#if you have a more specific question feel free to send another ask! though admittedly i can't do much in the way of linking resources etc

[artemis32]

How about hc of yandere dad hansu seong with daughter reader since he'll be a protective duo along with taehooon?

Platonic Yandere Hansu Seong I

Listen, I'm the biggest simp for this man - but if you want something platonic, then platonic it is - sorry its a bit shorter than usual, my brain is struggling

I’m finally done with my exams, thank goodness (here’s hoping I won’t have to rewrite anything) - that being said, I’m finishing up with all the asks and requests previously sent, so feel free to send in more :))

To top off my good mood, winter has officially arrived and I'm preparing to hibernate for a few weeks

My milestone event is open now too, and the rules can be found here

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Manager Kim Masterlist

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This is in reference of this ask

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He would be the absolute best father ever.

Taehoon is the difficult child, but you're his angel. In his mind, you can do no wrong.

He treats you very gently, like you’re made of fine porcelain, almost as if you’d break with the slightest nudge. Naturally, it drives you crazy sometimes. Even though you’re well into your teens, he still treats you like a toddler that’s incapable of walking two steps.

You would never get too mad with him though, because you know he does it with the purest intentions.

Something you do feel bad about is how hard he is on Taehoon when it comes to you. Of course he treats him fairly, but that doesn’t mean that he spares him a verbal lashing if you get into any sort of trouble while Taehoon is supposed to be keeping an eye on you. 

Your father is extremely overprotective, almost suffocatingly so. You never complain about it though, mainly because you don’t realise it isn’t normal for one’s father to be as obsessed with their child’s safety as he is with you.

****

Taehoon doesn’t mind the blatant favoritism, he completely understands it seeing as you’re his favourite person too, and he could never fault your father for putting you first, before anyone else.

You’re for sure a daddy’s girl, and your father treats you as such. 

He buys you whatever your heart desires, whether that’s clothing, food and sweets, books or video games, make up, figurines. You’re sure to never ask for too much, not wanting to take advantage of your father.

But no matter how much you may decline certain things, you always end up getting it anyway. 

You’ve been discreetly eyeing a new dress? It’s on your bed waiting for you a few hours later. 

Oh, there’s a limited edition Sailor Moon figurine you’ve been saving up for? There’s no need to pay for it yourself, your father got it for you as an early birthday gift (eight months early). 

You’re running low on paint supplies for a new project? You’ll find high quality materials waiting for you when you get home.

However, Hansu draws the line at you going out whenever you’d like. He’s willing to give in to a lot of things that you ask for, but going out - specifically alone - that’s out of the question.

A compromise had been made in your early teens that Taehoon would have to accompany you on any outings you went on. That had worked well for a while, up until you’d hit about sixteen and had an itching desire for more freedom and independence. 

It had resulted in quite a few arguments - admittedly one-sided as your father had his mind made up the moment you’d brought it up.

Regardless of your freedom or lack thereof, you enjoyed spending time with your family.

****

Of course, your father had introduced you to taekwondo at a very young age, almost as soon as you could walk.

There were various photo albums filled with pictures of you - you in a small taekwondo uniform as a toddler, your father proudly crouching beside you as you grinned at the camera, you and Taehoon standing next to one another, each holding up a gleaming gold medal with a large wall of trophies behind you, Taehoon watching you practice your form, strictly instructing you to kick higher.

It was a genuine passion of yours, one of the only hobbies you regularly practiced. A large part of that might have been because of how much time you’d get to spend with both your brother and your father.

Honestly, competitions were somewhat of a rarity until you’d hit double digits - your father’s paranoia being the deciding factor in your lack of participation.

Eventually he’d caved and allowed you to enter a competition, with very strict rules about your safety and how far you’d be allowed to push yourself. 

That had been a critical moment for you. You had won all the matches you’d had that day, and you’d gone home happier than you’d ever been in your ten short years of living. Both Taehoon and you father had been overjoyed by your victory.

It had been decided then that you’d be allowed to participate in any competition you’d want, only because your father would rather die than take that sort of happiness away from you.

An added extra was that you’d decided to spend even more time training, which meant that you’d spend more time at home with your dear old dad.

As if you didn’t already spend most of your time there anyway.

Your routine was limited to school, home, and the do jang - not that you minded.

It’s not as if you were even missing out on anything incredible - you didn’t have any close friends or after school activities, so you were content to go to school to learn and come right back home.

Your father’s close friend -Mr Kim as you knew him - adored you too and always took some time out of his visits to teach you a few of his more docile defense moves. 

Hansu wasn’t particularly happy about it - not because he thought it was unsafe, quite the opposite - he disliked it because he worried that you’d take such a liking to it that you would decide to abandon taekwondo all together in favour of choosing a more militant self-defense style of fighting.

Of course you’d never abandon taekwondo, not when you enjoyed it so much.

All of your other hobbies and interests tended to take a bit of a backseat when it came to taekwondo.

****

Despite your father's clear over protective tenancies and borderline controlling behaviour, you adored him. You might even go as far as to call him your role model.

You don't often question his rules, content to believe that your father had your best interest at heart - which he did.

Make no mistake, you didn't display blind devotion, you just admired your father for his work ethic and perseverance, but mostly you appreciated that he loved both you and your brother, and tried his best to raise you well and protect you.

He's actually not that crazy about keeping you locked up, you just happen to prefer staying at home, and you don't have many friends. He does tend to urge you to take Taehoon with you, but only because he doesn't want you to wonder around alone.

Overall he's a great father who isn't too insane, and all of his somewhat strange behaviours can be written off as typical parental concern.

Would he be crazy when you show interest in someone?? Maybe.

But he loves you and wants what's best for you. Most of all, he wants to see you happy, and if it happens to go against one of his rules, he'll find a way to compromise to keep everyone happy.

10/10 - very wholesome father :))

#viral hit #manager kim #yandere #dark content #female reader #yandere platonic #platonic #seong hansoo #yandere hansoo seong #platonic yandere hansoo seong #hansoo seong x reader #yandere hansoo seong x reader #platonic yandere hansoo seong x reader #hansu seong

[misscammiedawn]

Hello! I was wondering if you had any advice/resources for safely exploring hypno stuff for people with DID. In my (admittedly limited) experience so far, I’ve had some issues with accidentally switching while a partner is trying to hypnotize me, which is something I’d like to at least be able to take precautions against. For additional context, I have had the same issue with guided meditation and some mindfulness exercises, so it’s not exclusive to hypno stuff, but there’s definitely some overlap there.

Anyway, I was wondering if you had any resources or suggestions regarding those sorts of obstacles?

Thank you for asking! I know questions like this are kinda hard and if I've learned anything from my diagnosis it's that opinions and experiences vary and that talking outloud about these topics can leave you feeling a little vulnerable.

For resources, I'll mention that Skaetlett has taught on the topic of plurality in hypnokink at conventions before. They may be willing to send resources and link to good stuff if you can get in touch with them.

For advice though, I'll do my absolute best to share all I have learned in my years. Honestly being able to share this is a big reason why I write my Madison/Belladonna stories on ROM. To show a healthy couple integrating hypnokink and DID without really having a roadmap.

I think some groundrules that kind of supercede anything else is to know what you're comfortable with. After a lifetime of personality play I cut that shit out the moment I realized there was something up. Altering my personality is simply a red now regardless of which part is present during play. That is my limit, it may not be yours. Though I certainly urge caution. Likewise I have an agreement with my partners never to manually trigger a shift using hypnosis. Both conditions are hard earned knowledge on my end. Before any kind of exploration into play you need to know what your limits are and that is true of expert neurotypicals doing BDSM and kinky neurodivergent types exploring new areas.

Boundaries and safety first.

That all being said… hopefully I can help a bit.

First thing I'd ask yourself is "where am I?" in terms of understanding your condition and how you react to it. You don't need to have all the answers right out of the gate but it's a good idea to know what you're dealing with. Do you have dissociative barriers, how do you respond to triggers, is there communication between parts? etc…

I'll cover from a broad spectrum, but always feel free to send an ask requesting more specific information if required.

In my own experience I was under the impression that I had "mood swings". That is to say my desperate desire to engage in a scene would evaporate on me and I was left mid-scene in a state of confusion or panic having to "handle" what was happening. This was true of hypnosis and pretty much any form of private intimacy. I did not know I was experiencing shifting or parts and on days where the denial happens I can convince myself it was just PTSD triggers being hit.

The good news is that you don't need to know things for sure. Use the language and communication that helps you cope and helps any person working with you understand. If you're training with self-hypnosis files then you only need to be curious and compassionate to yourself, but if there's another person then you may need to ensure they have a working understanding, even if it is not a 1-1 translation of your lived experience.

So at this point you just want to ensure you are communicating or internalizing what your truth is. For me it was that in the middle of a scene I was running I would lose connection to the "emotion" that allowed me to run a hypnotic scene and have a complete crash. Based on your ask you seem to have a circumstance where you are entering a trance or relaxed state that is causing a shift from one part to another and would like to remain present.

In displaying curiosity ask yourself, what is the reason for the shift. Is it because your nervous system is exiting a stressed state and the part which has a more protector/survivor status is giving way to one that is more emotionally in-tune with relaxed states or is it that when you drop your guard a part of you is Activated and that causes a defensive part to front. In communicating or internalizing that, you may allow yourself to extend a bit of understanding on how your parts connect and what they need.

In my own case, I required a partner who was able to communicate with me in different presentations of self to hear what was required, feared and happening in the moment. It allowed us to draw an in the moment map of what to do if a shift happens and speak to the specific fears that may cause a shift. The more we all trusted one another to consent and communicate the less of a panic response would occur. Both the failstate of shifting in scene was safe and accomodated for and the fear of my Toppier part "going too far" was understood and accomodated. The less fear and the more trust the less the trigger had impact, because the terror that would Activate us would occur.

In that regard, it's important to understand if the shifting during trance/meditation is happening because of an activated part stepping in or stepping out.

I am presently in an adapted 4 phase trauma therapy program and part of phase 3 is having parts, now identified via phase 2, step away from their roles and become more collaborative.

So from here I'll switch from talking how we dealt with things in the "mood swing" era and start talking about how we deal with things in the "system" era.

Once our little system had been fully identified, categorized and encouraged to expand beyond our roles (without revealing too much of our inner dynamics, one part in specific is pretty much a censor for us desperately pushing us away from anything which she deems unsafe and triggering--- which she considers erotic intimacy to be. Much of the past few months has been allowing that part to stop raising barriers every time we are doing something which she considers a threat to our survival) we have been able to communicate directly with one another in an innerworld that our therapist helped us develop and indirectly by speaking to our partner while different parts fronted and communicating our desires and needs.

This seems the best advice I can give on your end, which is having the issue of becoming activated during the induction phase of hypnosis. The part which is activated here, whether they be the question asker who is losing their hold on the body during hypnosis or a part which is stepping in during the phase; needs to be able to coexist within their system and communicate their need without it triggering a shift. That will take assurances of safety, it will take training yourself(/ves) how to persist outside of strict nervous system induced roles and be compassionate that these things are a process and failure will happen.

The comfort of your partner, if you are working with one, is also a factor as they will have to be able to manage the shift in the middle of a scene and warning and explaining your preferences (and hearing their own) is a vital part of that.

Essentially inner and outer consent and negotiation are the key. Practice and understanding are the way to open the door and being curious and compassionate are the ways to walk through it.

Much of this is made up as we go along but my partner who works with us on this is very safety conscious. She'll stop any scene we are engaged in if she detects a shift, even if she's in hypnosis herself when it happens. She's careful to ensure we work within the limits and boundaries established by each part, regardless of who is front in order to maintain that level of safety and will ensure she never acts upon any of us who isn't present both as not to give the impression that any one of us is favored and in order to ensure she is able to be dynamic with our energy. Whatever is on the table is on the table, so to speak. It helps breed comfort because we never need to hide or pretend. If you are able to get such a dynamic in your own situation it is vital to being able to each be your own self. Subbing in for one another, consciously or unconsciously will create blur between parts and make things a lot more distressing, especially when you're trying to balance it out. Not needing to "pretend" to be one another will help settle that, I assure you.

I do not personally recommend using hypnosis to guide where your mind is or perform therapy. I think my above stated limits are enough to briefly go over why. But that is my belief.

I have no idea if this is even helpful. But it's what I've got. We're all silly little messy humans trying to make sense of things and unfortunately hypnosis is too important to me to be a thing that I am willing to give up on. We made it work. Things do work now.

I hope they'll work for you in time too.

#dawn asks #hypnokink #community resources #did #actually did #dissociative identity disorder #dawn posting #hypnokink writings

[mdhwrites]

Thank you for your answer to my Sasha question. If you wish to develop your bit about Grime enabling her worst traits and if you think it would be possible for all three of them to go through their necessary character arcs in an Swap AU, I would very much like to hear it!

You're welcome and sorry if it came across as aggressive at all my responses. ^^; So I'll actually do this backwards because the Swap AU is the shorter of the two here: No. Or not without a LOT of twisting to force things to come together right like they did for the show. I could go into the struggles for all three girls as to why but as Anne has the largest and most important arc, I just need to focus on her. And... In Toad Tower, she stays trapped or dead because she neither has useful skills like Marcy could to convince Grime to let her out or the manipulative skills to get herself free (and having skills Grimes needs) like Sasha did. Meanwhile, King Andrias, for the sake of his plans, would have fed into her worst traits, her laziness and lack of drive, to keep her bottled up and learning/doing nothing, meaning she would never grow as a person. The fact that the Plantars are kind hearted farm folk is actually a crucial component to both getting Anne the perspective she needs but also to force her to have to work enough so as to actually learn, something neither other community could do without a LOT of work on the writer's part that might feel contrived.

The only other loose end might be a Swap AU where you cheat and keep Anne in Wartwood but swap Marcy and Sasha... And I still don't think it works. I think Sasha's machinations would lead to her seeming untrustworthy to Andrias, almost reminding him of Lief potentially, and thus lead to him giving into the Core's demands of murdering her to stop the prophecy. Then the other two likely get killed when they meet Andrias eventually. Admittedly, that's also probably the strongest argument FOR a Swap AU where you make Sasha the main character, have the betrayal be the early twist/hook and then her trying to survive Amphibia while getting the other two and then having to figure out the box without Andrias.

Even that highlights the real difficulty of a Swap AU for this though: You are telling a fundamentally different story. Also, I want to recognize that Marcy does have stuff you can do with her in the other settings but as she doesn't really undergo an arc, her character's importance is mostly about her pre-Amphibia actions and then making Andrias sad in S3, where she ended up mattered a lot less than either of the other two. It's not entirely unimportant, as I think I've shown by the fact that they do lose out on crucial knowledge with the other two, but it means that specifically her story changes less if elsewhere.

And I actually went a lot harder on this then I expected so send another ask about Grime. Sorry. ^^; I do actually try to keep these to a reasonable length though it's absolutely up to you if you believe me on that or not. But since this is just about Swap AUs, let me give Marcy some proper love because I've been so harsh on her position in Amphibia so often.

Marcy is honestly the most FUN of the options for a Swap AU kind of because she's just a really fun and sweet character so how that gets shifted by the two environments is actually ripe with potential. As an example: Her awkwardness could make her not as easily go save Sprig, or do it from afar like a guardian, so now she doesn't live with the Plantars. If she becomes a legend though, living in the woods, she might bump into other frogs on accident (she is clumsy after all) and potentially that leads to her and Maddie meeting and living together. Then you have a Marcy who spends a while properly learning magic and becoming a witch. Or she DOES live with the Plantars and learns to be genuinely more at ease with herself as they show more interest in her stuff, partially because it's on technology even if it's less unique that Suspicion Island due to them living in a fantasy world. She could also help regulate the farm with irrigation systems, automated sprinklers, etc. like that and that leads to her own way of culture clash with the town. Essentially an expansion of New Wartwood. She also has enough enthusiasm that she could still interact with the rest of the town even if it's mostly to gush and then run away which probably still admittedly leads to Maddie being effectively her Sprig.

The big thing Wartwood might lead to is her being honest much faster when she finally meets the other two. Simple folk with simple morals. That's... Less true with Grime. See, Sasha is a good lieutenant and a good fighter but we never actually get the feeling that she surpassed Grime in any way but charisma and eventually the two would trade back and forth on that depending on how much Sasha cared. Marcy presents a much more unique issue for a toad like him: If you are capable of such incredible weaponry, why do you act like some dog to masters above you? He was a gladiator at one point after all and seeing her power be wasted for those above her isn't something he actually likes. She has potential, unlike the rest of his toads.

It's a version of Marcy who grows to not be harmed by those memories of Sasha and Anne rejecting her interests... but angry. Toads who wear the villain's attire from her favorite movie. Machines that can be brought together only by the creativity of youth and the mad science of another world. All while she's still being manipulated by Grime, who cares about her more than Andrias does but sees the potential in her weaponry but then eventually has to realize that this is a girl who should never have had her pain stoked to anger because when will she stop looking for the love, support and understanding that she now thinks her friends never gave her. That make coming here in its entirety pointless since being with them was the major driver.

That's what's nice about Sasha's villainy after all. Because she's PLAYING hero, she might be motivated but it's actually mostly impersonal which is part of why she grows bored during True Colors. She never planned to rule this world until it was the best way to get back at Anne. Now that she has, she has no motivation. Marcy would theoretically NEVER run out of motivation though because once she started indulging in those dark thoughts that say she must get revenge for every time she was disregarded... When does that stop?

Which IS a compelling story but like... Sasha and Anne don't actually oppose Marcy properly then either because they don't grow into people who properly care about her. Who would read her webcomic, think about her movie, etc. like that. So now only one third of the trio has a really interesting arc and the like and... Well, while I might argue only 2/3s in the main show are like that, at least Marcy's effect on Andrias does help make him a more compelling villain and that is the argument for 3/3.

And I don't really think there's a way to do that if you do a proper Swap AU of all three swapping with each other. MAYBE Sasha and Marcy swapping, with Sasha's plot going like I described, and so Marcy takes the role of more active antagonist and Sasha gets to be a genuinely better, scared person but that still means discarding Newtopia almost entirely as a setting outside of the Newts declaring all out war on the toads.

As I said earlier: The balance of Amphibia is IMPRESSIVE. The choices are very clearly considered and the outcome is incredible. Messing with any major element of the show is going to mean cascading effects across the whole thing because despite distance between each of the trio, who they are genuinely effects what those locations are doing and preparing for and so you can't just swap them out. It's not truly compartmentalized like TOH's three sections of concept are.

So GOOD LUCK if you do try to go for it.

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I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

And finally a Twitter you can follow too!

#Amphibia #Swap AU #Marcy Wu #Sasha Waybright

[presumenothing]

heyooo this is probably a weird question, but what's ur learning process exactly? like you've been doing the gifs thing, and you seem pretty knowledgeable, so i was curious

not weird at all!! i just (a) don't know how informative this answer is gonna be, and (b) have clearly deceived you into thinking i know anything at all ever, because while i do in fact Know some things my decision making process also literally looks like this:

though in terms of what i Know about the particular sort of gifs thing i like, i literally just posted this which is a hilarious coincidence

but you asked me about my learning process, so!! i have to add a term and condition (singular) here that i'm apparently an unusually fast learner for anything not requiring hand-eye coordination, but that aside… insofar as i have any Process™ it goes something like this:

decide to do the thing. in this case it was "fell into the zhou shen pit" meets "be the content you want to see in the world"

start doing the thing as quickly as possible. i don't wanna say strike while the iron is hot but.... there is truth to that. my first gif wasn't great but it was there

read a lot. i'm sorry, video tutorials, i'm sure you have actual content to offer but also 99% of the time i do not care. fortunately most tumblr posts where the gif tutorials are continue to be in text (never change)

though what and how i read has shifted over time, from initially reading pretty much every general gif related tutorial i found (there is so much So Much to read about colouring) to narrowing down to specific things i'm interested in

aside from more standard gifs (mostly interview gifs? probably??) i usually start out having a strong idea of what i want to make, then it's a matter of looking up or figuring out myself how to achieve the effect i want. (sometimes it's the other way around – i save a cool effect for reference and then the stars align and i get to use it!! very nice of them)

make stuff, post, and repeat. imo especially when you're just starting out to gif, it's important to set the "good enough" bar reasonably low-ish? your stuff is never gonna look as good as what experienced giffers make, at least not yet, and there's probably even a fundamental difference in how you're making your gifs that makes the comparison nonsensical.

basically you're likely to learn more and learn it more quickly by going for quantity first, especially since part of giffing is learning how to deal with inconsistencies like the source video lighting never being the same dammit. insert that story about the two halves of the pottery class here

considering that i started out with 0 knowledge aside from some dusty leftover recollection of using gimp like a decade ago, i think i'm doing pretty good! but also – and i cannot possibly overstate this – i have made a lot of gifs. the birthday countdown alone was more than a hundred. some things you just learn by doing

(if this sounded suspiciously like "step 1: get hamster brain obsessed with one thing step 2: ???? step 3: Profit" that's because it pretty much is. it's the most effective and fun way i learn anything. the lifehack is always to catch your brain with the correct bait)

(the other lifehack is to have some organisation, even if not in any form recognisable to polite society. my gif stuff is in the realm of tidy because i have a channel in my notes to self server literally called giffing where i put everything from "cool thing i saw" to "thing i want to gif" to "not even sure this effect is in the realm of possibility but it would be Cool yknow??". my fic stuff, on the other hand,,,)

#i...... do not think that actually answered anything. oops #if you have a more specific question feel free to send another ask! though admittedly i can't do much in the way of linking resources etc #bc unless they're recent or i keep referring to them for whatever reason i have otherwise almost definitely forgotten where they were #definitely a lot of it was read on tumblr though!! since well. nobody else really makes gifs like this hellsite (affectionate) does #also idk if you were asking about my learning process in making gifs specifically but then again #this pretty much also applies to everything else i have learned for fun and nonprofit #just that it's been months for gifmaking as opposed to literal years for learning japanese and fic writing #well more like a decade plus for the latter But Anyway. when do i get my fandom veteran card and what benefits are there #long post #asks #anonymous #journey to the gif #if you go /chrono on this tag there are probably some text post documentations of when i was actually learning? all the way at the start #the internet really is just my commonplace book now huh. that's fine actually #anyway right now there are Too Many siken bot quotes in that channel labelled with some variation of 'dammit wkx' so that's where i'm at #ramble tag

[lord-explosion-baku]

Sparrow

Prince!Satoru Gojo x assassin!reader

Warnings: violence, swearing, suggestive themes, dubious themes, blood

A/N: request numero dos is done! It’s kinda silly, but I think it’s pretty fun! I think it can be read as pretty lighthearted, even if it gets a little violent! it’s a little different that what was originally requested! I had the elements for a sword fight set up, but it wasn’t working out the way I wanted it to, so I took a slightly different route! theres still fighting though! I hope you like it!

It’s been a long journey to get where you are now, silently scaling the castle towers towards the prince’s bed chambers. An extra long journey, considering how many royal guards have been posted on top of kingdom rooftops. Like a shadow in the night, using nothing but the black elements to mask your presence, you’ve managed to slip by them, as well as the gatehouse soldiers, undetected, leaving only four men incapacitated, and not a vestige of your presence. All this sneaking around has been a trying job thus far, but it’s almost over now. You’re about to finish what you came to do.

Light as a feather, quiet as a dormouse, you swing your body up and over the limestone-clad palace window. The room is adorned with priceless artwork watched over by gilded ceiling paintings. Framing the biggest bed you’ve ever seen is a corona with royal blue drapery that hangs down to each corner. In the center of the bed lies the sleeping and wonderfully unaware prince.

His body is lopsided, and only partially covered by silk sheets. One of his feet hangs off the bed. Tousled white hair sticks out in every direction while still managing to frame his admittedly attractive face. Long white eyelashes. Peaceful and full lips. He’s young, you think, although you’ve been aware. But seeing him in the flesh solidifies the thought: you are about to be the end of his short life.

However, this mission comes with little remorse. There have been rumors that the Royal Gojo Family has been dabbling in alchemy for over a century now. To you, there is nothing more disgusting than the use of the unnatural sciences. It’s ungodly. And even then, this kill shouldn’t matter much since you can call it what it is: a job. This is what you do. Do as your master commands, kill without question, leave no trace, get paid, repeat. It helps that there have been rumors specifically centered around your charge; rumors that Prince Satoru is a complete and utter womanizer.

Well, not for long.

The bed doesn’t shake the least bit as you climb on top of him. The prince sleeps soundlessly and doesn’t stir when you situate your thighs over his firm hips. Normally, you’d simply slit your target’s throat, quick and easy, but since there are those rumors about the use of alchemy, you need to work a little differently tonight. To kill an alchemist user, one will have to pierce them directly in the heart with a silver blade. You don’t particularly believe that the prince is a user; his focus has primarily been on balls and parties and other social events, but you’d rather be safe than sorry. So, your primed weapon of choice, a silverlined dagger, slides up your sleeve and into the palm of your hand. You grasp its hilt, then line it parallel to his heart, pull up, and plunge it in.

Rather, you would be plunging it in, if it hadn’t been for the swift-acting hand wrapped tightly around your wrist.

“Drop it.” The low, sleep-crackled utterance sends shivers up your spine. Acting fast, you use your free hand to push on the hilt, your strength against his, but it doesn’t budge a centimeter, and instead, both of your wrists are captured by the prince. His grip tightens, squeezing you so harshly that you feel the tips of your fingers tingle, but you don’t relinquish your weapon.

Vibrant blue eyes blink up at you, narrowing into a scowl. You try pushing harder, ignoring the fact that his eyes seem to glow in the darkness, ignoring the fact that they are the prettiest eyes that have ever gazed at you, ignoring the fact that those pretty eyes are now trailing down your body. Your skin burns at the attention. You can’t let yourself believe that he’s checking you out in a life or death situation, but then you figure it’s in your head when he says, “if you wish to keep your wrists intact, you will drop. Your. Dagger.”

Surrendering is not an option. It’s either kill or be killed, because even when you choose to not kill, your termination will be absolute. You will be tried by the king with his son at his right side, then you will be hanged for your crimes. So with shaking hands, you attempt to exert more pressure, trying to keep your breath steady to not raise a commotion.

Surprisingly, the prince chuckles. “Has a little sparrow flown through my window to try to kill me?”

In one fell swoop, Satoru manages to flip you onto your back, his hands bringing your wrists down on the side of the bed, forcing you to drop the dagger to the floor. He eyes you speculatively for a moment, then his mouth turns up into a half-grin.

“A woman, no less.” He muses incredulously. Then his eyes dart back down your body, and by the way his grin widens, you’re sure he actually is checking you out. “Are you supposed to be some kind of peace offering?”

What an odd man. Although you've just made an attempt on his life, he’s smiling down at you like you’re some kind of acquaintance—no, friend.

“I mean…sending a beautiful woman to my bedchambers says a lot, wouldn’t you agree?” Prince Satoru asks after taking in your dumbfounded expression. “Not much for words?” He asks. “That’s okay, little sparrow. We don’t need to talk.”

You gasp when he begins to lean down, eyes trained on your lips. Without a second’s hesitation, your feet meet his bare chest, and with all of your might, you kick off, throwing him back a couple meters. You flip back onto the floor and attack him with throwing knives while you search for your dagger. If he is in fact an alchemist, your other weapons won’t do much damage, but could slow him down if you could manage to hit him.

“You’re strong,” Satoru gleefully appraises, dodging another one of your throwing knives, and catching the other. He throws it back at you, but you manage to duck behind the corona curtain at just the right time. “And fast.”

The dagger is under the bed. You grab it, gulp some air, then use the curtain as a distraction before charging at the prince, using the same swiping technique your master has taught you. Your blade cuts through the air with one swipe, and another. You’re barely missing him, and it’s frustrating because that goofy grin stays plastered to his dumb, pretty face!

In a moment’s notice, he grabs your outstretched arm, pushing down on a pressure point that has your limb lock up. “But you’re messy and unrefined,” he says as a hand slides up your arm. Now behind you, he places his free hand on your waist, moving you into a stance similar to what your master has shown you. “Don’t you fret, little sparrow. It’s nothing a little polishing won’t fix.”

His breath is hot and fanning your ear. Your stomach knots when he squeezes your waist, and to your utter horror, his lips graze down to your neck, tongue sliding over your skin. “Mmm…sweet.”

“What! Are you—?!” Bouncing away from him, you cover your slick neck with one hand while the other continues to point the dagger outwards. What’s even worse is that he doesn’t look the least bit jaded!

He laughs. “Even your voice is cute!” In the dim light of the room, you can see pink beginning to bloom across his cheeks. “Won’t you speak more? Say my name, pretty please.”

“Prick,” you hiss, once again charging forward.

“Do you kiss your master with that mouth?” Satoru begins using his arms to block and redirect your attacks, until he’s twirling you around as if you’re dancing and not trying to kill him! You fume, hating the fact that the prince knows you have a master to begin with. “I should hope not. The only person I’d have you kiss is me!”

He dips you down low, your dagger somehow tucked between the junction of your arm, and very smoothly places his lips against yours. You’ve been kissed before, but never in such a way that made you feel like floating. Like gravity ceased to exist. Like you were falling into a black hole that you didn’t want to claw out of. Prince Satoru Gojo’s kiss is different. It’s light and it’s heavy. It’s heaven and it’s earth. It’s a blessing and a curse.

He hums into you, making the knot in your belly tighten. For a moment, you don’t struggle. Instead, your lips part, and you allow the prince to cup your face to pull you in deeper, tasting you, relishing you. You wind your fingers through the soft strands of his starry hair, and lose yourself in the moment. When he breaks the kiss, pulling away with an expression you can only call beguiled, his thumb moves along the bottom of your lip. Your mind is the fog that clouds the streets at night. It doesn’t mean anything to you when you kiss the tip of his thumb, but when that grin you hate so much comes back, your body erupts in blusterous rage.

Realizing what you just allowed to happen, you snap at his hand. He pulls it away just in time for you to reach for your weapon and slice it across his chest. You push him back, only allowing yourself a second to collect yourself before aiming the dagger at his heart. He catches your wrist before it makes contact.

“So passionate,” he says with a smile, but through gritted teeth. “I must admit, this has been the most fun I’ve had in my bedchambers in a very long time. You might even be spoiling all the fun that the future entails as well. And I don’t even know your name yet. How sad.”

Satoru throws you against the wall, pinning your dagger-wielding arm against one of his extravagant paintings. He nods towards your weapon. “Throw that away.”

“You scared, alchemist?” You bite back.

“I’m only afraid you might hurt yourself, little sparrow. Sharp objects are dangerous, you know. Wouldn't want to clip your wings.” He winks. “And you should be referring to me as your royal highness. I am a prince, afterall.”

“With the dark craft that you and the royal family use, you’re no higher than me.”

Satoru chuckles. “Won’t you please tell me your name? Or at least join me in bed before you insist that I need to be killed.”

“This is not on my insistence.” It’s a slip, but it’s a big one. You’d cover your mouth if your hands were free.

“So, who sent you?” The prince prompts. “It can’t be a scorned lover. Hmmm. The Fushiguro clan? Pshh. No. They’d do it in person.” He flashes his teeth, omniscience glowing in his beautiful blue eyes. “Master Suguru Getou?”

You suck in a breath and he reads it all too well.

“I already know,” he purrs, lips brushing against yours. “Your fighting style is very similar to his. I’m just surprised he sent somebody with so little experience. It certainly proves how much of a coward he is.”

Your blood boils. How dare he insult your master to your face! Satoru Gojo, the sleazy prince and a lowly alchemist. He is scum compared to Master Getou.

You ram your head into the prince’s. Pain shoots down your spine, but you ignore it and thrust your dagger forward. Satoru grabs your arm and pushes it down, and soon, you scream after hearing a tearing sound, and feel a very sharp stinging at your side. Sticky warm fluid seep through your fingers at your side. It’s not a deep cut, but it’s just enough to make you bleed.

“Oh no,” Prince Satoru says in earnest. “Oh, this was my mistake. Dear sparrow, that was a reflex of mine. I didn’t mean to—“

There’s a knock on the prince’s chamber doors, followed by someone’s low voice asking, “your highness, are you well? I heard screaming.”

Shit. This is it. You’re dead. Sure, the prince wants to play with you, but anyone else will have your head in a heartbeat if they see what you’re doing. You should say your prayers now and kiss the world goodbye. You’re sending a silent apology to Master Getou when Satoru lifts you up and carries you to his bed.

“Sir Nanami?” The prince calls while he throws the sheets over both you and him. He climbs on top, pressing his chest into yours. The side that’s injured seers with pain, so you let out a little whimper the moment you hear footsteps enter the room.

“Don’t tell me you have a woman in here,” the man groans. “You know the king has forbidden any partner of yours from walking through these palace doors until further notice.”

“She flew in through my window, actually,” Satoru slyly admits. “But she’s no ordinary woman. She’s very special to me.”

Both you and the knight scoff at the same time, though you hope he doesn’t hear you. If he can believe this charade, perhaps you can get on with your night. And once you kill the prince, there will be a knight who will think that his murder is nothing but a lover’s quarrel gone wrong.

“I see.”

You’re staring at Satoru’s chest, and you realize that his wound from earlier is nearly healed. If you had any doubts about the Gojo family using alchemy, they’re out the window now. You run a fine finger across the red line that contrasts against his ivory chest, feeling the smooth bump where you’d cut him. Will it scar? you think. Disappear completely?

The prince squirms and grabs your hand. “That tickles!” He exclaims, bringing your hand up to his mouth to pepper kisses all over it. Even though the attention burns the back of your neck, you let him, since it’ll only convince the knight that the two of you are in fact being intimate.

Finally, Satoru says, “did you need something, Sir Nanami, or are you ready to confess your voyeuristic sins?”

Sir Nanami sighs, but you hear him back up a few paces. “Then, nobody’s hurt, your highness?”

“No,” Satoru says dubiously, “however, if you could fetch the healing medicines, that would be appreciated. She’s a little feisty!”

You slap his chest and he yips playfully back at you. It would be good fun if the two of you weren’t enemies.

Once the knight leaves, you’re quick to slink out of the bed, albeit wobbly. Dots of blood line his sheets, the sight making you feel a bit dizzy, but it doesn’t stop you from picking up your weapon.

“You don’t tire, do you?” Satoru asks impishly. “As admirable as that is, I simply cannot allow you to try to kill me anymore! You’ll get more hurt!”

“You’re nothing but a dirty alchemist.” You weakly thrust the dagger forward, nearing the window.

“Well, and a dashing prince, but that’s besides the point.” Satoru steps forward and you step back, your legs hitting the window’s wall. “Your master is no better.”

You bare your teeth at him. “Don’t you dare say a word to me about my master!”

“Please, little sparrow, you’re injured. Step away from the window and let’s bandage you up.” He reaches a hand out, and you swipe through the air, splicing his palm. More blood falls to the floor. Unafflicted, Satoru says, “you can’t hurt me.”

“Then let me leave, so that when I return, I can hurt you!”

There’s a purse on his lips. A pensive pause. Then the prince raises both of his hands, one of which is already healed, in defeat.

“There’s a medicine man who lives south-east from the gatehouse,” he says. “His name is Kiyotaka Ijichi. He’ll be asleep by now, but he’s a bit of a pushover and a sucker for a lady in distress. If you wail a bit outside his house, he’ll come out to offer you aid.”

“I don’t need anybody’s help,” you spit as you begin climbing out the window. You half-expect him to push you then. It’s a wonderful opportunity, one that you would seize if you were in his position. But the prince just watches you begin your descent.

“Do try to not bleed on any of the garden flowers,” he calls.

You wordlessly growl back at him.

“Oh, and little sparrow! Should you return here tomorrow evening, or perhaps the next night, or even a week or a month from now, shall I prepare red or white wine for you?” Prince Satoru offers you a charming smile. “And would you like there to be a violinist present? Anything to set the mood?”

Once you’re on your feet, you glare up at the beaming prince. He’s far too confident, but you make a mental promise to ruin that confidence someday, somehow. You don’t answer him, like you’re sure he doesn’t expect, but you allow him to watch you disappear into the black from whence you came.

#jjk requests #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk imagine #jjk reader insert

[hood-ex]

Can you give any pointers for fanfiction writing? It's something I've considered trying, but I've never done creative writing and it's a bit intimidating. I'm mostly interested in writing Nightwing, and maybe having other characters (Batfam and Titans) but still always having Dick as the center.

Welcome to Fanfiction 101! I’m here to keep you from making the same mistakes I’ve made in the past. 

Pre-Writing Process

There are some people who enjoy outlining the shit out of their story, and then there are people like me who just kinda make the story up as they go. Whatever you decide to do, try to at least have an ending planned out. That way while you’re writing, you can start to craft the pieces you need to get to the ending you have imagined. You can even work backward and plan your story out from end to beginning. 

For example, let’s say I want my ending to be Dick and Damian hugging in a hospital. Okay, what pieces do I need to get to that point? Well, if they’re in a hospital then one of them needs to be hurt. Who do I want to hurt? Let’s go with Dick because I want this story to show how much Damian cares about Dick.

Great. Now how does Damian find out that Dick is hurt/how does he save Dick? Let’s say Damian is in the cave when the batcomputer gets an alert from Nightwing’s suit. The alert shows that Dick’s vitals have gone haywire. Damian panics, tracks down Dick’s location, and then both him and Alfie take the flying batmobile to save Dick. They find Dick and take him to the hospital. 

Cool but how does Dick get hurt in the first place? Hmm, well, Dick usually always rides a motorcycle, right? So let’s say Dick gets into a motorcycle accident. How does he crash his bike? Maybe it’s because of the weather or because a baddie crashes into him. I don’t want to write a huge action scene so let’s say Dick accidentally drives over black ice, spins out, and crashes in a ditch. 

And there you have it. A whole story right there from end to beginning. You can plan things out in a more detailed way before you jump in and write if you want. A basic outline like that ^ is usually enough for me to go off of. The details just come to me while I’m in the process of writing. Try and see what works best for you. 

One-Shots vs. Multi-Chapter Stories 

If you haven’t done a lot of creative writing, I would suggest you start off by practicing with one-shots. Now, one-shots can be shorter content, but on the flip side, there’s also one-shots that are like 50k words. Totally depends on what the author is willing to put into it in terms of plot, description, character development, etc. 

I personally have a hard time finding the motivation to finish multi-chapter stories, which is why I usually stick to one-shots. Short one-shots can be easier because they don’t have to be super fleshed out. The action is quick, the dialogue is impactful, and the scene is memorable. 

You can also just jump into the action when it comes to one-shots. You don’t have to do as much build-up. For example, I could jump right into a scene of Dick having trouble breathing like this: 

Dick’s having a hard time making sense of things. Vaguely, he can hear Bruce shouting for Alfred. He can feel hands on him. His vision is going in and out. Then, suddenly, there’s silence. Dick wakes up, confused. Tim is sitting at his bedside, holding his hand. Bruce is close by, and when he realizes Dick is awake, he immediately goes over to him. Bruce explains that Dick had a bad reaction to a drug he was injected with. Bruce cards his hand through Dick’s hair to comfort him, and Dick reflects on when Bruce used to do the same thing when Dick was a kid. 

End scene. 

Okay, so, obviously a real story would have way more description than that, but you get what I’m saying, yeah? That whole scene could be the entire story and it would be enough. But if you have the motivation to do way more than that with a ton of character development and what not, you totally could prolong that one-shot into 50k words. Or just break everything up into a multi-chapter fic. 

The problem with writing one chapter at a time for a multi-chapter fic is that it’s hard to keep the motivation to keep writing each chapter. You write one chapter and then put the story to the side for a few days, and suddenly, you keep making excuses about why you don’t want to write the next chapter. To be fair, this can also happen with a basic one-shot, but yeah, tis the life of a writer. Don’t be discouraged if it happens to you. Trust me, it will at some point. 

Character POV

Listen, I love writing in first person. In other fandoms, I used to write a lot of my stories in first person POV. I’ve got some bad news for you, though. Generally, people don’t like to read fanfics that are in first person POV. They just don’t. Nowadays, even I tend to skip over stories that are written in first person POV. 

Third person POV is going to be your best friend. Get comfortable writing it. 

Admittedly, sometimes it’s easier for me to grasp a character’s voice if I first write the story in first person POV. I then go back and change all the “I’s” and “me’s” to he, his, her, hers, etc. That’s just a little trick I do sometimes if I’m having a hard time getting a story started. 

Characterization

If you’re not 100% sure how to write a specific character, try and figure out a few facts about them. Like if you want to write Dick then think about some key qualities of his. Sprinkle those traits throughout the story to make the character sound more authentic. 

For example, I know Dick doesn’t like cucumber sandwiches. Sometimes I’ll have him or other characters mention this in the story. I also know Dick can struggle with perfectionism. I can make that something he has to struggle with in the story. It doesn’t have to be what the whole story revolves around, but if I just throw in some things here and there about how Dick is mad at himself for failing about something then that makes him feel more in character. 

Character Interactions

At first, writing multiple characters interacting at once can be really difficult. It can fuck up the pacing of your story, it can be hard to insert each character enough to make sure they aren’t ignored, and it can be hard to make sure each character is getting a chance to speak. 

If you find yourself struggling with this, try and just stick to two characters at first. Once you’re comfortable writing a conversation between them, try adding in another character. And another. And another. 

The more you practice, the more you’ll be able to write multiple characters interacting in a scene in a way that feels more natural and realistic. 

Genres and Tropes

When it comes to figuring out what you want to write about, you need to know what kind of content your audience wants. For example, fantasy niches (fairies, vampires, etc.) can be harder to “sell” in this particular fandom. There are people like myself who enjoy those niches, but just know that they may not be the most popular niches within this specific fandom. 

What are some niches that the majority of fandoms do like? Hurt/comfort, sick fics, whump, fluff. Those kinds of fics are always in demand. People love it when their favs get hurt. People love it when other characters worry about their favs. People love it when their favs get hurt while protecting others. People love it when their favs are getting along and being affectionate with one another. 

Go on AO3 and sort the fics in this fandom by “most comments” or “most kudos.” Now look at the most popular fics that come up and look at the tags they use. See what kinds of things those authors are writing about. Read their summaries and try to get an idea of what the stories are about. 

Once you get an idea of which kind of genres and tropes are most popular, try and write a story that includes those genres/tropes. People will be more likely to read stories that have tropes they usually like to read about. 

Now, of course, you can also just write whatever the hell you want without trying to appeal to your audience. This is what I do a lot of the time. Turns out that the things I like to write about tend to fall more in line with the tropes that are already popular in this fandom. 

Spelling and Grammar

People really hate to read stories that have tons and tons of spelling and grammar mistakes. Make sure before you post anything, you put your story in Word or Grammarly (I use the free version) to check for spelling, grammar, and punctuation mistakes. Trust me, your readers will thank you for it.

Practice, Practice, Practice

I’ve been writing creative stories since I was 11 years old. The stories I wrote back then are absolutely shit compared to the stories I write now. So please don’t get discouraged if you write a story and you don’t feel like it’s very good. 

Keep trying! Just like with anything else, the more you do it, the better you’ll be at it. There are so many things you’ll learn as you continue to write. Seriously, just recently, I realized I wasn’t always putting a comma in my compound sentences to break up the independent clauses. But hey, hey, now I know. 

Pacing, characterization, and plot are also things that will improve the more you write. Writing drabbles (stories with maybe just a few hundred words) will help with this. It will help you learn to choose the most important scene or dialogue and write it in an impactful, emotional, and compelling way. 

Okay, class is dismissed! If you have any other questions then feel free to send me another ask! 

#writing #writing advice #fanfics #batfam

[blazichu]

Mystery March Day 13: Relax

I misremembered this one as ‘rest’ which kind of colored the tone/content, but I still dig it.

--

It started with a death curse.

Or, well, maybe it wasn’t a death curse specifically-- Vivi didn’t pretend to be an expert, but she knew how it made her feel, even from a distance, and from that she could extrapolate that it was bad news.

The point remained: there was a curse being levied, and the two people who might have any indication what it did reacted harshly to it. Those reactions, however, were on polar opposite ends of the spectrum. While Mystery bristled and visibly weighed his options, Lewis decided on a more proactive approach. In an unerring, deceptively fast glide, he made his way toward the caster and seized their raised hand by the wrist.

Startled by the unexpected contact and the skeletal phantom suddenly looming over them, they immediately lost their concentration-- and, for good reason, went into a panic. They tried to backpedal. When they only made it a step away, they tried to wrench the arm away.

Lewis’s grip on it tightened, and he rumbled something inaudible from their distance.

The spell in their hand popped-- exactly like a soap bubble, in spite of the fact that it didn’t technically exist yet-- and Lewis flinched in its wake, hair flickering wildly for half a second. Just as quickly as the disruption came on, though, his demeanor and form settled; he raised his free hand to gesture lackadaisically.

“Still dead. Imagine that.” He leaned in, as if to confide in the caster, but the phantasmal force behind his words carried them across the gap between himself and the rest of the group, “Be grateful it was me tonight; if you raise this hand again, toward any of them,” His grip tightened, and they renewed their struggling, teeth grit against the pressure on their wrist, “It’s the first thing you’re going to lose. Do I make myself clear?”

Something must have passed between the two, because Lewis dropped their hand, sending them skittering backwards blindly. He straightened up to his full height-- plus an extra couple of inches, due to his lack of contact with the ground-- and made as if to follow. The caster whirled around and booked it as fast as they could.

For several seconds, he stayed put-- tracking their progress until he deemed them too far away to bother with-- and then turned to rejoin the group, absently flexing the hand that had interrupted the curse. He looked completely unruffled, though, admittedly, it was pretty hard to judge when the only metric was a skull with resting bitch face.

It was off-putting, if Vivi was honest-- not the skull, but drastic behavioral shift. Lewis had always been loathe to use his stature to his advantage; he may have loomed, but it was always an accident, and on the rare occasion he’d seen fit to intimidate someone, it had always disturbed him after the fact. Maybe he was just leaning into the fact that it was hard to be a reassuring presence when one was very obviously dead, but it was hardly an isolated phenomena.

She still loved him dearly, but times like this, she worried for him.

Belatedly, Vivi realized that Arthur had frozen up somewhere in the middle of things. Lewis, as he drew nearer, seemed to notice the same thing, sighed, and gave him an absent pat on the shoulder.

And that was that.

Until later that night, when midway through a discussion on Scottish folklore, Lewis fell asleep at the table.

Thinking nothing of the sudden silence, Vivi stabbed a couple more penne, giving Lewis a few more seconds to consider his stance on kelpies. When there was no answer forthcoming, though, she glanced over, and immediately dropped her fork.

“You’re seeing this too, right?” Arthur asked, bemused.

Bizarrely, even though there was no gentle rise-and-fall of the chest, it was immediately obvious that Lewis was asleep, and nothing more sinister. And if there was something more sinister than dead Vivi wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it was.

She scooted forward in her seat, leaning over her plate to get a better look without uprooting herself.

“I… didn’t realize that was an option.” She said after a moment passed. Then, with the blunt end of her knife, she nudged Lewis’s jaw. Arthur fussed at her for it, which was fortunate, because Lewis didn’t wake up to do it himself. She set it down and frowned, “Think we should be worried?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Vivi hummed to herself and stood up, moving to shake Lewis’s shoulder; skull still resting on his arms, he didn’t stir in the slightest. Chewing thoughtfully on her lip, she looked at Arthur. “I realize now’s not the time, but how do you s’pose his skull’s staying in place if he’s not actively keeping it there?”

Arthur, who’d gotten to his feet the same time Vivi had, flicked both of his hands up in something that wasn’t quite disbelief, “You’re right, it’s not the time.”

He made a circuit of the table, and the slumbering ghost thereupon, then came to a halt at Vivi’s other side. “He… looks fine? There’s nothing up with his anchor, anyway, so…?”

Vivi nodded, thoughts racing-- and then, both as a test and in search of answers, hollered, “Mystery!”

Nothing from sleeping spooky, but after a moment, Mystery appeared, grumbling all the while.

“You bellowed?” He asked, face twisting in displeasure as he padded onto the wooden floorboards.

With a wide wave, Vivi gestured in Lewis’s general direction, “Do you know anything about that?”

“I believe that’s your boyfriend.” He said, irritation creeping into his tone, “Should I identify Arthur for you, too, while I’m here?”

“We think something’s wrong.” The Arthur in question cut in, before they could get off track, “He’s, uh, asleep? Probably?”

Mystery shot him a look over his glasses, “He’s what.”

He offered a much more subdued wave toward the still form at the table.

Perhaps realizing that, through all the shouting and sassing Lewis hadn’t said a word, Mystery tensed minutely and trotted over. As the others before him, he nudged the ghost. And, as the others before him, he received a complete lack of response.

“That’s… unusual.” He said, somewhat unnecessarily, and propped himself up on his hind legs, front braced against the edge of the chair. It took a bit of craning, but he managed to nose his way against Lewis’s chest and prod at the golden heart sandwiched between its owner and the table.

That, finally, got a rise out of Lewis. He made a soft, inhuman noise akin to whine and flapped the nearest hand, as if to shoo Mystery away. As subdued a response as it was, neither Vivi or Arthur had expected anything, and it was enough to make one start, and the other jump.

Snout scrunched in thought, Mystery hopped down from his perch, “It seems you were correct, he’s asleep.”

In a silent bid for more information, Vivi turned her palms upward.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. My best guess is that it’s a product of the spell he intercepted earlier, but, as that’s the only variable at play here, that seems rather obvious.” His cocked his head, deliberating, “I suppose we could try to agitate his anchor, if you’re that worried, but he doesn’t seem distressed. Personally, I don’t see the harm in letting him sleep it off.”

At that, Vivi gave a short, wry laugh, “Well lookit that, Artie, you managed to stay up longer than a dead guy.”

Arthur stuck his tongue out and made his way back to his place at the table, eyes briefly resting on Lewis’s slouched form. “Should we move him somewhere else? You know how he gets when I fall asleep at my desk.”

“I think it’s less that he objects to the tabletop, and more that you should go to bed before you get to that point.” Vivi said, flopping back into her chair, “Kinda funny that he passed out here though, after all the talks you guys have had. What do you think, is it gonna take magic backlash to beat your all-nighter-recovery record?”

–

It took another two days for Lewis to wake up. There was some debate as to whether or not that technically broke Arthur’s record; Arthur was relatively certain he’d never taken that long to bounce back from a tinkering binge, and Vivi begged to differ. Mystery wisely stayed out of it.

Up to that point, they’d just resigned themselves to having haunted decor on the table while daily life went on around him, so it was a welcome surprise when Lewis showed signs of waking.

Vivi eyed him from over the edge of her laptop’s screen as she collated her research into parasomnia. He briefly buried his face deeper into the crook of his arm, then sat up and pressed the heel of one hand into an eye socket. As his open eye landed on Vivi, he blinked, dropped his hand, then glanced to the empty seat across from her.

She grinned at him and, without thinking, announced, “He lives!”

It was followed by a confused beat of silence and then a sheepish, “Oh shit, sorry.”

Lewis simply stared at her, uncomprehending.

“How’re you feeling? That was a pretty serious nap, but I guess that’s the worst you can do to someone who’s already dead, huh?”

“A nap?” He echoed, voice distorted either from sleep or confusion.

Vivi turned in her seat to gesture to the brightly-lit kitchen window. “I was trying to be nice, but I could try something more festive, like ���short coma’.”

“Vivi. Since when do ghosts sleep?”

She shrugged, “Since two nights ago? Mystery thought there was a way to wake you up, but if a curse is anything like the flu, you were better off sleeping through it.”

“Oh,” Lewis said, voice unusually soft, “Right, the spellcaster. That shouldn’t have done anything, though…?”

Vivi shot him a sideways look, and gestured widely to the table. “You tell me, boo.”

Lewis did no such thing. Instead, he got up and floated away, body language troubled.

--

Things went back to normal relatively quickly thereafter.

On this particular night, Vivi was still pulling together notes for their next case, and frequently called out random trivia about bog bodies to whoever was available to hear it. Mystery would have been underfoot in the kitchen, had its other occupant not been hovering a good six inches in the air, floating around or through him in an effort to ignore his well-meaning nagging, whilst cleaning up for the day.

And then there was Arthur, who had disappeared after dinner. He had the next day off, which was a double-edged sword-- more often than not, he took it as an excuse to stay up until dawn and then crash.

There was a loud clang from down the hallway, and Lewis automatically turned to consult the nearest clock. Simultaneously, Vivi’s eyes flicked down to the digital display on her laptop. 1 am already. She saved her work and stretched, deciding her fifteen remaining tabs could wait.

While she shut things down for the night, Lewis tucked a new towel into the oven’s handle and started toward the hall, goal clear in mind.

Vivi stared after him and, after some thought, did a little skip-hop closer to catch his arm. “Maybe you should try to get some sleep, too.”

“I… don’t need to sleep.” He said, in the tones of one who’d been made to explain something very simple to someone who should know better.

“Not technically, no, but you can.” Vivi tilted her head as she considered whether or not to voice her next thought. “I get that you didn’t really have a choice in the matter before, but you-- after you woke up, you seemed a lot happier, and it made me think. We sleep because our bodies need it, yeah, but it’s important for us mentally, too. Even if you’re dead, you’re still a dead human-- what if you’ve just been cranky because you don’t have a body to tell you you’re tired?”

Lewis was quiet for several long seconds, and then sighed, “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll try.”

A slow smile worked its way across Vivi’s face, and, with some doing, she craned high enough to press a kiss to his cheekbone. With a gentle bump of his temple against hers, Lewis floated off-- and, as he left, Vivi caught a single word muttered into the darkness:

“’Cranky’?”

–

Though she’d told herself she didn’t have any specific expectations, Vivi found herself slightly disappointed when she spent the night alone. At first, she assumed it meant Lewis had decided against resting after all, but when her alarm went off and she made to start fumbling around in the kitchen, she realized what had happened: for whatever reason, he’d decided to sleep on the couch. She told herself not to speculate why; he had to have his reasons, and there was no point in humoring the wriggling doubts when she’d just be able to ask.

She was a little surprised, though, when her futzing with the coffee pot failed to disturb him. Maybe he was just that tired. It wasn’t unthinkable; if her theory held any weight, he’d only slept three nights over the course of a year.

With the coffee brewing and toaster at work, Vivi wandered over and braced an elbow on the back of the couch. As before, it only took a glance to recognize that Lewis was asleep; unlike before, his anchor was in plain view to confirm it, dusted a mellow gold that didn’t pulse so much as draw in and out, keeping the same pace as the low, even breathing of true sleep.

It seemed he’d curled around it out of habit, protecting it even in unconsciousness.

Vivi lingered a bit longer, without any particular reason for doing so; thoughts came and went, and she didn’t try to hold onto any of them. It was soothing leaning there, absently matching her breathing to the lazy thrum of Lewis’s anchor.

Then the toaster went off and she started upright, slapping her cheeks in anticipation for the day ahead.

She never asked why he chose the couch, and he never offered her an answer.

---

Something about that brief respite must have convinced Lewis that he was better off taking the occasional nap, because he didn’t speak a word of protest from there on out. And as he accepted it, the less Vivi worried for him; he’d never been unrecognizable-- not counting, you know-- but he started acting more and more like himself, rather than the new, spooky version where you had to squint to make out his original personality.

That wasn’t the only benefit, either. Arthur might have foregone sleep for his own sake, ignoring any number of pointed reminders while he worked, but this discovery seemed to change things. If it got too late and he realized Lewis was still hovering around, he’d shut things down on his own and shoo the ghost off to bed, using himself as an example.

It was an incredibly sweet gesture, but Vivi had a suspicion that Lewis might have engineered the chain of events in the first place; he may have urged Arthur to sleep in the past, but he only started loitering when he realized he could make himself the impetus to follow through. But at the same time, the longer this went on, the gentler the reminders became, the more it turned into something he considered ‘for Arthur’s benefit’ and less a naughty, if mutually beneficial, game.

The compromise didn’t always mean they slept at a decent hour, or even went to bed properly, but it did mean that they slept every night, at least for a little bit, and that was better than the alternative.

(It also meant that Vivi got up one morning, further into this arrangement, and found them asleep on the couch: Arthur’s good arm dangling off the edge, Lewis half-sunken into the back of said couch, loosely curled around his anchor-- but also, as a consequence of where he was laying, Arthur. If it hadn’t been for the phantasmal tail his lower body melded into, ‘cute’ was all it would have been, but as things stood, that also bumped it into the ‘fascinating’ camp.

She hadn’t forgotten the fact that his skull stayed firmly in place while he slept, so this unconscious modification was an object of intrigue for her.)

“It’s because you weren’t getting your beauty sleep,” Vivi joked, then moved her hands in a rainbow’s arc and put on the ‘I am interacting with a young child’ voice, “And we all know real beauty is on the inside.”

Lewis sighed a laugh, but didn’t argue. In fact, after a moment’s thought, he said, “It’s strange. Obviously I know I’m dead, but I didn’t realize how awful it was to feel like a ghost until I felt like a person again.”

And to that Vivi hummed, unsure what to say, thoughts racing.

Then there was Thursday.

On one particular Thursday, where Arthur couldn’t stay asleep and Vivi had an especially early shift, the commotion throughout the kitchen roused Lewis from wherever he’d settled the previous night. Nothing unusual there, and Vivi would hardly begrudge his help as she blearily went about putting breakfast together.

There were no footsteps as he rounded the corner-- there never were, regardless of whether he walked or floated-- but something was audibly off when he greeted them.

Vivi waved without looking over, intent as she was on the coffee pot.

It would have taken her a few more minutes to notice, if it hadn’t been for Arthur’s uncertain, “Uh, Vivi…?”

She glanced up, and then automatically followed the pointed tilt of Arthur’s head, failing to process the look on his face until several seconds after the fact.

Where he’d emerged from the hallway, Lewis was shooing off a Deadbeat that seemed determined to get in his face. Frankly, it was hard to blame the Deadbeat; as soon as what she was seeing clicked, Vivi bounded across the kitchen and got in his face herself, reaching up as far as she could. Her hand brushed his cheek. Not his cheekbone, his cheek-- and despite herself, she felt tears welling up.

“Vivi?” He asked, and there was no overt reverberation. As dark-- as dead-- as his eyes may have been, his concerned gaze on her was a balm she hadn’t known she needed, and she gave up on holding back the sniffles as she flung her arms around his neck.

She’d known. She’d known he was still there, even in his roughest moments, and now she had him back.

#Mystery Skulls #MysteryMarch2021 #blazy's stuff

[illfoandillfie]

Hey for the blurbs thing, i was wondering how roger and reader are getting on in the quiet in the library universe, how is he tormenting her (in the best way) these days 😁

sorry this is so late! today has been hectic and this got a little longer than I planned, a little over 3k. Thanks for the request though, this is another old series that I haven’t revisited in a little while so it was a lot of fun! Ya’ll know I love me some cocky dom 70s rog 😂

Warnings: smut, public sex, specifically library sex, getting caught, restraints/light bondage, gag, hair pulling, some talk of free use, 

Blurb Advent: Day 22

About a week after Kathy had stumbled upon you and Roger after hours, you’d been rostered on for work at the same time. She’d clearly been waiting for such a moment to question you and took the opportunity to put you through the third degree while you were sitting at the main desk together. She was steadily making her way through a stack of returned books while you dealt with any customers who approached and tried to ignore her. It wasn’t easy to block out her constant questions of who was Roger? and how long have you been together? and do you always fool around when you’re on closing? and is he a good shag at least? and there weren’t enough people seeking your help to qualify as a proper distraction. Eventually you cracked and told her everything, kind of enjoying the way her eyebrows rose with each new piece of information.

“Well, we’re not like actually together. Just friends.”

“Friends, really?”

“Friends who hook up every now and then,”

“So, was that the only time you’ve done it here?”

“Not really. Theres been a couple others,”

“Where? Specifically, where?”

“In the shelves mostly. The first time I was sitting on the returns trolly. We almost got caught that time,” you laughed, “Second was on the floor by the 900s.”

“Y/N!”

You shushed her, “Keep it down,”

“Sorry I just never would have expected it from you. And that’s where we work!”

“He brings out the worst in me I think. Anyway, don’t expect to walk in on us again. He hasn’t even suggested we do it here since you caught us so I think he’s kind of over the whole sexy librarian thing or maybe he realised we could get in proper trouble. Last time we got together it was at his place.”

“Not quite the same as shagging in public,”

You shrugged, “His roommate came home halfway through which checks the same boxes.”

“Well good because I don’t think I want to walk in on anything else. I feel quite lucky you both still had your pants on,”

 The day progressed as usual and Kathy dropped the topic for the most part. She did mention it once when she was tasked with putting the returned books back on the shelf, making a joke about hoping the trolly had been wiped down, but otherwise you found other things to chat about when you weren’t busy with library duties. Roger had offered to pick you up in the evening so you could go and watch the band and when it came time to leave he was already waiting for you. Kathy walked out with you and waved to Roger as she headed towards her own car.

“Who was that? Do I know her?”

“That’s Kathy. She was the one who owned the book you spanked me with, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” he laughed, “that was fun,”

“Mmm well, she put me through the third degree about it today. Asked all about you and how often it’s happened.”

Roger found it very amusing, much more than you did, and kept laughing about it all the way to the venue.

 The next day you headed to work again and settled in for another normal day. Returns, shelving, loans, the usual. Kathy was in again though your boss had called in sick so neither of you felt like working too hard. It was in the early afternoon that Roger found you. You were switching some books on a display of new releases when he tapped you on the shoulder. Immediately you glanced around to see if Kathy had noticed him but she was caught up loaning books out to a doddering old man who came in at least once a week.

“What are you doing here?” you asked Roger, suspiciously.

“Well, I got thinking.”

“Oh god,”

“No, you’ll like this. So, I was thinking about Kathy asking you about me yesterday, and then that got me thinking about everything I’ve done to you here and that got me hard.”

“Rog,”

“And then I released there’s a part of the library that I’d really like to have you in that we haven’t used before. We’ve done the shelves, we’ve done the desk.”

“Rog, I’m not fucking in the children’s section. That’d get us arrested,”

“What? No, not what I meant. I mean I’m up for it but only after hours. You could sit on one of their mini chairs and suck me off again,”

You rolled your eyes, but he ignored you.

“No, I meant your staff area out the back,”

“What the lunch room? Rog, that barely counts as a room. It’s not that big and the whole room is taken up by a table with some tall stools. None of us even use it for eating because it’s not that comfortable. We mostly use it for our teacups and kettle. Oh and new books – storing them before we’ve put them on the shelves and adding the plastic dust jackets and all that.”

“I think it still counts,”

“Fine but that brings us to the fact that it is impossible to do anything in there during the day. The only door to it is right near the desk and there is no way you could get in there without being seen and chucked out of the building.”

Roger pouted, “C’mon Y/N,”

“There’s literally nothing I can do, it’s out of my hands. If you’re still hard tonight I can come over and help sort you out but the lunch room won’t work.”

“Oh alright, what time do you finish today?”

“7.30,”

“You on closing?”

“No, Kathy is,”

“And your boss?”

“She’s not in today, home sick. What’s with all the questions?”

“Nothing, it’s fine. Um, see you later then,”

“Yeah, see you.” You turned back to your display as Roger left, shaking your head.

 So you were left to your quiet and laid back day though Roger kept intruding on your thoughts. You were sure he was up to something, that he had an idea of sneaking back into the library after Kathy left or something like that. Admittedly, the idea was a little exciting. Perhaps you could suggest it if he didn’t. You’d have the entire building to yourself then, could get away with using the sitting chairs and the floor in the main area, right in front of the windows. Whatever you wanted really. And there was almost no chance of being interrupted. The idea stuck in the back of your head, and you took to watching the clock, willing the time to move faster so you could leave and find Roger. You’d been right though, Roger was planning something and not quite the same something that you were.

 It was already growing dark outside when you thought you saw him come in but before you could look properly you were asked to help a woman locate a book. You led her to the shelf and found the book before pointing her back to the desk where Kathy could loan it out for her. She was halfway across the room when the lights went out. A few people in the front of the library squealed and yelled in shock and you heard Kathy tell everyone not to panic but you were too distracted to pay much attention to them. A warm hand had clasped itself over your mouth.

“Don’t panic, it’s just me,” You nodded and felt Roger’s hand loose, “What the fuck?”

Roger shrugged, “All I did was turn the power off at the electrical panel, easy to get back on. And don’t try to tell me you haven’t been thinking about this all day because I know you have,”

“You’re unbelievable,”

“Save that for after we’re done. You gonna show me to the back room now or are we going to just do it here?”

“Okay, c’mon, this way.” Grabbing his hand you pulled him in the direction of the back room, using the shelves to guide you. As quietly as possible you opened the door labelled ‘Staff Only’ and slipped inside, Roger close behind. Outside, by the desk, you could hear Kathy calming people down, telling them it must be a power outage, but you stopped listening as Roger pulled you into a kiss and backed you against the table. A light from the store next door illuminated the room enough for you to see the outline of the table and the items on it. With just enough care to not send everything crashing to the floor, Roger cleared a space, intending to lift you onto it. You saw him glance down at one of the items he picked up and then look back at you, still fiddling with the item.

“I’ve always had trouble keeping you quiet, isn’t that true?”

“Not always,”

“Is that you arguing with me?”

“No,”

“No, what?”

“No, Sir,”

“Better. Now, like I was saying. You have trouble being quiet but I think I might have a solution,” there was a sticky peeling sound and you released what he’d found. Roger lifted the roll of tape and used his teeth to tear off a section, sticking it over your mouth. “Wouldn’t want anyone to find us in here, would we slut?”

You shook your head.

“Turn around,”

You shuffled around to face the desk and felt Roger’s hand on your shoulder, pushing you to bend over it. The next thing you felt was your arms being pulled behind you, the roll of tape being wrapped around your wrists to keep them in place. After half a dozen or so circuits, Roger bent forward to tear the tape from the roll again and place the roll back on the table.

You whined quietly into your gag as Roger kicked your feet further apart and then gripped you hair to pull you up. He began unbuttoning the top of your dress, slipping his hands into the opening to palm your breasts.

“I bet you’re already wet, aren’t you?” he said softly, close to your ear, “Dirty girl. You like being my slut. Didn’t object to bringing me back here, didn’t object to being tied up, and you’re not going to object when I fuck you over this table.”

You nodded again, unable to talk, and dropped your head back onto his shoulder. 

Roger didn’t let you enjoy it for long before he pushed you forward again, using your hair to turn your head to face the side. You had a view of the door from where you were positioned but you were too high up to see through the crack under the door so had no hope of keeping lookout for anyone approaching. Roger paid no attention to the door as he lifted your dress, folding it back so you were exposed to him. He ran his hands over your arse, making you shiver and press yourself back towards him, before hooking his fingers into the band of your underpants and dragging them down to your knees. Slowly, he trailed his fingers back up your thighs and then in towards your cunt. Roger laughed, softly, as he spread you open.

“I told you you were a dirty girl.”

You squirmed as he ran his fingers along your cunt, trying to get him to do more. When you attempted to say his name it caught on the tape and sounded nothing like it should.

“What’s that slut? I can’t hear you,”

You grunted in annoyance and twitched your fingers as if that was going to help.

“As fun as this is I don’t think I have time for a game of charades.” Rogers fingers danced back down your slit and pressed into you, “Someone’s going to work out to check the box soon and then the lights will be back and everyone will wonder where you disappeared too. So I better hurry up and check your box, shouldn’t I?” He chuckled at his own joke.

You keened into your gag as he fingered you, partly because it felt good and partly out of worry that you’d be caught out again, though that definitely turned you on too.

Roger kept working his fingers in and out of you as he undid his trousers though he had to stop to get them down. He didn’t leave you empty for long though, his own observation about needing to speed things up seemingly spurring him on. Once his cock was free he stepped in close, the hand that was slick with your arousal pumping along it’s length.

“Gonna fuck you now, slut. I know you’re gagged but it’s only tape so don’t scream too loud.”

With one hand on your hip he guided himself into you, bottoming out and leaning over you.

You whimpered as he paused to grind his hips into you, his other hand coming up to your hair.

“Good girl. Gonna keep being my good little whore and take me so well,” he pressed down on the side of your head to keep you in place as he pulled his hips back and snapped then into you, finding a fast rhythm that made you whine. All you could do was grasp at thin air and try to keep quiet as he pinned you down. He made things all the more frustrating by leaning over you to breathe against your ear or mouth at your neck.

 Suddenly the lights came back on. Outside you heard Kathy call you your name.

Roger stuttered out of rhythm for a moment with the shock of the sudden light but soon fell back into it, “Uh oh. Someone figured it out.”

You whined into the tape over your mouth.

Roger pulled you your head up again, his hand wrapping around your throat, though you were still mostly bent over the table, “Should I stop?”

You thought for a moment, eyes darting to the door as Roger kept thrusting into you.

“Y/N?”

You shook your head and Roger laughed before pushing you back down, “Feels too good to stop doesn’t it.”

 You knew it was a mistake as soon as the shadow under the door changed and a second later the knob turned. With a whine you tried to warn Roger but it was no use, the door was opening. He noticed when the hinges creaked and came to a halt though he was still balls deep inside you.

Kathy gave a small yell of surprise and covered her mouth.

“Hi, Kathy was it? Sorry, d’you think you could give us a few minutes?”

“Is she…?”

“She wanted this, it’s okay.”

You nodded as much as you could, feeling as hot in the face as Kathy’s cheeks looked.

“We won’t be long,” Roger said politely.

Kathy looked back at him though her eyes darted away again as she mumbled an apology and left, closing the door behind her.

Roger snorted and began to laugh as you groaned and squeezed your eyes shut as if that would undo things.

“D’you think she knew what was happening and was trying to sneak a peak?”

Again you tried to groan his name but his only reply was to snap his hips into you again, picking up where he’d left off.

“Impatient slut. If you want my cock so bad you can have it. And don’t think I didn’t feel you clench when she came it. You liked being caught.”

You whined in denial.

“You did. I felt it. Y’know, maybe if you’re lucky, she’ll tell someone and they’ll come to see if it’s true. We might end up with qu-ite a crowd. I wonder how many of the men out there would want a go. A, fuck, a cock crazed slut with a drip-ping cunt all spread out and ready to be used. I bet they’d all want to try you. God, keep squeezing like that and I’ll be finished in about ten seconds. I think you’re close too, right? The thought of being used and fill and fucked over and over. M-maybe I should edge you, get you all de-fuck-desperate, and let them in. You’d beg for them then.”

You were panting by now, your stomach tight with the release that was creeping up on you.

“Such a pathetic, fucking, whore. My whore. Mine to use. Mine to loan out. I’ll put a stamp on your arse, ju-st like one of your books. Let them each use you for a while. And then I’d have you again, bound and obedient and fucked out. You l-like the sound of that, don’t you? Yeah, gonna cum thinking about being p-passed around.”

You whined as the dam broke and your orgasm washed over you.

“Good girl,” Roger panted though he kept holding you down as he let himself go.

 Without saying much more Roger pulled your underwear back into place and dropped your skirt down. You stayed slumped over the desk as he fixed his own clothes but then he helped you to stand, carefully peeling the tape from your face.

“There’re scissors over there,” you nodded at the table and Roger moved to grab them, turning you around so he could cut your hands free.

“Can’t believe they were there all along and I tore it with my teeth.”

“Hotter with the teeth.” You rolled your newly freed wrists and then turned back around and slapped his chest, “You shit.”

Roger laughed, “Sorry. I genuinely didn’t know she’d come in and I didn’t plan for her too. I mean it got you off so I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

“You’re going to wash your hands over at the sink and then you are going to go and apologise to her and then tomorrow you are going to bring her a box of chocolates or something to make up for it.”

“Aright. I’ll apologise. You can’t complain if she wants a go of me though.”

“Roger!”

“Okay, I’m going. I will apologise profusely, and then I’ll wait in the car for you.”

“You cannot want another round,”

“I can and I wouldn’t say no but I actually just meant I’d give you a lift home.”

“Good. Okay”

“D’you want me to buy you chocolates too?”

“It’d be nice,”

“Okay,” he smiled and dragged his thumb over your cheek, “I might have gone a bit far tonight, didn’t I?”

“Maybe a little,”

“But it was good though, right? You had fun?”

“Yes, I did,” you conceded.

“And why was that?”

You rolled your eyes, “Because I’m a slut,”

“And,”

“Because you’re unbelievable,” you sighed.

“Good girl,” he laughed as he leaned forward to kiss you, “I really didn’t mean for us to be caught, I thought we’d have a bit longer. But hey, at least it wasn’t your boss.”

“Small mercies.”

#my writing #my blurbs #smut blurb #blurb advent 2020 #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #roger taylor imagine #i gotta try and get the last few written tonight/tomorrow #so that i can have them ready to post lmao #Anonymous

[cherrywoes]

AAAA YES- I have been waiting for this opportunity haha! May I ask for just a soft moment between the reader and (now known as) Shion? I’m absolutely enamoured by their relationship and I just want to see the two maybe cuddle a bit and act disgustingly domestic. I wouldn’t mind either headcanons of how they generally act around each other maybe even a small story of maybe 2k ish words? Whatever you’re comfortable with!

Tbh I’m just looking forward to learn more about Shion and his mannerisms TT I hope you have a wonderful day and take care!

a/n: haha i was waiting on this to show up! <3 i did both the small story and the headcanons (at the end) so i hope you enjoy! this ended up around 3k so i’m pretty happy with the result. you have a wonderful day as well! for those of you who don’t know who ama-no-kagaseo/shion is, he’s an oc from my jjk fic dark sun. 

of custard buns, apples, and mandarin oranges.

— ama-no-kagaseo (shion) + reader.

It was a quiet day for you today. There were no assassins, no awful weather to rain on your parade (quite literally, might you add), and, somehow, Sayaka would not be at your side today. Something about a first grade Curse had pulled her away for the day, sending her to the countryside—a place not known for its Curses—for the time being. You weren’t sure why Gojou couldn’t do it, since he was perfectly capable of going himself, but you weren’t going to ignore the chance that this brought you.

You were going to make pastries.

“Pastries?” Ama-no-Kagaseo (Shion, now, you needed to remember) materialized at your side, so close that he was practically leaning on you. He was oddly more in tune with your thoughts than usual after you’d given him that name, or something had changed—more specifically, his attention revolved around you more than anything else now. While that malevolent nature still crept out at times—never to you, but to nearly everyone else on the campus—it was subdued, and he appeared almost docile though you knew that was far from the truth. “I’ve never seen you make them before.”

His innocent curiosity of everything you did was endearing, to say the least. Having never taken interest in human pursuits before, he was set on learning everything you did even if he had no true want to learn it in the first place. He learned it because, through that activity, whatever it may be, he was closer to you, and therefore, in his mind, any time spent being close to you was precious time to him. Being a god and immortal, time that was considered anything other than ‘boring’ was important to him, however, most of it being linked back to you could be a very deadly double-edged sword… for other people, perhaps.

With a smile, you shook your head and held up an index card with the recipe for coconut custard buns. It was one of your favorites, something Sayaka had always bought for you when you were younger and had a notorious sweet tooth, and you’d been craving it recently. But without any way to contact her while she was off on a mission, you were left with only one other option: to make them yourself. You’d discovered the recipe (admittedly, you’d been snooping at first) in a magazine that had belonged to Gojou at some point. It had been left in the common rooms and, well, you considered it free game if he had just left it there when he was done with it.

“That’s because I haven’t,” you replied with a small laugh. You could feel his question burning into the side of your face without even having to look over at him. If you did, you would see a slightly pleading expression on his face, followed by the faint bunching of his brows because Amatsumikaboshi did. Not. Plead. But for you, he most likely would and that was all that mattered. “Yes, you can help me make them, Shion.”

He lit up like a light at the sound of his name. You’d been struggling to remember to call him that and not Ama-no-Kagaseo or Amatsumikaboshi, having done so for years beforehand, so breaking a habit like that was difficult for you. There was a set preconception to those names; all the higher ups saw him as was the malevolent, admittedly vicious god who would see them all destroyed if he had his way, but this was not ‘Amatsumikaboshi’—at least not to you. You’d seen several sides of him in the past few years, but this one—excited, happy even—was the one you liked the most, even if you were fond of both aspects of his godhood.

In his adult and personal form, he looked almost like a giant, overeager puppy—dragon, you thought, at a second glance, peering at the horns poking out over strands of white hair—at the idea of helping you cook. Which, to most people, might be bizarre in and of itself; what god would lower himself to cooking?

“What do they taste like?” He inquired, further leaning on you to the point where he was about to push you over. He wanted a glimpse of the index card, you thought, but then he rested his head on your shoulder instead. He was careful to avoid poking you with his horns and had his head situated at an odd angle that looked uncomfortable. “[Name]?”

“Hmm?” You hummed, pressing your mouth to the top of his head in a mockery of a kiss. He did this to you all the time, and now you understood why: it was extremely intimate, very close and comforting. He always smelled like an interesting mix of the ocean, some tropical flower that you had no name for, and almond oolong tea. It never changed, even when he was in a different form, oddly enough. You didn’t mind it. It was a very sweet, pleasing scent. “Oh, they taste like… custard and tangzhou bread, but I guess you wouldn’t know what that tastes like. You can try it and see if you like it, since you will be helping me.”

“Can we make them now?” He asked, shifting so he was looking up at the underside of your jaw and eyelashes. “I’m curious.”

“Of course.” You smiled and gently pushed a few strands away from his eyes so you could see them better. He’d always had pretty eyes, you’d thought, that seemed to shine with more knowledge than you could ever fathom. Now, though, they were focused on you, those slit pupils wide enough that you could see your reflection in them. As an afterthought, you leaned down and kissed his forehead, much in the same way he did to you when he thought you were napping. When you pulled away, you watched a pale blush creep up his neck and ears, which was just adorable. “But first, we need to make you blend in a bit.”

Confusion rolled across his face like a thundercloud. He stood and helped you to your feet when you struggled to get your legs out from under yourself, numb from sitting so long, and held your weight for a few moments while you waited for the blood to flow back into your legs. “Blend in?”

“Mhm.” You touched his horns and then pointed to his kimono. “I don’t think there’s anyone here right now, but in case someone comes in you’ll look like you’re just a sorcerer. If someone found out you could separate yourself from me like this, they’d report it to the higher ups and I’d be put back in confinement again.”

“No,” Shion said, and at first you thought it was to making him blend in. The scowl that appeared on his face was lethal. “I’ll kill them first.”

With a light laugh, you rose to your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It was almost like watching magic, the way his scowl turned into a pleased little smile. “You can’t kill everyone who finds out about you. Then they’ll get suspicious and know it was you.”

“You’re right,” he acknowledged, after a moment, leaning just a bit closer to you. “How will I ‘blend in’, so to speak.”

“Well…” You looked up at his horns, then his hair—which wasn’t all that strange, Gojou had white hair and Itadori had pink hair—and afterwards, his yukata. He could easily be mistaken as a member of one of the three clans and you could say he was replacing Sayaka for the day. You reached up and fingered his horns, surprised at how sharp the individual points were; they were almost like a deer’s horns. “Can you make these go aw—”

And just like that, they were gone, leaving you touching nothing but air.

“Right,” you mumbled, lowering your hand to pick up the astronomically long lengths of hair running down his back. It ended right at his hips, so you could, theoretically, just tie it into a bun and leave it like that. You’d seen plenty of Zen’in men wear their hair like that. “Okay, sit over here.”

You sat down on the edge of your bed and patted the floor with your foot. You retrieved your brush from the nightstand and waited until he was settled, then picked up a strand of hair and started brushing from the bottom to the roots. While they weren’t tangled, you didn’t want to cause him any kind of pain—could he even feel pain?—and gently ran the brush through his hair. He made no complaint and allowed you to continue sectioning off parts of his head, and obediently let you tilt his head this way and that so you could get the areas hanging over his shoulder.

When you were finished brushing it and making sure there weren’t any knots, you set down the brush and began combing his hair back with your fingers. He went entirely limp against your legs, a deep, rolling purr echoing from somewhere in his chest although you could feel it echoing in your shins. You’d heard him purr like that a few times before, usually when he was sitting in the sun of your window like a particularly lazy cat, but this was the first time he’d done it because of something you did. And it was unusually loud, as well, and you had to wonder if it was because he was starting to drift off.

You gathered the rest of his hair up, brushed out the parts that stuck out, and tied it off with a piece of twine you’d had lying around. You didn’t think he would appreciate wearing a sparkly blue ponytail—actually, he more than likely wouldn’t mind matching you. An idea for another day, then.

“Alright,” you said, resting your hands on his shoulders. The purring stopped and he stretched, lifting his arms above his head and popping almost every single bone in his back until he was done. Then he relaxed, head in your lap, and stared up at you. “What?”

Shion continued staring, golden eyes flicking over your face contemplatively. “You’re the most beautiful human in existence to me.”

Oh. You could just feel the blood rushing up to your face, hot and tingly. You stared down at him, mouth falling open in useless stutters, then closed your mouth and pressed your hands to your face. “I… Um…”

“You don’t need to say anything.” He reached up and gently nudged your arm out of the way so he could rest the pads of his fingers against your heart. “I can feel everything you do.”

You were hesitant to lower your hands, but at an encouraging pulse sent through your connection, you dropped them to your lap and cradled his face in your hands. It was moments like these where you had to wonder if Shion knew everything or what you only made obvious. He never said anything, if he did, so you supposed he kept to himself so you could say what you wanted to and nothing else.

The both of you stayed like that for a few moments, caught in an interesting limbo, until you remembered the whole point of making him look somewhat human in the first place.

“Alright,” you sighed, sufficiently calmed down enough that you could make sense of your words again. You patted his cheek softly in a gesture for him to get up. “Let’s go make those custard pastries, hm?”

The college kitchen was nothing to scoff at, but it was also everything you’d never had before. You had cooked before, of course, but not with anything super high tech. Luckily it was easy enough to figure out how to work the oven and you gathered the ingredients from the cupboards, setting them all down on a counter, and got to work.

Shion (even wearing an apron) helped you through every step, although you left the kneading and stirring to him since he was the god and you, decidedly, were not. He was happy to do whatever you asked of him and it was funny watching him get irritated with the ball of dough when you said it needed to rest before you could stuff it and cook it.

While you waited thirty some minutes for the dough to sit and rise, you retrieved a small bowl of fruit you had cut while watching him labor over the dough. It was mostly apples and mandarin oranges, both some of your favorites. You didn’t want to get your hands sticky so you used chopsticks to eat them, and offered an apple slice to Shion when he sent a curious glance at the bowl. He stared at it for a moment and then leaned down to take a hesitant bite of it, pulling away so you couldn’t make him eat the rest if he didn’t like it. You popped the rest in your mouth and watched his face for any sign that he didn’t like it, but when he finished chewing he nodded his head and gestured for you to give him another.

You spent the next thirty minutes like this, eating apples and oranges and offering some to Shion whenever he indicated he wanted another. He spent a lot of time savoring the flavors while you just ate one and immediately ate another, which you assumed came down to him never eating human food before.

When the dough finished rising, it took you no time to fill them and pop them in the oven with Shion’s help. With thirty five minutes more to wait, you sat down in a chair and Shion followed, standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“Shion?” You asked, inching your head back to mimic the pose he had been in earlier. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He looked amused that you had to ask. “What is it?”

“Why do you always want me to wear kimonos?” You inquired. You’d always assumed it was to signify that you were his vessel in the most obvious way possible, but you’d also never asked him. You’d just assumed. “These ones specifically.”

“Ah.” He nodded and his eyebrows furrowed deeply in thought. “Before I was cast aside as a failed product, my mother—Izanami, as I’m sure you know—made a set of kimonos specifically for the one I would choose as a partner one day. She did this for all of my siblings, I believe. The originals are lost to time, so I made these in their fashion.”

“Oh.” You touched the hem of your kimono thoughtfully. “And these—they don’t remind you of your mother?”

“No.” Shion rested his chin on your head with a pleased sigh. “You wear them, therefore they remind me of you.”

And you had to say you didn’t mind that.

The custard buns were done after twenty minutes or so, so you parted from Shion and pulled them out of the oven to let them cool. Or, at least, that was your intention; Shion, foolishly or stupidly, you didn’t know, picked one up with his bare hand and you had to watch in disbelief as he took a bite of nearly scalding hot bread and custard and said ‘It’s good’.

“Shion!” You exclaimed, watching his eyes dart over to you over the custard bun in his hand. “That’s hot! You can’t just eat it like that—”

“Why not?” He interrupted, taking another bite as if just to spite you. “It’s not too hot.”

“For you, maybe,” you sighed, watching with envy as he polished off the rest of his bun in one go. “I have to wait for them to cool.”

He seemed to realize, belatedly, what he had done—or he felt your envy, at any rate—and frowned. He approached you and swept you into his arms, nuzzling his nose into the side of your head affectionately. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

You exhaled through your nose and rubbed his back soothingly, indicating you weren’t mad at him. “It’s okay, Shion. Here, help me clean up while I wait for them to cool off and consider it forgotten.”

He nodded eagerly and, in the span of about two seconds, proceeded to use his curse energy to sweep everything back into the cupboards they had come from. You watched, dumbfounded, as the doors unlatched and opened to allow flour, sugar, and yeast to return inside and slam closed once he was done.

“That’s one way to do it,” you laughed and began packing the rest of the custard buns into a small box, holding your hand out for Shion to take. He took it willingly, falling in step beside you and following you back to your dorm room. “Did you like the custard or was it too sweet?”

“Mm…” Shion watched as you kicked off your shoes and opened the door to your room. “It was good. I preferred the fruit more.”

“I’m guessing you like natural sweets, then,” you guessed, opening the box. They were now pleasantly warm and not too hot for you, unlike Shion, so you took a bite and nodded in satisfaction. They tasted just like your memories, if not a little sweeter but you didn’t mind it. It wasn’t going to be a perfect imitation, after all. You finished your bun and closed the box so no more heat would escape and laid on your bed, careful not to allow Shion’s human body to flop to the side in his sling. You’d almost forgotten it was there, you’d been so occupied with him for the day, and you wondered how he felt about it.

“It’s an irritant,” he answered, following your thoughts. He joined you and snuggled up to your free side, your arm instinctively coming up to lower your hand to his cheek. Shion slung one arm across your stomach, just under the sling, and pulled you closer, intent on getting comfortable even at your expense. “That body keeps you prisoner to it, and I am not even within it—just linked to it.”

“You’re not in it?” You repeated, turning your head to look at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Those Sukuna cultists ruined the ritual,” he replied nonchalantly. “Not that these people here know that. So you don’t have to hold it all the time; there are no repercussions unlike if they had actually completed it properly.”

“So…” You allowed a hand to come up and touch his human form delicately. “I could let your body lay next to me and I wouldn’t have to worry?”

“No.”

So you unhooked the sling from your shoulders, free of the weight for the first time in years, and held your breath as his human body rested next to you. Shion reached over you and tugged a blanket up and over you, his human body, and himself, finally comfortable.

“I wonder…” You stroked Shion’s cheek in thought, staring up at the ceiling while he drifted off, that interesting purr kicking up against your side. “Hmm.”

With a cursory glance at his human body, still deathly still as it always was, you turned your back to it and snuggled up to Shion, nudging your head under his chin and settling in for a nap.

Like all the times you had slept with him near, you felt, of course, at peace.

headcanons:

shion and the reader are very close--and i mean very, very close, to the point where they freely share affection and (as indicated) their food. they are also very comfortable with each other as well, more than with anyone else in their lives.

shion’s natural curiosity extends to the reader and only the reader. so anything she does, he will most likely either a) want to participate or b) ask her about what she’s doing and if she likes it or not.

shion actually has a very bad habit of listening in on the reader’s thoughts and feelings even if she isn’t aware of it, which usually gives him a head’s up on her emotional state. while the reader doesn’t listen to his out of respect, she sometimes takes a peek, unaware that he does notice when she does.

shion’s purring comes from the fact that he does have a dragonic form. he does this when he’s at ease, or happy, both of which are shown in this drabble. it translates into his human form through an extra set of vocal chords.

the reader is shion’s favorite anything, and as such, he’s protective of her—perhaps too protective. shion is still a malevolent god and he still has those tendencies to become violent, and while he will never become violent with the reader (he doesn’t have the heart to even shout at her) that does not go for anyone else who is in her general vicinity.

shion has a little habit where he’ll instinctively want to be touching the reader, almost like a particularly clingy cat. sometimes he won’t, but most of the time he most absolutely will.

because of his origins as a formless god, he’s touch starved, which might not mean much because he’s a god, right? he had no affection from his mother and father, izanami and izanagi, so he knows nothing about love and affection, so when he gets it from the reader, he feels like he belongs, and thus, has no qualms about doing whatever is necessary to keep her safe.

shion doesn’t actually understand the emotions he feels. like referenced in the chapters, his emotional understanding is around that of a toddler’s—he knows what it is, can feel it, but he doesn’t understand the deeper meaning to them. he just knows they are there and acknowledges that they are caused by the reader. his logical understanding, however, is that of a god’s, and so he makes logical equations of his emotions instead, which can be quite the double edged sword.

shion is an intj-t.

shion can’t really taste anything synthetic, so he was lying when he said the custard was good so he wouldn’t hurt the reader’s feelings. :’)

that gif at the top perfectly represents shion’s reaction to being offered an apple slice. 

requests are: open. 

#jujutsu kaisen #dark sun #oc x reader

[melissart]

Say One Thing, Mean Another (Kaidou Shun/Saiki Kusuo)

Summary: 

Reading thoughts and reading feelings were two completely different abilities. Most people had a monologue always running in their heads, conveniently narrating their every experience. Call it spotlight effect, call it middle school syndrome, call it romanticization—whatever you called it, Saiki would know, because he could simply read your mind. But some desires were so unconscious that even Saiki couldn’t read them.

No one was more repressed than the self-deluded cram school mama’s boy: Kaidou Shun.

AO3 link: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28999770

Read below 

Reading thoughts and reading feelings were two completely different abilities. Most people had a monologue always running in their heads, conveniently narrating their every experience. Call it spotlight effect, call it middle school syndrome, call it romanticization—whatever you called it, Saiki would know, because he could simply read your mind. But some desires were so unconscious that even Saiki couldn’t read them. 

No one was more repressed than the self-deluded cram school mama’s boy: Kaidou Shun. Kaidou thought “first base” was holding hands, and even that thought reduced him into a blushing, stuttering, face-hiding mess. He couldn’t even access objective reality half the time, much less access his deepest feelings. Saiki couldn’t even imagine how Kaidou might handle such overwhelming emotions, given how easily at the slightest of confrontations. He once saw Kaidou cry at a convenience store because he couldn’t decide between two compelling brands of instant noodles (Best around or best in town? Around? In town? Around? In town? Aroundintownaroundintownaroundintown...) Needless to say, Kaidou was the most likely candidate to be hiding a dark secret. 

None of that Dark Reunion fantasy bullshit. Saiki meant a real dark secret, the kind of revelation that could make a mute man gasp. Just because Kaidou cried when someone tried to tell him a “yo mama” joke doesn’t mean he can’t hide his feelings when it mattered the most. Growing up with a strict mother ruined his values for honesty. Kaidou’s lying was almost on a pathological level, with boundless creativity that showed in the character sheet journals hidden under his bed. He was sometimes so good he fooled himself, but glimmers of the truth shone through in unexpected moments. 

It started with a fit of laughter in their lunchtime group. Nendou swore he could handle chopsticks up his nose with enough dexterity to pick up a cherry tomato. Admittedly, he almost succeeded, but Aren flinched away in disgust because he didn’t want to have his lunch contaminated by Nendou’s nose-chopsticks, and the sudden movement accidentally led to Aren’s elbow shoving one of Nendou’s nose-chopsticks too far up, which then caused a ridiculous-looking nosebleed down the chopsticks and into Nendou’s rice. 

Saiki’s first thought was ew, but then he caught a quick glance from Kaidou while he was bursting into tears laughing, and suddenly, he couldn’t stop himself from exercising the stiff muscles around his lips into a smile. Kaidou was checking if Saiki thought it was funny, too, as if he needed permission to continue laughing. Saiki didn’t care about pride and certainly didn’t prescribe to any notions of toxic masculinity, but the thought of being the alpha male with Kaidou gave him a good feeling. A feeling that just felt… good. 

Saiki still couldn’t read feelings well, not even his own, but he had a strong sense for logic. Kaidou was smaller, weaker, with a kind of reckless yet innocent boyish charm that made him hard to look away from at times. Anyone’s instincts would tell them that Kaidou must be protected at all costs and Saiki, with all of his godlike abilities, was obviously the most qualified person to protect him. 

Again, Saiki was bad with unconscious desires. He found himself following that instinct to protect Kaidou in the smallest of moments. Although Saiki protected all of his friends (and humanity) from danger, even Nendou started noticing Saiki’s special treatment of Kaidou. 

“Th-Th-The hellfire th-that the Dark Reunion has c-c-cursed me with a-a-always keeps me w-warm,” Kaidou bluffed, on an especially frigid winter day. 

What he meant was that the puffy pink jacket his mom tried to send him to school with was too embarrassing, so he lied and told her the weather was supposed to be warmer later. Honestly, Saiki didn’t even need his clairvoyance to predict that. He immediately shoved the extra coat he brought to school at Kaidou. Kaidou got sick too easily, especially with the long nights he spent studying and the longer nights he spent writing fanfictions. Saiki even pre-heated the coat with his pyrokinesis. 

“E-Eh? That’s for me, Saiki?” In hindsight, Kaidou was a little too eager to accept Saiki’s coat and he must have definitely sniffed it to see if Saiki’s scent was on it while he thought nobody was looking. “Ah, it’s so warm!” All talk of the Dark Reunion was dropped. Kaidou beamed at Saiki brightly. “Thank you, Saiki!” 

The pure look of elation in Kaidou’s crimson eyes as he smiled at Saiki, just Saiki, specifically Saiki, gave him that good feeling again. 

Nendou glanced between the two. “You brought that extra coat just for him?” 

“That’s just because—” Aren started, but then stopped. “Huh. Nendou’s right. That is very considerate of you, Saiki.” 

Saiki didn’t usually slip up and cause himself unnecessary attention, but he brushed it off and convinced himself he was only acting in self-interest. Seriously, it would be a pain if he had to put up with Kaidou calling him in the middle of the night to complain about his symptoms. Kaidou always called him at odd hours of the night, usually to spew some cryptic warnings about lurking enemies, and every time, Saiki delayed his sweet REM cycle just to placate him. It made no sense to call a mute man. (But it made even less sense that Saiki always picked up.)

“Saiki is always reliable,” Kaidou argued. “That’s why, when the Dark Reunion strikes back—” 

Then, Kaidou proceeded to plagiarize the plot of the Star Wars episode “The Empire Strikes Back”. Saiki was too busy watching the self-insert adventure inside Kaidou’s mind to question the extent of his admiration of Saiki. Out of everyone, Kaidou’s thoughts were the most interesting to read. Kaidou’s imagination came in full technicolor, with exciting camera angles and cinematography professional enough to be entered in film festivals. When there was nothing good on TV, Saiki sometimes tuned into Kaidou’s thoughts for entertainment. Kaidou managed to distract everyone else from Saiki’s strange favor, too. 

Saiki should have realized earlier how powerful Kaidou’s redirection was, effective enough to rival Chouno’s magic tricks. Kaidou was easy to underestimate, but the sheer amount of lies he told on a daily basis was proof of his true manipulative nature. 

No, “manipulative” was overshooting it. Kaidou was just conditioned by his social anxiety to lie in everyday situations to preserve his self-image. Saiki knew that struggle better than anyone else, just in the opposite direction: dedicating his life to feigning normalcy. Yet, even though Saiki was the one who regularly erased memories, time traveled, and rewrote reality to maintain the status quo, Kaidou was still the one who went overboard in comparison. 

Saiki and Kaidou were walking home together one day, just the two of them, because Aren usually took another way home and Nendou had baseball practice. Kaidou was filling Saiki in about the latest addition to the Dark Reunion saga, complete with a mini movie in his mind to accompany his narration: Kaidou had tamed a wild beast that was terrorizing a small village, which later warmed up enough to become his consort, but the beast had been mind-controlled by the Dark Reunion the entire time as a spy to figure out Kaidou’s whereabouts, which then led to Kaidou breaking the beast free from its mind control using his own forbidden knowledge of the dark arts and returning the beast into the wild. 

In reality, the “beast” was a chihuahua that was bothering a kid, but then started following Kaidou home. Kaidou wanted to keep the chihuahua, but his mother said no, because the chihuahua probably belonged to someone else, even though it had no collar. He had to kick the chihuahua out of his house in hopes that the small dog would eventually find its way home. Saiki was sure the entire mind control fabrication was some type of coping mechanism to help Kaidou feel less guilty about kicking the dog out onto the cold streets. 

Then, Kaidou’s knuckles accidentally brushed against Saiki’s and Kaidou’s internal alarm rang loudly in both of their minds: 

Wrong! Bad! Stupid! Just ignore it, just ignore it, just ignore it!

Kaidou was screaming so loudly in his mind that Saiki instinctively covered his ears, even though there was no external sound to cover his ears from. All of Kaidou’s thoughts had instantaneously spiralled into a frenzy of self-loathing, overwhelming to the point that Saiki couldn’t even decipher what exactly Kaidou was ashamed of. The situation caught him so off-guard that he ended up doing what any normal non-psychic person would do—he asked Kaidou what was wrong. With telepathy, of course. It was easy to get away with using telepathy for conversation since Kaidou was too ashamed to look at Saiki at that moment. 

“N-Nothing’s wrong!” Kaidou’s blushing face said otherwise and he knew it. He suddenly stopped in his tracks. “No… I can’t lie to you any longer, Saiki. You deserve better than that. The truth is—” 

And then Kaidou told another lie, this time centering around a growing imbalance between light and dark forces of the universe that, according to an ancient prophecy, only Kaidou could heal with the great power sealed away in his right hand that he still had yet to fully control. He went into full detail about the brutal training he endured, the battles of wit against his enemies, the secrets he had to keep from his loved ones to protect them from evil—all of which ironically described Saiki’s life more than Kaidou’s—and how lonely it was carrying such burdens, as heavy as the world on Atlas’ shoulders. The vivid montage played in Kaidou’s mind, returning his mental space to its usual deluded state. As usual, Kaidou went overboard with preserving his self-image. 

Good grief…

Saiki kept walking and Kaidou had to run to catch up and everything was back to its usual rhythm, with Kaidou’s behavior matching his thoughts again. That was another weakness of Saiki’s. He was so insistent on keeping his boring life boring that he overlooked something important. 

Kaidou never actually admitted what was bothering him. 

Daniel Kahneman said, “When faced with a difficult question, we often answer an easier one instead, usually without noticing the substitution.” Saiki asked Kaidou, “What’s wrong?” but accepted the answer to “What’s your made-up hero’s burden?” without noticing the substitution. Saiki wanted to protect Kaidou, but he couldn’t cross any boundaries. What if Kaidou was put off by Saiki’s insistence and gossiped about how pushy Saiki was? What if Kaidou took it the wrong way and it caused a falling out between them? What if Kaidou just started crying and all the passersby assumed Saiki had just said something awful to his own friend? There were too many risks. If Kaidou refused to think about what was bothering him, then Saiki just wouldn’t know. 

It was better that way. Kaidou had a right to his privacy, which was limited enough by Saiki’s mind reading. Saiki didn’t have a right to any of it—Kaido’s thoughts, Kaido’s secrets, and especially Kaido’s friendship. He was sure Kaido would’ve been better off without a killjoy mute friend that constantly invaded the personal thoughts of everyone around him. The less they knew about each other’s lives, the easier life would be. It was a simple formula that guaranteed success. 

If only life were actually that simple. The only law Saiki’s universe followed was Murphy’s Law. 

Kaidou’s screaming thoughts started coming more frequently and it was always Saiki that set it off. When their eyes met from across the cafeteria, when they were the last ones awake during a late night group study session, when they reached for the same cafeteria item at the same time—screaming. Kaidou was getting better at not letting it show on the outside, but that only made the self-loathing episodes louder and longer. And still, even with psychic powers, Saiki had no idea why exactly Kaidou was in so much anguish when he was near. All he knew was that it was getting worse. 

Saiki was a psychic, not a psychologist. He had to use his logic for situations like this. Kaidou felt awful around him and Saiki didn’t want Kaidou to feel awful, so obviously Saiki just had to avoid Kaidou to resolve the issue. 

So, he did. He didn’t want to. He wanted to share an umbrella with Kaidou when he left his at home on purpose to avoid being made fun of for using his mom’s frilly, pinky parasol with roses, he wanted to answer Kaidou’s phone calls at 2 AM to comfort him after his recurring nightmare of drowning in the ocean, he wanted to proofread Kaidou’s fanfiction for any grammar or plot holes, he wanted to part the clouds and let the golden sunshine follow Kaidou’s every step so he never had to complain about gloomy days, he wanted to be there for Kaidou—of course he did! He didn’t know why, and he didn’t care to know why, because he just did and couldn’t because the most important thing he had to do was to protect Kaidou. He would gladly transfer schools to Siberia if it meant Kaidou could be happy and that’s all that mattered. 

Of course, things never went Saiki’s way for too long. Kaidou came ringing at his front gate not too long after Saiki started avoiding him. Mikoto would say it’s all a balancing act, making up for Saiki’s intervention by having it all come back to bite him in the butt—strangely reminiscent of what Kaidou previously mentioned about the imbalance of light and dark. It made Saiki wonder if there had always been grains of truth in the lies. 

He let Kaidou in and led him to his room. Even now, he could hear the tumultuous chaos in Kaidou’s mind. 

I shouldn’t be here! This is stupid! I’m so awful! 

Saiki internally sighed. Why are you here, then? Good grief. 

Saiki sat on his bed and waited for Kaidou to conjure up whatever nonsense he thought could justify his visit. He was already used to people’s actions not aligning with their thoughts. This was no different. 

I should tell him, already. 

Instead, Kaidou became fixated on the first distraction that caught his eyes. “Geez! It’s so dark in here, Saiki! You’ll get vitamin D deficiency if you just spend all day in the dark, you know.” He opened the blinds. 

I need to stop stalling and tell him, already. 

Opening the blinds ended up spreading dust everywhere. Kaidou sneezed. “When was the last time you cleaned, Saiki? It’s so dusty!” 

Why am I stalling even more! I really need to get it over with and tell him that… Or maybe it’s better not to tell him? 

The suspense was killing Saiki. He knew he wasn’t entitled to Kaidou’s thoughts, but he was so used to knowing everything about everyone that he couldn’t handle the suspense anymore. Why couldn’t Kaidou trust the safety of his own mind to directly think about what he wanted to say? It made no sense! Nothing made sense, anymore! Good grief, tell me WHAT? 

“What?” 

Oops. Saiki accidentally sent that thought telepathically in frustration. 

Tell me what your day was like, I mean. 

“Oh. Um…” Kaidou sat down next to Saiki. But not too close. “Nothing really happened, actually.” 

That’s a first. 

“Can I tell you a story, though?” 

Saiki hoped it wasn’t another plagiarized episode of Star Wars. Go ahead. 

“So, I have this friend, with a problem…” 

Saiki wondered why Kaidou wouldn’t refer to the friend by name, given they had the exact same circle of friends, but Kaidou was too busy admiring the particles of dust glimmering in the rectangles of sunlight filtering through the blinds. He compared the dust particles to the yellow glow of fireflies dancing in a forest, then to the twinkling stars against violet-blue cosmos, then to the grains of sand slipping through an hourglass. He thought of the various colored pieces that made up the image in stained glass windows and the tiny paint dots in Impressionist paintings and the fact that everything was just a collection of the same subatomic particles under a powerful enough microscope. He felt small. Too small to say what he means. 

“... This friend is scared all the time. Maybe he’s just used to being scared because his mom always yells at him for the slightest of mistakes and has high expectations he can never reach. He doesn’t know, and neither do I, but that fear keeps leaking into everything he does. Like an inky black stain, blotting out everything until there’s nothing left. There’s just—so much ink.” 

Kaidou’s fists are clenched at his sides. Saiki knew this story about Kaidou’s friend must pain him to tell, but still, Kaidou’s thoughts betrayed nothing. Kaidou was thinking of how much warmer the room was with the sunlight pouring in. He thought of temperature like mercury, pouring into the room through a crack in the window, silvery-white liquid with shiny ripples that poisoned everything in contact, suffocating them in metallic vapors. 

“But, when this friend is around a certain friend, he feels like everything is bright again. It’s such a precarious feeling though, because getting closer to that brightness also puts the ink closer. It makes him think that him and the ink are the same and that anything good he touches will only get stained.” 

Kaidou blinked away wetness on his lashes. He briefly acknowledged the dull ache of his heart wrenching, but only as a passing thought as he reminisced at the last time he was alone with Saiki in his room, which was after a festival, then went on to recall the fireworks. Crimson bursts of chrysanthemums popped into the night sky, golden sparkles crackling below, then streams of white and orange whistled. The smell of gunpowder and sulfur mixed in with the aroma of fried food from the concessions. 

He remembered how loud the fireworks were, deep booms that resonated into his chest, louder than the pounding of his heart as he stole a glance at Saiki. He loved watching the different colors of light flash onto Saiki’s expression, a rare look of serenity, but the moment was too brief. Saiki could always tell when he was being looked at, even from far away, almost as if he were actually psychic, and every time, Saiki would look him right in the eyes and smile like he knew exactly what Kaidou was thinking, then purposefully look away again so Kaidou could resume staring in peace. That was the beautiful brightness Kaidou was enchanted by. 

Saiki was used to seeing a glamorized distortion of himself in the mind’s eye of people who had a crush on him, complete with shoujo sparkles and iridescent bubbles and blooming roses in the background, but Kaidou’s perspective was unfiltered. Kaidou saw Saiki exactly the way he existed in his life and that was already enough to make his heart skip a beat, no romanticized fantasies needed. 

“My friend’s problem is that he’s selfish. He wants to be with that precious friend, who makes everything fade to white. He wants to ruin everything, just for those few milliseconds of happiness. I guess, what I want to say is…” 

Kaidou’s thoughts suddenly went silent. Saiki wondered if he had lost his powers, somehow. The usual background noise of every thought within a 200 meter radius was hushed, as if he had just slipped on his geranium ring. All he could hear was the rustle of fabric bunching up in Kaidou’s fists and his own pounding heart. 

“What I mean is—do you think it’s worth it? Should he ruin that friendship?” 

Saiki understood everything, now. 

Is he scared?

“Always.” 

Then, I don’t think he should. 

“You’re right...” 

Saiki’s hand brushed against Kaidou’s, except this time, it was on purpose. He clasped his hand over Kaidou’s. 

I’ll ruin it for him. 

Saiki brushed a tear away from Kaidou’s cheek. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling fondly. He usually avoided prolonged eye contact at all times so he could get away with telepathic conversation, but Kaidou had always been hard to look away from. That was a cute expression he had on his face, right now—warmed by a blush, with those shining red eyes peering up at Saiki under his long lashes. 

Saiki met his lips with Kaidou’s, fingers interlaced. It was just a gentle first kiss—sweeter than coffee jelly, warmer than pyrokinesis, softer than Saiki’s bed. Kaidou melted into the kiss and could only think of how the milliseconds passed like centuries, like he was an immortal witnessing several lifetimes of glory. Their friendship was ruined, but their romance had only started. 

They eventually had to part, for air. Saiki looked straight into Kaidou’s gaze. He couldn’t get out of using his real voice, but he didn’t mind.

“What I mean is... I like you.” 

Of course, Kaidou broke into a sobbing mess right then and there. It didn’t take a psychic to predict that. 

“I like you too, Saiki!” 

#saiki no psi nan #kaidou shun #saiki kusuo #kaidou x saiki #saiki x kaidouu #wtf is their ship name #kaidou shun/saiki kusuo #fanfiction #cross-posted on ao3

[komahinasecretexchange]

Title: maybe not star-crossed (but daybreak)

Author: @fieldofsunflowers8

For: @emmakoneko

Pairings: Hinata Hajime / Komaeda Nagito

Additional Characters: Kamukura Izuru, Nanami Chiaki

Rating: M

Warnings: No specific warning applies beside the ones that could be applied in Danganronpa in general

Prompt: Hajime realising he loves Nagito.

Author’s notes: hi!!! this is my exchange piece for the komahina secret exchange!!! this was super super fun to write, and i really hope my giftee likes it! special thanks to my friend for looking over this and making sure it’s coherent :D have a good day, loves!

Hinata Hajime is not a romantic, but romance fills his thoughts anyway.

It’s an identifier that isn’t exactly of importance, of course. Romance on Jabberwock Island, specifically in the aftermath of the Neo World Program, is something privately kept by each individual pairing. Occasionally, it’ll be the subject of harmless speculation on the slow days, but overall, it is just… a part of life.

A part of life that most of them never got to fully experience.

A part of life that Hinata doesn’t necessarily need to have a piece of.

A part of life that he wants, all the same.

He isn’t certain if it’s the influence of Kamukura on him that makes him hesitate in the face of it. The other is a lull in the back of his head most of the time, diminishing everything to uninteresting, and yet seamlessly taking control when Hinata gives the slightest hint of needing help, slipping into the role of the Ultimate Talent easily. It’s a difficult dynamic, and it would be a lie to consider it a linear sort of thing– lines blur when you are made to become another person, and further, residing with that person in the headspace.

Hinata wonders if, before it all happened, back at Hope’s Peak Academy in the suffocating reserve course dorms, with little to hope for… he maybe pined after romance in a desperate way, if he wanted something to break the suffocating silence, if it would all really be any different to him now.

It’s not something he needs right now, which is what he tries to convince himself matters the most. He has enough overwhelming quiet, and even more overwhelming noise. He has tasks to commit to– even though all of the Remnants have awakened, there are Future Foundation members to call, emails to send, resources to manage, buildings to reconstruct, surgeries to conduct… it keeps him busy, to say the least.

(He hardly allows himself more than the clinical, repetitive process of healing. Not his own healing– that is far from the forefront of his mind. Rather, constructing robot arms and extracting rotting body parts and starting up chemotherapy. For the others. Not him,

never him.)

Prioritizing romance is selfish, in all cases. Putting it before himself and everyone on the island, losing himself in the want of something he isn’t even sure he could recognize, if he saw it in front of him, if he had a flickering chance of love… it’s selfish. Excess. A lapse.

However, there is still a kind of yearning he keeps in the back of his mind, in the endlessly swallowing part of his throat, in the throes of his heart. A sort of fixation, solely focused on a single individual, who keeps him awake through restless nights and sends him directly to the infirmary for more work, who leads him to discover new places on the island that the person tends to frequent, who leaves him with an unfamiliar warmth that his body rejects like a disease because love is not-

One that defies all his wants and needs, all his thoughts on relationships and the others, all his thoughts on the person whom he thought he hated more than anything.

One fixated on Komaeda Nagito.

And this is where his doubt is born.

–

The first time he hears the name Komaeda Nagito is in a time before the seeds of despair were planted by his hands, before The Project became more than just a whisper of Hope’s Peak conspiracy and research. He hears it from Nanami Chiaki, before she became just a program, before an entire class gave into despair at the sight of her death.

He hears it from her at the fountain. Their fountain, he has taken to calling it, because while they aren’t exactly the only people to come here, they are most certainly the two students who frequent it the most. Before, it was a place to admire Hope’s Peak from a distance (one he maintained out of respect, or maybe self-hatred, or maybe an amalgamation of both), but after meeting Nanami, the cynical tones of the setting were replaced with a sort of safe haven.

It’s now comforting, for him, to hear the sound of her game starting up against the sound of rushing water, leaves and blossoms fluttering around them as the sun lights up the campus around them.

In all honesty, it’s easy to get lost in the surroundings, in his own thoughts, especially when he has the space to. Nanami rarely presses any matter, unless it is something she’s particularly passionate about, so Hinata zoning out isn’t exactly an issue for her. It’s not like she doesn’t do the same. Which leaves them with a pretty nice relationship, because either of them are free to completely lose themselves in their thoughts without having to make small talk.

However, he does jar himself back to reality to pay attention to the game she’s playing– it’s a survival game, which is sort of exciting, because that’s the kind of video game he thinks he’d be best at– and listens to the soft breath she always takes before she starts to speak.

“Do you know a lot of Ultimates, Hinata-kun?” is what she asks, her voice as dreamy as usual.

It’s sort of a harsh question unintentionally, since it sort of nags at the parts of him that wishes he could be an Ultimate, would do anything to be an Ultimate, but he shoves that down and keeps his voice casual. (It’s not a big deal, anyway. Nanami affirms him of his worth a lot, and really, he should just… accept that things are the way that they are. But it’s really, really not that easy. Not when everything seems to loom above him, dangling promises of talent and hope).

“Uh, not really?” he answers tentatively. “I mean, I know Koizumi, and I sort of know Kuzuryuu because I’m friends with his sister.” Friends is probably not the right word for it, but being her friend is pretty much impossible. “And I know you, of course. But, I dunno about the others.”

“Mm,” she hums. She focuses back on her game for a while, and Hinata focuses right alongside her, but she ends up speaking again only a few moments later. “I was just thinking… a lot of my classmates would really like you.”

“Oh?” He leans forward, just a bit. “I don’t really know much about them, but maybe?”

It’s not really relevant, in any case, or possible, because I’m a reserve. So, why do I want to entertain this impossibility?

“Well, I can tell you about some of them.” There’s some passion in her voice, underneath the languid sort of pace her words take.

He shrugs. “Sure.”

She opens her inventory as sort of a pause screen, organizing all of the items while talking. “There’s Mioda-san. She’s… sorta loud, but she’s the Ultimate Musician, so that makes sense, I think. She’s really optimistic, she likes bright colors… reminds me of a dancing game… you’d get along with her, probably.” The idea that Hinata could be friends with someone like Mioda Ibuki is unsettling in a hopeless way, but he’s interested in the descriptions regardless. “She gets along well with Pekoyama-san, who’s the Ultimate Swordswoman. She’s really pretty and quiet; she’s defensive over Kuzuryuu-kun, too. Like a Skyrim housecarl, kinda. I remember Komaeda-kun saying something, once, and she was immediately at Kuzuryuu-kun’s defense. I don’t think Komaeda-kun meant it badly, though.”

Hinata tilts his head. “Who’s Komaeda?”

Nanami bites her lip, stacking some potions before saying, “He’s the Ultimate Lucky Student. He’s… sort of an outcast, I think, but he cares about the class a lot. I wish he would talk to us more.” She puffs out her cheeks in a cute way. “You might like him… but you also might hate him. Maybe.”

“Why would I hate him?” From what Hinata’s hearing, maybe dislike would make sense, but hate sort of implies he would have done something… really off.

“Mm… Komaeda-kun has strong views on talent and hope. It might annoy you, but…” she sighs. “I dunno.”

That’s a vague description, but it gives Hinata enough information to sort of… make inferences. Of course, Hinata sort of expected some Ultimates to view talent as superiority, and he knew that some of the adults believed it, but to hear it being an actual thing from someone his age… sort of sucks. At least the rest of the class seems to not agree with it.

But… is Hinata really sure of that?

In any case, he tunes back into the way Nanami continues talking about her classmates, about a sheepish mechanic and a princess she seems to have a slight crush on. He laughs along with her, listens with intrigue and fascination at some of the things her class has done and somehow not gotten expelled for, and feels the sense of peace grow overtime (alongside his quiet bitterness).

All the while, though, part of his mind thinks about Komaeda with a… weird sort of interest.

(And for some reason, Hinata wants to both avoid him as much as possible– which might be a bit harsh, admittedly– and also… maybe meet him.)

–

Hinata doesn’t sleep well.

His sleep patterns vary. Sometimes, he falls asleep in a random place– he’s been found on the floor of the dining hall and at the beach, once, both instances embarrassing– and stays asleep for the better part of a day, barely brushing below twenty hours as he restores his energy. Then, he pushes himself, neglecting rest for three days straight until he downright collapses again.

He tends to get nightmares, too. When he’s sleeping deeply and for a long time, it’s not enough to jar him. When he first woke up from the Neo World Program, though, they were relentless, leaving him paranoid and guilty constantly for all he has done to his friends– his family, now.

His family that he needs to stay awake to care for. His family he has to keep intact– physically and mentally.

(He remembers that, for a week, all he saw in his dreams was a burning warehouse.)

He doesn’t sleep well, working on restocking and labelling all the medications they have in the infirmary, and he finds that none of the others sleep well, either. Some sleep too much, some function on caffeine and nothing else. But there’s one other person on the island that varies with Hinata, not exactly the same but similarly.

Komaeda.

Hinata’s been monitoring Komaeda’s progress closely, almost closer than the way he fusses over the others. Komaeda’s health is precarious, even with the rotting flesh of Enoshima’s arm fully removed from his body, and one of the facets of his lifestyle that directly impacts his not-ideal progress is his shitty sleep schedule.

A simple example: he falls asleep at 4:00 PM, wakes up at around 7:29 PM. He goes to the dining hall, all of the other inhabitants having finished dinner and retired to their rooms for the later parts of the afternoon, and eats a worryingly small portion of dinner. He goes to his room, stays up for hours, and falls again the following day at 10:00 PM, successfully bypassing lunch and repeating the process.

It’s horrible in every possible way– it doesn’t do wonders for his prognoses and mental health, and Hinata doesn’t like the dark circles under his eyes that grow more familiar with each progressing day.

(It doesn’t suit his face. Because, well, Hinata can acknowledge that Komaeda is very, very pretty. But the shadows are… worrying. He still looks beautiful, but he looks more fragile than he’s ever been, even in the green pods, and Hinata wonders why he’s worried in a way beyond medical observation.)

However, there is one benefit to it, a meek silver lining that could hardly be considered one at all: Komaeda and Hinata end up accidentally interacting quite a lot. Komaeda follows lights– buildings with fluorescents open, signalling that Hinata is currently occupying them– and Hinata follows the soft sounds of Komaeda hanging out at the beach, throwing rocks into the ocean or tripping on some ridges and yelping.

The latter ends up happening when he exits the infirmary and sees in the distance a white-haired man face first on the beach shore, and he sighs in a way that isn’t fully exasperated as he walks over to help him out (maybe fond, maybe fond).

Komaeda tilts his face, his cheek still buried in sand, and looks up at Hinata. He decisively accepts his help, straightening himself out and brushing the sand off his pants with a smile. His voice is cheerful– far too cheerful for 5:00 AM– as he says, “Good morning, Hinata-kun! I’m so sorry you had to see me in such a disgraceful way!”

Hinata rolls his eyes. “You weren’t disgraceful. You just tripped. Also, why are you even out here?”

Komaeda’s lips curl slyly. “Do you even have to ask, Hinata-kun?”

“Ah.” Fair enough. “Well, you should, uh, try to get some sleep.”

“Will Hinata-kun get some sleep?”

It’s equally frustrating to talk to Komaeda and get him to do anything… and interesting. There’s also a bit of heat that wants to pour into his cheeks, something he fights with a poker face, at the idea that Komaeda cares about his sleep schedule. Technically, a lot of people on the island do, but it all comes back to the inexplicable feelings he has around the other. In any case, Komaeda’s due for an answer. “I was actually heading back to my cabin to do that.” It’s sort of a lie. Sort of.

(He was probably going to lay awake, staring at the ceiling again. Maybe he’ll think about the other, maybe he’ll think about everything else.)

“Can I come with you?” Komaeda asks.

Hinata squints. “… Why? How would that help either of us sleep?”

“It could be relaxing to be near another person,” Komaeda defends, his logic slightly flawed. “But I understand that being around me is absolutely dreadful, and I shouldn’t impose even the disturbing thought upon another person. I apologize for that, Hinata-kun! I’ll get out of your sight, now!”

“Wait,” Hinata finds himself saying before Komaeda can actually leave. The other stops and looks at him, a curious but not demanding expression in his murky grey eyes. It’s sort of cute. Hinata isn’t sure why, why he looks at the other in that way.

It’s with a defeated sigh that he says, “You can come with me,”

and Komaeda’s eyes light up in a way that’s really, really endearing.

–

The first time he meets Komaeda is a month after his conversation with Nanami.

Stress has settled onto his shoulders, making a permanent residence there, as exams approach at increasingly rapid paces and life-changing emails chase him forward, forward, forward. He finds little enjoyment in his spaces between classes, isolating himself up in his room and hardly having time to reply to any of his friends (not that there’s an overwhelming number of people on that list). Occasionally he takes a break, but these times just remind him that he has so much to do, so much to consider, his entire life might change with a few signatures and-

-he needs a breather.

He ends up leaving half-finished history homework on his tiny desk, nearly tripping over his laundry bin in exhaustion as he makes his way out of the dorms. He figures a small walk might do him some good, since he’s hardly seen the sun as of recent and it might be less intimidating to think through things when he has fresh air to breathe and the soft ambience of nature surrounding him.

He hums to himself for the first part of his walk, careful to stay out of the way of others, but he eventually falls into silence as the number of people around him dwindles. He’s tired– he’s so, so fucking tired– and he should probably be adjusted to fatigue and restless nights, since he’s not exactly new to overworking himself, but he hasn’t. Not fully. And God, he’d probably kill for a nap, for someone to hear him scream everything he thinks, to go to a completely different school for a few days and relax.

But would he even want that? Would he know what to do with so much free time? Would it even be okay, going to a place that would view him as equal, not endlessly lesser than another sector of the school? Would it even make sense to be worth something, when he has spent so long not being worth anything?

It’s in this rumination that he ends up near him and Nanami’s fountain, and he almost expects to see her there…

… but instead, he sees someone else.

The Main Course uniform is the first thing he sees, the red tie loose around the Ultimate’s neck, their jacket still buttoned properly. They must have been out there for a while, since their white hair, unruly atop their head, is slightly ruffled from the wind. Their grey-green eyes that remind Hinata of mercury he had seen in chemistry class is focused on the pavement, but looks up when Hinata’s footsteps grow closer. On their face, there’s a pleasant smile, one that Hinata finds strikingly pretty…

… one that disappears when they make eye contact with Hinata.

He can’t say he expected anything other than this.

“I thought reserve course classes were still in session,” they muse, which is an interesting conversation starter in any case. Paired with the way they were almost glaring at Hinata, it left him with… an unsettling feeling.

“They, uh, aren’t,” he replies eloquently. “They ended a bit ago.”

“Ah.” They smile, slightly, but it looks… more cold than friendly. “Can I get a name? Or should I just refer to you as ‘reserve-kun’?”

Hinata quickly decides he doesn’t like this person. “Uh, Hinata Hajime.”

They nod. “Komaeda Nagito.”

That name is… kind of familiar.

Oh. Oh. That’s the name of Nanami’s classmate. The Ultimate Lucky Student, who has strong views on talent and hope, if he remembers Nanami’s words correctly. Someone that Hinata would either like or hate– and it is strongly veering towards the later– someone who is a bit of an outcast. Someone who Hinata isn’t sure if he should have a lot of pity for, or none at all.

He’s heard more stories since, ones where Komaeda is a background character. He’s gotten the vague idea that aside from his unsettling opinions, he also tends to be an overall concerning individual, with a shocking inferiority complex, calling himself trash near constantly. It seemed to worry Nanami, which in turn worried Hinata.

But from the way this guy is talking, it doesn’t really seem like this guy feels inferior at all. At least, not compared to Hinata. Which is…

… not surprising.

Hinata isn’t really sure how to progress the conversation, especially one that started this oddly, so he figures he should make do with this new information, asking, “Oh, you know Nanami, right?”

“Nanami-san is my classmate, yes.” He tilts his head to the side and sits up a bit straighter. “You must be the reserve she’s friends with, then. In retrospect, I remember she’s mentioned your name once or twice. I thought she was kidding.”

Yeah. Hinata definitely doesn’t like this guy. “Well. She wasn’t.”

“So it seems.”

This conversation is going nowhere. “Well, I’m gonna go. And, uh. Finish my walk. So-”

Before Hinata can leave, Komaeda speaks up. “Don’t you feel awe, Hinata-kun, walking around Hope’s Peak, looking at a school filled with such hope and talent?” He punctuates those words, wrapping his arms around himself and looking up at Hinata. “Doesn’t it put you in your place? Knowing that you’re a stepping stone for hope, just here to further the Ultimates’ abilities? Isn’t it beautiful, so beautiful that you know you’re unworthy of it? Do you have another purpose aside from this, or do you put your value in mindlessly pacing the perimeter of Hope’s Peak Ac-”

“What the hell are you even talking about?” Hinata interrupts. This guy looks really worked up over the random bullshit he’s saying. He’s managed to get under Hinata’s skin really fast– which, yeah, Hinata has kind of a temper, but Jesus Christ.

This must be the whole concerning thing.

Komaeda just smiles wider. “You’re rather disrespectful for a reserve. Shouldn’t you be worshipping me? I mean, I’m utterly worthless in every possible way and deserve to be destroyed like the filth I am– but at least I’m an Ultimate.”

Hinata gives up, walking away from the other and running an agitated hand through his hair. He can hear Komaeda laughing raspily, still at the fountain, and it just forces his steps to go quicker.

(The most aggravating part of all of that is that it hurt. It shouldn’t– the opinion of a slightly-unhinged, annoying, pretty Ultimate shouldn’t hurt him. But it did.

Because there was some truth in that mess of shit he was saying. Hinata is inferior. Hinata would always be inferior to the Ultimates he looks up to– not as much as Komaeda said, but still. The whole being a stepping stone thing, he didn’t get, but… he is unworthy of this place. That much is true. That much hurts.)

He decides, without much hesitation, not to mention the encounter to anyone.

–

“Uh, make yourself at home, I guess,” Hinata says when Komaeda steps into his cottage, his eyes wide as he looks around the scene. Which is fair– Hinata hasn’t exactly had time to clean the place, and he’s sort of a restless sleeper, so it’s a shitshow of a mess, as of current. Komaeda’s room, from what Hinata’s seen, is a lot neater than this, so hopefully he isn’t all that judging.

(Not that Hinata really cares about Komaeda’s thoughts on his cabin.)

“Thank you, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda replies politely, sitting on the edge of the bed. Hinata sits beside him, and they both ignore the bed sheets that are tangled at their feet. “Once again, I apologize for intruding.”

“I invited you,” Hinata points out.

Komaeda frowns a bit. “Well, yes, but-”

“I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t want you here. I don’t exactly do things out of pity or kindness when I’ve been awake for over a day,” he states bluntly.

The other stares at him with a weird expression in his eye, something like understanding. “Ah.”

“Yeah.” Hinata kicks the sheets. “Speaking of.”

“Are you going to sleep, Hinata-kun?” Komaeda sort of teases, but there’s a level of seriousness in it. Hinata sort of hates the way the other makes him feel like he’s fucking up by neglecting himself (which is sort of an oxymoron in thought, but). It’s something Komaeda has always done– made Hinata feel like a fuck up, that is– but it’s sort of different, now, when it’s more of a constructive criticism than a blatant attack.

He’s not sure how he feels about the change.

“I was going to talk about you sleeping, actually,” he retorts, clearing his throat.

Komaeda smiles mischievously. “Did you invite me here just to watch me sleep? How flattering, Hinata-kun, but I assure you I would not be able to do harm to others or myself whilst asleep.”

“That’s,” he takes a deep breath, “not what I meant.”

“Ah, okay. Sorry for assuming!”

“It’s fine?” It sounds too much like a question to his ears, but. Whatever. “I just meant, like. I’m sort of concerned about your health.”

“This doesn’t seem like the mood to discuss this,” Komaeda observes.

Hinata blinks. “Was there a specific mood set by any of this?”

Komaeda looks unimpressed. “Hinata-kun, we’re in your room at 5:00 AM, spending time together. I don’t think this is ideal for a medical visit– especially considering how exhausted you are. I thought you were more trying to be a person than a doctor, right now.”

… There’s some truth in that. There’s some pain in that. Hinata doesn’t try to be inhuman in any way, but he knows, deep down, that it’s a difficult task to accomplish. Months of conditioning combined with the instinctual drive for survival resulted in Kamukura’s eternal boredom and apathy to manifest as a defense mechanism, one that Hinata employs in situations that aren’t necessarily defense-requiring. Like administering medicine, or investigating his own psyche, or trying to breach any topic with Komaeda.

He hates it, but it’s part of him, neither nature nor nurture. Just… a trait, forced upon him, one he has to adapt to.

“Hinata-kun?” Komaeda’s smile is thin. “I apologize for overstepping!”

“It’s fine.” He sort of has a headache. Maybe he should sleep. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“Ah, Hinata-kun doesn’t have to apologize! He can do whatever he likes! I still appreciate him regardless!” he reassures enthusiastically, in an almost adoring way.

… And. The thing is.

Hinata has been viscerally aware of Komaeda’s attraction to him ever since he awoke from the Neo World Program. It didn’t take overwhelming amounts of self reflection and memory analysis to realize that Komaeda has had feelings for him, ever since the Despair Era, when neither of them were the person they are now or were before it all began. It’s present in Servant’s endless worship and Komaeda’s subtle (and sometimes, less subtle) affections.

It’s something that Hinata thought, initially, he could just… accept. The fact that the other likes him is simply a fact of life, like the fact that this same individual is still suffering from frontotemporal dementia and lymphoma, like the fact that the other has trauma neither of them can even begin to impact, like the fact that Hinata is privy to entirely too much about the other that he’s hardly aware of.

This is why his yearning and fondness for Komaeda, despite his conflicting thoughts of romance, takes him by surprise. The idea that Komaeda’s affections could be requited is a shocking concept to both of them, one that might be earth-shattering or simply a natural progression of their current behavior. It’s a thought that he keeps in the back of his mind, primarily, believing that not much can be done until Komaeda heals.

And yet, it surfaces in the quiet moments like this, where Komaeda has that energetically adoring expression, where the moonlight accentuates his face in a pretty way that will only get more beautiful with daybreak, where Hinata is just staring at him mindlessly. It surfaces like this, and Hinata wonders, to himself, if he loves the other.

If this is how it comes to him.

“Hinata-kun?”

Or maybe it’s just a lapse.

“I’m tired,” he replies, which isn’t a proper response but it is the only thing he can find himself saying, right then.

Komaeda nods and starts to stand up, “Ah, okay! I apologize if I bored you, I know I can tend to do that. I hope you sleep well, Hinata-kun-”

Hinata catches his wrist.

“Maybe,” he inhales. “You can stay? And sleep beside me?”

Komaeda’s face shifts, emotions spreading across his face like auroras, but they’re quickly stifled by another smile, one that seems a bit more genuine. “Ah, of course! Whatever Hinata-kun wants.” He takes the eagerness Komaeda exhibits while taking off his shoes and scooting to the center of the bed as confirmation that Komaeda wants this as well.

It’s odd how Hinata has the courage to ask something like that, despite everything.

Hinata draws the curtains closed, hoping that the sun won’t wake them up, and he slips beside Komaeda in bed. The other adjusts well to sleeping in someone else’s bed, all things considered, but he looks fairly stiff all the same. Hinata knows there’s nothing he can do to change his slight discomfort– anything he could do would be a bit too courageous, and he’s already expressed a lot of bravery considering that he’s more contemplative than rash, at the moment.

So he lays down beside him, facing the other who faces away, and he finds himself tracing the contours of his body (innocuous and entirely unrelated to medical concerns), the way his hair curls against his nape, how his hands lay at his sides. It calms him to study the other, and he wonders if that is love, if all of this is love, even if he has a thousand other concerns.

It takes a pathetically short five minutes before he says, “Komaeda…?”

“Yes, Hinata-kun?” Komaeda still sounds awake. He wonders if he was planning on sleeping at all.

He breathes out a soft exhale. “Can we talk?”

–

He does not see Komaeda again until after despair overcomes the world.

But by then, both him and Komaeda are separate people. The memories prior to the creation of himself– Kamukura Izuru, that being– are vague and only documented in a diary that Hinata Hajime struggled to maintain. And Servant, while not suffering direct memory loss of everything regarding Hope’s Peak Academy, does not appear to want to verbally recall anything regarding the school to Kamukura. This could be from lack of trust. This could be his nature.

They meet in a bloodied street, bodies scattered across the asphalt in an unpleasing way. From an aesthetic standpoint, it is disgusting, but Kamukura does not necessarily dislike it. He does not dislike anything.

He only finds this despair base.

Servant’s hands are dirtied from crusted blood, which is to be expected. His hair is awry, his face in a considerably tormented frown, and his attire is dirtied aside from his chain that drags obnoxiously loud on the pavement.

Kamukura clears his throat.

His face shifts drastically when he sees Kamukura, which is the most interesting part of his appearance, as of current, and he immediately drops to his knees. It is certainly an interesting display, yet predictable, and Servant’s voice is raspy when he says, “Kamukura Izuru.”

“So you have heard of me.” That is understandable. The only reason Kamukura is at this location, after all, is because Enoshima requested prior to her death that Kamukura take ownership of Servant. She had considered it a present to him, but Kamukura finds nothing to be a gift, especially when it is at her hands.

One of her hands is severed and attached in place of where Servant’s would be. Expectable.

“You’re the Ultimate Hope,” he breathes. “I- I have been looking for you-”

“How convenient,” he cuts off his likely obnoxious rambling. He does not want to hear about his godhood from the lens of a worshipper. “As I was looking for you.”

Servant’s face flushes. “You were looking for me? Ahaha, I’m sure you must be mistaken.”

“Enoshima stated that in her death, you were to be my property. Transitive ownership.” His face twists at the sound of her name, which is not necessarily expected, but can be easily explained retroactively. “You are mindlessly idling, as of current. You plan to travel to Towa City, but have not done so yet. You have killed seventeen people directly in your time of being a Remnant of Despair, but you are growing bored.”

Despite his wide eyes and droll expression, Servant is clever enough to catch on. “You would like me to travel with you, Kamukura-kun? I warn you, I am useless in every possible way and unworthy of your presence.”

Kamukura glares at him. “I will determine that.”

“… Understood.” Servant hesitates before standing up, and there is shocking amounts of excitement in his expression. “I apologize for being overeager, I’ve never travelled with someone like this before. Someone like you before.”

“That is to be expected,” Kamukura says as he begins to walk, stepping over corpses with grace as the Remnant beside him trips and stumbles, babbling about despair and hope and talent all the way.

From there, an attachment forms. They continue to travel in this manner, relocating from place to place with little but each other’s companionship (and what they can find, in this cataclysmic scenario– assorted piles of canned vegetables and month-old water bottles). Along the way grows learning, basic answers to questions that benefit both of them only slightly, though prove to be boring, as Kamukura does not have a favorite color or movie or food. But the basis of small talk leads to a more expanded exploration of morality, of death and life and the liminality of such matters, philosophy and physics and their prediction for where the world will be.

Kamukura discovers, then, that Servant is not capable of matching him in intelligence. However, he nears close to having this ability, exhibiting his cleverness in a distinctly separate way than how Enoshima enforced her analytical prowess upon her victims. It is refreshing, to have this difference. It is refreshing, by extension, to have him.

That is how the evolution of their relationship begins.

Sexual ties between them have been present from the start. Servant is poor at concealing his overwhelming attraction to the other, and Kamukura has curiosities he was not interested in exploring with Enoshima. Thus begins tumultuous, albeit safe to an extent, exploratory intercourse, which Kamukura finds not particularly boring.

Then becomes an inherent domesticity in residing together, in sharing beds (although, Servant only allows himself to sleep beside Kamukura if he is particularly in pain, that day. Kamukura does not necessarily mind if Servant continues to sleep beside him, but it is a matter of principle that is tedious to undo, especially with no distinct want to commit effort to it). Along with sleeping together, there is having meals together, defending each other from robotic Monokumas when it becomes necessary, and even reading together.

It is all not particularly interesting. It is all not particularly boring. It exists in a grey area that Kamukura struggles to define.

He dislikes struggling.

There is a particular day, once, that he would consider lucky (were he to indulge in this thought towards Servant, the other would likely break down) due to the numerous realizations had. The primary one, and the most convoluted one by far, is the realization that he is perhaps infatuated with the other.

It comes whilst Servant is asleep, his body bare aside from the marring of bruises and hickeys, thin sheets layered in dust resting atop him. Kamukura observes him from where he sits at the edge of the bed, admiring the way the red sky highlights Servant’s body in an almost rosy way, porcelain skin glimmering with red contours that made the Ultimate Artist in Kamukura transfixed. Part of him desired to reach out and trace his body on impulse– and it would not be the first time he sought touch out of poorly placed impulse. However, he refrains.

A small part of him– a romantic, likely, in all but practice– finds that touching him may, perhaps, detract from the natural beauty he exudes. It is not like Kamukura is anything other than manmade.

This is a thought that crosses his mind often. Rather, the latter is. However, with Servant in his life as a catalyst, the frequency of such thoughts rapidly accelerates, and he finds a sense of permanence in the other. Something he is rather interested in exploring, given the time. There are many, many inquiries he would indulge in, given the time.

They are not given time.

He had prepared an injection in advance, one to make Servant unconscious for approximately 48 hours. It is enough time to execute a procedure that would remove Servant’s memories of Kamukura, a similar procedure that he will attempt to repeat on himself (he has done thorough research into lobotomies due to his experiences. Even without this research, it would not be a particularly difficult task. However, his emotions pose a hindrance). He is aware that he should inject Servant now, as, according to his predictions and intuition, he has confidence in the fact that the Future Foundation will locate them within that period of time.

He would like to evade them. He knows he is able to, that he has a capacity to outwit them, that Servant would heed every command necessary to guarantee their survival. After all, there is no certainty in the prospect that the Future Foundation would keep them alive.

Despite this, Kamukura is… curious. He is intrigued as to what the Future Foundation will do, once they capture him and Servant, and he knows that they cannot evade the Future Foundation forever. They will grow bored.

It is regrettable, he thinks as he injects Servant with the serum, stroking his hair for purely selfish purposes as he does so. It is regrettable that they did not have infinite time together. However, Servant is dying to his own illness, and Kamukura is dying, metaphorically, to the boredom that he can not fully stave away, even with his agreeable companionship. It is poetic, in the same sense, that they will be captured and perhaps be executed before they could fully breach the barrier of worship and love, something Kamukura is not certain he could attain.

In all senses, it is over, and Servant will not remember him by the time he awakes in the grasp of the Future Foundation.

(A part of Kamukura recalls their first meeting with feigned nostalgia, remnants of the emotion that must have existed before his creation, and he wonders– or, cynically, he hopes– that he may meet the other again, and finish the life they began.)

–

Komaeda rolls over and smiles, slightly sleepy. “What do you want to talk about, Hinata-kun?” After a pause, he asks, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he says with a little too much force. “I’ve just had some. Things on my mind. That I want to talk about?”

It’s sort of a half-truth, because it feels wrong to say that it’s been something on his mind. Because it has been, and it has been for a while– but he hardly knows if what he’s feeling is love, if it’s worth indulging in this when he has so much to work on. If he can even be certain of his thoughts at all.

But he wants to talk to Komaeda– maybe to get perspective, and finally decide.

So, he closes his eyes and starts talking. “I was thinking about the simulation, and before. More specifically, us.”

He can hear the bitterness in Komaeda’s voice when he says, “Ah. How I betrayed and belittled you?”

“Not exactly.” But it’s part of it. “… You said in the simulation that you were in love with me, right?”

There’s a pause. One that’s long enough that Hinata almost wants to open his eyes, but he needs to isolate himself in his thoughts temporarily, dissect the words and his feelings and come to a conclusion. It’s something he’s good at (but love isn’t survival games, or class trials. If they were, he would have figured this out a long time ago, back when Nanami was still around).

When Komaeda eventually speaks, it’s brief but telling. “… Yes.”

“And. You didn’t like me much before all of that, but… as Servant, you-”

“Worshipped and admired Kamukura-kun, yes.” He sounds almost nervous. Komaeda rarely sounds like this, and it’s almost enough to stop pushing. “… Why do you ask? Don’t you already know this, Hinata-kun?”

Hinata sighs. “Yeah, technically. But I’ve been thinking about it more, and…” he opens his eyes, now. Komaeda’s face is vacant– no smile, no frown, just a straight line that wavers if he stares hard enough. His eyes are filled with emotion he can’t uncover, emotions he doesn’t want to uncover. But… he watches them carefully regardless, makes note of how they shift. “We’ve had an interesting relationship, throughout all our time knowing each other. In our one encounter back at Hope’s Peak, we didn’t get along, and things in Despair were… intimate, yet twisted.”

“That’s one way to consider it,” Komaeda says, and it isn’t quite hatred in his voice, but something close. Something Hinata knows not to take personally.

“And. I’ve been thinking about where it leaves us, now. And– I mean, it’s something in the back of my head, but not really. Filling all my thoughts? It just sort of came up while we were sitting here, before I said we should sleep, and sometimes I think about it when I’m not working around the island. So it’s sort of…” a dormant thing, has been in the back of my mind forever because I put it there, because I didn’t want to accept that I like you, because I’m too afraid and I know you are too, but there’s something about you, something about this, and I’m curious to know where it goes- “Yeah.”

Komaeda nods. “I see.”

“I think you know where I’m going with this.”

There’s a silence. Then- “I’d rather not.”

“… Rather not what?”

He already knows, but he wants to hope, wants to hope that Komaeda will allow himself this, despite everything. And yet…

… “Rather not believe what you are implying, Hinata-kun.” And the bitterness is directed at him this time, but Komaeda has always tore at him claws to hide something else, whether it be personal insecurity or infatuation or fear. Hinata thinks it might be all three, now. “You are aware of my love for you, how you could use it to your benefit, how you could disregard me and I would-” his breath catches.

“Komaeda?”

“… hardly complain,” he finishes. “I would hardly complain if you used me, because it’s you. You’re aware that you could make this so easy– and you aren’t even certain of this. I’ve been certain ever since I knew you, even when I hardly knew anything about you, even when I stayed with you to wake up on that island, I knew. But you don’t, and you could make it so easy and just give up on me, because it’s not like I would love you less or hate you more, but you’re acting on impulse. You rarely act on impulse, so why are you…”

There are tears in Komaeda’s eyes.

“… When I first met you,” Hinata starts. “I thought you were pretty. An asshole, but pretty. In despair, Kamukura was interested in you, and he was bored of everything else, even her. And he knew your worship, and that was the most boring part of you, to him, because he didn’t like being treated like a god, not by you. And… and in the simulation, I remember the betrayal I felt when I knew one of the only people I trusted turned their back on me. And- and when I saw your corpse-”

Komaeda shakes his head, but Hinata doesn’t stop. “-When I saw your corpse, I was so fucking pissed, because you’re smart and fucked up and I almost missed you that trial, despite everything. And despite everything, now when I woke you up, when I had to run into the infirmary and out of it and had to do all those fucking psychodives to get you out, I thought it was worth it.”

“Hinata-kun.”

“I thought– I knew, and I know– that you are worth it.”

And even though Komaeda’s stare is intimidating, and even though Hinata’s so uncertain of everything right now, he’s confident in that.

He’s never been more confident in anything, actually.

–

When Hinata wakes up on an unfamiliar island, with an aching head and endless questions about his surroundings, he’s greeted by a stranger, with a slight smile on their face. They had slightly tostled white hair, cloudlike and wispy, that falls just above their dim green eyes, and they have a slender yet alluring physique that Hinata almost finds pretty, in his dazed state.

After they confirm that Hinata is awake, they introduce themself. “… I’m Komaeda Nagito. Nice to meet you.”

Hinata accepts the hand he offers him and stands up, brushing sand off his pants (why are they at a beach?) and replying, “Hey, I’m Hinata Hajime.”

Komaeda leads him around the island, introducing him to all the others that had left him behind, unconscious, on the beach (he can’t really blame him. He’s still embarrassed about how he just… passed out. At least Komaeda isn’t judging him for it). He offers his own quips and commentary about the island, one Hinata finds insightful, if not slightly odd at times, and he begins to develop a trust for the other.

Sort of. Because, well, it’s not like he can really trust anyone, when they all woke up on a random fucking island with no idea of what’s going on, aside from some random shit a rabbit tells them. But, for as weird Komaeda can sometimes be and the weird situation they’re in, he establishes him as trustworthy early on. Someone to rely on, even when everything goes to hell.

(And littered in there, far enough in the back of his head that he sort of forgets about it, he is sort of infatuated with the other. In a super base way– because he’s a teenager, c’mon– but, still. Komaeda’s pretty, and he’s friendly, and he thinks there’s some significance in that.

Of course, everything changes when the first murder occurs. When the trial happens, and truths are revealed. When everything spirals downwards for the rest of their ‘island vacation’, and Hinata realizes that Komaeda should have never been trusted at all.

… But he can’t bring himself to hate him, despite everything. Even when he’s faced with his corpse.)

–

There is a long silence that fills the room, after his admission.

It’s understandable, considering that Komaeda… has never quite had anyone stay by his side as long as Hinata has. He’s probably never considered the possibility of requited love or care of anything, has never been able to reconcile with the idea that Hinata wants to stay despite the fucked-up mess of trauma and disease his brain is filled with. He probably finds himself vacant, like Hinata does, sometimes, like every quirk about him that makes him distinctive and worthy of love is completely null, and that he is cursing Hinata by being around him this long.

It’s more fucked up than Hinata can sometimes conceptualize, but. As he said, it’s worth it.

Hinata breaks the silence, knowing that he should be patient with the other, who has had his mentality partially shattered in a brief period of time, but slightly worried that the progress they’ve made would fall at a stalemate in complete silence. “… Komaeda?”

“Hinata-kun.” His voice is both empty and emotional, and it leaves an ache in Hinata’s chest. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand, still. I’m not…” he trails off.

“You are worth it,” Hinata insists, because he knows the way that Komaeda thinks, knows where his mind is going. “We don’t have to do anything, or be anything, if you don’t want to. I just… thought you should know, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot, so. Thought it was worth saying.”

“Worth,” Komaeda echoes quietly. His laugh is at the same volume, raspy and choked. “I… I really like you, Hinata-kun, but I can’t let you endanger yourself.”

Hinata shakes his head. “Your luck can’t affect me badly, remember? I’m lucky too.”

“It has in the past. Before you remember. When me and Kamukura-kun were together, and how bad luck and consequent good luck would follow us around. He thought it was interesting. I knew we weren’t safe. And we weren’t.” He sighs, and Hinata wants to reach out and brush his cheek with his fingertips, ensure that he isn’t just a ghost. “If I hurt you, Hinata-kun-”

“You won’t,” Hinata argues.

Komaeda raises his voice, slightly. “But if I do, then I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Knowing that you chose to have something with me, despite all your responsibilities and all the risks I bring to you just by existing… it would kill me, Hinata-kun. I’m already dying and I’ve done it once, but… it would really, really kill me. I don’t think I would be able to lose you. I don’t…” He looks so tired.

Hinata reaches out, then, and intertwines their fingers. Komaeda doesn’t push him away, and he takes it as a good sign. “You aren’t going to lose me. And I know we can’t be certain of what’ll happen in the future, but… I think we deserve something good. So much bad shit has happened, and we’re healing and everything, but I think we also deserve to find something like… hope. In each other. Y’know? And, obviously, it’s only if you want. I’m not gonna, like, make you date me, or something.” He squeezes his hand. “But, I don’t want you to keep yourself from someone you want– something we want– out of fear. We’re not going to die, Komaeda. And even if we did… every second that led to it would be worth it.”

Komaeda’s eyes flutter shut. It hurt to see the pain in his eyes, but his scrunched eyebrows and shaky lip is almost worse. “I… I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you want to do?” Hinata asks gently.

“I…” he cuts himself off, thinking in silence as Hinata rubs circles into his palm. Eventually, his eyes open, and his expression is tentative and a bit scared, but Hinata can see some hope in it. It’s almost enough to make him smile, but he fights it off and waits for Komaeda to finish. “I… I want this. But, I don’t deserve it.”

“You want it,” Hinata reminds him softly, “and I want it. So, I think it’s okay for us to have, yeah?”

He hesitates, but eventually says, “… Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he repeats, and then he gives him a slight smile. “I can work with maybe.”

Komaeda responds with a fleeting smile, one that makes Hinata let go of his hand and tug him forward into a warm embrace. Komaeda’s face nestles into the other’s shoulder, and he can hear a muffled voice whisper, “I love you, Hinata-kun. I really do.”

A weight he thought would permanently be on his shoulders disappears, and he breathes out a long sigh of relief as he tightens his grip on Komaeda’s waist. And, with a voice that echoes himself through all of the years of knowing Komaeda, through the stress and irritation and curiosity and trust, in a journey that was just as much his as it was theirs, he says, “I love you too.”

Even after everything.

#komahina #komahina secret exchange #fanfiction

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Whumptober Day 10: Looking Pretty

Summary: Written for Whumptober Day 10. Set during RttE. The most fascinating thing about bring pain to something, isn't just the sounds they make, but also the way blood moves and stains. So when his latest victim runs, he isn't too mad.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Krogan, Hiccup

Pairing: None

Words: 1089

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: "Blood Loss” + “Trail of Blood

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: I had a lot of fun writing Krogan in this one. I feel like he makes for a really good creepy whumper.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Ao3

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Krogan has always loved the deep scarlet color of blood. The way it shines in the light when it's fresh, the way it stains skin and soaks clothes, and splatters the ground, even how it dries. Blood is a medium of art to him. Especially when he covers his empty canvas, his prey, with it and they leave a trail as he runs.

The door to his personal torture chamber is open when he reaches it. He was planning on having another fun session with his honored guest, but it seems like the guest in question has other ideas.

No matter, this just means more fun for him.

There is red everywhere. On the chair his work in progress had been tied to, on the lock and the door handle. There is a trail of blood in the form of large splotches on the floor, too, and they lead outside of the room.

With his eyes, Krogan follows it and sees the occasional bloody handprint on the wall and he can only smile at the perfect prints, smudged just right to be perfect.

These create a good path to follow to wherever his little toy has run off to. He shouldn't be too hard to find with the state that he's in, though the mere fact that he even tried is certainly fun.

Krogan follows with the kind of air someone would wear when they've found a random piece of gold on the ground. Not silver, not copper, gold. Hands folded behind him, a joyous expression on his face, he walks in the direction the trail is taking him. He isn't in a hurry. No way the other has escaped.

"Krogan!" A Flyer approaches from a different hallway, probably to tell him of the escape.

"Don't worry, our guest can't have gone too far. Ready a healer, I'd hate for him to die on us when there is still so much fun to be had." He tells the Flyer, sending him off with a job to do.

While he runs, Krogan continues his relaxed chase.

He has to admit that he's gotten quite far considering his condition, the trail of blood keeps on going for quite a long while. In some places the splotches are much bigger, indicating that he might've taken a pause occasionally. Understandable, all things considered.

And then he finds him and Krogan's joy grows tenfold.

"Found you." He sings and his shadow looms over the figure curled up against a wall, facing away from him and holding his middle as his torn tunic runs even redder with blood.

"Did you really think you were going to escape?" He asks, causing his prey to look up to him.

"Well, you know me, always gotta do it the hard way." Hiccup attempts to sass to show he's unaffected by his failed escape attempt, but it is ruined by the way he trembles and the look of pain and exhaustion that he wears. He's pale, too, it's a result of the blood he's lost along the way. There is a shakiness to his voice.

A crash has left him with this gash in his abdomen and it's what caused him to be captured. Krogan has been... generous enough to get him a healer after he was brought back to his base. But it was admittedly all to keep him from dying too soon for his liking.

There isn't any specific information that he desires to know from him, not at the moment, Krogan is just keeping him alive for the enjoyment of it.

The fingers of his left hand have been dislocated and then put back in place just to have them dislocated again, it's caused them to swell. If the pain wasn't already keeping him from using that hand, the swelling certainly made it too stiff to use properly. His face is all bruised up with his nose bloody and a lip split, it pounded terribly. His ribs ache, too, and Hiccup can't tell that if they're broken or bruised. Lastly, his arms and torso are full of shallow cuts from a dagger, some of which are bound to scar.

Krogan's been having fun with him in the two days since he's been captured. He's taking his time, wanting to enjoy every day they get to spend together before death or the Dragon Riders come, whichever is faster.

"My, my," Krogan kneels next to him, grabbing his chin to look him over as he marvels at his work, forcing him onto his back.

"You do look pretty all covered in blood like this." He says with genuine delight and Hiccup finds himself tiring with villains who take some sort of interest in him. Though, Krogan's is purely based on how bloody he can get him to be before he eventually passes out and can no longer scream.

He lets go and Hiccup's head drops back down on the ground. He's too tired to keep it up.

If his stitches hadn't torn during his efforts to get free, he would've gotten out. That he failed frustrates him and he feels like crying. He won't give Krogan that satisfaction, but the urge to do so is terribly strong.

Gods, how he wishes his friends were here. He doesn't even know if Toothless has been captured, too, though he has a feeling his tormentor would've gloated by now if he had.

Krogan is almost gentle as he helps Hiccup up to his feet, mindful of his every move. Can't have his guts falling out, that would just ruin their fun all too soon for his liking. So he's careful and already thinking of ways to punish the escape artist after he's been stitched back up and bandaged.

Hiccup follows him, hating every second of the way back, of needing to count on Krogan for support. His only comfort is knowing that Toothless is most likely still out there and that his Dragon Riders will be coming any day now.

They'll have figured out something's wrong by now and with Stormfly's nose, they can find them anywhere in and outside of the Archipelago, so long as the trail is fresh enough.

But for now, Hiccup has to simply wait it out and endure whatever his captors have in mind for him. He knows now that escaping on his own is impossible with his injury. He won't underestimate the fragility of such a wound a second time.

He doesn't like it, but it seems like he has little choice but to wait.

#whumptober2020 #no.10 #blood loss #trail of blood #httyd #how to train your dragon #fanfics #tw: blood and violence #tw: aftermath of violence #tw: torture #tw: aftermath of torture #rtte #race to the edge #hiccup haddock #hiccup whump #krogan #whumper krogan #my fanfics #looking pretty

[douxie-casperan]

[✂, ↕?]

The prompt below was specifically requested to be the Heart of Glass AU and features the Bad End! The second prompt will be done at a future date. 

↕ - A memory that may or may not have happened

Looking back on it the signs were there of something being wrong that couldn’t be seen being blind as they had been. Things like how Nari slowly began to close herself off haunted with sadness that they couldn’t remember seeing there before but it was evident in her eyes. She must have been hurting so much but kept putting on a brace face anyway to not make them worry and always brushing off any attempts to ask until the questions simply stopped coming. Everyone deserved privacy right? They just figured it was something that would sort it’s self out but within days of the last time they ever spoke to her she simply vanished into the night almost as though she was simply holding on that little bit longer for one of the erratic visits to come. It didn’t make the sting any less painful when word came months later when even Skrael and Bellroc began to worry over her absence. There have been more than a few sleepless nights spent wondering where she is, what she was doing, if she was simply okay that were left unanswered.

They have three reminders of the trio of beings who took him in that they always carried with them, one is etched in ink, there is the staff they love dearly even when keeping the existence of it a secret and finally the left hand which had been the first gift from Nari herself which had been carried for so many centuries of their life. This one let them be something more than useless that they would have been condemned to be otherwise making it was worth all the stares, the snide remarks and any problems it caused hundreds of times over. Now down to two, these almost felt haunted.

The other thing should have been a red flag right from the start but when you’re so traumatised and barely able to hold a thought together for more than a few seconds everything is taken at face value because beyond that is simply too much to bear. Archie confirmed she had been there to see them before Killahead while at the time they had been passed out with barely more than a handful of waking hours since it happened. She said that the Order had promised to keep the two of them safe and that she would return after ensuring that all of them would live without being in fear ever again. She wouldn’t of course, thanks to him they wouldn’t see one another again until they were living in the far-flung future of Arcadia not knowing that she was being held right beneath their feet plotting her own freedom with or without help.

Nothing comes for free; they knew that better than anyone yet never once thought to question what the price that had to be paid for such a promise to be had. It was spun to them as a means to prevent the extinction of magical beings at the behest of a mad king but it was far more than that wasn’t it? It was the ability to live without persecution being bought on the back of conquering the other to ensure it, never about restoring a balance already upset by the actions of one old man. It was so obvious and yet, and yet.

The blindfold was ripped away with a few simple words of clarifying truth and the anger it causes is barely contained any more than the magic desperate to lash out in retaliation against their own sister who stands there with helmet held in hands and a pleading expression in emerald eyes that he would somehow see her reasoning. A familiar dragon is perched on their shoulders glaring just as much bristled with a twitching tail and both can hear the echoes rattling about their brains repeating again and again of what led them here.

All of this was for you, all of it to make a world where nobody would have to suffer like you did! Gunmar is merely a means to an end for that paradise to finally come forth into reality.

At the cost of everyone else you mean, did you think for a second I'd ever want that?! Just because I suffered never meant I wanted anybody else to as well!

That was our deal, Douxie. If they would keep you both safe I would accept their power and become the Champion of Magic and right what my brother wrought against us, it was only a matter of time before we were all put to the sword and this was my one chance to finally make things right.

He's long gone! Bellroc felled him at the battle didn’t you know? His era is dead and the legacy he left drove everything underground but having a bunch of trolls running around eating people isn’t exactly going to fix everything. That’s not balance that’s genocide!

“… I’m gonna ask them myself, I want to hear the answer from them directly and if you really do care about what I think you’ll help clean up this mess you gave an open invite to instead of yanno going after the actual problem who is probably waiting for his grand moment,” is hissed whilst summoning their own staff to hand ready to use for a very specific spell reserved only for emergencies. What could be a bigger one than knowing?

“You’re older than me and I kinda liked to hope you would know better, Morgana. In case you missed the memo there’s only one person I have it out for and it sure as heck is not an entire planet full of people.”

The base is tapped and with a few whispered words a shimmering crack appears beside them that is barely visible except where the light catches the edges.

“Be better, please? Not exactly asking the world here but if I can avoid becoming jaded despite literally everything that has happened to me then I can’t see why you’re so determined to swan dive into it. I wanted you back so much, I’ve been trying so damn hard for so long to have that but right now I can’t really stand to even look at you if you can think this is remotely okay.”

“Douxie, please we can still fix this.”

They say nothing, merely giving her a soft smile before the two of them disappear beyond her reach with all the consequences she has wrought.

~~

It was all true, Skrael said so himself. Oh it was attempted to be played as somehow being a mercy that they’d been kept in the dark this entire time, of how despite so much time there had been to tell the truth that went by wasted, the same amount that could have been used to change their minds and work towards a better solution they had instead sought out something even worse than what she’d unleashed on the world fancying a bit of annihilation on a far larger scale instead. It made their heart hurt so much, why did everyone think for even one second they’d be okay with it? Any of it? That somehow being allowed to pick favourites would somehow make it magically acceptable despite knowing people that mattered to them personally could be spared while the rest would be damned?

They said culls about us too remember? All for the greater good, just a few sacrifices and spare the lot, send them forth and you’ll go free. You sound like he did.

He was… cruel, and he used you, Hisirdoux. We kept you safe; we protected you. We didn’t force the weight of the world on your shoulders- you were a boy! A young boy! You never should have had so much pressed upon you! I was only ensuring that you wouldn’t have to feel that again! You do not deserve what happened to you. Not again. I will not take part in doing that to you, not like he did.

Why were they the only one who wasn’t completely blind to what they were all heralding?

And yet didn’t stop you lying to me did it? You can’t pull a greater good on me I’ve heard it all before. Different century and it’s the same garbage. I’m tired.

Just… Let us make this right, Hisirdoux. Please. You can rest, here, Hisirdoux. You can rest, now. And in the morning, we can make it right. I can make it right.

Just tell us what we need to do and we will do it! We can’t lose you too.

It was almost ironic that this was the one time it wasn’t his fault; really it was their own if anything for believing anybody could be better than that instead of being a simple flip of the same coin. If people ended up suffering for the greater good well now that was worth it for the result because they didn’t matter, not really being little more than unnamed masses. Even Nari, one of their own, was somehow seen as an acceptable bit of fallout in the name of a false balance despite knowing she would feel each and every one of those lives being wiped out… It must have hurt to look at them, an example of both why it had to be done and why it should never be, she might have even hoped their being there might convince her siblings to change, to realise the same thing too.

They would not it seem and continuing was slowly taking everyone else down with it. Douxie did tell them both that they hoped they might yet see reason, the why, and realise why they never should have been contemplating it in the first place, of not wanting to leave and how unless they change, well they might never see one another again so please don’t try to follow. Nari was not the only one who could disappear after all as was the downside of having a very good teacher in how to do it properly and took the lessons to heart. It was probably only Archie’s presence that gave them the strength to walk away without looking back instead of breaking down crying right there over the bitter losses that were totting up one after the other though admittedly the final hug very nearly pushed them over the edge. It felt like the picture-perfect description of bittersweet.

~~

 After that things are barely held together by the thinnest of threads while the apartment is cleaned out. Nothing of importance was ever kept there but there were some things that needed to be held onto and were added to their most precious belongings taken from their room at the fortress before the argument began as an unfortunately correct precaution. Afterwards there was a key to be handed in with the words of it was simply time to move in, one place would have a notice and an apology for the suddenness while the other gained a sign saying closed until further notice knowing that the coven would likely pick over the best bits like vultures the second permission is given but they won’t mind particularly because at least anything dangerous will be removed. Right now all they care about is getting out of Arcadia and as far away as possible from the life they’d carved out there and all the traces he had tainted it with. He who had swept in taking them from their first home offering a new beginning with a home and family just to back a tyrant a few years down the line leading them to their second one just for history to repeat it’s self again and leave them in complete free fall. No lost limbs this time though, a small upside if forced to find one.

After removing the card and destroying their phone to lessen any chance of being tracked the two of them took the motorbike that was as battered and bruised as they are and rode silently through the night not caring where they would end up because anywhere else would be more than they could hope for. It’d been a while since they were last forced to rough it but they’d manage because if Douxie and Archie were anything it was survivors in a world that hated them for it and there was a lot of practice between times able to settle for any length of time. It would take three days before they felt there was enough distance to feel safe enough for risk a temporary break. The place was cheap but private having no problem with a cat companion and they were surprisingly fine about the request for a few more pillows in their room. That might have been the charm offensive and sheer exhaustion helping sell the need for it mind, was hard to tell.

Piling them up in a circle on the floor with a few blankets that had been pilfered including a few special ones that were very old, they simply flop onto them and then finally, finally allow the tears come that are without any sign of being able to stop. Within a few choked breaths a purring shape manoeuvres himself into their arms only to become louder from how tightly he’s being squeezed while a face is buried into his fur. They miss how the brand-new phone bursts into life until a voice that they felt they hadn’t heard in forever comes from it.

“Doux? Hey is that you? The hell are you I’ve be- There’s a pause upon catching the sound of someone trying to cry their heart out and her tone instantly becomes an awful lot more worried.

“Hey, hey are you okay did something happen?”

At first there is little more than the sound of snivelling and a mumbled nonsensical apology repeated over and over. She waits patiently, trying to soothe as little as she can while trapped on the other side of the speaker not even able to see what’s going on. There’s a few hiccups and stuttered starts before she finally gets the answer and of all the things in the world she could have expected this was not one of them.

“I- It happened a-again… Zoe, I, I’ve lost everything. You, you are Archie a-are all I’ve got left.”

#flamekeeperbellroc #No facts truer than a good meme #Heart of Glass

[mor-beck-more-problems]

New Year, New Tears || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: December 30, 2020

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Deirdre need to talk before they can start the new year fresh. 

Say that you'll hold me forever Say that the wind won't change on us Say that we'll stay with each other And it will always be like this

CONTAINS: brief, non-specific references to past abuse, negative self-talk

Morgan had made sure they arrived in New York in time for checking in and knocking off the first few items on the itinerary she’d devised. Initially, Morgan had organized the activities mix-and-match style according to how many hours they had at their disposal and how much time they wanted to spend in bed. In the fall, she had imagined a lot of New York would pass by behind drawn curtains while they had as many kinds of sex as they could think of and they would content themselves with only so many big things and so many little things into their three and a half days away from Maine. Today, it went like this: they dropped their bags off in their suite (in the first room, Morgan insisted they could work it out later), walked to a gourmet bakery, and took what Deirdre didn’t eat at the place up to Central Park. Then came a taxi to a cluster of rare and second-hand bookshops, and just enough time to change before catching the evening showing of Hadestown. Morgan left the theater with her arms tight around Deirdre’s waist, singing her favorite song with careless delight.

Paris had been good to them, a testament just how easy things could be. The days after stung a little, because Morgan felt weird about their bedroom, didn’t want to stay in the hotel long term, didn’t have the tiny house Deirdre had offered to help her assemble in the back yard yet, and feared latching on too hard and destabilizing herself all over again if she dove in ‘business almost as usual’ style. Because she did latch. Her heart’s freedom and her Yuletide warmth had stayed with her, sending tingles up her skin and reaching out to Deirdre to share and spread the relief between them. Touch was intuitive again, smiles came more easily--but where was the line between happiness and impending danger? She hadn’t been able to tell the difference before; would the universe guide her steps and show her now? And so every day ended a little different. Every coming and going hit a different note, some off key, some resonant with hope. But tonight, in a world so iconic and strange it seemed like something she’d dreamed, Morgan couldn’t find any of her old apprehensions. She couldn’t imagine doing anything but staying next to her love until the sun rose out their window. She tumbled into their hotel room, still singing, and kicked off her heels and jumped up for a heavy kiss. “So, you really liked it? I’ve been wanting to ask, but I couldn’t really hear in the street: which song was your favorite--no, which part in the story? I wanna know everything you’re thinking about.” She parted just to shove their suitcases off the bed and flop onto it, evening dress and all.

Human stories delighted Deirdre in a way that often felt forbidden. The fae stories focused far more on mischief and chaos and humans dying, and while those were fine, they were nothing like the stories Morgan had shown her. The kind she had come to enjoy greatly. When Morgan told her they’d watch a musical, she thought of all the ones she was familiar with; Waitress, The Sound of Music, that one about the pies with human meat, and if those Disney movies counted, then those too. But what she watched was nothing of the sort, and New York, as exciting as it had already been, seemed brighter, warmer, livelier. Was this what it was like to be human; uncomplicated and free? Could they eat baked goods, watching the sun set, going to bookstores, absorbing stories finely crafted by strangers? Could they be so....normal? Deirdre’s smile faltered for a moment as she watched Morgan flop on the hotel bed. For the duration of their trip, she kept a watchful eye over her happiness; she had been trained well in the ways it needed to be contained. And her hands, that wanted Morgan then and wanted Morgan now, needed to be reined in. They couldn’t be so normal, not yet. Normal them would have been making love by now, evening dresses crumpled on the floor. And that question would have been asked breathless, in her arms, just as Morgan remembered she never heard the answer, and had gotten distracted along the way. Normal them would have slept like that, woke up like that, went about their days exactly like that. Normal them didn’t need to worry about tamping down happiness, they simply were. But normal them was wrong, somehow, as Morgan had said it and as Deirdre struggled to understand. And normal them was gone, and present them needed to work on building a good future them so they wouldn’t break again.

But holding each other was ‘free’, and so whatever compunctions Deirdre had about intimacy now, that wasn’t one. And she fell into bed beside Morgan, pulling her love into her arms until they were tangled together the way they fit best. “You mean you couldn’t hear me over your singing,” Deirdre teased with a laugh, delighted in equal parts by memory of the show and Morgan’s glee. If she’d thought Morgan’s squealing in the snow in Paris was the happiest she might see Morgan for the year, she only wished she could go back and tell herself not to be so sure. “And you’re sure no one saw me crying in the theater, right? Because I don’t--” She cut herself off with a chuckle, “well, I don’t know. Maybe you should sing through the tracklist again so I can figure out my favorite.” With a grin, she pressed her lips to Morgan’s quickly, mumbling rough against them. “It’s better, coming from you. Oh and--” Deirdre drew back. “I have some complaints about story choices here. You said this was based on something? Why did he turn around? That’s just--” She pouted. “It was mean. You didn’t tell me it would be a sad story.” Admittedly, not Deirdre’s favorite kind of story--tragedies left her heart with a strange, unnamed, kind of heaviness. A feeling that she hadn’t yet picked apart and dissected meaning from, a feeling she had been long since afraid to try with. “I did like it.”

Morgan sighed with delight as Deirdre joined her on the bed and tangled them up like normal. The fluffy tulle under her skirt bunched up around her thighs and the simple boning around her bodice made it hard to curl up as snug as she really wanted, but Morgan was too happy to mind any of it past fiddling with her zipper and tugging it down a few centimeters. She cradled Deirdre’s face and kissed it several times over as her banshee gave her answer, lingering and nipping here and there as it pleased her.

“It was also loud with the cars going by us too,” Morgan protested, though she couldn’t keep a straight face. “Because you don’t what, babe? It’s okay, you know, right? I cried too, and the lady in front of us was crying much harder than either of us. The story’s supposed to make you feel something. That’s the magic in it. You don’t have to feel weird about any of that.” There was more to say, but Morgan leaned in and drew out another kiss, long and enthusiastic and tender when she remembered the exact look that had shown in her love’s face in the dark theater.

“I am sorry the ending hurt you by surprise,” she said, threading more kisses around Deirdre’s jaw. “It’s a very old human story, actually, from Greek antiquity. I never liked it before, because it doesn’t explain why he did it, so I always thought—yeesh, dude, you had one job! How much did you really love her anyway? But the way this version tells it…” Morgan sighed and settled her face in the crook of her love’s neck. “He held onto so much hope for so long, even when the disappointment started to break him. And then having to keep going without her, when they’d barely even touched since they’d found each other, having to believe she wouldn’t leave again, that he was really worth all this trouble— I think anyone would at least think about turning to be sure. And it was just a second, you know? Just a quick, desperate mistake. And I think it’s so sad because their love was so much bigger than that one mistake, it’s not fair for them to lose it. But the universe is brutal sometimes, and that’s why hope is so hard and special in the first place…” Morgan’s hand slid down to Deirdre’s chest and started tracing shapes over her heart, occasionally skirting along the hem of her own bodice where it kissed the swell of her breasts. “I am glad you liked it,” she murmured. “Even if I would rather hear your favorite song from you.”

Though Deirdre hummed under each touch—leaning closer to Morgan, urging more—her hands remained stiff and chaste around her, despite the twitch that radiated from her fingers. The bright grin that claimed her mouth was evidence enough that she wanted this, and wanted more, but she couldn’t have it. Her body stiffened as her voice remained light. “But this is different from crying over those cartoons in our—“ Deirdre swallowed. “The house; in private. This is different.” As Morgan kissed her, her twitching fingers curled into a claw at Morgan’s back, bunching tight fabric and digging into skin under her harsh grip. As much as she wanted to move, she did not. As Morgan continued to explain Orpheus’s plight, Deirdre thought about her own restraint. If that were her, she wouldn’t have turned around at all. She wasn’t even doing it now, as much as she twitched and stiffened and clawed for it—she was being good, dutiful, devoted. And yet, for all her carefulness, she’d let curiosity slip between her carefully crafted walls. “Is that how you felt?” She blinked, “is this…’turning around’?” She shook her head, wincing at the question—coated in metaphor as it was, even if Morgan could pick apart what she meant, it wasn’t the point. She already knew their love was bigger than their mistakes, but she suddenly understood the nature of doubt in a chilling way. She knew the truth, and yet….well, perhaps she shouldn’t have been so sure of her powers of self-control. Maybe she wasn’t any better than Orpheus after all.

Deirdre turned her gaze to the window, mumbling her requests for Morgan to forget she’d said anything. “I like ‘All I’ve Ever Known’ best, for now.” It was night, not that it was any easier to tell over the lights of New York. It was her body that told her first, in the yawn that erupted from her, before her eyes could even settle on the inky sky. “It’s getting late,” she commented. Her arms slackened. It was time for her to leave, probably. As it usually went, at least. And if she really wanted to try to be better than a fictional Greek myth, she ought to listen to the rules laid about before her. Morgan never shared a bed with her anymore, and she slept holding a pillow tight to her chest in the lonely privacy of her office. When she woke, the sight of an empty wall greeted her. If she was lucky, it would be one of the three cats instead. If she was really, really lucky, it was two of them. She could only hope the hotel pillows were close enough to the Morgan-replacement one she normally held; if she could’ve stuffed it into her suitcase, she would’ve. “I’ll take my things into the other room.”

“No, stay.” The words burst out of Morgan before she could think better of them, even just to have a better follow up argument besides, “Please.” She winced, and would have flushed if she had any blood flow in her face. She moved her arms around her love’s neck and pleaded with her eyes. A moment ago, Deirdre had been giving her so many green lights and their touch and their bodies all struck the right chord, harmonizing with such rich, perfect clarity, Morgan didn’t want the feeling to fade out.

“First of all, it is our house. Or it kind of is, or I want it to be. And second, I don’t want to forget what you said. It matters to me.” She caressed her face tenderly, hoping to convey her earnestness, her confidence. “You did...it did feel like you left me and ran away. All the note said was you weren’t dead, I didn’t know if that meant wait for me or don’t follow me, and by the end of that week, I was starting to wonder if…” Morgan shrugged, trying to keep the leftover hurt far away from her in a box at the bottom of her heart. “...if you still wanted me at all. I didn’t know how to believe you were still with me and so I turned around then, yeah. And in those days before Yule, I did kind of want to know how worth it you thought I was. Some of the ways I did that weren’t fair or kind to you. I was just…” She shrugged. “Clinging to some leftover revenge bullshit, maybe. It seemed so important that you really, really understand how it felt. None of the words I had felt good enough. And maybe if you’d take it, it would mean you would stay, or if you understood, you wouldn’t do it again. But I buried all that in Strawford, babe. I don’t need or want that. I didn’t excise the hurt completely, but I took enough out of me that I can be close to you without getting a complex about it. Enough that I can be-- stars, so incredibly happy with you. And I’ve missed that feeling so much, I don’t want to let it go right now. Haven’t you felt...lighter today? Freer? I know it’s just for a little bit, but everything’s been so hard, I don’t see the point in denying ourselves a few good nights together. I literally can’t think of anything I want more immediately than to stay here with you all night. And this isn’t even the first night I’ve felt that way, it just feels so much more silly not to follow through with the feeling when we’re away from everything else in a beautiful city plastered over a hundred movies.”

Morgan kissed Deirdre then, firm with determination. “For me, the place we’re at right now is us walking together. It’s not the way we came and I don’t know what’s next, I’m just believing as hard as I can that we’re gonna make it after coming this far. I looked, and you were there, and we’re lucky enough that we can keep walking after. That’s what I feel like this is, babe.” Her fingers idled around Deirdre’s shoulders, the ends of her hair, the gentle curve of her neck. She knew this was all dependent on what her girlfriend thought, that though they were walking, maybe they weren’t in exactly the same place yet. Her smile faltered with worry, but she held tight to her nerve and kept herself steady, though her voice was soft. “What is this for you? What do you think about...what I’m suggesting, for how we spend the nights this trip? Tell me what you think, huh…?”

Deirdre’s face softened instantaneously, her hands moved around Morgan to hold her, comfort her. It was a reaction of the body more than it was the mind, and her body wanted to yield to Morgan. To say that she would stay, that she could, that she wanted to and that she’d work out every bead of pain in Morgan’s body until her fingers bled. But the usual enthusiastic yes, yes, was replaced with lips pulled thin, brows furrowed. Her mind was a little more cautious, as it always had been. She shook her head; she hadn’t felt exactly freer or lighter. Her dutifulness was a devious prison, and it caged the rest of her well. Morgan wanted space, and Deirdre had worked it into her mind that she would provide. Every smile died miserably with guilt. And every touch withered with worry. It seemed so important to Morgan that they didn’t sleep together, Deirdre respected the choice as well as she could respect anything she didn’t want. She had thought it was so strange to deny it to themselves days ago. Weeks ago. But it was important to Morgan. And now it...wasn’t? Deirdre shook her head again as they parted. “What do you want me to do, Morgan?” Her shoulders sagged, her face contorted with confusion and hurt. The dark circles around her eyes must have been more clear then, even under the makeup, or at least she felt like they were. The nights of restless sleep without Morgan took their toll, and chilling fatigue coiled around her bones again as the mind remembered what the body could never forget. “I love laying with you; before I met you sleep was just a means to an end for me and now it...it feels like rest. Good rest. But you said you wanted your space, and I am trying my best to respect that. You set the rules Morgan, but you can’t just—“ Deirdre swallowed, turning her gaze away.

This was stupid. Any sane person would have just given in and cuddled up; her insides begged her to. She was so tired and so desperate for Morgan that she’d take just about any scrap offered. But her stomach lurched and her head throbbed; it wasn’t right. “Don’t make me into some thing you use for comfort and then leave again. Don’t just, ask for me to stay and then make me sleep alone again. I can’t—“ She closed her eyes, finding her breathing (In. Hold. Out) without Morgan’s usual prompting.

When Deirdre turned back, she was calmer, though no less pained. “You want space. That isn’t space. And I don’t want your progress to be hindered by these moments of permissibility. But more than that, I need rules. I can’t do this without rules. I need something to follow and tell me I’m doing this right. I need something, my love.” She sighed, shoulders slumped again, victim to Morgan’s touch. She hated herself so completely sometimes; how terrible and idiotic it was that her mind couldn’t just accept this. She wanted it more than anything else. “It doesn’t feel like we’re walking together, Morgan. I’ve told you that already. I’m just trying to do what’s right, but I can’t even tell what that is.” How could it possibly be walking together when she didn’t want space at all? Was it ‘walking together’ when they weren’t yet a couple? Or was that just Morgan, waiting? Wasn’t this just her, waiting?

“I’m sorry,” Morgan murmured. “I just...it just felt so good today, and I’ve felt lighter and so much better since last week and I just thought--” She squeezed Deirdre close, pressing her into a comforting grip. “You’re not a thing, that’s not what I meant. I’m so sorry you’ve felt like I don’t value you or that I’m doing this casually or anything else like--” Morgan grimaced and told the rest of her apologies with kisses through Deirdre’s hair. “I’m just sorry,” she whispered after a while.

She shifted back, just enough to see Deirdre’s as she guided it up to meet her own. “I’ve never been great with rules. It’s not intuitive for me. I’m not used to having that kind of structure in the first place, or anything staying steady enough for too many rules to work, and anytime I feel good, it’s usually so rare I don’t really think to question it or hold back anymore, especially with you. So I-I don’t mean to mess up and confuse you and hurt you like this. That’s not what I want. I want you so very much, my love, but I want your peace of mind and your comfort too.”

Morgan pressed a tender kiss to Deirdre’s forehead, whispering another apology against her skin before sitting back again. “I love you. Always, I love you, Deirdre. And I want to do better. I want to give you what you need. But I also…” She winced, her face twisting with worry. “I just don’t want to get so set in one set of rules that we don’t ever come back together all the way. I don’t want to stay so apart from you. Whatever we come up with, I want it to be something we can change later, somehow, in a way that doesn’t hurt. Maybe at a regular interval, once a week, maybe? Or we can ask? Either way, I’d like to write some new ones for us. Starting with working out a different sleeping arrangement system, if, you know…if that’s okay?” She reached slowly behind her for the hotel stationary pad, taut as a spring with hope. Wherever they really were in this metaphor, she knew she wanted to be moving forward.

Deirdre slumped, sinking further into the plush mattress. A sense of defeat rolled over her, washing her body with its cold tide. You couldn’t just let Morgan be happy? Deirdre’s grip on the sheets tightened. “No, I-I’m sorry this is…” Stupid, she’d wanted to say. They were happy, and fine, and what did it matter to her if she just let them cuddle for a few days? Why did it matter? Her mind had projected itself far enough into the future that she could feel the sting of lonely nights fresh again, after the bliss of restful sleep. Her body, once enthusiastic about giving in, recoiled in fear. She couldn’t understand what created such a challenge for her, and she didn’t possess the words to explain it. “I’m tired,” she said, unable to think of anything else. Fatigue drowned her; sad eyes morphed to tired-red, and her face sank. “I like rules.” Which was strange for a fae to say, but her life had been dominated by them, and under their command, she knew what was right and what was wrong.

She hadn’t known what was right and what was wrong for some time now. Rules would be nice, thank you, she opened her mouth and pictured the words coming out. No, actually, just forget it, I’m too tired to care now, and even that wouldn’t leave in anything more than a whimper. I just want us to be better; I hate sleeping apart from you, I hate not knowing what’s wrong, the truth of it made Deirdre’s eyes water. She hated the “space”. She hated the stupid studio, which only served to churn her insides with melancholy every time she looked out their back window. She hated that she couldn’t understand what to do--the books had told her to “not take it personally” but how exactly was she supposed to not take her girlfriend wanted an entire living space outside of their home in any other way but personal? She hated the self-help books, and their confusing language and messages. And she hated herself, for being so angry. Morgan wanted space, and though Deirdre struggled to rationalize the why, she wanted to give that to her. And she was trying, except her trying seemed to be flawed. So she had to try a different way, but that was flawed too. And now she was making her girlfriend make a list, even though she said she didn’t like rules, and was afraid of what they might do. The word “compromise” came to mind, and then her mother telling her that compromise was something idiots did when they were either too cowardly to rend open and offer themselves out or too weak to get their way. What was it, but Morgan having to suffer more on Deirdre’s behalf?

The banshee shifted. When she spoke finally, her voice was barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to. You didn’t appreciate it much when I asked you for rules the first time around. And I don’t want to put you through that again. Just...tell me what I’m supposed to do. If you want me to stay, I can stay.”

Morgan let Deirdre fall away, feeling her body tense. “Hey…” she cooed. She hesitated to scoop Deirdre up, knowing that it was just as likely that she was punishing herself as it was that she didn’t want to be touched. In the end, she split the difference by finger-combing her hair, taking out each of the little pins she ran into and setting them neatly aside. “Don’t be sorry, my love. I’m proud of you, for telling me what you need. And yeah, it’s weird and hard, not having our instincts aligned when it comes to us, but I think we can compromise. No one has to hurt so much or feel completely out of her depth. I think that’s how we’re gonna get through this.” She slid down beside her banshee and kissed her hair. “You’re right, I had a really hard time with the rules the first time we made them, but I was also in a really low place, and I was really lost and hadn’t figured out much of anything about what to do with myself. But I think they weren’t such a terrible idea after all, especially then. And I'm in a different, better spot now. And I want to do this. I’m offering. And as long as we can revisit these and change them so we can keep moving closer together, I’ll make the rules as detailed as you need them to be.”

But Deirdre’s pain was more than that. The ache in her went deeper than a worry that Morgan didn’t really want to go along with her idea. Morgan didn’t think that would be enough to make her love cry on its own. Slowly, she reached over and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “If you’re tired, we can just come up with a few rules for tonight and do the rest in the morning. But I think sooner is better than later, because...it just seems like we both want to be closer, more intimate, than we have been, and if we both want that, it seems awful to keep ourselves from it. We just have to make sure we’re doing it in a way that doesn’t hurt so much, you know?” She wiped another one of Deirdre’s tears. “...Babe,” she said, lowering her voice, just above a whisper. “Can you tell me what it is that’s bothering you so much right now? What it is that’s so sad or stressful… I need you to talk to me, babe. Right now, I need that very much. It doesn’t even have to make much of any sense. I just don’t want to do the thing where you hurt in silence and I’m on the outside trying to figure out what to do on my own.”  She let her fingers slide down Deirdre’s cheek, tracing the gentle lines of it. “I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to, babe. I’m here, and I think we can figure out how to get to ‘okay.’ We just have to do it together.”

Deirdre’s mind coursed with the same words pulsing in numbing repetition: dumb, stupid, idiotic, dumb, stupid-- She hissed as Morgan’s fingers pushed through her hair, not from the contact, which was gentle by all accounts, but from the uncanny ability they possessed to make Deirdre feel raw. It was medically impossible, but she thought Morgan could feel her thoughts through her scalp, that she could pick each one out word by word. Don’t look, don’t look. Deirdre closed her eyes. Was she more embarrassed that her mind had dissolved to such negative prattle or that she knew Morgan wouldn’t like it anymore than Deirdre would enjoy Morgan beating herself up? But her habit of self-flagellation was one Morgan knew well, and had never responded with cruelty to before. Morgan was kind, and Morgan was gentle, and Morgan loved her. Yet for all she understood, all she could think about was how terrible she must be, wasting Morgan’s time and energy like this. Morgan should’ve been taking care of herself, and instead, here she was. Dumb, stupid, idiotic, dumb, stupid… “No,” she croaked, “no, you really don’t have to do that. I know it’s hard for--you need space. You wanted to...think about yourself. Figure that out. And you said you don’t like rules and I...can manage. I can do that for you.” Her heart clenched, her face twisted with pain. Her body was so tired; she had nothing left to give of herself. Please stop, please stop. But she wouldn’t, she couldn’t. “Together…” she rolled the word around against her tongue. To-geth-er; foregin, by an unnameable metric, but an idea she could latch her words to. The good words. “Not together.” Well, the mediocre words. “Not--you need--you said--you--” She swallowed. “The books, I don’t understand them. And the studio it--” She closed her eyes again. Stop, stop, stop. “Roots grow big, and long, and they take from the soil. And the other plants dry, but that’s okay, because you need it now. You need it.” Deirdre opened her eyes, shaking her head. “That’s the only thing I understand about this. I think the books are trying to say that the other plants shouldn’t dry for each other, but does that mean you have to be transplanted into a new bed so you can grow, and what does that mean for--” Deirdre hissed. “This garden metaphor is dumb. I just mean, I don’t even understand what was wrong in the first place. And maybe it’s stupid of me but I thought we were fine, but we weren’t, and now what? And I know it’s idiotic, but I don’t get it.”

Morgan listened, burning with aches as she saw Deirdre nearly writhing with pain. It was like looking into a cruel, double sided mirror. Here was her pain during all those grief days, her desperation, now with Deirdre’s face. Here was every reason to go into that therapist’s office as soon as they could get in. They couldn’t stay trapped in these patterns, they couldn’t sink into this much hurt for each other so easily, not if they wanted to last for centuries. Morgan adjusted herself so one of her arms could drape around Deirdre and take her hand while the other twisted up on the pillow and worked tenderly at the tension in her love’s scalp.

“It’s not idiotic or stupid or dumb, Deirdre. None of those things. And I got what you were saying with the garden metaphor, even if it has its limits.” Close as she was to Deirdre now, her lips brushed against her ear and neck as she spoke, and it was nothing at all to press a kiss to the nape and remember its tender, sweaty feel. “You know, for a while, I couldn’t put words to it either, but I was looking over my notebooks and this letter draft I had. I think it was the last one I wrote when I was still alive. I said something like, before you I had this little world inside me...” She let go of Deirdre’s hand to make a little sphere with her own. “And it wasn’t perfect, but it was whole and it was good. And then I found you, and you loved me, and we started making a life together, and suddenly there was more.” She took her sphere hand and stuck it on Deirdre’s trying to mould it into some expanded, hybrid shape. “And I guess once you start looking at the whole thing as space, it sort of becomes like a building. I had, let’s say, three walls holding me up. And then you came and then I had four walls. I was even bigger and stronger and had so much more possibilities. But then I died. And when I lost my senses, my magic, my life….those were my walls and they all collapsed.” She crumpled and flattened her hand to illustrate her point. “And if it wasn’t for you reminding me that you, my newest support, were still standing, I would’ve just stayed collapsed. But you did. And I finally had one whole thing to balance and fill myself with. I could finally get off the ground, and maybe our therapist will have some thoughts about that, but I can’t see that as anything but a good thing, as you saving me. The problem is, after that…” Morgan sighed, wincing. She still didn’t know when she could’ve done anything different, what opportunity she could have realistically taken to build herself better and spared them this. Maybe if she had just magically known what she knew now, if her mind hadn’t been so scrambled by death that the thoughts wouldn’t seem so hard to get to...but that wasn’t how it had been.

“I wish I could figure out another way for it to have gone, besides me just listening to you and staying alive, but I can’t. We did the only things we could think of, so it can’t be anyone’s fault, but...the problem is after that, there was still a whole me. A whole world, a whole building, and only one support to carry me. And before, when I had three, you could come and go and we could separate for those awful times, and it would hurt, but I was still upright. But with only one support for my whole self...every time you left, or seemed to leave, every time I was afraid you just might, or afraid you’d even be angry with me, I would collapse again.” She put her hand through the motions, growing to only a fraction of the old size and collapsing, like a heart losing the will to beat. “I mean, remember that first time you needed to go away for the night and I wrecked the house and you found me on the floor? There’s just so much of me, I can’t be held up with only one piece, no matter what it is. It’s just absurd to build anything that way, much less me, right? There’s not enough to hold up everything that was, much less everything and more.” She sniffled, blinking back a tear. “And it took me having to go without you, to fear the absolute worst for you for so many awful days, to realize that. But, when I did, I felt like the only way I could figure out what else to build myself up with is to keep going without, with intention. And I found another wall to hold me up in Strawford, when I gave my hurt to the earth and my heart to the universe. And I’ve found another in my arts and crafts work. Housing those new supports in the studio right now help remind me that these are separate and sturdy and mine. I’ve been a lot less insecure about wanting you now that I have that space, if you haven’t noticed.” She pressed another kiss to Deirdre’s neck. “I can just picture that place and know those supports are there. And I’ll be working again soon, and Leah said I could help with the library, and Remmy gave me the keys to the supernatural sanctuary, and I just know, because I know I belong here and the universe is holding me in my own place and my body is more than just a walking death--I know I have all the supports I need even if they aren’t firmly set into the ground yet. And so I feel confident in letting myself be so much closer to you now than I did before. I’m not so fragile anymore. You are my only and dearest love, and you are still one of my supports. You just help me have more, and not just the bare minimum. It should be like that, shouldn’t it? Us making the world wider and brighter than before…?”

There was a measure of anger to feel how easily her fears buckled once reassured by Morgan. It was childish, Deirdre thought, that her feelings could be so sensitive. Her sensitivity was something she had fought to hide away, bury deep and forget about. And yet— The stiffness in Deirdre’s body caved, and she reached for her girlfriend, curling fingers around the fabric of her dress. Her gaze followed down to the demonstration unfolding in her hand. She could see the little house Morgan was talking about, that happy, stable life. Then she could see it crumble, and become a fraction of what it once was. Morgan built her supports again, she was still building them. Some of this rang with familiarity; she knew this. But the ease of the metaphor gave Deirdre a chance to reflect on something she never had: her own life, and its supports. She had her house too, or she did. And then she had Morgan, and her house wasn’t so much a house as it turned out to be a cave. But she’d only managed just the one support, afraid of anything else—confused, lost. She missed the routine of her cave, but that had crumbled now. Deirdre drew her hand back with a frown, making and un-making a fist. It made sense, and with the sense, a terrible hollowness. There was something wrong with her and no amount of fixation on fixing Morgan and their relationship would suddenly give her any of that purpose she wanted.

Morgan had explained this in some words before, but Deirdre hadn’t made much sense of it then. Hearing it again, the picture was more clear. Deirdre sighed. “I suppose.” She unfurled her hand and stared at the wrinkles in her palm. She drew her other hand back from where it had fastened on to the front of Morgan’s dress, trying to draw her own house connecting the wrinkles. Morgan had done fine on her journey to stability, but Deirdre hadn’t moved an inch; she didn’t want to move. Her mother often admonished the predictability of humans, the creatures of comfort that they were, but Deirdre felt herself no different. She missed the cave. “I don’t think my world is very wide or bright, Morgan.” She spoke mostly to her palm, which had yet to yield a usable house. “But I think I get what you mean now.” Giving up her quest, she bundled her hands together and looked up. “Thank you. I think I understand it now. Truly. Properly.”

“No, I guess it’s not,” Morgan admitted with a sorrowful whisper. She had urged Deirdre, even when things were good, to find more than just her to sustain herself on. But her love, in all her fear and bewilderment, hadn’t found the courage yet. Then again, she was afraid of picking out the color of the furniture, so things had to come in small steps. “But I have every belief that it will be. And you’re welcome. Any time, my love.” She bundled Deirdre into her arms and threaded kisses along her forehead. “Can you tell me what you need right now, or what you want? I want to stay close with you tonight and take a couple hours in the other room sometime tomorrow morning to meditate alone. But I don’t want you to hurt, or be afraid. So just tell me, okay? We’ll find a way to make the pieces fit.”

“But it wasn’t supposed to be. It’s not supposed to—“ Deirdre slammed her mouth shut, hissing down a sob. This was a rhetoric that she had touted since the day she met Morgan, and she knew Morgan hadn’t grown any fonder for it. “I just want to sleep.” She sighed, humming her way into a more comfortable position in Morgan’s arms. She bundled her face into the crook of her neck, tangling her long legs into Morgan’s. The pieces of their bodies already fit, the rest they’d just have to figure out. “Can I sleep here? Can you hold me? Can I just...rest?”

Morgan crooned contentedly as Deirdre wriggled in and their bodies made a home with each other. “Oh, is that all, just sleep?” She teased softly, her voice lilting with comforting warmth. “No back rub? No helping out of your dress? No ambient lullabies or kisses?” She caressed Deirdre as she spoke, giving her a squeeze that she hoped expressed that she had no objections if this was how they would lay for the night, petticoats and stockings and all. It had been so very long since they’d been like this, their stillness harmonizing just right, together and apart, whole and connected. “Yes, my love. I will hold you right here, happily, and you can rest.”

“I’d have to move to get out of this dress.” Deirdre laughed against Morgan’s skin. Moving sounded like just about the worst thing she could think of. A truly dreadful thing to ask for. “Just sleep.” She smiled, eased in the arms of her love. It felt a little more like walking together then, and less like blind stumbling. Maybe she’d apologize in the morning for being so dense about it, but that was a morning problem. All she wanted now was the peace of Morgan’s embrace; she’d missed it more every second she had to do without it, and she relinquished herself to the feeling. With anguish alleviated from her mind, if not in permanence then just long enough to humor the night, she was sure this trip would be good to them. 

For the first time in weeks, a gentle sleep greeted her. And beyond it, the flicker of hope, illuminated under New York City lights: tomorrow, a day as gentle as the night, spent in museums and cemeteries and— with little coaxing— a bakery. They’d watch the ball drop through their hotel window. They’d hold each other, kiss and dance and laugh as Deirdre expressed her disappointment in the lack of big apples. Then she’d sleep again, restful as the day before. And hope would grow, and love would remind her that they carved their own good into the world; walking together sounded like just about the best thing she’d ever heard. And it made everything possible.

Even a brand new year, better than the last.

#new year new tears #wr deirdre #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #//soft #wickedswriting

[fmasecretsanta2020]

Interest Check Questions Answered!

Mods Tas, Waddi, and Flour have reviewed your interest check responses, adjusted our rules and schedule, and are ready to respond to all your questions about the event.  To begin, we’ve pulled quite a few questions from your interest check responses and are publicly answering them below the cut.

Want to learn more about out the 2020 FMA Secret Santa?  Check out our FAQ, rules and schedule.

Have a questions about this event?  Don’t be shy!  We’d love to respond.  Send us a tumblr ask!

‘Tis almost the season!  Sign-ups open on Monday, October 19, 2020!

I’m new in all of this, so I’d like to know what’s the purpose of the check-in dates. What do we have to do in those?

The first check-in is just to make sure that you are still interested in participating and are ok with your assignment. We understand that real life can get in the way sometimes. We ask that people let us know as soon as possible if they think they need to pull out. The second check-in is to ask when the gift will be posted. The reason for this is that last year we had several dropouts who confirmed they were going to make a gift at check-ins but did not post a gift. The second check-in will allow us to assign to pinch-hitter sooner.

-Mod Waddi

Maybe the second check-in is too close to the posting time? If a pinch-hitter is needed.

Thanks for your thoughts, anon.  The second check-in is a little late, and we will adjust our schedule to give you five days between the second check-in and the posting period.  However, we are keeping it at a later date for a pretty good reason.

Unfortunately, we assigned most of our pinch-hitters at the end of the posting period last year.  We had several dropouts who confirmed with us at our midpoint check-ins but did not post a gift.  To avoid that this year, we’re having two check-ins, and at the second check-in, we will ask you when you plan to post.  We understand that some people need less time than others to complete a gift, but everyone should have started and have an ETA for completion five days before the posting period.  A late second check-in might help us make sure everyone receives a gift on time!

-Mod Flour

Could you perhapse have multiple days for assignments incase someone has a personal issue with someone they are supposed to make content for and can let you know?

We certainly understand where you’re coming from with this suggestion.  Unfortunately, since we give people 72 hours to respond to each moderator contact (and we will be asking our participants to confirm that they accept their assignment), separate assignment days would have to take place over (possibly) weeks—6 days at least for 2 assignments, 9 days for 3 assignments, 12 days for 4 assignments, etc.—if we waited for each wave of participants to accept before moving on to the next.  We feel that this approach would significantly cut into the creation period.  Additionally, the sign-up application will provide a space where you can list people that you do not want to receive a gift from or make a gift for.  We encourage everyone to be honest on their application, and if someone is uncomfortable with the person they are assigned, contact a moderator sooner rather than later.

-Mod Flour

what about art styles that don't really do clean lineart but do include colors/complexity/etc, or multiple sketchier drawings/comic strip type things?

Thank you for this feedback. As writers, we appreciate you pointing this out. We will do our best to take this into account.

-Mod Waddi

A minimum of 8 gifs could be a lot if it's an edited gifset. I can see it being okay for a slightly colour-changed gifset with a filter over it, but for more creative gifs it can be way too much.

Thank you for this helpful feedback!  This is exactly the kind of thing we want to hear.  Admittedly, all three moderators are writers.  We do our best to make good rules, but sometimes we don’t take all the variables into account.  We’ll lower the minimum from 8 to 4.

-Mod Flour

I tend to write a lot when I get excited; would it be a problem if I write more than 1k?

Not a problem at all! We totally understand this excitement and allow our Secret Santas to produce at or above the required minimum for their specific type of gift. When creating these gifts, please take into consideration your assigned person’s likes and dislikes.

Two things to keep in mind:

1) Please consider the number of days for creation (a maximum of 47 days). Assignments will go out on November 15, with two check-ins occurring on December 1 and December 15. All gifts must be 100% complete before posting between December 21, 2020 and January 1, 2021.

2) If you decide to produce your gift above the required minimum, please do not expect your Secret Santa to do the same. As long as they meet the minimum requirement, it is considered a complete gift.

-Mod Tas

I think they're mostly fine, although, would ships that have them meet when one is a minor and the other an adult, but they're currently both adults be allowed? I understand that this exchange is a way to build bridges in the fandom, but I'm not sure if that's going to work if one of the most popular ships is completely excluded.

Yes, as long as you portray both characters as adults when including romantic or sexual content in your gift, you are free to ship whoever you’d like to (besides incest) no matter when they met.  Our rules prohibit major/minor sexual or romantic relationships—minor meaning 17 years old and under and major meaning 18 years old or older.  As long as you’re not including sexual or romantic tones that take place when one character is a minor within your otherwise adult/adult ship gift, we’re good.  Keep it all non-sexual and non-romantic until both characters are adults.

(As an aside, some people may remember that this exchange had an additional exception for major/minor shipping for small age gap relationships last year; however, no one took advantage of that exception, and it complicated the rules quite a bit.  Therefore, we decided to draw a hard line and leave it at that.  There’s no judgment there; we’re just trying to craft rules that work for most people.)

Please also keep in mind that we also allow alternate universes and canon-divergent situations in this exchange.  A hallmark of fandom is being free to imagine!  We feel it would be almost impossible (and unfair to the differing, though equally valid points of view in the FMA fandom) to set ages for every character and then to enforce such a restrictive rule.

-Mod Flour

I think the exchange should allow M and E works, and to create/receive them you have to be 18+—but in order to not pressure minors to self-identity, have the question of whether they're over 18 be optional. (So it's basically, "If you're interested in NSFW and meet the age requirement, check this box.") And unless I misread the definition of pedophilia, it seems to exclude kid/kid relationships. Which I don't personally enjoy, but I know some people like kidfic or "through the years" fics, which are pretty harmless IMO as long as they're not physical/sexual.

We hear you anon.  My fellow moderators and I have had many conversations about the rating of this event.  We think it’s best to stick to a blanket PG-13 rating.  However, there is a footnote that you might be interested in:

This Fullmetal Alchemist Secret Santa Gift Exchange takes no stance regarding “Mature” or “Explicit” content added to the original Secret Santa offering. Please post additional content separately from the Secret Santa offering (separate reblog, post, or additional chapter). Such additions or continuations are at the discretion of the gift giver.

The second part of your comment requires a more in-depth analysis.  While there are some restrictions, kid/kid ships are not completely excluded.  We exclude sexual interest, sexual attraction, or sexual relationships between any character and another character who is 13 years old or younger.  We don’t have many shipping exclusions for characters who are 14-17 years old as long as they are shipped to other 14-17 year old characters.

Specifically, our rules prohibit pedophilia (which we define as a sexual interest, sexual attraction, or sexual relationship by any character to a character who is 13 years old or younger) and major/minor sexual or romantic relationships.  While we regret that the pedophilia definition is overbroad, in that it can define someone under 16 years old as a pedophile, subdividing the rules further would make them even more complicated.  To grasp the intent of both the pedophilia rule and the major/minor exclusion as it affects kidfics, look to our wording, particularly the part where we say sexual interest, sexual attraction, or sexual relationship.  

To wit, sexual can be defined as, “relating to the instincts, physiological processes, and activities connected with physical attraction or intimate physical contact between individuals.” For example, if an 8 year old and a 9 year old hold hands and walk down the street having thoughts about how special they are to each other, we would not consider this sexual.  If that same 8 year old and 9 year old hold hands and think about wanting to act intimately while jaunting down the street, we would consider that sexual.  Innocent physical contact alone wouldn’t break the rule; it’s a character’s intent that matters most here.

Therefore, a participant can make a through-the-years work with a prepubescent setting included so long as any kid/kid shipping is not sexual in nature.  To the extent that these rules may appear to allow romantic relationships between minors of all ages, all I have to say is that it wouldn’t be PG-13 to have a 9 year old with a romantic, albeit non-sexual, interest in a 16 year old (or vice versa).  I haven’t run across a a lot of media with older minors being romantically linked to younger minors in the fandom, so I’m hopeful that we don’t need to be too worried.

Oh my, that was long.  I hope that helps explain our rules a little better.

-Mod Flour

Just a question: out of curiosity, will this event be having a discord server or some other way for the members to talk to each other?

There will be no discord server for this event. Several reasons include:

1) Secret Santa identities should remain anonymous until posting dates. No participant should be able to figure out who their Secret Santa is,

2) we want to avoid conversations which may allude to a participant’s specific gift,

3) after a long consideration, the moderators have decided that this year’s event will be conducted via Tumblr platform only. All participants will need to have a Tumblr account in order to be contacted via the chat.

-Mod Tas

there are a lot of options for the type of gift that can be created-- can the person being gifted ask to have a specific gift (ex: art only)? thank you

Yes, the person being gifted can request for a specific gift. However, the sign up form will also ask for a backup gift type that the participant is willing to receive. The mods, to the best of our abilities, will match up a participant with a Secret Santa who will be able to produce said gift.

Assignments will go out on or after November 15, 2020. Should you have any concerns with the person assigned to you--their gift requests or otherwise, please contact one of the mods as soon as possible.

-Mod Tas

Will there be an option (if ships are allowed) to opt out of ships of adult/minor characters over the age of 13?

The sign up form will ask your likes and dislikes (i.e. favorite pairing or preferred genre), including what kind of gifts you are not and are willing to receive. If you prefer to opt out of a specific type of pairing, please note it during sign up.

Based on the rules of FMA Secret Santa 2020, “Media containing, suggesting, or portraying incest,* pedophilia**, or minor/major sexual or romantic relationships*** is prohibited.” The age of majority is defined as 18 years old.

Adult & minor relationships, which are non-sexual, non-romantic, and bear no indication that it would become such, are allowed. We are also allowing alternative universes, which may include characters depicted as younger or older than their canonical age. If a fanfic or a fanart depicts canonically minor characters as adults, they will need to explicitly state this.

-Mod Tas

If you are looking for other moderators to help facilitate, I'd be interested in filling out an application.

Oh, thank you!  This is a really kind offer. We decided earlier this year not to run formal moderator applications, and we are unsure if we need any other moderators at this time.  However, we may review this.  If you’re interested in helping out, just message @waddiwasiwitch or @flourchildwrites on tumblr, and we’ll go from there.

-Mod Flour

I haven't participated in this before so I don't know if tvis is already a thing, but I think that during sign ups you should have the chance to write a list of topics, characters, and ships that you would rather not do for the exchange, because there's a difference between respecting ships from a distance and having to draw your notp.

Yes, an option for specifying likes and dislikes will be available in the sign up form. This is the case for both what gift you will create and receive. We will be matching people whose interests align, and we will take likes and dislikes into account. The more information provided in the form, the easier our job will be.

-Mod Waddi

Manga edits/colorings okay?

Yes, that's a wonderful gift!  In fact, we're going to add manga edits/colorings to the category of gifts available by a recipient’s request or suggestion just to keep the idea at the forefront.  If a participant requests a manga edit/coloring or if they say they are flexible on their application and you indicate you'd like to make one on your application, we'll do our best to send you their way during matching!

-Mod Flour

Are sculptures ok with this?

That is a very interesting question. As this gift exchange is entirely digital and doesn't involve physical gifts, we are unsure what that would look like. Us mods were talking about it, and we were wondering if it would be possible to show us an example of what a gift like that would look like. Please get in touch with either myself @waddiwasiwitch or mod @flourchildwrites by Tumblr message. We would need to know more to answer your question. When a gift is unusual, it means we need participants who will be open to such a gift too.

-Mod Waddi

#fma #fullmetal alchemist #gift exchange #secret santa #fmasecretsanta2020

[getreadytosmash]

][All questions for the otp meme for Jen + Rhys!][

@blind-mutant

Coffee shop AU: Who is the barista, and who frequents the coffee shop?

Jen's favourite coffee place is the only place that has strong enough chairs to hold her weight and who puts far more caffeine into her drink than any Starbucks should allow. She's grateful for this, more so to the little barista who always stares with wide eyes and smiles brightly when she comes in. Jen can smell the crush (and admittedly lust) off him and he's cute, but she doesn't want to scare him off. And lose her coffee place.

Rhys? God, he wishes that he could see and write a phone number down at least. Jesus, he wishes that he wasn't a worker so he could ask her out. For a date or a fun night. Things change though when Rhys trips one day and goes face first into Jen's chest while spilling coffee all over her. He's upset and worried that he's hurt and embarrassed Jen, but she just reassures him that coffee can't burn her...and he can always take her out to help buy a new shirt along with some dinner to make up for it.

Highschool/College AU: Who is the straight-A student, and who’s the backrow slacker?

Jen tries hard. Like, really hard. She needs good grades to get into the top law school and even with the worries and strains of her home life, it becomes easier to get lost in her work than think about how her aunt is dead and how Bruce is still left without answers and how her family did nothing. So it's easier to get lost in work and to try and stay out of the way of parties. If only that annoying boy Rhys would drop it and leave.

Rhys...he knows that he's a stupid guy and that he's only here because a fancy college is better than being kept at home with parents that don't want you around. Jen is pretty, but most importantly, she's smart. Rhys keeps hoping that at some point she might offer tutoring, but she just...doesn't? He wants to try and ask for help but Rhys doesn't want to spill that he's a mutant, not to mention the fact that Jen...always looks a little scary when someone talks to her.

Rivals to loves AU: Who takes their rivalry seriously, and who is half in it just to push the other’s buttons? 

Rhys knows that he's part of the Brotherhood of Evil mutants and that means that anyone who isn't a mutant shouldn't be...well, he shouldn't feel attraction to them. But its HARD when said enemy is 7'5 and knocked the Blob out in one punch. God, Rhys can's survive this when he's faced with being lifted with ease and the moments where Jen flirts as she fights and teases him!

Even worse is the fact that Jen is fully aware of Rhys's little crush and likes to take full advantage of "Little Nighty". Most of the time it's to help win a fight and to not hurt Rhys, but maybe on occasion Jen flirts with honesty. Rhys is cute and yeah, he's a criminal but like, he's a cute and easy criminal!

Enemies to lovers AU: Which one switches sides? 

The world fears the hulks ever since every gamma mutate banded together against the world. If Krakoa could do it, then so could they. Jen loves finally being free with people just like her without any worry from humans or other heroes judging them all the time or worrying that the hulks will kill everyone in their rage. It's a good time, to simply just be with the others until Jen realises one day in an attack that other heroes have decided to turn on hulks too. Of course, some people have decided that it's easier to leave the human world and to join over with hulks instead.

Of course, Jen worries about that. Some humans don't survive being turned into hulks but if it's what they want...not many have specific gamma forms, but a particular mutant, Rhys, definitely stands out to her. He has big wars, dark skin and glowing eyes as he towers above mostly everyone. Samuel still complains about Rhys being a dumbass and letting anyone walk into that giant tuff of fur. But Jen still spares him a lot of sweet smiles and words.

Soulmate AU: Who is eager to meet their soulmate? Who absolutely does not want to meet their soulmate? 

Rhys is...nervous about meeting his soulmate, but excited. He wouldn't have a soulmate that loved him, but he kinda at least wants to see what they're like. He isn't expecting the goddamn She-hulk to be bis apparent other half and boy oh boy does that send his heart into terrified palpitations. How can he be good for someone like her? He didn't even think it would be another woman and yet here he was, trading Blue for Green.

Jen's thrilled but worried herself about meeting the other half of her heart. She had always been worried about not being good enough and now she had to worry about being green or too freakish for someone. Rhys is small and cute and the rudest man she has met so of course Jen is purring, absolutely delighted that her soulmate is someone not creepy or someone who can't control her mind and feelings again. Rhys is shy but Jen is willing to wait and spoil him until he melts and accept that she wants him forvever.

Single parent AU: Which one is the single parent? (Alt. if they’re both single parents: Which one is open to starting a new relationship from the start? Which one is never planning on finding love again… Until they meet the other and are instantly smitten?)

Lyra isn't technically her daughter. But Thundra had been interested enough in Jen that it was kinda a romance? Lyra doesn't exactly want a father anyway and that's how she ends up with a teenage hulk in her care. That still doesn't explain how Jen also ended up with her niece snarling and holding up a small man and something about thieving. Rhys didn't mean to get caught, but he isn't exactly arguing when Lyra's hot aunt comes to sigh and stop him from being killed.

Jen is...gosh, big lady who is protective of her niece? Is there a word for aunt milfs? Rhys definitely wants to try and uh, apologise to Jen for causing such a ruckus and really! He isn't always such a bad guy! Jen finds it pretty amusing and what the hell, agrees to go out with him while Lyra asks whether they just let criminals go now. Rhys has earned the joys of a big green woman adoring him but....he's going to suffer a LOT of shovel talks from a teenage hulk who doesn't understand the human world.

Doctor AU: Which one is the longsuffering doctor? Which one is the patient? 

O K. Rhys,,,in the hospital the same time as when Jen first hulks out??? Baby boy nervous about being there and god, the giant green woman doesn't help-

Hold on.

Rhys needs to follow whatever the hells going on and, well, any excuse to get out of the hospital, right? The giant woman is fucking incredible and it's a shock to see her turn into a small regular woman but Rhys isn't too bothered. He's still starstruck, even through helping her change into something more modest as Jen dazedly asks who Rhys is and what's been going on.

They get coffee later because even as a no one mutant, Rhys thinks that Jen is new to the powered world and needs some help navigating it. He's right and Jen is more grateful for it than he'd ever know.

Bodyguard AU: Who is the bodyguard? Who are they protecting? Which one is secretly pining for the other? 

Rhys's powers come in handy for being a bodyguard. He's practically unknowable, his shadows can help hide people and god knows they make a good offence up close. His client is some fancy little lawyer and originally Rhys tuts at having to follow around some human woman, even if he is being paid rather well. Jen on her hand seems to think its hilarious that she's been told she has Rhys to guard her, which doesn't help the internal insecurity.

It isn't until the week is almost up that an hit is attempted on Jen and yeah, Rhys stops it, that that human lawyer, but it isn't until he turns around that he finds himself faced with a 7'5 green woman and it only now hits him why Jen found the idea of being guarded so funny. She says it's alright and that if he wants, maybe he could...talk about guarding her heart?

It's a terrible pickup line and god does Rhys agree to it.

Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this? 

Jen is polite and sweet mannered on land, but the moment she steps onto her ship, Jen can finally return to the wild ways of curly hair, high waisted pants and cloth shirts that show off her clevelege. Rhys is a beautiful prince who she plainly and outwardly flirts with happily, even with the anger of his parents. It gets even better when such a beautiful little prince flushes so prettily.

Rhys himself can't help but admire the strong and beautiful pirate. He wants adventure! He wants to get out of the tight suits and to wear tight pants and free flowing shirts...but alas he has been fated to a horrible castle where he isn't even the heir to the throne. So what then if he decides to flee in the middle of the night and try to pay the hot pirate woman off to have her take him with her and the rest of her crew? A boy can live!

It isn't...the best plan. What with a bounty being placed to return Rhys back, but for now, all he really cares about it Jen's strong arms around his waist, teaching him the tricks of the sea.

Childhood best friends AU: Which one was super obviously in love with the other the whole time? Who was oblivious until they were older?

Rhys and Jen are friends to the end. It's a cute rhyme that they come up with that makes all the adults laugh, even Jen's older cousin Bruce who is always quiet around anyone who isn't his mom or cousin. They're friends for years until Rhys practically drops off the face of the earth one day and his parents don't say anything at all. Jen's dad doesn't say or do anything either, even though her dad is a sheriff and should be able to do anything.

He didn't do anything when Uncle Brian killed Aunt Rebecca either though. So Jen pushes it down deep enough until hears later, where she's green and wild and strong, her feelings of rage and grief don't come back out until one day where she sees Rys again, remembers him down to her veins and bones as he picks a fight in the bar. After that it gets a little fuzzy.

Rhys uh, he remembers beaming and blushing back when Jen would share cookies with him. But he's pretty sure she wasn't a mutant so that doesn't quite explain why the asshole he was pissing off had gotten tossed into the air with a primal scream. Jen is mortified that she reacted in such a way and made an entrance like that, but Rhys is enamoured! He's touched that someone wanted to protect his dignity like that...and it was hot as fuck. He's up to see her toss more people as they begin to reconnect from years apart.

#ask #blind-mutant #green goddess (jen) #headcanon