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darcydoesfuckall · 1 month

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Why you should write that AO3 comment:

Hello! I am an AO3 author and professional fandom dipshit. This is an "essay" on why you should leave that comment on the fanfic you just read.

Table of Contents:

"Commenting is too much effort!"

"I don't know what to write!"

Do you want more fanfic?

Fan creators are human beings, not AI content generators.

You can count it as charity work on your metaphysical taxes.

"Commenting is too much effort!"

Yes, writing a comment takes energy. I'm an introvert, I get that. I have two counter arguments to this point.

AO3 comments are not the SAT:

This is a comment from my latest fic, Quantum Entangled.

Three words and a heart. It requires zero consideration, it isn't specific to the fic, it's something you could copy-paste, even. A comment like this is better than nothing. I'll let my reply from AO3 explain why:

"You know what, I appreciate this way more than you'd probably expect. The temptation to lurk is a strong one, both for social anxiety reasons and internet content-consumption culture reasons. But when people lurk, I can't tell that they've enjoyed the story. The more people that lurk instead of interacting, the more I assume that my work wasn't good enough, irrespective of the reader's actual feelings. So this was a very welcome comment to read. Thank you for indicating your enjoyment. I will endeavour to write more stuff for you to lurk on in the future. :)"

A comment like this, one that is as thoughtless and low effort as possible, is still a comment. Something that denotes a reader's interest. Because, and I can't be clear enough about this, I HAVE NO OTHER WAY OF KNOWING THAT YOU LIKED IT. Kudos and comments are my only window into the reader's experience.

Sure, I'd love more detailed and thorough comments on my work, but, if that expectation is the thing that's going to stop you from commenting at all, I'd prefer the bland copy-paste appreciation.

Onto my second argument.

Do you know what also takes effort? WRITING THE DAMN FIC:

You do not get to complain about being forced to type a congratulatory handful of words after reading that 200k slow-burn fantasy au. Do you know how many hours went into that thing? Do you? Because I can guarantee that it was A LOT. All that writers are asking for is a single emoji. A kudos, at the very least. Consider the effort that went into the creation that you've just experienced and give just a thimble full of it back.

Authors lay out a feast for you to devour. They're only requesting a "thank you".

"I don't know what to write!"

Like in the previous example, an AO3 comment can be as simple as three words saying that you appreciated it. Just an acknowledgement that you were there. It doesn't have to be fancy.

But if you want fancy...?

Here's one of my comments, from Tishae's Better Together.

Let me break it down for you.

"Stunning. This au is so well developed. I love how you managed to maintain tension after the point that they discover that their feelings are requited. This was brilliantly paced, and the action (esp the ending) was so engaging."

The comment opens with appreciation. (Think of it as a sandwich with love as the bread. It starts and ends with my enjoyment.)

There are specific details about what I liked.

"If I may ask, what was the crime that the Metatron committed? Maybe I'm bad at reading between the lines or maybe I missed something, but I'm really curious as to what dirt they have on him. Victimless? Bad enough for imprisonment, but not so morally reprehensible as to make Anathema reveal it? Did he embezzle? That's all I can really think of."

Continues with a specific question about the story and plot.

Shows that I was critically engaged and actively considering the story.

You don't have to have questions about every fic that you read, but don't be afraid to ask them if you do. I love it when people ask me about my work.

"Thank you for the delicious food. I honestly thought that you were going to have Crowley's final look be something in grey (black and white being the theme of the show, metaphorically representing separation/binary, so Aziraphale was uncomfortable with it due to the implications. Grey, symbolising unity/shades of grey as an idiom, would then be the biggest middle finger to the Metatron) but I do really like what you came up with."

Gratitude.

Thoughts about how I read the plot. (This is something I particularly love to read as an author. Please tell me what's going on in that funky lil' brain of yours!!)

"I'm hoping this comment provides plenty of dopamine. If the task activation and instant gratification parts of your brain light up, you might be more likely to write GO content again. Love your work, thanks for sharing it. I hope you gain 3 inches of metaphorical dick length. Please keep writing."

Encouragement to keep writing. (This is the best way to ensure that creators remain in the fandom)

A funny comment to sign off.

Now that you know what to comment, let's start on the real reasons why you should.

Do you want more fanfic?

Fun fact! Fanfictious Authoria are a species that sustain themselves entirely on a diet of brain worms, unfinished WIPs, and kudos. As one of the three fundamental food groups, removing kudos from the fandom ecosystem causes a complete collapse of the natural order. In times of unprecedented scarcity, entire populations of Fanfictious Authoria can die out completely. This means that the production of fanfiction, in that particular region of fandom, stops entirely, often causing major ecological damage, and the subsequent deaths of fan species in the same genus. (Like the Fanfictious Artia, or the Fanfictious Editour, both of which subsist on fanfiction based diets to survive.)

In conservation efforts, experts are imploring readers to donate kudos and comments toward any fandom region that they want to stay alive.

But I digress.

When I want more content, I tell the author. Ask and you shall receive; it's the best way to convince an author/artist to make more.

My comment on @mrghostrat's And They Were Streamers

You liked it? Then COMMENT! Not for the author's sake, but for your own. You want to see the ending of a WIP? Well, it'd be a terrible shame if the author gave up on it because they thought no one was reading... They don't know that you enjoy their work until you TELL THEM. They're not psychic, you have to help them hear you. Commenting on the things you like influences the creators of said things to attribute the act of making content (and, notably, making the type of content that specifically appeals to you) with the dopamine hit of reading your reaction. Treat them like Pavlov's dogs. Ring the kudos-bell.

Fan creators are human beings, not AI content generators.

They have real human feelings and real human egos. The contemporary attitude towards media engagement is skewed towards algorithmic, instant, and uncritical consumption. This is pumping straight gasoline into the beautiful lakes of our fandom ecosystem. Fandom cannot afford to treat its creators like mechanical text generators. We are not an unfeeling assembly line, only there to produce content. We are enthusiasts, engaging in our hobby. No fan creator has to show you anything. They are fully within their rights to keep their works hidden in their computer files, never to see the light of day. Every fanfic on AO3 is only there because someone had the grace to share it with you. You are not entitled to an author's work, just as they are not entitled to your kudos. We have a mutually beneficial arrangement. Do not forget your part in this symbiosis.

It's a problem that extends beyond AO3. Tumblr is a less enthusiastic place than it used to be. Fandom as a whole is drifting towards a consumption mindset. I, for one, am sick of it. Reblog things, like them, share them. Make fanart of fanart. Who gives a shit? Do the cringy thing. You don't have to cultivate your blog aesthetic. Be who you are, like what you like, and have enthusiasm about all of it. Fandom should be an expression of radical self acceptance. Embrace it. Leave essays about fics that you liked. Reblog the essays of other's when you see them. Exist in the mutual joy of seeing and being seen. You are not just an external observer, absorbing content from a distance. You are here too. Wave back at us. Say 'hi.'

You can count it as charity work on your metaphysical taxes.

My final appeal is a moral one.

Commenting on AO3 is just a kind thing to do.

You are your actions. Are you the kind of person who does the kind thing when no one is watching? When no one will care?

Fanfiction is a hobby, and I'm not here to guilt you about how you spend your leisure time. I'm only here to say that there is a kindness you could be giving the world.

If you are one of the people that performs this kindness, I thank you.

#ao3 #fanfiction #fanfic #GO fandom I'm looking at you #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable wives #ineffable husbands fic rec #ineffable idiots #ineffable partners #ineffable spouses

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bettsfic · 7 months

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hi betts!

i’ve been a fan of yours for years now (training wheels is one of my favorite stories— not just fics. stories— ever, and i really admire your style. as a writer myself, i want to ask how you’re able to keep your motivation up to complete your projects? i feel like i start out so motivated when i fall in love with an idea, but once that fevered haze fades, it’s almost impossible for me to get the motivation i need to write. i have a few wips that i feel so guilty about not finishing/not wanting to finish/wanting to finish but being unable to get the inspiration to. so, in short, how do you maintain the motivation to finish your wips?

thank you so much! i'm glad to hear it; training wheels is still very dear to me.

first, if you want a step by step guide to finishing your wips, i wrote a tutorial earlier this year in my newsletter.

also as i've said elsewhere, i believe it's more important to follow your inspiration and interest where it takes you even if it means not finishing things. one of the reasons i love fanfic is because it's the only genre i can think of where you get to read unfinished works and be present during the writing of them.

but you asked about *my* motivation to finish things, and i'll say it's taken me a long time to build the endurance necessary not only to complete big projects but also complete them to my satisfaction. in my experience, the better you are at finishing things, the worse you become at starting them, and so whereas i used to have a million wips and ideas happening at once, now i can see the ridiculous endeavor ahead of me and pick my battles more knowledgeably.

also, i don't finish everything, especially not right away. sometimes i sit years on a story before i eventually come back to it. but i've found that it's inevitable that when i put something down that i care about, i'll come back around to it when i'm ready. it's not something i have to force. my attention and interest bounces around all over the place but the things i love, i love forever. so i'll always come back around to them.

most importantly--and this is really very important--i lie to myself.

here are the two main lies i tell myself:

"this is the best thing i've ever written," and

"i'm almost done."

being a little delusional is a huge benefit as a writer. if you're too honest with yourself nothing can get done. but i've always had a natural talent for convincing myself of things that aren't true and although that's gotten me in a lot of trouble in all other aspects of my life, in writing it keeps me just far enough away from reality that i can finish things.

the process is something like this:

vague story idea!

will probably be very small, the shortest story i have ever written in fact

begin writing

feels good, feels organic

no no that's not right, bad vibes

start over

ohhh i see what i'm trying to do

outline the tiniest, easiest outline i have ever made. five bullet points. this happens, and then this and this, and the story ends. EASY

will finish by tomorrow, probably

write write write

will finish by tomorrow, probably

write write write

definitely tomorrow, almost done

check word count. 25k. uh oh

doesn't matter, almost done. have *checks* four out of five bullet points to go

write write write

five point bullet outline no longer effective

re-outline. five points turns into five pages. uh oh

check word count. 60k. big yikes

but! almost done! will finish tomorrow, probably

write write write

get stuck? how? but the outline...

the outline is ineffective. re-outline.

check word count. 100k. :(

almost done :)

a plot knot arises. spend six hours staring at a wall to undo the plot knot

plot knot is more insidious than expected. open new document. start over

*now* i'm almost done

rewrite, restructure, reorganize

check word count. 20k. :(

write write write

check word count. 200k. :((

weeks-long fugue state during which i am god

awaken to filthy apartment. i have not eaten a vegetable in many days. i have not seen the sun.

eat a broccoli

go outside

am i living? am i truly living? is this all life is? am i loved? am i worth loving?

return to safety of fictional world to avoid existential despair

write write write

will finish by tomorrow, probably

so it's really less about motivation to finish and more about motivation to chase down an increasingly elusive feeling of joy through immersion into worlds of my own making and control. it's way easier to run away from something than toward it.

#writing advice #motivation #process #listen i'm not saying i have a healthy relationship with writing #if you can do it healthier than i do that's what i recommend

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everlastingdreams · 4 months

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The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 29

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: The Fallen Ones.

Notes: I kept revising this one :S It's time to let it free.

Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +200K

Chapter: 29/ It’s a secret.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

By the time you felt strong and awake enough to leave your room, it was past midday.

There was talk in the fort about what had transpired in the village the previous night, about Lancelot, and how the flames had not harmed him or the family he had saved.

So far, most of it was positive.

You found your mother as she was searching for Ciro and Squirrel, apparently the little ones had skipped the soup that had been served at midday in the dinning hall for all to enjoy.

She looked quite tired still, it was much harder for your parents to use their healing abilities than it was for you, and it took some more time for them to feel better again.

Mirena carried a warm tea in her hands like it was a source of life to her, it was a habit she had kept for years, there was nothing some tea could not fix for her.

You walked with her through the fort in search of the little rascals, the scent of the tea filled your nostrils.

She took a sip from her cup. “This morning I have told the children of what happened in the village, so they would not be confused by what is being talked about in the castle.”

“That is good.” You approved of it. “Do they know of what Lancelot did?”

She gave a nod. “They loved to hear all about that.”

Squirrel and Ciro must have nearly asked her ears off about it.

Mirena spoke so casually that she might as well have talked about the weather, “He is a handsome man, don’t you agree?”

“Huh?” You weren’t sure who she was speaking off.

“Lancelot.” She clarified.

There was no point denying it. “He is.”

“Those eyes.” She nudged your elbow with her own. “You must have noticed.”

Slowly you turned to look at her face, “Mother, should father be concerned?”

It was only a jest, because you sensed that she was trying to fish information out of you.

Mirena did not let it fool her. “Of course not.”

You wondered why she would bring this up now, “Why this sudden interest in the Ash Man then?”

With another sip of tea, she told you what was on her mind, “Little moon, I think you need to speak to him. The Ash Man is not the kind of man I thought he was, even when drunk.”

“How so?” It piqued your curiosity.

She recalled what happened that night during their short walk, “He kept apologizing when I walked him to his sleeping quarters on the night of the feast.”

You frowned. “For what?”

She named a few, “For everything, for drinking, for what he did to his people-”

It strangled your heart. “Oh…”

“For you.” She said, and asked about it, “Why did he apologize for you? Is there something he did wrong?”

How much had he told her?!? You had spared her of most of the details regarding your time in captivity. Was this about what he had tried to do that night?

You tried to ease her mind, “Nothing I haven’t forgiven him for.”

Apart from the attempt to kiss you…

She could tell that you were hiding something from her, your fidgeting hands warned her.

That night kept going through your mind over and over again.

“I think his conscience was just clawing at him. But, may I tell you something?” You asked.

“Of course.” She nodded encouragingly.

You tried to not give away that he had tried to kiss you, fearing how she would respond, “He was raised as a monk since childhood and lived strictly by the rules set in the scriptures of the Church, until he saved Squirrel and I. Now… sometimes it feels as if… uhm…”

It wasn’t easy to explain how it felt like he was growing more and more closer to you. Lines were blurring and bending.

Mirena saw you struggle and stated what she had observed, “He cares for you and Percival very much, like family would.”

You managed to nod timidly. “I trust him with my life, mother. I’ve never met anyone who could be so unselfishly caring. Sometimes I feel as if he effaces himself, to repent for the past. Last night was not the first time he stepped into danger for the sake of others. It frightens me.”

A pensive hum sounded from her. “Thankfully, he has someone who reminds him that his life is important too. Someone who cares.”

“I hope he believes me when I try to tell him this.” You feared he did not accept this truth.

She gave some wise advice, “Remind him of it often. Sometimes it takes a while before people are ready to believe others care for them too. If the former Weeping Monk can convince a Dawn Woman of this, you can convince him too.”

Ah yes, the Dawn Folk were not quick to trust at all.

You chuckled a little at it. “I really picked the hardest person to trust, didn’t I?”

She jested about it, “It does not surprise me, Little Moon. Nothing is ever simple with you.”

You scoffed amused. “Thank you, mother.”

She drank up the remainder of her tea as you walked through the entrance hall towards the courtyard together. “When you disappeared, the night the Brotherhood took you, your father and I thought you had ran off with the Ash Man.”

She was sheepishly admitting to what you had already thought had happened.

You shook your head, smiling at the absurdity. “Mother.”

“It was a possibility.” Mirena breached the matter on her mind. “He does appear quite charmed by you.”

You were quick to try and refute it, “He was a monk not long ago.”

She did not fall for the attempt to brush it away. “Do you think monks cannot feel love in their hearts? Those of the clergy vow not to act on it, it does not mean that they do not feel it.”

“I know that.” You meekly said. “But Lancelot and I are just friends, we have been by each other’s side through terrible things, that created a bond.”

She opened the door to the courtyard for you. “I am grateful the Ash Man was by your side when we could not be. Your father is too, even though he will not admit to it.”

It reminded you. “I never expected father to help him last night.”

“He’d rather help Lancelot, than watch you run into danger to do so yourself.” She was close to scolding you over it again.

You walked into the courtyard a bit faster before she could.

An arrow flew across the courtyard all of a sudden, shortly followed by excited voices. It had landed in a practicing target, a wooden pole with a sack of straw bound to it, at the other side of the courtyard.

Well, you had finally found Squirrel and Ciro. Lancelot was helping them learn archery, he tried at least. Squirrel was seemingly determined that his skill needed no adjustments, even if the Ash Man tried to give some useful hints. But Ciro was more accepting of the help, as he knelt to the boy’s height he showed him how and where to hold the bow and arrow best.

The second arrow that flew across the courtyard landed in the heart of the straw target, it was quickly followed by Squirrel’s arrow that landed in the head of it. Perhaps the boy was right to be proud of his skill at such a young age already.

Mirena watched them for a while, letting them have their moment of fun before she would scold them for letting their soup go cold. You bit your lip, knowing that your mother was waiting for the right moment to call upon Squirrel and Ciro.

Lancelot let Ciro try it on his own. “Nock.”

The arrow fell from Ciro’s hands, he quickly picked it up and tried to do as asked. Poor Ciro was shaking in his boots until Lancelot came to his side to help again.

“I can’t do it.” Ciro was beginning to panic.

He put a hand on the child’s back. “Perhaps not yet. But you will not know until you try.”

Squirrel went over to Ciro. “Go on, you can do it.”

With shaking hands, Ciro nocked the arrow and lifted the bow.

“Breathe, Ciro.” Lancelot told him.

Slowly but surely, your cousin’s hands steadied, little puffs of air formed in the cold air at his mouth. The arrow was released and landed in the side of the straw target.

It was good enough to have a positive reaction from Ciro. “I did it! I did it!”

Ciro accidentally knocked one of the edges of the bow against Squirrel.

“Oi!” Squirrel ducked to avoid a second collision.

“Sorry, Squirrel.” Ciro apologized quickly.

Squirrel looked at the target, than back to Ciro with a smile. “See! I told you you could do it!”

Ciro looked so relieved at the approval coming from his friend.

“Well done.” Lancelot praised. “Both of you have done very well.”

Your mother walked up to them, you followed a few steps behind.

“Well done, indeed.” She announced her presence and saw the children get a little nervous. “So this is what the two of you were doing while the soup went cold.”

Lancelot frowned in confusion, then realized they had ‘forgotten’ to mention this to him and send the two of them a stern look before apologizing to her. “Forgive me, Mirena. Had I known they were expected in the dining hall, I would have brought them there.”

She waved it away. “No apology is needed from you, Lancelot. It must have ‘slipped’ their minds.”

You bit your lip again, the children were looking at her like caught criminals.

“The soup is still waiting, boys.” Mirena send them a look. “Off to the dining hall with you it is.”

Ciro grabbed Squirrel by the sleeve and pulled him along, knowing that his aunt was giving them a second chance.

You stepped aside for them as they followed her inside, then walked over to Lancelot. “So, decided to teach them archery because teaching them the sword would potentially alarm others?

He could only affirm it. “I spend many of days on lecturing others how to use their weapons best. Old habits.”

You hummed, “I think you just love to show off your skill, and what better audience than children?”

He tried not to smile. “Or perhaps I just want them to learn a useful skill.”

You hummed again cheekily, it made the smile break through on his face.

“Are you feeling better?” He inquired, holding the bow loosely in his hand.

Physically you felt better, but you couldn’t pretend that you had not dreamt that he had not gotten out of that fire last night.

“Better.” You assured him.

He blinked and squinted his eyes just a little. “Yes?”

Well…

Quietly you confessed, “I dreamed that you didn’t walk out of the fire.”

“Oh…” He fell silent.

Your mother’s advice came to mind. “I’m really glad you did.”

He was quiet for a different reason now. His heart felt full after hearing this.

You turned at the sound of a group passing by, some of the knights were heading out it seemed. Matthew was among them and looked at you as he walked by, but dropped his attention to the grass soon. It wasn’t nice to feel uncomfortable about the situation, but it was all still so raw.

Lancelot noticed something was off, “What was said between you and the knight yesterday? I saw him beg.”

With a shrug of your shoulders, you told him, “I told him what I thought of his babbling behind my back. We aren’t on good terms right now.”

He gave a compassionate look. “I am sorry. I know it is hurting you.”

Knowing what you did now, had spared you from greater pain later. “At least I know the truth now. Before I could be persuaded to wed him, that would have been worse.”

His question came quick, “You thought of wedding him?”

You grimaced at the thought. “My father spoke of it to me yesterday, he said he wouldn’t mind a joining between Matthew and I. I was quick to throw that idea off the table.”

Lancelot let out a breath, the news staggered him, “A joining…”

“No joining.” You scoffed. “No nothing.”

His stunned reaction made you look at him questioningly.

“What?” You saw how downcast he appeared now. “Don’t worry Ash Man, I have no desire to be trapped again. Not in a dungeon, and certainly not in wedlock.”

All he managed was a nod.

To lead the conversation away from the awkward topic, you asked, “Have you read all of that page I gave you last night?”

He took a step away and touched your arm, asking you to walk with him for a while. “I have. Thank you for giving it to me, even if it meant ruining a book.”

You gently asked about it, “Do you remember your parents?”

“Only their names. Their faces have become a vague memory a long time ago.” He sounded pained. “I never knew they were considered royalty among the Fey. I was too young to remember.”

The names had been present on the page for you to read. King Ban, Queen Elaine and their son.

It wasn’t your intention to upset him. “Sorry, if I sound curious-”

“You trusted me with your family, I shall trust you with mine.” He locked eyes with you as he walked. “What is there you wish to know?”

You were a bit worried you’d still accidentally upset him, “Do you know what happened to them?”

He fidgeted with the bow a little, lost in thought.

“Are they…” You couldn’t get the rest of the question over your lips in fear of the answer.

Lancelot knew what you were trying to ask him. “I was told my father died in the war, and my mother of grief after they took me.”

A lump formed in your throat, how awful had the Church been to him… You honestly didn’t know what to say to that.

He noticed. “It was a long time ago.”

It was obvious he was trying to hide how it hurt him. “I can’t imagine that it does not hurt to know.”

He walked with you past the curtain wall of the fort, and fixed his eyes on the sea in the distance. “I do not like to think of how my mother must have felt. Her last thoughts of me, she must have know what would become of me after I was taken.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, letting him have some time to collect himself, he needed it. It wasn’t until he pulled his attention away from the distance that you spoke again. “You became a man who she would be very proud of.”

He looked around himself, than stopped, and made you halt too by carefully taking hold of your lower arm. Your eyes were on him right away, watching him step closer.

His thumb drew slow circles on your sleeve. “If you believe it to be true, than I shall consider it so.”

You felt your heart beat in your throat all of a sudden and looked down to his hand, he saw but did not move it away. “I know it to be true. I see it all the time.”

It wrapped around your arm, like it was resisting the urge to pull you towards him. You could feel his gaze on your face, but the nervous feeling that settled in your stomach refused to let you meet it. All you could tell was that he often discreetly looked around him, like he did not want others around to see. That in itself was proof that he knew this line between you kept bending in ways that others would take notice off.

“Uhm…” You fished for something to say whilst keeping your eyes on a fallen leaf, “Is that the bow you always have on Goliath’s saddle?”

A short pause came before his answer. “It is. I was taking it back to the stables.”

You forced your feet to move a step to the side, it broke the hold on your arm immediately, only than did you look at him. “Then I’ll let you do that… I’ll go and see if my mother needs any help with the young ones.”

His eyes followed your every movement, “Alright… I will see you tonight?”

“Tonight.” You spoke fast.

It seemed to be amusing to him. “Good.”

You let him walk past and could have sworn he bumped into your arm with his on purpose now. Especially because he smirked back at you as he walked away.

Your whole being responded strongly to him, similar to what you had experienced before, yet different. Stronger. So much stronger and you did not want to let that feeling take hold again, not after it had caused you such pain.

No.

This wasn’t good. It would pass. Surely it would pass…

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

That evening, as he returned from the stables, Lancelot searched the hallways for the Dawn Folk scent. He found it, but unfortunately it was not yours, only two similar ones. Mirena and Helio were conversing in the hallway. He had managed to stop before they’d notice his presence, a corner blocked him from their sights.

It was not his intention to eavesdrop, but he did overhear them. From the angle he was standing, he could also see them.

Mirena was reassuring Helio, “You are a good man, and a good father. I am sure she knows it.”

Helio did not sound like he believed it and spoke with a heavy heart, “When I saw her running to that fire… I had to reach her in time.” He hated to think back to that moment. “I do not want to lose her again.”

She explained your reason for that action, “She thought her friend was burning, my love. How would you have responded if it were you?”

He nodded shallowly. “I always tell her she is so much like you, but it is when I see myself in her that it frightens me.”

“That eagerness to run into danger to help others.” She tsked him. “She is much like you. You might as well argue with a mirror instead of her.”

A chuckle fell from him. “A mirror would not give me her wit.”

“No, it would not.” She smiled.

His wife’s smile brought on his own. “But you often do.”

Mirena hummed, letting him lean in and kiss her tenderly.

That was the moment he turned his eyes away for a second, watching this felt intrusive.

The love between them was clear to see, they left the hallway together. He did not continue his walk yet, he was lost in thought. One desire had managed to crawl under his skin once again. There was someone who he wished he could share the same affections with. It left him to come to his senses, and push the idea away before it could lead to what had happened on the night of the feast.

He resumed his walk and was about to cross paths with a Sky Folk woman when she deliberately stepped in his way. By reflex he stopped before he got too close to her.

Was she there to voice her dismay to his presence in the fort? He had not seen here there before. Black hair, brown eyes and a scar at the side of her neck. No, she did not look familiar.

With a small step he tried to see if she would let him pass.

She spoke to him in response, “I know what you did in the village.”

He looked at her expectantly until she spoke again.

The Sky Woman took a step closer. “The woman you saved is my sister. I am here to thank you for the incredible gallantry you have shown last night.”

Lancelot acknowledged the grateful response she had, “I hope she is well?”

She left little distance between herself and the Ash Man when she got closer again. “She is, and so are the children. Thanks to you. I wish I had something to repay you with.”

He sought no reward. “You owe me nothing. I am glad they are well.”

The young woman kept staring, seemingly intrigued by him. With a shallow nod, he hoped to bid her a good day.

What she said next took him off-guard. “I do wish to thank you. Perhaps some place where we can be alone?”

The last thing he expected was to be propositioned, and in the middle of a hallway. He could not hide how nervous it was making him and kept looking around himself while also keeping an eye on her.

He politely declined the offer. “I do not know you, madam.”

The woman saw that he showed little to no interest, and tried to awaken it. “My name is Emmeline. We can get to know each other, I would be pleased to make your acquaintance.”

From what he could tell, this young woman might have a small infatuation. It was not uncommon to find a person who had done something dangerous, attractive. But he preferred a deeper connection over a shallow one. And this woman did not know him at all.

“Lancelot.” He introduced himself formerly. “Apologies, madam, I seek not what you want.”

She dropped her gaze to the tile floor, looking a bit embarrassed. “I understand. I shall leave you be, sir.”

He felt compassion towards her, she seemed to be kind under that first impression.

Emmeline seemed to shrink under his eyes. “But may I thank you, in another way, for saving my family?”

After a second of thought, and knowing he could easily stop her if needed be, he gave a nod. Timidly she put a hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek, she was quick to step away. With a curtsy, she bid him a good day and left without saying another word.

Flattering, but unexpected. Usually people tended to avoid him. It appeared two knights who were passing by had seen it happen, one was even sending him a grin while the other was baffled.

What the Ash Man did not know was that they were not the only ones who had seen it…

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

You had been searching for Lancelot around the fort to ask if he’d sit with you at dinner.

You wished you hadn’t…

Had you known that you would see him be kissed by someone, who was quite beautiful, you wouldn’t have searched for him at all. Never before had you felt so physically ill so suddenly. Where did this strong response come from?

Was it the exhaustion from last night mixed with the response to what you had seen? At least you made it to your room and to an empty bucket, because you felt close to throwing up. On your knees you kept the bucket close, feeling the painful tensing in your stomach. Your body was shaking terribly, like it tried to fight it. Nothing came out, and the feeling remained. The last time you had felt like this was after Matthew’s rejection a long time ago, but not this gravely.

It was time to admit to yourself that you had fallen for the Ash Man, and wished you hadn’t. Now you had to go through all the suffering a second time. All of this, only because you had seen him receive affections from another.

You fought against the tears, refusing to let them win and show, telling yourself to calm down. For all you knew, it could have been innocent, just nothing…

“Please, let it be nothing…” The plea was aimed to the Hidden.

It was a selfish thing to ask, but could you not wish for something for yourself?

Squirrel found you dry-heaving whilst he walked by the room, like the Hidden had called him there to see it. It was embarrassing.

The boy was at your side a blink of an eye later. “Are you sick?”

“No… ugh…” The weight of a rock tumbled inside your stomach

Squirrel did not believe it one bit. He saw how you struggled, hunched over the bucket on your knees, and your arm around your stomach. Suddenly he ran off and left you there, then it hit you why that was.

“Squirrel, no, wait!” You shouted after him but he was too stubborn to return without the help he was after. To your dismay, that help came in the form of Lancelot rushing into the room followed by Squirrel.

“See, she’s sick!” Squirrel looked so worried over you, it made you only feel worse and guilty.

Great… you were a mess…

Lancelot knelt by your side, hand on your back, the panic clear in his voice, “What is wrong? Are you ill?”

You were prying his hands off of you, still feeling that awful tightening in your gut. “Leave me be. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

He said it to make you feel less embarrassed over it, “I grew up among paladins, I have seen far worse.” Then asked the boy, “Percival, fetch a cold damp cloth.”

Squirrel darted off to the washing table in your room to fetch one.

“Talk to me.” Lancelot’s concern was clear for all to see. But his presence was not helping you now.

You wouldn’t lie to him to avoid further questions, but asked for a delay to answer, “Not now. I’m sorry, not now. I’m not sick, I just need a moment to myself.”

Squirrel returned and handed the requested damp cloth to Lancelot. It did feel very nice to feel the cold cloth be placed on the back of your neck. Was the Hidden alerting him that this situation was caused by distress?

He hated to ask, because he did not wish to do so, “Shall we leave you?”

Hearing and seeing them so concerned… it made you feel guilty. But your fragile heart felt like breaking into pieces again, and it hurt.

You needed the nausea gone before you would be able to tell him what was wrong. “I will tell you, when I’ve had a moment to think.”

He hesitated for a couple of moments before finally rising to his feet and beckoning for the boy.

“Doesn’t she need a healer?” Squirrel pouted up at him.

Lancelot send you an inquiring look.

You shook your head. “I’ll be alright, Squirrel. I promise.”

Poor Squirrel wasn’t put at ease by it.

“Mirena will be waiting for you in the dinning hall, do not let your meal go cold again. Go on.” Lancelot nudged him against the shoulder.

Squirrel didn’t run out like he usually would, he walked out and looked at you one last time before leaving the room.

That heaviness in your stomach was slowly bettering, you dared to look up at the Ash Man whilst pushing the still empty bucket away from you.

He was reluctant to leave you on your own, “I will come find you after dinner. Shall I bring you some then?”

“I don’t feel like eating.” You declined the offer.

There he stood, near the door, feeling powerless to help you. He hated the feeling to his very core. What he hated most was seeing glimpses of sadness present in you, the reason of it still unknown to him.

“Go. Don’t let a meal go cold.” You mustered a small smile.

His boots almost dragged across the floorboards as he headed out of the room.

You still sat on your knees, and let yourself sit on your rear instead. Telling him felt like the wisest choice…

You had survived heartbreak before, would it not be better than prolonging the pain? What if he rejected you? What if he accepted?

Thinking of it was enough for the knot in your stomach to return and you decided to clear your head of it before you’d lose all courage to speak to him later.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Lancelot had lost his appetite after the Hidden had notified him of your distress, through them it was as if he had experienced some of what you must have felt.

No, he gravely disliked the feeling that had coursed through him. Some fresh cold air was what he craved to forget the feeling. Some time to clear his mind before he’d search you out to speak to you.

Unfortunately, it was not granted to him.

From a distance, he had already picked up that Sky Folk scent he hoped to avoid.

Matthew found him in the courtyard, and when he saw that no one else was around, he went over to the Ash Man, “I think we should have a word, don’t you?”

Lancelot could hear the venom in his tone. “If you find it necessary.”

“I do.” Matthew responded sharp. “I know you were the one who told y/n.”

He turned to face the knight, feeling the tense turn in the atmosphere. “If you had told her yourself, perhaps she would be more inclined to forgive you.”

The knight looked seconds away of hitting him, he had been in enough battles to recognize that sort of look.

Matthew let him know what was bothering him, “Do not act haughty to me, I know why you’ve done it! It’s much easier for you to have her all to yourself if there are no others vying for her!”

The furious knight sought to escalate this by shoving the Ash Man against the chest.

When Matthew tried to do it a second time, he knew he had to diffuse this before the situation could get messier than it already was. You would never forgive him if he’d damage one of those ‘honey eyes’.

With fast reflexes, Lancelot caught his arm and kicked the back of Matthew’s knee, sending the knight to the ground while blocking his arm behind his back. Matthew tried to get up but the Ash Man kept him to the ground, and prevented he’d use his other arm to free himself.

“I’ve done it, because she deserves to know the truth!” Lancelot snarled.

The fool did not see his mistake, “She didn’t need to know! You only upset her!”

“I did?!” He could not believe his ears. “Others know! Others who have no right to know! How long before it reached her ears? Do you have any inkling of how much you have hurt her?!”

The ruckus had drawn the attention of three other knights, when they threatened to come closer to interfere, it was Matthew who told them to stay back, “Stay out of it!”

The group looked at each other with uncertainty. He felt how Matthew stopped struggling against his firm hold.

“I never thought she would hate me…” Matthew confessed sorrowful. “I took it for granted.”

The love you once had for Matthew had not saved him from the consequences of his actions this time.

He released him and took a few paces away from him, “You did.”

Matthew didn’t get off his knees just yet, and looked at the Ash Man with mixed emotions. “The Weeping Monk has a better conscience than me…” He scoffed. “I understand why she put her trust in you, I don’t like it, but I understand.”

It was almost a nice thing for him to say, if it weren’t so bitterly said. The man was filled with self-pity, it would not help his cause if he let it remain as it was.

He really made an effort to advise him, “You have a conscience as well, I suggest you learn to listen to it from time to time.”

Matthew got up from the ground and waved the watchful knights away, “You believe she could one day forgive me then?”

There was still that attitude, but the question sounded like it had come from a genuine concern.

Lancelot kept at a safe distance from him. “She forgave me. I think she can forgive you too, in time.”

If he deserved it.

Matthew rolled his shoulder, feeling the strain that had been put on it, he did not appear as angry anymore. With a step back, he created more distance. “Speak not a word of this to her.”

Did he sound… embarrassed?

He managed to keep himself from letting the smirk appear, “I do not intent to trouble her with futilities.”

Matthew almost rolled his eyes at him, then he walked past the Ash Man in the direction those knights had gone, undoubtedly to ask the same of them.

So far this day was spared of bloodshed and violence, he prayed it would remain so.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

The evening had come, and to reassure both Ciro and Squirrel that you were fine, you had went to their room to read some of that book with them again.

They were fascinated by the small bits of knowledge on the Fey clans that they had not been previously aware of. Squirrel began to show more enthusiasm towards reading and you helped him learn, he’d point out a letter and you would tell him what it sounded like.

Needless to say, some very strange sounding words came out of the boy’s mouth often.

Yet, Ciro never once laughed, he was just glad to finally have a friend that did not mind that he wasn’t the bravest around.

Moon Wings were their favorite subject, and you read most of it out loud to them on the matter.

Your fingertip followed the line you were reading in the book, “Moon Wings often posses druid magic, most of them can read the minds of others around them.”

“Wow.” Ciro exclaimed in awe.

“I’ve seen a Moon Wing!” Squirrel said, then went on to tell Ciro all about the young Moon Wing he had seen.

They were a rare kind indeed, it was a Moon Wing child that had survived a cleansing. And you didn’t have to guess how the child had survived…

Outside the window, the stars reminded you of the time. And you had heard some yawns in the past few minutes coming from the children.

“I believe it is time for bed.” You carefully closed the large book.

There were some protests, but they still crawled under the covers. You went around the room to tuck them into bed, which they seemed to appreciate.

“Y/n…” Squirrel caught your arm when you walked by, “I’m really glad you’re my friend. You’re really sweet.”

Was he sick? It was what you first thought upon hearing the compliments.

The initial shock passed and you bend down to kiss his forehead. “I love you too.”

“I didn’t say that.” He sank back in the pillow.

“I’m pretty sure I heard that, somewhere between the other words.” You smiled broadly and saw him do the same.

You repeated the action with Ciro, who promptly used his sleeve to wipe his forehead afterwards.

“Ew.” Ciro blurted out.

“And I love you too, dear cousin.” You snorted a laugh at his response.

Before you left, you blew out the candles and let the darkness of night into the room. To see them close their eyes and softly fall asleep, gave hope for a better world and future for the Fey, at least for them.

You rubbed the sleep from your tired eyes whilst walking through the hallway towards your room. At first you had thought Lancelot had forgotten how he had said he’d come to speak to you after dinner, but now you found him leaning against the wall beside your chamber’s door, he pushed himself off of it when he saw you approach. He was seconds away of questioning you on what happened today, you could feel it.

There was no avoiding it, so you faced the issue head on. “About earlier. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you worry. Sometimes I feel ill when things become too much for me, it’s just the way my body reacts.”

He was visibly relieved to hear that you were not truly ill, “Do you feel better now?”

It was sweet of him to ask. “I feel well.”

Before he could ask what had caused it, you asked him about what had been on your mind all evening and hoped it didn’t sound too nosy. “I saw you with a woman today. Who was she? I didn’t recognize her from living at the fort. Maybe she is new.”

It was already at the back of his mind.

“Ah. I believe her name was ‘Emmeline’, she is the sister of the woman I helped escape from the fire last night.” He said.

The sister of…

Oh…

“She came to thank you…” You finally understood what had happened.

Lancelot’s expression changed slightly, like he was puzzling something together in his mind. “Yes.” The question fell out of his thoughts, “What caused you to feel ill tonight?”

You struggled to make the decision for yourself to whether or not you would tell him the true reason, and if you were ready to do so. What if you made a fool of yourself by telling him?

He saw the reluctance to answer the question in your eyes.

He gestured to the door of your room, “Can we talk? Where we are not so prone to be disturbed?”

Oh no, did he suspect something? Was it obvious to him?

“Of course.” You walked past him to open the door. “Get in before someone sees and gets the wrong idea.”

He grinned and followed you into the room. To let your tired feet rest, you plopped down on your bed to sit. The doll at the foot of your bed had drawn his attention and he picked it up.

“And who is this?” The cheeky Ash Man smiled.

You squinted your eyes up at him. “It doesn’t have a name. My mother gave me that.”

He studied the way it was made for a moment. “Lovely.”

When he showed no signs of putting it down, you teased, “Are you here to play with my doll, or to talk to me?”

His mouth curved at the corner at the jest. With respect for your belongings, he placed the doll back at the foot of your bed, making sure it wouldn’t fall. That was rather thoughtful of him.

He still stood at the foot of the bed when he explained why he had wanted to talk someplace private, “I had hoped to speak to you about the night of the feast.”

“The one you can’t remember?” You were still a little bitter over it.

He was nervously tapping his index finger against the foot of the bed. “I have not been honest with you. I do recall what happened.”

You looked up at his face and saw the remorse in his eyes. “You lied to me…”

It was disappointing.

His bowed his head in shame, voice growing quieter, “By lying, I thought it would spare me from having to face the truth.”

“What truth?” You asked.

He came to your side and knelt down just next to your leg. “I saw you and Matthew together that night, I saw him seek your affection. I drank two tankards of ale..” He took a breath. “I made a mistake.”

“I…” Realization hit. “You saw that?”

His gaze dropped to the floorboards, as if he did not like the memory at all. “I know it is no excuse for my behavior.”

“You were jealous?” You needed to hear him say it, because it didn’t feel real or possible.

“I was.” It was difficult to admit, but he did.

Regret for his actions swarmed inside his head constantly. The foreign feeling had been all consuming that night. Jealousy, mixed with the fear he had for what he felt.

“Why?” Deep down you already knew the reason.

He opened his mouth to speak, the words he wished to say caught in his throat, “Forgive me.”

“Lancelot.” You waited until he looked at your eyes, “Tell me. Please?”

He rose from the ground to walk a few steps further into the room, his back to you. That annoying feeling in your stomach threatened to return at the sight of his reaction. Your legs felt unstable when you stood up and got closer to him.

He slowly turned, his eyes a thousand stars away and yet all present, his hands folded behind his back to hide how unsteady they were. “I fear you will shun me, if you hear what I wish to tell you.”

His hesitation was not because he wished to deceive you, the look in his eyes told of it. The look of a man fearing to lose it all, the same fear you recognized in yourself.

You took his hands in yours, seeking to connect with him. “I wish I could fight away all that troubled you… all I can pray for is that you will feel safe enough with me, to tell me what you wish to say.”

He turned his hands and claimed yours, holding on to them while brushing his thumbs over your knuckles in a soothing manner. Almost did you step back when he knelt down before you.

He submitted himself to you, placing his body and soul at your feet, for his heart was already in your hands.

His eyes lifted to yours, locking on your gaze through his lashes. He hesitated a few times before he began to speak, his voice was full of raw emotion and quite prayer, “Your gracious heart holds mine in it’s power. All I wish for, is yours in return.”

You were staring into the heavens that the gods had created in his eyes, feeling your breathing quicken.

His eyes remained on yours, ensuring himself that all was heard, “I have come to know you, to loveyou.” A pause. “Am I fooling myself into believing that you would let me into your heart?”

You watched him play absentmindedly with your fingers, while his intense gaze distracted you, “You are…”

The mistake dawned on you when seeing his eyes change. “Oh gods, wait no I… ugh,” You could slap yourself for it. “I didn’t mean you are ‘fooling yourself’, I meant that you are in my heart. Gods, I’m such an idiot.”

The nerves were getting the better of you.

He blinked a few times, like you had just turned water into wine. He went through two very different emotions in the span of seconds, highly preferring the one he felt now.

The stunned response just proved how unexpected it was for him that this was a mutual feeling.

You pulled a hand free and buried your face in it. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit overwhelmed. Because I’ve fallen in love with you and I didn’t know if you felt the same…”

He breathed in, the joy visible in his eyes. “You are forgiven.”

You felt safe enough with him to speak the truth of what had happened earlier, “When I saw that woman so close to you, I felt my heart shatter into pieces. I couldn’t stand the thought of another with you. Selfish, I know, and I’m sorry you had to see my reaction.”

It sounded like you had experienced the same distress that he had felt after seeing you with another.

His hand was gently squeezing yours. “Do not apologize. I did not react well to seeing you with another either.”

That was true. Your eyes flickered to the window, feeling the small smile begin to form on your lips.

He was warming your hands with his own. “You love me…”

The truth was finally out. “Quite a lot.”

There was a moment were nothing was said, the reality of the situation was setting in.

“What now?” He inquired in a rather timid manner. “If you wish to ignore it, I will understand.”

His past could not be erased. Matters were already sensitive at the fort. He would understand if you chose to not give in to what you felt. He just need you to hear the truth, just as he needed to hear it too.

You stole your hands from him and covered his own with them. “I don’t really know. But I cannot keep pretending that I am not attracted to you.”

It felt like such a risky thing to admit, and heat went to your cheeks. But he would have figured that out sooner or later anyway. Of course that smug oaf smirked at you for it. You send him a warning look in case he were thinking of teasing you about it. Slowly Lancelot rose to his feet, never breaking the connection your hands formed between you. He held them, using them to bring you a step closer to him. You stilled when he touched your cheek to caress it, his fingertips touched your chin and had a gentle hold on it while watching your response. He collected all his courage while slowly leaning in, aiming for your cheek, offering you the chance to pull away if you’d wish to.

The kiss to your cheek was nothing like the one you had once given him, it was far more intimate than you thought such an innocent kiss could ever be, his warm breath was felt near your ear when his lips lingered.

Tentatively he curled his hand around your shoulder. While leaning back again, his gaze fell on your lips. Seeing him take a deep breath forewarned you for what he desired to do. But the Ash Man was holding back, and you laced your fingers in his jerkin to slowly pull him closer, willing to meet his lips. Almost did your nose touch his, when suddenly he broke away.

You were so confused. “Wha-”

The knock on your door came a second later. Lancelot looked alarmed, having caught the Fey scent.

“It’s your father.”

Taglist:

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#the weeping monk #weeping monk #cursed netflix #weeping monk x reader #weeping monk x you #lancelot x reader #cursed lancelot #lancelot #the weeping monk x reader #cursed

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lorelaiislatte · 4 days

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Do you think there's a chance a streaming service will pick ncis:h? I've signed the petition but do we dare to hope? I'm tired of this happening all the time. I just dont understand. It was doing fine in ratings and it's a part of a franchise that keeps getting more spin offs? How that makes sense? Do you know the ratings compared with the others ncis shows? Sorry im asking you but im not from usa and i have no idea how american netwoks work. So sad rn.

okay SO i am also not from the us but have done this dance before sooooo:

1) from what i’ve heard, they were planning to move either another ncis show (i think sydney?) or another cbs show to paramount plus - which they now are no longer doing. in theory yes, this opens up the possibility for ncishi to move over there; in practice, i’m not holding my breath, as typically that negotiation would happen before a cancellation announcement

2) how does it make sense? the honest answer is that it doesn’t. like, it really doesn’t. it’s been holding steady at sixth of 14 cbs shows in the ratings (which is a brilliant number, ensures it’s profitable, and is also impressive for a procedural that’s still relatively new). it’s been beating a LOT of other crime procedurals in viewership and viewer retention, and reviewers have been singing its praises. i think this is why it feels so much as if it’s because they just view this show as less valuable (socially and economically) than their usual white guy cop shows; it’s very difficult to argue that your profitable, successful show is too expensive when you’re flying cast and crews across - or, potentially, internationally to - australia, to continue a less-highly-rated show with no issue.

3) as far as ratings go - ncis hawai’i episodes were pulling in as many as 10 million viewers last year (s2 e10 came in with 10.5 mil, as per variety telecast viewership reports) which has it going toe to toe with the core ncis (seems to pull approx. 8-10mil per episode, via hollywood reporter). for the 18-49 demographic across us series, ncis hawaii is ranking at #13 of #21 as per tvseriesfinale.com - this is significantly above ncis sydney (renewed, #15), and elsbeth (#19, renewed), two other cbs shows, one of which in particular is incredibly expensive. crucially, ncishi has actually increased its viewership, which is VERY difficult to do on a year to year basis. its up by 4.18% among 18 to 49 year olds - for comparison the core NCIS is down 0.83% and fbi international - a competing show - is down by 3.73%. bear in mind that even a single percentage point represents hundreds of thousands of viewers.

i also want to point out that ranking at #13 isn’t strictly representative of viewer numbers, it’s about percentage of viewers that are within that core age bracket. the neighbourhood is ranking at #6, but only pulling in 4.8 million viewers - ncishi is at #13, and pulling in 5.2 million. ncishi pulls in over half a million more viewers than four shows ranked above it in that chart.

so essentially - it doesn’t make sense. from any perspective. it doesn’t make sense from a business perspective (ncis sydney is more expensive to produce and brings in approx. 200k less viewers than ncishi, and ncishi crew had already agreed to a shortened, budget-restrained final season), it doesn’t make sense for a ratings perspective (it continues to outperform many of cbs’ own shows, including ones that have been renewed), it doesn’t make sense from a social perspective (people are loving it, even outside of our fandom spaces).

objectively, it’s a really, really bad move by cbs. i also thought being part of a franchise would be a kind of safety net - fool me once, i guess. all the evidence suggests that they just don’t care enough about ncishi, especially when they’ve got their bullshit white guy ncis origins show, a young sheldon spinoff (?? who asked?) and a plethora of other cookie-cutter shows they can just keep going with. and we can make a pretty educated guess as to why, when the main things that set ncishi apart from the other ncis shows are its diversity and character dynamics

(edit: it was pointed out that people aren’t being flown to sydney from the us, which is true, and bad phrasing on my part - but many are flown across australia at seemingly similar costs to mainland us/hawai’i flights, and i believe not all of the leads are based in australia either, so i’ve updated that bit for clarity. apologies!)

#ncis hawaii #i hope this helps ppl understand a little more!#it’s bullshit. like it’s such unbelievable blatant bullshit #ncis hawai’i

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gorouenjoyer · 4 days

Text

-Differences-

We’re not too different

A fanfic mildly inspired by kamiverse’s tfl

(half cannon universe half modern au)

Themes - Romance, angst, smut, betrayal

Pairings - Gorou×reader, Lyney×reader, Neuvillette×reader, Zhongli×reader, Albedo×reader, Scaramouche×reader, Tartaglia×reader

Warnings- virgin!reader, Lyney is kinda a slut?-college!Lyney, college!Lynette, college!reader, collage!furina

Smut will be next chapter I promise<3

Opposites attract right?

We’re really different. Lyney and I have been friends since FOREVER, he was an orphan who was adopted and raised by this figure he calls “father” from what I’ve heard father is a fatui harbinger who was apparently a fellow Fontainian

We met because I saw Lyney on the street one day doing some fun magic tricks. He wasn't very well dressed so I’d thought that I would talk to him, maybe even help him out if he needed food as my family was well off enough to donate to charity.

Lyney seemed harsh at first glance, it turns out that day his twin sister Lynette got taken away by aristocrats. So that day I made a promise to be by his side forever and make sure nothing bad ever happens to him or his sister ever again!

I lost contract with Lyney after that and during that time he got adopted by “father” and my mom lost her high paying job for a “undisclosed” reason

Now we’re both in our early 20s and in college, all three of us are studying at “La institution de fontaine éducationnel” or IFÉ. Lyney is studying acting as he’s trying to perform at “la opera epiclese” at some point while Lynette is studying engineering as she is hoping to help her brother cut costs by doing repairs herself.

Lyney has always been extroverted and quite charming so Lynette is always complaining to you about how her brother has another girlfriend or boyfriend which you always respond to with complaining about how you're always single.

One day however you’re complaining to Lyney himself about being single while he visits your dorm which leads to an interesting conversation about a way to potentially solve that…

“What? You’re still single with your looks?” Lyney asks while leaning on the wall“WAIT! Does that mean you’re a virgin?” he taunts with a big dumb smirk glued on his face

“W-well uhm- Y'know what? That’s a really weird and uhm, invasive? YEAH invasive question to ask a female friend” you manage to stutter out with as much confidence as possible in this situation

Lyney laughs and offers you a bet, “If you end up sleeping with 5 men by the end of the summer I’ll offer you 200k, but the catch is that you aren’t allowed to fall in love with them. You have to sleep with 5 men, no strings attached” you stare at him with confusion while wondering how serious he is but then Lyney adds with a smile “Y’know what for every man after the 5th I’ll add another 50k”

Lyney extends his hand forward for a handshake “deal?” you think for a moment wondering if this is really worth it. You don’t have enough money to finish your course and with 200K+ you’ll have enough to finish your last 2 years of university, maybe even enough to spoil yourself a bit with new clothing and makeup.

The only problem was the time frame, you’ll only have 4 months for 5 guys? Surely I can’t do that right? I haven’t slept with a single guy for what? 20 something years? How can I sleep with 5 in such a short timeframe?

After a lot of consideration you decide to take up his offer so you reach out your hand, but suddenly in a random act of courage or stupidity you add “I’ll accept your offer but on one condition, you’ll be the first guy” Lyney looks taken aback? Confused? Uncertain? No idea, but what you can notice is the light reddining of his cheeks.

“What? Are you repulsed by the idea Lyney? How rude” you questioned in a jokey tone

Lyney’s eyes widened in shock “No no, not AT ALL. I was just surprised you asked in such a uncharacteristically bold manner” he exclaims in mild panic

“So when do you want this to happen?” he asks awkwardly

“Oh uhm.. Sooner the better I think but probably not tonight? You respond while fiddling your thumbs “Maybe in a few days? Y’know what I’ll message you!” you decide

After Lyney quickly and awkwardly leaves you message your best friend and roomie, Furina

10:48PM

-reader-: GIRLY YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHAT JUST HAPPENED

-Furina-: Did your lonely ass finally get a boyfriend?

-reader-: BETTER THAN THAT

-Furina-: WHAT? REALLY? DID YOU WIN THE LOTTERY?

-reader-: Ok just combine the last two ideas

-Furina-: YOUR ASS GOT A SUGAR DADDY??? HOW OLD???

-reader-: TF NO?

-Furina-: I give up ;-;

-reader-: LYNEY SAID HE’LL GIVE ME 200K TO SLEEP WITH 5 MEN BEFORE THE SUMMER

-Furina-: WHAT?? ARE YOU GONNA DO IT???

-reader-: YEAH PROBABLY AND ON TOP OF THAT HE SAID HE’LL BE THE FIRST ONE :333

-Furina-: NO WAYYYYY SERIOUSLY? HE’S ACTUALLY SO FINE? I’M JEALOUS GIRL-

-reader-: You have a boyfriend who’s house you’re at right. now. HOW ARE YOU JEALOUS?

-Furina-: Uhm we don’t talk about thatttt, ANYWAYS GTG LOVE YOU POOKIE GL

-reader-: BYEEEEE<3333

You put down your phone for the night and decide to get ready for bed but while your trying to sleep all you can think of is what transpired today

When you wake up it’s already kind of late but your roommate isn’t back yet so you text her

11:17AM

-reader-: Hey wanna meet up at that cafe down the street later? Maybe at 12:30 if that’s good with you?

11:52

-Furina-: GIRL- I'M SO SORRY I SLEPT IN

-Furina-: 12:30 works BUT ALSO I HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU WHEN WE GET THERE

-reader-: OMG OK SEE YOU >:3

A/N: I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG >W< I really wanted to get the pacing right for this fic cause I feel like I rush things

#fanfic #genshin smut #diffrences #gorou #gorou smut #lyney #lyney smut #tartaglia #tartaglia smut #zhongli #zhongli smut #neuvillette smut #neuvillette #albedo #albedo smut #scaramouche smut #scaramouche

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sailorsally · 1 year

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dean and cas baby jack endgame is the most delicious thing actually and every time someone says something along the lines of "that's just boring. where is the conflict in domesticity? what would even happen in 200k post finale domestic deancas w jack fic?" im like "EVERYTHING" Dean would have to finally work thru he trauma of having had to become a parent to Sam at such an early age. He would have bad days and feel trapped in the role again but then he'd realise it's not the same as it was because this time he is not doing this alone, Cas is there with him. Dean would try to contain his anger bubbling but occasionally raise his voice at Jack when the kid starts throwing food because for Dean who grew up food insecure that is an unimaginable waste, even if he knows they are well off now. It's just ingrained in him at this point. He would of course feel super bad about these incidents and avoid Cas. Maybe decide to sleep on a couch. See? Another conflict!

And Cas!!!! Cas would have huge moments of self doubt because Jack is a human he is supposed to raise. But is he qualified? He hasn't even been human long enough for this. God what is he supposed to do?? Dean would tell him to calm down because he's doing great and Cas would turn back bitchfaced and say "I don't think you understand what a huge responsibility raising a child is Dean" More conflict!!!!!! Tldr; when you have men (angel?) with issues and throw in a baby the issues become more ... crunchy!!

#dadstiel #spn hcs #destiel #supernatural #dad!dean #baby jack truthing

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commander-krios · 4 months

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A Divine Dream

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Rolan/Dammon Rating: Teen Summary: An invitation to a Grand Ball. A returning hero. And the man who'd gotten away. Words: 5798 Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Slow Dancing, Ballroom Dancing, Banter, Happy Ending, Love and Hope, Second Chances, Mild Language, Background Wyll/Karlach

Read on AO3

This fic was written for @Cozy_Bossi to go along with a piece of art they made a few months ago of Dammon and Rolan. I've attached the picture and their twitter on AO3 so that you can follow them for more wonderful art!

Also, I hit 200k words posted for 2023!

Your presence is requested at a Grand Ball in honour of the rebuilding of Baldur’s Gate by his eminence, Duke Ulder Ravengard.

The invitation was written in elegant script, looped letters in golden ink that glittered in the light. He knew he should attend. Most likely, his absence would be noticed and considered rude among the upper circles of the city. He was the master of Ramazith’s Tower and Baldur’s Gate’s newest archmage, yet he had much to still do, even a year after the destruction of the Absolute. With a sigh, Rolan tossed the parchment on his desk amidst mountains of scrolls and books.

The movement caught Cal’s eye. His brother glanced up from his book, scrunching his face in concern. “Another solicitor?”

“If only.” Untying his hair from the elaborate braid he’d started to wear recently, he brushed his fingers through the strands, combing the knots out. “There is a party for the Duke in a tenday. I’m expected to attend.”

“A party sounds fun.” Cal reached for the paper, glancing it over quickly before a grin appeared on his face. A grin that Rolan didn’t like the look of. “And Ravengard is fair and honorable. You might actually enjoy yourself.”

“The horror.” Rolan muttered, the sarcasm not lost on his younger brother. “I can think of a hundred other things I’d rather be doing than getting dressed up like a prized peacock and prancing around a dance floor.”

“Is it because you don’t have a date?” Cal teased, setting the invitation face up in front of Rolan again, the golden script mocking him.

“A date? Have you seen the type of person that tries to woo me? Hardly any of them are worth the time or effort.”

“So you’re saying that some of them are worth it?”

“Please spare me.” The invitation sat open, a temptation despite his objections. How long had it been since he’d left the Tower to merely socialize? His work as archmage brought him to many drawing rooms in Baldur’s Gate, not to mention his travels across Faerun visiting with other archwizards. He wasn’t locked away in Ramazith’s Tower like his predecessor had been. No, he frequently took on apprentices, delved into research with other wizards in the Realms.

But his patience for frivolous things, for frivolous people, had waned in the last months. What use was making connections, social or otherwise, when the one person he wished to see had left for Avernus nearly a full year ago?

Cal shifted in his seat, bringing his book closer as if he planned to continue reading, but his eyes were fixed on a singular spot on the page. He knew what this was. Cal craved life outside of the tower walls. Lia was well established with the Flaming Fist. She had friends and dates and hobbies that kept her away for days at a time. Cal had put his life on hold to stay behind and help Rolan with the organization of the Tower, of everything Lorroakan had left behind. He worked in Sorcerous Sundries most days, only going out on the occasion when Lia insisted.

After everything they’d been through to get to this point, Rolan knew he owed his brother this.

With a sigh, Rolan rested his elbow on the desk, cupping his chin in his hands, his eyes fixed on his brother. “Cal.”

Cal glanced up curiously, the shadow of a grin twitching at his lips. “Yes, Rolan?”

“Did you want to go to the ball with me?”

In his excitement, Cal slammed the book shut hard enough that the entire table shook. Rolan cast a spell to stop the ink pot from tumbling to the floor. It floated, suspended in mid-air before he snatched it and returned it to the safety of the desk.

“I know you’re excited, but please be careful.”

“Sorry.” Cal said with a sheepish grin. “Should we invite Lia?”

“I suspect she’ll be there.” Rolan cleared away the texts, standing and replacing them to their spots on the bookshelf. He didn’t want to discuss the ball, or the Flaming Fist, or anything when he knew how easily it could lead to places and people he wasn’t ready to talk about yet. Friends that were long gone and most likely would never return.

“Right. Flaming Fist and all.” Cal stood as well, stretching to relieve his muscles from sitting in one place so long. “Should I check in on Tolna before bed?”

“No.” He said, realizing his voice was sharper than was necessary. Forcing himself to be gentler, he turned to his brother, putting on his best smile. The frown on Cal’s face only proved he was still terrible at it. “I’ll do it. I should secure the vault and check in on a few things anyway. Go. Get some rest.”

Cal hesitated, as if he wanted to say something, but decided better of it. “Alright. You’ll let me know if you need help, right?”

Rolan nodded, but he knew no matter how much help he needed, he wouldn’t bother his brother’s well deserved rest. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he gathered up his loose hair, tying it back like he used to do when they traveled the dangerous roads of the Storm Coast. If Cal noticed, he didn’t comment on it. “Of course. Now off with you. I have work to do.”

Cal knew better than to argue with him, it wasn’t worth the trouble. Even if Rolan was in the wrong, it took practically pulling teeth for him to admit it. When his brother finally exited through the portal, the wizard of Ramazith’s Tower was left in the echoey silence.

~~~~

Duke Ulder Ravengard’s estate was lavishly decorated with red and gold hangings, perfectly shined silverware, the glow of hundreds of candles creating the perfect romantic atmosphere for the couples that had already taken to the dancefloor. Gowns made of delicate fabrics in colors of indigo and crimson, lavender and silver, each one more beautiful than the last, billowed and swayed with each movement. Elaborate beading, expensive jewelry, fashionably coiffed hair…

Rolan still couldn’t believe he was here with the nobility as an equal. All of his ambition and dreaming never prepared him for this new life: the opulence, the respect, the wealth of knowledge at his hands. He knew how lucky he was for such a chance, he’ll always be grateful to Wyll and his friends for helping him acquire it.

With a wave of his hand and a quiet recitation of a well-known spell, stars sparkled across the ceiling, falling in wide arcs of light and color, and a smattering of applause went through the room at the sight.

Cal inhaled sharply beside him, eyes fixed on the magic until it disappeared, wonder and appreciation on his face. “Wow. That never gets old, does it?”

Rolan smiled softly, clapping a hand to his brother’s shoulder, enjoying the way his eyes lit up at the light show. Almost like old times. “I’m glad you convinced me to come. Now, go. Enjoy yourself. I am going to see if Lia is here yet.”

Cal met his eyes, hesitating. “Are you sure you want me to leave you?”

“I can handle some nobles, Cal.” Rolan held back a laugh at the incredulous look on his brother’s face. “I’m not that insufferable, am I?”

“Well…”

Pushing gently against Cal’s shoulder, he wasn’t surprised when he burst into laughter. “Get out of here, you menace.”

Cal was still chuckling as he melted into the crowd, in search of whoever he knew among the guests. The Flaming Fist was here in force, silent watchers in the corners of the room, although most threats to the Duke or the city had long disappeared with the destruction of the Elder Brain and the deaths of the Chosen Three. Baldur’s Gate, like much of the Storm Coast, hadn’t experienced peace such as this in years. He hoped it lasted.

Rolan had no difficulty finding Duke Ravengard in the crowd, he and Counsellor Florrick speaking to nobility and common folk alike, neither being barred from the Upper City as was once the norm. Now, everyone had a voice in the rebuilding, in the life that was going to bloom here, and Rolan was grateful to be part of it.

Perhaps there was hope, after all. Hope for a better future, for a happier one. A future where he didn’t have to regret or question the choices he’d made.

A future where he finally made a life for himself.

His sister was at her post near the back of the room, the refreshment table not far from where she stood. When Lia noticed his approach, a smile spread across her face, waving in the direction he’d come from.

“I knew you had to be here when the magic show lit up the room. Can’t stop showing off, can you?”

“I did it for Cal, if you must know.” He replied flippantly, reaching immediately for the Arabellan Dry and pouring a large glass full. “He is here, somewhere.”

“Probably searching for Lord Guthmere’s daughter.” She teased, pretending to be at attention when he glanced at her. “They’ve taken a liking to one another.”

“Please, Lia. Let’s not make enemies of the patriars of the city already. I don’t want to be chased out by a mob because you and Cal cannot be discrete.”

She was silent as he sipped the wine, watching the people of Baldur’s Gate flirt, dance, and stand a world apart from them. Even if he was considered among them, Rolan doubted he would ever feel as comfortable among the glitter and gold than he was in the Sundries library, discussing spells and history with other wizards, most notably Elminster and Gale, both of whom visited him frequently over the last year. It’d been quiet, informative, and immensely enjoyable.

“You look weird.” Lia said, barely concealed mischief flirting across her face. She wore her Flaming Fist uniform, the crimson fabric and silver iron looking right on her. He would never admit it aloud, but he was proud of the woman she’d become.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t still irritate him.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He brushed a hand over the rich blue robes he wore, enjoying how the golden threads shone in the light. Rolan had spent days searching for the perfect set of robes for the Duke’s ball, only to end up in Facemaker’s at the last moment to find something worthy of an archmage. “This was an expensive purchase.”

“You might want to ask for your money back.” She teased him, motioning to the ensemble. His frown deepened. “Half of it is missing.”

Rolan sniffed in irritation, lifting the goblet to his mouth again.“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Hells, you’re sensitive tonight.” Lia rolled her eyes so hard he was surprised they didn’t roll all the way into her skull. “I was joking, you idiot.”

“It’s difficult to tell when everything you say is a joke.”

She stared at him until his lips twitched, a smile curling his lips without his permission. Lia snorted a laugh, shaking her head but the expression on her face was approving. Figured.

“Why are you over here sulking, anyway? I’m sure there are plenty of people who would love to get to know the fabulous Master Rolan.”

He gazed into the wine glass, the dark burgundy liquid holding no answers to what plagued him. Only he knew and like hell would he explain any of it to his sister.

He diverted her attention instead.

“Shouldn’t you be worrying less about me and more about protecting the Duke instead?”

Lia rolled her eyes, nodding to the Duke in question. “As if anyone is going to get past his entourage. Most of the Fist are here for the appearance of protection. Absolutely no one is going to hurt the Duke with a wizard prodigy, a Harper, and a damned vampire spawn protecting him.”

There was no doubt about that. The Duke’s son had left Baldur’s Gate to his father’s benevolent rule, but hadn’t left him alone. Many of his companions had either stayed in the city or visited frequently, to the point that they were welcomed guests at Ravengard’s.

“I suppose you have a point.” Rolan conceded before taking another sip of wine, refusing to meet his sister’s gaze. The last thing he wanted was to see her smug grin. She may have won this argument, but there would be plenty of those tonight and he wasn’t going to concede victory so early. “But then again, I am also here to protect our beloved Duke. Lest you forgot.”

“Could never forget a head that big.”

Rolan held his tongue when there was movement ahead, a gathering of the patriars and their guests as the familiar visage of Duke Ravengard appeared, calling for their attention as if his very presence didn’t immediately call for it. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed even Lia had snapped to attention, her chin held high and her focus entirely on the man she worked for. He’d never seen her so disciplined before.

Perhaps he wasn’t the only one to truly benefit from the time they’d spent in Baldur’s Gate.

“Now that everyone has gathered, it’s time I explained why I asked you here.” Ulder Ravengard stood slightly raised above the crowd, a goblet of wine in his hand, Florrick and a few of his closest council standing a few feet off, watching with much less anxiety than the rest.

Whispers broke out, speculation running rampant. Ravengard raised his hands in supplication, a genuine happiness on his face that Rolan hadn’t seen much of since Wyll left for Avernus, and the guests fell silent, waiting with bated breath for his announcement. Rolan sighed quietly, trying to still the anxious flutter of his hands. He folded his arms over his chest, tucking his hands against his body, trying to ignore the foreboding that tickled at the back of his mind.

“It’s been nearly a year and yet, I never gave up hope that my son would return home to Baldur’s Gate. To us.” Rolan didn’t miss the whispered ‘to me’ that Ravengard spoke under his breath. “And for the first time since that day against the Netherbrain, he isn’t alone. Please aid me in welcoming back the Pride of the Gate, your hero, and my son. Wyll.”

Applause and cheers mixed among the patriars, all turning as one as the enormous ornate doors opened once more to admit their heroes. Wyll Ravengard stood at the front, looking as much the hero as the Blade of Frontiers ever had, dressed in an impeccable doublet of black and gold, a prince among patriars.

The tiefling barbarian, Karlach, stood beside him with their arms linked, a radiant force with her wide smile and affectionate laugh, eyes sparkling with a fire that always burned within her.

Rolan hadn’t heard a single scrap of news regarding the tiefling with the infernal engine until now. Her return to Avernus was kept quiet among the companions and the few people who knew of her affliction. Duke Ravengard’s mood had soured considerably after Wyll left with her, refusing to let the woman he loved suffer alone, but tonight, there was a new light within the Duke… within them all. A happiness that Rolan hadn’t seen in so long.

Wyll’s infectious laughter and wit immediately drew people to his side as it always did. He was surrounded by his usual friends, those that had helped him end the Absolute plot. The silver-haired cleric held a goblet of wine and a rather beautiful smile on her face. The wizard of Waterdeep with his jovial laughter and light hearted, yet silly jokes. The pale vampire who was the life of the party, taking in the attention with the air of a man who’d done this sort of thing his entire life. The High Harper and the former First Druid stood side by side farther back, discussing something at length with the Githyanki, supplied with all manner of drink and entertainment, preferring to shield themselves from the golden light that radiated from the savior of Baldur’s Gate instead of basking in it.

But none of them held the allure of the one who stood within the confines of their circle, out of place among heroes but never far from Rolan’s thoughts.

A tiefling blacksmith with a heart of gold and a smile to match it.

Dammon’s radiant smile was all the more blinding with the joy reflected in his dazzling blue eyes. He watched Karlach and Wyll with the pride of a friend, the affection of a brother. They had been his constant companions for nearly a year and yet, Rolan was jealous of the bond he’d so clearly built with them.

It was then that Rolan realized what their return meant. Karlach was no longer burning up, the fire of the infernal engine stifled in her chest.

They’d done it.

“It sounds like father has been telling tall tales about our exploits.”

“If anyone deserves to be a hero, it’s you, darling.” Astarion cooed at him, lifting a glass of wine to his lips. “Just take it before he decides to build a statue or something. The man is relentless.”

Karlach laughed, a harsh loud bark that was full of so much love and joy that it nearly broke Rolan’s heart. How he missed her vibrant personality, despite how loud and perhaps a tad bit boisterous she could be. Wyll took her hand in his, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles, a gesture that felt too intimate for the setting.

He ignored his friend’s teasing and instead, tugged Karlach closer, slipping his free arm around her waist, their combined hands coming up in the imitation of a dancer’s pose. “Let’s lead this dance, shall we, my love?”

Karlach responded, but Rolan didn’t care what it was she said, what any of them said, not when Dammon had noticed him staring. Realizing his mouth was hanging open, he snapped it shut, blush crawling up his neck and cheeks to the tips of his ears. Dammon smiled at him kindly and approached as the heroes of Baldur’s Gate continued to the dance floor, ignoring the two of them completely.

Rolan’s gaze swept Dammon’s body, taking in the new piercing hanging from his pointed ear, the dark blue doublet with fancy cloak, gold clasps glittering in the light of a thousand candles.

“I didn’t realize you’d returned. This is quite the surprise.” Rolan said, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible, but knowing he immediately failed when Dammon glanced at him, curiosity winning out over anything else. He swallowed with some difficulty, a lump sitting painfully in his throat. Might as well have been his foot.

“Yes. It was… recent. Very recent.” Dammon cleared his own throat, suddenly captivated by the sight of the dancers. Avoiding his gaze, most likely. “Karlach is doing much better than I expected. Better than I had hoped. I’m proud of how far she’s come. She deserves a happy ending.”

And what of us?

Rolan’s shoulders stiffened as his gaze sought out the subject of their conversation. She was laughing loudly, her voice carrying over the music and the chatter. Rolan could acknowledge that she deserved this, both she and Wyll did, but he was still angry that Dammon of all people took that responsibility on to himself. To leave for the Hells, the very place they’d escaped from such a short time ago, to put himself in danger for a woman he barely knew. Only because of the infernal engine she carried.

He took advantage of Dammon’s distraction to study him. The doublet he wore was a rich ocean blue, only highlighting the azure of his pretty eyes. His blond hair brushed his shoulders when he turned, watching a particularly handsome couple spin across the dance floor. The corners of his mouth tipped up, his expression gentle, softening his features. Longing thrummed beneath Rolan’s skin, the desire to reach out and comb some of that blond hair from his face, to tuck it behind an ear, if only to trail one of his claws across Dammon’s jaw.

“I suppose they all do. They did save us, after all.” Rolan forced the words out, trying to bridge the gap between them, the one that he had created when they’d last spoken. Because despite Dammon deciding to help Karlach’s mission in the Hells, Rolan was the one who’d taken a step back, reexamined things. He decided to leave the fleeting touches and longing looks behind him.

Rolan didn’t want to be left alone picking up the pieces of his heart when Dammon didn’t return. For a year, he’d been right. Dammon was gone, he wasn’t coming back, the Hells had torn him apart or had broken him. And if he did come back, what would be left? Would the man he cared for even still be in there, somewhere?

Rolan knew he wouldn’t survive that. Not after everything they’d fought against, fought for.

Dammon played with the edge of his cloak, the fine fabric shimmering with each movement. He was lost in his mind again, the revelry echoing in a sea of sound and color, a kaleidoscope of chaos. “Everyone here is a hero, in their own way. Even you, Rolan.”

He snorted, resisting an eye roll at the almost compliment. “Of course I am. My greatest achievements being almost getting killed by goblins and shadow creatures only to end up abused at the hands of a megalomaniac. You have a strange definition of hero.”

Dammon glanced up at his confession and Rolan realized too late what he’d admitted. He couldn’t meet the blacksmith’s gaze, this time he was the one to stare out into the crowd. “Lorroakan did what?”

Shit.

“I… Karlach told me about the aasimar, but not-”

Rolan waved the concern away, trying not to feel embarrassed at how easy it was to talk to Dammon. Like old times, indeed. “It’s fine. I’m fine. If it makes it easier to swallow, I helped to throw him from the Tower.”

“It does not.” Dammon sighed, closing his eyes and breathing slowly as if to calm himself. “If I had known, if you’d told me-”

“It changes nothing. Lorroakan is dead and I’m the new Master of the Tower. It’s taken a lot of work but it is mine now. And the Realms’. Knowledge shouldn’t be hoarded.”

Dammon made a noise low in his throat. A strangled laugh. At least, that’s what he thought it was.

“Is something funny?”

“I didn’t expect you to see the silver lining in such an awful situation. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always had confidence in excess.”

“Confidence or not, I’ve had plenty of practice surviving. We both have, it seems.”

Dammon bit his lip, concentrating on the words for what they were, a truth that was impossible for him to refute. They’d both done quite a bit of surviving over the last few years. Together and not.

And that was the problem, Rolan realized. Despite everything he’d gained, the safety and security of his position, the wealth and knowledge at his fingertips, the wonderful lives that he always swore he’d provide for his siblings, he was still in survival mode. A difficult habit to break, for sure.

“Rolan, I-”

Clearing his throat, Rolan cut Dammon off before he could get anything else out. The last thing he wanted was a heart to heart in such a public place, with the man who he, once upon a time, wanted something more with. “I apologize, but I really must return to the tower. It’s excellent that you’re well, Dammon. Truly. Perhaps, in the future, you can regale me with tales of your fight in Avernus.”

A brief flash of uncertainty crossed Dammon’s face before he hid it behind a smile. The blacksmith was always levelheaded, more so than Rolan ever was.

Rolan turned away, intending to disappear into the crowd without another word, when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks before he could take a single step. “Ah, here you are. The man I was looking for. Where are you off in such a rush?”

Wyll. Of all the people who could’ve caught his escape, it had to be the one whose disappointment would hurt most.

“I’m terribly sorry for leaving so soon… there are things I forgot that must be done, tonight-”

Wyll tsked, shaking his head with a frown on his face. For a brief moment, Rolan felt like a child again, being scolded by the matron of the orphanage he’d been abandoned at. The expression always rankled and this was no exception.

“The Archmage of Baldur’s Gate must stay for one dance. Come, I haven’t seen you in nearly a year and you’ve been standing here stiff as the statue my father said Lia had commissioned of you.”

“She did what?”

“I must insist that you enjoy yourself.” Wyll smiled kindly, nodding towards the dance floor. Rolan’s heart thudded dangerously fast in his chest at the thought of twirling among the other guests. Dancing wasn’t one of his strengths. He couldn’t recall ever having to do so. “Please. Think of it as a favor to an old friend.”

Damn him.

“I’m sure I can enjoy myself quite well with another glass of wine.”

Dammon coughed, covering his mouth with a hand, eyes staring at his feet. Rolan easily saw the smirk he attempted but completely failed to hide. So this was an ambush, was it?

“You mustn’t leave us so soon, Rolan.” Wyll continued as Karlach joined them, the fitted ebony gown looking even more stunning up close. She slipped her hand into Wyll’s, the joy of being to touch her love clear on her face. “There is plenty of fun left to be had.”

“But, I don’t have a partner.” Rolan responded, a smug grin aimed in the direction of the blacksmith. Dammon’s eyes widened slightly, as if he realized where Rolan’s thoughts had gone. If I have to suffer this madness, then so do you.

“Crazy idea!” Karlach interrupted, a grin breaking out across her lips, excitement sparkling in those glowing golden eyes. “You and Dammon could dance. Together. Because if it’s one thing I know after all of this crazy shit, it’s that everyone needs a chance to find that special person that makes them better. And Dammon here,” Karlach nudged him with an elbow, a grin that could light the Hells on her face. “Well, let’s just say he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since we left for Avernus.”

A blush colored Dammon’s cheeks at the revelation. “Karlach!”

“Was it a secret?” She asked, seeming genuinely confused and Rolan might’ve laughed if he wasn’t so embarrassed. “Come on, the two of you are irritatingly obvious and if I have to throw you into a wardrobe until you finally just f-”

“What Karlach means to say is-” Wyll cut her off, tugging her away from the two of them with a laugh. But not before throwing one last look at them. “Enjoy yourselves.”

Karlach’s laughter faded into the murmurs of the crowd, the son of an Archduke and the tiefling barbarian he loved finding the time to enjoy their lives now that the latest crisis had passed. Rolan released a breath, feeling the tightness in his chest ease only a little, a new fear warring inside of him. With a quick glance in Dammon’s direction, he wasn’t surprised to see the blacksmith studying him.

“I think that was the most polite threat I’ve ever had aimed at me.”

Rolan laughed, feeling breathless, and perhaps a little dizzy. It was definitely a threat, but one he might actually not be afraid of the consequences of. “I guess we have only one option then. That is, if you’re amenable to a dance.”

Hells, was he really doing this? He didn’t even really know how to dance a proper waltz.

Dammon raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “Is that what you want?”

The man was so annoyingly handsome, with his light hair cascading around his face and striking blue eyes that haunted Rolan so many nights since their first meeting in Elturel. And here they were, both alive and settled in Baldur’s Gate, surrounded by friends, living the future they’d only dreamed about. Dammon was watching him intently, a soft grin curling his lips in a way that left Rolan’s insides feeling like pudding.

Holding his arm out in invitation, he tried to quell the erratic beat of his heart when Dammon linked their arms together, fingers brushing softly against his forearm.

Dammon was alive. After all of this time. The Hells hadn’t destroyed him, hadn’t changed him. His eyes were still kind, soft, beautiful. And to touch him after everything...

The room was too warm, too crowded, too bright, but when Dammon turned to face him in the midst of it all, everything faded to background noise. The only thing Rolan could see was the hypnotic azure of his eyes, a golden ring around his irises that was the same color as a noonday sun. There was a pink flush to his cheeks, the candles in the chandelier above highlighting the gold in his blond hair. Dammon was ethereal, dazzling, and too good for him.

The orchestra began its song, the music swelling around them as Dammon took the lead, free hand sliding to Rolan’s waist while the other gripped his hand gently. Then, without warning, they were moving, no, gliding, across the dance floor, their feet barely touching the ground as they went. Rolan knew there were eyes on them, he felt them burning into the back of his head, but the look of unadulterated bliss on Dammon’s face kept his attention.

There was nothing more beautiful to him than the sight of Dammon’s smile as they spun in the complicated dance, his face flushed in exhilaration, a laugh on his lips that came out awed, delighted.

“You’re good at this.” Rolan said, forgetting himself in the moment. He felt weightless as Dammon changed direction, stepping even closer. Blush creeped up his neck at the soft brush of their chests and his breath caught in his throat. “Uh, dancing, that is.”

Dammon chuckled, barely able to hide the smile on his face. “You are kind to say that. I admit, it’s been a while.”

The music picked up speed, a tempo that had the rest of the dancers spinning madly around them. Dammon’s gloved fingers tightened on his hip, digging into his waist and if his hands weren’t protected by the thick gloves he wore, his claws would’ve drawn blood. Rolan clenched his hand against Dammon’s shoulder, letting the music distract him from the sudden uncomfortable feeling flooding through him. Closing his eyes, he let Dammon lead him through the dance, each twirl and sway of their bodies, each tap of their feet to the rhythm, each brush against the other’s body nothing short of intoxicating.

Rolan wanted to stay in this moment indefinitely, free of responsibility for the first time in months, with the air rushing by as he realized how much he truly did enjoy dancing. At least, he did in the arms of a man who clearly knew what he was doing.

“Can I be honest with you?”

Dammon’s question pulled Rolan from his mind. He opened his eyes to find his friend watching him intently. His eyes begged for understanding, for a chance to be vulnerable. Rolan, at least, owed him that much. “

After a beat, Dammon realized his breath, tilting his head slightly to watch out for other revelers, focusing on everything but Rolan’s face. Almost as if he couldn’t bear to see his expression at his revelation. “I didn’t believe I would survive the trip to Avernus. I’d accepted that the Hells would be my tomb. That I would never see the sky again. Never see my friends from Elturel again. But whenever Karlach or I started to doubt, the Blade of Frontiers was there filling our heads with hope.”

“That does sound like him. Irritatingly so.”

Dammon laughed, a soft sound that loosened the butterflies in his stomach and he nearly felt as if he’d be sick. “If there is one word to describe Wyll Ravengard, it is hero.”

“A hero, yes, that’s for certain.” Rolan snorted, leaning forward to glance around them. Guests were still coming and going, and would be well into the night, and for a moment he contented himself with watching the glittering jewelry and fabric, the gilded gold and gemstones, the dancing lights above. It was lovely to behold, this moment of peaceful bliss.

“Do you have an issue with heroic types, Rolan?”

The question brought his gaze back to Dammon and the smile that greeted him there. He was teasing, eyes hooded and sparkling with laughter, and they twirled again, in their own world where no one else but them existed. “Depends on the hero we’re talking about. But to answer your question. No, I don’t have an issue with them. Not anymore.”

With a shake of his head, a breathless laugh escaped his lips, but he didn’t once take his eyes from Rolan’s. “Well, that’s excellent news because I’m dancing with my hero. To be fair, I almost feel like I'm dreaming.”

Rolan might’ve scoffed if the admission didn’t shock him. “Me? A hero? I think the Hells scrambled your brain.”

Dammon rolled his eyes, but sidled closer, their bodies touching again as they danced. “You saved us in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. I wouldn’t be here if not for you so… thank you.”

Rolan broke eye contact, staring at where their hands were entwined. Maybe… this was a second chance. Maybe there was more here than either of them expected. Perhaps, together, they could figure out what that was.

With a smile, he returned his gaze to Dammon, thoughts of a divine dream dancing in his head. A dream that he refused to imagine for so long that he craved it as much as he did the wine in his goblet. His hand tangled into the golden locks that brushed Dammon’s shoulders, enjoying the shiver that ran down his spine at the silkiness.

“If you’re staying in the city, I’m certain I’ll need your heroics to save me. From a stuck cork in a wine bottle, perhaps?”

Dammon laughed, the sound a balm for the soul but did little for the erratic beating of his heart in his chest. “I’m sure I can handle that.”

Yes, quite the divine dream.

#my writing #bg3 #bg3 fic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 rolan #bg3 dammon #rolan x dammon #dammon x rolan #wyll ravengard #karlach #wyll x karlach

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suffarustuffaru · 2 months

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What are your least favorite ships? Not counting Subaru x one of the minors (i sadly have seen some around)

whew...... least favorite ships..... now thats a bold question HAH and i may have some. ah. Bold answers hah.

im generally pretty open to most ships, its just a matter of like. either i already liked the ship / was really into the ship or im more neutral about it and you just gotta convince me why i should at least give it a shot or be like "this could be good in certain circumstances". i dont usually care if a ship is toxic or "problematic" per say bc 1. this is rezero and sooo so many ships in this show arent 100% healthy lbr and 2. i will like a ship if its like. complex, and if theres problematic stuff, then its done for a reason - like it's not just there willy nilly. but thats just my personal feelings on it yep!! :o fiction is different from real life and all that.

more under the cut!!

that being said like. you know, kinda like you said - the obvious answers would be like subaru x any minors and just any sort of incest ships bc like. i do not see the point of it. that and you know, like a lot of people, i tend to avoid these sorts of ships with 99.999% of fandoms im in. i aint here for incest or shipping adults with minors. and i know theres like fandoms like game of thrones where this sort of thing IS relevant in the story, but with rezero - like it just is not relevant here and adds nothing unless youre into that. i do get that fictional stuff is different from real life and its not necessarily an indication of someone's character. i also definitely know this bc ive cowritten a gluttony if selfcest fic for this fandom as a very extreme crack treated seriously story hahh. but yeah like. ships between family and adult x minor are Not For Me in this fandom. i dont feel like it adds anything to the story and its also like Really out of character.

granted, i cant really say much on that bc ive written and posted selfcest for this fandom but like. in my defense, i did way too much research for that fic (..............i researched a lot of psychology stuff) and also gluttonybaru is Canonically Not Normal about subaru. the more you think about gluttonybaru the worse he gets HAH. like. dude has canonically kissed subaru via emilia's book of the dead....................

but obviously ofc i do not condone any of this ^^^^ in real life.

anyway on a lighter note!! im not a huge fan of most ships between subaru and *insert a female side character here*. like im not a big fan of like. subaru x anastasia, subaru x priscilla, subaru x elsa, subaru x yorna, subaru x pandora, like... the list can get kinda long bc people in this fandom in certain english spaces like to ship him with like any girl ever, it feels like sometimes. it gets to the point where sometimes i feel like subaru is just the self-insert to be shipped with women that people have the hots for.

like with most content about these sorts of ships, its hard for me to see much point to it - and there IS potential there. there is almost always potential in so many different tropes and ships, and theres some cool fanart in this fandom with these ships!! but you know, i hear about people suggesting ideas with these ships or writing fic about these ships and its just not my cup of tea bc it really sacrifices the characterization of all these women. and elsa is like already sexualized enough okay and its almost never nuanced and taking into account her backstory :( like i could be convinced to ship these ships with like idk 20k to 200k words of relationship and character development, but as it stands i personally really dont like them hah ;-;;; and also priscilla is clearly more into women okay (she canonically talks about how men are only allowed to fantasize about her and nothing more or she'll cut off their heads!!) and anastasia seems more into like julius and priscilla so like. HAH.

subaru x crusch is not something im a big fan of but im pretty open to it hah, i just havent seen much fancontent about them that really piques my interest :,)

anyway i also just. dont like the idea of taking a gay subaru ship and genderbending only one of them due to homophobia. and ill emphasize and underline that last part - due to homophobia - bc ive seen really good genderbend subaru content in this fandom where subarus afab and shipped with like julius or reinhard or something and there was clear effort and passion put into it!! and i do think its interesting thinking about how genderbend aus would affect this sort of thing for sure <3 i really really enjoy seeing the well made genderbend aus in this fandom!!

but i see other people suggesting fic ideas or making fics sometimes where its like fem subaru x male side character or like now-fem side character x subaru but it like its only clearly done bc some people just cant ship a gay ship, they gotta make it straight and then not put effort into thinking how this would change more things. and the female character in the duo now is Especially terribly out of character :(( the homophobia is just so so irritating to me. i go on the fic reddit thread sometimes and i see stuff like. i think once i saw a thread about someone requesting ottosuba and someone else immediately went "oh, with femotto right!!" like. ...... please. they are a gay ship :,,,))))))) let them be gay Sometimes at least!! maybe we can genderbend both of them sometimes??? :,)))

also on a less serious note HAH ok like..... ok hear me out, dont kill me for saying this either, but - fredotto. frederica and otto. and - ok dont get me wrong, i think theyd be really really interesting for multiple reasons, right. and ive seen some cute fancontent on them that i liked a lot!! so i really do think they have lots of potential!! like theres the obvious "otto had a crush on a cat as a child and frederica's a cat demihuman", then theres the other obvious fact of otto and frederica being connected via garfiel being their brother/brother figure, and also like personality/temperament wise they could bounce off of each other in interesting ways but like.

the thing with fredotto is that i feel like in english fandom its treated as the "more likely" otto ship to happen, at times. which is Absurd to me after studying otto's lore way too hard bc not only is this dude just way too obsessed with subaru (like regardless of whether you view it as platonic or romantic or not, ottos like Down Bad either way LMAO i just dont see him having eyes for anyone else at this rate)... but also otto OPENLY ADMITS that he'd be bad in a relationship with a woman. like im really sorry but frederica would probably be Too Good for him. and he would Know That.

otto………. can you specify what “the most important thing” is. like do you mean ONLY your career or—

anyway so its like. you want me to believe that otto "i could never be in a relationship with a woman as i am now" suwen. could date a woman????? right now???? i dont think so LMAOO. like i would feel BAD shipping a woman with otto bc barely anyone deserves otto, ok. idk you might be going "suffaru arent you kinda mean to otto" but like being an otto fan also means being his biggest hater and dude is just super super cringe. and even if he had a crush, the chances of him voicing it is Probably Low.

like ships like fredotto, again, need like idk maybe like a few thousand words of development At Least on both ends, bc frederica?? we barely know anything about her at the moment, so its Really hard to approach a ship like this in an in-depth manner right now. like id love to explore fredotto!! id love to learn more about frederica!! id love to go crazy with this ship!! but yeah its definitely kinda hard bc we barely know anything on frederica :< :( and yeah once again. i think shes too good for otto. i think almost every woman is too good for otto. if youre shipping a woman especially with otto you gotta jump through hoops to Really convince me on this HAH. bc i think shipping him with men is just gonna lead to two different possibilities (codependency. and/or otto trying to femme fatale his way through life 👍)

yeah anyway jokes aside. fredotto at worst feels like just a case of pairing the spares and like Clearly they must only be in a straight ship or something HAH.... like i would love to read/write extensive relationship development on them though ;-;;; they got good potential, youd just have to put in the work for me to Believe that they could happen ;-;;;; but most fredotto english fic content atm is just them already being a Thing in the background like ;-;;; this would Not Happen from either of them without development!!!

also i have some fredotto tumblr posts floating around with what i Think would be fun to do with their dynamic…. idk where they are rn hah but yep i think they got potential :,) !!

anyway HAH i hope you did not mind reading about my least favorite ships in this fandom bc this is everything thats coming to my mind now 👍

#rezero #re:zero #ask #i hope all of my explanations here made sense!!! i mean no offense with any of this these are my opinions!!

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 2 years

Text

Never Quite Enough

Billy Russo x reader

Warnings: sadness, depression, betrayal, mentions of sex, paaaiiinnn

Summary: You find out that Billy made a bet.

A/N: read at your own risk. Happy ending not guaranteed. @idaofinfinity ❤

Title comes from one of my favourite songs, Redecorate by Twenty-one Pilots.

Also, I didn't re-read, so 🤞

If you could put a finger on where it all went wrong, you'd probably point at the Fourth of July brunch party.

It was when you decided that maybe you liked Billy a little more than normal. That maybe his swift kisses and the gentle trail of his fingers over your back made you feel like there was something on fire inside of you, alive, tingling... fluttering.

Your heart, learning how to beat for someone else, to sputter and kick all from the heat of his eyes and the upwards tilt of his mouth.

Only to be crushed a month later at the Fire Cheif's Charity Gala. It had been so unassuming too, you hadn't meant to eavesdrop, you just didn't realise how unnoticed you'd truly gone.

"At the end of the month, the price is doubled. Two hundred g's if he lasts that long."

You'd briefly wondered what you were hearing.

"No way Russo can last that long. I thought he'd be tapping out after the first month, but the man's stubborn when it comes to bets." Someone else says.

Billy? He'd made a bet?

"Surely she's not that bad, maybe just a little talkative?"

Everyone in the group laughs.

"Nuh uh, annoying. She's annoying and the longer he puts up with her, the more money he gets."

Billy? Your Billy?

You finally decide to make yourself known to the conversation.

"Is that true?" You say, finally moving around so that everyone can see you.

Their expressions of shock confirm everything you need to know.

"Is it?" You say, turning to the nearest man, Andrew, you think his name was.

He doesn't speak.

"You made a bet?" You pry, "To see how long Billy could stay with me? Because- because I'm annoying?"

No one answers but your heart is crumbling to pieces in your chest, grinding into sand when you hear someone behind you say your name.

Not just someone- him, holding two champagne flutes in his hands, after he'd kissed the top of your head a few minutes ago and said he'd be right back.

His expression is one of denial, a subtle shake of his head.

"Is that true? You bet on me?" You ask him, backing away as he takes a step closer. Your voice doesn't shake, but every memory of him in your head is slowly being tainted, shock, anger hurt- so much hurt- bleeding in.

A server passes a little too close behind you, and it brings you back into the moment, realising where you are, and who you're with, slowly beginning to understand that you were not among friends.

"Wow," Walter says with humour in his tone after you walk away, "I guess she can be shocked speechless."

You look down for a second, breathing out a sigh, before you turn and walk away from him.

Billy hisses through his teeth angrily.

"You're all fucking fired." He says, slamming down the glasses of champagne onto the nearest table, letting them splash around haphazardly, as he chases after you.

Truthfully, Billy had been enamoured with you from the first kiss.

The group sits in stunned silence for a long while after.

He hadn't known you for long enough before that first kiss, only a few babbling interactions that made him think you were a bit chatty, but he'd definitely exaggerated the first time he'd spoken about you to his friends.

It's how the bet had started.

"I bet you can't last a month with her." Andrew suggested.

Billy had groaned in displeasure.

Someone else had offered to double it if he could last two months.

Billy had smiled, shook hands, and told them he'd see them in two months, 200k richer.

It had never occurred to him at the time, that this was a terrible thing to do, that this could backfire in his face so badly.

You weren't trying to escape him, you were just, done. You'd collected your coat from the front, and you'd stepped out into the cold streets of New York to hail a cab, aware that he was chasing after you.

It was occurring to him now, as he chased after you, his heart being pushed into his throat, that he was a very bad person.

It had turned out, that the bad things people said about you, Billy had said about you too.

Why was that surprising? It shouldn't be. You were annoying, talkative, needy, not even that attractive-

He calls your name and your thoughts freeze.

You sigh.

"Look, it's okay," you start, desperate for him to leave you alone, "You don't have to- It's okay."

But it wasn't okay, you felt like you were about to burst. Going home like this was probably a bad idea.

"It wasn't like that." Billy says behind you, and you let out another long sigh, "I never wanted to hurt you, and... I wasn't going to break up with you after the two months because I really like being with you." He walks around till he's facing you, reaching for your hand, but you tug it away in the last second.

"Please." He murmurs, his voice cracking, "Give me a chance to explain. Please."

You looked into his eyes, and you realised that you couldn't feel a thing, your mind had numbed every emotion until there was an emptiness inside you.

Behind him, a cab comes to a stop.

"Why would I ever trust another word that leaves your mouth, Billy?" You spit at him, before moving around him and stepping into the cab.

Charming you had been easy. He was Billy Russo after all. You'd gotten a little too tipsy the first time you'd met, and though you insisted you were fine, Billy had still persisted in taking you home. You apologised the entire way, citing the rough work week as a catalyst for your alcoholism. He'd only reassured you, walking you to your door, one hand around your hip when you wobbled a bit too much for his liking.

You give the cab driver your address, not even bother to look back at your ex-boyfriend as you drive away.

He'd sneaked his number into your phone, with a firm command to let him know you were okay in the morning.

He hadn't gotten a text till early afternoon.

Hi Billy, Y/N here, I'm alright, didn't die.

Only a week later and you were sitting on his lap, kissing him in his car.

He couldn't resist smiling.

How could one person's mouth feel so good?

The first kiss between you, but you had his hair gripped in your hands, pressing your body against his so forcefully like you wanted to be one with him or something.

Giggling shyly after you pulled away, apologising for the enthusiasm, as if Billy hadn't decided that he was all in the moment you moaned hotly into his mouth.

It was easy to be around you. You never pushed him to share. Your talking could fill the space for both of you and he never felt pressured to respond.

The way you looked at him when he was inside you for the first time had taken his breath away. Your head on his shoulder as you sank down onto his cock. Your bare bodies on top of your sheets, his hands gripping the sides of your ass, daring you to leave him.

"Please." You'd whispered so meekly against his skin. Your eyes blissed and watery and filled with desperation. His heart had hammered, his cock got stiffer. He'd never seen a woman so pliant above him. He was usually attracted to fierce women, beautiful and deadly.

You were... soft... like gentle rain on a sunny day.

You melted into him the way cotton candy melts on the tongue, sweet, and Billy found himself desperate for more.

Getting to know you hadn't been as bad as everyone had claimed. You were just you, a little talkative, a little eccentric, you smiled when he spoke, and you grabbed his hand when something excited you or scared you and Billy was left to wonder which it was because your face would never give it away. You were jumpy too, loud sounds, or people getting too close.... it made him curious about your past.

But it had only been a month, and for all the things you said, you never spoke about that.

He was honestly just going to date you, pretend to be annoyed about it, win the bet, and then win the girl.

But as he watched you drive away, your hands covering your face, Billy realised that he should have come clean from the second he realised he had real feelings for you.

You wanted to waste away. To stop having to exist so that you wouldn't know what the pain of this felt like. Every interaction was now tainted. Tainted with the knowledge that you were annoying. No, even worse, you were so annoying you'd been made the punchline of a joke.

He didn't know what to do. He tried to call, but you didn't answer. He left voice messages, rambling and incoherent, the most he's probably ever spoken; but if he were you, he'd delete them without a second thought.

A joke you thought had been one of the happiest times of your life... but it had been used as fuel for someone's laughter.

You make it home, sighing. You lean against the door, sliding down, already too exhausted to do anything. The floor is cold, but you think it's probably what you deserve, lying on the floor at the front of your apartment.

Billy had been so welcoming, so friendly, he'd made you feel like your quirks were amazing. But you should have known.... you should have fucking known.

You were not amazing in any aspect.

Your phone won't stop ringing. It rings until it dies, you feel like doing the exact same.

You just wanted to waste away.

Instead you sit up. Your body on autopilot, you kick your shoes off and pull the tight fabric of your dress from your skin.

It's maybe two in the morning, you'd been lying on the floor for hours. You manage to be able to draw yourself a bath and you slip inside.

You wash it away, any trace of his touch from your skin, your hair, your mouth, you wash it away with a tired sigh.

You lay in bed next, and you can still smell him, but you don't have the energy to change the sheets.

You hear someone moving in the apartment upstairs, a few footsteps here and there. The tinkle of a cat's collar as it pads after its owner and you can still smell him like he's here with you and it reminds you that he never wanted to be here in the first place.

You can only get a few bites of food down each time before your stomach turns. Forcing yourself to eat more makes things worse. So you only take small bites, and when your stomach tells you to stop, you do.

You sleep on the couch instead.

You gather his things into a little box, put it at the door, you'll give it back to him when you can. You decide to take a week off from work, telling your boss that you caught a really aggressive flu and you're highly contagious.

The cat from the apartment above scratches at your window. You let him in so that he can wreak havoc, and also make you feel a little better. Should you adopt a cat? No. It didn't work into your plan of wasting away. You'd settle for- you check his collar- Butter for now.

In some ways, you think it might be true.

"What kind of name is Butter?" You ask the orange cat.

He meows in answer.

When there's a knocking at your door, you assume it's Butter's owner looking for the mischievous cat.

You should have checked first before you opened the door.

You don't say anything, but your semi- okay mood drops away.

He looks dishevelled, maybe a little, but you really don't care.

For someone as smart and successful as he is, he really sucks at getting the message.

"Please, please let me explain." He says at the door. His eyes are so dark, glittering like gems.

They're beautiful, but they're a lie.

"Sorry, Billy, you'll just have to settle for one month's winnings because I'm not interested in continuing to pretend."

"That's not-"

"Anyway," you reach for the little box you left at the door, extending it to him, "This is just some stuff of yours that I had. I'll see you at work, Mister Russo."

His voice cracks when he says your name. You pretend you don't hear it, closing the door in his face softly, pressing your forehead to the door.

"Please," he says to you through the door, "I'm sorry, I never meant for it to happen this way. I liked you. I really liked you."

You take a deep breath, mustering the strength to speak through the door.

"Go tell it to your therapist." Is all you say, before you turn and walk away.

#billy russo #ben barnes #billy russo x reader #my writings #billy russo x female reader #the punisher

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amethystina · 3 months

Text

Fanfic Tag Thingie

I am choosing to be tagged by @miss-ingno because this sounded like fun and I need an escape from the realisation that I am literally on the edge of burnout and my life is a mess. So here we go! :D

How many works do you have on AO3?

What's your total AO3 word count?

2 237 636

... and I have around 200k more just sitting in my WIP folders. I can't write short things x'D

What fandoms do you write for?

Right now it's mainly various Kdramas (The Devil Judge, Black Knight, plus my bold venture into Strangers From Hell) but, before that, it was mostly The Losers, Marvel, Pacific Rim, and Teen Wolf. With the occasional detour here and there.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Who Holds the Devil (The Devil Judge, Gahan) at 3 390

Tech Support (MCU, Winteriron) at 3 217

Autonomy (MCU, Winteriron) at 3 137

I Won't Hold My Breath (MCU, Winteriron) at 2 914

Conflict of Interest (MCU, Winteriron) at 2 173

It's honestly a little wild to me that Who Holds the Devil has somehow managed to race to the top despite the other fics being at least four years older (sometimes more). And for a much bigger fandom, at that. You guys are not fucking around.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! Every single one if I can, though it can sometimes take a while before I get to all of them. And I just can't help it, I guess? Partly because I want to show that I've read the comment and appreciate the time and effort that went into writing it, but also because it often gives me an opportunity to talk about my writing and the choices I made in the fic.

And, apparently, the fact that I reply to all comments has become a bit of a thing at least when it comes to Who Holds the Devil, where readers will search through my replies looking for tidbits and extra information about the fic, characters etc.

(you guys are so weird and so dedicated and I love all of you xD)

What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Grief (The Losers (Comics)). Because it is, predictably, about grief and how to keep living after someone you love has died. Though I would argue that the ending has a hint of hopefulness to it since it's also about moving on from said grief?

But yeah. Definitely that one since it's Major Character Death that I choose not to fix.

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

Literally every single fic except for the one above xD I LOVE my happy endings, okay? And it's kind of difficult to rank them since it depends a lot on the setting, characters, and the personal preference of the reader.

Heck, I even managed to give my Strangers From Hell fanfic a sugary sweet happy ending! That's dedication right there!

Do you get hate on fics?

Yeah, from time to time. I've gotten everything from childish insults calling me a bad writer to backhanded comments questioning my choices, writing style, grammar, spelling, dedication, intelligence, etc. I've even received more targeted, personal hate where people I thought I could trust were making fun of me behind my back in private chat rooms.

Most recently, though, it's less hate and more the "I simply must tell you that you're not writing this fic as I want you to write it" type of deal. Often paired with "It's my personal opinion and I have every right to express it." Which, fair enough. But that means I get to do the same, which I've noticed is something those kinds of commenters kind of hate. Especially when I point out that they've now made me a lot less keen to write the fanfic they're supposedly so fond of.

Turns out people don't like being reminded that their actions have consequences.

All in all, though, I've learned to just delete the comments I find too offensive or hateful.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh god no. Sex scenes are the bane of my existence and I spend the entire time writing them looking like this: ლ(ಥ益ಥლ)

I've been told I'm not bad at writing them (the ones in Until Death Do Us Unite were quite appreciated) but anything involving sex or sexual tension is just a nightmare for me. Even more so when it's supposed to be kinky or extra spicy.

So why is one of the main ships I write for right now clearly a Dom/sub ship, you ask?

Because I'm an idiot. That's why.

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you've written?

I rarely do. The only crossover I've written is Resurrection where Derek Hale ends up in Purgatory together with Dean Winchester and they fight their way back to the world of the living (so Derek replaces Benny, basically).

I also have this one random fic (yet unposted) where Tony Stark and Eddie Brock are a couple (from the MCU and Venom movies, that is). But they're technically both in the Marvel universe so I'm not sure if that counts?

Long story short, crossovers aren't really my thing. I rarely write or read them.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of, no.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! Several, in fact, from various fandoms. Mostly into Russian, Spanish, or Mandarin. And I am honestly so flattered every time someone asks me if they can translate one of my fics 💜

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not, no. I made plans to write a fic with a friend once, but we never got to the point of actually writing it. And, in all honesty, I think that might be just as well. I'm a perfectionist and writing a fic with me would probably be very exhausting for the other party xD

What's your all-time favourite ship?

I really don't know. Like, I'm tempted to say Jensen and Cougar from The Losers, or maybe Destiel or Stony, but I think that's partly founded in comfort and nostalgia. My ships change as I do and I really can't pinpoint an all-time favourite.

But CURRENT favourite? Definitely Kang Yo Han and Kim Ga On because they present such a wonderful challenge to someone like me, who loves to go real deep into character motivations, behaviour etc. They're a delight.

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

I'm not sure. I plan to finish all the ones I've started posting but there might be some in my folders that I'll decide to abandon if I truly can't revive my interest in them. But, usually, I can.

And, speaking of that, to all my MCU peeps (if there are any of you still out there): I know you've waited six years for the Tech Support sequel but it's finally been written and just needs to be edited. It's coming, my darlings. I promise.

Basically, when I say I'll do something, I will do it — even if it takes me six goddamn years, apparently x'D

What are your writing strengths?

Characters, tone, and emotions. I'm good at capturing the essence of the characters and write them in a way that feels believable and close to canon. I'm also really good at making people feel things with my writing, I've been told. According to testimonials, my readers can often see what's happening play out inside their heads like a movie, and feel the characters' emotions as they're living through them.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Aside from the aforementioned sex scenes? I think it's my inability to keep things short. I use a lot of unnecessary words and could definitely get better at being more concise. In a similar vein, I sometimes focus so much on the details with lengthy, wordy descriptions that I accidentally forget about the big picture, which is understandably confusing to my readers.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've done it from time to time (since my man Cougar speaks Spanish) but I'm pretty careful with it. And if it's longer sentences I always make sure to double-check with a native speaker.

First fandom you wrote for?

Teen Wolf! Which, admittedly, was because I didn't care if I fucked it up x'D I enjoyed the first two seasons of Teen Wolf, make no mistake! But I chose it mainly because it wasn't the ship I was the most emotionally invested in and so I figured it wouldn't feel as bad if it turned out that I sucked. Luckily enough for me, I didn't xD

Favourite fic you've written?

Just like with the all-time favourite ship, I'm not sure if I can answer this one. Because I like all of my fics but in different ways.

I'll always have a fondness for that first huge Teen Wolf series I wrote, for example, and had a lot of fun with Autonomy because of the world-building. Same goes with Hyperborean. But Who Holds the Devil is definitely my favourite when it comes to character work. While Allies is my favourite when it comes to tone, since it ended up just the way I wanted it to. And Until Death Do Us Unite was an absolute BLAST because I got to write horror and some really weirdass shit, which I've never done before.

So, truly, I can't say. Each one I've written has something I cherish and while some definitely stand out more than others, I wouldn't be able to just pick one.

___

And that's that! I tag whoever wants to do it! :D

#Amethystina Does Tag Games #Fanfic Tag #I know the sex scene thing might surprise some of you #If you've read Until Death Do Us Unite or Gravitational Pull #But I'm dead serious #I have no idea what's sexy or not #So sex scenes are a nightmare x'D #And they take FOREVER to write because of that #I am DREADING all the sex scenes I'm going to have to write in my various Devil Judge fanfics #But I'm sure I'll get through them somehow x'D

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