#I've been writing fic again and this is the sort of vibe i like to go for

[1800-fight-me]

Dark Devotion

Vampire!Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader

Rating: E (Explicit) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Once again, gothic horror romance vibes. The monster gets the girl. Fear, horror, and explicit PiV sex. Slightly non-con as Aemond compels reader, but reader definitely consents (you'll understand when you read it).

Word count: About 5.2k

Synopsis: Running from your old life somehow leads you directly into the arms of a monster, one that shows you pleasures you never could've dreamed of.

Author’s note: I know I have been completely MIA and inconsistent but tbh my life has been incredibly stresseful and I lost all motivation to write for a while. This is the first thing I've written in months that I am genuinely proud of. I even made a whole ass moodboard for it! I truly hope y'all enjoy. Happy Halloween! P.S. Comments will make my entire day and earn you a kiss on the forehead!

I am no longer using a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on!

Aemond Masterlist

There was a phrase you heard quite a few times in your village as a little girl, ‘the night is dark and full of terrors’. Your mum would always roll her eyes and mumble something about ‘religious fanatics’. You were always inclined to agree with her, that is until this night. 

This night truly was dark and full of terrors. 

Thunder cracked loud enough that your ears rang as rain poured something awful. The harsh droplets pelted at your skin and the sky split in half as a lightning bolt landed merely a stone’s throw before you. 

Your horse neighed in panic loud enough that you could hear him over the bellowing wind as he reared back on his hind legs, causing you to slip and fall off and land directly on your backside in the mud. 

You gasped in shock and did not even have time to call out before your horse bolted away, leaving you drenched and muddy on the forest floor. 

Instead of crying you merely turned your head up towards the sky, embraced the pain of the harsh rain against your cheeks, and screamed at the heavens in frustration. 

You managed to pull yourself up before the mud sucked you in below the surface of the world, adjusted the hood of your cloak once again over your head, and trudged forward. 

Your boots sloshed through the dampened forest floor and you thought that perhaps the naysayers in your village were right. Maybe the gods were punishing you for your promiscuity. 

When you laid with the soldier passing through your village and allowed him to take your maidenhood, you were convinced there would be no consequences. 

You were no one, nothing, and not having your maidenhood intact changed nothing other than the subject the gossipers in town clucked about. 

It seemed it also changed the gods’ vengeance towards you. 

This night was dark and full of terrors, that much you could sense as fear shot down your spine. 

You increased your pace, fearing the creatures that could be lurking in the woods, desperate for some sort of shelter. The feeling of eyes watching you from time to time during your journey became steady and unceasing. You felt uneasy, the hair on the back of your neck stood straight up, and you knew it had nothing to do with the cold in the air. 

Eventually you had no other choice but to ignore the feeling, having looked behind and around you dozens of times in search of your stalker to no avail.

You trudged along for what felt like hours, not once finding anything that could serve as a temporary shelter. That was, until you somehow stumbled upon a near debilitated castle. 

As it came into view, you shuddered at the feeling the crumbling building invoked in you, but any shelter was better than none at this point. 

Stone walls with vines nearly overtaking them towered over you as you rushed forward towards the large wooden doors. You looked up and thought you saw a pair of gemstone blue eyes glowing in the dark from a window at the top of the tower, but you blinked and they were gone. 

You shook your head, sure your tired eyes were playing tricks on you, and reached for the handle of the door. 

You took a shuddering breath and pulled the heavy door open. Shock filled your very being as you were overcome with warmth and light. 

While the outside of the building was shabby, the inside was magnificent. It was well kept and well lit. A home fit for a king, with a grand staircase was directly in front of you and an elderly man in a servant’s outfit was walking down it.

“Young lady! Who are you and how dare you come into this home uninvited?” the man chided as he descended the last of the steps and stood before you. 

“I-I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t know anyone lived here, I was merely searching for shelter from the awful storm,” you said, eyes wide- portraying how stunned you felt. 

The man’s stern facade crumbled and he smiled warmly at you, you let go of your held breath and managed a small smile back at him. 

“Ah, yes, I tend to forget the master’s illusion on the outside of the building. He does it to keep the unwanted away,” he said. 

“Illusion? Like magic?” you asked. 

“Well, yes, of course. Come in, let’s get you out of the cold. You must be miserable,” the man said as he ushered you inside and closed the door behind you. 

“Alfred,” you heard the voice of a man call out from another room. His voice caused a shiver to go down your spine. 

“Yes, sire,” Alfred, the man before you replied, and the man with the shiver-inducing voice came into view as he rounded the corner and came into the entryway where you stood. 

Your breath caught once again as you saw the most striking and beautiful man you’d ever seen in your life. 

He was tall, nearly impossibly so, with long silver hair that fell nearly to his waist. He moved with the grace and control of a lethal killer. His facial features were sharp, as if he was cut from marble. His skin of pale white only emphasized his most distinct feature, an eye of sapphire that covered part of a scar that cut across his forehead and cheek. His remaining true eye was also a distinct blue color, nearly matching the sapphire one perfectly.  

Ethereal was the word that arose in your mind as he strode towards you, amusement twinkling in his eye as he took you in. 

“And who might you be, lovely?” he asked. 

After entirely too long of a pause, in which his amusement appeared to only grow as his beautiful lips curved into a smirk, you managed to stutter out your name. 

He repeated it back to you, leaning closer towards you, and your heartbeat sped into a gallop. He titled his head, almost as if he could hear it. You dismissed the thought, deeming it absurd. 

“My name is Aemond. Welcome to my home. Tell me, how exactly did you manage to find your way here?” he asked curiously. 

You leaned in closer with him, not realizing that your face was merely inches from his at this point, utterly drawn in and intoxicated by his presence. 

You were filled with a desire to please him and as a result you began rambling. “I was attempting to move away from my village. Take off and find a new life, but then there was a series of unfortunate events including running for my life, becoming irretrievably lost, and then becoming something I’m certain looks similar to a drowned rat after my horse was startled by the storm and I stumbled around for hours attempting to find shelter.” 

“Oh you poor sweet thing. Let us take care of you,” he purred and rather than set you at ease, something in the words made you feel as if your misadventures were far from over. And yet, you were entranced by his gaze and could not so much as force yourself to look away or take a step back. 

His smile grew wider as you nodded meekly. 

Finally, Aemond released you from his gaze as he turned to Alfred and asked him to fetch the maid Portia to assist you in cleaning yourself up. 

Before you knew it, you were being ushered up the stairs and into a room you could only assume was a guest room by an elderly woman with a sweet round face. 

She helped you to remove your muddy sodden clothes and you groaned in relief as you slid into a warm bath. You smiled warmly at her as you scrubbed your body and she cleaned your hair, all the while chattering to you about her love for her husband Alfred and their happiness working for Master Aemond. 

“Can you tell me about him?” you asked curiously as she helped you to dress. 

The dress she helped you into was of crushed velvet, sapphire blue like the gemstone in Aemond’s eye that had so caught your attention. The dress had a corset and plunging neckline that emphasized your curves. 

Portia hummed as she led you to sit down and began working on your hair. 

“He is a bit odd, yes. Intimidating and perhaps even scary to some, but he has a good heart. And is loyal and protective to those he cares for. He has treated my husband and I very kindly,” she said with a caring smile. 

Her words put your heart more at ease, still slightly worried about the new surprising circumstances you had found yourself in. 

“Does he typically extend that same kindness to visitors?” you asked, nervousness coloring your tone a bit. 

“It depends on the intentions of the visitor. A sweet thing like you? You’ll be well taken care of,” she said. 

“Does he often have ill-intentioned visitors?” you asked curiously. 

“It does happen from time to time, those in the nearest village hold hate for him in their hearts. Old prejudices I suppose, but no matter!” she said, changing the subject and her tone as she turned you around to view yourself in the floor length mirror. 

“Take a look at yourself, my dear. You look stunning, see? All the horror of the day washed completely away,” she said soothingly as she ran her hands up and down your upper arms. 

Your breath caught in your throat as you saw yourself. She was right, you’d never seen yourself look so beautiful before. You actually looked fit to reside in such a lovely home, unlike before, unlike any other time in your life. You’d never worn such a beautiful and expensive dress. You ran your hands across the soft fabric, up your torso and thought that it was the perfect inviting dress for someone else to touch you in. 

Images flashed in your head of the soldier you allowed to touch you, never while you wore something so pretty, but pleasurable nonetheless. Romps in the hay, literally as the two of you would often meet in your father’s barn and he taught you the art of a pleasure you’d never known before. 

You were not disillusioned about it, you knew there was no love between the two of you. You knew he would one day have to move on without you, but when he left town just as others found out about your affair, you were frustrated at being left alone with the consequences of a choice the both of you made. 

The townspeople, the people you grew up with, turned on you and called you a whore. Even your own father fell victim to their hateful whispers about you and kicked you out of his home. Only your mother helped you, sneaking you out in the dead of night and gifting you her horse to aid you on your journey into another life. 

You shook your head slightly in an attempt to clear those thoughts, the memories of both pleasure and pain, and smiled at your reflection. 

“Thank you, Portia, your efforts are greatly appreciated,” you said as you turned and embraced her in a warm hug. 

She squeezed you before releasing you and leading you out of the guest room and back down the grand staircase. 

You followed her into an elegant dining room, a fireplace lit - the fire crackling and warming the spacious room. The table was large enough to seat ten people, but only two place settings were set next to one another, somehow creating an intimate dinner even in such a large room. 

Aemond sat at the end of the table, and stood as he saw you. 

“Good evening, you look magnificent,” he said, voice as velvety as your dress. 

You did your best to hide how his words flustered you as you smiled softly and curtseyed. 

“Thank you, sire. But, this is too much. I did not mean to interrupt your your evening so and I-I’ll never be able to repay you-” 

He reached a hand out and you placed your hand in his. At the brush of your skin against his, your words fell off. 

His hands were cold, and yet- the mere brush of his fingers against yours filled your body with heat. 

“There is no repayment necessary, the pleasure of your company will be more than enough if you would please dine with me,” he said. 

“Of course,” you breathed out as you allowed him to guide you to your seat. 

Your nose was filled with the aroma of a hearty stew in a bowl before you and your stomach growled in anticipation. 

You gave Aemond a sheepish look even as he chuckled. 

“Eat, of course. You must be near ravenous. I’m familiar with the feeling,” he said, and his voice dipped lower. His eyes appeared to flash at his words, causing your heartbeat to jump, but you were far too hungry to think about it and played it off as a trick of the light, a reflection of the fire in his gemstone eye. 

You tucked in and struggled to hold in your groan of satisfaction at the taste of the soup. 

Aemond poured you both glasses of red wine and you thanked him as he handed you yours. 

“Are you not going to eat?” you asked him, suddenly feeling self conscious that you were shoveling mouthfuls of stew and bread into your mouth while he merely sipped on his wine and watched you. 

“Oh I intend to. Just not right now, I had what you might call a late afternoon snack,” he said and something about his words had a chill run up your spine, despite the warmth of both the room and the soup in your belly. 

“You told me of your journey here, but tell me about yourself. I find myself fascinated by the entirety of you,” he practically purred, and you immediately forgot your apprehension at his previous words. 

“I feel the same way about you,” you replied breathily. 

He smiled, a full glorious smile that made you feel as if the storm had ended and the sun had come out. But there was a glint, a sharpness, and with a start you realized his canine teeth were elongated. 

He must have seen the fear in your eyes as he reached over and grasped your hand gently. You felt that on fire feeling in your skin once again, but also felt all the fear wash out of your body. 

“Tell me about you,” he requested again, voice soft and low, a tone that caused you to wonder if that was how he spoke to his lovers late at night. 

You were filled with compliance, with a desire to please him, and so you did as you were asked, and told him everything about yourself. You told him of your childhood, your parents, your likes and interests, your dreams for a better life. 

He watched you with rapt attention, murmuring questions to prompt you to further share with him about yourself. And, oh gods, when he looked at you that way, his sapphire gaze so intense, you wanted to share yourself completely. 

“What had you so desperately searching for a new life?” he finally asked. 

So you explained, shamefully, how you laid with a man and became the village whore for merely choosing your own pleasure over mediocrity for once in your life. 

You looked down at your empty bowl, toying with the spoon, while you waited for his reaction, for his disgust and dismissal of you. 

Long cold fingers gently grasped your chin and lifted your head up to meet his gaze. 

You were enraptured by his undivided attention. 

“There’s no need to listen to the opinions of small minded individuals. Pleasure is nothing to feel guilty about. Especially when there are so, so many pleasures in life to discover,” he said and the soft lilt of his voice along with the dark tone made your toes curl. 

You wanted to experience unknown pleasures, you wanted him to teach you, to explore with you. 

You bit your lip, nodding slightly in agreement, and his hand slid up from your chin to curl around your jaw. His thumb stroked the apple of your cheek and you shivered. 

He pulled your bottom lip from between your teeth and you waited, nearly shaking with anticipation, for him to press his lips against your own, to replace the pressure with some of his own, and he smirked as if he knew what you were thinking, but pulled back. 

He sat back in his chair, far enough from you that you no longer felt intoxicated by his scent and presence, and you let out a soft breath of disappointment. 

Amusement and desire both seemed to dance in his gaze. You took a sip of wine, looking away from him to clear your head, and took a breath to steady yourself. 

“Will you tell me about yourself as well, sire?” you asked. 

“Aemond,” he corrected. “Please call me Aemond, sweet one.” 

“Aemond, I’d love to hear about you,” you requested once more. 

It seemed he had the same response to hearing his name drip from your lips as you had when he said yours, for his eyelid fluttered closed and his hand clenched into a fist, but the next breath he had composed himself once more and nodded. 

“My life… it feels as if it has been an eternity. A lonely one at that,” he said and this time you reached over and took his hand, holding it in support. 

“I was treated as if I were unwanted from the moment I was born, my eye taken hatefully when I was merely a boy, and then as a man I was deemed a monster. I was driven out of my home, my family did naught to protect me, and it took me far too long to find a place to call my own. Still, others that encounter me call me a monster and I find myself alone most of the time,” he explained and your heart hurt for him. 

“Why do others call you a monster? Your gemstone eye?” you asked as you leaned closer to him once again. 

This time you leaned in and placed your hand on his face, tracing the length of his scar with your thumb as you gently held his cheek. 

“Hmmm,” he hummed in a noncommittal sort of agreement. 

“I think it’s beautiful,” you said, your voice so soft it was practically a whisper. 

It was evident he heard you as he practically nuzzled his face into your hand. He gripped your wrist and ran his nose from the palm of your hand to the inside of your wrist, breathing in deeply. 

His actions, though gentle and loving, caused an inexplicable feeling of fear to drip down your spine, particularly when his lips pressed against your skin. You’d never realized what a vulnerable place in the body the wrist was, a bundle of veins, until Aemond pressed his perfectly curved lips against it. 

But as soon as it came, the fear was gone as Aemond looked up at you and you met his gaze once more. 

You reached out and pushed his silver hair out of his face where it had fallen and tucked it behind his ear. 

His long gorgeous hair was so soft you yearned to run your fingers through it and learn of his response, learn of the noises he would make when in pleasure. 

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, appearing as entranced by you as you were by him. 

You could do nothing to hide the way his words flustered you, as the weight of his attention had you pinned down and unable to move. 

He caught your hand and held it in place against his hair. 

As he leaned closer to you, his movements were slow and deliberate, like a predator trying not to spook his prey. 

Your heart began to sprint and you were certain you would never be able to slow it again. 

His sharp nose brushed against yours, and the anticipation was so strong you forgot how to breathe. 

Aemond hummed softly before he finally, finally pressed his lips to yours. 

As his lips moved against yours you felt inherently changed, different. It felt as if a shadowed hand with sharp talons dripping with blood had reached through your chest and gripped your heart and claimed it. 

You were his, his, and you were prepared to swear to him your utter devotion, your life. You didn’t quite understand what you were experiencing, but you didn’t care as he deepened the kiss. As he claimed your mouth you gasped, letting out a small whimper. This gave him the in he needed to slide his tongue against yours. 

You shuddered, gripping his hair tighter as he lifted you with an ease that should not be possible and sat you atop his lap. 

Your dress prevented you from straddling him like you wished, but you could not complain as he gripped your waist tightly. You ran your hands from his face and his hair to his shoulders, down to his arms, gripping him tightly and kissing him deeply, with everything you had, with utter devotion. 

You let out a small yelp of surprise as your tongue explored his mouth and brushed against something entirely too sharp. 

He tore his lips from yours and met your gaze. Your chest brushed against his as it heaved while you attempted to catch your breath. 

Fangs, you recognized. Those were fangs in his mouth, made for sinking his teeth in. 

You could not discern how you felt, what you thought, for the utter fire for him burned through you. 

He traced your jaw, then the line of your neck down to your collarbone, slowly, achingly slowly as you wanted nothing more than for him to kiss you again. Then, his lips followed the same journey his fingers had just taken. You shivered, your head falling back as your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Tell me you are mine,” Aemond ordered, and his breath against the sensitive skin of your neck made you shiver. 

“I’m yours,” you replied breathily and you could feel his smile against your throat. 

“Tell me you want me,” he ordered. 

“I want you,” you whined, and his grip on you tightened nearly to the point of pain, but you could not focus on that. No, not when you felt those fangs graze against that most sensitive spot on your neck. 

The night is dark and full of terrors, the words rang through your head once more and your breath stopped as you realized you had fallen into this beautiful monster’s trap. Fear shot down your spine and made your body tense and freeze. 

“Hmm,” he hummed in reassurance as he pressed a kiss against your vulnerability. 

Your body responded immediately, you relaxed completely, becoming nearly ragdoll like in his arms. He lifted you, holding you as he stood, and walked into the next room, a sitting room of sorts, and laid you on a chaise. 

“Aemond,” you breathed out. 

He kneeled next to where you laid. 

“I care for you,” he said as he brushed a hand across your cheek, “I don’t wish to compel you.” 

He kissed you once more. At the feeling of his lips against yours, you were reborn. You had control over your body once again and you yanked him atop of you, deepening the kiss. 

He groaned into your mouth, and pulled back slightly, causing you to whine in protest. 

“You truly want me?” he asked, his tone sounding surprised. 

Your survival instinct had long since gone quiet as a result of you continuously ignoring its protests. 

“Yes,” you said and pulled his lips to yours again. 

“Perhaps we can make a deal then,” he said, trailing his lips down once more to his favorite spot on your neck, where your veins were most vulnerable.

“If you give me what I want, I will reward you with everything you desire and more,” he said and you again felt the sharpness of those fangs. 

You let out a shuddering breath. 

“Yes,” you agreed, all logic disappearing as desire overtook your very being. 

And you knew. You knew and he knew, that his compelling magic was gone, the desire you felt for him this entire time was real and true, not due to compelling whatsoever. There was something more, something deeper at play here, and your choice was your own as you chose him, completely. 

And with that, he groaned lowly and sank his fangs into your neck.  

Sharp indescribable pain is what you expected but instead it was like a dull buzz of pain nearly overwhelmed by pleasure. 

He ran his hands down your body, ensuring he paid special attention to your breasts and you gasped his name. 

Aemond’s hand slipped up your dress, inching up your burning hot skin, and finding the wetness between your legs that awaited him. 

You whimpered softly as he brushed your panties aside and finally touched you where you wanted him the most. 

His nimble fingers spread your slick and quickly found a rhythm circling your bundle of nerves as he continued to drink your blood. 

As the heat inside you built, he pulled his teeth from your neck and slowly dragged his tongue up your neck, licking up every last drop of blood from your skin. His fingers moved in perfect time with his tongue, and with no notice your release hit you, overwhelming you completely as you moaned loud enough to echo through the room. 

“Absolutely exquisite,” he said as he pulled back from your neck and looked deep into your eyes. 

He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, and you stared at him as your chest heaved, absolutely entranced. He then replaced his thumb with his bloodsoaked lips. 

He groaned as you kissed him eagerly, your blood in his mouth not causing any hesitation whatsoever. 

“I need you,” you gasped. 

“I have needed you for an eternity,” he replied as he began untying the corset of your dress. 

You moaned as the cool air hit your skin and he slowly and gently removed the beautiful dress from your body, leaving you completely bare. You turned and looked at the pile of sapphire velvet on the floor. 

He gripped your chin, turning your head to look at him once more. You helped him to remove his shirt, and then watched eagerly as he unbuckled his belt, beginning to make himself just as bare as you. 

“I must admit something to you,” he said and your mouth ran dry as the hard length of him sprung free. 

“Yes,” you asked breathlessly as you reached and wrapped your hand around him. 

He let out a sound low in his throat, something similar to a growl, as you began to move your hand up and down his length. 

“It is not happenstance that you found yourself in my home. I must confess that I have been watching you for a while now. I needed you. I needed to taste you, to make you mine. I influenced your journey here, guided you, so I could finally show you my devotion,” he said. 

“Then make me yours, completely,” you pleaded and guided his length to line up with your wet heat. 

With a groan he nodded his head and pushed himself inside you. 

He filled you, inch by glorious inch, and you could do nothing but gasp for air as you felt fuller than you’d ever felt in your life. 

You reveled in the press of your naked chest against his, as you pulled him close enough that you couldn’t tell where your body ended and where his began.

You were one with the vampire atop you, and you’d never felt more intense pleasure in your life. 

When he was certain you were ready, he kissed you, surprisingly tenderly, before he pulled out nearly all the way, and pushed back inside you, sinking to the hilt. 

His tempo was slow and deep, as he gazed deep in your eyes and told you how beautiful he found you. 

“Perfect, so perfect,” he praised as you mewled for him when he tilted your hips up and hit a spot of pleasure inside you that had never been found before. 

Aemond continued his pace, holding you tight, as your nails dug into his back. 

“Come for me, darling, I can feel how close you are,” he purred in your ear. 

He slipped his hand between your bodies and found your bundle of nerves once more, stroking it and you nearly screamed as your release wracked through you. 

You felt you had reached heaven, somehow, in the arms of your ethereally beautiful monster lover and it took you several moments to come back down. 

So lost in your pleasure, you had not even felt a sting of pain as he sunk his teeth into your wrist. He gulped your blood, moaning in pleasure, as he continued to pump himself in and out of your tight wet heat, chasing his own release. 

You tangled your other hand in his hair, and gripped tighter around his cock, urging him on, encouraging both his release and for him to continue to drink from you. 

He groaned as his release found him, sinking deep inside you, bringing ecstasy to you both. 

You shuddered a breath as his movements slowed and stopped. He pulled his teeth from your wrist, and murmured your name, like a praise- like a prayer, with utter devotion. 

As he looked at you, you reached up and wiped your blood from where it had dripped down his chin. 

He brought your wrist to his lips once more, and before you could protest that you were beginning to feel lightheaded, he surprised you by licking the wound clean instead of sinking his teeth back in, just as he had with the wound on your neck. 

You watched in fascination, as his saliva magically closed your wound, leaving only a small scar. 

He looked up and grinned at you, your blood coating his teeth, and you whimpered and pulled him into another kiss. 

He kissed you languidly, tongue moving against yours, as if he had all of eternity with you. 

“I have never tasted anything so divine,” he purred against your lips. 

“I have never felt so wonderful in all my life,” you said back as you pulled back enough to look upon him once again. 

“I can feel it. Can you feel it? You are to be my eternity, my everlasting, my one true mate. I give you my utter devotion. You said you wanted to start a new life. Start it with me. Let me turn you and we can be together forever. Stay with me,” he pleaded. 

And so you did. 

Yes, this night was dark and full of terrors, but this terror had wrapped himself around you, sunk deep inside you, and devoted his entire being to you, offering you pleasure and love unlike any you’d ever experienced before. 

And so, later, when Aemond fed you his blood and turned you and you opened your eyes into this new life, becoming a terror yourself, you grinned and kissed your vampire mate, prepared to spend forever by his side. 

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #hotd

[finnlongman]

Introducing: Moth to a Flame, the final book in my trilogy about a traumatised teenage assassin trying (and mostly failing) to live a normal life in a fictional closed city in Yorkshire. And also in Leeds, as this graphic suggests 😆 Sorry, that's sort of a spoiler for THK...

I figured I'd give you all three of these graphics so you can get a sense of the overall vibes of the trilogy. And so you know why I'm still using this overly cutesy font, because 2022!me made this decision and I guess I'm sticking with it. I know most people use these graphics to label tropes you'll find in the book, but aside from "found family", I'm not sure any of these really count as tropes. (New trope: Yorkshire?) You can also tell I've been getting steadily worse at marketing since 2022. Or maybe better. Who's to say, really.

(Yes, it does annoy me that the arrows for book one go in the opposite direction. No, not enough to re-make the whole thing.)

And if you're wondering what constitutes "considerably less murder"... I tried to track the body count of THK, and lost count at around 50. MTAF, by contrast, has, like ... 3 murders? Very different vibe. THK was when I broke everything and MTAF is where I slowly start putting it back together. This is the Bucky Barnes Recovery Fic of the series. We're talking grief, grappling with trauma, learning to be a person again, finding solidarity with others who've been messed up by the military and the arms industry, possibly joining a support group full of gay communists, and ultimately, realising that sometimes it's not enough to escape, because the whole system needs to be dismantled to stop it from hurting anyone else. I'm terrified no one will like it because they're here for the violence, but it was important to me to write it this way.

It's coming in May! You can preorder it now! And if you haven't read the first two books, you've got a perfect amount of time to buy and read those ahead of book 3's release to minimise cliffhanger agony.

Also: it still contains Esperanto, street art, no romance, an aroace protagonist, and bad life choices. I just figured those were a given at this point and didn't put them on the graphic.

#moth to a flame #tba 3 #the butterfly assassin #the hummingbird killer #finn longman

[strawberrymilk-sunshine]

My personal little experiment

Heeeeere's another Jade fic hehehehehehe-

Warning(s): slight yandere behaviours, manipulation, body horror-ish

There's a weird disease going around recently... it has some fancy scientific name, but most people just call it "mushrooming"

Basically, this new species of mushrooms popped up basically out of nowhere, and people learned very quickly that they can grow on people... and they feed on flesh.

So.. it's not great for people. You've had it particularly rough... your left eye has been consumed and replaced with a mushroom growing out of the socket, and a lot of your flesh is rotting... according to doctors, you should be dead... but you're not.

And oh boy... this unique scenario you're in was about to attract some unwanted attention to you.

You sit in a hospital waiting room. You've tried to cover as much of the rotting as you can. Looking around the waiting room, you see people with various injuries. Sitting directly across from you is a small girl with a mushroom growing from the top of her head... you can only hope her illness doesn't progress to the point yours has...

"Is there a (Y/N) here?"

You sigh and stand up, being led to the room and now waiting for the doctor. It takes a while, but eventually he arrives. A young redheaded man you've gotten quite acquainted with over the course of your infection, Dr. Riddle Rosehearts.

"Hey Riddle." You sigh, pulling down your hood you were wearing. "So... how have you been...?"

"I've been... well. However, you look worse than I remember." He sighs. "Have you been taking the medication I prescribed?"

"Yeah. It's working really slowly, if it's working at all."

"Your condition is just going to get worse and worse if this continues... I really do not want to do this, however..." Riddle writes something down on a piece of paper, and hands it to you. "Please visit this man, he may be able to help you more than I. Just be warned, he can be quite..." Riddle pauses, looking like he's searching for the right words. "He's quite eccentric."

"...I see. So... he'll be able to help me with this... advanced case of mushrooming?"

"He might."

"Okay... well then, if that's all you wanted me here for, then... I'll be going now." You stand up and put your hood back on.

"I look forward to seeing you get better."

The address led you to... a house outside the city walls. It looks quite... overgrown.

You knock on the door.

You wait for a few minutes, before knocking again. Eventually, the door opens ever so slightly.

"Who is it? If you're a member of the authorities, allow me to reassure you once again there is nothing illegal going on here."

"What?? N-no, I... I was sent here by someone, uh, D-Dr. Riddle Rosehearts..."

Then, the door opens, revealing a six-foot-tall man that definitely gave off some... strange vibes...

"Oh my... what an unfortunate situation you're in... your eye has been consumed and replaced..." He smiles. "Please, come inside, sweet child..."

When you enter the house, the scent of damp mustiness and decay hits you all at once... the room is somewhat organised, but there is still little space to walk. Piles of paper and books cover the floor and tables. Jars of mushrooms and plants line the shelves... it kinda freaks you out.

"Now, sit yourself down and tell me about your condition. I'll make us some tea." He smiles.

"...So you've been infected with Carne Comedere, have you?" He asks, as he sits down next to you, sipping his tea. "It's interesting that you've survived to this point, especially when the fungus is being... this intense to you." He smirks, chuckling slightly. "You are quite the... interesting specimen. May I ask your name?"

"...it's (Y/N)..." You say, taking a sip of the... surprisingly bitter tea. "And... who are you? Dr. Rosehearts didn't really... tell me who you are. He just sort of... gave me a piece of paper with your address on it and told me to visit you."

"Ah, good to know he's doing that. You see, what I do is not exactly legal within the city walls. As such, I prefer people don't know m name right away." He pauses, before looking straight at you. "That being said, you look trustworthy.... my name is Jade Leech."

"Wait it's not legal-?"

"Now, if you'd please stay still for a moment, I just want a small sample of one of your mushrooms, okay?" He pulls out a pair of scissors.

"Oh, um... o-okay..."

Jade stands up from his seat, walking over to you. He begins to comb through your hair, until he eventually finds a tiny mushroom, and he uses the scissors to cut it from your body.

"Why not just take the one from my eye...?"

"Well, you see, that one is in a very sensitive spot... who's to say what damages I could cause if I were to take that one out!" He sighs and pats you on the head a few times. "We wouldn't want that, correct?"

"...I-I guess I see what you mean..."

He takes the "sample" and brings it over to what you assume is his kitchen, and he begins to observe it.

"Yes... yes, it's quite interesting... Carne Comedere, the flesh-eating mushroom... you have quite an advanced variant..." He places the knife down on the counter, and cuts it in half. "It's so strange that you've survived to this point. I'd love to study you... but of course, you're counting on me to cure you... so perhaps I will not!"

You don't like the way he worded that...

The days go by and you keep visiting Jade.

He keeps taking samples from you... the mushrooms, your skin, your blood... he keeps giving you strange substances, but you aren't getting any better...

One day, you decide to confront him about it.

"Hey Jade, I... I'm not getting any better." You tell him. "Nothing you're doing to me is working..."

"Oh really? What a shame." He smiles deviously. "Here, lease have some of this meat."

"What-? No! Tell me why I'm not getting any better!"

"Why should I? You should trust me. I'm your doctor, after all." HE pauses for a moment. "Well... actually, I am not legally allowed to call myself a doctor... I suppose I'm more of a healer... regardless, you should just trust me."

"Not until you tell me why I'm not getting better..."

"You're sure you want the truth?"

...

"Fine then. I've decided not to cure you."

"WHAT-?! Why the hell not?!"

"I want to see how far it will progress. I want to see the extent of what your body can survive… after all, you've survived much longer than anyone would in your condition… so I'd like to test your limits." He hands you the plate of meat. " Now, we need to make sure the mushrooms inside you continue to live, as such you must have protein to build more flesh and muscle for it to feed on… of course I'll provide you other foods every now and again to keep you alive and healthy, but for now it's important I feed you meat. Enjoy."

"But you told me you would cure me-!"

Jade shoves the piece of steak into your mouth.

"Oh goodness, no. Not in your state. Your infection has progressed to such a point that it would be MUCH more beneficial to keep you like this so we may study the mushroom's long-term effects on the body!" He giggles to himself. "Not to mention, I never said ANYTHING about curing you!"

"I-I'm going back to Dr. Rosehearts, I can't deal with this..."

"No no no, we can't have that! I have so many things I need to do to you... I need to take a blood test… and a sample of both the mushroom and your skin… and a full body exam… ohhh, I need to do so many things to you~ Now sit still."

He suddenly injects you with some kind of syringe...

You try your hardest to ignore the increasing feeling of dizziness and exhaustion...

...

But you're just so tired now...

You slowly lose yourself to the... whatever he injected you with...

"Yes, yes... go to sleep, my personal little experiment...~" He smiles in an almost evil way. "Don't worry, I'm only doing this to you for the betterment of humanity!"

Even in your current state, you can tell he's lying to you...

"I'll see you again soon, my patient."

#jade leech #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #yandere twst x reader #jade leech x reader #yandere jade leech x reader #yandere jade leech #twst jade x reader #twst jade #twst jade leech

[yesimwriting]

hello! I was hoping for a Joel miller imagine where the reader gets hit on in a bar when she’s dating Joel and he sees this and confronts the guy and hits him because he’s aggressive and is all protective over the reader!

I love your writing and this would be amazing thank you xx

A/n first joel request,, slay

update: watched the new episode, bill and frank, still crying 

i feel like this gives post outbreak joel a little more bc of the physical protectiveness,, but i can't remember if there's much/any descriptions of like literal bars in the QZ,, i've only watched the show and i don't remember seeing details,, like ik there's alc/pills available, but actual bars??

idk it's possible i've missed it or forgot bc i have terrible memory

so enjoy my 'makeshift' bar concept as i try my best to deviate from canon as much as possible

not to shamelessly self promo,, but if you like this fic i have another joel fic with what i feel like is a more developed version of this dynamic (bc it’s longer and more internal monologue centered) here and i’m making a part 2 for it so if you like these vibes and want something similar, it’s there, it exists :) 

----

You're staring again, and trying your hardest to convince yourself that you're not. It's more than pointless, it's bordering on ridiculous.

Joel Miller is not some fleeting crush that’d fit somebody in grade school better than it’d fit you. Not anymore. You know what you are. You've had a talk. The kind of talk that you didn't think existed anymore in this world.

It wasn't exactly the rom-com 'what are we', but after a man Joel was dealing with got a little too friendly, it led to an argument. One you didn't fully understand, especially since Tess practically lived by his side.

Don't pretend, you might come off as all innocent, but you're too smart to be that naive. Men like that only have one intention.

And that had rightfully infuriated you, because after weeks of lingering touches that could be justified with a few words but never were and all the goddamn looks, he had no right to lecture you about another man's intentions with you. His intentions don't matter because that has no affect on me and who I am. Why the fuck does it even matter?

Why does it matter? It had been this subtle scoff of a response that made you take a step back. That made your back brush against the wall of his apartment. Because I don't want other men like that lookin' at you, let alone speaking to you.

The world stopped spinning on its axis and all the air preparing to leave your lungs was trapped with no where to go. Too many implications. 'Other men like that', the inclusion of himself in men that had those intentions. Maybe even more importantly, the implication that he’s some sort of exception.

 Even more deafening, your response: Well maybe I wouldn't speak to them if you didn't entertain ev--

The rest of your sentence, whatever it would have been, was lost to his mouth on yours. A snapping of tension that took its time fizzling down to something less consuming. Something that allowed you both to talk enough to make it clear that Joel was yours and you were his.

It wasn't a magical snapping into place like it might have been in a world without the outbreak. In some ways, it added a new layer of hesitance, and in other ways it propelled you forward. There are growing pains with anything new, and the whole relationship thing is definitely new to you. Especially in this world.

If only you could get past staring. Maybe after Joel secures the whiskey-bourbon-hybrid whatever they're passing as alcohol these days from a less than trustworthy trading contact, you'll get buzzed enough to graduate to handholding, or at the very least, you'll be able to do something besides sit there.

You're starting to feel insane. How is making out easier than the small things? Maybe the setting is more at fault here than you. In the outside world, any form of attachment could easily be twisted into weakness. It’s likely best that you keep some distance from Joel here, especially with the way other men keep looking over at the two of you. 

It’s not like you’re never awkward about the little things when confined safely between the walls of Joel’s place, that’s slowly but surely starting to feel like it’s at least partially yours, as well. But the way you get in public is something else entirely. It’s probably for the best. There are already too many eyes on you. 

Like the guy with red hair that glints oddly in the yellow light of the stranger’s building. He’s swaying slightly, a dark looking glass in his hand that he’s yet to release in the entire time you’ve been here. Every time one of his friends leaves him, his gaze returns to yours. 

Your skin crawls each time, but you keep your expression as stoic as possible. Joel’s getting better at trusting you, better at letting you serve as a sort of backup in the way that Tess usually would. You know that if it came down to it, the man that keeps looking at you wouldn’t be an actual issue, and you know Tess wouldn’t let it get to her. 

Ugh. Another thing you want to get yourself to stop doing. Comparison. It’s ugly and so insignificant. Tess didn’t exactly welcome you with open arms when you first showed up, but you get that. And eventually she warmed a little. You think she’d still trade you for a few ration cards, but she doesn’t hate you. She’s, at the very least, no longer skeptical of you. The other day you caught her hiding a smile over a joke you made.

But it’s hard not to compare. They were the closest thing either of them had to a support system for years before you showed up, and you know that they’ve been together casually. Always casual. Joel stressed that part, but that doesn’t mean it’s an easy thing to know, especially now. 

You bury the thoughts the way you often do and turn your attention back to Joel. Back to staring. At least you’re consistent.

A man peaks out of the closet that seems to be the source of all the alcohol. He gestures vaguely in your direction. “That’s us,” Joel says, voice flat, “Wait here, I’ll be back.” 

Nodding as if to dismiss your own thoughts, you beg your mind to not create imaginary problems by reading into him telling you to stay. He’s walking a few feet away to get some boxes, it’s not the rejection insecurity is making it out to be. “I’ll hold down the fort, keep away trouble.” 

Joel blinks, turning his head in your direction briefly. The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, which is more of a reaction than he likes to give when in these kinds of places. He shifts his hand casually, his fingers brushing against yours briefly as he stands. The gesture is small but immediately dislodges the lump in your chest. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” It’s little more than a whisper, but there’s something hidden beneath the roughness of his tone. A pinch of lighthearted humor that’s only visible to you. 

It eases you even further. Joel turns away, moving behind the long table serving as a sort of bar counter. You tap your fingers against the surface without much thought, taking a second to absorb the easiness of it all. It’s rare that getting anything require so little. You don’t think anything’s ever come as easy as sitting on an uncomfortable bar stool. 

“So...” You blink, posture straightening as your eyes flit to the source of the sound. “Guard dog finally left you alone, princess?” 

Okay. Ew. Of course it’s the guy that’s been staring you down since you first sat down. You have to fight to not let your nose wrinkle. There’s no good in reacting, in escalating the situation. “Not a guard dog.” 

You hope that it’ll be enough to show that you’re not interested. “Aw, not feelin’ too friendly, baby.” Ew. You’re torn between cussing him out or actually punching him. Neither is an actual option. Places like these are a minefield and you refuse to be the one to set off a series of explosions. “Maybe you’ll cheer up after a drink, could get you one.” 

Turning your head, you take a breath before replying. “I have enough friends.” The stranger is clearly apart of a group. You don’t know if you could call them all friends, you’re not sure there’s enough casual trust in the world left for genuine friend groups. But they’re at least acquaintances, or work associates, or maybe they met here, equally inebriated enough to accept each other. It doesn’t matter, the point is they were chatting up a storm before he decided to wander over here and bother you. “And it looks like you do, too.” 

“Fine,” he relents too quickly, “Let’s not be friends, then.” His hand shoots forward, landing firmly--and disgustingly--on your waist. “Let’s be something else.” 

You’re unsure if you’re more repulsed by his hand on you or how terrible that line was. Your own hand clasps his, pushing and pulling in an attempt to create a space. He’s relentless, even when your nails start clawing at him. “If you want to keep your hand, I suggest getting off of me.” 

He blinks at your threat and then grins, flashing a smile that’s missing teeth. And then he laughs. A cold chuckle that makes its way beneath your skin. “God, I like them feisty.” 

Shoving your fingers under his, you manage to pry him off of you. Your foot moves, heels smashing into his toes as subtly as possible. “And I like them when they know how to fuck off.” 

His smile broadens, a cynical undertone to the look that makes it worse than before. “Oh, darling,” his hand finds your arm, tugging you forward, “You’re gonna pay for that.” 

“Pay for what?” Relief washes through you before you’ve even fully registered the familiar, even timber of Joel’s voice. He’s speaking in a lower tone than usual, an icy rage that you can feel in your bones and it’s not even directed at you. “Touching what’s not yours, ‘cause you’re the only one doing that.” 

There’s probably something you should say. A subtle warning to not go beyond scaring off the man that is clearly incapable of respecting a woman’s autonomy outside of another man’s claim over her. To not take it too far because it’s not worth it. Because you have it under control. Relatively.

Instead, you’re silent as the man releases you. He takes his time assessing Joel. The stranger is physically smaller and Joel does have that edge that only comes from someone that’s lost enough to be dangerous to anyone threatening what’s left. 

The man holds his hands up in defense, his glass sitting precariously between his thumb and pointer finger. “Easy, man.” You don’t even have to look at Joel to know that that was the wrong thing to say. “I didn’t mean any harm, if you set the price right, I’d be--” 

The rest of the proposition is taken care of by Joel’s fist connecting with the man’s jaw. You hear the audible crack before your mind can make the connection between Joel’s quick movement and the man’s silence. 

Holy shit. Joel didn’t just throw a punch, he threw a punch meant to shatter bone. He barely glances at you, and you’re too focused on the fact that Joel’s standing there, completely fine like he didn’t exert enough force to knock over a grown man. You blink as Joel extends the arm he’s been using to hold the small case. 

You’re too shocked to do more than take the box. The implication of why he’d hand you the box while still standing there doesn’t settle until Joel’s throwing another punch. Each hit is more committed than the last, even when the stranger’s knees give in and he collapses. 

Yeah, there’s definitely something you should say. Now. Like right now. You’d never ask him to hit anybody once, let alone do whatever he’s doing now. But words like ‘stop’ and ‘okay, think he gets it’ all jam themselves so far down your throat, you wouldn’t be able to pry them out with a wrench. 

All you can do is watch. It’s the kind of morbid fascination that reminds you of what it felt like to drive a little slower when passing a car wreck. You’re rooted in place by a realization that’s always been there at the back of your mind, an implied awareness. Joel’s more than just prone to violence when he needs to be. He’s angry. 

It should scare you. Terrify you. Your stillness should be some byproduct of that. But it’s not. Joe’s not a danger to you, he’s a danger for you. 

It’s a level of protectiveness you never thought you’d experience. Your chest feels warm. You hope you’re not messed up enough to consider this some grand display of love. However, there’s a vulnerability in the violence you can’t deny. You’re in a public place, the kind of morally questionable people that are far from above exploiting vulnerability. And yet here he is, announcing an undeniable attachment. 

Joel finishes, chest heaving and hands still curled into fists. The low light makes the thin layer of sweat on his skin seem like he’s practically glowing. His knuckles are already evidently split and swirling in distinct shades of blue and red. You’re mesmerized. 

“You can’t do that shit here.” 

That’s it. The only reprimand. In the world of before, he would have gotten the cops called on him. He would have gone to jail. 

Joel looks up, mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously close to fuck off. He then looks at you, gestures with a tilt of his head for you to follow, and walks forward. 

You try not to think of what it must look like when you follow, quickening your steps to get closer to him after you’re out of focus. When you reach the door, Joel pulls it open with one hand and reaches for your fingers with the other. 

----

The way your eyebrows draw together when you’re examining an injury is different than the way they pull together for anything else. It’s too focused to be concerned and too concerned to be focused. 

Joel could stare at that expression for longer than he’d ever admit to. He could concentrate on that little line above your forehead and forget about everything else. “I’m fine,” he mutters, knowing that there’s no real point. You’ll do what you’re going to do when it comes to these kinds of things.

You nod absentmindedly, another small sign that you’re not as here as you normally odd. “It’d be awfully sad if you died of something as small as non-fungal infection.” 

He swallows, minding that look behind your eye. Things are still normal, you’ve yet to show any sign of rejection. He kept your fingers locked practically the entire way here and you let him. Never pulled away. 

It’s not like he needs to apologize. Joel did nothing wrong. He even gave you a minute to handle the situation, but the man was relentless. The kind of asshole that takes advantage of a world with little order to prey on women. Joel would do it again. And again. And again. There are no regrets there.

You’re not naive. You know what you signed up for when you accepted him. He’s never hid that from you. That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve always had a pension for forgiveness, a pinch of empathy the world hasn’t managed to snuff. 

“You’re dramatic, anyone ever tell you that?” 

A touch of a smile pulls on the corner of your mouth. “Hm. Think I’ve heard that once or twice from this one guy. Dark hair, dark eyes, cute, but not really my type.” 

Joel smiles, a partial laugh escaping him. “Really?” 

Turning over his hand with a gentleness he still finds difficult to understand, you press a quick kiss to his palm. You move back into your previous position so quickly it almost feels bashful. “I think you know the answer.” You flip his hand so that his knuckles face you again and go back to cleaning them. “You know, you didn’t have to...I wouldn’t have ever asked you to do that.” 

Joel can’t help his partial smile at that. Like there was ever any doubt. “I know,” he manages, “You’re not that.” 

It takes a second for you to understand what he’s implying. That you’re not like him. Yes, you get mad and you have nothing against putting people in their place, but you don’t like hurting people. Your lips part awkwardly, like you want to say he’s not that either, but you can’t. He just proved it to the both of you. 

“Nothing wrong with being like that,” you say, all too casual, “So don’t say it like it’s this big thing.” There is no end to the level of understanding you offer him. He doesn’t deserve it, he never will. “And you’re not like that in the way you mean. That asshole was, you’re not.” 

Joel lets out a low breath. Of course, even this you’d find a way to reframe. “You’d think so.” 

“I’m right.” It’s a quick reply, and the exact kind of response he expected. “You’re not a shitty person just because you beat up some guy or any of the reasons you’re thinking. New world, new morals. Accept it.” 

Your lips pull together into what’s almost a pout in your determination. Always so sure when it comes to him. “Mhm,” he breathes, watching your surprise at his compliancy. You know something’s coming, but not what. Your awareness does little to help you when Joel twists your hand in his pushes you back against the couch. “And what about you?” 

He hasn’t grabbed your hands yet, but you stay still, eyes trained on him. “I am a lot meaner than you think I am.” 

He tilts his head down to hide his amused expression. Your version of mean is fighting back. “You want to prove it?”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #tlou #tlou x reader #the last of us #the last of us x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us fanfic #tlou show #tlou fluff

[bokettochild]

Hello, Ketto

I have had two of your concepts/ideas pinging around my brain in a manner vaguely reminiscent of the logo screensavers. So I’m asking a question in the hopes that vibes will solidify into actual plot bunny or that maybe brain will be satisfied and let it go for a bit.

Chain and birth order dynamics:

Wind and Twilight are oldest siblings

Time and Hyrule are baby siblings

Where do the others fall? Is Sky the weird combination of “whatever he needs to be” since he’s a ward of the academy/Gaepora?

Is Legend an oldest, middle, youngest or only?

I’ve read 😅 way too many versions of people’s backstories to remember.

So, funny story! I actually was exploring this concept in a fic that has been giving me troubles since I sat down to write it T-T

I wanted to write a fic about Wind big-brothering the chain into taking care of themselves but the boy rambles and I feared it would become tedious to read. Unfortunately, that's why I never post any of the stories I write about or from Wind or Wild's perspectives; they won't shut up and I can't make them speak more concisely.

Long story short though! Wind was going to sort of dig into the temperament and behavior of each hero and started to go "clearly a middle child, that one's a youngest, good golly Time you are 100% obviously the baby of your family" to himself. It felt sort of weird when writing it, but it also seems to have potential now that I've reread it.

I classify Twilight, Warriors, and Wind as Eldest children, Time and Hyrule as Youngest kids, and Legend and Wild fall into the middle-sibling category (I'll expound on that in the story if you all would like me to write it again). Wind classifies Four as a single-child (the irony) who is still adapting to having siblings out of nowhere, and is utterly innocent of how accurately he's assessed the smithy.

As for his methods of forcing them to take care of themselves, I have a snippet of one of my many drafts below if you want

“From now on, if you say or do anything self-deprecating or otherwise diminishing to your value as a person, which yes, includes throwing yourself into the way of a weapon to save someone who’s got it handled,” back comes the stern voice, just for Wild, who only cocks a brow back at Wind in a challenge (yeah, middle or eldest sibling for the champion, one of those), “then you have to add a rupee to the jar.” 

  The vet scowls at him- an expression that is more mature, but not too very far from Aryll’s pouts when he scolds her. “And why should we go along with that? You’re not the boss of us, Wind, we’re adults.” 

  The sailor crosses his arms, staring over at the vet sternly. “Because if we do this, then Hyrule’s not allowed to call himself lesser than the rest of us.”  

  The vet’s ears twitch forwards, treacherously curious. 

  “Because if we do this, Wild isn’t allowed to throw himself in danger.” 

  Twilight and Time both sigh in relief (they all do, but those two are the most noticeable). 

  “Because if you all go along with this, Warriors isn’t allowed to hide his problems in a bottle.” 

  The captain thinks he is sly, but Wind knows, and it appears the man hadn’t expected that as his gaze darts away shamefully. Time looks even more relieved though; both he and Wind have been watching since the war, they know. 

  “Because Legend doesn’t get to refuse help when he’s in enough pain to cry.” 

  Hyrule is the one pricking up this time. 

  “Because Twilight won’t be allowed to take on everyone’s problems and bottle up his own.” 

  Wild’s turn to sigh in relief, to glance at his mentor in worry as Twilight avoids his gaze.  

  “And Four can’t bottle everything up and yell at himself in the woods instead of talking to someone about his problems rather than the air.” 

  Unlike the others, the smithy actually just looks insulted, but while the shortest hero does open his mouth to protest, he closes it a moment later with a hiss of frustration, crossing his arms. Yeah, single child. He isn’t used to other people calling him out unless they are leaders like Time or adults like his grandfather. 

  Wind isn’t done though. “And Sky?” Crystal eyes meet his, curious and a bit confused. “This means you don’t get to agonize over whatever nonsense has been eating you and not get help. It’s making you depressed and your sleeping habits are reflecting that.” 

  People who sleep a lot are usually only ill, injured, or depressed in Wind’s experience, and while he knows there are such things as sleeping disorders, he’s snitched some of Four’s books and none of them mention anything that matches whatever is up with Sky. Depression though.... Tetra had slept a whole lot when she’d been trying to come to grips with her self-image and identity after their adventure, and the constant exhaustion through that time is a close match for Sky’s own behavior. 

  “Alright.” It’s Warriors who speaks, stepping up to take the lead and meeting Wind’s eye with a nod. “I won’t lie, I don’t like the idea of all of you fussing over me, but if this means the rest of you will be getting help, which yes, Wind, I do mean you too, then I’m game.” 

  The sailor chuckles. This isn’t a roll your eyes and huff in annoyance moment, this is a peacemaker moment. They are negotiating with the others, he needs to set an example and be mature. “I was planning on including myself, Wars. If I need help, I’ll ask, but if one of you thinks I’m failing to take care of myself you can call me on it, and if the others agree I’ll pay up just the same as you will.” 

  And that seems to do it. There’s some debate about it of course, Legend and Wild putting up the most fight about it (them being the worst at self-care as he’s seen) but eventually all cave at the promise of their brothers actually taking care of themselves, which is what Wind was counting on. 

  Rules are set of course, by Twilight’s insistence. “We can’t just punish each other for whatever we want, there needs to be ground rules and boundaries, even if they’re just a loose framework to reference.” The rancher insists. 

  That goes uncontested, so Warriors pulls out one of his notebooks and Legend one of his pens and, because Wild’s handwriting is the best, they all gather around the Champion and consider rules together. 

  In the end, they have nine. 

Rule 1: Self-deprecating comments regarding skills, the worth of a person and/or the validity of their life will result in a 20 rupee fine and extensive cuddles 

Rule 2: Blatant self-neglect (i.e. refusing to eat, refusing to sleep, not tending injuries or allowing help with injuries, lack of bathing/basic hygiene etc.) will result in both a 15 rupee fine and someone helping to ensure basic needs are met 

Rule 3: Self-injury and/or allowance of injury through purposeful carelessness in battle or throwing of self in the way of danger will result in a 20 rupee fine and a long talk 

Rule 4: Joking comments regarding a lack of self-worth will result in a 5 rupee fine 

Rule 5: Ask for help.  

Rule 6: The group must be in agreement regarding fines and consequences whenever an offence is made (with the exception of the accused) 

Rule 7: All money in the ‘care jar’ will go towards the group and will not be kept by any one person 

Rule 8: If someone believes they have not been judged fairly in regards to punishment they will be allowed to contest their sentence and defend themself without interruption or correction (all comments/questions will be saved for the end of the explanation) 

Rule 9: If someone hits a depressive state, punishment will be with-held and will be instead replaced with discussion in order to not further aggravate the deteriorated mental state 

  The last one is something Wild adds himself, but no one contests it; it’s a good one. Personally, Wind thinks it’s a good list in general, and he knows the others agree. Legend and Wild specifically look relieved when he suggests the eighth rule, which makes sense. He knows those two don’t have a great record with being allowed to speak up for themselves in certain regards. The champion has only hinted at being made to be silent, but they all know about the vet’s criminal record and how it resulted from misunderstandings he was never allowed to clear. 

  Once done, the list is carefully pasted to what Hyrule has aptly titled the ‘care jar’ and the thing is slipped back into Wind’s bag for the night, waiting (hopefully for a long while yet) to be pulled out for the first offence. 

#lu wind #ketto's writing misadventures #big brother wind #this is like a year old #apologies #linked universe #linkeduniverse #asks and answers

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Thanks (m, cold)

Hi guys, thank you again for voting on which scenario you wanted to see for this fic! It's a bit of a slow burn, and idk how I feel about the ending, but Elijah is staunchly miserable by the end so hopefully that makes y'all happy 😅 let me know if you like it 🫶

Ps I've been writing this for literally the past 12 hours so I cannot look at it anymore, I'll read it over and edit errors in the morning but I need to get it out before it drives me insane lmao. 5.5k words under the cut :)

CW: male snz, colds, coughing, fever, contagion

There was nothing quite as depressing, Elijah decided, as the days leading up to Thanksgiving dinner service in a restaurant. Well, unless you were Greyson.

“Goooood morning, boss! Two days til the Big Day; are you pumped?”

Elijah turned his chair slowly towards the door, where the chef stood grinning unironically. He thought, not for the first time, that Greyson was likely some sort of dog in a past life – a golden retriever, or possibly a lab. One of those ‘no thoughts, just vibes’ dogs.

“Am I pumped?” Elijah asked, glaring at Greyson. “For a day that should be spent drinking shitty beer and eating my weight in carbs spent instead putting on a fake smile for people who don’t even think of us as human? For people who go out to eat literally once a year, and make sure they do it on a holiday so they can feel powerful by forcing a restaurant to serve them, then complain about the price and stiff my servers? Am I pumped to barely break even, even though the restaurant will be packed from ten am until close, because those same people staunchly refuse to pay more than eighty bucks a head to stuff themselves silly? Am I pumped to listen to my staff complain all day, despite the fact that when each of them was hired, they were told in no uncertain terms that they would be working holidays?” Elijah clicked his pen closed loudly, stood to let Greyson through, and sat with him in tandem, his face set in anger the whole time. “No, Grey. I am not, in fact, pumped.”

Greyson broke their eye contact to wake his computer, the lecture obviously unexpected. “Clearly I should’ve read the room before opening my mouth,” he said, glancing back over at his boss briefly. “My bad, boss.”

Elijah, embarrassed that he’d let himself sink into such a state about something as stupid as a holiday service, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Fuck. Sorry, Grey. You just caught me at a bad moment. I had two servers call out for today, I’m fuckin’ sweating because we really need everyone here for Thursday and neither of them are sure they’ll be good to come back in two days.”

“Hmm,” Greyson hummed, his eyebrows threading together. “That’s weird. I had Victor and Elise call out on my way in.”

Elijah felt his heart thump in his temple. “Did they say why?”

“I didn’t ask,” Greyson said, turning his chair to face his boss. “But I guess I should’ve. Did the servers say why they couldn’t come in?”

“Some sort of fever-cold thing, is what Jason said he had. Ashley just said she felt like shit.” Elijah pressed his fingers into his eye and sighed. “I need a cigarette. Care to join?”

Greyson, never one to turn down nicotine in any form, stood from his chair. “Thought you’d never ask,” he said.

The two of them walked through the empty kitchen in silence, Elijah entirely too wrapped in his own thoughts to continue their conversation. There was an ongoing joke, a trope, at this point, about holidays in the restaurant; everyone was always sick for them. Last Easter, the servers all had bronchitis, and a couple of Valentine’s days ago, Greyson had so many cooks call out with the stomach flu that they’d had to hire last-minute temps to fill in on the line. Despite doing nearly 300 covers, they barely made enough to cover the immense labor that seven temps on a holiday cost.

“Lij,” Greyson said as the two of them stepped out the back door and sat on the milk crates littering the loading dock, “it’s not going to be like Valentine’s. I can see your fuckin’ gears turning.” The chef pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, handed his boss one, and lit them both up. “Relax.”

Silence, once again, fell upon them as they smoked and watched fat snowflakes disintegrate on the asphalt. Elijah hoped that Greyson was right, that everything would be fine and he was overreacting – but he knew better than to hope. More likely than not, it was going to be what it always was on holidays: a shit show.

Matt and Mark, hand-in-hand until they spotted their bosses by the door, turned the corner and waved to their counterparts in tandem like well-trained circus animals. Elijah couldn’t help but smile as their fingers unwove from one another.

“Morning,” Elijah called, stubbing out his cigarette. Greyson did the same, and the two of them stood to let the younger men into the building.

“Aren’t you freezing?” Mark asked rubbing his hands together as he pushed the door open. Elijah shrugged as he held the door open for the other two and walked in behind them.

“My rage keeps me warm,” he said, prompting a laugh from Greyson and an eye roll from the younger men. “How’re you guys?”

Mark shot a look at Matt as they all walked towards the office at the front of the kitchen. “I’m well,” he said, pointedly. Elijah nearly stopped in his tracks when he glimpsed Matt glaring at his boyfriend.

“Matt…?” Greyson asked, an attempt at giving his sous chef a get-out-of-jail-free card. There was silence as the three of them turned, expectantly, towards Matt.

“I’mb good,” the sous said, his voice cracking on the second syllable. Elijah audibly groaned, Mark winced, and Greyson bit his cheek to keep from laughing at the absurdity.

“Well, you certainly sound great,” Greyson said, palming Matt’s shoulder aggressively. “Would you like to go home and sleep that off?”

“Yes, he -”

“Ndo,” Matt said, cutting Mark off and shooting him a look. “I wandt to help prep.I’mb – hh! hh’NGTSH-uh!” Matt turned and pulled his coat up over the bottom half of his face to sneeze, then quickly gathered himself and stood up straight. “I’mb fine,” he said, convincing no one.

Elijah closed his eyes briefly and sighed through his nose; fortunately or unfortunately, he knew exactly why Matt hadn’t called off.

The week prior, Elijah and Greyson had dolled out raises and bonuses for the staff; this year was Matt’s fifth as sous chef. Greyson had basically written a dissertation of why his sous chef should be given a new title – Executive Sous – along with a significant raise and bonus. It hadn’t taken much convincing; Elijah knew exactly how hard Matt worked, and staying at the same restaurant as a sous chef for five years was nearly unheard of in this city, especially for someone as young as Matt. He and Greyson had agreed that Matt’s loyalty to the restaurant deserved to be compensated, and had surprised him before his day off with the new title and pay.

Matt had been surprised – shocked was probably a better word for it, honestly – and had confided in Elijah after Greyson had dipped early to meet up with a date that he felt like he didn’t deserve the raise.

“You do,” Elijah had said, laughing lightly. “We wouldn’t have given it to you if you didn’t deserve it.”

The younger man had shaken his head. “I just… I mean, Greyson is here way more than me. I get two days off mostly, and he doesn’t let me work longer than ten hours. And I love it here, you guys don’t need to, like, worry about me leaving if that’s what this is about.”

Elijah had given Matt a confused look. “Greyson should be here more than you, first of all he’s a partner, not just the chef, and secondly, he gets paid very well to be here eighty hours a week. That’s his choosing. You’re his employee – if you were here as much as he was and getting paid significantly less, that wouldn’t be fair. And we’re glad you love it here, but that’s not why we gave you the raise. We gave it to you because you’re a hard worker, and you deserve to be compensated for what you do.” Elijah had smiled at Matt, patted his knee, and finished with, “Don’t sell yourself short.”

Matt had just smiled back and nodded, but Elijah knew he hadn’t changed his mind about ‘being undeserving’. Elijah knew, via background checks that were performed by his off-site HR company, and via Mark being a blabbermouth the second he got a glass of wine in him, that Matt had been a bit of a troubled kid; he’d been bounced from one foster home to another as a kid, and then one juvenile detention hall to another as a teenager. Only when he’d dropped out of high school and gotten a job as a dishwasher at a Denny’s did he finally decide it was time to shape up. He’d worked his way into the diner’s kitchen, then a slightly nicer kitchen, and when he was 20, he’d shown up at the front door of Elliot’s in an ill-fitting suit with a speech about how he was ready to work somewhere that he could hone his passion, even if they couldn’t pay him a dime. Greyson had hired him on the spot, not even consulting Elijah, despite only having been the executive chef for a few months.

Elijah knew Matt felt that he owed Greyson, not the other way around, and this promotion and raise was the nail in that coffin of doubt. He knew there was no way Matt would go home, no matter how shitty he felt.

Greyson just shrugged at his sous chef’s denial of being sick. “If you want to stay, I’m not going to make you leave,” he said, walking into the office and changing from his sweatshirt into his chef’s coat. “Just don’t sneeze on the food.”

Matt rolled his eyes and stripped off his jacket to put his own chef’s coat on. “Yes, Chef,” he said, coughing into his elbow. Mark and Elijah exchanged sidelong looks.

“Are you feeling okay?” Elijah asked his junior manager. Mark smirked, hiked his laptop bag further onto his shoulder, and started towards the dining room – his makeshift office.

“Never better, boss,” he said, pushing through the swinging doors. “Never better.”

***

“So, is he coming in tomorrow?”

Greyson lolled his head to the side, hands still on his keyboard, and deadpanned Elijah. “The fuck do you think?”

Elijah pulled a hand down his face and nodded. “Yeah, okay, just wanted to check.”

While Matt had been relatively fine the first few hours of the shift, by the time the last guests had eaten, the sous had been so staunchly miserable that Greyson had marched his ass into the office, thrown his jacket over his shoulders, and pointed towards the back door. “Go. Home. Now.”

“Chef, I – HTSHH! Hh-! GTSH-uh!” Matt wrenched to the side, collapsing into a post-sneeze coughing fit that made the cooks flinch from five yards away.

“You’re not fine,” Greyson insisted. “You’re sick, and you’re going to get everyone else sick.”

Matt nodded, miserable, and hung his head. “Sorry, Chef,” he muttered, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket.

“Go,” Greyson said. “And come back when you’re well.”

Mark had taken Matt home in an Uber, and the cooks and servers had been able to leave relatively early, which left Elijah, Greyson, and a bottle of whiskey between them on the desk to figure out how they were going to handle the rest of the week.

Greyson sighed and reached for the bottle as he pushed away from his computer screen. He took a long pull and handed the bottle to Elijah, who followed suit. “I just… I don’t understand why he’d come in that sick,” Greyson said, pulling his hair to the top of his head and securing it with a rubber band from their drawer of office supplies. Elijah had to pull the bottle away from his lips to laugh. “What?” Greyson asked.

“You, of all people, can’t understand why he came in sick?” Elijah asked, incredulous. “You?”

“What do you mean me?” Greyson asked, snatching the bottle back. “If anything, he learned it from watching you.”

“Oh, spare me, Greyson,” Elijah rolled his eyes. “For awhile there, you literally came in sick three weeks a month.”

Greyson scoffed. “At least I’ve never passed out on the kitchen floor.”

“Yes, you have.”

“No, I almost passed out. You actually fuckin’ swooned. Collapsed in a puddle. Full damsel in distress.” Greyson took another pull and placed the bottle back on the desk. “So don’t come for me unless I send for you.”

Elijah guffawed at this. “Who taught you that saying?” he asked. Greyson shrugged.

“I heard one of the servers using it. I like it.”

“The servers are twenty years old, you dinosaur. The last thing they want is Grandpa Greyson using their jargon.”

“Fuck off, if anyone here is a grandpa it’s…” Greyson stopped suddenly, held up a finger, let his eyes flutter shut, then let out a shaky breath. “Fuck, that’s annoying.” He rubbed his nose on the back of his hand, then raised an eyebrow at his boss, whose face had drawn into concern. “What?”

“What was that?” Elijah asked, glancing over at the bottle of whiskey they’d spent the past hour sharing.

“I just thought I was going to – oh,” Greyson’s eyes widened. “No, dude, relax, I’m totally fine. I feel great.”

“‘Buzzed’ and ‘great’ are two different things, Grey,” Elijah said. He reached up to feel Greyson’s forehead, prompting the chef to lean back in his chair.

“Great as in healthy,” he insisted, shooing Elijah’s hand away. “Seriously, I’d let you know if I – HRRTSHHH-ue!” He caught the sneeze in his elbow – barely – and choked back an irritated cough. From the crook of his arm, he heard Elijah swear.

“I’m going to end your fuckin’ life, I swear to God,” Elijah muttered, pushing the bottle further onto Greyson’s side of the desk. “You let me drink from the same bottle as you, you dick.”

“I’m fine, Elijah, Christ it was one sneee – hh! - hh…” Greyson tipped his head back in anticipation, then lowered and shook it when the feeling once again dissipated. “See? Totally fine.” He sniffled – convincing, Grey – and immediately changed course. “Plus, it’s alcohol. It’s an antiseptic.”

“It one million percent is not,” Elijah said, rubbing his temples in defeat. “Greyson, you cannot be sick. We cannot be sick. How the hell are we going to be able to run Thanksgiving?”

“Elijah,” Greyson said, “listen. I am fine. Everything is going to be just fi – ITSHH-ue!” Greyson pitched forward into his palm and cringed. Elijah, begrudgingly, slammed the box of tissues they kept on a side table in front of the chef.

“Bless you,” he said while Greyson cleaned himself up. “And, I mean this from the bottom of my heart: fuck. You.”

***

“Hhh-! Huh… hnnn.”

“Bless you.”

“Oh, screw you, Lij,” Greyson muttered for the millionth time that day. He grabbed what felt like his hundredth tissue and blew his nose – only for the feeling to reignite. “Huhhh! Hhh...hh… guhh.” Greyson rubbed his nose again and angrily spiked the tissue into the trash can beneath his prep station.

“Bless you,” Elijah said again, mocking.

“You kndow,” Greyson said, turning towards his boss, who was seated in the office, not looking Greyson’s way. “Karma is going to combe for you for being an asshole to mbe.”

At this, Elijah glanced towards Greyson. “Karma? No, karma is having a cold and not being able to sneeze because you let your friend drink out of the same bottle as you when you knew you were getting sick. That’s karma, and you got what was coming to you.”

“Fuuhhh! Huh! Hh...fuck,” Greyson grumbled, coughing into his shoulder.

“Karma is also giving your sous chef a lecture about being sick at work, only to be get sick and have to come into work because you’re technically the most well of all the sick cooks and chefs.”

“Are you finished?” Greyson asked, throwing his hands in the air. “I get it. And to be fair, I did ndot kndow I was getting sick.” The chef sucked in painfully through his nose and collapsed into coughs once again.

“Mmhmm,” Elijah mumbled. When it seemed like Greyson wasn’t going to be able to stop the coughing, he took pity and got up to make the chef tea.

“Here,” Elijah said, slamming a paper cup in front of Greyson. “Drink it. Sickie.”

Greyson, unable to come up with a proper comeback, just did as he was told. “How mbany on the books tonight?” he croaked. Elijah sighed, pulled up his phone, and slid it towards Greyson. “Fuck,” Greyson said when he saw the number.

“All the people in the city who aren’t coming in tomorrow decided tonight was the night, apparently,” Elijah said, taking his phone back and putting it in his pocket. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked, in earnest.

Greyson nodded. “It’s ndot too bad,” he said, taking another sip of tea. “Just wish I could fuckigg sndeeze.”

Elijah huffed out a laugh. “You’re sure you don’t want to call Matt in?”

“Definitely no – hh! Huh...hhhITSHHHZUE! Oh thank fuckigg God – HUHHESTCH-ue! Hh! Hnn...HuhhhETSCHH-ue! HTSSHH-ue!”

Elijah whistled, long and low, and pushed the box of tissues towards Greyson. “Wow,” he said. “Bless.”

Greyson rolled his eyes as he took a handful of tissues and cleaned himself up. “See?” he said once he’d thrown them away and washed his hands, “Good as new. HTSSHH-ue!”

Elijah chuckled. “Sure, Chef,” he said, moving towards the doors to the dining room. “Whatever you say.”

***

In his thirty-nine years on earth, Elijah had learned a lot about himself. He’d learned that he was a hothead, and he had to really think about the repercussions of what was going to come out of his mouth if he wanted to keep the person he was talking to in his life. He’d learned that he was incapable of whistling, juggling, or any other party trick – but he could pull out a fantastic rendition of Queen’s Somebody to Love during karaoke, and that was enough to make him seem like he was fun at parties. He’d learned that he loved to have his own space, and should he ever find a partner, he knew they’d have to have separate bedrooms. And he had learned exactly what it felt like when he was getting sick.

Like… really sick.

When Greyson said things like, “I didn’t know I was getting sick,” it truly did not register to Elijah. Maybe it was because Greyson’s illnesses always seemed to be some sort of mixed bag – starting differently every time, with symptoms that varied wildly – or maybe it was because he just didn’t tune in to how he was feeling. Greyson always said he basically tried to ignore his body until it forced him to pay attention; maybe that was something that Elijah needed to attempt. Because Elijah… Elijah knew exactly when and how badly he was getting sick every single time.

It had started that afternoon, mere hours after he’d given Greyson shit about exposing him to this illness, the way it always did – with the type of sore throat that made you feel weak in your knees. Elijah had swallowed, then immediately felt dizzy with the pain that surged in his throat. Oh, he thought, touching his neck. Oh, no.

He was, of course, a creature of habit and attempted all his usual ways to quell the pain – cups of tea hidden in paper sleeves, lozenges he hoped Greyson was too stuffed up to smell on his breath, handfuls of ibuprofen – to no avail. By the time dinner service came around he could hear the rasp in his voice and, despite the ibuprofen, could feel the ache in his joints that meant he’d already made it to stage two; fever.

This was how he knew he was going to be down badly. If he could ride the sore throat past the fever and straight into congestion, he might be able to get away with just a normal cold. But if that fever set in before any other symptoms, it was all over.

“Yo,” Greyson said, approaching his boss post pre-shift. “Cand we quickly talk about the semantics of tomborrow’s buffet before people get here?”

Elijah lifted his heavy head from his pre-shift notes and blinked in Greyson’s direction. “Okay,” he said, brilliantly. Greyson’s eyebrows knit together, concerned.

“You good?” he asked, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. Elijah nodded slowly – surely, if Greyson was able to push through this illness with such ease, he was just being a baby about it. He swallowed through the knives in his throat and nodded.

“Just a headache,” he said. “What do you want to talk through?”

“Just wanted to see how mbany cooks you think I should have on the buffehh....ETSZHCHH-ue!” Greyson directed a massive sneeze into his elbow, and Elijah’s head about exploded with pain.

“Christ,” Elijah muttered, pressing his palm into his eye. Greyson muffled a cough into his sleeve and shook his head to clear it.

“Fuck, ‘scuse mbe,” he said, looking back at his boss. “Umb. Did I get you or something?”

Something like that, Elijah thought as he shook his head. “No,” he said. “You’re just loud, and my head hurts.” He pulled out his phone, looked at the cover spread for the next day, and said, “Three cooks on the buffet. One for omelets, one for prime rib carving, one for dessert bar.” He looked up at Greyson for his confirmation. “What?” he asked.

“You just… look like you’re in pain,” Greyson said, carefully. “Did you take -?”

“Yes, I took ibuprofen,” Elijah cut him off. “Go make sure your guys are ready for tonight. Take a decongestant so they can understand you. I’ll be back there in a minute.”

Greyson pursed his lips, but didn’t argue. “Yes, sir,” he said, and left Elijah to brood.

By some stroke of luck, the third inevitable stage of Elijah’s illness didn’t hit him until after they’d finished service. He was checking the lead server’s station so she could go home, when suddenly it felt like a thousand bees collected in his sinuses.

“Yeah, looks good Riley, thanks, see you in the mo – IGTSHH-uhh! HSTSH-ue! HhhhINTSZH-ue!” Elijah wrenched to the side, the sneezes so sudden he barely had time to cover his mouth.

“Yikes,” Riley said, taking a step away from her boss. “Bless you.”

“Thanks,” Elijah muttered, pinching his nose to quell the itch.

“You pick up whatever has everyone else out this week?” she asked, taking off her apron. Elijah shook his head.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Have a good night.”

With all the servers gone, Elijah slunk back into the kitchen and sunk into his office chair, his head in his hands. He was not prepared to do a whole holiday service feeling like this. This was nightmarish, and he’d only felt sick for nine hours. Tomorrow? Tomorrow was going to be -

“Hey, bless you,” Elijah sat up and turned around at the accusation to see Greyson standing at the office door with his arms crossed. “Could’ve heard those from fuckin’ space.”

Elijah rolled his eyes, painfully. “Whatever,” he said, powering his computer up to finish the night’s paperwork. “You’re one to talk, I don’t think you’ve gone three seconds without -”

“HRRSHH-oo!” Greyson cut him off with a comically-timed sneeze directed into the collar of his shirt.

“-that,” Elijah finished.

Greyson grabbed a tissue and wiped his nose. “Yeah, but it’s been well-established that I have a cold. I was under the impression that you were still -”

“HTSHH! HRSHH! Huh-! HuhhESTZHH-ue!” Elijah once again collapsed in on himself, head both buzzing and pounding, the explosive sneezes grating the back of his throat.

“- well,” Greyson finished, and moved into the office to sit by his boss. Just as Elijah looked up from his lap, Greyson slapped a hand on his forehead.

“Enough,” Elijah said, pushing Greyson’s palm off. Greyson put both his palms on his knees and gave Elijah a knowing look.

“So, you’ve been sick all day, or…?”

“Greyson,” Elijah said, clearing his throat, “I’m fine.”

“You have a fever, Lij. Like, a pretty significant one.”

He knew, and he had known, but the words made Elijah’s eyes well and his throat close all the same. God, he hated having a fucking fever and all the stupid, ridiculous emotions that went along with it. Elijah took a breath, closed his eyes to collect himself, and addressed the chef.

“I’m not feeling 100%,” he said. “But I will be fine. You are sick – if I’m not 100%, then you must be at like 10% at this point.”

“I don’t have a fever,” Greyson pointed out, taking Elijah’s hand and placing it on his cool head. “See?”

Elijah bit his cheek to keep from snapping. “Alright,” he said. “Whatever. Still, you need to go home; it’s a big day tomorrow.”

“I will when you do,” Greyson said, shrugging. Elijah, completely spent, and done arguing, just turned off his computer – paperwork be damned for the night.

“Fine,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender. “Let’s call it a night.”

Greyson, clearly confused, just raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Alright boss,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “See you tomorrow.”

***

If there was one thing Greyson knew about Elijah, it was this: if you wanted him to admit defeat, you had to corner him.

When he woke up at oh-dark-thirty that morning, Greyson felt lucky that he was no worse for the wear then he was the night before. Was he stuffed-up to the gills? Yes. Did he have an incessant, grating cough? Yeah. But ultimately, it was a cold, and he’d work through far worse many more times.

So, despite the fact that it was still dark out, Greyson donned his hoodie and set out for the restaurant. On the way to the early-morning subway, he called Matt.

“...Hello?” Matt answered on the third ring. “Chef?”

“Mbornin’ sunshine,” Greyson said, coughing into the receiver. “How’re you feeling?”

“Uh…” Matt said, attempting to gather his bearings. “Better. Am I supposed to be at the restaurant now? I thought I was scheduled at eight.” Greyson heard him push back a blanket and plant his feet on the floor. “You sound like shit, by the way. Sorry about that.”

“Inevitable,” Greyson said, a brush-off. “And you aren’t scheduled til eight, but I have sombe very important, pre-work, Executive Sous shit I ndeed your help with.”

“Sure, boss,” Matt said, and Greyson could hear him changing clothes, using mouthwash, and whispering goodbye to Mark. “Anything you need.”

“Good man,” Greyson said, pausing at the top of the subway steps. “Could you pick up cough drops, Mucinex, and a hot water bottle, if you see one? Oh, and a real blanket. I’ll Venmo you some mboney.”

“Uh, sure, boss. Is this… for you?”

“Not for me,” Greyson said, coughing into his sleeve. “For Elijah. He’s down bad.”

“Oh. Oh, shit,” Matt said. “Yeah, okay, for sure boss. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, mban. Hey, I’mb about to head down to the subway, text mbe if you have any – hh! HTSHH-ue! Fuck, sorry,” Greyson wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “Mbaybe grab more tissues while you’re there,” he amended.

“Sure, Chef. Bless.”

“You’re the best, Mbatt. Always knew you’d make a perfect number two.”

Greyson could hear the eye roll through the phone. “Don’t get sappy, old man,” Matt said. “See you soon.”

***

To say Elijah felt like shit would’ve been the understatement of the century.

When he woke up that morning, Elijah was fairly sure he was dying. The fever he’d crawled into bed with hadn’t budged, his sinuses were packed, and he’d officially acquired the final gem on his sick-as-fuck gauntlet: the cough. This day was going to be absolute hell.

Elijah did his level best to get ready for the busy service; he managed to take about half a shower before he had to sit down, dizzy from exertion; he’d gotten one contact in before sneezing so hard he almost poked his eye out and settled on glasses; he’d even found the strength to put on a pair of pants, though a button down was entirely too much for his shaking hands, so he settled on a cardigan that looked passable enough. God he hoped the servers – and Mark – would be able to hold down the fort out front, because this was nothing short of tragic.

Unwilling to deal with the subway and unable to drive safely in this state, Elijah settled on calling an Uber to work. It was early, a little before eight, but he knew if he didn’t get there now, he’d never make it.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” the driver said, leaving Elijah to immediately regret his decision not to drive. “Pretty early to be up and at ‘em. You heading to see family?”

Elijah cleared his throat as best he could before begrudgingly responding to the driver. “Ndot quite,” he said, his voice strained and congested. “Worki – HGSTHH-ue! HRSSH! ETSZCH-uh!” Elijah attempted to hold back the sneezes, unsuccessfully. Sans any tissues, he wiped his nose on his sweater sleeve. “Excuse mbe, sorry.”

“Working and sick on a holiday?” the driver said, shaking his head. “That’s rough, man. Bless you.”

Elijah’s face flamed, but he was in no state to deny. “Yeah,” he said instead. “Thangks.”

The rest of the drive was in blessed silence, and Elijah made sure to tip the guy extra for being exposed to whatever plague he was walking around with. When he finally pushed through the back door of the restaurant, Elijah felt like he’d already lived a lifetime today; he really wasn’t sure how much he’d be able to take.

“Elijah!” Greyson’s voice reached him before Elijah could even see his face. “Happy Thanksgiving, you sick old fuck!”

Elijah turned the corner and almost burst into tears – there stood Greyson, his face pale and nose bright red, and Matt and Mark looking no better, outside of his office; his office that had been, essentially, turned into a cozy-looking bedroom.

There were blankets on the floor, the chairs removed, and medicine on the desk. The harsh office light had been shut off, and instead one of the lamps from the host stand glowed gently from behind the computer. And, perhaps most heart-rendering, in Greyson’s hand was a bowl of steaming soup, and in Matt’s, a cup of tea.

“I know you hate working the holidays, and feeling like shit is just insult to injury,” Greyson said, setting down the bowl so he could guide Elijah into the office. “So we thought we’d mbake it just a little less shitty.”

Elijah allowed himself to be lead in, unable to find the words to thank his friend. He turned into his elbow to cough, a welcome respite from the tears he could feel threatening to spill over. “Grey,” he said when he’d gathered himself. “I… this is so… you guys…” he swallowed around the lump in his throat and shook his head. “I don’t kndow what to say,” he said, looking up at Greyson. “Thangk you.”

“Ah, save it,” Greyson said, placing a hand on his friend’s back. “You’re always looking after us. Call it our Thanksgiving to you.”

Elijah smiled a little, punched Greyson’s arm lightly, and allowed himself to be pulled into a hug. Heading to see family? the Uber driver had asked him. Maybe he had been, after all.

#whiskeyswriting #snz #sickfic #snzfic #coldfic #snez #snzblr #male cold #male snz #male ocs #original character

[sky-scribbles]

Playlist for my Aeor longfic

I failed to figure out how to do a fancy spotify embed like the kids do but uh. Here's the playlist for Gravity!

I listened to this while planning and writing, and there are even a few shout-outs to the songs in the fic... Songs are arranged chronologically, so you should be able to hear the story happening, hopefully :'D

Further yelling about song choices under the cut!

A Matter of Time - This one is... sort of the fic's opening titles in my head? I wanted to start out with an instrumental, to capture the vibes of the months before the fic opens - Essek and Caleb apart, thinking about the T-Dock, and each other. Wondering. Waiting.

Horse to Water - Essek in Chapter 1, knowing his life as the Shadowhand is ending, waiting for Caleb to come and take him away to whatever comes next. (I'm normally very picky about not putting songs that reference modern day stuff on fantasy playlists but this one's vibes were too perfect)

Dear Fellow Traveller - Two wizards heading into Aeor together.

Conquest of Spaces - A song for Aeor. A dark, beautiful city, the remains of a people who lived by greed and power. (And two wizards in the ruins, trying to draw closer to each other.)

Neptune - This is mostly for Essek's breakdown in chapter 5, as he worries he'll never break out of his Shadowhand manipulation, wanting to be closer to Caleb and not knowing what that would even look like. And it's a little for Caleb in chapter 6, too, grappling with his feelings for Essek and his fears that they'll ultimately be bad for each other.

Please Don't Say You Love Me - ... and as they move past those fears, this song is for them tentatively acknowledging what they might be to each other. Not yet. But maybe soon.

Woodwork - This is for the chapters 6-9 span, as they learn more about Brashaar's plan. The pressure of a crisis has an odd way of making them realise just how deep their trust and care for each other runs.

Two Evils - Since we're at the point where Brashaar shows up, she gets a song now! This is pretty much her internal monologue during her confrontation with the wizards (though she really should have paid attention to 'if you're not careful, you will lose her' in reference to Quaera...)

Winter - Travelling northward, and yearning. Wishing they had more time.

Mind - A song for a young Quaera, slowly forming a personality, wondering about who she is and how her identity forms...

The Tower - ... and having their own breakdown.

What Could Have Been - I love me a good villainous breakdown, and this is a song for Brashaar's. This is how I imagine she feels during the final confrontation, raging against the gods, against Caleb and Essek, against Quaera after they turn from her. Not quite able to let go of what she thinks Aeor could have been. What, in her eyes, the world is meant to be. (As a bonus, I think the second verse sounds a bit like a retort to her from Quaera...)

Everybody Wants to Rule the World - This is such a fun cinematic cover, and I can't tell you how many times I've imagined a mental AMV of the final battle with Brashaar set to it :'D

Ori, Embracing the Light - I wanted an instrumental here too, because... Essek is dead, Caleb is in shutdown, and Essek and Quaera are communing with the Luxon, a being that doesn't really speak with words. Also, 'embracing the light' is exactly what Quaera does at this point.

Would That I - I know we all use this as Caleb's 'learning to live and love again' song... and I am no exception. This is for him after the T-Dock, finally fully acknowledging his grief, and his love for Essek.

First Day of my Life - Just two wizards realising that they have a future, and agreeing to slowly work at what's between them.

Ready to Call This Love - This one speaks for itself, honestly.

Five - Both of the wizards in the final chapter, but especially Essek realising how isolated he's been from the world, and letting it all in so he can feel it. (Also, studying the universe is a love language - )

Gravity - Gravity is a metaphor for love!!!!

#please know that restricting myself to just four sleeping at last songs #is Enormous restraint for me #anyway uh have some songs and rambling #shadowgast #gravity and all that's born within #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role

[tdjustess]

Rating all Trent ships I've ever came across

Trent×Gwen - The only canon ship and for what it was, I liked it. It always felt like just a summer fling and them being each others manic pixie dream girl/boy is a detail I highly appreciate. It was the most artsy teen romance of all TD ships and should stay as only that 7.5/10 cause it does make me cringe nowadays

Trent×Justin - I don't know who was the first person to come up with this ship but holy shit their brain. And even if you're too good to fall for the trope of "two guys amicably standing next to each other", these two would be the Larry of the TDverse, which you have to at least admit it's funny as shit 10/10

Trent×Duncan - Listen. I've also been a 15 year old girl, I get it, but this is shit. They either forget about each others existence or actively hate each other. Even the fanfics I used to read back then had to jump through hoops or make them ooc to even get them to stay amicably in the same room 0/10

Trent×Geoff - The better version of Duntrent. They still ignore/hate eachother but there's literally no reason for it which is so funny. They're both pieces of shit and the only time it was justified was when Geoff was trying to protect Gwen over the breakup. Read the TDA bios, they're still trying to poke at some rivalry we never see on screen. AU writers I beg of you, write a enemys-to-enemys fic of their fighting backstage 3/10

Trent×Cody - Oh boy. Oooooh boy. I hate to play this card but they're brothers. Maybe if it's one sided like Cody having a crush for 2 weeks tops but yeah. Brothers energy 0/10

Trent×Courtney - Listen. Don't look at me like that and listen. It's two possibly unmedicated mentaly ill upper middle kids with dreams of success in performing arts that go about it in two extremely different ways. Like. I want to keep this short but they'd be so bad for each other while being the only ones who can understand the others devotion, they'd destroy each other. I'm tearing a phonebook in half with my teeth, shout out to the Ballet AU i'll never write 6/10 realistically but 9.9999998/10 in my heart

Trent×Leshawna - I was really surprised when I first saw this ship cause I'd only ever seen them as sort of "friends-in-law"? But now that I sit down and think of it, it could work?? Leshawna is assertive but also laid back, kind and has a lot of goofy moments. And Trent is a certified wife guy™. I'd never thought of this ship myself but it could work 9.4/10

Trent×Noah - Once again, would have never thought of this if I hadn't read one of the best ship-centered fanfics this fandom has to offer. But I think it works better in that specific fanfic than realistically speaking. Trent isn't the exact type of pathetic (positive) Noah hangs out with and in the long run they'd both be too messy. If Gwent is the cuter side of teen romance, Trent×Noah would be the depressing side. I never watched the show, but from what I remember from "2015 grunge tumblr", it's giving Skins vibes 4.8/10

Trent×Anne Maria - I appreciate the mediterranean representation but no 1/10

Trent×Scott - How. Why. Walk me through this one without making them ooc 0/10

Trent×Zoey - Only in a Doey AU where Duncan keeps throwing dogeballs at Trent in PE everytime he tries to talk with Zoey about british pop 2/10

#gwent #trustin #duntrent #trentney #troah #trody #i dont know the other ships names

[leclerking]

Fic ideas because i have too many 😀‼️

If you use any of these pls tag me I'd love to read your fic! ⠀ You don't have to stick to the genre or the drivers mentioned, you can write it with anyone (if it's in pink tho I'd really like for it to be the one mentioned)

Fucking in missionary so they can continue arguing — Sebastian Vettel enemies to lovers

Medical au series with some or few of the drivers. Grey's anatomy style ukwim? Include some of the older drivers like Jenson and Mark as attendings, Seb as a resident, current ones on the grid as interns.

Medical au alternative Seb as an intern with reader as the attending. And they sort of get into a relationship — slow burn, fluff, angst

Reader is part of a rival team (not a driver!). She's drunk during one of the post race celebrations (very beginning of the season, full of hope). There's another driver (in my head I'm thinking a driver who's cocky af seb jenson ) who's drunk and they hookup. So they get into this sort of fwb situationship. And then further into the season it just keeps going from bad to worse to the point the reader has given up on the team. But it's going extremely well for this driver. — One night after the worst race ever, reader is crying in her room. Driver knocks on door, reader is surprised he'd rather spend time with her since they don't really have anything deep going on (can make this part very angsty by asking driver to fuck off to his celebration parties). So the driver goes to the party, comes back later in the night but drunk. Confesses love or they have a conversation idk how this ends! — hopefully happy ending

One night in the city every year— reader (local) meets driver one night in the city and they have a great time. But the driver is there only for a few days for the race. He leaves and comes back a year later, so this slowly turns into a yearly tradition... So many years later the driver is about to retire so he meets the reader for one last time since he won't be visiting anymore — can be left as an open ending fluff angst unrequited (?)

Drifting date !! — driver teaches reader how to drift (Idk why this hasn't been written yet / I've not read a fic about something like this yet so yeah) this is giving Charles vibes

Frat/fuckboy fic based on this lore in his teenage dirtbag phase (tldr; Jenson woke up on somebody's yacht sofa post Naomi Campbell's Cannes after party. He had to do commentary that day and walked on to the paddock like sex on a stick) + he is reputed to have the playboy image dating various models.

Biker boyfriend Lando who takes reader (a struggling uni student) on late night drives for stress relief.

Friends to Lovers — Oscar and reader are uni students who work at the same cafe on campus. slice of life, fluff

Open to any and all fanfic writers. Pls make my maladaptive dream scenarios an actually amazing fic that I can read ! Again PLEASE TAG ME, ID LOVE TO READ THEM !

#!honey.fic #formula 1 #charles leclerc #sebastian vettel #max verstappen #f1 fic rec #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 #lando norris #lewis hamilton #oscar piastri #jenson button #mark webber #redbull racing #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #medical au #f1 driver x reader #f1 wags #Brazilian gp 2023

[rc-writes]

Hello!!!

I just read your Ethan Morgan Drabble and it was so freaking adorable. It’s so nice to see people writing for MBV as I love that show so much.

I was wondering if I can request an idea? I don’t know if you write this type of stuff but if you do then can you please write some fluffy Dad!Ethan Morgan or Dad!Benny Weir scenario (i dont know why but they both give goofy sad vibes if they were parents)

If you don’t write that sort of thing that can you write Ethan Morgan x reader, where he has to take care of his sick significant other

Thank you again!!!

𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙨 | 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢

pairings: ethan morgan x reader

warnings: nothing besides the reader being sick i believe

a/n: i'm glad you loved my other ethan fic! and i agree that's its so cool to see people still writing for this show. our fandom may be small but it lives on lol. and i decided to go with the sick reader request (wasn't sure if you wanted it to be hcs or an imagine so i just went with hcs because i've been wanting to write more of those) but completely agree see either of the two with kids would be both incredibly cute/funny! anyways, i hope you like the hcs!!

ethan had texted you earlier that day asking if you wanted to go see the newest zombie movie 

which on any other day you would’ve jumped at the chance to spend the entire day with your boyfriend

but today you woke up feeling like you were the zombie

but you decided against telling ethan that in fear of him going overboard

you loved that he cared but sometimes he was a but much

last time you were sick he convinced himself you must have been cursed by the monster of the week

so you opted to just tell him that you were just a bit too tired to go anywhere

which wasn’t technically a lie

you did just sleep past noon and hadn’t gotten out of bed yet

ethan was a kinda disappointed that you didn’t want to go be he understood wanting to do nothing

saving the world would take a toll on anyone

when ethan replied that he understood you’re worry of making him worry went away

unbeknownst he did still worry

you didn’t even realize in your dazed state that you responded rather deadpan-y

usually you’d crack a joke about how tiring saving the world was, or something along those lines

not just “sorry i’m just a bit too tired today :(“

ethan immediately got a feeling that there was more to the story, so he planned to go to your house and seeing you in person

curse him and his caring nature

the jig was up the moment you opened the door wearing a haphazardly thrown on robe, hair a mess, and bags under your eyes

“ethan, what are you doing here?” 

sneeze #1

“i came to see if you were alright, which you don’t seem to be”

“don’t be silly i am-” sneeze #2 “alright”

he did not believe you for a second

even if he did the multiple sneezes gave it away

let caretaker ethan mode begin

don’t even think about getting off the couch any time soon

he will insist of getting anything and everything for you

want to change the channel? he will get up and get it for you even if you’re closer

getting kinda cold?

immediately throws the biggest blanket he can find on you

need a snack?

don’t worry he spread out a million different things he found in your cabinets the moment he set foot in your house

which at first he tried to find only healthy types of snacks but your sad pleading eyes convinced him to just grab everything

“you can’t eat only oreos all day”

“but they make me feel better” *sad eyes intensify*

“okay fine”

will make it his duty to find every tissue box in the vicinity and stack them up within arms reach

“i don’t think i’ll need that many”

“it’s just in case”

besides the many snacks laid out be prepared to be eating many bowls of soap

i don’t think ethan knows how to properly cook so it's mostly likely from a can

not that you’re complaining, the hot soap makes your throat not feel as scratchy

he’d probably call up benny at least once

“what’s up dude!?”

“is your grandma home?”

“you want to talk to grandma??”

as much of a good friend benny is he isn’t exactly the best at spells or potion making

so he was hoping grandma weir could stir something up that could make you feel better

and grandma weir loved you so of course she does

best she can do on such short notice is make a little home remedy that clears your nasal cavity for a few hours

you take it as if she offered you gold

“i can breathe again!”

“why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t before!?”

“i was just exaggerating a bit e”

“oh” you tell him that he worries too much

but you mean the world to him, how could he not worry?

you two would spend the rest of the day binge watching random movies

eventually you’d fall asleep on ethan’s shoulder

he’s a bit upset that you fell asleep during his favorite part of the movie

but he’s more than happy to see you finally sleeping peacefully

he falls asleep not much later

thankfully for you both you woke up the next morning feeling much better

and you about to cheer for joy when ethan suddenly starts sneezing

guess it’s his turn to be sick

oops

#mbav #mbav headcanons #my babysitters a vampire imagine #my babysitters a vampire fanfic #my babysitters a vampire #ethan morgan x reader #ethan morgan #ethan morgan imagine #ethan morgan headcanons #mbav x reader #my babysitters a vampire x reader

[pebblysand]

[castles update]

hello 👋. i hope you're all doing well. i'm going away skiing for a week tomorrow and thought it would be a good time to check in and talk about how writing is going for a bit.

as some of you might know if you are regular readers of this blog/listeners of the podcast, i've been working on chapter 20 for about two months, now, and it's been.... difficult. i think it's karma coming back to bite me because chapter 19 was so easy but this one has been a lot of: write, delete, write, delete, look through my docs history, getting back stuff i've deleted, sticking them back on, writing again, deleting again, etc.

i think what i'm struggling with is the fact that writing family vibes and people having children is... not my forte 😅. first of all, because #fluff and particularly, #familyfluff is not my forte (lol) but also because as a member of the #childfreebychoice gang, it's required a lot of research, a lot of trial and error, a lot of going back and forth to figure out what i really wanted to say. castles is obviously a fic that doesn't just exist as rainbows and butterflies, and the difficulties of modern parenting offer plenty of opportunities to discuss systemic issues to do with women's rights, etc. (all the hugs and support to all the mothers out there!) but it's been hard to figure out what i wanted to write about, exactly, how to write it without just being like "babies are hard" and moving on, and basically, who i wanted mum!ginny and dad!harry to be.

i also think that as someone who does not have (and does not want children), i feel very illegitimate writing this, and thus paradoxically feel a sense of duty to do it right and perfectly, which is a doomed enterprise given that a) every experience of parenthood is unique and b) no one is perfect. i think it's been an interesting exercise, and it's one that is necessary in terms of where i want this story to go, but a very humbling one. i don't think i've struggled this much on any chapter in the past. add to that the extra technical challenge that i need to basically cover 13 years in two chapters, which is an outlining and pacing mindfuck ✨ and you've got a recipe for ... a lot of swearing and hair-pulling.

having said that, the good news is that i've made... progress. i have about 20k of stuff. very messy stuff that needs to be badly cut down and edited, but stuff nonetheless. i really wanted to get a first draft down before going on holidays but it's past 10pm, i have a podcast episode to edit before tomorrow night and i need to pack, eat, and sleep, so i'm throwing in the towel. it'll wait until i get back.

i think at this point in time, i have a publication date in mind (18th february), and i'd like to get 20 & 21 out at the same time. i kind of see them as a single unit, that "parenting" and "before hogwarts" stage, and i've also made a number of choices with 20 so far where i would like to write 21 before publication, just to see how they pan out. also, frankly, they're not the most interesting of chapter to me, so i kind of want to get them out and move on 😅. i think it's just going to be some of those chapters where i need to be okay with "good" rather than "great", which i always struggle with. there definitely has been some of those in the past (i hate chapters 9 & 12 with all my soul) and that's okay. we deal, haha.

so, anyway, that's sort of where i'm at. i really am so excited to write 22, 23 & 24, so i think that's what keeps me going.

i hope you guys have a lovely week ❤️

#castles

[fluxweeed]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

i've had so much fun reading other answers to these questions over the last few weeks!! thank you @nv-md and @sweet-s0rr0w for mentioning me in your posts!! i fear my answers drifted much too far into self-indulgence, but what's new for this blog eh??

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

22, but one of them is 11 separate drabbles/microfics in a 2k-word jacket

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

293,865

3. What fandoms do you write for?

i'll only ever write hp on this username!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

all drarry:

the four doors (legilimency healer draco + memory loss)

adventures in truth and texting (advent texting fic)

all i have to do (draco thinks harry is a magical fantasy but whoops he's real)

eight o'clock, tomorrow evening (four doors sequel)

two to lie and one to listen (8th year fake dating, sort of)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i respond to everything on the final chapter of a fic! sometimes very kind commenters will say something at the end of every single chapter, which is SUCH a joy to receive, but i haven't yet figured out a way of saying "thank you!" 26 times over without sounding insincere

(i also don't usually respond to comments on fics i've co-written bc i don't feel like i have? the right? feels like i'm taking credit for something i did not really do!)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

also drarry: for lack of wanting, wherein harry thinks it's sexy when draco acts like an evil dick again, and draco is too in love with harry to tell him that makes him feel weird

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

man i think all the rest are pretty happy, all things considered? tho i guess two to lie and wrapped are the only ones that end with explicit i-love-yous?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i've been quite lucky, actually! i've had the occasional demand to change an angsty ending, or comments that have been quite mean about a character who isn't supportive of drarry. oh and i've had a couple of people get suuuper mad when draco malfoy, death eater and snotty spoilt brat, makes mildly immoral decisions. i've found all of those quite funny tho, which i'm sure i wouldn't if they were legitimate hate, so i don't think they count!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

yep! the vibe of two characters wanting to fuck but knowing they shouldn't for some reason (uneven dynamic, magic stuff, they simply haven't had a fucking conversation about it) is my absolute favourite. will read it every time, will write it pretty much every time too 😅

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

the closest i've come to writing a crossover is say no to this, a fic vaguely based off the storyline of the song from hamilton. it was the first drarry fic i'd written in about 10 years!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

yep! not any under this username (that i know of), but someone re-uploaded an old drarry fic of mine to wattpad – and honestly, i don't mind at all. i don't think the fic is very good lmao, if someone else wants to take the blame for it, that's totally fine by me

(the wildest thing about it is the combined ff.net + wattpad views of that fic now top 2 million i think?! but despite that u have almost definitely not heard of it!! i've only seen it mentioned, like, maybe 3 times since i properly re-joined fandom spaces in 2020)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes!!!! it's SUCH an honour!!! the four doors is in german, chinese, russian and spanish; thirst (drarry vampire fic) is in chinese; and all i have to do (the not-fantasy-harry fic) is in russian 🥰

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes!!! well, sort of – officially, i co-wrote per my last letter (i hope you choke on it) with @lastontheboat, but i really do think i was more like an alpha reader with knobs on. the workload split was at least 25/75, with j shouldering a great deal of the burden (and all of the brilliance)!

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

this is going to sound silly given that i'm definitely a drarry writer and only really hang out in the drarry sphere – but i don't have one! for hp, i gravitate towards ships with harry in them, but even that isn't a hard and fast rule for me

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

nothing that i've posted! but i have tons that are never going to see the light of day. three recent-ish hp ones i've written the most for:

a fic i call The Opus, which is a drarry auror partners fic – i have 16k words written; it was going to end up a solid 100k. i love the concept i have for this fic so, so dearly, but a 100k casefic is not happening.

a harry/ginny established relationship smutty oneshot that is really nothing more than ginny being fun and sexy and harry being horny but, like, self-deprecating about it.

a drarry little mermaid au that i wrote for nanowrimo in 2019. like i MIGHT come back to this one day? but it's unlikely. pros: i do have 50k of it written already and the first draft isn't too far off being complete. cons: i have almost exactly 50k words of it written bc i hit the nano goal and stopped in the middle of a sentence bc writing it was SO stressful (that november i had two jobs + one volunteering role, and also i was moving house, so. a lot going on.)

16. What are your writing strengths?

god knows. dialogue and characters come easiest to me, ig? and i tend to cut a lot in editing, so i don't think my stuff is? overly wordy? so it doesn't require much brainpower to read? that could be a positive or a negative, depending on how you look at it!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i suck at caring about anything other than character dynamics, so my fics never have plot outside of something vague to put the main pairing in the same room

similarly, i'm not very good at describing locations – describing anything, really

bc i tend to focus on the "oh we want to but we shouldn't!" moment, i'm pretty bad at actually developing feelings in longer fics – that part always feels too rushed to me, but fuck if i know a way of fixing it that isn't just, like, write another 20k

i think my endings usually feel like a bit of an afterthought and often quite forced

the more i write, the more i realise i know, like, 5 ways of phrasing anything, and i just repeat the same things over and over

i'm trying to fix my lack of skills with plotting + pacing by planning extensively before i start drafting, but i think that takes a bit of the spark out of the final version? it becomes a bit predictable and samey?

em dashes every tenth word

i'm convinced ppl i respect are in group chats talking abt how annoying and bad at writing i am, and also lowkey (…highkey) i agree with them – so actually getting myself to write anything is super hard!!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

yeah man! i mean, i personally am not sufficiently confident in my skills in any other language to do it without help (and i'm not sufficiently confident in my skills in asking for help to do that), but it's fun to read imo

19. First fandom you wrote for?

i've dabbled in a few over the years, but the first was hp – it was a marauders era snape/lily/james love triangle fic that i posted on a forum on a hp roleplaying site – this was before deathly hallows came out, so i was very smug when my pairing theory (that i undoubtedly stole from someone cleverer than me, because i was 13 years old) turned out to be true

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

god. @decaflondonfog recently told me that drabbles don't really count, so i? don't know? perhaps still the pine-woods scent the moon (guilty remus/harry) or taste of țuică (established drarry bringing ron in as a third) are the ones i like best, but i don't love either of them enough to be able to confidently declare them my favourite!

u know the drill: i got too sad and anxious and unfollowed everyone so i have no idea who to tag. if u made it this far please know i do love you very much, i want to kiss u on the cheek at LEAST, and would love to know any thoughts u have about the things u make ❤️

#as if i said 'a strength of mine is that i'm not too wordy' in this post #have u SEEN the length #fluxweed shut the fuck up challenge #my fic #tag game

[writing-good-vibes]

in the back of his mom's mercury

after all this time, anna finally writes a corey x reader fic !! you know when you just get a single scenario stuck in your head. no plot, no nothing, just vibes? that's what this is. also this is somehow the second round of car sex i've written for corey, i guess he just lends himself to that sort of thing.

WARNING for smut (not particularly explicit), f!reader, car sex, inexperience but not first time, post-accident but pre-michael corey, smoking (corey, not reader) and very vague mentions of child abuse (joan cunningham hate club).

taglist: @slutforstabbings (if anyone else wants to be tagged in corey related things, just let me know !!)

"I dunno if we should be doing this," Corey whispers, hesitating at the curb.

"It's okay, she won't even notice," you promise, turning back from where you were already halfway around the hood of Corey's mom's car. Weaving your fingers together with his, you make him look at you. "You deserve to live a little, Core."

Corey does look at you, squeezing your hand. But with his free hand he worries the ridged edge of the car keys. Is he really going to do this? His momma would throw a fit if she found out what he was doing; is it really, really worth it?

You squeeze his hand back, you have that patient look on your face. You weren't going to make him do anything, you never did. Since the moment he met you on his first day at the call centre, you were the only one who'd been friendly with him straight away. People tended to give him a wide berth these days, which he preferred to the alternative of people saying the all nasty things they're thinking to his face. But not you. No, you'd talked to him between calls, gave him pointers about the software system when he was too nervous to go and ask his supervisor about it again. You showed him where you bought your coffee in the morning and you always hung out together on your lunch breaks. Even when he moved on to Prevo after begging Ronald to give him a job (he'd do all the grunt work, he promised, he just needed something manual to do instead of sat behind that desk all day), you'd kept in touch, saying he was more than just a work friend.

You're definitely worth it, he decides, unlocking his mom's Mercury and getting in the drivers seat.

Corey got his licence back in high school drivers ed, but his momma barely ever let him drive her car, so he'd not had a lot of practice since the day he passed his test. His momma was the worst backseat driver too -- "Corey, check your mirrors," "Watch that pothole," "Careful, Corey, that maniac's about to pull out in front of us". Even when she did let him behind the wheel, and he could count on both hands the times she'd let him drive them home from the grocery store, he ends up wishing she hadn't bothered.

The streets were almost empty as you drove through town. You watched Corey, watched as the street lights illuminated the look of concentration on his face before you passed into another pocket of darkness. There was something in the air that you couldn't quite put your finger on, beneath the almost solemn feeling of being the only two souls in town, there was a tangible sense of good old-fashioned mischief.

You'd brought some CDs along, almost every mix you'd ever burned, so you didn't have to put the radio on. Before meeting Corey, you didn't mind WURG, you kind of liked the variety of genres, and Willy was a character -- he made for good entertainment. After the accident though, Willy's conspiracies about it felt heartless. And once you met Corey in person, eyes fliting nervously around the office while DeVon showed him around on his first day, you knew you'd never listen to another word out of Willy's mouth. Flicking through your collection, you settle on one of your most recent playlists, and the car's built in CD player receives the disc shakily. You keep the volume low so it doesn't distract Corey's focus.

Lover's Lane was on the edge of town, past the rail road and down a gravel track. Without the headlights of the Mercury, you'd be swallowed into the pitch black night. Above the treeline, the radio tower blinks in the distance. There wasn't much of a view from here beyond the cracked dirt, even with headlights still on.

Corey puts the car into park and leans back in his seat. He keeps his hands on the wheel, unsure what he'd do with them if he let go.

Slowly, like you think you might startle Corey otherwise, you reach over and turn the volume up a few notches now, just to set the mood.

Corey's always hesitant to make the first move, no matter how clear you make it that you want him too. That's okay though, you'd seen first hand how difficult Corey found socialising. It was like he was always waiting for the punchline to a joke he didn't understand and didn't trust that the punchline wasn't, in fact, himself.

You place your hand over his on the wheel, wiggling your fingers until he lets you link yours between his. He loosens his grip, turning his palm over so you can hold his hand properly.

"Are you going to kiss me?" you ask, giving him the permission he needs.

He grins, small at first, then spreading wide to dimple his cheeks. He lets out a huffing little laugh, before his lips meet yours.

There's a giddiness to his kissing, the way his hands wander and he hums happily. You've noticed before that he gets like this, drawn out of his torturous echo chamber and caught up instead in the fun of fooling around. In the juvenile counting of bases and mumbled daydreams between stolen cigarette kisses.

"C'mon," you murmur against his lips before you manage to pull yourself away. You smile at him, climbing over the centre console and into the back seat.

Corey follows, his nervous energy having dissipated with his need to keep touching you, and have you keep touching him.

Safely in the backseat, Corey's hands gravitate to your waist, holding you there as your lips reconnect. Soft breaths warming the both of you between open mouthed kisses.

You fumble with Corey's jeans, in no rush to jump ahead as you finally pop the button and unzip his fly. His hips buck as your hand brushes over his briefs.

One of Corey's hands drifts beneath your shirt, tracing along your spine, feeling the blemishes of your back before his thick finger slide work their way beneath the band of your bra. He's hit or miss with how quickly he can unhook it, but he manages it this time. The fastening pings undone, letting the straps slip down your shoulders.

Pulling away feels like an impossible ask, so you stay as close as possible, sharing the same shaky breaths with Corey as you both scrabble to get out of your shirts.

When you're half bare, you latch back onto Corey; lips on lips, chest to chest. He whimpers into your mouth when you palm his bulge, hard and leaking, over his underwear.

All hope of going slow, of making this last, go out the window when you finally -- finally -- wrap your hand around him. All of a sudden it's nothing but heat and want and wetness. He yanks you into his lap, work-rough hands hot on your hips. Jeans come off, dropped into the footwell. His hand goes to your panties, drenching his fingers in slick as you rock against him, and it's not enough. It's not enough -- never enough -- because you can never get enough of Corey.

"Oh fuck," he groans, when he's finally inside you. His arms hug your waist, clinging hopelessly as he gets lost in you, lost in the paradise he can only find between your legs. Corey holds you like you're the last temptation, and he knows without a doubt that he'll never, ever be saved.

Corey leans against the trunk while he smokes (if he does it in the car, his momma is sure to know, he claims), his face rosy in the cherry red glow of his cigarette. His jeans, unbuttoned and a size too big for him anyway, hang low on his hips.

He smokes all the way down to the filter before flicking the butt away, the ember burning bright for just a second before it goes out against the dirt.

Later, when you drive home, you'll roll all the windows down.

#corey cunningham #corey cunningham x reader #halloween ends #the title is of from crush by ethel cain of course #it's such a corey coded song lol #cannot even tell you how long this has been in my drafts

[lizaluvsthis]

what is good about cnb? i see lots of a art thought i ask creator

Oh my- looks like we pulled a new curious person off the peeps!

(CnB) Coffee N' Bombs - Brewing Romance AU is an inspiration from the first full episode in the SMG4 Channel called "SMG4: SMG3'S BOMB CAFE"

I really liked the whole model and details from the inside and outside of Three's new Cafe and at first I've been picturing about Smg4 working there- but nahh he just worked there once its not like theres gonna be an au abou-

I came in tumblr a few months back and some anon asked me what kind of design SMG4's attire would be since he works as a waitress from Three's coffee n bombs.

For a second my mind went blank of what the uniform would look like so- I gave myself on and on about some few details getting inspired by watching some other episodes of SMG4's

So then- I made the hat and I thought of something that reminded me about- a reversible color!

(A few years back I bought this octopus which was cute and then I figured it was reversible by looking underneath and putting the detail here- I was like- ah Liz you're gonna make it look so special!)

Straight in to detail that the fabric used from this hat is silk, with polkadots! And it was made by Three :>

For the pride pins I also thought of- "hey- this is a crazy idea but what if I also created a pride pin next to his apron. But instead it's a bomb than just a regular circular pin." Then there represents Four having the bi bomb flag :)

The Apron is specifically made by me on which where its all gotta be purple themed since it is his cafe and everything is purple and purple to a color black!

For the shoes tho- I might've gave myself a try to say it's one of those glow in the dark classic shoes- glow in the dark has been my favorite types of stuff to look on or even paint, the nostalgic vibe of being a small kid having fun observing and using glow in the dark (bracelets) for example- is like a funny thing and a classic thing to have.

Then that calls for it. "Heck why not?"

Theres the bomb logo and also the spilled coffee logo, it was designed by our man Three to himself.

It feels sort of childish to put in when four complains about glow in the dark having it as a childish thing- good thing three back fires in about his shoes having wheels XD (it might seem to be for kids but its all for ages and above ^^)

The gloves were designed for funziez and making it feels like getting sent back on the themed black and white (sia or melanie martinez the hair color or if you fancy it enough going back to the earliest movies that has black and white colors)

Even putting on a aymbol of "S.U.L." on the back of the gloves and Four's "IV" roman numeral signature on the palm of his gloves.

And even for the tiniest detail from his hairtie having the color of red and his slit pants on the ends. (Also including the part of the three-beaned pin that only four made it special for him and three only)

Lets put up the post!

This inspired so much from the design that my followers or other people had want to try it out!

Then coming upon the reply from @shygirl4991 therefore the AU was born/created, they thought about wanting to write about this cafe au and I let them in for ideas and for writing the fic. :D

I pulled out a new attire for Three's outfit (ngl he looks like purp-

And now there is- the release of the first chapter-

Before the first chapter- Shay gave it a title of "Brewing Romance" since its a silly fic for these two gay boys working together on the cafe :>

Again I'm only an artist who does doodles or design stuff the real person who created this is @shygirl4991 by mentioning it as "Cafe AU" thats where it's been born :)

CnB Brewing Romance AU is a fun space for our two fruits getting together and such ^^ this AU is made for fun relating to also the cafe shop itself.

(We'd also like to thank you for all of the artists who made those lovely fanarts <3)

To the point where I accidentally created a meme out of the two.

Man behind the coffee/memes (slaughter) as smg3

And the Fish Flounder as Smg4

If people would like to put their ocs there for fun you can make art out of it.

(Shoot I'm making it longer- AHHGGR)

Whats cnb br au?

Its a silly au me and shay made and made it alive for the shippers

Whats good about it?

The two gay boys

The designed details from their attires

Karen.

Bringing from the fic for angst/fluff

Whose Idea was the fic?

All on for Shay ^^

Who created it?

I did the design mostly people thought it was all on me but its shay's :)

When is the date of creation?

December 9, 2023

Can we make fanarts out of it?

Yes you can by mentioning/tagging me and @shygirl4991

Whats in it for this au?

Me and Shay collaborated this

These two boys

The whole ass journey and coming into developments

Karen?

Yes. She works here :) design of hers will come out soon tho.

What about the other characters like Mario?

Oh they will come out- as side characters only :>

Where does this AU focus on?

Dealing with trauma

Four getting a job since he's broke af

The past memories

Development - Chemistry

Changing.

How does putting our ocs in the au work?

You can put your oc for ex. Ordering, chilling on le table, sipping your coffee, idk pay for those bombs(?), commit arso-, selfie on yourself (if you have any other ocs you'd want to add- you can), pride bombs, make yourself as an employee i guess? All whatever your choices.

Except-

NSFW (or oc x canon <that has smg4 or smg3>)

(Pls dont be mistaken I dont like oc x canon- I only said no oc x SMG3/SMG4 cuz its a br au and the main focus is four and three being duperly inlove and sh-t TUT)

Spaghetti. Spaghetti is not available in a coffee shop.

Does this au contain with the canon events/arc?

It has the arc and event but it contains non-canon creation. Due to some remake of the scenes.

Did luke approved of this?/j

Not yet :)

I'm not even sure if he uses tumblr atp

Do you have any other works of yours and shay about this au?

I am planning on making a side fic that'll come out very soon

Theres a quick doodle/sketch about it

Some personal diary or info Three picks up (including sticky notes)

Shay is still working and doing their best for the future chapters 'u'

‽

What happens in the future chapter?

You'll have to wait and see. (Again I keep getting this even relating about zero that is a spoiler I'm not trying to be like gooseworx here pls stop-)

Wait what memes are you talking about?

Fnaf for Man behind the slaughter but instead it's SMG3 being the one whose purple guy and is called Man Behind The Coffee

Flounder from Ariel whose a fish and Four looked like one because of his ponytail looking like the fish's tail

What orders do they have in there?

Coffee:

Normal Coffee

Special White Mocha

Matcha Gun Powder Latte

Soy Boy Flat White

Al Pacino

Wake me up before you cocoaf

Morning Brown

Cyanide Supreme Latte

Titanium Black (trust me you don't want to try this)

café minuit (midnight)

Bombs:

Tsar Bomba

Hydrogen bomb

Fat man

Little Boy

Refined uranium

Saturnist Capurn

NUKE CHONK (DONT-)

Displays/Collections/Accessories:

Eggdog plush

Smg3 mugs

Pride Bombs

Stickers

A button. (Do it at your own risk)

Foodies/Food/Snacks:

Non-Donut (its invisible but more of an air food)

Gun powdered donut (white or brown)

Shinkled donut

Pieced- cake

Chompstick (chocolate stick)

Breed Bread (it has raisins)

KWASON (croissant)

Waffu Daffus (waffles)

DEADLY DUNGLE (its a spiciest donut I warned you.)

Nomul Chaki (a "normal" chocolate...)

Whats something that was mentioned from the design?

Terrance.

Did you plan on making this au?

Nope but for some reason we're here thanks to my artwork and shay :DD

Does PuzzleVision or TV Adware exist in this?

No.

Will the side characters make an appearance?

...

Is it true that Karen and Meggy both gossip about the boys?

Yep- kinda hilarious now that Karen's here, she observes.

Where'd you get that idea about Karen and Meggy?

@anartisticalniche

Where can I see the fanarts section?

In my Introduction Page :)

Why don't you post this to twitter?

Twitter is for talking/rants

Tumblr is to share the post you want to share.

Plus twitter for me is a "not-safe-app" regardless on people sending death threats and doxxing. (Even elon musk.)

I'm not tryna reach out for Luke's attention when it comes to CnB I just did this for fun :3

Are you still hyped that they're still making the cafe shop's appearance?

Yes. You have NO idea.

How do you and shay feel about it?

Very- super- brain- storming ideas on the gays and the plots also the notes- we love this progress ^^

The gayness/fruitiness of these two

Will you and Shay be planning on something more than just CnB?

Shh-

Funny to ask but how old are you while collaborating this work?

I'm a minor-

Don't you find it weird to be friends with adults? Or having them as your fans?

(I get these asks alot) my final answer is no.

There are some other adults who are predators out there but not in my sight. I keep a closer eye on that. And I don't allow pedos or groomers here.

I don't really see what the problem is about when an adult likes a minor's work. It's artwork and most of ems crave for the ship and the ship itself its basically a free fun type for people who likes it. (Age regressor say no more cuz its all free to have fun here)

I have no idea why I made this too long but please carry on your glasses people-

#lizaluv #smg34 #smg4 #smg3 #smg4 smg3 #mario #smg3 coffee n bombs #shygirl4991

[echo-rambles]

Fuck it- it's fine!

words: 1830 summary: inspired by the general vibe of bad idea right? by olivia rodrigo. tags: past established relationship, ex-boyfriend bang chan, best friend felix, suggestive content but nothing explicit note: first ever reader insert fic I've written! that's probably why it's pretty introspective and there's not much chan. I just wanted to get the feeling of writing reader insert so I hope it's not too terrible! please enjoy~

-o0o-

To be completely fair, you were the one who messaged him first. Could it be seen as slightly desperate? Maybe. But in your defense, you were pretty drunk and left unsupervised.

That doesn’t mean it’s not a complete shock to your system when you wake up the next morning and notice that he messaged you back. Which, ok. What an absolutely wild turn of events seeing as how he’s meant to be the mature adult of the relationship. (his words, thrown out midst argument) 

Once you blink away the hungover fog and wade through the low lying panic, you find it a little funny, actually. Your text, the first between the two of you in months, is embarrassing and filled with a few too many emojis- it’s the epitome of a drunk text to your ex who you might have been missing at the peak of your intoxication. 

The funny part is that he had texted back, playing into your theatrics. Maybe it’s not funny in a haha way. Maybe it’s funny in an ironic sort of way. The guy that once told you that you’re incredibly impulsive and never think things through, replying to you and not even scolding you. 

Ok, so maybe he was a little bit correct and you are impulsive, because the next thing you know your fingers are tapping away at your phone screen and you're replying to his reply as if this is something the two of you still do. There’s been a whole lot of maybes filling up your head far too early in the morning, but maybe this could be something you two do. Like, maybe it can become normal again. 

>I hope you’re drinking water to combat all the vodka you must have drank to use seven whole emojis in a row. 

<I demolished an entire water bottle when I got home last night but sadly it wasn’t enough to save me 

You’ve crawled your way out of bed and are in the middle of trying to wash up to feel human again when your phone buzzes. Thankfully you’re alone in your bathroom or else it would be embarrassing how quickly you check who the new text is from.

Before you can unlock your phone and reply to the notif saying something about ‘RIP you should’ve drank three…’ another message pops up, staring at you from the lock screen, half of the message fading off in an ellipses. 

You still have his contact saved. Somehow that’s the first thing you think, so incredibly belatedly. In your defense you thought deleting it would be stupid, seeing as how you share friends and what if Felix was in trouble and the only way anyone could reach you was through your ex-boyfriend? It’s a flimsy excuse but you clung to it at the time. 

For a while his contact was changed to HEARTBREAKER, all in caps with broken heart emojis book ending it. At some point you changed it again, hating the reminder the name would elicit every time you scrolled past it. It just made you feel bad, to be honest. Not in a guilt way, but in the way of it settling all weird in your stomach. 

So now he’s filed under a very polite and professional Bang Christopher Chan. It feels safer this way. The least amount of intimacy possible. 

Looking at it now, knowing that there’s multiple messages attached to it because you were drunk and then half asleep and he’s apparently a child who can’t just ignore you- it feels like a stupidly personal inside joke. Which is stupid. It’s his name. 

>I know this is last minute, but I was wondering if we c…

This is not something you can read by yourself while still hungover and sleepy. Absolutely not. Any sort of question he has will have to be dealt with once you’ve consumed a sufficient amount of caffeine. 

“What do you think it says?” You ask, a little bit later after your second cup of coffee. 

Felix barely even moves his head from where it’s resting against the table. He’s clearly just as hungover as you are, but you feel like you’re in the middle of making a very bad decision and you need a second opinion. You shimmy your phone under the seam where his forehead meets the wood. 

With a little pout and deep groan, he’s shifting around and waking up your phone to stare at the lock screen. The silence stretches on as he stares, blinks, and blinks some more. With a start, he’s sitting up straight, pulling the phone closer. 

“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk to him-”

“I’m aware of what I said! But that was also like, months ago, and we’re both totally over it-”

“It felt like you two went through a divorce, I don’t know if a few months is long enough-”

“I’m over it!” You proclaim, a little loudly. A little desperately. “And he is too if he’s talking to me.” 

Felix says your name, with that specific tone like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. So, like a normal, emotionally stable adult, you completely ignore him and instead scoop up your phone. Suddenly the nerves over wondering exactly what Chan wanted to ask you have been replaced with a confidence only born from needing a distraction. 

Finally, you read the text he sent. 

>I know this is last minute, but I was wondering if we could maybe grab lunch? Or, if you’re still too hungover for lunch, maybe something later? 

Oh. Definitely the beginning of a very bad idea. 

<you paying??

>Of course I am >When was the last time you paid?

Uncalled for, but also completely fair.

<then sure count me in

It all feels way too easy. Like the last few months have just been- what, erased? Ignored? Boxed away so you can talk about it later? But hey, that’s a problem for the future version of yourself. 

“Did you just agree to spend time with him?” Felix asks, because of course he does. Are you really that predictable? 

“Maybe.”

Shaking his head, Felix sits back in his seat. “You know I love you both, but I don’t know if this is a great idea.”

“It doesn’t have to be romantic! We’re just meeting up, like friends do.” The silence is practically palpable. “We can be friends! We’re both adults- we can totally be friends.” 

Felix gives you possibly the most pitying look you’ve ever seen on his angelic little face.

-o0o-

Ok. Maybe you can’t be friends. The two of you started off as friends, definitely. You built your whole relationship off of being friends. But somewhere along the way something got all gummed up. Being together dissolved into months of barely even talking to each other. 

You were hoping that could change tonight. After getting all dressed up- because you wanted to feel pretty and you couldn’t remember the last time you got dressed up, thank you very much Minho. With his judging eyebrow and the way he clicked his tongue when you told him about the text messages and your dinner plans. Just because you were meeting up with someone who you used to give hickeys to had nothing to do with the dress you wore. 

(it absolutely did but no one had the right to know.)

It started off as just something casual. Stilted awkward conversation as you both tried to remember how to be civil around each other. It came a lot easier to Chan, as always. But you missed this. You missed being in the same space as him and hearing his voice and god Felix was right, you’re so incredibly weak. 

You wanted to try and be friends again so badly. But you were absolutely lying to yourself, big time, because the second that he smiled- that small little smile where he ducks his head and bites at his lip, oh you were gone. 

Currently you’re being pinned to the wall with his tongue down your throat and you can’t really think straight. 

Somehow you went from a casual get together to this. Attacking each other's faces like starving animals who haven’t eaten in weeks. It’d be embarrassing if it weren’t for the way Chan is so clearly feeling the exact same things you are. Your hands are running through his hair and his hands are anchored to your hips, and he still tastes the same. He still makes the same little noises when you drag your teeth along the edge of his jaw. 

It’s so fucking familiar and you already feel like you could drown in it. 

You should probably talk about this. The making out, yes, absolutely, but also the last few months and the texts and him asking to see you out of the blue. It should be talked about, right? Except what would you even say? You’ll just rehash the same things you’ve been saying. You felt ignored and he felt suffocated and you could never find a way to meet in the middle because you’re both stubborn. 

You should say something though, right? Right? 

The press of his hand against the dip of your waist, pulling you closer, has you losing any semblance of what language even is. Words? Who needs them? He’s hooking his other hand behind your knee and hiking it up, guiding you to wrap your leg around him, and really all you can think about is how you aren’t close enough.

You sneak your fingers up under the hem of his shirt, feeling the expanse of his skin, and the sound of the breathiest gasp leaving his lips settles along the curve of your spine. 

“Is this a bad idea?” You ask, once you remember how to use words. 

He stops short, as if he’s just remembered not only did he leave the oven on but he also left incredibly flammable items near it. A little shocked and worried and second guessing. Which, you’re not really sure what sort of reaction you were hoping for but you should have expected this at the least. He’s a chronic over-thinker sometimes. 

It’s fine, it’s cute even. When it’s not annoying you to no end. Sometimes you need his specific brand of cautious energy, a voice helping you recognize when something actually is a terrible idea because you didn’t realize before he pointed it out. Other times, like now, you already know the answer to your own question and you seriously do not need him to answer. It was rhetorical, thank you very much. 

“Um, well- I-” He stumbles over his sentence, breathing hard and face flushed.

“Nevermind, don’t answer that. Just kiss me.” 

Thankfully Bang Chan is very good at going along with your bad ideas. 

You can deal with whatever all of this means after. Right now, the both of you are wearing far too much clothing and you need to fix that immediately. 

#stray kids #skz #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #echo writes #I actually had a lot of fun writing this #maybe I'll make a part 2 or write something else if i get inspired! #i promise bang chan is my bias vgkjdfkfjgd

[bokettochild]

*sigh*

listen

u seem like the perfect person to ask

but I need to know if you've got any Scottish or Irish headcanons about the boys

you out of all people seem like the one to have em, just based on vibes

please-

-✨

I hear bagpipes playing for some reason.....

Yes! As a proud descendant of the Stewart line and an partially Irish family, I very much have some Scottish headcannons for the boys! Granted, I didn't get a lot of cultural education from my parents because ✨american military family✨ but yeah.

Warriors in my fics is actually the Hylian equivalent of Scottish! It's not super apparent because he tends to hide his heritage and mask his accent (on account of maintaining the respect of his men who, like many hylians, are pretty racist), but he and his sisters are all very Scottish. Heavy accent, lots of pride, absolutely overflowing with the stories and fairy-tales and heroes that they adore, but they rarely speak of any of it in front of those outside of their culture. I tend to headcannon they lived in the North of Hyrule before, but moved to the capital in hopes of finding better work and maybe improving their standard of living, which happened when Warriors joined the army. They miss the Hebra countryside though.

Do you want to know how many times I've almost drawn our captain in a kilt? The answer is probably the same as how often guys think of the roman empire. The only reason I haven't done it before is because I hate drawing legs (I might do it anyways though, for reasons) and my experience in kilt drawing reminds me that, oh yeah, TARTAN is tricky to draw too. (So many variations and patterns, and what tartan would I even put him in? My dad's? My mother's? My mom's might be appropriate because the Black Watch sort of suits a knight, but also I don't think his family would have that one?)

Yes though, Warriors is just straight up Scottish!

As for the others, I like to think that the fairies and those of the Kolkiri forest tended to also have something of an Irish accent, and are sort of like the fae of Celtic legend in some ways. So, whenever I write Time speaking the fae tongue it's literally just Irish-Gaelic from one translation service or another (I suck at learning languages so yeah...) So yeah, Hyrule and Time have some influence from the culture. They don't have it as fully as Warriors though, so it's kinda annoying because he speaks their mother tongue better than them and despite not being fae or fae adjacent, he is incredibly informed about it all?!?!?!?!

Proxi adores this. Mask kinda hated it, but it also made him feel more at home because Warriors was the first person since Saria to speak to him in his own language.

I've been tempted to throw out a fic where the boys actually meet Warriors' family (sisters and mother) but accents are not my strong suit in writing and the idea of writing eight people with heavy accents is...daunting. I need to get my hands on some George MacDonald again if I want to do that, so I can tune myself in properly (if you enjoy stories set in Old Scotland please read his work, I love him! The Fisherman's Lady and The Highlander's Last Song are two of my favorites!)

#asks and answers #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu warriors #lu time #lu hyrule #george macdonald