one of the biggest being constant attendance at a plethora of sponsor parties and business events. As an introvert who’d rather stay at home and draw than go out with friends, parties weren’t exactly your thing, but you didn't hate them as much as you had originally thought you would. There were always interesting people present, and there’s always something to gravitate to. 

Tonight, you and Minho were heading to an event to honor one of the company’s most generous donors. It was going to be held at a large convention center, and you knew both Minho and the company had spared no expense when it came to funding this party. 

“We have to get going in five!” you called from the bathroom, completing the finishing touches to your makeup. Dressed in a Zuhair Murad Eugenia gown, the long shoulder straps of chiffon billowed down gracefully on your bare back, and the corset-like bodice covered in rhinestones accentuated your figure. You had tied up your hair in a loose, elegant bun to match the style of your dress, and your makeup was simple.

You could hear the rustling of clothes from your bedroom as your husband grumbled, “Why do I always take longer than you to get ready?”

“Because you’re far more of a peacock than I could ever dream to be,” you answered breezily, pushing one more bobby pin in your hair to keep it steady. 

“Oh, very funny,” the sarcasm oozed out of Minho’s voice as he walked towards the bathroom, stopping short as he took in your appearance in the mirror. You continued to fix your hair, a bobby pin in your mouth as you smoothed out the bumps, and you let out a surprised noise when you felt Minho press up behind you, his hands now roaming all over your body.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he whispered in your ear, tilting his head to kiss your neck. You couldn’t help but lean against him in desire, giving him a better angle to leave a trail of kisses, but before things could escalate, you spun around, taking his hands in yours to pull them off your body.

“None of that today,” you spoke firmly, putting his hands back to his side.

Minho still had that hungry gleam in his eyes as he asked with mild offense, “Why not?”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” you gave him a pointed look in the mirror, “we’re going to be late.” 

Your husband let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair, but he backed off, understanding your point. Placing one last bobby pin, you grabbed the jar of hair gel and began slicking Minho’s hair back with practiced ease. 

“We’ll finish up later, okay?” you attempted to placate him gently. Minho smirked, wiggling his eyes suggestively at you in the mirror, and seeing the crafty look on his face, you let out a dramatic roll of your eyes.

Finishing up your styling of his hair, Minho pressed a quick kiss on your lips, his tongue sweeping your bottom lip before he spoke.

“I’ll look forward to it, then.”

iii.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lee! Over here!” A chorus of voices shouted over one another as you walked into the convention center, your arm securely wrapped around Minho’s. The flashing lights blinded you, but you maintained a professional expression, acknowledging as many photographers as possible. 

The long segment of pictures continued (the two of you were the stars, after all), and as you slowly made your way into the building, your eyes caught sight of a familiar face exiting the car that had just arrived.

Feeling you tug at his jacket sleeve discreetly, Minho bent down slightly so your lips were near his ear as you muttered, “Your parents are here.”

“Hah?” Minho glanced at where you were looking, his expression dark, “I didn’t invite them.”

“They still officially own the company,” you sighed, “They can show up whenever they want to, with or without your invitation.”

“They’re going to make some sort of scene, I just know it,” your husband growled under his breath, before giving you a tense smile, “Let’s head inside before we have to interact with them in front of all these goddamn cameras.” 

You certainly agreed with that statement, and the two of you ducked into the entrance without so much of a glance back. It had been a while since you’d spoken to the Lee’s, and by speaking you meant them furiously yelling at you about how you had corrupted their son, and you just sitting there, not sure whether you should laugh or cry. When Minho had happened to come home early from work that very day to find his parents insulting every ounce of your existence, he was beyond furious.

“You do not, under any circumstance, get to waltz into my house and insult my wife like she is some piece of dirt that you walk over,” he had snarled, looking angrier than you’d ever seen him, “Don’t ever think of inviting yourself over unless you have something nice to say about our relationship, or I will find a way to legally keep you from coming to this house.”

Long story short, the last interaction was far from pretty. 

The decorations for the party were immaculate, with purple mood lighting illuminating the large hall and white satin cloth that draped the walls. It was all very beautiful, if you had to say so yourself, especially because you had suggested many of the features that were present. Minho had always deferred to your judgement with all things artistic, and even though you weren’t confident enough to share your ideas in the office, you were perfectly comfortable telling your husband what you thought of his plans.

“Damn, looks like Hyunjin came,” Minho waved his hand at a familiar figure, who walked over looking very dashing in his expensive black suit and his hand in his pockets.

“Well, if it isn’t the happy couple,” Hyunjin smirked, giving a slight bow as you rolled your eyes, “Love the venue, by the way. Definitely not Minho’s work, since he’s got the artistic talent of a slug.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” You agreed solemnly, while Minho glared at the both of you with a sort of tired resignation.

Behind you, the noises grew louder as Minho’s parents walked into the building, their faces smug as they greeted everyone with wide smiles, happy to be received well by their old employees. 

Minho let out a scoff, “Look at them,” he said, his temper already flaring again, but you gently ran your hand along his back.

“Let them have their fun,” you chastised him under your breath, “You don’t want to look ungrateful in front of all your guests.” 

Your husband looked like he didn’t quite care what the paparazzi thought, but he relaxed slightly, and you gave him a small smile, “I’m going to grab drinks for us, and you’re going to go find Mr. Kim standing over there and thank him for his generous donations, alright? Hyunjin, do you want anything?”

Hyunjin put his hands out and waved quickly, “No thanks. I’m gonna go find Felix.”

“Lix is here?” Minho looked around, his eyes brightening. 

“Yeah, but do what your wife said first,” Hyunjin tilted his head towards Mr. Kim with a sly smile.

Minho rolled his eyes, grumbling, “I swear you guys are just ganging up on me,” but he did as you asked, leaving with a gentle kiss on your cheek. 

You shared a knowing look with Hyunjin before walking to the bar, pulling out your credit card from your clutch as you made your way to the counter, ordering two cocktails. As you leaned against the table, waiting patiently, a deep voice interrupted your gentle daydreams.

“Good evening. Mrs. Lee, I presume?” 

It was still an unfamiliar way of address to you, but you whipped around as smoothly as possible, trying your best to look unflappable. Standing in front of you was a handsome, black-haired man, no doubt coming from one of the wealthy families that Minho had invited.

“Hello,” you smiled, before asking politely, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I know—“

“Park Seonghwa,” he interrupted you curtly, “The Park’s and the Lee’s are old family friends. I’m surprised you don’t know who I am, since you are—unfortunately—a Lee as well.”

Okay, so he was that type of asshole. Your smile faltered as your brain repeated a constant mantra. 

Don’t screw up. Don’t screw this up for Minho. Smile, deflect, leave.

You put on a tentatively polite smile as you spoke, “I’m not sure what I’ve done wrong to upset you, but—”

“Don’t patronize me,” Seonghwa’s eyes flared, although his tone still decidedly curt, “You—a high school dropout, a nobody—shouldn’t even dare to walk beside the likes of Lee Minho, much less marry him.” 

Your blood boiled, and you wanted nothing more than to sock this asshole in the face. You gripped your clutch tightly, clenching your jaw as the bartender came back with your two drinks.

Seonghwa paused, looking at you up and down before smiling with mock pity, “Dressing up doesn’t suit you, Y/N. Maybe you should crawl back to the gutters where you belong and stop pretending to be something you’re not.”

At that moment, something in you snapped, and you no longer cared about your carefully crafted personality. Fuck that. Fuck the press. Fuck every careful step you’ve taken to maintain your reputation. 

“Park Seonghwa,” When you spoke again, your voice was colder than ice. Even Seonghwa could feel it, as surprise flashed in his eyes.

“Once again, I apologize for anything that I have done to upset you. However,” Your voice held an undercurrent of a growl as you took a step towards him, very subtly intruding in his personal space, “that does not give you the right to insult my character.” 

“Y/N—“

“It’s Mrs. Lee to you,” you interrupted him harshly, “Rather pathetic, waiting for a moment that I’m alone to speak to me in this manner. Tell me, if Minho were standing beside me, would you say everything that you just said right now?”

Seonghwa’s eyes went wide, as his cold, sultry voice grew nervous, “I-I—“

“Let me answer that for you, Mr. Park. You wouldn’t,” you snarled, letting the words sink in before smiling coldly, “Your company is an extension of Minho’s, am I right? What do you think will happen if I told him that you were an egocentric asshole who believes himself superior to others because of something as trivial as birth? Do you think you’ll be part of this elite circle that you hold so dear after he is through with you?”

Seonghwa was utterly speechless, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly as you grab the two glasses from the table, turning away from him with an expression of utter disdain.

“I hope you spend some time to correct your mentality before you end up verbally assaulting someone who has less patience than me.”

You stalked away with your head held high and your anger still simmering under the surface as you walked over to Minho, who was conversing with Mr. Kim. The intense urge to hurl something at the wall waned slightly, and you couldn’t help but smile at your husband.

“Darling,” you purred sweetly as handing him his drink, snaking an arm around his waist in a gesture of comfort, but also a gesture of seeking his attention.

Your husband, your wonderful, perfect husband, could tell immediately from the sound of your voice and your actions that something had happened. In an act of courtesy, you introduce yourself to Mr. Kim, who treated you with far more grace and politeness than the person you’d just interacted with. Minho, holding your waist tightly, excused himself from Mr. Kim’s presence before pulling you to a less crowded corner.

“What’s happened? Are you alright?” He asked, the worry apparent in his features as he ran his hands up and down your side comfortingly. The act alone already soothed your earlier anger. 

Shaking your head, you gently tapped his forehead with your knuckles, “Don’t make that expression. You’ll get wrinkles,” you chastised him teasingly.

Minho’s grip on your waist tightened, “You didn’t answer the question,” he pointed out. 

You sighed tiredly, “It’s the usual. Some assholes think that I don’t deserve you.”

The reaction was immediate, his eyes darkening with cold, contained fury as he clenched his jaw, “Who?” He growled, already looking around the room as if he could sense who would dare insult his wife.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said breezily, putting your hand on his arm in an attempt to appease his anger, “He already regrets it.”

Minho froze, his angry frown molding into a cocky smirk, “You scared him, didn’t you?”

You winced, “Yeah, I’m sorry. I tried to stay cordial, but I got angry and—fuck, I think I ruined things for you—“

“Hey—hey, look at me, darling,” The anger in Minho’s voice had dissipated, leaving only gentle concern as his hands cup your cheeks delicately, his thumb brushing your face as you looked up at him.

“You didn’t ruin anything, okay? You had every right to be angry and I’m so, so proud of you for standing up for yourself,” Minho’s voice didn’t hold a shred of anger, only a firmness as he looked you in the eye.

“But, the press—“

“The press won’t write anything, and if they do, I’ll shut it down the moment it appears,” Minho said soothingly as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “You did so well, and I love you so much.” 

A quiet, relieved sob choked out of your lips and Minho sighed, giving you a gentle kiss on your forehead, “I’m sorry, baby. I always hate putting you in situations like this.”

You leaned into his touch, gently holding his hand, “It’s alright, I knew what I signed up for,” you said, smiling reassuringly, “Besides, I know you’d destroy them if you ever saw it happen. If anything, I’m more worried about their lives.”

Your words had the intended effect, calming Minho’s anger, “Is that why you never give me names?” He asked with an almost resigned voice; he’d never understand your commitment to protecting people who didn’t deserve a moment of your attention. 

“I just don’t want to cause you trouble,” you answered with a smile, but instead of smiling back, Minho looked stricken, like a sudden thought had come into his head, something he’d never realized before. 

“Y/N, are you—”

“There you two are!” Hyunjin ran over, exasperation clear in his features, “You have to make the toast, Minho! Everyone’s waiting for you!”

“Fuck,” Your husband scowled as Hyunjin ran back to notify the staff. Turning to look at you with a determined expression on his face, he said firmly, “You’re coming onto the stage with me.” 

“W-what?” You let out an incredulous laugh, backing away from your husband and feeling as if the comfortable rug you’ve been sitting on had just been yanked out from under you. You’d never been in the spotlight at any galas, and you never wanted to. After all, more time on the stage meant more public scrutiny, and public scrutiny meant bad press for Minho, “Darling, you can’t. This is your party and your future company—”

“It’s going to be your company, too,” Minho retorted, looking deadly serious, “And don’t act like every single one of these decorations wasn’t your idea. You played just as big if not a bigger part in putting this together, even if you don’t want to admit it.” 

You shook your head frantically, trying to muster a believable smile, “I don’t want the credit, really. If your employees see you bringing me up there…” 

“Y/N,” Minho moved towards you, cupping your face with his hands as he stared you down, his eyes filled with nothing but absolute love and adoration, “There’s no time to have a genuine conversation on this topic right now, but I need you to at least know this. I will never be ashamed of you, Y/N. Never.”

“I know,” You said soothingly, but Minho didn’t look convinced, “I know you’d never be ashamed of me, love, but there’s a difference between not being ashamed and bringing your-high school-dropout wife up on stage in a large and very important gala.”

“They don’t know you,” Minho replied bluntly, “They don’t know that you dropped out to work and pay for your mom’s medical bills. They don’t know how you gave up everything to take care of her. They don’t know how your words pulled me away from the drugs and the alcohol that was working to consume me.” 

Stroking your cheek gently, he spoke, “I’m nothing without you, Y/N, and I’m perfectly alright with letting the world see that,” you choke on a sob as he kissed your lips, asking softly, “Is that alright with you, darling?”

You took a moment to collect yourself, staring up at your husband who owned the world in his hands but would drop it all in an instant if you merely said the word, and nodded, “Yes, of course.”

The whispers spread like wildfire as Minho walked onto the stage with you. The cameras flashed and you could hear the shutters clicking, drowning out the sound of your own heartbeat. You hated it. It felt suffocating, and you couldn’t breathe. You had to get out, or you’d ruin everything Minho built--

“Love, I’m right here,” Minho murmurs into your ear, holding onto your waist, and suddenly you felt grounded, brought back to reality with the sound of your husband’s voice, “Don’t look at them, look through them. Their opinion doesn’t matter.” 

As you looked out into the crowd, spotting the aghast expressions of Minho’s parents, the envy of the people who would kill to be Minho’s one and only, the venom in Seonghwa’s eyes with a hint of fear as your gazes locked onto each other, it was hard to believe Minho’s words. Opinions created fact in the eyes of the media, and the people that hated you could rewrite your entire identity with a snap of their fingers. 

But, as you felt Minho’s firm, reassuring hand on your waist and caught sight of Hyunjin and Felix snickering in the back, you couldn’t fight the smile threatening to appear on your face, your body relaxing and getting used to the spotlight. He was right. They didn’t know you, they didn’t know even a bit of you that really mattered, only seeing what they want to see. 

Minho’s lips quirked up into a smile, feeling your gradual shift in mentality as he continued to talk, and he gave your waist a subtle, but loving squeeze. 

epilogue.

It was always the same boring jargon. 

You sat at your husband’s side, as always, your legs crossed and your head resting against your hand, a perfect picture of relaxed passiveness as you watched grown men squabble at the conference table like young children over a pretty toy.

“The charity money should go to the academy!” One of the men said roughly, “ That’s where it’s gone for years. There’s no use in creating frivolous drama and gossip by changing the beneficiary now.” 

“The new school being built by the Park’s would benefit from the additional funding,” Another argued, and your gaze moved towards him, also keeping an eye on a particular Park Seonghwa, who had been decidedly quiet, “The students would be able to receive additional benefits from the donations.”

“The arts center that we have sponsored the construction of would also be a good candidate,” An employee interjected, “It would also bring good publicity for the company, showing our interest in supporting the arts--”

“No.” 

All eyes turned towards you, who had not shifted from your laid back position even after your curt interruption. If your husband was surprised, he didn’t so much as blink in surprise, although you could see the telltale glimmer in his eyes, telling you clearly that he was actually amused.

“We’re not going to use the charity money on any of those projects,” you continued, sitting up in your seat, “We’re going to use it for exactly what the definition implies. Charity.”

Seonghwa made a noise, a clear scoff in disguise as he glanced at you, “Mrs. Lee, the past 30 minutes of the meeting have been devoted to discussing the use of the money for--”

“Giving a couple million dollars to projects that already have billion dollar budgets is not charity, Mr. Park,” you interjected cooly, before finally sitting forward to open your laptop, “I’d suggest moving the funds to support the public schools in the city, which are all severely lacking in resources.”

Minho’s face remained impassive, but his eyes were smiling as he quietly observed you take over the room, handling every objection to your proposal with a lazy ease and snark that he’d fallen in love with after mere days of meeting you. After everyone had exhausted their attempts at trying to bring the money back to their own projects, he finally cleared his throat.

“When it comes to charity, the last argument that should be made is about the return profit,” Minho said, his voice low and commanding, “The Lee Company has more means to do good in the city than any other company, and it is perfectly capable of using its additional funds to support people without asking for anything in return.”

His employees are grew quiet with a chastised silence, one that he reveled in before continuing, “Now, if anyone has an opposition to my wife’s proposal that doesn’t revolve around a more financially beneficial option or better publicity, feel free to speak.”

The continued silence felt like a personal triumph for you as you sat back in your seat, once again assuming your relaxed, rather bored posture.

“Good,” Minho said firmly as his employees continued to sit in silence, “Y/N will lead with the execution of this charity. Thank you for a productive meeting, everyone.”

As the people filed out of the room, leaving you and your husband to lounge around the empty and secluded space, you let out a gasp as Minho stood up, loosening his tie before bending down and smashing his lips against yours in a deep, hungry kiss.

“Fuck, do you even know how hot that was?” He groaned, biting your lower lip as his hand gently tilted your head up to a better angle for him to explore your mouth with his tongue.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, letting your husband have his fun as you bit his lip teasingly, “Did you really just get turned on by me scolding your employees?”

“Love, I get turned on by you doing practically anything,” Minho chuckles, pulling away slightly to gaze down at your red cheeks and swollen lips, “But you putting people in their place might take the cake.”

“Hmm, is that so?” You hummed, wrapping his tie around your hand and giving it a light yank, “Maybe I should put you in your place, too, darling.”

Minho smirked, his eyes darkening at your words, “Oh, sweetheart, you’re gonna wish you didn’t say that,” he laughed, leaving a fleeting kiss on your lips before pulling away from you completely, moving to lock the door with a soft click. 

It was a godsend for the people outside that the conference rooms were built to be soundproof, because two of you walked out maybe half an hour later, your neck littered with marks, courtesy of Minho’s love and hunger, and your legs wobbly, relying on Minho’s firm grip around your waist as the two of you walked back to the parking lot.

And if Minho guided you down the path that would pass Park Seonghwa’s office, flashing him a smug smile, he swore it was nothing more than a simple accident.

#stray kids reactions #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids drabbles #lee minho imagines #my fics

[chokefriends]

Anatomy model Eustass Kid

By @godims0tired ♡ for my fic Life Drawing

Rating: E

Warnings: None

Characters & ships: Eustass Kid / Trafalgar Law

Word count: 2978

Summary: Law practices his anatomical drawing with Kidd as his subject. With his devil fruit abilities he can see right inside him.

Kidd finds this insanely romantic.

~~~

Read on Ao3 or below the cut. I know it's an older fic by now but I havent posted it here before so here!

~~~

Kidd jerked into full awareness as he lay sprawled in his bed. He checked around himself without moving and sensed a second heartbeat in the room, near enough that the dim echoes of its electrical impulses lapped at his skin like waves. Slow and calm. Just watching then; not yet poised to attack…

There were eyes on him.

It took him a moment to remember that the other heartbeat was supposed to be there. He wasn't used to having bedmates stay overnight.

Red eyes slid open and found keen grey ones fixed on him.

“The fuck you staring at.”

“You, idiot.”

The big redheaded sprawl snorted crassly at that and flopped over, returning the stare with sleepy menace.

Law smirked. He was wedged sideways in one of the heavy carved armchairs in Kidd's quarters, loosely wrapped in a sheet and busily scritch scritching in a large book. His gaze flicked from page to Kidd and back.

Kidd prodded him, “See something you want, Trafalgar? Come over here and take it.”

His limbs were still all loose and languid from when they'd fucked a couple hours before, but Kidd could stand to go another round. Especially with the sharp, evaluating looks Law was throwing him right now.

“Come on, c'mere.”

“Later. Go back to sleep, Eustass-ya.” The pen bobbed.

“Don’ wanna. What are you doing still up?”

“Just passing the time until my brain decides to let me fall asleep.” Law's insomniac woes again.

“A good fuck will do that for you. Lemme do the ligature thing and you'll be out like bam .” Kidd offered generously.

“Heheh. Thanks but oxygen deprivation is not the kind of sleep aid I need.”

“Your loss.”

Kidd burrowed into his cluster of satiny pillows with a sigh. For an infamously brutal pirate captain he sure liked his little extravagances. The whole room was draped with horribly clashing bits of luxurious fabrics and furs, and the odd shiny sharp thing. The manic magpie whims of past raids.

“Nah, that's no good,” Law recrossed long legs over the chair’s arm, well cushioned with some spotted pelt. “Go back to where you were a second ago.”

“Are you…? What, taking notes on me? Writing an ode to the sinful curve of my flawless ass?”

“Something like that. I'm adding my own anatomical diagrams to this medical text. It’s my favourite for reference material but the illustrations are scanty and kinda shit -- it's like they've never dissected anyone before.”

“Nice. Add a diagram of these.” Kidd kicked up a leg.

“Hah. I'm nowhere near the section on genital abnormalities, but I'll look you up when I get there. Turn on your side again, I was doing upper body musculature.”

“Ooo. I got lots of that, yeah.” Kidd complied.

The lamplight was flickering low behind Law. Kidd could see him and his book backlit dimly, the small hairs on his leanly muscled shoulders aglow like a nimbus. Tinged subtly blue.

Wait, blue?

“Do you have a Room up?”

“Yeah, so I can scan down and see the actual anatomical stuff.”

“Huh. That's handy. You don't even have to dissect anyone.”

“Yeah but it’s easier to see everything if you physically open someone up. You can isolate the individual structures that way.” Law peeked overtop of the book. “And it's more fun to do it the old-fashioned way, heh…”

Kidd gave a low laugh. Law wasn't even joking, he knew. He imagined waking up one night like this, to find some part of him delicately splayed open and the dark haired doctor sketching away with the same expression. If Law used his devil fruit power he could do it painlessly and bloodlessly, without even waking him. Kidd had seen him sever heads away from bodies completely within that blue sphere, both pieces still functioning as one. He’d never been the subject of that eerie power himself, though.

He didn’t think so, anyway.

Law untangled himself from chair and sheet, and finally came over to join him on the bed. Kidd was gifted briefly with a full view of the lithe figure. His recent handiwork was beginning to show in the mottling that ran up either thigh and the bites framing his chest tattoos.

The long limbs refolded next to him. “Stay there, I wanna do the neck muscles now.”

“Lemme see that first.”

“Don't be grabby,” Law complained, but gave up the book.

“Holy fuck.” Kidd flipped through studies of his back, shoulders, hands. “So that's how I look without skin, huh.”

He had been expecting more… yeah. Skin.

“I did say I was drawing the muscles.”

“And my bones and everything.”

“Yeah. Good skeletal structure too. Several odd calluses where breaks didn't quite set right, though.”

“You can see all of that?”

“Yeah, of course. Like I said, I can scan down to any level. Though it helps if I know already the shape of what I'm looking for.”

Something about the drawings was just so Law. The lines so precise, so sharp, somehow impatient. A little obsessive and overworked on certain details, like the hollow between his collar bones and the knobbly crook of his index finger, broken at least twice. Many practice studies on loose sheets of paper showed that Law had been trying to get these parts just right.

It occurred to Kidd that these weren't just anatomical studies using him as a model -- these were him.

Jotted notes crowded around the practice studies, but Law grabbed the book back before Kidd could read them properly.

“Trafalgar. Does that seriously say I have 8.2 litres of blood in me.”

“Nevermind that. Just an interesting fact. You have a lot of blood.”

Kidd stole another peek as Law held him off. “And that I have a grip strength of 68 kilograms in my right hand?”

“At least. That’s not something I can see; that's from uh, experience.”

Kidd leaned back with his hands laced behind his head to look at Law. “One might misinterpret this as a target profile of some kind.” Because that's exactly what it was -- a detailed map of Kidd’s strongest, and weakest points.

“Whoa, your blood pressure’s spiking.” Law grinned with more teeth than usual and leaned in to hover over him.

“Now you're just showing off,” Kidd complained.

“Does this disturb you?”

That wasn't exactly the feeling that was spreading through him, no. Or not entirely, anyway. Kidd just cracked his neck, stretching it out for Law's benefit, and raised an eyebrow.

“So you wanted some neck action? It's all yours.”

Law seemed to like the sound of that. He angled Kidd’s head away and up with a gentle press of fingers, so the ear and neck were exposed to him.

Kidd watched his shadow flicker on the opposite wall and listened to the pen scratch across paper. The undulating magnetic field of Law’s heart was so close now, washing over him. His own blood thudded in his ears, senses all on high alert from holding himself in this vulnerable position.

He could be fuckin patient. Sometimes. Well… when he had all of Law’s attention focused on him like this, he’d stay still forever. He could feel the sharp eyes on him like a touch. His own eyes started to wander back over…

He jumped a little when Law did touch him, nudging him back into place. And then trailing fingers over the mound behind his ear.

“Sternocleidomastoid,” Law mouthed to himself. “Levator scapulae…” The hand travelled down to his collarbone and rested there lightly, his thumb tracing little circles.

It was so calm. And strange. Rare for the reserved doctor to be so casually intimate. Even while they were fucking, touch was more like a struggle, hands straining against and into each other. Kidd was rough without even trying, but it was Law who seemed to flinch from any contact not resembling combat. Or medical care. Such structured things. He’d objected -- vehemently -- to being “pawed at” and “pet like a lap dog” often enough. As though anything less than bruising force would hurt more.

He was so guarded. It made Kidd greedy.

“You're hard, you know,” Law breathed onto his neck.

“Yeah I'm aware.”

“Heh.”

Tattooed fingers ran along Kidd’s side, over the tight bands hugging the ribs (“Serratus anterior…”), and pinpricks rose in their wake. Kidd found himself arching up against the hand desperately.

“Ah, fuck, Trafalgar…”

“Mhm,” Law responded, distracted. Or pretending to be. He followed a particular cord of muscle down Kidd’s powerful thigh with his thumb. “Sartorius. Gracilis.”

“Dick.”

“No that's not a muscle, Eustass-ya.”

“Oh for the love of GOD.”

Law made a sound that was probably a muffled laugh. “Hold still. I'm doing anatomical studies.”

“Oh is that what we're doing.”

“Obviously.”

“Where's the book.”

“It's…” Law looked around for a minute. “On the floor.”

Kidd covered his face with his hands and just laughed. Law sighed dramatically.

“Well. Guess I gotta start from the top again.”

 

---

Law could be a pushy bastard when he topped. But he kept up the slow, focused treatment this time and it was driving Kidd fucking insane.

“I'm gonna flip this the fuck around and pound you inside out if it takes any longer.” Kidd growled from under his arm, slung across his face.

This was as close as he could get to actually asking for it. Here he was laid out, so open and ready, core clenching and unclenching. Needing to be fucked, to have hands on him, in him, whatever. All of it.

“Nah you're not.” Law countered smugly.

“F-uck,” was all Kidd could come up with when a third finger twisted into his slicked up hole. His body tensed and spasmed before yielding itself open.

By the time Law was actually fucking him, Kidd had nearly popped a fucking vein.

Law pushed in slowly, slowly. Until they were pressed together as tight as they could go, breath hot on each other's faces.

“Shit, Tr--ahh…”

“Eustass-ya…”

He was done with all the slow shit. Kidd was a shifting mass of need under him and honestly, he was even more worked up. He dragged almost all the way out only to grind back in hard, and the tight body jolted.

“Aw fuck, yeah…”

Law braced his weight on his arms, pressing Kidd’s hips into the bed. He watched the muscles bunch beneath him with each impact, Kidd straining to meet him. Watched through skin so pale it was translucent, glowing and rippling.

Kidd still wasn't entirely sure what to make of that gaze. All hunger and splitting seams, open lips and ragged breath.

He quirked up one corner of a mocking mouth.

“The fuck’re you-- ah --staring at?”

Law didn't answer for a moment. Under Kidd's skin it was like… layers of red ribbons, wrapping him up. The ribbons all pulling and straining against each other when Kidd moved (when Law moved in him), like something inside was trying to burst out. Under them, ribs curving -- jealous fingers. Wetly clinging membranes. Then under that…

“Your heart. It's…”

Their bodies collided, beaded with sweat. Harder. More. Law could see, hear Kidd's heart beating faster as he picked up his pace. God, he could feel it in his palms. In his dick. Beating so strong it echoed in his ears, drowning out his own.

“Fucking perfect. It's perfect.”

Kidd laughed breathlessly. His heart. What the hell. “...You wanna get your hands on that too?”

Law did.

He wanted to grip it, feel it flutter, make it burst …

… What if I could? he thought. He slowed, thinking, and spread a hand over Kidd’s breastbone. Not just to incapacitate through dismemberment, but to cut a piece from the whole, one vital piece…

Kidd watched the pensive eyes flicker and gave him a swift jab of encouragement with his heel.

“You'll just have to get hold of it the old fashioned way. Hahahaaa…”

“Hah.” Law shook himself from his distracted state. He picked up a pace that was slower than before, though not less jarring. “Like… I should court you or like I should cut you open?”

“Whichever ...ah ... But you should fuckin get me off first.” Kidd guided the tattooed hand down from his chest to his dripping cock, and Law obliged, finally.

They fucked with foreheads pressed together and grips slipping on sweat slick skin. Kidd thought of Law digging his hands right into his chest and came in jerking starts like it was being beaten out of him, legs clamped tight around him. Skin thrumming with the echoes of hands and heartbeat.

 

---

Kidd flipped through the last few drawings with some undefinable flutter in his gut.

“That's some shit you won't see in any other textbook.”

“Mhm.” Law allowed himself to press against Kidd just slightly as they lay sprawled out, sweat drying in the cool air. He was in a fuckin good mood, kinda dazed.

“I do look damn good without skin, I'll say that much.”

“Heh. And with. You can see the suprasternal notch really clearly even under the skin, it's nice. I fuckin love all of that. That area.”

Kidd choked a little but Law didn't seem to realize what he'd said. And that's not even what he meant anyway, Kidd told himself.

But the whole thing kinda was the same as a confession, at least as far as Law went. The drawings, as vaguely threatening as they were, betrayed an intimate preoccupation with Kidd's finer points. Maybe even admiration. Definitely possessiveness. Need.

“I wanna do you too.”

Law grinned, “Already?”

“Not that, idiot. Draw you.”

“I didn’t know you could draw.”

“Well, draft. I can draft things -- just basic. For engineering stuff on the ship, mostly.”

“Oh, nice!” Law bounced up to get fresh paper from the floor by the chair. “How does one usually draft stuff? Don’t you need a triangle thing? Compasses, etcetera?”

“Maybe. I’ll just make an outline for now.”

Law seemed right into this whole idea. “Draw me like one of your machines, Eustass-ya.” He draped himself dramatically across the bed and Kidd shoved him with a grin.

“How do you want me, though.”

Kidd appreciated that question for a moment.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged. “I don’t know how to draw from life -- like perspective or anything. So it’s gonna be pretty diagrammatic. I just need a few details and some numbers.”

“Like specifications? How to build a Trafalgar?”

“Yeah, so I can make another if this one breaks.”

That made him laugh.

“Okay lie out flat and lemme measure you.”

“With what measuring tools?”

“I'll just eyeball it,” Kidd insisted.

This turned out to mean that he was going to get his hands all over him, which Law supposed was fair. He tensed and shied but stayed mostly still, letting Kidd explore his dimensions and proportions. Pages filled up with ratios and vectors of movement. Things got off track again around when Kidd was testing the rotation arc of his arms and quickly became vicious rutting. Light, skimming hands could become crushing ones so quickly.

Anyway, turned out that Law could get off while his arms were being hyperextended behind his back. Pretty effectively, in fact.

After, when they were laid out next to each other once again, and Law’s breaths were finally lengthening into sleep, Kidd dared to try another light touch. Without their thin pretense of functionality this time -- just want. He smoothed a hand over all the tattoos he'd taken such careful note of earlier. A large heart on his chest with a grinning skull similar to his Jolly Roger. Hearts on his shoulders. Kidd’s fingerprints blooming dark purple on his upper arms.

Sixty-eight kilograms of pressure and Law hadn't made a sound, but a feather touch over the marks and a quiet ah pushed past his lips.

“Whose emblem is that tattoo?”

Law mumbled with his eyes closed, “Someone who died. Long time ago.”

“Someone…” Kidd repeated to himself, but didn't probe. “You going to get any more?”

“Nah.” His breath stuttered slightly when Kidd trailed knuckles down his jaw. “I just like… your marks…”

He fell asleep with Kidd's lips against the shell of his ear.

 

---

A roll of broadsheet tied with string arrived by carrier gull when Law was back on his sub some days later. He stole away to his cluttered quarters and spread the roll out on the bed.

Inside the broadsheet was a large-format technical drawing.

There were three flat outlines of Law: front, back, side. All heavily marked out in blunt pencil, all surrounded by arcs and lines, dotted and solid, indicating measurements and angles of motion. The insides of the outlines were empty except for perfectly to scale renderings of his tattoos.

#kidlaw #trafalgar law #eustass kid #fanart #thank you so much dude i really mean it! #its exactly how I imagined laws drawing style to be ♡

[twstwonderlandstuff]

When a cub visits! (Cheka and OC! ft. Leona and Grim)

Cheka and Himawari Nikko! ft. Leona and Grim

Summary: It's a little difficult to draw when there's an enthusiastic lion cub by Himawari's side. Luckily, he's got plenty of tales to entertain them.

A/N: THIS IS NOT A SHIP BETWEEN LEONA AND MY OC, you hear me! Leona is 20, a certified adult. My OC is 16, a certified TEENAGER. This is about a teen who happens to take care of an adult's nephew, and then they have little interactions, okay? Ok.

Warning(s): I'm using they/them for the sake of lore (cuz their actual gender isn't revealed yet HEHEHE) so... yeah.

Notes will be written after the fic and will be placed under-cut because of length.

_____

Leona sighed, frowning. Why, of all days, does he have to be here?

“Uncle Leona!” God, what an annoyance.

“What?” He spat at his nephew, who was holding his hand and walking cheerfully next to him down the hallways. Many steered clear of the lion, and for good reason too.

“Can we play Magic Shift? Please?” Cheka begged, looking up at him.

“Go by yourself.”

“But Papa said I gotta be with you all the time!”

“Tch-” Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the herbivore who ruined his plans… a sneer crawled up his face.

“After you play with the herbivore over there.” Leona gestured lazily towards the orange-color mop. “Then I’ll play Magic Shift with you.”

“For real?!” Cheka lit up, squeezing Leona’s hand. “We gotta make a pinky promise first, uncle!”

“Fine.” After the deed was done, Cheka ran off towards the boy and Leona quickly made his escape to the botanical garden to sleep.

=

“Hey hey!” Himawari turned around and so did Grim who laid in their lap. They were perched on one of the benches in NRC, looking at the sunset as one does.

“Hey, it's Leona’s kid!” Grim noticed, tilting its head. “Why’s he coming to us?”

Cheka quickly fell into Himawari’s arms, which scared Grim from leaving their lap. Hima gave the lion cub a quick squeeze before making him settle down next to them. They took up their notebook, quickly scribbling: ‘Hello!’

“What’s the big deal, oi!” Grim grumbled. “That was my seat!”

“Uncle Leona said I gotta play with you before I can play Magic Shift with him!” The child smiled with glee, sharing a toothy grin. “So, I’m gonna play with you!”

“He totally wants to get rid of you, huh…” Grim whispered, both it and Himawari sharing a look. Himawari smiled, carding a hand through Cheka’s hair, writing: ‘How long are we going to play?’

Cheka shrugged. “Dunno, I guess until Uncle calls- oh!” Cheka quickly reached for the notebook. “Can I draw, uh… hmmm…”

“The name’s Himawari, and I’m the Great Grim! Remember us!” Grim cackled, smirking.

“Oh-oh! The one who fainted during the Magical Shift! That was funny!” Cheka pointed out, laughing. Himawari let out a sigh, glaring at Grim.

“It’s not my fault that henchman's really weak!” Grim shot back, sticking its tongue out. Himawari shook their head at the cat, nodding at Cheka’s request.

“Yay!” The lion cub got busy, but eventually…

=

“Aww… it didn’t turn out right…” Cheka gloomed, staring at the picture. “Uncle Leona… doesn’t look like that!”

“It looks kinda bad-” A sharp glare came from Himawari. “Ah, uh, it looks pretty good, kid!”

“No, it doesn’t… you’re lying!” Cheka grumbled, starting to sob. “Uncle looks cooler than this…”

An idea sparked in Himawari’s head as they gently took the notebook away from Cheka, writing: ‘I can draw him for you if you'd like.’

“...Okay!” Cheka gave the magicless student a thumbs up, pressing against their side, enthusiastically waiting. Grim followed suit, pressing against their other side. With a small smile, the Ramshackle Prefect began to sketch.

“Uncle’s so cool…” Cheka murmured, laying his head on Himawari’s shoulder. “I wanna be like my uncle one day.”

“But he’s kinda lazy, you know. He slacks off and is kinda a douche.” Grim grumbled. Cheka shook his head.

“No, he’s not! My uncle works hard, it’s just… no one knows that he does.” The cub trailed off quietly. “When he’s at home, sometimes I see him reading books and solving hard stuff, but he doesn’t know that I know.”

“...I like my uncle. He’s the best.” The lion cub smiled, looking towards the orange sky. “Someday, I’m gonna beat my uncle in Magic Shift, you'll see!”

‘Good luck.’ Himawari wrote on the notebook, adding: ‘It’s gonna be hard. Your uncle is strong.’

“Yeah, I know, but I will! Oh, you know, I’ve been working on my roar. Wanna listen to it?” Before he could get an answer, Cheka roared, making Himawari pull away.

“Fgna-!” Grim was quick to cover its ears.

“Tada~ Uncle’s gonna love it- pfft!!!” Cheka’s eyes gleamed in excitement as the cub took a look at the drawing, already giggling. “His face!” Himawari flinched at the sudden movement.

“Has he ever smiled like that…?” Grim asked, peering at the drawing. Himawari shook their head.

‘Probably not.’ They giggled. ‘I’m not good with faces.’

“Can I show this to Uncle?!” An immediate shake of the head came for the artist. “Why not? He’ll like it!”

“More like he’ll get mad at us.” Grim corrected. “Especially with that goofy smile…”

“Hah, what’s this~?” A teasing voice came from above. Himawari paled as Cheka looked up.

“UNCLE!” Leona flinched at the volume.

“Don’t be so loud, brat.” Leona easily pried the notebook out of Himawari’s hands, to their horror.

“Hah.. what’s with my face?” The lion questioned, looking at the page. “Oi, herbivore, I don’t look like that.”

“I asked Mister Himawari to make it! It’s nice, right, Uncle?” Cheka added, standing up to follow Leona. The second-born hummed absentmindedly in reply.

“Since you drew it for me, I think I’m going to take it.” Leona chuckled, ripping the page out of the book before handing it back to Himawari. “Come on, brat, let’s take you to Magic Shift.” “YAY!” Cheka cheered, hugging Leona’s leg. “See you, Hima-chan, Grim-chan!”

“Don’t call us that!” Grim grumbled as Himawari meekly waved goodbye.

After they left, the two Ramshackle live-in’s gave a collective sigh. “He scared me!” Grim grumbled, Himawari enthusiastically nodding.

‘I thought he was going to rip my notebook.’ They wrote, smiling in relief.

“Maybe he really did like it?” Grim questioned.

They both shrugged. Himawari closed the notebook and set it aside, inviting Grim to sit on their lap as they once again bathed in the glow of the sunlight.

“I’m confused why the kid likes Leona, but eh,” Grim shrugged. “ ‘s not really our business… ah, the sun’s so warm.”

Himawari nodded. It really is.

=

“...thanks.”

“Whatcha say, uncle?”

“Nothing.”

-------

Notes:

So, there's this OC Question Meme by @marchenvillain here and it's 100 questions, so! Instead of asking people so I can answer, I'm going to do it myself!

Question 1: What’s a unique skill they have? Is there any reason why they can do it?

Answer: They have the unique skill of taking care of children. Himawari adores babies, but they don't seem to like their face very much, and kids think it looks funny, so they stick to caring for children. They got this skill from volunteering at a daycare back home.

^ (as evident by the picture, Himawari and babies don't get along well)

#himawari nikko #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst #twsted wonderland #cheka kingscholar #leona kingscholar #twst grim #twst leona #kingscholar #original character #twsted wonderland oc #twisted wonderland original character #there's like a 100 questions. have i told you that? #Well now you know #no cap im kinda proud of the leona sketch #twisted wonderland cheka #twisted wonderland leona #yuh #my writing

[rose-lord-of-simps]

How are you so flippin good at writing?? Sometimes I find myself coming back to some of your posts to re-read them, and I'm just like "Hah, yes, the good shit"

So I'll ask again: how are you so good at writing?! (Mainly tho, how long have you been writing?)

I-

I-

I-

What?

Wut?

Thank you so much for the compliment first of all.

Oh shut this feels crazy, I’ve read other writers get this question a million times and have asked them before- I honestly didn’t think I’d be the one getting asked-

I’ve been writing technically since I was extremely little because making stories and detailing them was something to do.

However, I didn’t really get any good until I went through phases of “extremely bad cliche fan fic writing” and “getting there and doing good!” I still think I’m somewhere in that range honestly.

I started getting into writing fanfiction, monologues, and occasionally scenes as a hobby back in 5th grade mostly. And now I’m a college student!

Practice really does help!

I’m very lucky that I get very inspired by music, writing song fics I’ve found is something can help practice flow and pacing of stories.

As for wording, read. Just read. Find authors you like and find specifically what you enjoy about their writing and practice mimicking it. (This will be mentioned again later hold on)

There is an AO3 writer, buzzcut_seasons (I think that is their handle) who I found about five months ago- and they’re so good at using details and adjectives to their advantage. They mostly know how to perfectly describe emotions and feelings. So I tried to write in their style a little more.

There is a Wattpad writer, samsea, who writes these amazing Ninjago fics and her style really allows her to describe physical things, like eyes and scenery, in a way that was super pleasing and interesting to me so I practiced writing in her style a bit.

One thing I wish someone would of told me though is that there are styles of writing.

Everyone kind of acknowledges it I’ve found, but no one tells you that it’s like physical art, everyone has their own style and it can take a long time before you’ve found your’s.

Artists who draw will often take years to find a consistent style they draw in. They know how to draw in other styles, but there is a specific style that is their go to whenever they draw. It is the same thing for writers.

You don’t have to sound like all of these “classic” books or other authors. What makes authors so amazing for so many different people is that there are so many different styles in which we write in. Take the time with yourself to find your own style and voice which works for you.

For me, mimicking other writer’s writing helped me find what I could work more with, less with, and what I wanted to sound like in my writing. It also put into perspective the fact that I write in different voices depending on the scene. My style of writing will shift depending on the fic I’m writing and an example of this is the into you Iida x reader fic, compared to 5 times Mammon’s brothers. 5 times was intentionally going to be longer from the start of the writing process so I tried to be more careful about words I used and the POV the reader was seeing from. In into you, I wanted everything to seem more urgent and from a window in iida’s head. I write these fics two different ways and in two different styles. And it’s okay.

I’ve been writing since 5th grade, I have a Wattpad account (if someone asks I may just share but it’s super cringe bro-) that I am still semi active on, and I have written in a variety of styles. Time, practice, and different attempts see how I got to the point I’m in today. If you want to try something new but enjoy writing, monologues and scripts can be really fun! There are so many different formats to choose from and it can be good practice for writing out little scenes instead of full stories if that is what you want to focus on.

Thank you so much for the compliment, I’m glad you enjoy my writing and I was honestly so shocked when I saw this in my inbox! This means a lot nonny!

Another Wattpad writer (they’re on other platforms as well I just know them from Wattpad) is Twoony! They make amazing full length stories and there are a few chapters in their books where they’ve given some great advice to writers! Too much to repeat here lol! Something else I got from a friend was “write everyday. If you write one word, you’ll have a book. If you write one sentence, you’ll have a book. If you write one paragraph, you’ll have a book. If you write one page, you’ll have a book. If you write even one chapter, you’ll have a book.” Obviously that requires a lot of motivation and we don’t have that everyday. But it’s nice to hear that no matter how much I write, it’s going towards the end goal!

#rose’s anons #nonny you’re so nice oh my gosh-

[palimpsessed]

Hey lookie there! A super obnoxious banner I will probably dispense with because it is so obnoxious. Anyway.

I was tagged by so many very, very lovely people today! So thanks to you all for sharing and asking me to share, too! 🥰 @aristocratic-otter @amywaterwings @phoxphyre @effing-numpties @vampire-named-gampire @seducing-a-vampire @ninemagicks @bazzybelle @captain-aralias @xivz @banjjakbanjjak

I have taken a post-COC breather on WIPs because I am burnt out. I also intentionally did not have anything planned because I was supposed to be having surgery at the beginning of January. But things being what they are, that got canceled. So instead of spending the next 8-12 weeks catching up on reading fic, I guess I will now have time to do some work?

So. Lately, I’ve been overrun with fic ideas. As we are looking ahead to the start of a new year, I thought it would be fun to share what kind of things I’m planning on my slate for 2021. No promises on if/when these get going/finished, but I’m excited about all of them, so I’m hoping I can keep up that excitement as I go!

1. Simon Snow and the Missing Magician

My Scooby Doo AU! Okay, so I’ve been promising this one forever (the first piece of fanart I ever did—my first tumblr post!—was for this story!) But it’s been a much slower process than I thought. Part of that was me trying to outline (hah!) and part of that was me trying to write an all Simon POV (fool!). Anyway. I think I got a good idea for it today that can help me retool as I get my head back in the game. I know I said no promises, but I swear to Stevie, I will finish this! (And it’s only part one! Augh! 😆 )

2. Val-un-tine’s Day

"A holiday dedicated to enemies. To show the people you loathe most how much you hate having them in your life." This...speaks for itself, I think? Will I get to it before the day in question? Who can say?

3. Slings and Arrows (or...Eros?) (how punny do I want to be? 🤔)

An Eros (Cupid) and Psyche AU! I wrote a line in my Regency fic where Baz compared Simon to something “sculpted by Praxiteles” and in my brain I was just like, “yes, Simon as Eros and Baz as Psyche, I will make this happen!” Anyway, other than getting my copy of “The Golden Ass” off the shelf, this is about as far as I’ve gotten with the idea.

4. My secret smut fic

Okay, it’s not really a secret, but if I give you the title, I feel like it will give too much away, since it is a quote that I know you all know. But I’m really excited about it and if I pull it off, it will be fucking beautiful.

5. An untitled Beauty and the Beast AU

I think the way I’m doing the roles in this will be different to how people would expect. At least I’m hoping they are.

Okay, that’s enough of that. (I have more I could share, but I won’t. I’m already feeling exposed! 😂)

“ART????” You may ask. Well, I have a few plans.

1. Illustrations for A Man of Letters

I only intended to do one from the final chapter, but then I wrote the rest of the fic and loved it and there are multiple scenes I want to see, so... I’m hoping to do multiple pieces.

2. COBB

Maybe??? (Part of me is terrified of having responsibility to someone else’s fic and part of me is excited.)

3. Portrait series

This one’s been kicking around in my head for a while. I think I’d like to continue them all in the same style I used for my Agatha one.

4. Fire series

I’ve talked about this one a bunch. So many of the most pivotal and emotional moments in Simon and Baz’s relationship feature fire in some form and this would be a series to highlight that. It’s just... going to be a long series. And part of me wants to wait till AWTWB is out and I can do all the books together. Also, I don’t really know how to draw fire yet. So I guess I should figure that out, huh?

Whew! Looks busy, but I’m so excited to dig in on something soon!

Tags!!! If you’re still with me after all of that, it’s after midnight here, so not really Wednesday anymore. That said, if you happen to see this, and you haven’t posted your own WIPs yet, then this—THIS—is your official tag! @ you!

#wip wednesday

[ikuyeah]

The Dawn Breaks

Summary: With miles and miles on the road to his repentance left to go, William Vangeance finds comfort in the familiar dark magic enveloping a figure clad in gold. The one that he’d let slip away. His Golden Dawn. 

(Part One of the Attract Light series)

A/N: I binged Black Clover after it appeared on my Netflix feed and I have many William Vangeance feelings. So here I am. Writing fic. Anyways, by the time I post this I'll have read the rest of the manga chapters but keep in mind that I wrote this before reading it. Hope y’all enjoy my first foray into Black Clover.

Yami’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, catching sight of familiar violet irises filled with mirth. Shifting, he felt the blanket that definitely wasn’t there before sliding down his broad frame. He suppressed a sigh of relief. It looked like Vangeance would be fine.

Ever since the Golden Dawn Captain had the soul of the elf removed from his body, he’d been bathed in dark guilt and remorse for everything he’d failed to do from protecting the citizens to believing in their respected Wizard King.  

Despite his rough demeanor, he had really meant it when he said Vangeance was someone he considered closer than a mere comrade. That aside, he was also important to her which motivated him to break free from his drunken haze for a moment.

“I’m not sure if he let you know but after the meeting the Wizard King said we need everyone with great magic power to join this fight…” He murmured, almost doubting Vangeance had heard him but the other man turned his head before he could reach the door.

“I see, so she is to return.” His eyes which were mirthful turned dark with uncertainty. “How soon?”

Yami nearly grinned. It seems that even after being outed for housing an angry elf, some things about him would never change. Neither his kindness nor his feelings seem to have waned after all. “What’s with that look in your eyes, Captain Shiny? I thought your bond of friendship was stronger than that.” He didn’t hold back his grin this time, raising a brow when Vangeance’s own lips quirked into a smile.

“Indeed. But that’s beside the point now, Yami. After all…” Vangeance turned back, walking out the door. “Friendship is a stepping stone to the greater bond I will be pursuing with Sukehiro Aki.”

-

Eight Years Prior...

William watched from his perch on his World Tree as the Magic Knights started mobilizing. He’d been on patrol when the fighting broke out. The small gang of magic users were strong and their leader could conceal their magic well. While he scanned for the routes he’d have taken, he spotted a knight sprinting for what seemed like no reason until he caught sight of the brightly glowing outline in front of her. 

“My Moon Glow makes it so anyone I touch has their mana drained!” She cheered, the glowing outline fading out until the once invisible gang leader was exposed. 

William responded quickly, causing the roots of the tree to grow and block him.

Taking advantage of this, the girl aimed a swift kick at the criminal’s side, her leg engulfed in dark magic.

William’s eyes widened a little in realization. He’d heard that they had a new recruit who had the same magic as Sukehiro Yami but now that he could see her the resemblance was uncanny. 

The girl looked up and waved to him with a bright smile. “Thanks for the save! I think I’ve heard of you before from Yami. You’re Vangeance, right?” She called out.

William jumped down from the tree branch with ease, making sure the criminal was apprehended with the tree’s roots. “Indeed, pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m afraid I have not had the pleasure of knowing your name.” He held out a hand to her.

“Oh! I’m a new recruit. My name’s Sukehiro Aki. Though, you probably already had the Sukehiro part figured out.” Shaking his hand enthusiastically.

“The resemblance is astounding.” He digressed. “In both appearance and magic, it seems.”

Aki blinked at him and sighed. “Yeah, but I’m grateful to the Captain. It seems he knows that my talent lies more in reconnaissance than my brother. You’ve met him. His power is much too explosive to deal with anything requiring tact.” She mused.

William found himself with his shoulders rising, a laugh almost bubbling out of him. “The Captain knows not to judge people by their familial ties… or their upbringing.” He agreed.

The subtle change in his tone caught her notice and Aki seemed to stare at him for a while. “Your magic is incredible, Mister Vangeance.” She nodded to the tree behind him. William glanced back at the foliage, by the time his eyes met hers again, her expression softened considerably. “And remarkably, I think your character is even more incredible. So, I look forward to working with you in the future.”

William took a moment to let her words sink in before responding, returning her budding respect with a hopeful smile. “Likewise, Miss Sukehiro. Just Vangeance is fine.”

“Hah, well then just Aki is fine.” She retorted, stopping him before he could say that was hardly the same. “Would be kind of awkward if Yami and I were in the same room. And speaking of names, Vengeance is really satisfying to say so I hope you don’t mind me saying it often. Vengeance, it’s got an impact to it!” She said excitedly. 

William’s shoulders rose again in an aborted chuckle. He considered declining calling her by her given name but decided it wouldn’t hurt to honor her request. “Very well, Aki.”

-

William sat at his desk in his room, breathing deeply as he stared out at the trees lining the Golden Dawn’s estate. He hasn’t been able to calm his heart since Yami had told him Aki was returning. His feelings for her had been buried under many worries and beneath his guilt for his many recent transgressions. But, in spite of the years they’d spent apart, the flame of his admiration never flickered for a moment.

He remembered vividly the sound of her laughter and the warmth of her hand the few times they’d high fived and even the one time they shook hands. He remembered the brightness of her smile even after it dulled, even after the toll of dark magic weighed her down and stole the smile from her radiant face. He remembered the oddest things she’d talk about like how it was that butterflies slept and how queen bees were born. He remembered her idle musings about what it would be like if all the Kingdoms were united as one nation as well as her musings about the merits of different kinds of cheese in mac n cheese.  

And he’d missed it all so much.

Opening one of his drawers, he smoothed out the folded and unfolded piece of parchment, his name written across the top in hurried letters.

Will, 

I fear I’m no longer in control of myself, my friend. I’m ashamed to write this, to let you know my weakness. But you are my best and closest friend and so I can’t leave without letting you know the reason. I think you already knew that it would happen, but the extent to which my faith has been devoured by this magic is great and so I’m leaving to find a way to restore it. It’s funny, that I’ve misplaced my faith. Bet you’re relieved you didn’t have someone as messy as me in your Squad huh?

You’d probably say no, because you’re kind. I hope that one day when I return I can greet the kind person who’s looked after me all these years with a kind face and strong faith. I hope I can be someone who stands beside you to marvel at it, at your Golden Dawn.

For now, that’s reason enough for me to find it. My lost faith. I hope it returns to me soon so that I may return to you soon, my friend.

Aki 

“We are, the both of us, quite a pair.” He said softly. “To think that I’d lose my faith as you’d lost yours. Maybe your return… would return it to me. Your faith in yourself and my faith in myself.”

A knock on his door startled him out of his reverie and he gently placed the parchment in its previous place, pushing his drawer closed as he called for them to enter.

“Captain Vangeance, we have the gate keeper’s report like you requested and there’s no Sukehiro who entered the Capital today.” The two Golden Dawn members bowed. “We apologize.”

“It’s no trouble. Thank you for indulging my request.” He nodded gratefully.

“We’ll check again tomorrow, Captain Vangeance!” They bowed again and then promptly left.

William watched them go, amused. “Everyone around me is very kind.”

‘It’s because you’re kind.’ Her voice whispered in the back of his mind, resounding in his heart.

“No matter what it was you thought you were,” He murmured, fingers intertwining like the beginning of a prayer. “You were always just as kind… Aki.”

-

Six Years Prior...

“Vangeance!” 

William turned, smiling as the dark haired girl approached him. “Aki, you look well.” He greeted. 

As she passed, several nobles in Grey Deer uniform sneered at her. “That peasant, just because she’s friends with Vangeance and the sister of that monster the Captain picked up she thinks she’s all that.” One of them huffed.

“If Vangeance had a brain in that mask of his, he’d know to stay far away from her. She probably has dark blood in her veins too. A peasant and a monster.” The other said, egging on his companion as he spat in Aki’s direction.

Aki dodged the spitball and stopped in front of him, a hand raised. “I wasn’t sure what kind of greeting you’d prefer. So, high five I guess!” She laughed nervously.

Watching their fellow knights out of the corner of his eye, William regarded his friend in a low but resonant tone. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, my friend.” He said, lightly tapping his palm against hers. “After all we’ve been working together for this long. How is Tsukuyomi’s Moon Bow progressing?” He asked, genuinely interested in her spell’s growth.

“You were right about me not extending my magical awareness enough.” She said with a sigh. “Looks like Moon Magic really does draw strength from the moon. I think I’ll be able to do an area attack soon. I’m close to a breakthrough after mastering control of the Moon Bow.” She said, practically vibrating with excitement.

William raised a brow at her. “An area attack?”

“I’m going to gather the shadows and use it to redirect the mana somewhere else, maybe make it explode. It’s going to turn everything quite bright and I’m not used to so much light concentration yet, but I think I’ll call it Akatsuki or something of the like. That means Dawn where Yami and I come from.” Aki explained.

“I see. I have no doubt your mana can support the attack, but will you be alright?” He asked. Aki had always been more like him than Yami in that way. Though she trained with all her might to build her strength, she had a frailer body. It took a lot of her concentration just to control her dark magic.

Aki grinned, raising her arm up and flexing it. “I got my first arm muscle! So don’t worry about it, Vengeance. Leave it to me! I’ll sneak in, make them explode, and then sneak out!” She said with complete determination.

William only nodded. Aki had a lot of mana, it was why she was able to keep up in spite of her smaller form. However, William couldn’t help but worry for his friend. It seemed the darkness was looming larger over her with each mission. He wasn’t sure how long it would take until it overwhelmed her.

“I think it’s about time we dismissed the pleasantries, Aki.”

Aki looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

William looked back at her, hoping that by tying his friend to his own fate he’ll be able to save her from the pain. Yes, this was only so she could be safe.

“We are friends aren’t we? Call me William.”

Aki’s eyes widened, in awe of both his trust and his thoughtfulness. It had plagued her from time to time whether or not he found her bothersome. The sentiment brought tears to her eyes. “Man, I’ll miss saying Vangeance. But maybe…” She tipped her chin down, wiping at her eyes discreetly. “Will… has a pretty nice ring to it too.”

The darkness flickered out for a moment, surprising William.

The older knight clenched his fists at the motion, his resolve hardening. ‘I’ll do what I can to save you, my friend.’ He thought. 

When Aki looked up at him again, she was greeted with a warm smile. “Well, why don’t we enact your genius plan, then? I’m interested in seeing this Dawn attack you’ve come up with.”

-

Asta burst out the door to his room with a yell that he’d work hard again that day. “Time to do the chores-” 

The young Magic Knight gaped, realising that all the chores were complete. They had even fed the magical creatures. “All the chores are done?!” He screamed.

A dark haired girl poked her head around one of the corners, bowl of food in hand. “Ah, you must be Asta. Yami’s probably been working you to the bone so I figured I’d give you a break. We can do the chores together tomorrow.” She shrugged, beckoning him into the kitchen. “Come on, I made breakfast. You can just exercise twice as much later.” She insisted.

“Oh, thank you. Wait- Who are you?!” Asta pointed at the girl, eyes drawn to the black cloak over her yellow turtleneck. “You’re a fellow Black Bull member?” He asked, sitting down at the dining table.

The girl placed a bowl of rice with meat layered on top of it in front of him. “Oops, I guess Yami never bothered to tell you. I’m Sukehiro Aki, nice to meet you!” She patted him lightly on the head and walked away to wash the pan and other kitchenware she used to cook.

“Sukehiro…” Asta murmured, munching on the meal. In a corner of his mind, a memory rose. Didn’t the Captain once mention to him that he knew what it was like to be far from siblings? He remembered, because he’d gone as far as to ask the Wizard King about it but he’d said to ask Captain Vangeance. The rest of the Black Bulls said that they were away, training. But that meant that this girl...

“Yami’s my older brother.” 

Asta nearly choked on his rice. “You’re Captain Yami’s younger sister?!” 

“Wow, you sure love to repeat what’s said. Then again, there are weirder quirks.” Aki laughed softly, bubbles flying into the air.

“Sorry, I really had no idea. Do you have Dark Magic too?” He asked, considerably calmer now. He couldn’t explain it himself, she seemed to have a very calming aura.

Aki’s grimoire floated up, the book pure white with a giant moon etching in the middle surrounded by clouds in the same style as Yami’s. In the middle of the moon was a three-leaf clover. “Sort of. I can manipulate and create dark energy. I’m also quite blessed by the moon. It’s hard to explain. But yes, it’s a form of Dark Magic.” She shrugged and then promptly disappeared, appearing again in the form of Asta’s shadow before getting back to cleaning up.

“My abilities are more suited to reconnaissance so my attacks depend heavily on stealth and precision.” She admitted. 

“Wow, I didn’t sense your Ki at all!” Asta beamed at her, in awe of her magic ability. “I think you’re the most normal Black Bull I’ve ever met.”

Aki’s eyes flashed and she leveled an intimidating stare at Asta, making him shudder lightly. “You should be more careful, Asta.”

“Y-Yes, Aki-Senpai!” He saluted instinctively.

Aki’s eyes softened and she laughed loudly. “You should have seen your face.” She teased.

“Don’t be fooled, kid. This little menace can cause quite a stir. Understandable, since she’s a 2nd Class Intermediate Wizard.” Yami strolled in, ruffling her hair.

“Ew, if you’ve just left the bathroom please keep your hands off me.” She laughed, shoving him away from her.

“Huh? Did you get even stronger while you were gone? Did you become too big for your brother’s love now? You little shit, let’s fight right here and now.” He teased.

“You know that’s way dangerous and stop giving Henry a hard time fixing the base.” Aki smacked playfully at her brother’s buffed up arm, frustrated when her hits just bounced off of him harmlessly. 

Asta stared at them, eyes shining in interest. “I wonder what a fight between two Dark Magic users would be like. Wouldn’t they cancel each other out?” 

Yami puffed smoke out of his mouth, considering his options. “Hey Aki.”

The younger Sukehiro looked up at him. “Yeah? Captain Nii-san?” She asked.

“Have you gone to see the magic-obsessed Wizard King yet?” 

Aki shook her head, staring at her brother. Sometimes she couldn’t exactly pinpoint if he was being lazy or being tactical but this seemed like something he’d planned. “I’m going after I finish with these plates.” She answered, waiting for his next move. 

“You’re going to see the Wizard King? Can I come?” Asta asked, eyes getting even bigger at the mention of the man.

‘Ah, but why go through the trouble, Nii-san?’ She wondered. “Of course. But you better be ready to go.” She shrugged, still trying to decipher why it was that Yami was trying to send her to the Capital.

“Yes, Ma’am! I’ll get Finral-Senpai!” He responded, speeding away. Soon after, the sound of Finral yelling ‘She’s here?’ resounded in the halls. 

“What are you trying to do?” Aki asked, scrubbing at the plates while Yami had his own bowl of katsu. 

Yami grinned, sending a light gust of dark energy her way to ruffle her hair again. “Nothing much. Just making sure Clover Kingdom knows they have their beloved Golden Girl back.”

-

Five Years Prior...

William stepped out of the castle and was greeted cheerfully by a familiar dark haired girl clad in gold and black.

“Vangeance! Uh, I mean Will!” She called out, coming to a halt in front of him. “I heard you and Nii-san were called in by Captain Julius! But I guess it’s Wizard King now, huh? What was it for? Are you going to be Captain of the Grey Deer or is it Yami? Or are you going to be co-Captains? I hope it’s not just Yami, he’s a mess.” She rambled, stopping when William raised a hand in front of her.

“My apologies for cutting you off.” He bowed lightly. “We’re going to be Captains of two new Squads.”

“Two new-” Aki gaped. “I see. Somehow, it seems like something strategically beneficial that only Julius-sama would do.” She nodded.

“In that vein, I’ll be heading the Golden Dawn. And I want you to be my Vice Captain.” William said, his eyes searching hers.

“You want-” Aki raised a hand to cover her mouth after letting out an audible gasp. “I-I can’t be your- Will, no one will respect you if you do that, I’m only an Intermediate Wizard a-and I’m a foreign peasant-”

“I hold you in great respect, Aki. I trust you and you are my friend. I wouldn’t ask this of you if I didn’t believe you were qualified.” William retorted, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He couldn’t understand if it was rage at whoever made her believe she wasn’t qualified enough or anxiety at her answer. “So please, consider this offer for as long as you have to-”

“I’m sorry, Will.” She cut in, shocking both him and herself. “I respect you too. I do. And I respect your dream. Which is why I can’t be your Vice Captain.”

“Aki-”

Aki’s grey eyes were full of unshed tears as they met his. “Someone like me… can’t stand next to someone like you.”

William extended a hand to stop her but she’d already disappeared, traveling away from him in the shadows. 

“Ah, Vangeance. I apologize. I probably shouldn’t have been here for that.”

William willed away the overwhelming sadness in his heart as he turned to face Yami. “I apologize. The fault is mine for inciting her in public.” 

“Still, I am sorry. That troublesome sister of mine, she respects you but she really didn’t have faith in your friendship just now did she?” He groaned, wanting nothing more than to have a drink already to celebrate his becoming a Captain. He didn’t want to be here dealing with his kid sister and her feelings. “And don’t you say it was your fault for not giving her a reason to have faith in you.”

Idly, he thought that the way he spoke was a lot like Aki. The thought felt like a stab to his side. “Yami, I appreciate your attempt to console me. However, I am quite fine-”

“Shut up, will you? I’m trying to say…” Yami patted his shoulder, making it a point not to look him in the eye. “Thank you for being her friend, Vangeance.”

William was quiet for a moment before speaking. 

“I trust you’ll care for her from here on, as her Captain.” He said, gliding out of reach and then out of sight.

-

In a flash, Finral’s magic transported them to the Capital.

“Here we are. It really is great to see you again, Aki-san.” Finral smiled, genuinely elated that another member of the Black Bulls had returned.

“Thanks Finral. Sorry if Captain Nii-chan has been using you as an instant bathroom button this whole time. You’ve gotten pretty powerful since last I’ve seen you.” Aki complimented, proud that he’s been trying to curb his womanizing behavior at long last.

Waving goodbye to the Spacial Mage, Aki and Asta made their way to the Wizard King’s office. The door swung open and Aki came face to face with a much shorter and younger boy.

“Julius-sama… Did you lose weight or something?” She asked, looking down at the kid.

“How does this look like losing weight to you, Aki-Senpai?” Asta asked.

Aki ignored his retort, continuing with her report on the last dungeon she traversed. It was underground with many water passages. She’d learned a lot about navigating in a place where there was no moon to draw power from, forcing her to make use of the abundance of darkness and shadow around her.

Julius only laughed and nodded as she told him of her escapades, glad to see his old friend. “You seem more settled, Aki. It was right of Mereonleona to send you to those dungeons.” He complimented.

“They were a nightmare.” Aki froze at the memory of them. “But somehow, I’m alive and my magic has settled considerably so she’s right yet again, I suppose.” 

“Was your magic not very stable before, Senpai?” Asta tilted his head quizzically. 

“Something like that.” Aki shrugged, patting him on the head. “I’m guessing I have to check in with Owen?” She asked, turning to Julius.

“If you would.” Julius gestured for her to leave, his own squad of knights escorting her out.

“See you in a bit, Asta.” She called out, slipping through the portal and out of sight.

Asta lingered, his eyes meeting Julius’. 

“Were you able to learn about Yami’s mysterious sister? I’d imagine it was a shock to meet her after you asked so arduously after her.” Julius smiled as though amused.

“I never got to ask Captain Vangeance like you told me to because of the whole… elf situation.” Asta rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “But the older Squad members mentioned she was always away on extended training.”

Julius nodded. “I guess you are wondering what it was about Sukehiro Aki’s magic that caused her to go on such a long training period.” Julius guessed. 

“You don’t have to tell me. I can ask Aki-Senpai.” Asta blustered, undeniably curious but wanting to respect his elder.

Julius shrugged. “Yami and Aki don’t think it’s worth talking about. They will likely pass it off as nothing.” He placed a hand against his cheek thoughtfully. “If it’s insight on your senior, I’d say that her magic is something that could easily overcome her because of her form.”

“Her form?” Asta ran a hand through his hair, his brain was really getting a workout today. “Like when I use the devil’s power and my body hurts after? Something like that? Aki-Senpai is much smaller than the Captain and he trains a lot to use Dark Magic. Is she less able to control it because she can’t… develop muscle?” He asked.

Julius clapped his hands. “That’s exactly right, Asta-kun.” He said gleefully, proud that Asta could deduce that on his own. “But aside from that, she was very mentally weak as well. Sad to say, not everyone can handle the pressures of being different like yourself and Yami.” His voice softened and Asta could almost see the hurt in his own eyes, like he was recalling Aki’s painful memories.

“But you said Aki-Senpai is better now. Does that mean she’s feeling better? Mentally?” Asta asked but before Julius could answer he shook his head. “Nevermind that, if she’s not feeling well, we’ll help her feel better because she’s a Black Bull.” He half-yelled. 

Asta realised he’d gotten worked up again and bowed. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be more considerate as the future Wizard King.”

“You really have guts Asta, saying that to the Wizard King.” Aki said with a laugh, entering the room. “No matter how child-like he looks now, Julius can be pretty smart and powerful. It’s going to take a lot of work to be the Wizard King.”

Julius let out a low laugh at her jibe. “Child-like…”

“Aki-Senpai. I’m counting on you to help me become Wizard King one day!” He reiterated, bowing to Aki this time.

“Alright, alright. Get up.” Aki bowed to Julius and grabbed hold of her junior. “I’ll see you for tea sometime?” She asked with a bright smile Julius hadn’t seen since her rookie years.

Julius nodded. “I’m looking forward to it, Aki.”

-

Five Years Prior...

“Captain Vangeance, we’re back with the details about the fight that broke out involving the Freese Family. It appears that several of our knights were injured in the crossfire. Lord Freese was fatally injured upon the arrival of the Black Bulls but his daughter was brought safely home by their Spacial Mage.” Alecdora summarized blathely. 

William forced his hands to relax against his writing desk, letting go of the pen he’d been gripping fearfully to prevent his hands from trembling. “I see, I will see to it that I personally apologise for our mishandling of the situation. Perhaps we can provide aid for the young lady.” He forced himself to think on how they could serve the girl, the clear victim of the crime, before moving his focus to Yami’s squad. “And the Black Bulls?”

“There were no casualties on their end.” Alecdora seemed hesitant to continue but cleared his throat nonetheless. “However, the nobles have called a trial at the Magic Parliament against Sukehiro Aki.”

William’s breath hitched. “On what grounds?” He responded, a little quicker, a little more defensive than was typical of him.

Alecdora didn’t seem to notice, still dutiful in providing information. “She used a frightening Dark Magic technique against the opposition which drove them insane even after they were apprehended. She herself was almost unable to stop her own magic. They’ve come to the conclusion that she is to stand trial.” 

“I see.” William’s mind worked through scenario after scenario, thinking about what the nobles would punish her with. “Damnatio will be adamant on a life sentence at the very least for failing to save Lord Freese and execution for the use of magic unbefitting a knight of the kingdom.” He threaded his fingers together and placed them on his lap under the table, he couldn’t stop shaking. In the back of his mind, he felt Patri’s influence growing stronger, his own hatred of the situation amplifying it. 

Pushing his chair back, he stood up and started walking. “I will ask the Wizard King for advice on this matter. Please see to it that we address any needs the Freese family have.”

“Yes, Captain.”

With a wave, Alecdora was dismissed and William made haste. Traveling to the Wizard King’s office even by broom though quick felt like an age to William. The festering anger and helplessness burned in him, amplified by Patri’s own sentiments. 

By the time he reached his office, Julius couldn’t help but feel sympathy towards him. William, who was an enigma to everyone, was obviously distraught in Julius’ eyes.

“I see you have caught wind of this trial Damnatio is holding.” He began, forgoing the formalities. 

“I have faith that you have something planned.” William felt himself slowly relaxing, the reassuring calmness in Julius’ eyes helping him grasp his own sense of calm. 

“It’s troubling. I’ve only been Wizard King for a short time. The decision to make Yami the Captain of the Black Bulls and them being so unconventional hasn’t reflected well with the nobility. It will be a long fight if we do it head on.” The older man’s expression dropped in what seemed like deep sadness. “They can’t afford to let a single one of their members lose control.”

“What does that mean for the trial?” William asked, not quite understanding where this was leading.

“There will be no trial.” Julius clarified, sliding an envelope across the table towards him.

William picked the envelope up, recognising Aki’s messy scrawl on the back. To Will.

“I’ve made a concession with Damnatio. Aki is to spend time away from the Capital and prove to the Magic Parliament that she can control her magic. She will be returning in intervals to be checked by Owen and their own Healers and researchers to make certain she’s recovered.” He explained. 

“Aki has always had impeccable control over herself. She would never have endangered anyone, not even with provocation.” William stared at his name on the back of the pure white envelope in disbelief. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t think of another way.” Julius bowed slightly and William’s eyes finally snapped away from the letter to protest. “I assure you that she will return, I will see to it.”

William bowed, lower than he’s ever bowed to anyone in his life perhaps. “I trust your judgement in this and I apologise for implying I had doubted you.” He said earnestly, sliding the letter delicately into the inside pocket of his uniform. 

“I don’t mind it.” Julius let out a mild chuckle. “After all, love is quite the troublemaker. To think it made you fall to your knees.” 

William was suddenly very grateful for the mask even though it looked like Julius knew even with it on that he was blushing. “Contrary to popular belief, I am entirely human with feelings of my own.”

“I never doubted it. Though the situation is unfortunate, I’m happy for you.” Julius nodded. “When the time comes, seize your chance at happiness. If not for yourself or for Aki, then for me.”

With Patri’s anger simmering in the back of his mind, William doubted he’d have his chance at a life with Aki even if he wanted to. But nevertheless…

“I will. I swear it.”

-

Alecdora burst through the doors of his Captain’s office. “I apologise for not requesting entry, Captain. But Sukehiro…” He breathed in deeply, doubling over from his effort to rush back to the Golden Dawn’s headquarters.

“Settle down and tell me what Captain Yami’s done.” William gestured to the seat across him which was for visitors. 

“Sukehiro Aki is in the Capital. She’s been spotted in conversation with the Wizard King.” He breathed out, unsurprised when his Captain pushed his chair back and stood up. It was like deja vu. 

“I leave the rest of today’s affairs in your hands.”

“Yes, Captain.”

-

“Aren’t you going to congratulate me, Asta?” Aki asked as they strolled through the Capital streets looking for Finral to transport them all back.

Asta tilted his head up, arms crossed behind his head. “Congrats on what, Aki-Senpai?” He asked.

“For passing the Magic Parliament exam of course. Now they won’t execute me. Isn’t that great?” She shrugged.

“Eh?? They wanted to execute you too?” Asta screamed, in shock that she could say something like that in such a blase way. “What’s up with those guys? Why do they keep wanting to execute us?” He shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around nobles and their weird biases. 

“Ah, I’m pretty sure that when my magic went out of control years ago we also got all those negative stars. Sorry about that. I really tried to make up for them by taking all those dungeon missions from Julius-sama.” She bowed repeatedly.

“Those were because of you too, Senpai????” Asta spun around, unable to express the shock with just his hands anymore. As he was spinning around, he caught sight of a familiar white uniform and stopped, thinking it might have been Yuno but instead of dark hair the figure was wearing a strange mask over his head.

“Wah, it’s Golden Dawn’s Captain!” Asta started waving, eyes widening when the man kept walking, stopping once he was in front of them. “H-Hello, Captain Vangeance.”

“Asta, it seems you’re as lively as ever.” William nodded at the young knight and then turned to Aki with a genial smile. “And you have a new friend with you.”

Asta’s eyes went from Aki to William and back. The Wizard King had told him to ask Captain Vangeance about Captain Yami’s sibling but given the way he was talking, Asta decided to try introducing them. “Yeah, this is Captain Yami’s-”

“I’m glad to see you in good shape, Will. Being Captain really becomes you.” Aki easily slipped into the conversation, her body language emitting a kind of comfort you get when in the presence of an old and dear friend. It reminded Asta of how he felt when he talked to Yuno and he figured they must be good friends.

“You look like you’ve grown as well.” The Captain responded just as easily, more relaxed than Asta had ever seen him. “And, if I may, being home becomes you.” 

Aki laughed but her laugh was lighter and brighter than when she did at the base. Asta could feel the overflowing fondness from it. “I wasn’t entirely certain that would be the consensus but it appears I was wrong. Then again, I’ve never been all that clear on how others’ viewed my power.” She retorted, their conversation like a game of wits with no end in sight. 

William’s expression became serious. “Believe me, my friend. You were many things to us, but you were never something to fear. You were far too kind.” His lips quirked up, like some kind of unspoken meaning had been shared between them. 

With a scoff, Aki responded. “Said the King of Kindness himself.”

“You flatter me.”

“Excellent, would you like me to dole out some more?”

The Knight Captain’s shoulders shook as he began to chuckle. “Only if you would allow me to reciprocate, perhaps over dinner?” His tone was playful now, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine that behind the mask his eyebrows were raised in challenge. 

“My, you really should watch what you say, Will.” Aki said, trying to difuse the tension with what was clearly nervous laughter. Around them, women of both noble and common background began to murmur. And though she spent all this time building her resolve so she wouldn’t fall to the sound of their scoffing, it still put her on edge. “Women fainter of the heart will misunderstand.”

William smirked like she’d fallen into his trap. “And if that is my goal?”

Aki blinked at him in confusion. “What?” She asked, disbelieving. Surely, he hadn’t meant what she thought he meant.

“I have romantic feelings for you, Aki. I always have. And I made a promise that if you were to return to me, if I had a chance at a future with you, I would take it. So this is my proposal, I wish to court you properly. I won’t hold anything back any longer, not my secrets, not my fears, and least of all my feelings. And, if you would allow me, I would like to return the comfort and love I felt when you were by my side a hundred fold.”

But William continued, past the rising voices of the people around them. Past the jeers of nobles saying that the William Vangeance was consorting with some wild woman from the Black Bulls and the pained whispers of women insisting they were a better match for him. Past all the sticks and stones society had thrown at them again and again.

“I hope that this time you will consider this offer for as long as you have to so as to make a proper decision.” He added, a teasing lilt to his voice.

William stood in front of her, a shield against it all, showing her how he felt.

“I will await your acceptance or rejection of my offer for as long as it takes.” He finished with a dramatic swish of his cape, walking into the crowd that had formed without another word.

Aki stood still, trying to process what it was that just happened. William, her best and closest friend, had proposed to court her. He’d incited her in public again with complete faith that the dark magic that was essential to her would not overcome her. And most importantly, he had feelings for her. He’d felt that way all this time. Despite clearing all of those facts up in her mind…

“Wh-What the hell just happened, Asta?” She asked, turning to her junior who was staring at her with wide eyes.

“The Captain of the Golden Dawn just confessed to you, Aki-Senpai!”

#probably kinda ooc #probably a little cheesy #but idk i just love vangeance a lot and had to express it *shrug* #william vangeance x reader #William Vangeance #Black Clover #Black Clover Imagines #chuuni fic