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the-cult-of-russo · 3 years

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Hues of Gold

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Request : do a billy russo x reader with the reader having an art job and them meeting due to that somehow

Warnings: none

A/N: Here it is, my first Billy x Reader. I'll be getting to the prompts in my inbox too but still feel free to send me more requests. You don't need to pick from the prompt lists, if you have an idea then just send it on over. Nothing is off limits and I write for every type of Billy. S1 Billy, S2 Billy, pre-show Billy, all the AU Billy's you can think of lmao Gimme them all.

You tilted your head a little, eyes sweeping across the paint on the easel in front of you. The piece was coming together nicely. You'd started at humble beginnings with your artwork as a street artist. You hadn't been able to afford art school and you didn't feel like people needed to if they just felt it. And you did. You'd been a hit with your expressionist art and before you knew it, you were getting wealthy clients and more money. Now you had your own little studio with an apartment on top. It wasn't flashy but it was yours and you loved it. The work you thought was good enough for your new clients would go up on your website, they'd buy them and then you'd send them off to their new home. It was simple and you got to spend every day painting to your heart's content.

You bit your lip as you mixed two golds together to get the perfect shade you were after. Some of your pieces were weirder than others, others being more realistic or using average colors. Some of them were darker in theme or used more vibrant colors with looser shapes. It was all dependent on how you felt when making it. The one currently being worked on wasn't finished by any means. Oil paint often required many layers and getting it to dry in between time. But if someone was to gauge your mood by this one, well… they'd say you were most likely sexually frustrated. It was a naked woman laying on her back on rumpled sheets, just her torso and a bit of her leg to leave the rest to the imagination. Her male counterpart was pressed up against her as the bodies melded together, his hand gripping her thigh. The colors you'd picked for this were hues of red, orange, yellow and gold, making it look like the couple were set ablaze. The epitome of passion. It was coming along nicely.

Your work cell rang breaking you from your thoughts. You gave your hand a quick wipe on the ratty towel next to you as you picked it up, answering with your full name.

"Hi, I'm lookin' for some art and I've heard you're the girl to go to," a smooth voice came through the phone. The fact that someone recommended this guy to you made you smile. It always did. It meant people were pleased with your work.

"I am. Have you checked the website? That's where my current pieces are," you murmured softly.

"I did but… I haven't really found the one yet. And a friend of mine tells me you've got a bunch of exclusive stuff at your studio," he replied.

You glanced around your studio. He wasn't wrong entirely although you wouldn't call them exclusives. You'd call them rejects if you were honest. Your new clientele were more demanding and it made you second guess your pieces more often than you'd like to admit. This led to many of them finding a home in your studio instead. You were unsure who the man's friend was as typically you didn't have people come to the studio. It was a very rare occurrence and you couldn't imagine him being interested in any of these pieces. But a customer was a customer.

"You're more than welcome to come down and look at them. I'm not sure you'll find what you're looking for though, I've kept them offline because they're in the reject pile," you snorted wryly. His smooth chuckle was soothing as it hit your ears and you nibbled on your lower lip.

"Well I'll be the judge of that," you didn't know what he looked like but you could hear the smirk in his voice. You told him the address before hanging up.

You were a little nervous of someone coming into your space and judging the art you'd already deemed not worth putting up for sale, but you decided to roll with it. It was too late now and it wouldn't be a good look for your business to tell the guy he couldn't come. You decided to continue the piece you were working on to keep your mind occupied, having no idea just when the man would decide to show, or if he would at all.

It was an hour later when the large wooden door knocked and you called out that it was open. You stood up and wiped your hands on the towel again, not that it helped much. You were sure you had paint on every part of you, it was half the fun of making art. The man walked in and you were a little surprised by just how handsome he was. He was dressed to the nines in a suit with his hair slicked back, the sides shorter than the top. He certainly looked like your usual clients but you couldn't remember any of your fancier clients ever bothering to call you, never mind actually coming to see your other pieces.

The smile he shot you was disarming and you replied in kind as you walked over to him. You reached out your hand to shake with his before retracting it rapidly when you noticed just how much of a poor job the towel had done. He seemed amused if his chuckle was anything to go by and you snorted.

"Uh… welcome. Feel free to look around. I haven't really got prices for these since I wasn't gonna sell them so I'll settle for whatever," you shrugged with a smile. Anything was better than nothing that you were getting by keeping them here. Besides, you were pretty sure he wouldn't even like any of them.

You didn't want to crowd him as he looked around so you went right back to your easel and sat on the stool. He walked around leisurely, stopping at each piece and looking at them. Your eyes kept flitting to him without meaning to, you weren't sure if it was how attractive he was or the nerves of having someone assessing your work this way. Maybe both. He didn't strike you as an art kind of guy honestly. Most of the rich clients weren't, they just wanted a statement piece for their walls for people to talk about. There wasn't anything wrong with that of course, but you'd be a liar if you said you didn't miss it back as a street artist when people bought a piece simply because it spoke to them and they loved it. Onwards and upwards though, right?

"So… who's the friend? That told you I had stuff here?" You asked after a moment, unable not to because your curiosity was getting the better of you. He glanced over at you from where he stood and smiled.

"Curtis," he replied. Your eyebrows raised a little with that information. You'd met Curtis back when you were a street artist and he bought something for the group he was running. He was a nice guy and he checked in every so often with you. You wouldn't say you were friends but you really liked him and you had some good conversations. You couldn't imagine Curtis being friends with this man though.

Noticing the shock on your face, the man chuckled.

"We served together when I was in the marines. He's a good guy, one of my closest friends," he supplied.

"You were a marine?" You hadn't meant to ask like it was such an absurd notion but it came out anyway. You just hadn't expected it He looked amused though and he nodded.

"Yeah. When I got out I set up my own private military firm, ex military people with no purpose. I give 'em somethin' to fight for. A brotherhood. We're doin' pretty well," he had a bright smile on his face, gesturing to his suit when he said they were doing well and you found yourself smiling back.

"You must be really proud. It's amazing that you're doing that for them. I mean… I never served or anything but Curtis tells me about some of the guys from his group sometimes. I bet you really help them," you said sincerely. You had no clue what it must be like to serve and you knew you didn't have the stomach for it. But some of the things Curtis had told you had made you sad and you were impressed that the man had set up something like this on his own. Something to help others just like him. He shot you another smile before going back to looking at the artwork and you couldn't take your eyes off him.

Figuring he'd catch you looking at him, you forced yourself to focus on adding more gold to the art you were working on. You weren't sure how long had passed until he spoke again and it startled you. You'd almost forgotten he was there.

"This one is… interesting. I like this one," he mused, eyes on the work on your easel as he stood beside you. Your cheeks tinged a little pink at the phrasing he used but you recovered quickly.

"Thanks. I like this one too but… it won't end up on the website. The last erotic piece I put on there apparently offended people," you said with a wry grin. He laughed, the sound low and short but his eyes went to you then. Holy shit, his eyes are… wow.

"Well it definitely doesn't offend me. How long will it take to finish?" He asked as his obsidian orbs went back to the painting.

"A couple of days at most. It's almost done and then it needs to dry and be sealed," it was nice talking about your work with someone, even as mundane as when it would be complete. You missed that interaction since you got the studio.

"I'll take it. How much?" he flashed you a smile that made your stomach flip around on you and you bit your lip with a smile back.

"That's up to you," you shrugged. You never bothered putting prices on pieces you knew you wouldn't sell and you hadn't expected to sell this piece. Even the prices on the website felt too much for you but it was born from the first wealthy clients and what they thought your pieces were worth. You just rolled with it, it wasn't like they'd miss it, right?

He hummed, the sound deep in his throat as he got out his wallet. You mused he must want it mailed to him when it was done for him to pay now rather than later but you were happy it was cash and not card. He handed you some bills and you counted it quickly, eyes widening as you blinked up at him.

"I can't take this. This is more than the pieces online," you frowned, holding out the money back to him. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, shrugging his shoulders.

"You said it was up to me," he replied with an easy smirk. Would you really sit there and argue with him about getting more money for it? No. But you were shocked he thought it was worth that much.

"I… thank you, sir," you smiled, stuffing the money into your pocket.

"Billy," he clarified, smirk still in place.

"Billy," you corrected with a shy smile. Something glittered in his dark eyes as you tested the sound of his name and he raked his teeth over his lower lip. Despite the fact you'd already given him your full name on the phone, you gave him your first name again and he mimicked you as he tested it out. Why did it sound so good coming from his mouth?

You cleared your throat, his intense stare was getting a little too much and you stood, walking over to the big table against the wall, grabbing a pen and pad.

"You can leave your details, I can mail it to you when it's done," you handed them to him and he twirled the pen around in his long fingers with ease.

"I'll leave my number. I'd like to come pick it up when it's done, if that's okay?" He asked as he scribbled his name and digits down.

"Are you sure? It's not an issue shipping it out," you replied as he passed you back the pen and pad.

"I'm sure. It gives me an excuse to see you again," he smirked, dark eyes boring into yours as your cheeks turned pink. He chuckled and with that he was out the door and you were left stood there gaping where he went. Did he really just…?

You stood there a moment longer, a smile working its way onto your face before you shook your head and sat back down at your easel. You glanced at the painting before setting to work and getting it finished. You couldn't wait for it to be done so Billy would come back. He was intriguing and you found yourself thinking of him as you continued your work.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #the punisher

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boonki · 3 years

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Obikin prompt #1

A little 1.8k ficlet brought on by the prompt:

“When the hell did you get here?!”

“I got bored of waiting around for you to kill me so I wanted to see what you were doing.”

This is pre-slash, post Mustafar, about five(???) years after Anakin’s fall. I haven’t edited this, so... please tell me where I’ve made mistakes lol.

And send me prompts! My inbox is open for ideas :)

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It had been years since Obi-wan had seen the inside of a ship, let alone the glistening and polished interior of a star destroyer. Being voluntarily isolated on a desert planet limited the number of interactions he had with the Empire, for which he had been immensely grateful. His humble living space was already littered with memories, knick-knacks, and repressed feelings; he had long since abandoned the idea of using a mirror, not wanting to see his own measly reflection.

The Empire was the last reminder Obi-wan needed of his own failures.

Obi-wan twisted Anakin’s padawan braid around his fingers, one of the few things he had let himself be sentimental about in the years that followed Anakin’s fall. He had to hold onto the good memories, be reminded of the years that he had practically raised the boy. The hair was still golden in the braid, memories still golden in his head.

The tractor beam of the star destroyer pulled him in slowly, and it gave Obi-wan a moment to sit in peace, his fate pulled too far towards his own demise to change the course now. He knew he wouldn’t walk out of here alive.

The thought brought odd comfort.

He pulled his force signature into himself, stifling it down to the point of discomfort and pulling up his shields as sturdy as they would go, not wanting Darth Vader to notice him before he was ready, though he knew that there was only a slim chance Vader wouldn’t recognize him immediately. They had known each other almost better than themselves, or at least Obi-wan had thought, their force signatures so entwined sometimes it had been hard to tell where one began and the other ended. There had been secrets between them, of course, truths too hard to bear witness to, but there had still been a level of trust he had never been fully able to comprehend. But now, having lost the regular, calming presence in the back of his head that he had grown so accustomed to, he didn’t want to feel how tarnished Anakin had become, how void of life, how lonely. If Anakin was even in there at all. He didn’t want to even touch Vader’s mind.

Yoda had tried to bring him semblances of comfort during the years after Anakin’s fall, claiming the man he had known and loved had died on Mustafar, replaced by Vader. That the man in the mask was only an empty shell. And for years, Obi-wan readily believed this, desperate to find solid ground in the sinking sand his life had disintegrated into.

But he knew better. He had years to mull it over, meditating on what he could have done differently. He knew Anakin had not simply turned to the dark side one day, that it must have been a gradual descent, and if it were gradual, it was done by putting one foot in front of the other. Anakin had walked away from him, and that stung.

No, not stung. It was the worst thing Obi-wan had ever endured.

His ship landed roughly in the hangar, jolting him out of his own head. He stood, bending backwards to pop his lower back, and let out a hefty sigh, shutting the ship down and popping the cockpit open, lifting an eyebrow at the small gang of troopers that had gathered outside of the ship, all pointing their rifles at him. The dim white lights of the hangar reflected off of the tops of their helmets, making them glow a bit.

“Hello there,” he started, swinging his legs over the hull to stand on the ground, landing only with a slight twinge in his knees, which he met with an imperceptible grimace. He wasn’t used to flying long distances anymore. “Is Vader around?”

“Halt!” One of the stormtroopers commanded, taking a step towards Obi-wan, holding his rifle steady at Obi-wan’s chest. “State your purpose.”

Obi-wan cocked his head, smiling patiently, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his long, tan robes, the ones Anakin used to hate for their beigeness. “I thought I just made that clear. I’m here to see Darth Vader, unless he’s busy at the moment, in which case I am more than happy to wait.”

The peaceful sentiment seemed to disorient the trooper, who glanced back towards the group wordlessly. Judging by their lack of reaction, none of them quite knew what to do, didn’t have any protocol to follow. Obi-wan guessed Vader didn’t get many visitors. None that came voluntarily, that is.

“State your name.” The stormtrooper continued, never moving his rifle away from Obi-wan’s chest.

“Obi-wan Kenobi. You’ll find our friend knows me very well, if you wouldn’t mind passing along my greetings.”

***

Obi-wan wasn’t entirely sure where they had been trying to escort him to, as, after turning through a few nondescript hallways that dripped in black and white monotone, Darth Vader made his entrance, and Obi-wan had to hold back the small smile at how the menacing figure never lost his dramatic streak: some part of Anakin lived on, even if it was the part of him that had given Obi-wan premature grey hairs. His black cloak billowed behind him as he had turned the corner, and after letting the amusement pass through him, shock and horror crept up the back of Obi-wan’s throat.

This was what he had done to Anakin.

No- this was what Anakin had done to himself.

They came to a stop, meeting in the middle, leaving a good distance between themselves.

Obi-wan lowered the hood of his robe, knowing that Vader already knew who he was, but letting him get a better look at him. Letting him see the wrinkles and sun-spots that had peppered his face in the past five years.

Silence stretched in the gulf between them, tense and unwavering, almost palpable. Obi-wan took in every inch of him: the long black suit that gave him a few extra inches to his already tall stature, the dark helmet that glared hatred back at the viewer, the life support panel strapped to his chest that allowed for the heavy, static breathing. Obi-wan thought of Anakin, his dear, beautiful boy who loved open, free spaces, trapped forever inside this hulk of metal.

Vader lifted his eyes to the stormtroopers that flanked Obi-wan, and to his surprise Vader sounded a little unsure of himself, as if genuinely taken aback. Maybe Obi-wan had hid himself better than he had thought. “Leave us.”

They did so without hesitation, leaving the pair alone in the hallway, letting fate take its course.

Obi-wan swallowed, trying to push down the lump in his throat. “Hello there.” He sounded old, heartbroken, and strangely tinny to his own ears.

“When did you get here?” Vader asked, genuine confusion lacing the hatred of his tone.

Obi-wan considered the truth, and landed on a joke to cushion it instead. “I got bored of waiting around for you to kill me, so I wanted to see what you were doing, old friend.”

Vader rushed forwards, grabbing Obi-wan by the throat with a snarl, the force swirling with darkness around him. “I am not your friend. You were merely a pawn stopping me on my path to greatness.” Anger hung on every word, even through the raspy vocalizer the words had to filter through.

Obi-wan grasped Vader’s forearm, not trying to push him off. “I was only a pawn?” he tried to laugh, but Vader’s hold on his throat was too strong, “you were everything to me, dear one.” He rasped out, his windpipe slowly being crushed by Vader’s firm grip.

Vader pushed him away, sending Obi-wan stumbling backwards in a coughing fit, righting himself through the force, and even through his shields he could feel the surge of fury seep into the force at the endearment, and wasn’t at all surprised when the room glowed by the light of Vader’s lightsaber.

Obi-wan had come prepared to die, but the glimmer of red bouncing off the edges of Vader’s suit solidified what was happening. It didn’t seem real until then.

A small part of Obi-wan had hoped Anakin wouldn’t have been able to kill him, that whatever had been between them would be enough. It hadn’t been in the past, Obi-wan thought bitterly.

Obi-wan watched Vader take a steadying breath, twirling his saber around like Anakin had always done before deciding the best plan of action.

“I have dreamed of killing you, Kenobi. Of letting you burn and suffer the same way you let me suffer. I’ve had dreams of cutting off your limbs one by one until you had nothing left.” The words were cruel, frightening almost, if Obi-wan hadn’t been able to hear the small, scared child underneath the wrath.

“Bit dramatic don’t you think?” He answered, hitting the k hard at the end of the sentence, readjusting his robes from where they had slid sideways with Vader’s shove. “Well, get one with it then. I said I had been waiting.”

Even through the suit, Obi-wan could sense his hesitation. “Aren’t you going to fight?” Vader asked him, as if challenging him.

Obi-wan drew in a long suffering sigh, like he always did before diving into a lecture. “No, Anakin,” Vader’s body flinched at the name, “I don’t think I will. We fought before, and it didn’t quite work out for either of us. I’ve accepted that I failed you as a Master, as a… friend. I’m sorry you didn’t feel that you could trust me. You deserved better than what I had given you, and now I am here to atone for it. I’m ready to be one with the force.” Obi-wan exhaled, pursing his lips together. That was probably the most words he had said in one go in a long time, and something in his chest loosened, unraveling with the confession.

There was a lull in the conversation, as if Vader needed a moment to consider what Obi-wan had said. To be fair, Obi-wan thought, this was probably not how Vader thought his day was going to go.

“You came here… to apologize?” All of Vader’s anger had fled, leaving only sincere distress.

“Well,” Obi-wan smiled, mirth creasing the edges of his eyes, “I didn’t quite think I’d make it this far. But yes, I suppose I did, in a way.”

Vader drew back in his lightsaber, the hallway descending back into darkness, only the dim lights of the walkway illuminating their faces.

Obi-wan wanted nothing more than to let his shields crack just a little, just to reach out and see what Vader was thinking. But as soon as a tendril of the force brushed up against Anakin’s mind, he was thrown back into his own head, sharp and dangerous. Vader clearly wasn’t ready for that.

“Come.” Vader ordered, turning on his heel and marching into the depths of the ship, not waiting for Obi-wan to follow him. With only a twitch of the eyebrow to betray his bafflement at the change of heart, Obi-wan followed.

Anakin had once left him like this, step by step into the dark side, going to a place Obi-wan could never follow. He could only hope these new steps lead somewhere different, somewhere brighter, somewhere they could meet in the middle. He supposed he’d have to start walking to figure out.

#obikin #boonki writes #obi-wan #anakin #my boooooys

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 4 years

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*Victorian England little orphan boy voice* please sir, tell us a story. Any story you like. Just hopin' tho if ye please that it be gay? Thank you kindly sir. Thank ye

June I’ve had this sitting in my inbox for AGES with no idea what to write for you even though that’s absurd because EVERYTHING I write is gay so I’ve decided to just. give you the 4400 word first chapter to a possible future fantasy heist novel that I wrote the other day. hope you like it, I liked writing it.

Fen Davos was no stranger to being woken in the dead of night. It had been a hallmark of the neighborhood in which she had grown up, soothing as any lullaby, and was a staple of her current line of work. One did not last long as a guard in the Royal Palace of Deralia, not even a low-ranking guard, if one was not willing to jump out of bed and snap to attention at the oddest of hours.

Even taking that into account, it was not often that her wakeup call came from excitable urchins who had plainly clambered in through the window. Alarmed to find the ragamuffin child shaking her and leaning right into her face, Fen did the only thing that made sense at the moment: she swung a fist to put some distance between them.

“Oof!” The child hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, rolling and clambering back to her feet immediately to sulk. “Why’d you have to do that? I only wanted to wake you up, you big skunk. It’s an emergency out there.”

Fen knew that voice. Groaning, she slid out of bed and touched a hand to the globe of moon moths that stood on her night table. Startled, the insect began to flutter around their enclosure, filling the room with a soft white light.

The urchin girl’s mismatched eyes went wide, either marvelling at the splendor or adding up how much she could earn selling such a thing to a pawnshop. “Get a load of that! That’s fancy!”

She would be impressed by that, wouldn’t she? Fen had, when she was first promoted into the palace lodgings. She’d spent a fortnight worrying about the poor moths living and dying in that glass prison before it dawned on her that they were only little wisps of magic, not real flesh and blood creatures that could live and die. Grouty came from the same neighborhood, only a few blocks poorer; of course she’d want to have a good look.

Fen to a firm step to the left, putting herself between the moon moths and Grouty. “Focus up. Why are you here? Is someone from the neighborhood hurt?”

“Not exactly.” Grouty rocked back and forth on her heels with a sly look on her face. “I don’t know, wasn’t really that important. You’re probably too busy. Guess I could scurry off and grab a constable…”

“I’m not going to pay you for the pleasure of being woken up,” Fen snapped. Nevermind that she couldn’t have even if she wanted to; guards’ wages were doled out in the form of credit that was handled by the palace’s Master of Credit so that they never saw a single cold, hard coin. The idea was that they were more likely to live more virtuously if all their purchases had to be approved by someone else - or that they would at least have to pay for their guilty pleasures with their own coin. For someone like Fen, with nothing in the way of family money or extra income, that meant living an upright life indeed.

Still, she wasn’t without a few little luxuries. Knowing perfectly well that Grouty was unlikely to budge without bribery, she yanked open the drawer of her bedside table and withdrew a bag of sweet, soft caramels. She hurled it at Grouty, who let out a little yelp of surprise.

“There, you little louse. Now, for the last time, what’s going on?”

The urchin girl had already fumbled a candy halfway unwrapped, looking gleeful. “Lighten up, would you? It’s Maricelli, over at the theatre. She’s gotten in some trouble with a burglar.”

“You mean she’s been burgled?”

Nah, of course not,” Grouty said, teeth already caramel-bound together. “I mean some idiot tried to burgle her and she’s got him tied up to a chair with a crossbow pointing between his eyes. I don’t know what she needs you for.”

Fen sighed, then started on gathering up her boots, jacket, and sword. It was amazing, really, how the old neighborhood had a way of dragging you back.

A flying carpet for two across the city at such an unorthodox hour didn’t come cheap, but Fen consoled herself by thinking of it as an investment - as in, by not running the entire way on foot, she wouldn’t have to worry about her heart or lungs bursting from the strain, which was surely investing in her future.

The carpeteer let them off in front of the Perlicker Theatre, which proclaimed its name loudly with a sign that had been done up by some enchanter so that the words shone in a truly eye-watering shade of pink. After a few piteous early years of struggling for respectability the Perlicker had accepted its lot and proudly declared itself ‘The Best Worst Theatre in Town,’ becoming known for shows that featured death-defying fire stunts, incomprehensible musical numbers that frequently ended in nudity, and fake blood that could squirt fifteen feet into the audience - sometimes all at once, if you were lucky. Throughout the early evening the whole street was rocked by the laughter, screams, and music emanating immodestly from the Perlicker.

Peak hours were long over, though, and even scandalous entertainers needed their sleep. Fen followed Grouty around to the back door, where a low-rent guard nodded and let them into a stairway that led up to apartments reserved for the Perlicker’s best and brightest.

In the finest of these suites - a spacious arrangement with its own bathroom built in and a balcony that overlooked the theatre’s discrete maze garden - was Mericelli Rabineaux, sitting daintily cross-legged in a claw-footed armchair. She was wearing a gauzy floral robe, her purple hair in curlers, balancing a cup of tea on one knee, and, as promised, aiming a crossbow at a most unfortunate fellow who was bound and gagged with a variety of silk scarves in a chair that matched the first.

“Lovely to see you, Fen. It’s been too long,” Mericelli said with an unnerving calm. “I’d love to catch up, but I was hoping you might be able to help me with this teensy little situation first.”

Fen gave the man in the chair a long, hard look, and wasn’t sure whether or not she was relieved not to recognize him. Things would be messier if he were some unfortunate from the old neighborhood, of course, but at least she’d be in her element. Without that sort of advantage she wasn’t sure what would make Mericelli assume she was the right person for this job.

“No promises. I’m assuming there’s a good reason you couldn’t grab a constable off the street to handle this?”

Mericelli laughed in a showy way that belied no actual humor. “Naturally. This is no petty theft. We’re dealing with heartbreak! Betrayal! Scandal! The potential ruination of a perfectly good career!And worst of all, the potential to inconvenience someone irritably wealthy. Would you like to tell it?”

This last question was directed at the man tied to the chair; Mericelli even jabbed the crossbow a little in his direction for emphasis. He was looking a little queasy from the odreal, and the appearance of Fen - a strapping young woman, armed with a sword and an expression that said she wasn’t very fussed about using the sword on someone if it meant getting back to bed sooner - had done very little to put him at ease. He shook his head as well as he could.

“Fine. It’s about those,” Mericelli said. She nodded at a hatbox on her coffee table, overflowing with handwritten notes and pressed flowers the like. Groaty, who’d never met a personal possession she didn’t want to put her hands all over, descended on it at once, pawing through the papers with abandon.

“Gosh, this still reeks of perfume!” she announced. “The really hideous-smelling kind that you know must be expensive!”

“My former lover is a man of good breeding, not good taste or sense,” sighed Mericelli. “I always urged him to try a new scent, and every time he’d return with something more offensive. I found that charming, for awhile.”

Fen looked between the actress, the burglar, and the box of letters and thought she could see the equation answering itself as plainly as if the numbers were floating in the air before her. “Good Brights, please don’t tell me you’re blackmailing him.”

“Me? Blackmail him? I would never! Unlike him, I have no need for other people’s money,” Mericelli sniffed. “This a cowardly preemptive strike, according to our friend Mister Burglar, because the little gibbon is afraid of me doing something to ruin his wedding.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because he broke up with me a week ago by sending me the newspaper announcing their engagement.”

“It’s right here!” Groaty piped up, waving the offending clipping with obvious glee. “I remember hearing the newsmongers talking about this. ‘Lady Ifi Suwayama to Marry Sir Edwin Nicely in Surprise Ceremony.’ It’s all very suspicious on account of how sudden it was and how much more money her family’s got than him.”

“I can’t stand rich people,” Fen said with feeling. “I still don’t understand why I’m here, though. You clearly handled the burglar all on your own.”

Mericelli looked solemn, drawing her robe more tightly around herself as if the diaphanous flowers could protect her from what was coming. “There will be more, though. Neddy is a nervous boy, and once he’s got an idea in his head he can’t shake it until he’s done everything in his power to get rid of it. At risk of sounding like some fainting damsel, I am afraid of what he might do to me if he’s gotten the idea that I’m dangerous to him and his new bride.”

And I want you to fix it, was the unspoken end to that sentence. That had been Fen’s role for as long as she could remember, ever since she’d been old enough to toddle and hold a bottle and started getting left in charge of other children around the neighborhood. When you were flat out of luck and couldn’t out a single step in the right direction, good old Fen Davos would always be there to figure it out. She’d spent her whole childhood running herself ragged to fix other people’s messes, then grew up and decided she might as well get paid for it.

There could be no getting paid to straighten things out between Mericelli and Sir Nicely. Fen would have to be very discreet indeed, as it would look unseemly for a palace guard to be meddling in the affairs of actors and high society. She was pretty sure she couldn’t get all the way fired, not with her track record and connections, but there was every chance she’d get demoted back down to the city beat. No more cozy room of her own in the palace, that was for sure.

Mericelli gazed at her imploringly, the effect greatly magnified by her smudged black eye makeup making her appear extra tragic.

“Fine,” Fen said. “But let’s show Mister Burglar out before we give him any valuable information.”

He was small and wiry, as many of the best burglars were. Unfortunately for him this also made him extremely easy to pick up for somebody built like Fen, which is to say, the opposite of small and wiry. She untied him and hefted him easily, holding him by the seat of his pants and back of his neck before he could so much as squirm.

“Better luck next time,” Fen told him. “Don’t hit the pavement on your way out.”

Easier said than done, considering the way she tossed him over the balcony. The good news was that the burglar - who had some experience with this sort of thing - managed to aim his fall so that he landed on the heaps of trash set out behind the Perlicker, which had a bit of a cushioning effect. The bad news for him was that this trash drew stinging possums by the dozens, and they were fiercely territorial critters.

Don’t worry, he didn’t die.

As soon as he’d topled out of sight Mericelli put aside her teacup and crossbow and got to her feet, stretching so dramatically that you’d have thought she had spent a century in that chair. “Goodness, that was unpleasant. I really do appreciate you getting over here in such a hurry, Fen, you’re a pal. Can I get you any refreshments? I’m about to ravage some instant ramen, personally.”

They reconvened around the table jammed in the tiny corner kitchenette, over which a small facsimile of a chandelier twinkled. It seemed every inch of the place shimmered or shone in some way, every surface festooned with cast-off pieces of costumes, wigs, dancing shoes, masks, and outrageous costume jewelry, interspersed with candles, empty cups, and old magazines. It was an impressively ostentatious sort of clutter, and suited Mericelli well. She was much more at ease now that the burglar had gone, bustling around fixing up eggs and a mix of spices to dress up the cheap noodles.

“I have no excuse for not inviting you over sooner,except that it’s been one thing after another. Ned was taking up a shameful amount of time for awhile, and of course there’s always work - shows almost every night, choreography to learn and costumes to fit during the day. I suppose I don’t have to tell you how that is; the guard must keep you busy. You got the cactus I sent when you were promoted to the palace, didn’t you? Did you think it was funny? I thought it suited you better than flowers, and it lasts longer anway. And that’s all going well? It must be. You look good, definitely better fed than I’ve ever seen you. What’s the food like up there?”

“Can’t hold a candle to your ramen,” Fen said as a bowl was set in front of her - chipped, secondhand, with faded images of saccharine puppies gamboling around the rim. “You look nice. Purple hair suits you.”

Mericelli, seated now at the head of the table, preened happily. “It’s lilac, actually. Isn’t it something? You’d be astonished how often they make me dye it some fiendish new color. Pretty soon I’ll have to go blue and green again, for the Mermaid Festival, and before that I spent practically forever with silver hair for The Widow of Salamander Street.”

Groaty momentarily paused slurping up her noodles and looked thoughtful. “I liked the posters for that one, they were scary. Only you’re too young to be playing the Widow, though.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t realize you were a discerning theatrical critic. I’m playing the Littlest Fairy in Springtime Follies now; is that better for you?”

“You’re too old for that!” Groaty protested.

Fen raised an eyebrow. “You do the Follies here? That’s a children’s story.”

There was just enough reproach in her voice to make Mericelli look ever so slightly ashamed of herself. “Yes, well, we’ve made some changes. Fluffed up the songs a bit, added some conflict and drama and the like, threw in a few jokes. Not much actually happens in the original, if you think about it.”

“Not much needs to happen,” Fen said stubbornly, “it’s a lovely poem about doing good and helping others.”

“Exactly, and now it’s a lovely poem about doing good and helping others that happens to have a bit of racy stuff added in for flavor. I have a very suggestive dance with the flock of satyrs, it’s great fun!”

“Thrilling. Not that I don’t want to hear more about you defiling nursery rhymes, but why don’t we talk about your Nicely fellow now. Namely, how you think I can help.”

Mericelli’s face fell immediately, but as always she was able to collect herself and carry on. “Of course. First point of order, I’d like his letters kept somewhere safer, because I may need them if he tries to force me out of the city.”

“Is that likely?”

“He didn’t just send me the newspaper,” Mericelli said. “There was also a very long, rambling, painfully insincere letter about how he’s cherished our time together but feels he has to grow up and do the responsible thing by marrying a woman wealthy enough to let him be a kept man. He unsubtly suggested that it might be best for me to leave Brighthaven altogether, on the grounds that it would be terribly embarrassing for both of us if certain details of our relationship were to get out. You know how the upper crust are - they get terribly fussy about their children mingling too much before marriage, and I have enough of his awful attempts at erotic poetry to potentially call his whole wedding off.”

“Gross,” Groaty said vehemently.

“Seconded,” Fen agreed. “What about you though? No offense, but I thought actors were supposed to list scandals on their resumes. How does this hurt you?”

“Well, the sex part certainly doesn’t. But I’m afraid that in the course of our relationship I may have shared certain other intimate secrets with him, pertaining to my profession. I said some things about certain senior members of the theatrical community that wouldn’t reflect kindly on me at all, and could possibly keep me from ever coming near a leading role again if they were feeling petty. And I may have revealed one or two things about a few of the… less advertised events we put on here at the Perlicker. Those could get the whole place shut down, if I’m not mistaken.”

She delivered the monologue well, with clear eyes and hardly a quaver to her voice, but Fen could see how much the idea of it distressed her. Her work, her art, was everything to Mericelli, and she’d spent years taking undignified, unmemorable roles to get as far as she had. The Perlicker may have been a hotbed of ill-repute and tackiness, but it did command a certain kind of glamour and the dependable audience that Mericelli craved. The idea of having her entire career yanked away so soon after her star had finally started to rise had her more scared than she could admit.

“Right, then,” said Fen. “Here’s what we’ll do. You don’t panic, okay? I know someone who knows everything that happens in this city; I want to talk to her before we decide how worried we should be. He might just want his bad poetry back.”

“So I’m just supposed to live with burglars letting themselves in at all hours at my former lover’s behest?” Mericelli demanded.

“Absolutely not. If you trust me to, I’ll take them with me now and move them to the safest place I know later today. Groaty? You’ll need to run over to Ardessa’s and let her know I’ll be stopping by. Tell her I need a favor and that she’s probably not going to like it.”

Groaty pursed her lips, thinking it over and weighing it on her mental scales. “That’s a pretty big ask. You know how cranky she gets about same-day appointments. What’ll you give me for it?”

“What about this delicious meal I fixed for you, little ingrate?” Mericelli asked.

“Nah. That just covers me getting Fen in the first place, ‘cause you made me do it in a hurry and promised you’d pay me back later,” Groaty insisted.

“Alright, a week of baths here in my own tub. I’ve got fancy soap for bubble bath and everything.”

“Urgh, a week? What do I want that many baths or?”

Fen was feeling wildly out of her depth here. She didn’t want any of this showing up in her credit records, not to mention she didn’t think the Master of Coin would approve of her using palace funds to bribe a little urchin girl.

“How about this, then?” Mericelli went to her coffee table and fished around in the mess of handkerchiefs and playing cards, coming up with moonstone brooch painted with sinister black spiders. “I wore it when I was playing the Widow. Pawn it, wear it, put it in our slingshot, I don’t care. It’s yours.”

“Geez, that’s great! I’ll go hang around Ardessa’s right now, so I can get her first thing in the morning!” Groaty snatched the brooch up eagerly, immediately disappearing it into one of the many coats that comprised her shapeless gray coat. She slurped down the last of her ramen and hurried out the door, giving Fen and Mericelli an awkward little salute as she went.

“I should be on my way as well,” Fen said quietly, getting to her feet. “It will be sun up soon, and there will be questions if I’m not accounted for. Get some rest, alright? I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything, I promise.”

She gave her old friend a hug, during which Mericelli squeezed Fen a little extra tight, then departed with the incriminating hatbox tucked under her arm. She considered finding another carpeteer but ultimately decided against it. Saving money never hurt, and in any case she needed a chance to think. Prestigious as working at the palace was, there was nothing like a walk through the streets of Brighthaven in the wee hours of morning to really get the brain working. Fen had told Mericelli not to panic and she meant it, but she would personally be planning for the worst case scenario so that she could be twelve steps ahead if it arrived. Already there were more moving parts to this than she liked, and she had a gut feeling things would only get more convoluted.

By the time she got back to the palace she was tired in body and mind. She nodded to the guards on the gate, who gave her an odd look but didn’t make a fuss about it, and headed straight for the most secure place she could currently access. Ardessa’s tower was the ultimate goal, of course, but a princess’ chambers would do until then. No one stopped her there, either; everyone was well aware of the young princess’ special fondness for Fen.

Twelve was already awake when Fen entered her room, hunched over her workbench in pajamas and a pair of enormous magnifying goggles and tinkering with the mechanical innards of her latest cuckoo clock.

“Hello, you,” the princess said vaguely when Fen hugged her from behind and kissed the top of her frizzy head. “This is awfully early. Would you like some breakfast?”

Someone had been around with a tray, fat blue pancakes and fresh fruit and bacon done perfectly crispy. Fen helped herself to a few grapes as she kicked off her boots, then had a heavy seat on Twelve’s canopy bed.

Twelve wasn’t her given name, of course, but the Deralian royal family were sticklers for tradition and only had so many names to go around. Twelve’s given name was shared with two of her eleven older siblings, several aunts and uncles, and innumerable distant cousins, so being referred to by birth order had honestly seemed more affectionate to everyone involved.

Her family did cherish her, truly, but they were also large and sprawling and had quite a lot on their royal platters, but given how far removed she was from any chance of ever sitting on the throne she did tend to slip through the cracks from time to time. Twelve’s parents had long since lost their patience with arranging for etiquette lessons and politically advantageous marriages by the time their last child was of age for such things, and as such she was largely left to do whatever she liked so long as it didn’t embarrass the family too badly or cause any international incidents. For the most part Twelve was perfectly content to spend this freedom in pursuit of increasingly niche hobbies.

There were a few downsides, of course, namely practical ones: when it came to protecting the line of succession, the palace guards started cutting corners somewhere around number six. Still, even the worst-protected princess enjoyed security miles better than the average person.

“I need to hide this here for a few hours,” Fen said, sliding the hatbox beneath Twelve’s bed. “Sorry, it’s a long story. I’m trying to help a friend.”

Twelve spun her chair around, pushing her goggles up to get a better look at her girlfriend. She was concerned by what she saw. “Helping friends is always a yes from me, but you look exhausted. What have you been doing?”

“Had to get across town to help clean up after an almost-burglary,” Fen said, yawning through half the explanation.

“Good Brights, is your friend okay?”

“She’s fine. The burglar had a rough time though.”

“Ah. Atta girl.”

“You know I hate to ask for favors,” Fen said, “but I still need to do a few more things today to wrap up the loose ends. Could you tell the Captain you need me all day, to stop her harassing me about it?”

“Only if you’ll get a few hours of sleep before you go. Uh uh, no arguing about it!” Twelve said, swiftly anticipating the next words out of Fen’s mouth. “The sun’s not even up yet. You can at least have a nap before you go running off to be dashing and noble and heroic.”

Fen lay back on the bed, smiling as she shut her eyes. “Not hardly that exciting, goose. I’m doing what’s right, that’s all.”

Twelve clucked her tongue. “Get under the covers, would you? Get comfortable. I’ll go see about getting you the day off.”

She dropped a kiss on Fen’s cheek and disappeared into the hallway for a bit, having some word or other with the other guards about a dire need to requisition Sergeant Davos for the day in order to have her run some very important personal errands. No one was likely to question that too closely; the last time Twelve had requested Fen’s presence for personal reasons neither of them had left the princess’ room for a solid day.

By the time Twelve returned Fen had dutifully crawled under the covers and was already half asleep. Fen could hear her girlfriend taking great pains to move as quietly as possible and slide into bed with as little jostling as possible, and it made her smile into the pillow. Twelve was not particularly graceful or stealthy by nature, but it was sweet how she tried. She wrapped an arm around Fen’s middle, cuddling her close and planting a kiss on her neck, and Fen exhaled contentment. It took a lot to quiet her mind and put a pause to her planning, but falling asleep cuddled up with Twelve worked better than any sleeping potion she’d ever tried.

#a writing #trans-zatanna

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thetoffeefox · 5 years

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If the hand is hard, together we’ll mend your heart [ Timid!Reader X Vergil]

Holy moly am I on a roll right now! So I had no intention of finishing this chapter until tomorrow morning or even Friday but here it is! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. After this one I am not too sure when I will posting a chapter for this series again so we may not see something for a while. I have mainly been working on things I want to do to kick my imagination on and get rid of my writer's block that way I can work on the requests I have in my Inbox. I’m so sorry guys for not getting to them. Here I thought being on vacation for this whole week would even inspire me to do so but alas still nothing.

The title of the fic is from the song Umbrella By: Rhianna, however when I wrote this fic I was listening to the cover by J2 Ft. Jazelle. I recommend you give a listen to both!

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of PTSD (domestic abuse) and depictions of violence. Remember my lovelies to always practice self care before, during, and after reading this content if it is one of your triggers.

Tonight was much like the night you experienced a couple of months ago. The thunderstorm that was raging was a pop-up and was not forecasted. You might have enjoyed the sound of the rain pelting against the window and the rumbling of the sky but it was occasionally drowned out by the screams coming from the room next to yours. Every fiber in your being wanted to go in there and try to rouse the man who was a room away from you. To take the pain and terrors, his mind was inflicting upon him, but you had already tried that before and it didn’t yield the greatest of results. In fact, recalling it made a shiver run down your spine as your fingers lightly brushed along your neck. Shaking your head you got out of bed and started to head downstairs wincing at the scream crossed with a growl that rattled your eardrums. Normally this wouldn’t have continued this long but Dante, Trish, and Lady were on a mission and you and Vergil both were staying at the shop for the night after your own mission because it was closer than Fortuna. So you do what you had silently promised, to offer him the only comfort you could. As you began to heat up water on the stove, your mind drifts to the first time you had tried to pull Vergil from his night terrors, and it would be your last.

Eyes snapping open you scan your room and tried to rub the tiredness from your eyes. You weren’t entirely sure why you had woken up. Maybe it was from the thunder that was rumbling the window of your bedroom. Sliding out of bed you looked outside to see the rain coming down by the bucket full. A wince graces your features as you remember that Kyrie had left the clean clothes out during dusk to dry overnight. With this kind of rain, the clothes would most likely still be soaked in the morning. Sighing, you pace in your room for a moment running your hand through your hair as you debated on if you could go straight back to bed or if you needed a midnight snack. You decided you could just crawl right back into bed and before you can slip underneath your covers; you hear something being knocked over in a different room. It halts you and instantly you try to figure out where the noise came from. Instead of hearing something else hit the floor or shuffling you instead hear something akin to a growl. It came from... Vergil’s room. An overwhelming sense of curiosity rises in you and the next thing you know you're standing in front of his closed bedroom door. The light noises in his room persist and a thought crosses your mind and you try to shake it off as best as you can, but the light cries are unmistakable. He is dreaming, and it isn’t a pleasant dream. Your limbs feel heavy and a little voice in the back of your head tells you it’s a bad idea, but you ignore it knocking lightly on the door hoping that maybe it would pull him from whatever terrible dream he was going through. Nothing. Absolutely nothing happens so with a deep breath you open the door and walk into the room. The scene before you makes you bite your lip, Yamato was in its sheath discarded carelessly on the floor right at the side of his bed. That wasn’t what had your heart rate increasing and the nervous pit in your stomach grow. Vergil was gripping the sheets of his bed tightly to the point you could hear them beginning to rip under the stress of it. If you could see better his knuckles would surely be white. His breathing was quick and labored and his normally slicked back hair was sticking to his face from the thin layer of sweat that had accumulated on him. “Vergil…” You call out to him softly creeping closer to him hoping your voice alone would finally do the trick. It almost seems like it has the opposite effect as his body twists and turn. “Vergil.” This time your voice is firm and louder as you hesitantly reach out for him. Again you call out to him as your hands make contact with his shoulders. What happens next feels like a blur and the next thing you know your back is pressed against the soft sheets of his bed and involuntary yelp almost escapes you, almost. It’s stuck in your throat and you don’t know why. It takes what feels longer than what it actually was to realize it was because of his hands wrapped tightly around your throat. It takes another second for you to realize you can’t breathe. Another second to look up at him as instinctively your hands start to claw as his desperate to pry them off of you while realizing he was still asleep. Your lungs begin to hunt as you feel yourself for some reason try to hold your breath even though another part of you is screaming for oxygen. Feet flailing, body writhing underneath his, your hands go to his face clawing and smacking at him trying desperately to wake him up. Tears prick at your eyes as somehow your foot makes contact with the nightstand next to his bed. The force of it is enough to make it come crashing to the floor. Your vision starts to see spots of black as suddenly Vergil’s weight is removed from you. The first breath you take in burns but when you go the exhale a scream that is a mixture of pain and terror comes from you. During this moment you vaguely hear Nero calling out to you as he grabs onto you trying to get you to focus on him but kick him away before falling to the floor the tears that had built up streaming down as another cry comes from you while your lungs desperately try to get oxygen into you. Your brain is working into overdrive and you don’t know what you want or need, and another moment goes by before you throw yourself into Nero’s arms trembling. “Nero, get her the hell out of here! Now!” You hear Dante state. The adrenaline still running through you forces you to turn to the sound of his voice. Your eyes landing on Dante who has Vergil pinned to a wall who in some ways seems to be just as bad off as you. However, you don’t see it, you don’t see his ghost-white face and look of terror in his eyes as he stares at you. Confusion turned into realization at what had happened. You don’t see the rise and fall of his chest as he takes ragged gasps of air just like you. You don’t realize at that moment just how guilty the oldest son of Sparda feels.

What happened that night had in some ways completely regressed every bit of progress you had made so long ago after escaping your ex-boyfriend and for a solid two weeks, you could not be in the same room as him. His very presence sent you into a state of panic and anxiety. It wasn’t even him you feared, it was the fact that he had suddenly become a trigger for your PTSD. The past melding in with the present and the events of that night was debilitating. Out of nowhere, Vergil had stayed at the shop with Dante refusing to even step a foot in Nero and Kyrie’s home if he thought there was even a chance of him seeing you and you him. That wouldn’t solve the problem though it was a temporary fix as you tried to re-gather and compose yourself. This was something Vergil himself seemed to realize, so it shocked not only you but the rest of the gang when he had openly apologized to you before everyone else. It was only one sentence but none the less he had apologized. Lady and Nico did not want you to accept what they deemed to be a poor excuse of an apology but you accepted it. You knew that Vergil would not be the type to explain himself. What was there to explain? What more could he say to make it better? There were no valid excuses for what he had done. He knew that and you knew that so you accepted it with good graces. Your acceptance of it seemed to throw him for a loop, the look on his face seemed shocked and confused. It was as if he was expecting maybe even wanting you to reject it. That wasn’t you though, because at its core it was an accident and everyone else knew that but some still had trouble accepting it. You’re shaken out of your thoughts from the sound of the tea pot starting to slowly whistle. Shit. You hiss and turn off the stove taking the pot off the stove and setting it onto a counter. It was something you did frequently, so much so Kyrie had shown you ways to lower the temperature of water for tea. The cold to hot ratio was something you learned quickly, and you thanked your stars for it. A few minutes later you heard the distinct creak of the shop's staircase and a moment later your eyes met tired and wary blue ones. A ray of emotions passed over them some you could identify others you could not. There was a tense silence between you two and it made you gulp as your heart began to pound. What the hell was I thinking? Who the hell wants tea after having night terrors? You ask yourself this while looking at the cup of chamomile tea sitting in front of you. Way to go [y/n], fucking idiot. Exhaling you look at him then back at the tea and then the kitchen sink as you chew on your lip.

“You don’t drink Chamomile.” It was a statement one that makes your gaze snap back to his.

“I...don’t.” Your words are slow and you almost try to present it as a question hoping to throw him off.

“No, you don’t like it.” His voice was soft, but it challenged you to tell him different.

How does he know that? You ask as you try to wrack your brain chewing on the bottom corner of your lip. That’s when you remember you had mentioned that you dislike the taste of the herbal tea sitting in front of you. Kyrie had offered some to you when Vergil first started staying with you guys. The half-demon had been in the room. He remembered that? Your cheeks heat up and you open your mouth after licking your lips. You were caught, now you had to fess up because who else was it for? Ghosts? You almost snort at the idea. “I um...made it..for you.” You whisper looking at your feet, surely your face beat red at this point. You could hear your rapid heartbeat in your ears and the nervousness that was bubbling in you seemed to give you a stomachache. You push the cup of tea slowly towards him your fingers trembling. Lord knows if you had tried to pick up the cup it would have gone tumbling to the floor. It was not surprising or hidden knowledge that when you became nervous, you also became the biggest damn klutz in the world. Cool fingers run along the top of yours before you can pull back and it makes you freeze for but a moment as Vergil pulls the teacup from your hand carefully. You take a curious glance up at him from your lashes and oh are you glad you did, even though the sight before you make your cheeks flush even more. He wore a slight half-smile while his eyes held a small softness to them. The only word that could describe the scene before you was beautiful. Vergil turns and leaves the kitchen before coming to a stop in the doorway, he turns his head the smile still somewhat gracing his features. “Thank you.”

#devil may cry #devil may cry 5 #post devil may cry 5 #Vergil #timid reader #vergil x reader #our boy was having nightmares #you did your best #it was not good at first #BUT #YOU CONQUERED AND TRIUMPHED #hope you guys can focus on our boy smiling rather than the angst

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queenofmoons67 · 4 years

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Update time!

Hey everyone! I’ve posted a lot of new things recently, but also haven’t really talked about my longer stuff in awhile. I’ll put a list of my new fanfics at the end of this post (with fandoms and such, so you should be able to find them through tags; sorry, I’m posting from my phone). But for now, my longer works!

Write Your Letters in the Sand: Supernatural: WOW it’s been... it’s been a really long time since I updated this fic. I never officially put it on hiatus, but... yeah. I’m really sorry guys.

Write’s situation boils down to the fact that I pretty much dropped both the show and the fandom around the same time that I stopped updating. Most of that was due to being busy with real life, and then when I wasn’t as busy, I was exploring new fandoms. I thought I would eventually get back into SPN, but... well. That probably isn’t happening anytime soon. HOWEVER.

This fic was my baby for a very long time, and all you readers have been wonderful, and I promised both you and myself that I would eventually see it completed. I intend to keep that promise. It may not happen soon. But at some point, I promise I will post the final chapters: whether they’re fleshed out and actually written, or just the outlines and ideas I had before.

We Are the Challengers (Plus Ultra!): Daiya no Ace in the Boku no Hero Academia universe: <clutches crossover universe baby to chest> you guys. This ‘verse. I think about it pretty much every day. And here’s the deal: There is a fic coming for it. It will be the longest fic I have ever written. It currently sits at about 21k, and it hasn’t moved in a very long time because of writer’s block and other plot bunnies, but it will eventually be finished. I don’t even know how long it will be when it is, but this was my nano project last year so... yeah. It’ll be long.

And I’m not sure when it’ll be posted (possibly when season three ends? If I can manage to start writing it again).

In the meantime though, if you want to read more for this ‘verse: my asks are open! I will answer questions about the upcoming fic (called “The King is Dead (Long Live the King)”). I will answer questions about the ‘verse as a whole, or just a tiny part of it. Is there something you want to know that I haven’t addressed? A character or quirk or?? Ask! Please! This ‘verse has been and continues to be my baby, I am always willing to talk about it and brainstorm with people. You might even get short fics out of it (that being said, if you just want to straight up give me a prompt for this ‘verse, I will be so happy to deliver).

the wingbeats carry on: Akatsuki no Yona: I actually updated this one about two months ago, but there is so much more I want to write for it. I also have a prompt for it I need to fill, so that will be fun! I’ve finally (almost) shed a ton of real life priorities, so hopefully that happens soon. In the meantime, what I said about asks with Challengers applies here, too! I am always willing to talk about / brainstorm this fic with people, and always taking prompts!

And now... to introduce those other plot bunnies I mentioned... they don’t have actual titles yet, so I’ve just been calling them:

That Tiger and Bunny fic where Kotetsu gets turned into a dog and no one else knows. Yes, it’s that old cliché. No, I don’t care. I’m rather proud of it actually. It currently sits at almost 6k, and guys, this will be another long one. I’m just rolling with it, no outline, so idk how long it’ll be... but it’ll be long. I’m just getting started (I hope). When I start posting it will depend entirely on whether or not I hold out till it’s finished so I can edit it all together, or if I cave and post erratically.

Tiger and Bunny x BNHA fic. That... yeah, that’s all I’m saying for now plot wise. All you need to know is that it is Kotetsu focused, but will involve all of class 1A (minus M*neta plus Shinsou) and Kotetsu actively adopting ALL OF THEM because he can’t help himself, it’s the dad instincts.

And... yes, I’ve said this for the other two not posted ones, but I’m saying it again: it’ll be a long one. I’m focusing on just writing an outline for now (my most detailed yet), I haven’t even started chapter four’s part yet, and it’s already hit 3k. The outline. Has hit 3k.

Posting wise, this will probably be posted after the dog fic. Depends on how long they both end up being, and how long it takes me to finish this outline and switch to the actual writing.

<wipes forehead> wow that’s a lot. But good news! Even with all those wip fics, I have posted a few (short) new ones recently!

we built a dynasty: Daiya no Ace: In which Narumiya Mei is Narumiya Mei, and that makes all the difference when he ends up stuck back in his first year body

Can be read as pre-Mei/Itsuki or pre-Mei/Harada, but it is found family focused

Triple Crown: Lord of the Rings: Arwen arrives in Gondor to find Estel shuffling a little guiltily, but ultimately firm-backed, with a handsome man by his side. “Arwen,” Estel begins. “I love you—and I have discovered I also love Boromir. And it would mean the world to me if you would grant the three of us a chance, because I know I have a heart large enough for the both of you.”

Aragorn/Arwen/Boromir, also known as my new ship in an old fandom

hey brother: The Hardy Boys: Prompt: Hey, I was wondering if you could write a bonus aftermath scene for the 70s hardy boys episode sole survivor? Focusing on joe?

Worried Frank and hurt Joe, because what else am I supposed to write for a prompt like that

speeding through red lights: Double Decker! Doug & Kirill: After a long night at the office, Deana suggests they play truth without the dare.

Or, in which Kirill and I both struggle through how he accepts everyone else for who they are, but his first reaction to himself or anyone else thinking he’s attracted to a man is no because he, himself, is a man.

WARNING for internalized homophobia. One-sided Kirill / Doug.

a life in the sun: FMA:B x Harry Potter: Ling narrowed his eyes at the tall, silver-haired man kneeling next to Ed. He had been willing to ignore him throughout the Promised Day for the sake of—well, everything—but now it was over. Greed was gone. Fu was gone. But Ed was here, and Ling wasn’t about to watch him disappear again. It took him ten seconds to march over, but just one to grip the stranger’s shoulder in a tight, pinching grip.

Pre Ed/Ling, Ed/Draco, Draco/Ling, and Ed/Draco/Ling. I will go down with this ship

I’ll admit, this one went up a month and a half ago. But I love it, so

And if you go back even farther, I have a handful of short one-shots posted for both HakYona Week 2019 and AkaYona Week 2019! I won’t list them all because they would require their own separate list, but they are there!

I hope everyone enjoys the posted fics, and don’t be afraid to reach out and ask me questions / prompts, or to just throw your thoughts at me! My inbox is always open 😊

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