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ikeromantic · 3 years

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Piano Lessons

An ObeyMe! Lucifer fic, approx. 1800 words. G/N MC, Fluff.

The infernal grand piano squatted in one shadowed corner of the music room. To any human, at first glance it looked no different from the version in the human world. A dangerous assumption, you knew. If an easy one to make. This instrument was capable of compositions that would drive a mortal listener mad, or even cause death.

You thought that would be reason enough to be given a pass on your Devilish Music I, but Lucifer didn’t agree. In fact, he considered your ignorance of the instrument and its compositions an opportunity. And that was how you found yourself in the House of Lamentation’s music room every afternoon when RAD let out.

Lucifer was already waiting on the bench. He looked up as you came in, lips compressed in an expression of near-constant disapproval. “You’re late.”

“I’m on time!” You glanced at the clock on the wall.

“If you aren’t five minutes early, that counts as late. Now come here and sit next to me.”

Arguing with Lucifer was futile. Besides, you did want to sit next to him. During your time in the Devildom, you’d developed a bit of a crush on the eldest brother. One that had you working hard to be on the receiving end of his rare smiles and sparse compliments.

Today you were hoping to impress Luci with your rendition from Certovski, Faust’s Mistake. It was one of the mortal-safe pieces you could attempt without risking your mind or your soul.

“Fingers on the keys.” Lucifer’s red eyes followed your hands as you tried for the appropriate position. “Elbows out. Move your left hand in.”

You did as instructed, but apparently you were still off. He reached for your hands, positioning them. Part of you wanted to fight him on it. The rest of you just enjoyed the feel of his hands on yours. His skin was always so warm and smooth.

He frowned. “Focus.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled. With your hands in place, you ran through the demonic scale. Some of the tones were too low or too high to hear. You could feel them though, shivering your bones and raising the hairs at the back of your neck.

Your warm-up didn’t get any objection from the Prince of Pride, which meant you were doing well. A quick glance showed he wasn’t frowning any more. Good.

Lucifer stood and began to pace behind you. “What are you going to play for me?”

“I’ve been practicing Faust’s Mistake.” As if he didn’t know.

“Then begin.”

You take a breath. This is it. You try to psych yourself up. All that practice will pay off. All those evenings you gave up gaming with Levi and Mammon, the weekends you stayed in instead of going out with Satan or Asmo. You could play this in your sleep.

Your hands float across the keys, the melody pouring from the hidden strings, describing the terrible bargain Faust made. The fast, tripping notes gave way to the long, slow sounds of regret, and finally, to the clashing finish.

Sweat beaded your forehead as you lowered your hands to your lap. The tension in your chest stopped your breath as you waited for Lucifer’s judgement.

“That was . . . not bad.”

From anyone else, you’d take this as a criticism but from Luci? It was a gold star. You smiled over your shoulder at him.

The left corner of his lip turned up in a slight half smile. “I’m impressed you memorized the whole piece in such a short time. I can tell you’ve worked hard.”

You felt like if he gave you one more compliment, you might completely melt.

“But -”

Your heart sank.

“I didn’t feel the tension, the passion of the moment in your rendition. You were too focused on technical mastery.” Lucifer sat down beside you, his hip brushing yours. “The Faustian epic is classic. It must evoke the emotion of the moment, the story, that birthed it. Let me show you what I mean.”

His hands went to the keys. “This is from earlier in the story. The Fall.” He began playing in a low octave, a heavy, slow rhythm that made your heart pound. Or perhaps that was just from sitting so close to him.

Lucifer kept that going as he began to layer higher, lighter notes atop it. These sounded almost playful, innocent. If not for the ominous beat beneath it. “Here we have naivete. The mortal at play, unaware of the trap laid for him.”

You nod.

“The music is the story, the story lives in the music. Now -” The lighter notes began to slow, creeping closer to the lower octave. “The mortal becomes aware of the nearness of death. The lingering, slow demise that comes to all men.”

Your breath slows in time to the music, and you can almost feel the weight of your years, few though they are. It is as if you lived a century and now your bones are heavy and your body is weary. Your eyelids drift half closed.

Lucifer continues to play, the ominous chords grow louder and the higher tones fade until both melodies close in on each other.

There is a subaudible component now, and though you can’t hear it, you can feel it move with the pulse of your blood. An arrhythmia that pulls you into the moment. The music surges beneath your eyelids, a spiral of red across a dark abyss. A false light.

“Here Faust decides his soul is worth less than his earthly pleasures, and denies Death its due. You can hear the strains of rage from Death’s denial beside the demon’s triumph. And there, Faust’s -”

The music stops but you can still feel it inside you. Something slick and warm slides down your cheek.

Lucifer’s voice, demanding. Trembling. “Wake up. Open your eyes this instant.”

You wish you could obey. You’d like to but the music holds you where you are. Limbo. A space bereft of everything but the music. Death and the demon, Faust’s lust and greed.

“Please.” Lucifer’s voice is gentler than you’ve ever heard it before.

You feel the pad of his thumb against your cheek. A sudden burst of magic like static on a distant radio. Then silence. Your mind slips under a dark, quiet ocean.

The water is warm. Peaceful. You can feel it cradling you. Stroking your hair, your cheeks. The touches become more insistent. Pushing you toward the surface. Toward wakefulness.

“I am sorry. Please. If you open your eyes, I will do . . . I will do anything, anything you want. I won’t make you practice anymore. I’ll give you a - a bigger room.”

The voice belongs to Lucifer, you’re sure of it. But it doesn’t sound like him. When has he ever pleaded, begged, for anything? You realize it is his hands on your skin, stroking your arms, your face. Then it hits you. The music. It wasn’t safe for your mind and now . . . was this real?

You open your eyes.

Lucifer’s face is the first thing you see. He is so close, you can feel his breath on your cheek. His eyes are wide and damp, and full of concern. You are held tight against him, like a child.

“Can you hear me? See me?” His fingertip slides along your jawline, a delicate touch.

“Yes.” Your voice comes out throaty and low. Rough as if you’d been screaming.

His relief is palpable. He squeezes you tighter, pressing your face to his chest. “I . . . I apologize. I got carried away with the music. And you’ve taken injury because of it - because of me.”

The words are halting, stiff. Hard for the proud eldest to say, and yet, for you, he does. “It’s okay,” you croak. “It was beautiful.” And it’s true. Some remnant of the cursed melodies still echo in the chambers of your heart. Haunting you with a promise that has no words.

“I will see you are fully recovered.” The briskness returns to Lucifer’s voice.

You try to push yourself up, off his chest. He doesn’t loosen his hold on you.

“Stop struggling. Are you uncomfortable?” Lucifer adjusts his grip, sliding your head to the crook of his arm. “Is that better?”

It isn’t, really. But at least you can see you aren’t in the music room anymore. Lucifer must have carried you to his chambers. He must have been worried, but you don’t know why. You feel alright. You try to sit up again.

With an exasperated look, Lucifer partially lifts you. He doesn’t release you. “Didn’t I say to stop struggling? You need to relax until you are . . . repaired.”

“I feel fine,” you tell him.

He frowns. “You are still bleeding from your ears.”

You lift a hand to the side of your head. It comes away red and wet. “Oh.”

“It will take a few days for the effects to wear off.” The concern in his scarlet gaze frightens you more than the blood.

“Will I be ok?”

“Mostly.” He looks away. “Until then, I will keep you here and see to your needs. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Does anything hurt?”

You shake your head. This, you discovered, was a mistake. The shadows of the room move with your vision, growing one direction and then the other. Wide swaths of darkness that catch your eye.

“Are you seeing things?” Lucifer looks back at you. His thumb caresses your cheek.

“N-no.”

“Rather, tell me what you are seeing. And don’t lie about it a second time.”

There is a flicker of warning in the crimson depths of his gaze. You tell him about the shadows, and the way the music still sings in you.

He frowns. “If the effects do not fade, I may have to keep you in my rooms forever.”

You note that he doesn’t sound annoyed at this prospect. But he didn’t ask you, and his assumptions don’t sit well. “You can’t lock me up, Lucifer.”

“I can.”

Wrong tactic to take. You amend. “It probably isn’t a good idea to burden yourself with caring for me. You have a lot to do. Diavolo needs you.”

Lucifer knows what you’re up to. He has millenniums on you, after all. He smiles and brushes the hair back from your forehead. “I have informed my brothers, and the Prince, that you fell ill yesterday afternoon. I’ve taken time off to care for you.”

Your mind takes a moment to catch up. “Yesterday?”

“Yes. I cast a spell to knock you unconscious when I realized what I’d done. It helped, briefly. But you started screaming some time in the night and . . .”

You realize he’s been sitting here, holding you, for hours. Warmth blossoms in your chest. A happiness completely out of place, all things considered. But despite the blood loss and possibly permanent madness, you feel loved. Cared for.

Lucifer seems to read your mind. He says nothing, just places a light kiss on your forehead.

Neither of you need to speak. He knows and you know and words just complicate things anyway.

He stands, still holding you, and carries you to bed. When you drift back to sleep, it’s with your head on his chest, his arm around your shoulders to pull you close.

#obey me shall we date #om #om lucifer #otome guys #otome #devildom #obey me lucifer #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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winterscaptain · 3 years

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spoiled.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: happy valentine’s day!

words: 2.1k warnings: language, over-the-top valentine’s day shenanigans

summary: “the best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds.” - nicholas sparks. au!february 2012

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

Aaron leaves rather early in the morning, leaving you in bed complaining with only a kiss for your trouble.

When you eventually get up, on track to be about fifteen minutes late to the federal building, you find a pair of post-its on the fridge.

Always the romantic.

+++

The evening rolls around and finds you on the couch with Jess and Jack.

“You gonna start getting ready?” Jess asks. “You’ve got a long night ahead of you.”

You look over at her. “Wait. He told you what we’re doing?”

She nods. “Yeah. You have no idea. He hasn’t done a big Valentine’s Day thing since he surprised Haley in her senior year of college. He’s been looking for an excuse.”

That’s terrifying.

“Guess I better get ready then.”

Jack’s got a funny little smile on his face, but you ignore it. You’re sure the Hotchner boys are in cahoots, but it’s not really worth it to try and wiggle anything out of him.

You head to the master bedroom to get dressed, throwing off your slouchy day-off clothes in favor of something that can take you to a fancy dinner and whatever else Aaron has planned for your evening.

+++

You walk out of the apartment, hearing Jess lock the door behind you. When you reach the front of the apartment complex, Aaron closes the car door as he hops out, meeting you halfway to the sidewalk.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

He’s wearing a black button-up, black slacks, and his favorite pair of black oxfords. It’s a sharp look and one he knows you love.

“You’re looking quite dapper yourself, sir.”

The boyish grin on his face melts your heart and you take the arm he offers. Like a real gentleman, he opens the door for you and makes sure you’re inside before closing you in.

+++

The drive is quiet. You ask about the office once or twice, but it’s clear there’s nothing significant to report.

“So...what are we doing tonight?”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “Dinner. And a few other things.”

+++

When he says ‘dinner,’ he’s not joking. The restaurant is a high-end, no-prices-on-the-menu type of place. The lighting is low, the environment cozy and quiet.

He must have planned this months ago. Reservations are like gold on Valentine’s Day.

Aaron’s squinting at the menu across from you. It makes you laugh.

“Need a flashlight and your reading glasses?”

“Shut up.” It comes with his own laugh, but he’s still squinting.

You finally decide on something and order, trusting Aaron’s taste in wine. When the waiter leaves, Aaron reaches across the table for your hand.

“Okay,” he says. You recognize his tone - it’s professional, like he’s starting a press conference. “No work, no kids, no serial killers.”

You smile, waiting for him to give you a little more context.

“How are you?”

What a question.

How often does the answer to that question not include work, kids, or serial killers?

Not very.

“I’m good.” You mean it. “I’m really good.”

There’s a small smile on his face. “Why?”

Are you profiling me now, Hotch?

Deciding to give him shit, you ask, “Why am I good, or is that a more general existential question?”

He rolls his eyes and you relent.

“Alright. Well…” You take a breath. “There are a lot of things to be happy about. You, for one thing.”

“Me?” He asks. He looks genuinely surprised.

Fool.

“Yes, you.” You squeeze his hand. “You are my best friend and somehow - somehow - I’ve landed you as my partner. I am living out everything I dreamed of at twenty-five.”

That pulls another smile from him. “Really?” Again, he looks genuinely surprised.

Can’t believe I’ve never told this to him.

Ridiculous

“Oh yeah. I can’t believe you never noticed. I had a huge crush on you - instantly. Derek gave me nothing but hell once he figured it out.” You pause. “Do you remember that time on the plane, really early on, when I woke up and everyone thought I had a nightmare?”

Looking a little confused by your change in direction, and you don’t blame him.

“I think so? I remember we all felt so bad.” He shrugs. “We all get them, of course - still do - but we were worried about you.”

“Right. So -”

Aaron’s head tilts to the left as he interrupts you. “Did you say ‘everyone thought’ it was a nightmare?”

Your face gets hot and you suddenly regret bringing this up at all. “Yeah. I’m getting to that.”

With an embarrassed huff, you continue. “So, it wasn’t a nightmare.”

“No?” The question comes accompanied by a frown.

“No. It was a sex dream. About you.”

You can tell he’s doing his best to hide his smile for your benefit, but there’s a threatening dimple that gives him away and you’ve simply known him too long for him to get away with anything.

“Really?” His tone is neutral, polite, but you can hear the humor behind the apparently bland interest.

“Yep.”

“What - if I may ask - was it about? Specifically?”

You take a breath and adopt the same kind of ironic professionalism as Aaron. “Well, now it doesn’t seem so notable, because i’m more than familiar with your, um, technique.”

And it’s true. Though you hardly remember the details of the dream anymore - it's been years - you know that real life doesn’t even come close.

Aaron pulls his hand from yours and steeples his fingers under his chin. He’s the picture of interest, so you continue.

“The key points are as follows -”

He holds up a finger, and you stop. “On second thought,” he says. “I think this recollection would be better served by a demonstration.”

You nod. “You’re probably right.”

“I’ll pencil it in.”

You grin at each other for a moment, the back-and-forth of it so deeply on brand you can’t help but steep in it for a second.

“So,” he says, “as you were saying before…?”

“Right.”

Back to business.

“I had a huge crush on you and could swear you were the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

Never one to forgo an opportunity to compliment him when he’s not actively swatting at you, you continue.

“In the lecture you gave with Gideon and Derek, I knew you were in charge before you said anything. Even though Gideon had the years and experience on you, it was clear that everything came through you.” You attempt to explain the inarticulable. “There’s a kind of steadiness - one you still have - that radiates off of you.”

The two of you sit in that for a moment.

You continue. “And then, of course, when we met again I had to really focus on not making an ass of myself in front of Strauss.”

He laughs. His laughter makes you laugh, of course. It’s so much higher than his speaking register, so delightful in its unexpectedness.

“Okay, okay.” You stop, covering your face with your hands. “Okay this is cheesy. Promise not to laugh.”

His eyebrows rise and he forces his mouth into something that only threatens a dimple once more.

“When you shook my hand in Radner’s office, there was this crazy jolt of energy or something that just flew up my arm. It was wild. I’ve never been able to forget it, almost like a flashbulb memory.”

As promised, he doesn’t laugh. There is, however, a kind of wonder in his eyes when he replies, “You felt that, too?”

+++

After dinner (and dessert), Aaron takes your hand and ushers you into the car when you leave the lod. He doesn’t turn the way you expect.

“Where are we going?”

The dashboard casts a glow on his face. You can still spot a dimple in the dark. “You’ll see.”

+++

Your disbelief only grows when you go deeper into the city and pull up to the Hay-Adams. The valet opens the door for you, while Aaron hands over the keys to his SUV. Once all the details are covered, you take his arm again and let him guide you into the lobby.

It’s expansive. The Hay-Adams is, of course, one of the most historic buildings in the district and considered one of the best hotels on the East Coast by people who know of these things.

Aaron confirms the reservation and gets the room cards before promptly finding the elevator and swiping in for the seventh floor. You look down, remembering your attire at the last minute.

“Aaron, I don’t have my go bag.”

He shakes his head, still looking forward. “Don’t need it.”

You scoff.

He doubles down. “Do you trust me?”

Stupid question.

“Of course.”

“Go with it. I’m trying to spoil you.” He turns and presses his lips to yours, taking your face in his hand. Against your mouth, he says, “Let me.”

+++

The room is gorgeous - a one bedroom suite with a living room, balcony, and kitchenette, a huge couch dominates the center of the open living area, opposite an impressive television. Through the open door, you catch a glimpse of a king-sized bed.

This must have cost a small fortune.

As if reading your mind, Aaron takes your hand and tugs you forward. You land against his chest and he smiles at you. “Don’t think too hard. Come with me.”

You follow him out to the balcony and the view takes your breath away. The White House, well-lit in the D.C. nighttime, sits right across the street. From here, you can see Lafayette Square - beyond it, almost the whole city.

When you come back to yourself, you realize there’s an outdoor loveseat and a small table, holding champagne (on ice) and chocolate-covered fruit.

Champagne, chocolate, fancy dinner… The whole nine.

Spoiled indeed.

Aaron sits, pulling you down beside him. He pours two glasses of champagne - mostly for show, and moves the bucket to the ground. The fruit goes off to the side table and his feet go up on the small table, crossing at the ankles. You curl up against him, tucking under his arm.

“Do you like it? Too much?”

You can hear the genuine insecurity behind his cheeky question. You press a kiss to the back of his hand. “I love it. It is too much, but it’s very thoughtful. You twist to kiss the underside of his jaw. “Thank you.”

With that, the two of you settle in, quietly enjoying the company and the quiet. It’s cold, but with the outdoor heater, it’s comfortable enough that you don’t need your coat.

“Okay.”

Aaron sits up. “Yes?”

“You asked, so it’s only fair. No work, no kids, no serial killers. How are you?”

He pulls you over so you’re sitting across his lap. You rest your head on his shoulder, your hand smoothing over the soft fabric of his button-up before placing it over his heart.

“I’m good,” he says. “I’m really good.”

“Why?” You feel a little like a parrot, but you’re sure that’s what he’s going for.

“I can’t...quite articulate how lucky I feel.”

That’s relatable.

“I’m happy to be here with you.” He shakes his head - a pensive gesture. “I never thought I could make it here again.”

“Where?” You ask.

“In love, happy, facing a future that doesn’t scare me. My son is happy, safe...I wasn’t sure I'd ever have any of that again after losing Haley.”

He pauses and you can feel a little sardonic smile. You don’t have to see it to know it’s there. His next admission, though, surprises you.

“I accepted that I would be a bystander in your life a long time ago. I accepted that I would likely remain a widower, a single father. I knew you’d be around and that I would be your friend, but I made peace with the idea that I’d never have you right here.” He squeezes you twice, in time with his words. It makes you smile.

He shakes his head and lets out a little laugh. “I’m not sure it’ll ever sink in.”

You feel much the same, but it's kind of at once alarming and amusing to hear him so beautifully articulate feelings that so closely resemble your own.

You lean back to look at him. “I’m glad you were wrong.”

He places a gentle finger under your chin and kisses you, long and languid. It’s a promise. After a little while, he leans back, brushing the back of his fingers over your cheek.

“Me too.”

+++

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#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #tali talks cm #tali writes fanfiction #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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savagetrickster · 4 years

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Stay with Me | BNHA

request: Hi! Can I request a scenario where Bakugou thought that reader was starting to lose interest, but in reality reader is just really busy and doesn’t realize she’s treating baku differently and Bakugou confronting her about it then it ends with some fluff fluff. 💖 p.s luv ur work

anime | character: bnha | bakugou katsuki x reader

word count: 1949

themes/warnings: soft!bakugou, insecure bakugou, college AU

a/n: sorry for not posting a fic in such a long time, I’ve been SO busy. so anyway, okay I kinda went little off-track and ended up writing the way it is shown below but i hope you’ll still enjoy reading this, though i have to say I’m not really fond of how it turned out. this fic has not been beta-ed so pardon me if you find any cringey error.

The city of Musutafu moved as sluggishly as possible for a city of its size and caliber. It was one of those days when the moon was mostly hidden behind the clouds.

Kirishima let his eyes roam the street outside. The inhabitants of the boulevard were constantly on the move despite being a Saturday; it was a startling contrast to the cafe they sat in where a comfortable nonchalance clung to every aspect of the little business.

The slow, sleepy music playing from the speakers.

The casual yet practiced movements of the baristas as they prepared the orders.

The lazy, idling manners in the way the customers brought their cups to their lips. Carrying every bit of thoughtlessness and indifference in their actions.

Well, almost everyone but them.

A perplexed frown pinched between Kirishima’s brows as he turned his gaze away from the window beside them.

Bakugou Katsuki had been sulking at the window ever since he plopped into the seat across him.

He had been sitting in brooding silence for what felt like fifteen minutes and the expression on his face hadn’t changed. If there were any at all, it was only that his scowl grew bigger.

“As much as I like hanging out with you, I have to say this is getting a little…weird.”

Kirishima briefly flitted to the counter to see curious eyes on them, “My colleagues are starting to think we’re dating.”

Tonight was the fourth time Bakugou had come to find him right as he was knocking off from his part-time job this week.

“Who gives a fuck about what they think?” Bakugou muttered gruffly, finally looking away from the outside.

Kirishima had known him ever since they met in middle school to know the scowl on Bakugou’s face was…well, his default expression.

Long enough for him to tell at one glance that the scowl he’d been seeing on Bakugou’s face was different. This one seemed to come right out from the depth of his fierce vermilion eyes — Bakugou was upset.

And it was about you.

No matter how hard Bakugou tried to hide how much he was a sucker for you, Kirishima could always tell.

Even though they had matured into college students, Bakugou was still the same stubborn guy who wasn’t the most comfortable displaying his affections openly.

Mere mentions of you would soften the scowl on his face, and the rough edge in his voice. It was easy for anyone else to miss the difference but it was obvious to Kirishima.

His grumpy complaints about how clingy and touchy you are were one of their common topics in their conversations. The annoyance scowling in his eyes when he did was always subtly soft and warm.

But something changed, as Bakugou had mentioned, in the recent two weeks.

Nights in his dormitory room were spent alone. He was so used to falling asleep and waking up, to the sight of you curling up right next to him.

The last time he saw you were from afar, watching you rushing off to somewhere.

Dates with you, even as simple as a meal in the cafeteria was scarce.

Your replies to his texts were late and sometimes curt. The usual ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’ from you, if you didn’t spend the night with him, were no longer…usual.

Sometimes his messages to you would be left hanging for days before you replied.

The tone when Bakugou was telling him about all these strange distances between them was nonchalant, but the scowl on his face told Kirishima a different story.

Kirishima tried to think of something to say, but all he could think of in the end was the same thing he’d been saying ever since Bakugou shared this with him.

“Stop worrying man, she’s probably just busy?”

Bakugou’s face carried a carefully blanked expression as he raised his eyes to meet Kirishima’s.

“…Or maybe she’s losing interest in me.”

His arm was tucked between his pillow and his head as his other held his phone to his face. Vermilion eyes stared blankly at the quiet chatroom he shared with you, particularly fixated on your last reply to him.

Two days ago.

The gloom hung over his gaze these days were like the dreary seasons of dull, gray monsoons.

The hopeful morning sun filtering into his room through the wooden window blinds above him was a startling contrast, and so was the lively laughter ringing out from the basketball court somewhere near the dormitory blocks.

Probably some idiots shoving snow at each others’ faces, Bakugou thought seethingly as he clicked his tongue in annoyance at a particular spike of volume in the ruckus downstairs.

It was Saturday and the morning was already—

His eyes flitted to the time written in the corner of his screen.

— halfway to noon.

A quiet sigh left him.

Like on Saturdays, he should be on the way to meet you for your usual brunch. Except things weren’t quite ‘usual’ anymore.

Bakugou released another sigh as he let his phone fall away from his face along with his raised arm, landing on the bed under him with a muffled ‘plop’.

His forehead ridged with a scowl. Just how did he fuck things up?

His memories sifted through the times he called you names and how you would still smile back at him like he was your whole world as if he didn’t just call you an idiot, a nerd, or a moron.

A bitter taste of guilt entered his mouth.

Maybe he shouldn’t have assumed that you knew he was feeling affectionate when he did?

Perhaps you’ve grown sick of him? And realized that you didn’t need a shitty boyfriend who called you insulting names or would shrug off your affections as if they were annoyances.

His jaw clenched to his gritted teeth as a frustrated hiss slipped from him.

Shit, maybe he did fuck up afterall. Fucked up big time.

And he was probably going to lose you. Everything that made you…you.

The way you smiled at him with a loving, bright glint in your eyes as if he was the one who put the stars in the sky.

The sweet kisses you love to plant on his lips and forehead.

How your hand would hold onto his — small but warm with your love.

Bakugou felt his throat swell with the presence of forming tears as his heart twinged in his chest.

The idea of losing all that spurred a rush of panic in him.

Bakugou shot off his bed, put on the nearest shirt and jeans he could grab, and hurried out of his room.

The first place Bakugou thought to look for you was your dormitory but his worst fear made him hesitate at your door, with a hand hovering over its handle.

In fact, he’d thought about doing this for the past two weeks but the wisps of doubts whispering nasty things wouldn’t let him.

His jaw clenched to his gritted teeth.

What if there was someone else—

Bakugou shoved the unfinished thought aside; it was unbearable to even think about that possibility.

His scowling gaze snapped to his hesitating hand and his lips instantly curled into a sneer to a spark of irritation within.

What was with him? He was starting to remind himself of Deku, hesitating outside doors with twiddling thumbs like a wimp.

He was Bakugou Katsuki and he should be announcing his arrival by bursting through one.

Man, you thought you could finally enjoy a good night’s sleep after countless of sleepless nights.

But no…nope.

The heater just had to break down at an ungodly hour when you were still trudging through the last thesis for your project and you could find no other alternative places to work on them.

Bakugou came across your mind but again, it was crazy late or more accurately, early to budge into your boyfriend’s room.

Like every other night, you’d been tirelessly working on it so you could finally submit the project you’d been assigned since two weeks ago.

It was the infamous final year project you’ve dreaded ever since you heard about it from your senior — dubbed as ‘the project from hell’.

And indeed, it was a project from hell. It seemed to suck out your very soul. The exhaustion weighing you down like lead ran bone deep, that even lifting your head off your pillow was such a struggle.

With a broken heater sitting uselessly in your room, you’d spent the whole night wrapped in your blanket, with the lingering winter chill prickling at your skin.

So you couldn’t help sighing at the sudden warmth enveloping your body after spending the night shivering away under your blanket at the mercy of the dropping temperature.

Your arms found their way around the heat source.

You didn’t see the tender curl of his lips when you sighed blissfully and nuzzled into his chest or the softening glint in the usual fierce edge held in his vermilion eyes.

It was like nestling inside a warm cocoon that…

— awareness seeping into your groggy senses pried your eyes open.

…breathed.

What or rather who greeted you lifted you right out of your morning grogginess and struck you with an overwhelming barrage of emotions.

“…Ka-Katsuki!” You missed him so much.

Along with how the shadows and sunlight filtering in from behind you fell across and highlighted his chiseled profile, there was something about the way his intense eyes looked down at you with his head leaning against an arm.

This sight gave your heart a fluttery squeeze.

You weren’t sure why Bakugou looked so strikingly handsome like this — maybe it was because you haven’t seen him for awhile?

“When did you come in here?” Words started pouring out of your mouth.

You’ve always wanted to vent and rant about the dumb project to Bakugou so there was too much you wanted to say,

“Oh my god, you’ve no idea how much busy I was these few weeks-” but the brooding look that hadn’t left Bakugou stopped you.”…Katsuki?”

You’d never seen Bakugou look this down before, and it didn’t sit right with you.

You hesitated but asked anyway.“…What’s wrong?”

The cloud that fell over his eyes told you that something was definitely wrong.

“…I’m sorry, (Name).”

You grew concerned as you tried to understand his unreadable demeanor. “What’s this about— ”

“Are you losing interest in me?”

Your next breath was caught in your throat at his strange question and the only thing you could do was blurt out a —“What?”

You watch him exhale carefully with a bewildered look.

Bakugou didn’t even care how he looked to you now.

“Look, I know I’m a huge fuck-up as a boyfriend and you probably think I don’t care about our relationship cause I act like I don’t.”

There was so much to say, so much guilt brimming inside him.

“But shit, I do care.”

He was desperate.

He didn’t want to lose you. He couldn’t. He loved you but he was an idiot for not showing that to you.

So he needed to let you know now.

His hand on your waist pulled you up to him and his eyes were pinned on yours.

Your mouth opened, then snapped close at the silent, blazing gleam in his gaze.

Your voice had fled at the way he stared at you.

Longing and heavy with remorse.

“Stay with me,” His lips brushed lightly across yours as his voice cracked with an aching need.” …please.”

He kissed you and the world fell away.

#bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou imagine #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo imagine #bnha katsuki x reader

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nixie-deangel · 2 years

Text

writing tag game

Thank you @rexismycopilot! I’m very bad at answering these!

how many works do you have on AO3?

217

what’s your total A03 word count?

336246

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Uncovering the Meaning. - Coldflash.

Coming Clean. - Coldflashwave.

Confusion For The Heart, Table One. - Stuckony.

Snuggles and Cuddles. - Coldlfashwave.

Engraved In Our Souls. -Superbat.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I don’t get lots, so it’s easy for me to respond to the ones I do get, so I try to, though sometimes it does take me a while to do so.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

That’s pretty much how I try to end all my fics, lol. I’m not into sad or unhappy endings, so I always tend to end either extremely happy or at the very least hopeful.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I think it might have been Tell Me Is It Over Yet?, mostly because it references Order 66 in Star Wars. Like I said, angst just really isn’t my thing, I tend not to pour that into my fics all that often.

Do you write crossovers?

Crossovers as in completely crossing over two fandoms together, with characters from both interacting together? Then not yet, I do have an idea for a Leverage/Marvel one I’d like to write one day.

If by crossover you mean putting characters in another piece of media? Then yep! I have done that before... and will probably do it again. Nixie loves a good AU.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I have. Usually I just delete the comment if I get it, or I block the person if I’m able too.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do. If it’s not a hard no or squick for me, I’m usually game to try writing it. Writing it well, is another story though lol

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t believe so, and if I have, I’ve never found out about it.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! It’s an incredible feeling when someone loves your story so much they want to translate it into, most often, their native language to be able to read it.

Have you ever co-written a fic?

I have not.

What is your all time favorite ship?

It literally varies between Coldflash (Barry Allen/Leonard Snart), Stevetony (Steve Rogers/Tony Stark), Superbat (Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne) and Obikin (Obi-wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker). Please don’t make me try to narrow it down further than that.

What is a WIP that you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

I...... don’t know? Maybe, but I’m still in the phase where I’m like I’ll get back to it! One day I’ll finish it :)

What are your writing strengths?

Honestly, I’m very negative about my own writing, so I don’t usually think I’m good at any of it. But maybe dialogue? And trying to convey emotions? Would be my guesses.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Getting myself to write. And actions. Grammar.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

For myself? I try not too. I’ve done it a couple times, but I feel awkward doing it because I have to rely on google for translation, and we all know how trust worthy that can be. But in fics I’m reading? I don’t mind it much.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Going back a ways, but I believe it was for either NCIS or CSI (the one set in Vegas).

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Okay. So I know you want only one fic, but honestly, I’ve got a few of mine I dearly love and go back and reread very often, and I’m going to share and link them all. Because I love them.

The Malfunction. DC/Arrowverse - Coldflash.

To Leave Some Part Of You. Star Wars - Luminara/Gree.

Think Before You Act, Except Just This Once. Marvel - Stevetony.

Media Blitz. Marvel - Stevetony.

Second Chances. Marvel - BuckyNat.

Tagging (and sorry for those that have already done this!) - @willshowerthots, @a-redharlequin, @queerghostie, @betheflame, @tabbytabbytabby, @natiekenobi, @boonki and whoever else wants to do this!

#Nixie Answers #Super late answering this #SO SORRY!#Tag Game #Ask Game #Tag Meme #Ask Meme #Coldflash #Stevetony #Star Wars #Marvel #Buckynat #Lumigree #LuminaraGree #Obikin

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dancingwiththeplanets · 3 years

Text

An Angel Amongst Demons - chapter one

Boba Fett x fem!reader

chapter 2 / masterlist

Summary: Boba tries to shield you from the dark side of his life. In his eyes, you are too innocent and pure for the harsh realities of the work that surrounds him. So when one day you stumble upon a meeting gone wrong when you were supposed to be hidden away, Boba’s afraid you won’t like the pieces of him he’s tried to protect you from, or worse, that now you’ll fear him.

A/N: My first fic in like 6 years, I'm nervous! haha This is kind of an AU I think?? Takes place after the events of season 2. I’ve added in two OC Mandos to the entourage because I love me some of that tribal brotherhood devotion. Also.. considering making this a series?

Warnings: soft!Boba (like, REALLY soft!Boba) protectiveness, maybe over-protectiveness? small character death, nobody important, two new sexy mandalorians (we’ll learn about them later), not much to be honest.

Word Count: 5.7k+

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There’s a lot to Jabba’s palace that most people don’t know about. A lot’s changed since the esteemed Boba Fett took over the throne and claimed ownership over the fortress in Tatooine. Castle might actually be a better word for it. Somewhat modest and ordinary looking on the outside, the true magnitude and vastness of the castle is hidden underground, even past the comfortably sized throne room.

What lingers further down the sandstone hallways are an array of rooms and staircases, mostly leading down in different directions. There’s a library and a kitchen and even a ballroom, which never has and probably never will be put to use. There are guest rooms that are more suitably described as luxurious suites, for the grand total of zero guests that Boba will allow to stay in his sanctuary.

There are permanently standing rooms for only a handful of the staff: the maid, Ada. Fennec, of course. And the two newest members of Boba’s trusted, elite team, Enzo and Raul, who arrived shortly before you did. The two are a pair of dutiful and truly impressive Mandalorians who serve at his beck and call, courtesy of Boba Fett’s ally and only recognized leader (not that he’s ever told what to do), Mand’alor Din Djarin.

Past the staff rooms and further down an open and beautifully lit hall, is the communal area of the palace, the center, if you will. Fully equipped to socialize and entertain guests with comfortable seating, a fireplace, and charming embellishments around the room. A warm and pleasant area of the palace that likewise, does not get as much use out of it as it should.

And finally, behind the common area, which in its own way, serves as a magnificent entryway, is Boba Fett’s private chambers. Home to the respected and feared bounty-hunter turned ruler, and you, his haven.

You. His cyare. His beloved. The ruthless king had fallen in love with you and your delicate heart, seemingly untampered with and somehow not left scarred by the harsh realities of Tatooine. He saw in you light and tenderness, and you gave him joy and true unconditional love. He spent many, far too many, late nights in Mos Eisley, at the cantina you worked in as a waitress. At some point visiting you every night to walk you home at the end of your shift, though you assured him you always made it home perfectly fine on your own. But Boba secretly lived for those extra few minutes he could spend with you walking you to your residence. Not to mention, he couldn’t fathom why it didn’t scare the bantha shit out of you to be walking around Mos Eisley alone at night, unarmed. That fact that you did sure as hell scared him.

On most nights he walked you home, you invited him in, unless you were absolutely too spent to spend another moment standing. But it was on those long nights that poured into the early hours of the lovely Tatooine sunrise that you and Boba grew close and eventually professed your love for one another. Soon after, he hopefully, and quite timidly, asked you to live at his palace with him. Though you’d never been before, you knew exactly where it was, and for that matter, who he was.

The new king of Tatooine had a reputation for being ruthless, unforgiving, and dangerous. And you didn’t miss the way people cowered away from his presence, especially when he wore the armor. Though, by your own calculations, every other patron who marched their way through these lands was just as feral as the Boba Fett they all believed they knew, and not one had ever been as kind or as gentle, or captivated your thoughts, the way he did.

He knew these things. More than most in the galaxy, he knew what a cruel fate such a pure being could meet, and if truth be told, he wanted to escape with your kind soul and shield you from this harsh planet before anything could harm you.

When he asked you again to go with him, you met his hopeful and loving gaze, eyes filled with devotion and admiration, and the corner of his lips pulled up just slightly in the most endearing of grins, you couldn't help but to instantly wrap your arms around him, leave a kiss to his neck, and tell him nothing would make you happier.

“Besides,” you teased, nuzzling into his neck, “I always wanted to be a princess.”

Boba chuckled and wrapped a strong arm around your waist, pulling your face back and tracing his thumb under your chin. “Believe me, mesh’la. You already were one.”

The next day, you found yourself and what little you owned in possessions, situating in your new home. Like everyone else, you had shockingly inaccurate presumptions about the size of the palace, soon learning that what lay hidden behind the throne room and down the sandstone halls was a modest castle to get lost in. No matter, you adjusted to your new environment and routine, though still unused to the respect and coddling you received on a daily basis, you adored every extra moment spent with your king.

Which is how now, five months later, you lay quiet and still as a mouse in bed, gazing dreamily at a sleeping Boba next to you. The early morning light casting a light blue hue over the room, as the suns hadn’t quite risen just yet. You were fortunate enough that your bedroom, the top floor to your two story chambers, was one of the few rooms in the palace with a proper window, the rest of your home and castle being underground.

A low grumble from the man next to you causes you to hold your breath, eyes not daring to leave his form as he breathes in a deep sigh. “You know,” he begins drowsily, “the moment you wake up and opt to stare at me instead of closing those lovely eyes again and getting some more rest, is the exact moment that I wake up too.”

“You don’t have to wake up,” you smile teasingly.

“I can’t help it.” He grumbles, eyes still shut heavily against the apples of his cheeks. “If you’re up, I’m up.”

“For all you know,” You retort, “I’ve been staring at you, awake for hours.”

At this, Boba’s unimpressed gaze turns to you, eyes now latched onto yours. “You haven’t been.” He says.

“And how would you know?” You giggle back, “I haven’t moved a hair. I woke up facing you, and didn’t move anything but my gaze. So unless you can detect the vibrations from my blinking, you couldn’t know.”

“I know.”

It’s your turn to look unimpressed, “How?”

“Because,” He leans in close to you, your noses lightly touching and a devilish look in his eyes, “If you’re up, I’m up.”

“Mm.” You hum unconvinced, eyes fluttering closed as he leaves a kiss to your nose then pulls away to sit at the edge of the bed. You follow his form as he stretches to a stand, joints popping as he twists his back and arms around, the result of a body having gone to war and back countless times. You sit up tiredly and lean against the headboard, watching him pull on his under armor, then latching on the Beskar. Piece by piece his body is decorated with more intimidating and handsome armor, slowly shielding your eyes from the scarred but lovely body of his that you admire possibly a little too much.

“You stare any harder and I might decide to take it back off,” Boba quips, a smirk rising on his cheeks.

You blush, shaking your head and looking away, gaze now pointedly out the window.

“Mesh’la,” He says, grabbing your attention again, his hands now occupied tugging on his gloves as he takes a few strides towards you. He smiles at the pink tint to your cheeks and your guilty smile, the remains of having been caught admiring him still plastered on your face. “I have important business to attend to today. But I’ve arranged for those workers to come and paint the library in a couple hours, would you mind overseeing it?”

He lifts a hand to lightly brush his thumb along your cheek, looking down upon you quizzically.

“Of course.” You nod eagerly. You've slowly been tending to every inch of the palace, erasing all remnants of the Hutt’s and adding in touches of comfort and warmth wherever you can. You wouldn’t say decorating is a passion of yours. But this is your home now, you might as well fill it with things you admire. Plus, Boba said if you didn’t take over the project, he’d just paint everything grey and toss out the old furniture without replacements.

You shiver as you untuck yourself from your velvety comforter. For a fortress built on possibly one of the hottest planets in the Outer Rim, this place can get cold. Probably due to the fact that it’s rooted so deeply underground.

Happy to have something to do, you head to the fresher for a quick wash before Boba leaves to his duties. You exit your chambers together, Enzo and Raul already waiting in the common area for you both. Upon seeing them, you turn and leave a gentle kiss to the cheek of Boba’s helmet for a final moment of private intimacy before you descend the staircase, hearing him chuckle fondly at your action as he follows.

“Good morning Fett, my lady.” Enzo bows lowly, turning to you. You laugh and shove his shoulder upon reaching the pair of them. You can hear the hint of amusement in his voice as Raul shakes his head beside him.

“Good morning gentlemen.” You smile.

Boba huffs coming to stand beside you, “Gentlemen.” He scoffs at your words.

Raul clears his throat, “Crane should be here soon, boss.” He says, visor trained on Boba and arms crossed over his chest, gaze briefly turning towards you before meeting the boss again.

You look towards your partner, “Your meeting today?” You ask.

“Yes.” He says, giving a quick nod.

“Alright,” You say, glancing at the suspiciously still trio of Beskar-clad men, “I’m going to the kitchens to have some breakfast. Then I’ll meet up with those workers in the library.”

Boba nods again, confirming your agenda.

You stare up at him, waiting for him to sputter out whatever it is you know he’s wanting to say.

“...Then,�� You go on, “I guess I will, do some reading or...baking or...stare at the wall or something.”

“Sounds like a riveting afternoon,” Raul says after a more than comfortable silence.

“Okay,” you smile, chuckling a little and taking a step back, choosing to dismiss yourself now before the awkwardness has a chance to develop. “Have fun with Mr. Crane.”

Boba clears his throat as you turn towards the kitchens, stopping you with a hand on your arm. “Mesh’la,” He says, glancing pointedly at Raul and Enzo, who move to wait for him a few paces away. “Could you do me a favor?”

You tilt your head suspiciously, urging him to go on. “You’re acting rather strange Boba Fett.” You tease.

He grunts, “I’ve had a lot of trouble with Calendei Crane. He’s not a very loyal man, nor do I consider him a good one. He’s had a lot of chances to make up for the problems he’s caused me, but recently he went too far, and we’re not going to be having a charming reunion just now.” He sighs, “What I’m trying to say is... he didn’t necessarily come here by his own accord. And he won’t be very happy that he is.”

“I understand.” You nod.

Boba frowns inside his helm. I don’t think you do cyare.

“Alright then,” he says, “That said, I would really appreciate it if you would stay away from the throne room today. At least until I send Fennec or Enzo for you or something.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice his hand opening and closing nervously by his side. He thinks you don’t know what he means. Oh Boba.

You reach for his hand as you step closer to his form. “Boba,” you whisper, leaning up towards him with a small smile, “You are the most kind and gentle man I’ve ever known. But I know that you are a man of business and principles. You do whatever you have to do. If an employee of yours is out there making a mess under your name, I would expect nothing less than for you to handle it.” You say, hoping to reassure him.

You raise your free hand to rest against the cheek of his helmet, “But I’ll busy myself back here until you’re done.”

He lets out a sigh in relief, hand reaching up to grab yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you.” He says, before tenderly tapping his forehead against yours and turning to get on with his day.

You shake your head at his retreating form. Despite all of the darkness and dirt and the scum that surround Boba in his everyday life, he really does try everything in his power to not let it touch you. It’s almost as if despite the late night confessions and raw conversations you two have shared about your lives don’t translate to reality for Boba. As if he somehow believes you don’t truly know what it is that he does and who he is.

He seems to forget that you yourself have grown up with the same scum that populate this planet. In the nearest city to here in fact, where all the mudscuppers of the galaxy would stay and wreak havoc when this was once Jabba’s palace. You’ve seen things. You’ve experienced things. Some things that, shamefully, you haven’t yet shared with Boba. But what you can say with the utmost of certainty is that you know exactly the kind of people that like to deal in underworld business. And you know that there are many cruel beings out there. But Boba, he certainly isn’t one of them.

You sigh, turning to pass through the empty dining hall to the kitchens. The light tapping of your shoes echoing in the desolate space. A part of you wishes you had said to him, ‘Oh Boba, when will you learn that you don’t need to protect me from yourself?’

A necessary conversation for another time, you decide.

Shaking away your thoughts, you wander into the kitchen, making yourself a quick breakfast and giggling a while with Ada, as she begins preparing a stew for all staff members taking up a residency in the palace. She often prepares meals in substantial quantities, making enough for herself, you, Boba, Fennec, and the two other Mandalorians to all enjoy in your respective chambers.

“Take some of these to go dear!” She calls out, chasing after your form as you exit the kitchen. “You had better be eating a balanced diet.” She chides, handing you a towel with some berries on it.

“Thank you Ada,” you smile, leaving a peck to her cheek and making your way to the library.

When you arrive, the workers still aren't there, and you hum glancing at the clock. They should have already been here and working at least for an hour by now.

Expecting their arrival soon, you busy yourself with cleaning dusty bookshelves and making piles of the previous inhabitants' furnishings and decorations you’d rather not have.

You plop down on the floor after sorting through your ninth bookshelf, sighing after attempting to categorize everything by genre. Even opting to make a pile of books to get rid of, because really, nobody needs handbooks on slave trading and dealing in the dark business of the underworld. They’re just not something you’d like in your home.

You glance at the time again. “What on Tatooine.” You mutter, stretching to a stand. You’ve officially been bailed on, because you've been sitting in this dingy library for four hours and if nobody’s shown up yet, you doubted they would be.

Looking around at the mess you’ve made, you decide to finish tackling this task tomorrow, and head back down the hall towards your private chambers.

You pause to lean against the wall with your eyes closed, letting out a great yawn. It’s barely past noon and you’re already beat.

A voice calls your name just in front of you, startling you in the dark, candlelit hall.

“Ada!” You jump, with a hand to your chest.

“Mm, I’m sorry sweet one.” She frowns. “You had better go check on your Mandalorian.” She says sternly, wagging a finger up at you. “He sounds angrier than a farmer whose fresh crops have been raided by Tuskans.”

You furrow your eyebrows at her words, frowning. “Does he sound alright?” You ask, concerned.

“Too riled up.” She chides, shaking her head as she continues to pass you in the hall, grabbing a hold of your arm “Go straighten him out, lecture him on that temper of his.”

“Ada,” You sigh, “He’s dealing with a trying issue right now, and I promised that I’d stay away from this meeting.”

“Peh,” She waves her hand in dismissal, “Fine, your decision. But I did see a couple of those workers you were waiting on looking rather frightened up in the throne room. Go on and fetch them and get on with your project. You left quite a mess in there for me to deal with.”

“What?” You look disbelievingly at her, “Well why didn't you just send them my way. I waited all morning for them.”

She shakes her head, looping her arm through yours as you continue walking side-by-side. You roll your eyes at the nerve.

The sound of sudden, unmistakable shouting, coming from much further down the hall and up the stairs ascending to the throne room stops you instantly. Your eyes widen a bit as the voice carries on, rather menacingly. You wouldn’t want to be the one receiving the tail end of that conversation. Boba truly does sound pissed. You wonder how long he’s been with this Crane fellow.

“Ada,” you whisper, the lower tone seeming appropriate, “Don’t you go trying to get me into trouble.” You say, pulling her back as she tries to urge you forward.

“Young lady,” She scolds, looking up at you in a surprisingly threatening way. “I have much work to do. I need my good broom which I left up those stairs, and you need your painters or carpenters or whatever it is those fellas up there are. So, let us ladies get on with our business and fetch our things.”

“If you’re already heading up,” You say through slightly gritted teeth, “Then why don’t you just go up there, grab your broom, and do me the favor of nudging down my workers while you’re at it.”

“Because I have a bad leg. Now either accompany me up stairs so that I don’t fall or go on and get those things for the two of us at last!”

“Maker, Ada fine!” You say, losing your temper. A part of you knowing she was just stirring up trouble. You start up the first step and turn to her with an obvious empty threat. “And I’ll be sure to note to Boba that our maid has a bad leg leaving her incapable of climbing our palace full of stairs.” You mutter disbelievingly.

“Mm, you do that.” She counters.

You sigh, shaking your head as you quickly make your way up, hearing Ada walk away behind you.

That woman knows far too well that we would never replace her, you think.

Your focus shifting back to the surprisingly silent throne room just up and down the hall, you walk wearily, suddenly a little nervous.

You notice as you near the room, your steps silent down the hall, that there is a hushed but heated back and forth taking place.

“-swear Mr. Fett I-I d-didn’t know they were-”

“-What?” You hear Boba’s ominous voice interrupt. “You didn't know what?”

His form comes into view as you peek your head into the room, watching him descend the steps of his throne and approaching the accused slowly. You take a half step back, hoping to further hide your position, seeing as before, you were concealed behind his back. But given his new stance, the flicker of his gaze upwards and Boba would be met with your sinful and curious eyes.

Raul, you note, leans comfortably against the wall across the room behind Boba, observing the scene from afar, but seemingly more interested in fixing a mechanism on his Westar-35.

Fennec, who, based on the fearful gaze he glances up at her with, was obviously the one to retrieve Crane, staring down at him with a daring look in her eyes, as if challenging him to try and escape this situation. Enzo stands on Crane's other side, blocking most of your view from the accused and his state. You also note that there is no such broom or fearful workers around. Ada.

“Mr. Fett-” He whimpers.

“Sod it.” Enzo growls, raising his weapon to shove against Crane’s neck, hushing his pleas instantly.

You observe the creature as best you can from your corner. You don’t want to peer out any further for fear of alerting Boba of your presence. He wasn’t human, but not terribly strange looking, a blue being, probably a humanoid, but with claws for nails that were certainly not cute. He’s on his knees, head bowed forward in obvious shame and fear, and hands tied firmly behind his back. This guy looks like he’s had a pretty bad couple of days, but you still can’t tell if you feel sorry for him or not.

Boba reaches Crane in the center of the room, and in a manner so menacing and calculated, that exerts a level of dominance that frightens even you, he crouches down on his heels, meeting Crane eye-level.

Boba slowly pulls his blaster out of its holster and lifts it to Crane’s ducked chin, using the barrel to tilt Crane’s face up to meet his.

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until you feel yourself running out of air.

“You didn’t know what Crane?” Boba repeats in a tone so hushed you could barely hear. “That you were selling information to an enemy of mine? That you were betraying the trust that I had put in you? That you stole my property, weapons, and money to give to people who wish to do me harm?”

You can’t help but to feel anxious and on edge. Knowing very well you are not supposed to be in here observing the scene in front of you. Wondering if at this point, you should even try to make your silent leave.

Crane, seemingly breathless, and having accepted his fate, nods in defeat. “I’m sorry Boba.” He whispers.

“You violated the terms of our agreement Crane.” Boba says, rising up and adjusting his belt. “I gave you opportunity after opportunity to make it right. I told you that this was your final chance. I even gave you the kriffing option to leave!” He finally shouts.

You watch his chest heaving in rage as he continues to stare down at a defeated Crane.

Boba scoffs, “What did you expect would happen?”

The crippled man on the floor does what you least expect, his gaze lazily lifting up to meet Boba’s as he chuckles carelessly, his laugh soon transforming into a truly mad howl.

He looks like an absolute maniac.

Your eyes furrow in extreme discomfort as you watch the dramatic change in scene, and despite the obvious upper-hand that Boba has, you feel the urge to stand between him and this disturbed creature.

“I-I guess,” Crane breathes out between spouts of laughter, “I held out hope. Hope that the famous Boba Fett, oh-” he croaks out another laugh, “I’m sorry, that the-the King of Tatooine, would finally meet his demise like he should have all those years ago in the sarlacc. Oh, Boba, we were all so pleased when we thought you’d met the maker that day, but you...you son of a nerf herder, you lived. And WHY should you get to live while the rest of us died off! TELL ME BOBA FETT! Because you know something? You of all beings do NOT get to cheat death. You think you’re better than the rest of us, trying to make amends for your crimes against nature? Against the galaxy?”

Crane leans his head forward nearly slamming it against the ground as he violently spits out, “-No, no, no, no old friend. You are the worst, most foul kind of scum to EVER have walked these lands. You are no worse than Jabba, don’t you kid yourself. And if I have played any part in your demise, I’ll have avenged my brothers who have died at your hand. Your end is coming Boba Fett! You will fall, and so will anyone who tries to prevent your end!” He carries on, doubling over while spitting out the most ludicrous threats between maniacal laughter.

A wave of pure fear plunges your heart, leaving a sickly feeling in your gut at his words. You don’t even realize that your longing to protect Boba has unconsciously pulled your body a few steps in his direction. Your error not evident to you until Raul moves from across the room, capturing your attention. You glance at him only to see the gaze of his visor already locked onto yours and his body making quick strides towards you.

“Boss-” Raul says hurriedly, but not before a shot rings out, causing you to jump and gasp, hands flying up in front of you in instinctual defense.

You open your eyes and turn your head to face Boba just as his gaze snaps in your direction. Even with the visor covering his face you can see he’s taken aback by your presence. His arm lowers quickly with his blaster, holstering it. Everyone’s attention seems to be on you.

Nobody moves for a moment, and still frozen, your gaze flicks down to the dead being, monster, who lays thankfully slain on the floor.

Seeing movement out of the corner of your eye, you avert your gaze back up to Boba, whose arm shifts nervously at his side.

“Ner- ner cyare.” He whispers, his tone strained and unlike you’ve ever heard before.

You take a step towards him, but don’t go much closer when Enzo shifts to exist as a barricade between you and the bloody mess to Boba’s side.

“What are you doing here?” He says, seeming to struggle with every word.

“I-I can’t remember.” You say after a beat, nervous again suddenly that you’ve poked your nose into business you told him you’d stay away from.

He stands frozen, panicked behind the harsh mask of his visor. His absolute worst fear being realised as you stand in the aftermath of an execution he himself carried out, right in front of your eyes.

Cruel. Unforgiving. Dangerous. Vile. Sadistic. Merciless.

All words he imagines were running though your sweet mind behind those wide eyes.

“Boba.” you utter, taking another step towards him, hesitating at first then succumbing to your hearts needs and taking up a speedier pace.

Your hands, which at some point started shaking, matching your more obviously quickened heart rate, raise up slowly to rest on his chest, and you swear he flinches at the contact.

“Cyare-” He mutters again, heart beating undoubtedly twice as fast as your own, fear and desperation clinging to the word, but he stops when your suddenly tear-filled eyes meet his gaze and you cling to the sides of his helm.

“Boba, are you okay?” You whisper frantically.

At that, he lets out a shaky exhale, body loosening and head tilting slightly at your words.

“What?” He asks, stunned.

“Are you alright?” You say, searching desperately through the dark visor of his helm for his warm, brown eyes.

“Am...am I okay?” He repeats.

“Yes I-I heard everything he said.” You stutter, head turning to meet the deranged creature's corpse covered in his own blood before Boba finally and frantically grabs a hold of your cheek to gently avert your gaze away from the scene. “He-he was absolutely maniacal.” You let out a shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry I came but I-I heard shouting and A-Ada said something I can’t even remember what but I ended up here somehow and please don’t be mad but maker I just didn’t expect this-” you pause, tempted to glance at the corpse again but your cheek stays steadied in Boba’s hand, “-this monster to be here, threatening you and maker I know you’re alright, you’re always alright, but I desperately wanted to be standing between you and him to do anything to shield you from his threats I-”

“-Mesh’la.” Boba says, more of his confidence appearing in his voice and his movements but still weary nonetheless.

“Are you okay?” You repeat desperately, cradling his helmet firmly in your hands again.

“I’m-yes. Yes mesh’la, I’m alright.” He stutters out, “Are-are you not afraid of me?”

“Afraid of you?” You breathe out, taken aback. “Never, Boba. I-I could never fear you.”

Boba’s completely stilled in your arms. It feels like hours, your wide eyes looking at him with that familiar tenderness and devotion. You almost forget about the other’s, standing completely motionless around you, until Boba suddenly turns you and urges you forward with gentle hands on your waist, his form practically shielding you, quite fruitlessly, from the scene he guides you away from.

When you reach the hallway, he allows you to pull him next to you instead, as he opens the door to the closest chamber in sight and ushers you into it, closing the door behind you both.

The dimly lit room casts a warm glow on you both as you turn to face Boba, whose back is slumped up against the closed door. He heaves in slow, heavy, deep breaths.

You stand, unmoving, only a few inches from him. Gaze locked on his visor, you wear a concerned expression on your face, your own breaths silent but speedy as you wait for him to explain his behavior.

He finally says your name, both his palms rising in a pleading request for you to take them.

You place your hands gently in his, and he cradles them to his chest, looking down at them. So small and clean and innocent in his dark gloves that carry the stains of countless victims.

You hold your breath when you hear a choked sob escape from his modulator. Your mouth falls open a bit, eyes flitting down to where he stares at his hands caressing your own.

“Boba?” You mutter.

As if prompted by your voice, a more obvious sob falls from Boba’s lips, and his hands release your own, finding purchase on your hips as he falls to his knees before you.

You gasp out a breath of disbelief as you watch your partner, your warrior, your Boba, cling to your waist. Silent sobs shake his body as he hesitantly pulls his hand from you and places it under the lip of his helmet, tugging the armor off and letting it topple to the floor beside you.

Tears spill down Boba’s face, following the same trail left behind by the first few that managed to fall. You grasp his face in your hands, thumbs sweeping across his cheeks and erasing the tears that slid down his scarred skin.

Your vision blurs as your own eyes well with tears. “My love,” You whisper, “What’s wrong?”

His forehead tightens and brows furrow, making him look like he’s in pain. “Mesh’la I-” he stops to compose himself, his eyes looking down though you hold his face in your palms. “You- you do not fear me?”

“I could never Boba.” You assure him, you voice cracking as you say the words. “I trust you more than I’ve trusted anyone in my life. You...being with you, makes me feel safer than I ever thought I could feel.”

Your hand leaves his cheek to smooth out the worried lines on his forehead, and you bring your index finger under his chin, urging him to look up at you. “That creature, monster, whatever he was,” You start, “He was disloyal and foul and cruel. He wanted to hurt you. Which means he wanted to hurt me. I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you. You’re my everything Boba.”

He stares up at you, vulnerable, more unsteady than you’ve ever seen him, but you go on, “I know who you are Boba Fett. I know that you were a bounty hunter. I know that now you rule the underworld and that sometimes you do unpleasant things. I know that you have regrets and I know that you have a past. I have one too. But most importantly, I know that you are a good man, worthy of my trust. And I will stand by your side every day for as long as you want me here, because I love you. My mind, my body, my soul,” you whisper, tears flowing down your own cheeks now, “-they’re yours Boba. All of me is yours.”

Tears well in his eyes again as you speak, but he doesn’t hide from you as he frowns against the tears threatening to spill again. “I love you so much.” He confesses almost fearfully.

You reach down to unlatch his hands from your waist, though you’re met with mild resistance, before you kneel to be level with him. You lean forward slowly and kiss him, passionately and desperately and devotedly. He cups your face in his hands, pressing you to him as close as he can before releasing you.

“You,” He whispers, leaning his forehead against yours with closed eyes, “You are too pure for this galaxy. An angel living amongst demons.”

“And I suppose you think you’re a demon?” You shake your head, smiling at the absurdity of it.

“Me?” He grins, “A fallen angel? Most definitely.”

#an angel amongst demons #Boba Fett #boba x reader #boba x you #the mandalorian #book of boba fett #din djarin #mando #jabbas palace #soft!boba #king!boba #boba fett x reader

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i-will-physically-fight-you · 4 years

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As Long as the Forest Stands Tall, I’ll Be With You

Title: As Long As The Forest Stands Tall, I’ll Be With You

Summary: Humans come to Logan’s tree in all sorts of shapes and sizes. They ask for good crops, to find true love and to strike riches beyond their wildest dreams. Rarely, however, does a child stand beneath his tree, shivering and hiccuping in the bitter cold of winter.

Pairings: Familial Analogical, Background Platonic Logicality and Familial Intruroyality

Word-Count: 2.6-k

Warnings: Human Sacrifice, Death Mention, Body Horror, Morally Gray Logan, Angst with a Happy Ending

This fic is inspired by an anon ask sent to me awhile back that I just now finished. It’s also the Cryptid Logan fic that won the poll of next published wip, so hope y’all all enjoy :)

A human child stands at the base of his tree, shivering and hiccuping in the bitter cold of winter. Indeed, the child’s stick arms hugs its frame in a poor attempt to stay warm. The child does not have a coat, and its threadbare stockings could hardly count as shoes.

Logan finds himself mystified by the sight.

Humans came to his tree, in all sorts of shapes and sizes. They asked for good crops, to find true love and to strike riches beyond their wildest dreams. He granted them all, as long as they left an appropriate gift in its place. Things like books and knowledge he favored most of all, but he often did not turn away a cow or two if it was all they had to offer.

However a child? Rarely do children come seeking his help. Adolescents do not have the same worries as their often self-absorbed older counterparts. The few children that have come his way in decades past asked for things for others. The appearance of the child is enough to wake him fully from his winter rest.

“Hello.” He speaks, the wind carrying his message, through the dead tree branches and over the mounds of snow below.

He forms at the base of his tree, in a shape familiar yet alien to a human’s eye. Centuries of practicing shapeshifting and he still has not perfected a form that does not send a human’s flight-or-fight’s reflexes into overdrive. Humans are innately good picking up on minuscule anomalies. If it is not the nose this time, then it is the ears he has gotten wrong. Too pointy, too many. He’s certain this time he has the right amount of body parts.

The child leaps in the air at his greeting. They turn to face him, trembling even more. He does not think it is from the cold.

“H-hello.” The child returns the greeting, dipping their head in reverence.

“What is your name, child?” He asks, “and what do you seek?”

The child makes a weird, muffled noise. Their head is still lowered, facing away from Logan’s searching gaze.

“My name is Virgil, I--I’ve come to seek an end to this harsh winter. That you--you bring about a prosperous out-pour of crops this Spring.” The child speaks, slow and stilted. Like words firmly pressed into their mouth by someone else and not a genuine request from the child himself.

A flash of anger passes through Logan. If humans think by sending out a sapling their chances will double, they are wrong. Logan values knowledge and wisdom, not emotional manipulation.

Logan hums in acknowledgement of Virgil’s words, “I see. And what shall you offer in payment?”

“Myself.”

“What?” Logan asks, for he is sure he misunderstood the child.

“I--it’s--Chief Habrok said as an orphan I’m not good for much else and that this is the highest honor I could bring to the village. So I offer myself as a sacrifice.” Virgil looks up at him, glistening tears half-frozen to his cheeks. So much of both fear and determination radiates from the small being.

Logan’s ire has kindled to a raging forest-fire. This is worse than simply thinking Logan would be softer to a child’s pleas than an adult’s. Humans have bargained with him using livestock but one of their own young? A child that has lost so much already? It is revolting. All around them, the forest creaks, branches shifting not from the blizzard’s winds but of their own volition. Virgil flinches.

He reaches down, softly cusping Virgil’s chin with a hand to direct the child’s attention towards himself.

“I will take you far away from here. Somewhere you’ll be safe and loved for as long as this tree stands tall. Okay?”

“And my village--you’ll take care of them?” Virgil asks, confusion and doubt swirling around him. Much like the fierce snowfall sweeping through the forest.

Logan’s lips twitches. “You have my word that they’ll be taken care of.”

“O-okay.” Virgil agrees, voice soft and small.

Logan drops his hand away, holding it out by his side. “Take my hand.”

Most would hesitate touching the hand of a spirit. They’d fear to be swept away, to never see the light of day again. The fear is very much present within the child. But again so is that firm, resolute determination. Virgil’s tiny hand shoots forward, latching onto Logan’s larger one with a startlingly strong grip. The wind picks up as the trees shake themselves from their foundations, their roots. They stretch, relishing the freedom of movement.

“Close your eyes.” Logan murmurs. It’s his only warning before he calls forth to the forest. Logan is not this one tree like the humans believe. He is all of them. He is the whole forest. Each of them are perfectly formed clones connected by the same root system.

He integrates Virgil’s soul into the system, careful to keep the child’s individuality intact. Somewhere in the bidding snowstorm, a young three-foot sapling sprouts bright green leaves much like the tree the two stand under. Certain of his work, he withdraws. He underestimates the drain of his powers, because he nearly collapses to the ground.

“You!” Virgil gasps, staring at Logan with bulging eyes. Logan looks at himself, no longer ambiguously human in appearance. Ah, yes. He’s quite forgotten how frightening his true form can be for humans. It is a shimmery indigo blue that is almost translucent. He has a multitude of eyes and just as many limbs. His hair is mossy, with bits of berries and flowers poking out of it. His eyes are a pupiless navy blue with whirling black rings.

“You look different as well,” Logan says, pointing out that the child’s form has taken on a glowing purple hue. Hmm, purple. Unusual color for a spirit. He still looks much like a human aside from the color. Give it enough time, however, and the child’s appearance will shift to reflect his newfound nature.

“Am I dead?” The child blurts out.

“Not in the slightest.” Logan reassures. The child does not look reassured despite this, “Now come, I know someone who will take good care of you.”

“B-but I thought, you’d--” The child stutters, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Oh no, I’m terrible with children. I promise that you will be quite safe with him.” Logan says, blinking out the dizzying nausea. He frowns in distaste. Maintaining a physical presence is annoying and draining. This is why he seldoms ventures out to the physical realm if he can help it.

“Now shall we?” Logan asks, shouting over the blizzard at this point. Virgil huddles closer, burying his head into Logan’s robes, away from the roaring blizzard. Logan’s robes become wet with tears. Logan places a tentative hand on the child’s back. \

Then he pulls both of them away--their physical forms dissolving completely. They reappear in a dwelling in the depths of the astral realm. A calamity of voices greets them. A kind, older one overlaid by two energetic young ones.

“--you two shouldn’t go off without permiss--”

“Logey, Logey!” The two young voices say in unison, as a set of green and red blurs come dashing towards Logan’s direction. The green one looks human enough except for their bottom half made up of swishing, swirling tentacles. The red one sports shimmery see-through wings and insectoid eyes.

The child presses closer to Logan, his heart rate accelerating by a substantial amount. In response, Logan draws his limbs around to shield Virgil while holding one hand out in warning. He supposes new faces, especially inhuman ones, is frightening for the young child.

“Remus, Roman,” He says, breathing labored, “I ask we forgo the usual hug-tackle just this once.”

The saplings stop short, their faces flashing with confusion. One of them opens his mouth to protest, but a blue pair of hands with talon-like nails rest on each of their shoulders.

“Logan, what’s going on?” Patton asks, “shouldn’t you be slumbering still?”

Logan doesn’t answer him at first. He glances down, craning his neck towards Virgil. “Would you like to meet my friend?” He whispers lowly. Virgil tightens his grip on Logan’s robes but nods. Satisfied, Logan draws his limbs back, revealing the child to Patton and the saplings. Twin gasps erupt from Remus and Roman.

“This is Virgil.” Logan informs them, “Virgil, this is Patton and his sons--”

“I’m Remus and this is Stinky!” Remus says, thrusting his thumb towards his brother.

“No I’m NOT! My name’s Roman!” Roman shrieks, his indignation however is quickly forgotten as he holds out a hand towards Virgil, “Hey you want to play knights and dragons? You and I can be the knights!”

“No fair! I want him to be a dragon with me!” Remus stomps his foot. Roman glares back and it seemed like the two were on the verge of a wrestling match when a tentative voice speaks up.

“Can I...can I be a dragon knight?”

Remus and Roman stare at Virgil, who mostly hidden himself behind Logan at this point. Just a purple tuft of hair and eyes are visible.

“That’s...that’d be cool!” The twins say in unison. It’s times like then that Logan is reminded they were once one; Romulus. Once a highly respected river spirit until humans’ actions caused him to split and reform anew.

“Why don’t you three go along and play in the fort? Logan and I have some things to discuss.” Patton suggests, smiling brightly. Too bright. Logan withholds a shudder.

Remus and Roman don’t protest, too excited at the prospect of a new playmate. Roman extends a hand towards Virgil, who looks up at Logan in askance.

“Well, go on.” Logan raises an eyebrow, “it is alright.”

Virgil takes Roman’s hand and the three are gone in a blink of an eye. So has Patton’s smile.

“Logan--what have you done?”

“What do you mean?” Logan deflects, gritting his teeth. He extends a few limbs, looking for something to steady himself with. A warm pair of arms steady him, guiding him to a chair. Trust Patton to help even in the midst of being upset.

“Don’t. Not right now. Virgil--he is a part of you, I can sense it. But he isn’t--”

“The human village near my forest sent him as a sacrifice.”

Patton almost lets go of him, “You didn’t!”

“Of course not,” Logan rolls his eyes as he sits down in the chair with a grunt, “but I couldn’t send him back there or leave him completely alone to die. Humans can’t survive our realm, you know this. Integrating his soul as a part of me was the only option.”

“And the village?”

“I’ve taken care to make sure they get what they justifiably deserve.” Logan answers, closing his eyes as he shares a vision with Patton.

For a fleeting second, he sees flashes of the forest marching among the white visage of a raging blizzard. Flickers of drab buildings caught in gnarled branches being torn apart. A hundred voices screaming in terror.

He opens his eyes and sees Patton again. The air spirit regards him with raised eyebrows and a small frown tugging at his lips. Not quite approval, nor disapproval.

“You plan to look after Virgil, then?”

“No, of course not,” Logan says, “I thought that was rather obvious. You are good with saplings--I am not. Besides you are always saying how it’d be nice to have around a peer Roman’s and Remus’ age for their benefits.”

As to prove his point, several delighted laughter echoes from the children in the distance. Logan smirks, satisfied. He rises from his chair, desperate to return to his winter slumber, when Patton pushes him back into it. He is embarrassed that it was more of a gentle shove than anything else.

“Logan, you can’t just--you have a responsibility to Virgil! He is of you now, if you leave--it’ll be detrimental to both of you. Remember when Romul--when Remus and Roman first came into being, if separated it caused them--”

“This is different. I made sure to account for that,” Logan snaps, “Please Patton, could you at least watch over him until--”

Logan stops abruptly as a pain burrows into him. After centuries of existence, Logan has experienced pain, both great and minimal. But he was not prepared for this type of pain. The aching, spluttering kind. He could not breathe. It was like he was drowning and being burned alive at the same time. But it isn’t oxygen he needs. It’s something else. And every second he isn’t reunited with this something, the pain only continues to worsen.

“Dad! Dad!”

“Something’s wrong--”

“I didn’t hit him!”

“--hurt--”

Something is deposited onto his lap. A shaking, quivering Virgil. Who Logan had promised would be safe here. Not writhing in pain. Logan gathers his limbs around the child tightly. A low rumble like trees creaking in the wind emanates from Logan. A lullaby that forest spirits know well. A human might find it frightening. It does not frighten Virgil. He can feel the child relaxing in his hold, cries quietening. Virgil is not human anymore, after all. The pain ebbs away but still Logan’s focus remains on Virgil.

“Are you alright now?” Logan asks.

Virgil nods, hesitating. “I’m sorry.”

Logan’s many eyes blink in confusion. He looks over to Patton and the twins, who he’d almost forgotten. Patton’s lips are pressed firmly together in a signature “I told you so” move. He is missing his usual gleam in his eyes, however. His gaze darts between Logan and Virgil before landing solidly on Logan. It doesn’t take him long to decipher what that means.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Logan asks Virgil.

“I did something bad--didn’t I? And you punished me so that’s why I--”

“No,” Logan cuts in, causing the child to jolt, “you did not do anything wrong. I should be apologizing to you. I inadvertently caused harm to you when I promised safety.”

“You mean it?” Virgil asks, his little eyes squinting up at Logan. There’s so much wariness and mistrust in those eyes. Too much for a child as young as Virgil.

“I do. I apologize for causing further harm to befall you. While it hadn’t been my intention, it still hurt you and so I take responsibility for it.” Logan tells him, bowing his head. It is a serious matter when spirits break a promise. He cannot blame the young sapling if he chooses to not to accept his apology. Especially after the hurt Virgil has already endured in his short lifespan.

Logan is as old as the forest. He has seen many things and knows twice that of things in the world. Still, nothing quite prepares him for Virgil’s response.

“Okay,” The child says, and then, “promise you won’t leave me?”

He raises his head to look at Virgil. Doubt still dances in those little eyes, but so does hope. Logan wants to laugh. What a stubborn, brave thing to have. He’s still willing to trust Logan even though he’d broken his promise not even a hour after making it. It’s illogical, foolish yet heartwarming all the same.

“As long as the forest stands tall, I will be with you.” Logan promises, a much more serious oath than the first.

Then a small smile graces Virgil’s face and oh! Oh, for all his infinite wisdom, Logan does not know how to raise a sapling. How could he, when he had no mother tree? No one to nurture and nourish him as a young, vulnerable sapling? But he knows Virgil already has him wrapped around his roots. That upon sensing the child at his tree, his fate at once had been sealed.

For once not knowing something does not agitate him. In fact, as he wraps a limb over the child in a loose embrace, he thinks he does not mind it.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #kat writes

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intelligencehavingfun · 2 years

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fic writer meme

Surprise, surprise, @cinderellasfella tagged me in a thing! :) But it’s a thing I love talking about, so here we go! (I’m Realmer06 on AO3, btw)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

486,584. I’m really glad AO3 tells you that, because I didn’t want to go do the math. This is not the full scope of my fanfiction, btw. I have another . . . 300k about? On ff.net that I haven’t transferred for a variety of reasons, usually because it’s very bad and no one should read it.

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Not if I Kiss You First, a Simon and Blue missing moment from Simon Vs.

PS Sorry ‘Bout All That, my Dudley redemption fic

Five Times a Conversation Between Minerva McGonagall and Remus Lupin Ended in Thanks and One Time It Didn’t Have To, which is exactly what it says on the tin

From the Desk of Minerva McGonagall, an epistolary fic of McGonagall’s letters to Molly over the course of Fred and George’s years at school

All the Muggle Things, exploring a friendship over eight years between Hermione and Justin Finch-Fletchley, bonding over being Muggles in a magical world

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

I don’t usually, unless it’s a really involved comment or unless I get a specific question.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

From Valley Broad and Fen, which is a doomed romance between Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin, so...

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Say It With Dandelions, a Lizzie Bennet Diaries bit of fluff, is pretty saccharine.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Just one. Widgets and Whatnots. A crossover for approximately four people, between The Night Circus and Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. It is not finished. Someday it may be,

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Mostly I get people who are unhappy with how I choose to portray post-series Draco Malfoy.

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

As an asexual, the idea of writing smut feels uncomfortable, and quite out of my wheelhouse. So no, to this point in time, I have not.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

A few! It’s pretty cool!

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

I tend to leave my cowriting to real life.

13. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Oh Lord. That I’ve written for? Probably Lizzie and Darcy from Lizzie Bennet Diaries.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

I mentioned Widgets and Whatnots, right?

15. What are your writing strengths?

I’m very good at getting in characters’ heads and making readers think about things that they hadn’t before.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action scenes of any kind.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’ve only done a tiny bit, a little bit of French in some Harry Potter fics. I don’t have anything against it, but I personally am monolingual, so I am not confident in my ability to pull it off well.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter.

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet, but want to?

Ooo... I’ve dabbled in most of the fandoms that interest me. Eventually, I should finish and post my Into the Woods fanfic.

20. What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

Yeah, right. I love most everything I’ve written. But probably the fic I’ve poured most of my heart and soul into is Pieces, my HP next gen story cycle where I try to fix everything I feel JKR has gotten wrong about her world.

I’m tagging @creativityobsessed and @unacaritafeliz, and anyone else who feels like it :)

#my writing #fic writer meme #it's been forever since i actively wrote any fanfic #but here we are

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bipercabeth · 4 years

Text

percabeth | hurt/comfort | 3k | commissioned by @mericatblackwood

a post-TLO fic in which we finally Let Percy Cry

Annabeth doesn’t know what to do with anger—her own or others’. She can take her problems to the sword fighting arena or bury her nose in blueprints for weeks, but she’ll still come away with a tight jaw. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands when they aren’t clenched into fists.

So when the tendons in Percy’s hands strain around his silverware at dinner, when his eyes are downcast and he’s closed off in that I’m-angry-but-trying-desperately-not-to-look-it way, Annabeth can only fumble over a painfully casual attempt at conversation and watch as he retreats to his cabin. He doesn’t even make an appearance at the campfire. The flames have been low in the weeks following the Battle of Manhattan, but they’re rising tonight.

The problem isn’t reading Percy; it never has been. Annabeth knows what’s hurting him and why. It’s the fixing part she struggles with.

continue on AO3

He’s been angry for the better part of a year, often because of the ambiguous impending doom of his sixteenth birthday, but not exclusively so. Annabeth caused more than her fair share of his anger, she knows. Rachel had been there to provide an escape in her place, but Annabeth supposes part of being Percy’s girlfriend means that it’s her who gets to provide solace now. Not that she didn’t before, but. There’s a deeper commitment now. He was always her person—as she was his—but it’s out in the open. She’s the first line of defense—she wants to be the first line of defense from danger, be it physical or emotional.

So Annabeth dons her Yankees cap and sneaks to Cabin 3, replaying the conversation where Percy shrugged and said he’s fine when she tried to call him out. He isn’t fine. She knows that much.

That doesn’t mean she expects to find him curled in on himself, bedsheets tangled around his middle. It shouldn’t be possible to look small in a twin bed, but he looks so small—not at all like the hero the other campers celebrate over the campfire. It’s a stark reminder that he’s only sixteen.

He lifts his head when the door opens, his eyes wide. Annabeth remembers that she’s invisible and knocks her cap off her head. She’ll pick it up later. Right now Percy’s breath stutters at the sight of her, his eyes shining like open wounds.

Annabeth can do dry anger: the cold, unfeeling rage that motivates, propels, inspires. But wet anger—the paralyzing, painful kind you cannot power through—leaves her scrambling for purchase. Annabeth is a runner. She doesn’t sit in anything.

The sheets rustle as Percy closes his eyes and takes refuge in his bed like a dog hiding his wounded paw. Despite his efforts, he cannot disguise his limp.

“Please don’t hide from us,” Annabeth pleads.

“I’m not hiding from you,” he says mildly, not lifting his head from the pillow. “I can’t hide from you.”

“But you came here.”

“I knew you would come.” Percy shrugs, casually stating as fact something Annabeth didn’t know herself until a few minutes ago.

In this moment, Annabeth envies Percy’s connection with Grover. She would kill to have a way to funnel her emotions into Percy’s brain in a way he could understand. All the love and concern she can’t articulate could exist in the world without the struggle of finding the right words.

Still, Percy specified her. Grover is out there at the campfire, probably sensing Percy’s pain like a twinge at the base of his neck, but Annabeth is the one Percy can’t hide from.

The thought propels her to the edge of his bed, sitting in the curve of mattress his torso folds around. His knees press into her right thigh as he shifts to close the space between them. Annabeth realizes with a jolt that he left this space for her to occupy.

On her other side is his face, youthful and soft in the moonlight streaming through the window. Blue light for a blue boy, swimming in blue sheets that should shelter him instead of giving him something to fist his hands in. His arms cage his chest as if his heart is trying to escape it.

Annabeth reaches for his hand, drawing it to rest between hers. If his heart is a burden, it’s not one he has to bear alone. They held the weight of the sky once. They can handle this.

For all their shared burdens, the one that weighs on Percy now is uniquely his. Annabeth is a hero, but not the hero. Shouldering “child of Athena’s final stand” for a few weeks is not the same as “hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap” looming overhead for four years. Percy’s very existence has been dissected and politicized since the moment he was claimed, whereas Annabeth could’ve chosen a quieter, quest-free life if that’s what she wanted. She chose to pick it up. Percy’s choice was to stand under a weight that would otherwise crush him.

It occurs to Annabeth that everyone who has shouldered this burden before him is dead. The heroes whose birth was prophesied, whose death was prophesied, died fighting their battles centuries ago. There are no words for that.

Words are Percy’s strong suit, anyway. He has always known what to say to calm his friends down. Annabeth can’t recall the last time she saw someone do the same for him.

She squeezes his hand and focuses on being here, where it matters.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, knowing he doesn’t. Or rather, knowing he doesn’t want her to have to talk about it.

As expected, Percy burrows deeper into the bed. Half his face is squished in his pillow; the sole eye Annabeth can see fixes on the empty space in front of him. He gives her a noncommittal shrug she doesn’t buy. But at least he won’t lie outright.

Silence follows. It nips at Annabeth’s ankles, nagging her to move, to do something, but she decides to sit with the discomfort. The confession he’s suppressing is a palpable thing: Annabeth watches it stutter in his lungs and claw its way up his windpipe. Percy will tell her when he’s ready, and she’ll be here when he is.

“I’ve been having dreams,” he says, still not meeting Annabeth’s eye. That’s okay, though. He’s getting the words out. That’s what matters, right?

“What kind of dreams?”

Percy grimaces. “Not the useful kind. Nightmares, mostly. About the war.” He doesn’t breathe between the sentences, just grits his teeth.

“It’s over, Percy. The war is over. We can rest now,” she tries.

“They can’t.”

Dread settles over Annabeth, but she asks anyway. “Who can’t?”

“Beckendorf,” he chokes, his hand tightening in hers. “Silena, Castor, Lee, Michael—I killed him, Annabeth. I told the others where to go, and they died because of me, but I killed Michael.”

Annabeth opens her mouth to interrupt, but the names keep coming. Percy steamrolls through the tears, leaving her to watch his anger limp along until it collapses into the worn bed of sadness.

“Ethan shouldn’t have been on Olympus. I should’ve hit him harder, then he might have stayed down. And Zoe—I knew she was going to die. We found out who her dad was, and I knew and I couldn’t do anything. And Bianca wasn’t supposed to stop the automation. It was supposed to be me. She could’ve come home to Nico, and maybe then—”

“Percy…”

He shrinks with each word, looking every inch the child Annabeth found on Half-Blood Hill: bruised, tired, and crying for his mother. “My mom died because of me. I didn’t even save her—I saved the world, because that’s what I had to do. Hades let her go, but she still died.”

Annabeth gapes at him uselessly. To love Percy is to know intimately the amount of guilt and unearned blame he assigns himself, but that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach.

“You saved your mom,” she reminds him. “You saved her and the world. You shouldn’t have had to do either, but you did.”

“But I didn’t save the others.”

“No one could’ve.”

“I should’ve. When you fight the way I can, the people who die around you die because you can’t get to them fast enough. If I had just been faster, I...” He takes a shuddering breath. “Why do I get to survive when they don’t?”

A lifetime of war games and war alike, and that question is the worst thing Annabeth has ever heard. Percy is just laying there, still not meeting her eye, and she doesn’t know how to help him.

Terrified of how he’ll answer that question, Annabeth leans down to kiss him before he can. She tries to pour everything into it despite not having too much experience. Kissing Percy so far has been fun, sweet, and definitely trial and error. Nothing this desperate, this needy. She inhales him like she can steal the painful words from his lungs before he says them.

Annabeth tastes tears and pulls back, terrified that she’s done something wrong. Instead, Percy’s hand catches the back of her neck, keeping her close enough for their foreheads to touch. It’s there, inches away from his trembling lips, that Annabeth finds the words.

“You saved me,” she pants. “From the Furies on the bus, at the Lotus hotel, when Polyphemus knocked me out—” her fingers travel to his grey streak— “when we held up the sky, at Mount St. Helens, on Olympus… Too many times to count. From the first day we met, you gave me hope.” She strokes his cheek and wipes away the tears, feeling her own eyes well up. “Every day. You save me every day.”

Percy clings to her hand on his cheek and releases a deep breath, fully exhaling for the first time all night. “You save me just as often.”

“So let me do it now, yeah?”

Percy looks at her, green eyes wet and wide, and nods carefully. Annabeth sighs her relief against his forehead before pressing her lips there with an aching softness. There is more to say, but she takes a moment to just hold him. The Fates deemed her his anchor to mortality, so anchor him she will.

“You survived because you were saddled with the weight of the world at twelve years old and the gods owe you a fucking break.” She looks at the ceiling, almost daring thunder to rumble. The sky stays silent. “More campers are alive than dead after a war with impossible odds, Percy. You saved so many, but you can’t save everyone. None of them would want you to blame yourself for this. We have to honor their sacrifice—and, in some cases, their choice.”

That breaks him. The last of his anger gives way to painful sobs, the ugly kind that squeeze your lungs like a spasming fist. In this moment, he is not the wounded dog, but rather the limp itself: the awkward cadence of his breath reminiscent of limbs struggling to hold new weight.

“What do you need?” she asks. “What can I do?”

The mattress jostles as Percy scoots closer, freeing up part of the bed. “Could you stay here with me? Wake me up if it gets bad? If you have to go back to your cabin, that’s fine—”

He’s cut off by Annabeth kicking off her shoes and crawling into bed behind him. There isn’t much room on the twin mattress, but she tucks her knees into the backs of his and wraps around him, and they fit well enough. She settles quickly to avoid overthinking, glad for the excuse to be close to him.

This is entirely unfamiliar territory, as Annabeth discovers when she tries to figure out what to do with her hands. She’s never spooned someone before.

Percy senses her hesitation and laces their fingers, pulling her arm around his torso. Annabeth squeezes him tight, like maybe lining up their hearts will calm the frantic beat of his. Between that and her body protecting his Achilles spot, she’s got him.

It’s a little awkward, the silence that follows. They haven’t exactly had pillowtalk before, let alone while calming Percy during a breakdown. Annabeth doesn’t know how to hold him to make all that go away, so she clings to him as tight as she can.

“You’re like a boa constrictor,” he chuckles. It’s a wet, half-hearted laugh that tells Annabeth he still has more to say. He’s at his worst when he’s deflecting.

Still, she moves to loosen up. “Sorry.”

He tugs at her hand. “No! I mean, it’s nice. I feel… safe.” He pauses, his breath deep. ��I always feel safe with you.”

Annabeth hasn’t kissed much of him apart from his lips, but she liked the comfort of kissing his forehead. She tightens her grip again and presses her lips to his shoulder, just because she can.

“Sometimes they’re about you,” Percy whispers.

Annabeth lays her cheek on his shoulder, trying to see his face. “What?”

“The nightmares. Sometimes they’re about losing you.”

“Percy, look at me.”

The tension falls from his spine as he flips around, tangling further in the mess of sheets. Annabeth smooths everything out for him before laying on her back and tugging him close. He ends up halfway on top of her: his arm around her waist, her hands in his hair, their legs a tangled mess.

She holds his face, thumbs swiping at his cheeks gently. He may be invulnerable, but he’s a fragile thing. Maybe even more so with the invulnerability.

“Tell me about them.”

“What? No. Annabeth, I’m not— I can’t talk about you d— about losing you. I can’t say those words.”

Annabeth just holds his face and his gaze. “You should. Talk about it here, safe, with me, and maybe it won’t be so bad when you fall asleep. I’ll be here the whole time.”

The tension in Percy’s body is palpable as he resists Annabeth’s coaxing. But slowly, she slips her hands to his scalp and massages him there, leeching the stress from his body as he sinks forward into her. His weight presses Annabeth into the mattress. It’s comforting, having him above her. She can feel every breath he takes, every time his heart beats in his chest.

“We’ve almost died a ton of times, but that was always together.” He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs against her collarbone. “But then on the bridge with Ethan, when you took the knife…”

Percy takes a shuddering breath.

“Sometimes we get you to the hotel and Will can’t help. Or I can’t find Will. Or Blackjack can’t grab you. Or—” his grip tightens around her, and his tears fall on her skin. “Sometimes you, you die right there at my feet. You jump a second earlier, and Ethan hits you in the chest, and I kill him for it. I kill everyone on the bridge. Most times it’s an accident, just the river listening to me, but sometimes… sometimes I don’t know. Both scare me.”

One of Annabeth’s hands moves to his Achilles spot of its own accord. Percy gasps into her neck, where some tears fall as well. He’d fought his way through his confession, coming from somewhere so deep inside him that the deluge of tears was unavoidable. She hopes to distract him from them now.

“You saved me on that bridge,” she reminds him, her free hand scratching lightly at the base of his neck.

“But what if I didn’t?” he breathes. He sounds so small.

“Doesn’t matter. You did. Anything else is a hypothetical.”

“But in the future—”

“Uh uh.” Annabeth’s chin taps Percy’s temple as she shakes her head. “It’s like strategy. You can think and think and think and plan your whole life out, but it’s not real. You never know what’s going to happen until your feet hit the floor. Are your feet on the floor?”

“No,” he grumbles.

“No,” she echoes. “You’re in bed. You get to rest now.”

Percy is still for countless heartbeats. Right when Annabeth thinks he might’ve fallen asleep, he props himself up on one elbow to look at her. Even in the lowlight, Annabeth can make out his puffy eyes and wet cheeks.

“You know you’re my best friend, right?” He sniffles, his nose wrinkling adorably as he does, and his eyes bore into Annabeth’s. “You’re my girlfriend too, but you’re my best friend first. Always.”

Annabeth hears that statement for what it is and grins despite the tears prickling in her own eyes. “And you’re mine. Always.”

A smile breaks out on his face like dawn at this late hour, brightening up the small space between them. Exhaustion sets in to close it, drawing Percy to settle back into Annabeth’s neck with the slow pull of gravity.

They drift off in a bed made to be slept in alone as they share a burden made for one person. Newness tinges the corners of this memory, this moment Annabeth finds herself missing before it’s gone: Percy asleep above her, finally getting the peaceful rest he deserves. Part of Annabeth wants to stay up all night to make sure he gets the most of it, to watch his back as she promised to do, but her eyelids are heavy with sleep in no time.

What sticks with Annabeth is this: Percy’s breath slow and steady against her neck, his heartbeat reliable as ever as it syncs with her own. The world is warm and safe despite all the evidence to the contrary, and that’s what makes this moment untouchable. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, here they are. Together in every way that matters.

#i hurt myself writing this i am not going to lie #if u read this on tumblr all i ask is u give it some love on ao3 bc engagement with tumblr is Trash but i try to keep commissions accessible #commissions #my percabeth #my fic #mericatblackwood

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bytheangell · 3 years

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All That I’ve Got

Read on AO3 (a s02e10 inspired fic) Jace is no stranger to putting on a brave face and dealing with his thoughts on his own. It’s what he’s always done, from his time as a child trying so hard to prove he was as callous as a good soldier needed to be, to his time with the Lightwoods desperate not to be more of a burden to the family that took him in, to his casual romantic partners who never went beyond a surface awareness of who Jace really is and what he’s really thinking. And this… this is going to be no different.

Because there’s only one person Jace wants to talk to just then, to pour his heart out to about Valentine and Clary and Simon and everything, and it happens to be the same person he can’t bring himself to face.

Alec.

The look of horror, of disappointment and disgust on Alec’s face when he learned the sword was activated, and activated by Jace, isn’t one he’s ever going to forget. He’s annoyed Alec before, angered him with his reckless decisions more times than either of them can count, but this? This is different.

Because of him, dozens of Downworlders are dead.

Because of him, Magnus might be dead.

Jace doesn’t know what he’ll do if Magnus is among the casualties of the Soul Sword. He doesn’t know how his parabatai will ever be able to look at him again, much less forgive him… Not that Jace expects to be forgiven. Not for any of it, he doesn’t deserve it, because he played right into Valentine’s hands.

You’re nothing if not predictable, son

Because that’s how you are, always ready to right the wrong.

Valentine knew. He knew, and he played Jace every step of the way. And Jace should’ve known better. He should’ve seen it coming, and been more cautious. Instead, he did what he always did, and tried to be the martyr, to live up to the savior complex he’s been accused of having time and time again.

But there was one thing Valentine hadn’t accounted for.

You are not my son. I’m not your father. Jocelyn is not your mother. And Clary… Clary is not your sister. More lies.

Don’t I wish. Truth sword, remember?

The Soul Sword. Holding it, Valentine was unable to lie. Jace wonders if he ever would’ve learned the truth otherwise - clearly Valentine had no intentions of telling him or Clary that they weren’t related. Jace thought he’d feel some sort of relief over not being the son of that psychopath, but he doesn’t. It doesn’t change the fact that Valentine raised him. All it changes is that Jace, who already feels disconnected from the family names he’s associated with throughout his life, now has no family name at all. It isn’t as if he had time to chat with Valentine about whether not being his son means his real father was Michael Wayland, or if that was just a convenient cover, just another lie. He has no idea who he is, no family lineage to claim. Amidst the current chaos, this jarring revelation leaves Jace feeling particularly unmoored.

Does he wish he was Valentine’s son? No. Yes. Maybe? Would that be easier, somehow, than having no biological connection to the man whose voice he hears in the back of his mind after every failure and every success in equal measure?

Or does Jace simply wish he still thought he was Clary’s brother because it would make the ache of not having her hurt that much less just now? Because knowing changes everything, but at the same time it changes nothing, because she’s with Simon, and despite what some people might think he isn’t a complete asshole. He isn’t going to swoop in and try to break them up while they’re happy - and they are happy. They’re good for each other, and they have a simple, carefree sort of happiness that Jace knows deep down he can never bring her, not with the baggage he carries.

It’s a lot to think about. It’s almost too much, when added to the rows of bodies he walks past on his way back through the Institute. Vampires, werewolves, seelies, warlocks… people who put aside every doubt they had in believing the word of a Shadowhunter. People who trusted him with their lives, and lost them because of it.

The Downworlders will never be able to trust a Shadowhunter’s word again, and that’s on him. Him and his predictability. Him, and how easily manipulated he is under Valentine’s influence, even after all these years. He wants to stay and help, wants to try and make up for the damage he’s done, but it’s obvious his presence isn’t wanted. Murmurs and speculations follow him, and every gaze that lands on him is hateful or fearful - sometimes both. His presence is obviously not helping, so he does the only thing he can to make things better for everyone: he leaves.

Jace is quick to make his way through the quiet halls. Despite being full of people, Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike, there’s a somber silence that fills the Institute today. Any voices are quiet, hushed tones of despair and even anger quieted out of respect for the fallen. It only makes the thoughts in his head that much louder, his heavy, booted footsteps echoing against the old stone as he makes his way somewhere private.

It doesn’t take long for his already troubled thoughts to begin a steady downward spiral until he hears footsteps approaching, wondering if it would be Aldertree or Imogen, or some other Clave official sent to find him.

The last person he expects to see is Alec.

“Jace?” Alec’s voice isn’t full of anger or accusation. His expression isn’t one of hate or mistrust. There’s only a quiet sympathy, and a hesitation not out of fear but concern.

“Alec,” Jace breathes out his parabatai’s name in surprise. “Magnus, is he- did you-”

“He’s fine,” Alec’s quick to reassure him, and Jace feels every muscle in his body slump in relief.

“Good,” Jace says.

“What about you?” Alec asks, and there’s that concern again.

“What about me?” Jace echoes, aware of how hollow the words sound in his own ears.

“How are you?” Alec asks again.

The question catches Jace by surprise.

Besides himself, there’s no Shadowhunter who will suffer from the fallout of today more than Alec, yet here he is coming to check up on Jace. Here Alec is, not with the boyfriend he nearly lost but checking in with his obviously hurting parabatai.

Jace had been wrong before... this, this is too much. This is his breaking point: the moment he realizes that Alec still loves him, still cares for him and about him, even now. Even after everything that just transpired and Jace’s role in it.

So, finally, Jace allows himself to break. He talks, explaining everything to Alec, confessing everything to Alec. There are a few tears and a lot of regrets, but mostly there’s a sense of relief. Alec doesn’t leave. He doesn’t blame Jace, doesn’t even raise his voice. But most importantly he stays.

It’s a small comfort he knows he doesn’t deserve but one he clings to all the same, to know that no matter what else Jace ruined today, he hasn’t ruined them. Even if Alec is the only person left by his side in the end, that would be more than enough.

#jace herondale #alec lightwood #parabatai feels #shadowhunters #valentine morgenstern #my coda series continues with more introspective scene fill POVs!#this week featuring ALL THE JACE ANGST #elle writes a few deadbeat lines #long post

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kae-karo · 3 years

Text

fic writer interview!

i saw @prince-liest do this and thus i will take ur 'tagging anyone who wants to do this' seriously lmaoooo (also hi btw hope ur well!!! 💜💜)

How many works do you have on AO3?

ahaha,,,,,159 lmao

What's your total AO3 word count?

fdsjkkjlsfdklj as of today, 2,089,769

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

only three fsdjkldslfkj the phandom (dan&phil), bnha, and genshin!

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

chosen (x) - zhongchi (genshin)

to love (and be loved in return) (x) - kaeluc (genshin)

little bird (x) - dabihawks (bnha)

feet don't touch the ground (x) - xiaoven (genshin)

i knew you were fire (x) - dabihawks (bnha)

honestly none of that surprises me except that little bird is still up there, although i think i owe that to sif (@the-final-sif) for sharing it around the time it got posted since it was partly inspired by her raptor stress grip post!!

the rest are all chaptered fics, which is mostly what i expected to be in the top 5 lmao

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

yes!!! always!!!! no matter what u comment, i will respond!!! and if i don't, it's probably cause ao3 didn't notify me properly or i didn't see it in my inbox or something

as for why, it's mostly to do with like...i know how hard it can be for some people to comment, even just a bunch of heart emojis or a 'i loved this!' or something short and simple? and it means a lot to me that ppl are going out of their way to say something nice, no matter how small, and it's really really important to me to acknowledge that

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

hmm,,,,,this is a hard one, cause for a very long time, my policy was that my fic would always have a happy ending? and for a long time, that was true!! but the dabihawks interaction (during the raid) broke me, and from an emotional standpoint, i think freeing icarus (x) is probably the one that has the angstiest ending of the two or so that i wrote in that time?

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

u know i really haven't written any crossovers? it's normally not my thing cause my brain typically focuses on a single thing and doesn't really have the capacity to think about more than that, so i end up writing just au-style or fusion-style (shoutout to that one bnha but it was scooby doo fic i wrote - x)

i don't think i'd be opposed to writing a crossover but i'd have to be SUPER inspired by the idea and both fandoms lmao

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

aha yes, i have. the only straight up hate i've received was on a kaeluc fic (surprisingly not because it was kaeluc, but bc i was 'mistreating' kaeya in the fic) - to be entirely fair, the commenter pointed out something that i hadn't realized myself, and it led to a second piece of the story that helped me tie up some loose ends, but...let's just say they weren't very kind about their feelings lmao

other than that, i had someone very upset because i didn't tag which character was bottoming in a fic (valid if that bugs u!) and they read through most of it before getting to the smut (and said that they enjoyed everything up to that point) then said they were 'disgusted' by it. i have opinions on that and a few other comments they made, but i will keep them to myself lmao

and beyond that, just a few ppl on my xiaoven fic saying that they were unhappy about the background kaeluc (which is tagged lmao) - really no hate whatsoever til genshin, honestly, which is...very hmmmm :) lmao

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

yep!!! mostly vanilla or vanilla-adjacent lmao i'm not super into heavy kink, although i know if epi reads this she's gonna call me out for being a monsterfucker bc of my dragon!zhongli smut :) lmaoooo but really i tend to write pretty vanilla smut! i also prefer to avoid any noncon/dubcon or hate sex or anything particularly angsty, just not my jam to write!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

hmm i don't think so? although i don't heavily monitor ao3 (or wattpad/ffn), so i can't really say that for sure lmao

Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes!!! i've had a few fics translated to russian (little bird is one of them!) which is very sweet and i hope that anyone who prefers to read in russian has been enjoying those fics!!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

alksdfjklsdf only once, and it's deadass how me and rose got together. we decided to co-write a podcast au fic for the phandom (x) and ended up flirting via google docs asldkfjkldsfj

What’s your all time favourite ship?

what a horrible question, making me choose between my children like this!!!! sdlfkjdskf tbh i'm not sure i have a real answer bc it changes as i go? and 'favorite' is so vague,,,,,favorite to read? to write about? to think about? asdklfjkjsdfk i really don't know if i have an answer, but i'll maybe say kaeluc for now lmao

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

well first and foremost, with only 2 exceptions, i never post a fic unless it's done. i tend to follow wherever my passion leads my brain, so i'm notorious for jumping around between stories and taking breaks from long fic and returning later on to finish them, and i know that i would not do well under the pressure of posting something unfinished and trying to finish it in a timely manner

that said, many wips sit in my google doc folder, but one is Well Known as the one that has followed me through both the phandom and bnha (rose keeps asking who i'm gonna switch the chars to in genshin, but i think it suits bakudeku too well to do that) - only the lonely survive. it sits at like 36k in my wip folder, and i adore the story dearly and i want very much to finish it, but it never makes it quite to the forefront of my motivation, and so it rarely if ever gets worked on...i hate the idea of 'never' finishing it, but it's unfortunately quite likely that i won't 😭😭😭

What are your writing strengths?

emotion!!! and immersion!!! it's my goal in a fic to make it as immersive as possible and saturated with emotion to help convey that feeling of being in the place of the pov character, and i think i do it pretty well. also just bc i feel a little obligated to say it - another strength is actually sitting down and putting words down. i know that's a struggle for a lot of writers and i often get,,,,lovingly bullied? i guess? lmao for being able to bash out a few k in a day most days

What are your writing weaknesses?

this isn't so much a weakness i guess but i am basically incapable of treating crack fic as crack. if i have a cracky idea, it will, without a doubt, end up turning into a Perfectly Serious fic somehow (notable 'crack treated so seriously that it's no longer crack' fics include: todoroki doing the freeze-the-ocean thing from frozen 2, 'shmigaraki', todo and denki get together bc of vine references, the league sells feet pics, shiggy and natsu own a nightclub/bakery, scooby doo but make it bnha, and dabi getting his ears pierced at claire's)

but in all seriousness, i think my main weakness is that i often get comfortable? and i'm not one to typically push myself forcefully out of my comfort zone when it comes to stories that i come up with on my own, which often means that ideas inspired by discussions with others are what prompt me to branch out and try new things?

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i think, like anything, it has its place? there are certainly stories where it makes sense to do that and even adds depth to a story, although i personally am not exceptionally comfortable enough with other languages (except maybe asl) to do that in fic myself without the assistance of someone very comfortable with that language lmao

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

the phandom! not really my jam to write rpf anymore but it definitely got me started and i'm really grateful for my time writing there, as everyone was super supportive and kind, and it was really a perfect place for a beginner to get comfortable and practice

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

again, forcing me to choose between my children...i really don't know that i can pick one fic bc they all exist in such wildly different spaces? i poured my worldbuilding soul into the king of disaster series (mainly dabihawks - x), exile (dan and phil - x) was my first massively long fic, our hearts are heavy burdens we shouldn't have to bear alone (chayea - x) is probably my favorite character/character dynamic study, i'm exceptionally proud of the smut in chosen (zhongchi - x), the list goes on and on and on lmao like. i could probably list half my fics as favorites in some regard dsflkjdfsjkl

anyway, tyty bellamy for putting this on my dash so i could do it as well!!

tagging: literally anyone who wants to do this, i have so many writer friends slkdjfjklsdf but please please tag me if u do it so i can read urs!!! 💜💜💜

#writing

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

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Day 8: Moceit

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 8 - The temperature of your chest gets hotter when you are closer to your soulmate and colder when you move further away.

Content warnings (oh boy): This is an afterlife fic! Meaning there is technically character death, but it is essentially the beginning of a whole new life, and the death itself is only briefly touched upon. That being said, warnings for; hypothermia/frostbite, death, car accident, talk of past death, mention of cancer, brief description of body horror (no gore).

Word count: 2.8k

It started when Janus was two. His parents were awoken by his feral cries, throwing open the door to his room, imagining the worst. They recoiled immediately upon touching him, his skin almost freezing to the touch. They closed the bedroom window and piled him in more layers until he stopped wailing, but that was only the start.

When he was six, his mother explained soulmates to him. He looked at her with huge eyes, fiddling with the sleeves of his oversized hoodie, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

When he was ten, he had grown sick and tired of the constant cold. A majority of his classmates and friends hadn’t met their soulmates yet, but they all didn’t seem as bothered by it as he was. They didn’t keep their winter jackets on in class, no matter the season, and their hands were never too cold to hold a pencil.

When he was thirteen, he caught hypothermia. At the insistence of his older brother, he joined him outside in the snow for a hike in the forest. His countless layers and heat pads in his pockets only did so much when they got hopelessly lost in the woods, and while his brother seemed to be unaffected by the cold, Janus woke up the next day in the hospital. He could vaguely remember falling face first into the snow, his cold slowly morphing into pleasant warmth, his brother shouting his name. The doctors were unable to save his left eye, leaving him half blind, and his frostbite scars never quite disappeared. They said the very fact that he survived was some kind of miracle. He didn’t go into the snow after that.

When he was sixteen, his mother took him to a doctor. After thorough examination, the man could find nothing wrong with him. He suggested B-12 supplements and a list of ways to increase his circulation, and when that did nothing to help months later, he sat them both down in his office and explained it most likely meant Janus’ soulmate had died. Janus didn’t know until that moment that it was possible to miss someone you’ve never met, but he cried on the way home. His mom said nothing.

When he was eighteen, Janus was alone. He had become reclusive and standoffish, unwilling to spend time around any of the people who tried to befriend him. All of them had soulmates. All of them got to be happy.

When he was twenty, his family suggested group therapy for those who had lost their soulmates, and he had reluctantly gone to one session. For a moment, he felt at home, surrounded by other people in thick sweaters and jackets and gloves, until he learned that all of them had lost their soulmates after meeting them. They had been able to spend years together, enjoying each other’s company, before losing the love of their life. When he explained his situation, he was only met with the same sympathetic looks he’d received everywhere else in life, and he never went back.

When he was twenty-two, he graduated with his Bachelor’s degree in psychology. The crowd was the quietest it had been all night; no one knew this guy, but it felt wrong to not cheer at all. He shook the Dean’s hand with thick yellow gloves and took the diploma, ignoring the man’s confused raised eyebrow and walking away to the noise of half-hearted claps.

When he was twenty-five, life was okay. Not good, just okay. He’d found a lab job in the psychological social experiment aspect that paid decently and wasn’t a total bore. Most nights he was numb, especially after experiments that revolved around soulmates, so he turned on Netflix and poured a glass of wine and fell asleep on the couch, wrapped in a thick weighted blanket. Life is fine, he told himself. It could be worse.

And when Janus was twenty-seven, he died. It was an accident; a mix of a long tiring day and an ignored red light just as he was crossing the street. The car barreled through the intersection, other car horns blaring, and he looked up just in time to see the person looking down, probably on their phone. He’d never know. The impact was quick, and he didn’t even have time to feel pain before the world went dark. He was a little grateful for that.

It stayed dark for a long while after that. Well, in full honesty, he didn’t know how long it was. It felt like a long time, but it also felt extraordinarily short. The seconds turned to years and millennia became mere minutes, the very concept of time fading away just as he did. A minuscule part of him was still aware that he was conscious, and he probably should have been a little scared of that, because did that mean he was destined to float around as an unattached subconscious for eternity? A larger part of him was just relieved to finally rest, with the weight of student debt and an exhaustingly lonely life finally gone.

Until it wasn’t. The light crept into the center of his vision first and he grumbled in annoyance. Let me just enjoy it a second longer, he thought distantly, but the light didn’t listen as it slowly spread across his vision like molasses. For the first time in his life, he realized with a start, he didn’t feel cold. There was a heat in his chest that he’d never felt before, and he was scared when the darkness faded, so would the warmth.

“Janus, are you okay?” A desperate voice broke through his dark haze in whisps, slowly clearing the fog that had set in. It rambled on, “Oh, stupid question. You just died. Sorry! Can you see me?”

His vision lit up all the way, replacing the darkness but not taking away the heat. Perfect. He was about to answer no to the stranger’s question; there was just a blur of blue and white and green, until the figure loomed that much closer and came into focus. It was a man, probably his age, with bright blue eyes and floppy golden hair, his freckled nose just inches from Janus’. His eyes held concern but he was smiling like no tomorrow. The man seemed to realize when Janus could in fact see him clearly and backed away, holding out a hand to help him up. Why was he lying on the ground? Where was he?

That question was answered as soon as he took the offered hand, looking around him in shock. Apparently the dark void hadn’t held him for as long as he thought. A distant siren pierced the air, and people’s shouts rang over each other as they milled around the body in the street, his body. The car that had hit him was nowhere to be seen. It was all too surreal, too uncomfortable, and he turned back to the man standing in front of him. They were standing on the sidewalk, just meters away from the gruesome scene on the street, and Janus suddenly felt very lightheaded.

“I carried you away as soon as your soul formed. Didn’t want to overwhelm you when you opened your eyes for the first time.”

“I’m dead?”

“Yep,” The man answered just a bit too cheerfully, before noticing the newcomer’s expression and softening, “Sorry. I’ve been here for a while, the shock has kind of worn down.”

“What’s here?”

“The afterlife. Deathny World. Aliven’t. I’ve heard it all.”

“Ah,” Janus choked, trying to take in the environment around him without looking at his own dead body, or the paramedics that had just arrived on the scene. It looked like the real world, and obviously they were still in the real world to some extent since he was witnessing the aftereffects of his own death, but the subtle mist floating through the air was definitely new. It curled through the air gently, resting on every surface it could land on, coloring the world with soft rainbow hues. It was the real world, it was just as if he was seeing more of it for the first time. The parts that were invisible before. An orange tuft graced by his ear and he could just make out the sound of someone laughing, the smell of fresh bread, the taste of fresh jam on a summer morning. A smile tugged at his lips before he realized.

“Forgotten memories,” The man spoke up, as if reading his mind. “Every lost memory of every person winds up here. Mostly good ones, but some are bad. You’ll learn how to sift through them soon enough.”

Janus was finally able to pull himself away from the colorful world, staring into the bright eyes of the stranger. “Who are you?”

“I’m Patton,” he said with a new grin, scratching the back of his neck nervously, “I’m your soulmate.”

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

It took Janus a much longer time than he would have liked to admit to unfreeze from the revelation, Patton taking his hand gently and sinking them out to a new location. His stomach churned upon rising up, the new sensation making him nauseous. He didn’t recognize where they were, some cafe, and Patton gently pushed him into a seat before strolling up to the counter with no hesitation, starting a conversation with the barista and gesturing to Janus. The mist, the lost memories, were gone, replaced with a golden haze that gave the world a soft glow. The air was thick with the smell of coffee beans and cookies that instantly calmed Janus’ stomach. When Patton finally walked back to him, two mugs in hand, he explained.

“This is the soul world. We can pop in from the real world to this one whenever we want. Some souls choose to stay on one side predominantly, some switch back and forth a lot.”

“This single cafe is the soul world?”

“Oh! No, my bad! There’s a whole lot more outside. I’ll have to show you later. Right now, though, just relax. You’ve had a… long day, to say the least.” He pushed one of the cups into Janus’ grasp.

“What is it?” He asked skeptically. It looked like coffee, but who’s to say anything anymore.

“Whatever you want it to be. Think of your favorite drink, then try it.”

Janus narrowed his eyes but lifted the mug to his lifts, trying to think of a single drink he liked. His mind decided that this was the ideal moment to forget everything he ever drank in his entire short life, so when he finally took a sip, the liquid was disgustingly tasteless. Like warm water. He set the drink down, watching Patton intensely.

Janus took in his appearance, his general shock finally beginning to wear off. An open light blue button up over a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was pretty much Janus’ definition of cute, what with those stupidly adorable dimples and little golden locket hanging on his neck. If he’d met him when he was alive, he no doubt would have fallen head over heels for him.

“You’re my soulmate? How is that…” He cleared his throat, hoping he wasn’t blushing, “How is that possible?”

Patton hummed, wiping off what appeared to be a hot chocolate moustache, “I died when I was three. Cancer.”

“That’s awful.”

Patton shrugged, taking another sip, “It wasn’t great. I woke up by myself, still half wedged in my own corpse. It was terrifying. My parents were crying, and I tried to tell them I was there, somehow, but they couldn’t see me.”

“Totally not traumatic at all.”

The man actually laughed, despite the dark story, “I had to figure everything out for myself. Sinking down, navigating both worlds, how to control my own form… which you are doing surprisingly well at, by the way.”

Janus glanced down at himself. He definitely wasn’t alive, that much was sure, if the wisps of yellow smoke cascading down him were any indication. If he concentrated hard enough, the fog began to disappear, leaving him looking normal, albeit a bit paler. As soon as his mind drifted, however, the golden trails were back.

“This was the first place I was able to rise up in in this world. It’s kind of an easy access point. I popped up behind the counter, scared the living daylights out of Virgil.” He pointed to the barista who was currently chatting with another person ghost, laughing over identical mugs with them. “He’s been here a while. Two hundred years, give or take.”

Janus paled, the idea of eternity becoming just that much more real. “Oh…”

“Yeah. He kind of raised me. And then when I was old enough to understand, he explained that I’d left a soulmate behind. I cried for hours after that.” He smiled sadly, finally meeting Janus’ eyes.

“You knew my name,” The younger recalled suddenly, sitting up a little straighter, “Right when I was waking up, you said my name.”

Patton looked almost sheepish, focusing back on the cup between his hands, “After Virgil told me… I kind of made it my personal mission to find my soulmate. I spent a lot of time in the real world, years, trying to find you, and of course checking in on my parents sometimes. Ghosts don’t need sleep, we can sleep, if we want, but we don’t need to, so it was a constant search. And then, my parents both ended up in the hospital, long story, and I wanted to be there when they woke up. Make their transition into the new world a little easier than mine was,” His expression lit up, wiggling a little in his seat, “And while I was there, I stumbled across a certain young patient with severe frostbite and hypothermia.”

“Me.”

“Mmhm. And I felt this weird warmth in my chest, which is weird, because ghosts don’t really feel temperature. It didn’t last that long, just a couple seconds, really, but it was enough time to know.”

“The soulbond.”

“Yep.”

They both drank in unison. This time, Janus’ drink tasted like the unsweetened chamomile tea from the hospital. He made a sour face and put the cup back down. He stared into his reflection for a moment, almost captivated in the sloshing against the sides of the mug, before Patton spoke again.

“I spent most of my time in the alive-world after that. With you. And it sucked, because there was nothing I wanted more than to talk to you and hug you and just let you know I existed… you were so sad…”

“Yeah…” Janus mumbled, tapping the ridge of his cup with his fingernail. “Is that why you were at the accident?”

“I tried to stop it,” Patton whispered, a look of pure guilt crossing his face, “I couldn’t tug you back though, and you didn’t hear me. So the least I could do was pull you out when you formed and take you away from the crowd.”

The odd language was starting to confuse Janus, the weird differentiation between his soul and his body, the terminology regarding the soul world he didn’t understand… it was all just a lot.

“So… Do we age? You’re obviously not three anymore. But the barista doesn’t look two hundred.”

“Virgil. And… I don’t know.”

“Very comforting.”

“You’re sassy.”

“That I am.”

For the first time in a very long time, Janus’ lips twitched into a smile in response to the absolute beam on Patton’s face. No one had ever taken his snark as anything other than bitchiness, but this guy, his soulmate, seemed to love it.

“As far as I know, we won’t. I think I only aged along with you, and now that you’re here, we’re probably done.” He had finished his drink, the barista swooping in out of nowhere and plucking it from his grasp with an impish grin. Patton shouted his thanks as Virgil disappeared into the back room. “He’s been waiting to meet you for a long time. But he can be a handful, so we’ll save proper introductions until you’re settled. Speaking of which…” He stood up, smoothing out his shirt and offering his hand to Janus once more. “I can show you where residency is, if you’d like. It might be nice to take a nap, just to process.”

Janus considered. The vague sounding ‘residency’ was intriguing, but he was much too restless to sleep right now. He voiced as much. “Maybe later. Do you think you could show me around first?”

The grin Patton gave him was bright enough to power a city block. Janus took the extended hand and the man squealed, pulling him towards the door excitedly. Yeah. He was definitely already falling for the literal ball of sunshine that was his soulmate.

“One grand tour of the afterlife, coming up!”

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #janus sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #ts afterlife au #moceit #ts soulmate au #sanderssides #soulmate september #soulmateseptember

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quartermera · 3 years

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Forehead and Cheek Kisses with Bonney

♢ : Forehead or cheek kisses

This girl kisses you all the damn time! Bonney is a very energetic person imo and it’s reflected in the way she behaves around you. Whenever you’re around, she’ll seek your attention, and if that means pecking your cheek then so be it!

You actually love it because that means she covers you in them haha!

She has a really cute habit of pouting if you don’t kiss her back or don’t give her enough attention after she’s pecked you. Don’t let her wait too long or too often though or she will get mad haha! But worry not, a smile and a kiss is all you need to give her to be forgiven.

Bonney is really chill about PDA. She gives zero fucks about people looking at you. On the contrary, I think she kinda likes it? It’s pretty much a way for her to flex like hell yeah! I have an amazing girlfriend and she’s mine!!!

If anyone tries to hit on you... oh boy, pray for their soul. She’ll start nicely, moving closer to you, wrapping an arm around your middle, kiss your cheek. If they don’t get the message, she’ll start calling you pet names, maybe talk about last night with a suggestive tone (even if in reality you spent the night cuddling) etc. If they still don’t get that they should back the fuck off, she’ll get mad and tbh she can be really scary.

“Stop talking to my girlfriend! She’s too good for you anyway! If you look at her one more time I’ll blow your brains out and eat them for dinner!”

In these moments, the only thing that can calm her is you and you better do if you don’t want for it to end in a bloodbath.

In private she’s generally also quite energetic but she’s also a huge softie for you, ngl. She’s energetic in a different way, as in she spends all her energy on you. She wants to have lots of quality time together and if for you that involves cuddling in bed while regularly exchanging little kisses, that’s fine by her.

It’s mostly all about cheek kisses usually. But if you brush some hair away from her forehead before gently pecking it, I swear to heavens she’ll look at you like you’re the most beautiful creature in the whole world <3

*screams into oblivion* oKaY, Anon! I didn’t expect a request for Bonney but I’m REALLY happy I got one bc bich I lover too ;-; <3 I’ll explain why more under the cut bc I don’t wanna spam here, but thank you a lot for your request <3 I hope you liked what I came up with for her! In any case, I’m very happy to conclude this event with her!

Nonsexual Acts of Intimacy Prompt List

This signs the end of the 2021 Event! I hope you enjoyed it, I’ll write a conclusion post tomorrow once I’ve slept, see ya then!

For the little story: I wrote a 30 chaptered Sabo x OC fanfic back when I was 15. Until this day it’s one of my most precious stories. It honestly isn’t that great looking back but I poured so much of myself into that and it helped me through so much it is definitely a fic I am very attached to.

It was written in French and it’s called La Chute des Notes. It’s still on fanfiction.net and Wattpad if anyone wants to check it out lmao. But anyway, it was a highschool!AU with a group of friends who become the found family of a new student called Mariella (the OC).

And Bonney is one of those friends!!! I loved writing her so damn much, she was a whole lot of fun to write LKHLHUGFKF!!!

So yes, even if she isn’t super popular, she’s one of my babies ya kno? Just like Nojiko, who’s also part of the friend group.

Btw, all the members of the group were Sabo, Ace, Law, Bonney, Nojiko and the OC, Mariella. So yes, these characters are very close to my heart and a big part of it is because I wrote them at a time I felt terrible and they helped me through it <3

#nille writes #2021 event #female reader #race neutral reader #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #one piece imagine #one piece bonney #jewelry bonney #jewelry bonney x reader #jewelry bonney headcanons #jewelry bonney imagine #wlw

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invisibleraven · 3 years

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28, 29, 30, and 44! <3

28) What is something you wished you’d known before you started posting fanfiction?

Don't attach your self worth to the reaction to your fics, you are more than the number of likes and kudos you get. Also just using spell check doesn't count as editing, re-read the fic yourself first before posting.

29) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

Oh gosh, all of them? I think with my fics, because I write mostly more mature fics, and such niche pairings (Hey fellow Rulie/PeterPatterLina shippers!) and am not some big name in fandom, my fics kind of get pushed off to the wayside. However, when I wrote I can go anywhere I want... it got like NO response, which I found weird, since it's a generic Sunset Curve fic, with angst, which seems to be a popular trope. Also probably going to forever be a little sad that But came the dawn... didn't get a bigger response than it did, since I poured my heart and soul into that fic.

30) In contrast to 29 is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at?

Ages ago I wrote this Legally Blonde the Musical piece of smut (it's on my AO3 if you really want to read it) that I think is only okay, but it is the most popular thing I have written in terms of kudos/hits/whatever, hands down.

44) What is the last line you wrote?

I have three WiPs right now; Part 10 of Semisonic Sunset, an accidentally married Rulie fic that Alex filled as a ficlet and gave me permission to run with after I asked for more, and an arranged marriage Rulie fic that I've been pecking away at. You get a line from that last one.

So to give up a year of his life, to marry Julie so that he and the boys could finally fulfil their dreams, yeah, that was nothing to Reggie. He'd do it again in a heartbeat.

#ask games #my writing

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abzzz3 · 3 years

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No Soul to Love - Part One

Part one of a multipart fic requested by @leniram1890 , I hope this does your vision justice

Summary: The soul is a powerful thing. It has the ability to heal people when harnessed, but also has a will of it’s own when you find a soulmate. Your soul has been ripped from you for the very purpose of healing others, and now you’re just trying to have as normal of a life as possible. That’s when tall, dark and handsome showed up, flipping everything onto it’s head and forcing you to hope for more than this life you’ve been damned to.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Tags: @leniram1890 @kcd15

Warnings: None that I can think of/remember

Word Count: 1,593

Notes: This is the first I’ve written in a while so please be gentle, however constructive criticism is welcome.

_____________________________________________________

“Milk or sugar?”

You snapped out of the thoughts running through your head and looked at the man sitting across from you, pouring a cup of coffee for each of you.

“No”

He tutts, “Now, now. No need to be so rude”

You scoffed, shaking your head. He couldn’t be serious, could he? Of course he’s serious though, he’s been nothing but serious since the day you met him. All his jokes, his laughing, his lying was all part of his plan. None of it was ever real.

“Why did you do it?” You asked, barely above a whisper, as he gave you a cruel smirk

“I’ve told you this before” Was his answer

“No you haven’t. You’ve told me it was because you liked me, but that’s not an answer. Tell me why you did it.” You replied, trying to sound sure of yourself and calm, but below the surface you were begging the man in front of you to give you some answers.

He poured some milk and three sugar cubes into his coffee, stirring it and taking a long sip of it before putting it back down on the table in front of me.

“Because your need to help others is perfect for my need to help others. Your soul is so full of it that it will work far better than many I have used before.”

You weren’t looking at him as he spoke, instead you were looking at the ring on his finger, which was golden with a black stone as large as a marble in it and when you caught it in the right light you could see a rainbow of colours dance around inside. Those colours were your soul, along with the souls of who knows how many others, well a part of my soul. The rest of it was somewhere hidden where you would never find it, the ring just allowed him to access your soul any time he wanted, because apparently no matter how far your soul is separated to the rest of it, it will always try to become whole again. You’ve imagined yourself prying and ripping that stone from his fingers so many times and smashing it on the ground to finally be free again. It will never happen though. Your soul is his to use up until there is nothing left and you die. ‘Some healer’ you thought, scoffing at his apparent profession.

“Don’t even think about it, you know what happened last time you tried it” He warned, wiggling his fingers so the colours flashed in the sunlight and across your face

Your hand went involuntarily to your shoulder, where you still had phantom pains from when he tore your soul along the edge last time you tried to pry that ring off him. You hadn’t been able to move your shoulder for a week without crying out in pain.

“Can I please go? I have to get to work soon” You asked, still watching his hand

“Yes, but we’ll be back here again tomorrow morning, remember”

You nodded and grabbed your bag, leaving him and your untouched coffee behind you and headed to work.

His name was Adam, he was a work friend of your late husband, George, who was invited round for dinner one night, which is how you first met him. Months went by and all three of you got along really well, until slowly you began to get tired more often and felt like you were losing yourself and losing interest in all your favourite activities. George was amazing throughout it all, taking you to and from appointments with the doctor and your psychologist, he even surprised you one day when you came home from work late with dinner cooked, fresh peonies on the table and candles lit. You looked at him that night and for the first time in a while felt some warmth in your chest, which was pure love towards the man standing in front of you. But, the next morning he was dead. Doctors said he died of heart failure, but his heart was perfectly healthy until that point, so you couldn’t understand how it could have happened.

That was when Adam rocked up on your doorstep, telling you everything. How he was a healer, and used certain methods that those on Earth cannot use, in order to help people get better. How he took your soul from you one night, after finding out enough about you to decide your soul was perfect. That was when he also told you why your late husband had died. Apparently for anyone who’s soul is caught and they are in love at the same time, the soul is harder to mould and be used by the healer. So, he makes it his duty to kill anyone who is one of his trapped souls’ soulmate.

You had to wipe a tear from your cheek as you walked into the front door of the bookshop you worked at. It may have been 6 months ago but it still hurt like it was yesterday.

“Morning y/n!” Tessa called from one of the far walls as she stocked some shelves with books we had just gotten in.

“Morning Tessa, how was Jamie’s recital last night?” You asked

“Amazing, that little boy is just like his father”

You could hear the smile on her face, just by the way her voice carried across the room. It made you happy to see her so happy because you knew of all people she deserved it. You popped your name badge on, put your bag in the staff room and went and turned the open sign around on the front door, ready for the influx of customers today. You worked in an independent bookshop which stocked best sellers, classics, rare books, and anything else in between for every interest and age. The owners were Mr and Mrs Bates, who have retired from working instore and now manage mostly from home, except for the one day a week they come in to check up on us. They were old and Mrs Bates has just had a hip replacement so you didn’t blame them for not being more present.

The door had opened many times already today, and the bell had rung each time to the point where it was now background noise to you. You were currently in the New Age section, reshuffling the books into order by author’s surname when a shadow appeared behind you.

“Excuse me ma’am, I’m wanting some recommendations for some new books” A cool, smooth voice said from behind you

You turned around, an arm full of books, and saw none other than Loki standing in front of you, and a little close for comfort as well. You were gobsmacked, unable to let any words out as you tried to put together some semblance of a sentence to say to him.

“I-, ah, well. . . yes, I-I think I can-” You stumbled out, tripping over every word that left your mouth

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to try to enslave you all” He joked, a smirk just visible on his lips

Loki of Asgard, the God who tried to conquer Earth, was making a joke. Of course that was years ago that he tried to do that, and it has since come to light that he was under some kind of control at the time, you just never thought you would be in the same 10 mile radius to him, let alone in the same room.

“Oh, sorry” you snapped out of it “Of course I can help, what kind of stuff do you like to read?”

“Well, I used to read great tales of heroics and quests back in Asgard. Along with more educational material than you could imagine. Do you have anything like that?” He asked

“I can find something in the classics section that you might like. Similar to your stories of heroics and quests, how does that sound?”

“Lead the way” He said, stretching out his arm in a way of beckoning you forward and towards the centre of the room where you would presumably head to the classics section from

You glanced at him as you walked past him, getting a smell of whatever cologne he used. It was a mix of spices with a woody base and something so sophisticated that it would make any woman weak in the knees because it was so alluring. It was the kind of thing you would imagine a good looking businessman would wear in your favourite trashy romance book. Ignoring the scent, even if you just wanted to get another lung full of it, you lead him across the room and towards one of the back corners where the classic literature was.

Wracking your brain for something that was like what he was describing you instantly thought of Tolkien’s ‘The Hobbit’, which you grabbed off the shelf, and Tolstoy’s ‘War and Peace’, which you kind of just had a feeling he would enjoy, before turning around to face Loki. You showed him both books, giving a brief synopsis of each and asked his thoughts on them.

“Both sound intriguing. I’ll get both and come back once I have read them and let you know my thoughts.” He confirmed, not giving you any chance to respond before he headed towards the counter to purchase them and was gone out the front door without much more than a polite smile and head bob/mini bow in your direction.

#loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki x you #loki x reader #avengers #marvel #reader insert #fanfic #fanfiction #multi part #requested #requests open #leniram1890

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shutupandshipit · 3 years

Text

Singing from the soul - Oneshot

Summary: 'If you're gonna tell them everything/tell them I'm a good kisser./Tell them all things you told me/in your desperate whisper./If you're gonna tell them everything/don't leave out the good part./Tell them the way that you broke my heart/when you told me that your missed her./Tell them I'm a good kisser!' Bakugou's voice was a pleasant warm rumble through the room.

Jirou wasn't sure how many people knew, but he had a great singing voice. Not as rough around the edges as his regular speaking voice, but more smooth like an old time jazz singer. She'd never admit it out loud, not to Bakugou at least, but she loved listening to him sing and often goaded him into it. In her room, he sang more freely than when they were outside which was just another plus to this weird arrangement that they had.

.....

Or where Jirou finds out who Bakugou's soulmate is, and has minor dilemma on whether she should tell him or not.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T (for some choice words, but that’s it)

Author’s Note: The songs included in this fic all belong to their creators. Those songs are in order of appearance: -Good Kisser by Lake Street Dive -Bakugo Rap by Daddyphatsnaps -Love Like You by Caleb Hyles

They're all really great songs and they're all available on Spotify! Go listen to them! Also, since I was listening to it while writing/posting this, another great song that very much reminds me of these two is POV by Ariana Grande!

Jirou lounged back against the pillows of her bed slowly making her way through the day's homework. At the end of her bed, Bakugou's blond tufts stuck up just over the edge of the purple bedspread. Music thrummed through her room, quiet and unassuming as to not disturb their studying.

Normal business as usual.

She couldn't exactly remember when this had started, Bakugou knocking on her door to study and the pair of them sitting in companionable silence with only music to fill the space. Sometimes they discussed her music choice of the day or something that didn't make sense on their homework, but mostly, they were silent. Their time together was probably the only times Jirou saw Bakugou do anything quietly. It was relieving and honestly a breath of fresh air, and she thought that maybe it was the same for him.

Bakugou huffed, and there was the soft clatter of his glasses hitting the table as she finally glanced up from her book. His head was leaned back against the bed, heels of his palms pressed into his eyes. Silently, his lips moved, but they weren't moving along to the words of what they were listening to.

Reaching over, she turned down the volume on her radio to near silent. “What's the matter?”

“My soulmate,” Bakugou ground out, pressing palms into his eyes harder, “Keeps singing the same song over and over again. Fucking annoying.”

“What's the song?”

'If you're gonna tell them everything/tell them I'm a good kisser./Tell them all things you told me/in your desperate whisper./If you're gonna tell them everything/don't leave out the good part./Tell them the way that you broke my heart/when you told me that your missed her./Tell them I'm a good kisser!' Bakugou's voice was a pleasant warm rumble through the room.

It was good that his singing voice was nice though because his soulmate, whoever they may be, had a habit of singing for hours on end. Sometimes Bakugou could resist the pull, clench his jaw against the words trying to roll off his own tongue. Other times, he either didn't have the energy to fight it or just didn't care, and let them flow. When he was in her room, he rarely tried to force them down.

"Over and over and over again," Bakugou growled, still in the same position as before, "Like the song doesn't have any other lyrics or something."

"I've heard it before. I think they just like those lyrics. Maybe it's stuck in their head."

"Fucking fantastic."

Jirou smiled, reaching over to pat his spikes. He growled at her, but didn't move as she swung her legs over the side. “Is it really that annoying?”

Again, Bakugou growled. When he dropped his hands, it was only to reach for her music player on her bedside table. “Enough to need something to drown out the little fuck. Can't believe he's listening to something so annoying. I don't think it's stuck in his head, I just think he put it on replay.” He scrolled through her playlist before clicking out and going to the list of music they'd made together.

That was another thing that had become common, and it had happened after the music festival. Making music together. Unbeknownst to the others, Bakugou could rap and seemed to prefer it, though she'd gotten him to duet with her a couple times. His voice filled her room as he turned up the volume on the stereo.

“He?” Jirou asked curiously. She stretched her arms high over her head, back popping from neck to waist. “Do you know who it is?”

Bakugou ducked his head back towards his book, but she knew he was lying when his ears blushed red. “No, how the fuck would I know that for sure? It just wouldn't make any sense if my soulmate were a chick seeing as I'm gay.”

Jirou hummed, but thought about how soulmates weren't always exclusively romantic. They could be platonic. Kaminari and she had proven that when they'd figured out they were soulmates.

People could also have multiple soulmates, and Kaminari had proven that when he'd started singing someone else's song and she hadn't been compelled to join him. That had been a very strange and confusing day, but they'd figured it out. Kaminari was still looking for his second soulmate, but it didn't stop him from singing Jirou's song with her.

“A plausible reason,” she said, slipping her slippers on, “Do you want anything? I'm going to get a drink from downstairs.”

"The watermelon lemonade I made earlier.”

“Sure thing.” As she left the room, she heard Bakugou start in with the song he'd put on. She rolled her eyes, and closed the door.

Downstairs, her classmates were clustered in the living room laughing wildly. Stepping up beside Kaminari, she raised an eyebrow. “What's going on?”

Wiping a tear from beneath an eye, Kaminari gasped. “Midoriya's soulmate has got him spitting bars. It wouldn't be so funny if it were just normal rapping, but-” Another peel of laughter fell from his mouth, and he wrapped his arms around his stomach.

Jirou raised an eyebrow, and stepped closer to get a good look at Midoriya. His face was red from forehead to chin, mouth moving rapidly as he shielded his face with his arms. Her eyebrows jumped higher as she finally caught the words.

'Let me just tell you something/You don't want to fuck with me./Imma be number one cause bitch that's all that I can see./King of the UA/Everybody knows that I'm a G/Everybody knows that I will be/Top of the class/No rivalry-' He clamped his lips shut, but after a moment, the words were spilling out again. 'What I gotta do to prove I'm in another league?/I get stronger as I go/Don't give a fuck about fatigue./I'm a warrior without a challenge-' Curling in on himself, Midoriya hid his head between his knees. His words went muffled, and Jirou finally stepped away towards the kitchen.

Rushing, she grabbed two glasses and the jug of watermelon lemonade before booking it back upstairs. There was absolutely no way that Midoriya and Bakugou were soulmates. There was just no way. It was ludicrous to think about, to even consider. What kind of sick joke would that be for the universe to bind the two of them like that?

She bumped her door open with her hip and paused in the doorway to hear Bakugou still going for it. The song had changed, but a quick plug of her jack into the floor told her Midoriya's words still matched up perfectly with Bakugou's. She felt dizzy with the new revelations, confused even. It just didn't make any kind of sense.

Swallowing, she set the glasses and jug on the table. “Have you ever thought that your soulmate might be embarrassed when you rap? You're songs aren't exactly... clean.”

Bakugou glanced up, pausing.

Through the floor, she heard Midoriya let out a grateful sigh.

“Has my soulmate ever thought that maybe I get embarrassed when he makes me sing Ariana Grande or Blackpink for hours on end? Tic for tak.” He waved off her concern, glancing down at his papers again. “He'll be fine.”

Jirou rolled her eyes and poured herself as glass of the lemonade. “Oh, I'm sure. They'd have to be able to take a lot to deal with you.”

Bakugou's head jerked up. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what is sounds like.” She grinned, and he flipped her off.

…..

After that, Jirou made a habit of paying more attention to the pair more than normal. She wasn't normally one to insert herself into her classmates' business mainly because she didn't want them in hers. She was making an exception for these two, determined to figure out 1) how they couldn't have possibly realized it yet and 2) how it was even possible. They were the bad kind of opposites. They still barely got along, even after everything they'd been through. Their tolerance of each other had to do with necessity rather than want. They couldn't even agree on a drink to buy from the vending machine.

She'd watched an argument breakout between them when Midoriya offered to split a drink with Bakugou on one of the hotter summer days, but they'd never even made it to pushing coins into the machine before storming away from each other. She didn't understand it, but she wanted to.

So she started to pay attention. Neither of them had a habit of singing during the school day, both staying relatively quiet except to talk to friends or answer a question in class. Neither of them even hummed. During the day, there wasn't even a peep of musical notes.

At night when they were back at the dorms was a different story all together.

Jirou would often walk downstairs to find Midoriya and Bakugou whispering the words to the same song under their breath on opposite sides of the common room. Or pass each other with their headphones in, one singing loudly while the other's mouth barely moved. Or eating at dinner with someone playing music, and one would start singing followed closely by the other. Or Bakugou would be sitting on her bedroom floor singing along to something slow that had come on, and she would plug her headphone into the floor to hear Midoriya crooning the same song on the floor below.

It was honestly maddening. Now that she was paying attention, it felt incredibly obvious what they were. There was a voice in her head screaming at her to tell them, to reveal the truth to them, but even though she was invested, she was unwilling to meddle to that degree.

Leaning against the edge of her balcony late one night, she didn't notice the two bodies slipping across the lawn. It was late enough that the lawn was dark, all of the lights on the bottom floor turned off as well as the girls' side of the building. The sky was moonless, the dark expanse punched through with numerous stars and beautiful to a fault.

It was the only reason Jirou was still awake. Her eyes were trained on the sky, watching shooting stars pass in a never ending shower.

So, no, she didn't see the two bodies stopping in the middle of the lawn or fanning out the blanket that had been bundled under an arm or lying down side by side with their hands twined between them. She did hear them though, hear the first beginning threads of song. A quiet humming in the dark.

Jirou's eyes jerked down, easily finding the dark shapes in the grass below.

“Deku,” a second voice growled without heat, “You know I'm not a fan of that song.”

Midoriya's voice floated up from the darkness, soft and coaxing. “But I like singing it with you. Just once. Please?”

After a pause, Bakugou grumbled, “Fine, but you can't complain about what I choose next. And no crying this time.”

Midoriya's reply was to start up his humming again, a light gentle tune that after a moment, Bakugou picked up with his deeper base. Their voices were a harmony Jirou didn't think they could achieve, Bakugou with the deep smoothness of his singing voice and Midoriya's tentative but strong tenor. Listening to them was like watching a romance at the exact moment the main characters fell in love.

Their words filled the night, gentle and twining. 'If I could begin to be/half of what you think of me/I could about anything/I could even learn how to love./When I see the way you act/wondering when I'm coming back/I could do about anything/I could even learn how to love/like you-' Midoriya's happy little chirp of a laugh cut into their words, even as Bakugou kept going. 'I always thought/I might be bad/now I'm sure that its true!/'Cause I think you're so good/and I'm nothing like you!/Look at you go!/I just adore you!/I wish that I knew!' Midoriya jumped in, their voices twining together again if a little choked. 'What makes you think I'm so special.'

Jirou felt heat press in at the backs of eyes, and she pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle her sniffle.

Bakugou's voice dropped away, and this time Midoriya sang as his voice trembled with obvious tears. 'If I could begin to do/something that does right by you/I would do about anything/I would even learn how to love./When I see the way you look/shaken by how long it took/I could do about anything/I could even learn how to love/like you. Love like you~'

Again, Bakugou joined in, and she could hear just how tight his throat had gotten as his voice deepened. 'Even though I can't compare/and I'm sorry if I stare/I just want to do everything./Maybe I could even learn how to love./ People say/this love is wrong/but all I want is to belong./I could say without any doubt/everyone should learn how to love/like you/love like you/love like you~'

They trailed off, and after a time, Bakugou whispered, “This is why I don't like singing this song. You always end up crying at the end.” In the darkness, she could just barely make out one form pulling the other in close.

“I'm sorry. I just love listening to you sing it. It makes me happy.”

“I know, that's why I do it even if I don't want to.”

'Holy shit.' Jirou's thoughts were a scatter of confusion and elation. On the one side, she was happy that they were together, that they knew about each other. On the other side, she was so incredibly confused on how they hid it so well. And on one last side, she was a little embarrassed to still be standing on her balcony listening to their private moment together. 'I should go inside. I should forget about this. I should congratulate Bakugou tomorrow about it.' She had too many thoughts and not enough brain capacity to deal with them at the moment.

Midoriya hummed, and she heard a barely audible, “I love you, Kacchan.”

'Definitely time to go!' As quickly and quietly as she could, she slipped back into her room and started closing the sliding glass door, but she still caught Bakugou's reply.

“Love you too, 'Zuku.”

#my hero academia #mha #bakudeku #dekubaku #decchan #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #jirou kyouka #Jirou POV #alt pov #one shot #my writing #singing from the soul #soulmate au #singing soulmate au

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