#no fics yet though. been pokey.

[penname-artist]

rahh guess whose bored and also back

#ahhhhwagoowakagableh #I am actually alive I swear #no the Chloeitis did not get me #but it sure is goddamn TRYIN bro #ALSO. GUYS. #GUESS WHO HAS M E D I C A T I O N #ya boi got put on ZOLOFT of all things #it's been a mess. but I think it's gonna be worth it #and and and and and! #I have arrrrrts #no fics yet though. been pokey. #mostly been away to deal with above mentioned 'pen on zoloft' deal #I have been SO...YEAH. #just yeah I have been very yeah #I am so glad that woman gave me anxiety meds as needed with it because I was gonna NEED it on this other bitch lol #try going from 0 to 60 heart rate for like. no reason #please I just wanted to do the eepy #and a lot of other shit happened this month too and a lot of it is really. bad. #but I'm trying to NOT think about any of that and just be whatever I am and do whatever I'm doing #I'm sorry this is so long I didn't want to make a real news thing #I was lazy and also yknow. the hate spam lol #but YEAH if you made it this far hi hello I am alive yaaay #time to abuse my PPAA children again :3 #and my mutuals while I'm at it- #HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE

[aclosetfan]

OMG, I just saw the post with the prompt list. I hope I'm not too late. I'm sending two prompts (I couldn't decide between them, I'm sorry), but it's totally okay if you write only one (or none, really, it'd be totally OK). Here we go:

12 for butters + bubbles / 25 for bloomer. Thank you!

Ey-ohh I love angst <3 Don’t worry, I’ll do the second prompt in a separate post and I’ll make sure to tag you 😊

Prompt 12: oh it's nothing it's just. you sing when you're happy and the place has been so quiet for so long, and I heard you- nevermind,

This is a drabble inspired by an old fic 😊 it’s deleted now, but the gist is the professor passed away from cancer caused by his continued use and experimentation with chemical-x. All the girls mourn differently, but for Blossom, it’s the straw that breaks the camel's back. She ends up joining HIM. Buttercup and Bubbles are left to pick up the broken pieces and win their sister back.

Anyway, to set the scene, Buttercup and Bubbles are forced to sell off their childhood home. It’s too expensive for them to maintain as college students who don’t make a lot of money as superheroes (because heroes don’t “profit” off of being heroes). They end up moving into a little apartment.

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

Buttercup took a break from cleaning and unpacking and leaned against the window overlooking the alleyway below. The window was a decent size and located in the tiny office that the landlord had passed off as a second bedroom, but there wasn't much of a view. Across the alley was only another red brick wall with no windows, which was nice privacy-wise.

She sighed and berated herself for taking the break since it was hardly well-deserved. It wasn't as if she or Bubbles had much to unpack, considering their significant downsizing, and Robin had promised to stop by later that night with a few of their other friends to help decorate, but she felt guilty sitting around doing nothing. Before their guest arrived, Buttercup had, at least, wanted to get the muck and grime off the floors and windows, but the work had quickly become tedious, making her feel lousy.

It seemed that all she could do the past few weeks was clean up muck and grime, move boxes, and wave off her friends' sorry smiles. She was sick of it and tired, so very tired.

The lump in her throat tightened, but she didn't cry—she couldn't cry, hadn't cried, not once, not yet—as she thought of the home they had left behind in Pokey Oaks. For the umpteenth time that day, she convinced herself that they had made a mistake, that leaving their home was like leaving everything that mattered to the Professor behind, and Blossom would hate them even more than she already did for it. Buttercup slumped to the floor and held her head between her knees. It had been her who had suggested moving—she had practically demanded it—and now, here she was, regretting everything.

There was no turning back, though. The apartment lease was signed, and a new family had already moved into their home. When Ms. Bellum had asked if they had been sure about the decision to move, Bubbles had spoken for them.

"We just need something smaller until we can get back up on our feet!" Her sister had smiled brightly like she hadn't cried herself sick about their overdraft fees that same morning.

"Well, now's the time to sell." Ms. Bellum had nodded, "I have a few friends that can help finalize all the details and take it off your hands. Are you sure, though, that you don't want to sell it to the City? A museum—"

"—no," Buttercup had finally spoken up, "it's a home—"

"—it needs a family." Bubbles had finished. This was the one decision they hadn't bickered about.

Now, in the present, Buttercup was trying to figure out how to boot the little family out and take back what was theirs without laying siege to the neighborhood. She drew in tighter to herself and focused on her breathing. What she really wanted was to run away, which was funny because wasn't she already in the process of running away? The Professor's ghost and Blossom's void didn't seem to care one way or another; she was sure they'd follow her to the end of time.

A loud clunk from the kitchen rang out, snapping her out of her downward spiral. She blinked back into reality, surprised that the sun had moved a bit further across the warped hardwood floors. She scrambled to her feet, out the office door, down the short hallway, and came to a sudden halt at the kitchen threshold.  

Bubbles' back was turned to her as she wiped down cupboards and dried their pots and pans. Her sister swayed side to side, bobbing her head to the beat of the music coming from her earbuds. The sound of Bubbles' voice took her breath away.

She swallowed a gasp and watched with wide eyes as her sister sang and danced around the kitchen, every change in tune like a punch to the gut. It was an indescribable feeling, really, listening to her sister sing, almost like a trick or a siren's song, luring her into her wildest fantasies where they were still at home. Blossom was only upstairs reading, and the Professor was downstairs tinkering in the lab.  

"Buttercup?" Bubbles pulled out her earbud, breaking the illusion, "Is everything alright? You look like you just saw a ghost. I told you this place was haunted."

"Oh, it's nothing, it's just—" Her eyes welled with tears, and as much as she tried blinking past them, they didn't go away.

"Buttercup?" Bubbles stood at attention, "what's wrong?"

"—no, no, I'm fine, it's just you sing when you're happy, and you've. . . i-it's been so quiet for so l-long—" her voice cracked, "—and I heard you, and—"

"Oh, Buttercup," Bubbles cooed, coaxing her softly into a hug, "It's going to be okay."

"N-no, I'm fine," She argued around a sob, "it's just been so—so long and—and—"

They sunk to the ground, wrapped in each other's arms.

"There, there," Bubbles rubbed small circles into her back as she cried into her shoulder, "it's about time you let it all out."

"No, I-I—I—" Buttercup wanted to fight her; she wanted to push her away and run because she wasn't ready for this, not yet, but the more she thought about fleeing, the harder she began to cry. "Oh god," She finally wailed, falling into her sister, "I miss them so much!"

"I know," Bubbles nodded, holding her tight.

"He can't be dead!"

"I'm sorry."

"It's not fair!" Her voice cracked, "Why did she leave us! Why!"

"I don't know," Bubbles whispered, "I think, well, I just think she's sad too, but it's okay. She'll come back. We'll be okay."

Buttercup shook her head, "how do you know?"

Bubbles pulled away from their hug to cup her face, thumbing away the fat tears rolling down her cheeks. With a soft smile, Bubbles shrugged, "Because I simply refuse to think differently. We'll get her back, Butters. We promised the Professor we'd stick together, right?"

"Right," She sniffed.

Bubbles' smile grew, "So, we'll get her back."

Buttercup's grief dissipated ever so slightly as she mulled over Bubbles' words. She didn't know if Bubbles was right. She had never been as optimistic as her sister, but the conviction gleaming in her eyes settled something within her. She leaned back into Bubbles' hug with a nod.

"Alright," She said, voice still thick with tears, but her heart a thousand times lighter, "yeah, for the Professor. We'll do it for him."

"Duh," Bubbles giggled, smoothing her hair, "When have we ever not?" 

#prompt ask games! #i have four prompts left! #2 for the greens #one for bloomer #which was super popular this time around! #and then a couple of my own choosing which is always a good time ;)

[dobbyjen]

Tiny Dancer

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader 

Rating: M

Word Count: 1900

Warnings: some swearing, kisses, a tad of drinking, cute dad Frankie 

Summary: Frankie comes home just in time for his daughter’s dance recital

A/N: So I’ve never written a fic before so this is my first one. Grammar and all that crap is probably wrong but whatever. I am no writer at all. If anyone does read it please be nice. It was just a cute little idea that popped into my head because the world needs more dad Frankie fics. Might write something else in the future in this universe if anyone reads this. 

__________________________________________________________

“Mommy when daddy come?” your 3 year old pouts as you help her into her ballet outfit. You sigh and grab the 2 fuzzy yellow scrunchies off the bathroom counter and start parting her hair into two.

“I’m not sure Franny.” she frowns even more and wiggles are head out of your hands.

“I wike daddy do hair!” she screams and stomps her foot onto the bathroom tiles. You groan as you look into her teary big brown eyes. Frankie’s eyes. Frankie has been gone for 6 days and it was getting alot harder to deal with the mini Frankie. Francesca Morales was the splitting image of her father. Looks and personality wise. And she was the BIGGEST daddy’s girl. She’d been wrapped around his finger the second she came out. 

“Daddy should be home soon and then you can show him pictures of how beautiful you look today.” her frown gets a tad smaller and she scoots back in between your legs for you to do her hair. “Maybe if you do your pretty toes so well we can get a treat after the recital?” you barely have time to tighten the last scrunchie as she whips around and crushes your neck into a hug.

“Yay mommy! Get pupcakes?! I so good at pwetty toes!” she skips around the bathroom practicing her pretty toes as you finish packing her little purple dinosaur backpack.

“Of course princess. Let’s get going before we’re late.”

__________________________________________________________

“Frankie you said you were done with this shit! I’m going to personality kick Pope’s ass.” you huff as you plop down on the bed. Frankie sighs and comes over, bending between you legs.

“It will be 3 days...max babe. We need the money. I’m doing this for you and Francesca.”

“Frankie...i swear to god if you don’t come home...i...i don’t know...”

“Hey hey hey everything is gonna be okay. Pope said there’s no way this can go wrong. It’s go in, get the money and we’re out home free. I promise.”

__________________________________________________________

“Do you want me to wait here in case she throws you out?” Pope snickers as he pulls up outside the Morales house. Frankie glares at Pope and smacks his hat off his head.

“Fuck off. If anything she’s gonna kick your ass.” Frankie mumbles as he gets out of the truck and runs up the front porch. He twists the doorknob and whacks his head on the door as he realizes its locked. “What the....” Frankie panics for a minute wondering why its locked. They only just moved into the house 2 months ago and hadn’t gotten around to getting a spare key hidden. Frankie wracks his brain for why you wouldn’t be home. There’s no way you left with Francesca was there? “Hey what day is it?” Frankie yells back to Pope who is still sitting in his truck.

“Uhhhh...Sunday June 12th?” Pope yells back and Frankie feels like he just got slapped in the face.

“FUCK!” Frankie yells and runs back into Pope’s truck. “Drop me off at the civic centre NOW.”

“What why? They’re not home?” Pope sputters as he rips the truck into drive.

“Today is Franny’s first dance recital and i think it already started. Fuck she’s defiantly gonna kill me now.”

__________________________________________________________

Pope doesn’t even have time to put the truck into park before Frankie is jumping out and running through the doors of the civic centre. He stops as he reads the sign looking for the room with the dance recital. Auditorium 5. He runs down the hallway and stops when he sees a table selling flowers.

“How much for all of them.” Frankie huffs as he grabs outs his wallet. The young boy stares at Frankie with a gaping mouth.

“Uhhhh.....they're’ a-a dollar a-a fl-flower sir.” Frankie nods and throws him a 10. The boy swallows his nerves and hands Frankie a bouquet of rainbow roses. Frankie murmurs a thanks and sneaks into auditorium 5. There’s no seats available so he just stands against the back wall. There’s a group of 2 year olds on stage at the moment attempting a hip hop routine and Frankie chuckles to himself thinking of how Franny would look hopping around to the upbeat music. He looks down at the program and sees that her group is next.

The hip hop group run off the stage and the crowd cheers for them. Two young girls come out and take away the previous props and set out 8 pairs of yellow pom poms. Walking on Sunshine starts to play as the 8 little girls coming skipping out to find their spots. Frankie’s face begins to hurt from smiling so much as he spots Francesca. Wearing her yellow dance onesie and yellow tutu with her hair up in two messy pigtails. She does the little 2 minute routine so well Frankie can feel his eyes welling up with tears. Fuck he’s proud of her. This is why he needed to get home. He couldn’t fathom missing another experience like this. You and Francesca were the reason he kept pushing though the hard days. You both were his entire world.

__________________________________________________________

The recital comes to an end and all the parents wait around in the main foyer waiting for their little dancer to come out. 

Frankie fidgets with the bouquet of flowers in his hands as he looks around the crowd for a glimpse of you. He looks down at his watch and panics that he missed you guys and you went home, until......

“DADDY?!!!” You look up startled by your daughter’s random outburst and Frankie spins around as he hears his little girl screaming. He drops to his knees as Francesca comes flying into his arms. Frankie wraps his one arm around her small body and cradles her head with his hand and holds her close to him. The flowers drop to the ground long forgotten.

“Hi princess. I missed you so much. You did so good with all your twirls.” he whispered to her, smothering her head with kisses. She giggles uncontrollably and moves her head to kiss Frankie’s face all over as well. Making sure she kissed away the couple of tears away that snuck out. “These flowers are for you Fran.” Frankie smiles and puts the giant bouquet in her tiny arms.

“Woooow!! Mommy look!” Franny squeals and Frankie finally looks up and is met with your tear filled eyes. He stands with Franny in his arms and walks over to you.

“Hi.” he whispers. You gasp as you wrap your arms around the both of them. Frankie sighs as he buries his face into you hair, breathing in your scent. Fuck he missed this.

“W-when did you get back?” you sniffle and pull back to look into his brown eyes. Francesca looked between her parents confused and pawed at both their faces to dry their tears. Frankie chuckled at her gesture and tickled her side a bit making his favourite sound ring through his ears. A very high pitched giggle.

“Uhh...like 2 hours ago? I stopped at home first and then realized what day it was. I won’t miss this day for the world.”

“You shaved.” You said as you rubbed your hands over his bare jaw. You don’t think you’ve ever seen his face this bare before. You loved his patchy beard so dearly but you could probably get used to this face as well.

“Daddy no more pokey.” Franny scrunched up her face and placed a sloppy kiss to his cheek. You both laugh.

“Do you like it love?” Frankie questions.

“As long as your home and safe that’s all that matters to me.” you whisper as you lean in to kiss his lips.

“Ew yucky kisses!!” Franny squeals as she pushes your faces apart. Frankie chuckles as he moves his kisses to all over his daughter face. “Mommy we get pupcakes now?”

“Mommy promised you cupcakes?” Franny nods her head and Frankie looks towards his wife.

“Well i guess you did do an amazing job princess and i did promise this morning. She barely let me do her hair. Wanted you to do it.” you said rolling your eyes at Frankie. Frankie chuckled as you all walked out to the parking lot. 

“I mean i would have done a way better job.” you rolled your eyes yet again and smacked his shoulder lightly as you unlocked Frankie’s truck. Frankie buckled Franny into her car seat and then shut the door. He turned and grabbed you in a bone crushing hug. “I’m so sorry it took so long love. Nothing went as planned and we didn’t even get the money. And I-I dont...”

“Frankie stop. You don’t have to talk about it right now. Let’s go get our little ballerina a cupcake k?” Frankie smiles and captures your lips in one last kiss. “I love you to the moon and back.”

“I love you to the moon and back even more.”

__________________________________________________________

“I think she finally crashed” Frankie says as he grabs a beer from the fridge and plops down next to you on the couch taking a big swig.

“I swear to god if she doesn’t sleep through the night again I’m gonna...ugghh” You mumble into your wine glass. 

Frankie turns towards you and raises an eyebrow. “She hasn’t been sleeping?”

“Umm not since you’ve left. She wakes up around 2:30 every night crying for you. So i bring her into bed and she sleeps on your pillow with one of your shirts. It soothes her back to sleep. She also naps with one of shirts.” You sigh and look away from him, blinking back the tears. Frankie frowns, puts his beer on the coffee table and grabs your wine glass too. 

“Cmere.....i’m so sorry i left babe. I didn’t mean for it to be so hard for you. I’m never leaving again.” You cry into his side as he rubs his hand through your hair.

“What-what happened Frankie....I know you’re not okay. You don’t just disappear off the face of the earth for a week. Pope said it was going to be okay....I wouldn’t have let you go if...”

Frankie shudders and looks up at the ceiling trying to blink the tears away. You sit up and grab his face gently in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

“I’ve got you honey. Whenever you want to talk i’m here.” you give a small reassuring smile and wipe the silent tears falling down his face. That breaks Frankie. He begins to sob and explain the terrible events of the last week. You hold him and listen. 

When he’s finished you both just lay on the couch holding each other.

“When- when we lost Tom....all i thought about was you and Francesca and how I needed to get home. I swear to god I am never doing anything like that again. Pope said the money should free up by Wednesday so we’ll be good for a while. Will and I were thinking of opening up a shop, keep is busy for a while. I’m never leaving you guys ever again. We can take Franny to the shelter next week and she can pick out her dog finally.”

You giggle at the dog comment. That little girl has been asking for a dog the second she could talk and Uncle Benny put that idea into her head. “She’d really like that. And i’m also still kicking Pope’s ass next time I see him.”

Frankie laughs and kisses you head “Oh babe I’ve already warned him.”

__________________________________________________________

#frankie morales x fem!reader #Frankie Morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #dad frankie

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Snowdrifts ch.5 (spicyhoney)

Summary:  Sorry so quiet, it's been a rough week. Not as rough as Edge's first day into parenthood, he's ready for some time off...isn't he?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Violence, Rescued Child, Medical Experimentation, Babybones, First Time Parenthood, Idiots to Lovers

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

For a first day, all Edge had to say about it was that it could have gone worse.

He’d spent most of his day with Snow bound to him like squirmy little wormy, but there was no arguing that it worked. With a bit of experimenting, he found that he could have her facing outward while still being tied securely against him. She’d like that quite a bit and the only downside was having her tiny hands trying to assist in any of his tasks at hand. He could only hope Blue didn’t notice that the towels in the bathroom cupboard were folded somewhat…uniquely.

Not that there was any time for that when Blue came home from sentry duty. He’d barely taken off his boots and jacket before swarming over to steal Snow away. Edge wasn’t even entirely sure how Blue slipped her so neatly out of her sling, unless Stretch wasn’t the only family member who could bends the laws of physics.

“Aww, there’s a little wishbone!” Blue cooed. He swung her around as if he were about to make that nickname a truth. Edge only bit his tongue and said nothing. Snow was by no means hurt and Blue was already settling her on his hip as he bounced her gently.

Snow was somewhat doubtful over her new mode of conveyance. She looked at Edge, who tried to smile encouragingly. He was afraid that it was not one of his best efforts, but then, she was a baby, perhaps she didn’t yet know the difference between a smile and a grimace.

“I bet you’ve been cooped up all day, Edge,” Blue said happily, “Why don’t you go out and get some fresh air and I’ll look after our little Snow Monster?”

A little fresh air did sound nice. He was more accustomed to spending most his day outdoors, walking his traplines, not trapped behind four walls.

Still, Edge hesitated. “Well. I suppose I could go out for an hour.”

“That’s the spirit!” Blue said. He plopped down on the sofa, Snow in his lap. “Go out, meet some people! I, Master Babysitter Sans, will watch Snow for you!”

Well, meeting people was out of the question, Edge wasn’t about to enroll in a popularity contest on his first day, but there was at least one thing he wanted to do. “There are some bottles pre-made in the refrigerator. She likes it if you hold her outward so she can see. If she—"

“Edge,” Blue interrupted with gentle patience. “I’ve got this.”

“All right,” Edge still didn’t move. It was only when Snow began to tentatively explore Blue’s face with her little hands that he retrieved his boots. By the time he had them buckled, Snow was trying with some enthusiasm to poke her little fists into Blue’s wide eye sockets, something he was laughingly avoiding. It was ridiculous to linger any longer and Edge only took a last chance to say before he went out the front door, “I’ll be back soon.”

The moment the door closed behind him, he could hear a muffled wail coming right through it. He hunched down and struggled against the urge to go right back inside.

Stretch and his brother were right, he shouldn’t be the only one to care for her. Blue would simply have to learn the same way he was, the hard way. He wouldn’t be gone long, and she was perfectly safe, warm and dry, well-fed and well-cuddled.

So, despite his soul threatening to crack right in half listening to those bereft wails, Edge forced himself to turn away, boots crunching in the snow as he walked out of earshot.

It took him a moment to orient himself to the backwards layout of Underswap, but once he did, Edge headed off in the direction of the librarby. Despite his brother’s scoffing, a book on childrearing would surely turn out to be useful. Red certainly hadn’t been bitching about the worthlessness of booklearning when Edge found one full of recipes back in Underfell and began using it instead of relying on Undyne’s vigorous but dubious technique.

Once he was there, though, he stood in wonderment, briefly forgetting what brought him here in the first place. In Underfell, there was a librarby, well, a lib-arby, one of the ‘r’ had been stolen years ago, and why couldn’t those fools have taken the extra ‘b’ instead?. What few books were in it tended to have pages torn loose and trying to glean any information from them was something like scooping up water with a sieve. Most of the books Edge had—

(had, books he’d had, those treasured few books lost to him and never mind that he could recite them all by heart, they were forever gone, probably destroyed)

--were scavenged from the dump, days spent carefully drying them out. Perhaps if Red saw this librarby he’d be less doubtful of its usefulness because its shelves were burgeoning with volumes, every shelf filled and more stacked on the tables and front desk, so many books, and he itched to get his claws on every one of them, some underused literacy fragment of his soul woke and cried out for something to read.

Edge quashed it ruthlessly. He was here for books on childcare, not any of the ridiculous (wonderful) science fiction stories he’d sometimes found.

There were other Monsters sitting in twos and threes around the room, but aside from a curious glance or two, none seemed concerned about his presence. Edge lifted his chin and walked to the shelves as if he belonged here and began to peruse the selection. A little searching found him not one, but two books, one for new parents and another for the toddler years. He took them both, better to be prepared, and as he turned from the shelf, another book caught his eye.

A slender book titled ‘Pattycake with Pokey Puppy’. Obviously a child’s book and looking at the brightly painted cover suffused him with a sudden wave of nostalgia, a memory of curling up with his brother beneath a threadbare blanket in one of the back-alleys in New Home. The aching cold and constant gnawing hunger faded as he listened to Red softly read to him about Fluffy Bunny from a tattered old book, the front cover torn and filthy but so much like the one on the shelf.

Snow was entirely too young to appreciate being read a story. He already had two books, an entire townful of people needed to use this librarby, and it was a town he didn’t even truly belong in. He shouldn’t be greedy, he shouldn’t, and guilt was tight in his throat as he snatched that book up and added it to the other two, carrying all of them up to the front desk.

If the Bird working at the counter was appalled at his selfishness, they gave no sign of it. By all rights, they should have been looking at him in fear and given him the books in the hopes he would leave quickly. Edge knew very well the reactions that his appearance could cause, cultivated it in Underfell, and never let the way other Monsters cringed away bother him. If they were afraid of him, they would obey him, and their lives were more important than any petty wish to be admired.

Dressed as he was in one of Stretch’s rumpled sweatshirts, complete with formula stains and crushed up bits of cereal ground into the front, it seemed his threat level had decreased all the way down to acceptable Underswap levels. The Bird only smiled and stamped his books before handing them back over. He supposed the books themselves were also partly to blame for her lack of concern over having him in their quiet little librarby. Anyone checking out ‘Toddler Years: Surviving with your Sanity’ and ‘The Big Book About Little Monsters’ probably wasn’t going to go into a dust-crazed frenzy.

Books in hand, Edge started back to the Swap brothers’ house and he only took two steps in the wrong direction before he sighed and turned around. He’d get the hang of this Snowdin soon enough, at least no one was around to see him stop in his tracks and head back the other way—

“Sir!”

Edge paused warily, turning in the direction of that voice even as he struggled not to ready an attack, just in case. It was easier to dismiss the urge when he saw a young Bun dressed in bright purple stripes running towards him, carrying a large paper sack.

“Sir!” she panted as she skidded to a stop, kicking up slush and snow. “You’re Papyrus’s friend, aren’t you?”

It took him a moment to realize she was speaking of Stretch. “Yes?” he agreed cautiously. If this were about some sort of debt or prank—

The child only beamed happily and thrust the bag towards him. “My mama found some more baby stuff for you! Said for you to take whatever you need and give back anything you don’t!”

“I…” Edge reached out automatically before he caught himself, hesitating. “I’m afraid I don’t have any G.”

His confusion transferred to the child, “G? Oh, no, mama doesn’t want G! Our baby is walking and talking now, he don’t need it anymore!”

She thrust the bag into his arms and Edge took it, briefly too overwhelmed to speak. The people of this Snowdin had already been so generous, for them to offer even more was bewildering him past the point of gratitude. It reminded him of Blue who’d so often pressed them to take leftovers after dinner, bullying and cajoling until Edge found himself in his own universe with a bag in hand, so similar to the bag he held now. He didn’t understand it then and didn’t now, didn’t even know how to explain to them that it wasn’t supposed to be this way, not in his experience, not in his world.

But this wasn’t his world, was it.

The child was still standing in front of him, her hands clasped behind her back as she bounced on her toes. “Can I come see the baby sometime?” she asked hopefully. “Papyrus said she’s really cute!”

“She is.” Edge managed, trying to recover enough from his confusion to at least keep from acting like an ungrateful fool. He pulled out his phone and held it out for the child to see the background picture of Snow and her attempts to eat noodles. Even with the cracked screen, she was obviously as adorable as advertised and from the way the child cooed happily, she very much agreed.

“Aww, she’s so cute! I can’t wait to meet her!” A faint voice cut through the stillness, a name being called from one of the nearby homes, and the child looked in that direction briefly before turning back to Edge. “You should ask Papyrus to fix your phone, he’s real good at that stuff. I gotta go. Bye!”

He kept a close watch on the child to make sure she made it back to her home all right before turning back to his own path, bag in one hand and books in the other. Their house was soon in sight and Edge was half-afraid he’d still hear wails coming through the door.

But there was only the silently twinkling Gyftmas lights and Edge stifled his near-disappointment and headed inside.

Blue and Snow were on the sofa where she was currently squealing happily as she bounced on Blue’s knee and truly, Edge should be above his brief surge of triumph when he noted that Blue seemed more than a trifle weary. There was an empty bowl and a mostly empty bottle on the side table, proof that Snow’s appetite hadn’t diminished in the slightest. Blue’s scarf had a damp spot on it as if an infant chose to use it as their next gnawing target, and there was a smeary handprint right on his cheekbone that looked suspiciously like smashed peas, the green trail of it leading downward and freckled across the front of his shirt.

The baby looked over as he walked inside, and the moment she caught sight of Edge, her chortling glee faded. In an instant, her sparkling eye lights switched to a waterfall of tears and she began to squall, holding out both little arms to him.

Edge hastily deposited the bag and books on the coffee table and took her, cuddling her close until those tears faded again into happy giggles.

Blue only sagged back on the sofa, slinging an arm over his eye sockets as he groaned out, “How can someone so small be so tiring? You were only gone an hour and I’ve gone from magnificent to mediocre!”

“I’ve been wondering that myself,” Edge admitted. He snagged his scarf with his free hand, readying Snow to return to her beloved binding. He noted Blue watching intently with approval. Not that he ever thought Blue wouldn’t take his duties seriously, but it was good to have it confirmed.

“Well! I need to get off to Alphys’s,” Blues struggled to his feet, chuckling as he shook his head. “I never expected to see the day I’d consider training to be the less exhausting option. Papy should be home soon.”

“I have her, go,” Edge said, “but…you may want to wash your face first.”

One gloved hand flew up to Blue’s cheekbone. Pity it was the wrong one, “What? Why?”

“Better that you just go wash.”

Blue dashed for the stairs and Edge sat down in his place on the sofa, adjusting the sling so that Snow was comfortable against him. He reached for the first book, hesitating over the one on caring for an infant. His hand detoured instead to ‘Pattycake with Pokey Puppy’, flipping to the first page as Snow, already sucking on her fingers, looked up at him with large eye lights.

“I’m going to read you a story, little one,” Edge told her, “I think you’ll like it. I hope you will.” He began to read, “One little puppy, sitting by a fence—”

He was quite sure Snow couldn’t really understand him, but she still seemed to listen contentedly as he read. She snuggled deeper into his scarf and his arms, and didn’t react at all when Blue’s voice carried downstairs in a wail, “How did she even get it all the way in there…?”

Edge didn’t ask. He only kept reading to Snow about the adventures in patty cake for a poky puppy and his friends. He hoped she didn’t fall asleep too quickly. He wanted to see how it ended.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #drifters

[gumnut-logic]

Another favourite scene

I’m writing more Kermadec fic and had to read back to fact check what I had written before and came across this scene. It had me smiling, so I thought I’d post it here in the hope it would cause a few more smiles.

There’s a little shippyness in this, so if that is not your thing...

Five brothers, camped on a rocky beach on Macauley Island (photo above, though by 2060, the vegetation has returned, so add pokey trees to the picture) at sunset of Day Two in their voyage home. Brothers will be brothers :D

-o-o-o-

It was a very satisfied group of brothers who watched the sun dip below the horizon sometime later. The cube temperature had been lowered, but not entirely extinguished. They weren’t in tropical latitudes yet and although the days were warm, the nights got chilly. The sea breeze was gentle and the ocean only mumbled against the rocks.

Virgil had slipped into bit of a stupor, his body determined to digest and removing resources from his brain to do it. Consequently, he missed the beginning of the conversation between his brothers while he stared after the disappearing sun.

“So how long has this been going on?”

“It is just a bit of friendly recreation, Alan.”

A Gordon snort. “Yeah, John, but how friendly and what kind of recreation?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Gordon.”

“I’m only following yours, spacebro.”

“There is nothing untoward occurring between Captain O’Bannon and myself.”

“Ooh, ‘untoward’ no, but there are two lonely space souls stuck up there together, none other than each other’s company.”

This time it was Scott’s snort. “Oh, only the resident AI who sees and hears all, and about twenty-odd GDF specialists.”

“Oh, yes, Eos!” Virgil arched an eyebrow as he realised his fishbrother was tapping his collar comms. “Hey, Eos, are you willing to share the goss on your Dad and Captain Ridley O’Bannon.”

“Hello, Gordon. What would you like to know?”

“Does John have a ‘thing’ for the girl next door?”

“Most definitely.”

“Eos!” John shot up ramrod straight in his seat as Gordon cracked up laughing.

“It is true, John. You have sixteen processors, four electronic clipboards and twenty-three bottles of moisturiser set aside for Captain O’Bannon. These are all things you have for the girl next door.”

Virgil couldn’t help himself and had to smother a laugh.

The expression on Gordon’s face was a mixture of confusion and incredulity. “Twenty-three bottles of moisturiser?”

“It is her favourite brand and she was unable to purchase it before beginning her last rotation, so I acquired some for her.” He glared at his aquanaut brother. “Just like friends do.”

“But twenty-three bottles?” Even Scott was staring at John as if he was a little weirded out.

“You obviously like her. Why don’t you ask her out?” Trust Gordon to poke the issue further.

John shrugged. “Hasn’t come up.”

Gordon groaned. “Really?” His hands dropped to his knees. “I thought it would be obvious.”

John’s glare was acidic. “I can’t see why you can talk. How long did it take you to ask Penny out? Hmm, let me think, oh, yes, that’s right. You didn’t. She asked you.”

“Hey, I was bedridden!”

“Excuses, excuses...”

“Well, at least I’m making progress. Please tell me at least one of you guys has a possibility in your back pocket. Hell, we’re all tough and buff and saving people. Hasn’t anyone swooned for any of you?” Gordon’s eyes raked around the circle and to Virgil’s horror landed on him. “What about you, Virg. You and Tin have a bit of thing happening, don’t you?”

His heart missed a beat. “What? No!”

“Virg and Kayo? Are you kidding me?” Alan was glaring at Gordon, but then seemed to second guess himself and turned that glare on Virgil. “She’s our sister, bro.”

Virgil held up his hands. “Hey, it wasn’t me who postulated the idea.”

“Postulated? Really, Virg? Me thinks you be hiding behind a dictionary.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

“I think he doth protest too much.”

“I think you should look into the fact she is spending the next month with Wayne Rigby and not entirely for mission related reasons.”

There was no satisfaction in seeing Gordon freeze like that, or Scott’s “What?”

“She’s with us for New Years, but then it is onto Siberia on the third of January. Something about the possibility of a Chaos Crew tech lab infiltration.” Virgil grabbed the carafe of hot chocolate off the heat cube and poured himself a good dose. He ignored the voice in the back of his head that wished it was something ever so much stronger.

“She hasn’t told me about any mission.” Scott was frowning at him.

Virgil hid behind his mug. “Only just came in apparently. She only mentioned it in passing while she was saying goodbye. I have no doubt she will brief you when we get home.”

Gordon was staring at him. He opened his mouth but failed to say anything.

Virgil took another sip and just stared straight back. It took a moment, but eventually Gordon appeared to shake it off, frowning just a little before turning to Scott. “What about you, bro? You’ve always been our leader in the girlfriend department. What’s the count now?”

“Thirty-two.” John was smug behind his own mug of hot chocolate.

His eldest brother shifted in his seat as if suddenly uncomfortable. “Okay, I’m with Virgil on this - shut up, Gordon.”

Gordon held up his hands in all his innocent glory. “Hey, I’m just brotherly bonding around the fire.”

“Go bond with the volcano.” John’s voice was dry. “Or a whale, I hear a few pass through on occasion.”

“Hey, you were the one keeping count.”

“I can’t help it, I’m good with numbers.”

Virgil snorted. “Not good enough. You’re at least two out.”

The glare Scott shot him could have scorched his hair off.

“Don’t worry, Scott, I’m not going to tell them about Petunia.”

“Virgil!”

“What?”

“Shut it or lose it.”

“Hey, I said I wasn’t going to tell them.”

“Tell us what?” Both Alan and Gordon were about ready to fall off their chairs with glee.

John just rolled his eyes.

“About Petunia.”

“Who is Petunia?”

“You’re an idiot, Virg.” Scott’s glare was becoming more resigned and flatter by the second. “I am so gonna let them know about Gertrude now.”

Virgil snorted. “As if I’d care. She really wanted you anyway.”

“Not true, you were her favourite.”

“Yeah, sure, she’d turn to anyone who would give her what she wanted. I just had it more often than you.”

“You planned it that way.”

“I thought you of all people would appreciate a few tactics. With you around, I need all the help I can get.”

“What?”

Okay, so that had come out a little too serious for Petunia talk, but then Virgil’s count was far smaller than thirty-two or thirty-four depending on how you counted. Early on he had tried to get out and about like his eldest brother, but honestly it wasn’t in him. He wasn’t a one-nighter like Scott. Besides standing next to the heir of Tracy Industries, tall and female magnet was like trying to catch moths while standing next to a bug zapper.

“Virgil?”

“Petunia was a goose.”

“What?!” It was choral from both Alan and Gordon and quickly followed by a “Virgil!” from Scott.

“She used to follow him around everywhere about the farm. It was hilarious.

“Yeah, well, Gertrude was goat and she once ate Virgil’s pants. He’s lucky he didn’t lose more.”

Scott and Virgil glared at each other across the heat cube while Gordon and Alan played eyeball tennis between them.

John just drank his chocolate, a vaguely amused expression on his face.

Virgil held his brother’s furious gaze as long as he could, but he had to bite his lip. The moment he realised Scott was doing the same, it became oh so much harder.

Two seconds later he cracked up laughing. Scott followed not a moment after and both of them laughed even harder when they caught sight of the expressions on Gordon and Alan’s faces.

Virgil laughed so hard he had to hold his stitches in place.

Which of course Scott saw and it drew the night to a close as big brother shifted gears into smother brother.

They cleared off the island leaving no mark behind. Gordon clucking like a hen and claiming death threats from Melissa Fisher if they left anything behind.

Making it back to the boat in the dark was easily done, but awkward and a little painful for Virgil and by the time he made it to his bed, he was worn out.

Regardless, he didn’t fall asleep immediately, despite the gentle rocking of the boat. Thoughts of what could be, what could have been and what he actually wanted bounced around the inside of his skull.

It took a long time for them to fall quiet.

-o-o-o-

We’ll be home for Christmas

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy #kermadec fic

[thesunnyshow]

Name: Sarah

Writing Blog URL: @dreamsafterhours​

Age: 19

Nationality: Korean-Australian

Languages: English, Korean, Conversational Japanese, a tiny bit of French

Star Sign: Taurus

MBTI: ENFP

Favorite color: I’ve heard red suits me well, I also like purple and blue.

Favorite food: Literally everything. I love food.

Favorite movie: Always changes with every movie I watch, but one of my all time favourites is 극한직업 (Extreme Job)

Favorite ice cream flavor: Hokey Pokey/Cookies and Cream

Favorite animal: Tiger

Coffee or tea? What are you ordering? 

Matcha frappe!! I prefer sweeter drinks over black coffee

Dream job (whether you have a job or not)

Screen actor/band member/author, something that allows me to manifest my creative fantasies

Go-to karaoke song 

Tears - So Chan Whee

If you could have one superpower, what would you choose? 

Time manipulation! Ultimately what we are deprived of in the human situation is time, and if I can manipulate the speed at which it goes, or visit different points in my life and beyond, I would be able to fix any regrets I have.

If you could visit a historical era, which would you choose? 

Premodern Korea!

If you could restart your life, knowing what you do now, would you? 

Yes, definitely. I’d spend more time and effort into my academics and start more hobbies at an earlier age.

Would you rather fight 100 chicken-sized horses or one horse-sized chicken? 

A hundred horses, no matter what size, is not ideal. Especially if they want to fight you—I’ll take my chances with one chicken.

If you were a trope in a teen high school movie, what would you have been? 

The protag’s childhood best friend, loyal and ready to throw hands at anyone who wrongs them.

Do you believe in aliens/supernatural creatures? 

Sure! It seems strange to think that we could be the only intelligent life in the entire universe.

If you could buy anything in the world right now (regardless of price), what would it be? 

Idol entertainment companies. No more slave contracts and mistreatment ✌🏻

Fun fact about yourself that not everyone would know? 

I’ve never cracked a screen before (touch wood lmao), mostly because I do prefer protective cases over slimmer ones. I’m also part of a Korean traditional percussion and dance club! We put on our own concerts each year but unfortunately this year’s concert had to be cancelled. Corona really said coroNO

What fandom(s) do you write for? 

Mostly NCT; I used to write for BTS and EXO back in the day, but I’m ready to leave my writing past in my past!

When did you post your first piece? 

2014! I started my fanfic journey on Wattpad.

Do you write fluff/angst/crack/general/smut, combo, etc? Why? 

I prefer writing angst over fluff, sometimes crack if my mind comes up with something ridiculous. I’ve never written smut before and I’ve never really thought about it, but who knows? Maybe in the future.

Do you write OCs, X Readers, Ships...etc? 

For fics that I post online now, they’re mostly x reader, but with original content or plots that include characters who would have a certain name (i.e. surnames) I tend to establish an OC. I’m not sure readers would engage with an OC as much as they would with an x reader fic, so I tend to prefer x reader.

Why did you start writing on Tumblr? 

I love creating universes from my own fantasies, and since kpop groups provide content with concepts and visuals, it’s been so easy to imagine them as characters in an AU. Through writing I can share these little headcanons and scenes with people in the fandom and practise my writing skills at the same time!

What inspires you to write? 

Leading on from my previous answer, my imagination runs wild when it comes to character traits and what I think these people would do if they were faced with a certain situation. I discuss these scenarios with my friends a lot, so I’d say the characters themselves and my friends inspire me to manifest these fantasies into words.

What genres/AUs do you enjoy writing the most? 

Love me a good old mafia au with that angst factor. The weapons! The loyalty (and sometimes lack thereof)! the relationships! The thrill and the danger! That strange sense of second-hand excitement when we think about disregard for legal systems! Top tier. A close second is Hogwarts AUs. Something about the house dynamics and sorting people into them brings me joy.

What do you hope your readers take away from your work? 

When readers consume my work, I hope they are able to take a glimpse of what is going on in my head. I try to use as much description as possible to make it as clear as I can, and ultimately I hope readers can appreciate the wonders of the creative mind. I write a lot of timestamps because I have so many scenes and scenarios in my head that I can’t wait to craft into a full plotline, so I’ll dump all my ideas into a specific timestamp to really get that sense of a “slice of life” style! I hope they explore all the possible worlds we can come up with.

What do you do when you hit a rough spot creatively? 

Discuss the topic with my friends. Keep the flow going, get some input from others. Watch some movie scenes or listen to music related to the genre to get into the feels. If it’s still not working, I take a break from it, come back to it with a fresh mind.

What is your favorite work and why? Your most successful? 

The fic with the most notes at the moment is my college bf renjun timestamp, and I think I can guess why. The line “sorry, I don’t date people who pay me” was one that I came up with for Renjun from the get-go, I couldn’t see anyone saying it better than him. My favourite? I’ll have to get back to you guys on that one. I’ve never been completely satisfied with anything I write, and I think I can do better — but the ones I have the most fun writing are my mafia AUs.

Who is your favorite person to write about? 

I prefer to write about people who I see in a variety of different situations, i.e. is very versatile as a character and suits any genre. In that aspect I love writing about Haechan — much like him as a performer and able to understand and pull off any musical concept, I’ve never failed to see him in any scenario with a range of different personalities. He’d make an amazing actor if he wanted to, and if I was a casting director, I’d love to cast him.

Do you think there’s a difference between writing fanfiction vs. completely original prose? 

No. Not a major one, anyway. The original piece I’ve been working on for the past 2+ years is completely original and yet I’ve set a few of the characters’ faceclaims as NCT members, purely because they fit the image of what I believe my characters would look like (for example, Jeno is the faceclaim for the prince — tell me he doesn’t give off royal vibes and I’ll laugh). This doesn’t necessarily mean I’m writing fanfiction. The prince’s name isn’t Jeno. I don’t include Jeno’s notable characteristics as a person. My writing style remains consistent throughout all my works — fanfic or original — the only thing that separates the two, in my opinion, is whether or not the author draws from the celebrity as a person (i.e. using their name, perhaps their relationships with others, etc.) and ultimately feature that celeb as a character in their story.

What do you think makes a good story? 

In two words, plausibility and consistency. I don’t refer to the creative aspect of writing — go wild with imagination. Break boundaries, invent new things. By plausible I mean whether or not the choices the characters make are understandable in their respective settings. Sure, characters can do stupid things and make mistakes, sure, plot twists can occur — but can we as readers see why the characters made those silly mistakes? were they forced errors? perhaps immaturity? Are the plot twists in order with the situation and its possibilities? Is there a sound explanation behind why these choices are made? If we can’t see and understand why certain plot points happen, it loses credibility and I tend to have difficulty seeing it in my head. Also, I tend to take punctuation and grammar extremely seriously. I’m that friend who calls out grammar mistakes and repeats typos, and in my own opinion, it definitely affects the reading experience. The flow of language is definitely mediated by such mechanisms, and if those aren’t there, I tend to wonder how much I’d love it if the grammar and spelling were correct.

What is your writing process like? 

A lot of the time, I’ll think of a random scenario, maybe act it out myself. Experiment with dialogue, visualise the scene in my head. Jot down a few notes, some good lines that I can come up with. Then I imagine who would fit the scenario best, taking into consideration the characteristics and dynamics I want in the scene. I’ll write out the scene in dot points, and then write it into paragraphs.

Would you ever repurpose a fic into a completely original story? 

I’ve never thought about fic to original story, but I have thought about repurposing an original story to a fic! ‘Casting’ idols as my characters is always fun, I get to experiment with character traits and through this I can understand my characters better. Casting idols also gives me a clear visual representation of my characters, too! So far, I haven’t repurposed a fic into an original story, since a lot of my work isn’t part of a fixed plot. That being said, I imagine it would be fun!

What tropes do you love, and what tropes can’t you stand? 

I love a good old enemies-to-lovers/enemies-to-friends trope — the initial dynamics, the turning point, the character development, the progressive trust towards each other, new loyalties, the compromises, learning to see the good in anyone — and it goes with any every genre. So versatile! I love it. A trope I can’t stand, though? Cheating/adultery. Oof. Goes against my morals.

How much would you say audience feedback/engagement means to you? 

It means a lot more than readers might think. I value all kinds of feedback, whether it be good feedback or constructive criticism. It allows me to see what readers liked and didn’t like, and I can shape my writing into better form with reference. It also motivates me a lot! A retweet with a simple comment in the tags will literally make my entire day.

What has been one of the biggest factors of your success (of any size)? 

Based on my top posts, I think the main factor that engaged readers was that they could also see the people act that way in that scene. I try my best to keep my characters realistic in that their on-screen images and personas align with how they would react to situations in my writing, keeping character dynamics and relationships as consistent as the plot sees fit. Instead of writing an idol into a plot for the sake of writing about them, I tend to plan out the scene and then evaluate which person would be best suited to that character.

Do you think fanfic writers get unfairly judged? 

Yes, we can be. i recently read this thread and it got me thinking about the foundations of fanfic and why we write it, but then as part of that group, I can’t help but think that the genre of fanfic itself just has a bad rep of being shitty Wattpad writing with no punctuation and cheesy plotlines littered with overused cliches by 13 year olds thirsting over grown men. The fanfic world that I know, however, consists of many truly amazing authors who borrow the names and characteristics of public figures to realise their creative ideas to the point where they’re not just authors anymore — they’re artists of language. Curators of words. Some of the best writing I’ve read is through fanfic, and again — the reason why fanfic is fanfic is because the characters are based on people in real life. We share these stories amongst ourselves to imagine things outside our reality, and we consume these stories because we have our support for our artists in common. This is our method of escape. It’s not much different from daydreaming about our high school crushes. They’re just beautifully written and feature people who are part of an industry that relies on public recognition, public appreciation and public support to survive. If you think writing should strictly involve purely original characters born from the author’s own imagination with no inspiration from real live people and thus fanfic is “weird”, “creepy” and “dehumanising”, then I’ll guess you’ve never made art before, nor can you properly appreciate it.

Do you think art can be a medium for change? 

I think that it can inspire and reflect change, but I find it hard to see if art can be change itself. We are the only ones capable of change — art is the medium of inspiration and emotional expression. We can create art and use it as a method to raise awareness and encourage people to take action, but we can’t exactly throw paintings at the white house and expect police reform, can we?

Do you ever feel there are times when you’re writing for others, rather than yourself? 

Yes, definitely. There was many a time I discussed plotlines with my friends and they’d said, “you hAVE to write this I NEED to read it”, or “where’s chapter 3?” and while I know they only mean well and only aim to encourage and support me, it can definitely backfire against their intentions and make writing feel like a chore or rush me into writing when I’m not fully inspired. Forced art is not the best, and whenever I do post something under that kind of mindset, I tend to be less satisfied with it and end up hating it.

Do you ever feel like people have misunderstood you or your writing at times? 

Though i worry about it, I don’t think there’s ever been an instance where it’s happened. I hope it never does, either!

Do your offline friends/loved ones know you write for Tumblr? 

Yes! I don’t mind, seeing that a lot of my friends are also kpop fans who also stan NCT. I link my writing to them when I post, and they support me a lot! It’s not the first thing I tell people when I first meet them, of course — I would only tell a non kpop fan that I write fanfic if I knew they wouldn’t judge.

What is one thing you wish you could tell your followers? 

Myself and other authors always, always always appreciate any form of feedback! Laughed at a funny line? Cried because of another? Felt the pain the character was feeling? Tell us! Have a comment on the writing style, or noticed a certain characteristic in our prose? Let us know that you noticed it! Absolutely dying for the next chapter and can’t wait to see what happens next? Express! (but don’t impose!) have a favourite line or completely agree that they’d totally say/do that? Point it out and gush about it! it’s hard to imagine the warm feeling it gives us as creators when receiving feedback until you actually get it! Go ahead, add an extra line in the tags, send in an ask. Make someone’s day. You’re never going to be thought of as weird or annoying. If it makes you feel something, express it (even in keyboard smash! we may not be able to read it, but we will feel it with you :D)!

Do you have any advice for aspiring writers who might be too scared to put themselves out there? 

If it makes you feel better, my writing when I started out on Wattpad was mega cringe worthy and still kept getting reads and votes and comments. Before I deleted my account, I read through it again and wondered how people can have such low standards when it comes to fanfic. Now, if there’s anything I want to tell you, it’s this — writing should be for yourself. It should be your personal hobby that you invest your own time and effort into, and it’s completely up to you whether you want to share your writing or not. It’s not a requirement. You don’t have to have published works to call yourself a writer. It doesn’t have to be amazing with flowing prose with immaculate worldbuilding with above-average vocabulary. Writing should be your catharsis, your personal medium by which you express your creativity. That should never be measured by likes and reblogs, nor should it come with an obsession over getting engagements.

Are there any times when you regret joining Tumblr? 

Despite the advice that I give to people and my previous answers saying that you shouldn’t be writing for others, a good portion of my motivation comes from reader feedback and engagements I get with my work, which is the reason why I applied to be part of writing networks within the fandom (for more exposure to a wider audience). As much as I don’t want to admit it, the amount of engagements I get will affect my satisfaction with the work. Some works I posted that I personally really liked didn’t get nearly as many notes as I was hoping, and then I can’t help but feel a little disappointed. In that sense, I’m still glad I get to share my writing on Tumblr — but the side effects of it affect me a little more than they probably should.

Do you have any mutuals who have been particularly formative/supportive in your Tumblr journey? 

I’ve only posted NCT fics on tumblr for a short while (maybe a month?) and so I don’t have many mutuals, but the few I have gotten into contact with are all lovely and always willing to rant about anything, despite most of them being in different timezones!

Pick a quote to end your interview with: 

“Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, the melancholia, the panic fear which is inherent in the human situation.” — Graham Greene, Ways of Escape (1980)

BONUS: K-POP CONFIDENTIAL

Interested in your very own episode of The Sunny Show? Find out how to apply here.

#@dreamsafterhours #thesunnyshow #featuredauthor #episode11 #nct

[kae-karo]

Christmas Lights and Evergreen - fic

for the lovely @phanarchy for our holiday exchange! thank you for being such a wonderful human, i adore your insight in our gc and you never fail to make me smile. so i hope this makes you smile, dear!

Christmas Lights and Evergreen - 1.4k

read on ao3

insp by dnp bein cute n walkin around town seeing holiday displays n stuff

Phil's a lot like Christmas lights, Dan thinks.

He's not like the kind that you could probably call fairy lights any other day of the year, the whites or yellows that're the same color all down the string, more like the multicolored masses that he's always found a bit tacky but ultimately remind him of Christmas more than anything else about the season.

And they remind him of Phil - not by virtue of being tacky, although that does add to the case, but because they're bright and colorful and elicit an inexplicably warm feeling in his chest.

It's the kind he has right now, staring at Phil silhouetted by the myriad of Christmas light displays along the pavement; perhaps that's why he made the connection, although the pinpoints of color pale in comparison to Phil.

"Dan?" Phil asks, but Dan's just staring. Of course he is - he gets sappy, and he hates that he does because god how embarrassing, but he can't help it. It's nights like tonight that drag him back through the landscape of time to the day they'd filmed the Christmas adventure, all snow and wet clothes and silly endings that Dan hadn't even questioned because it was Phil asking to film them, it was Phil standing there and grinning that goofy grin with a camera pointed at him, it was Phil.

It's always been Phil, hasn't it?

"Hm?" He finally remembers that Phil's said something, the way his brows are quirked up and his lips are parted as he stares back at Dan.

"Are you coming? Or did you want to look at this display a little longer?" Phil glances back over his shoulder toward the array of Christmas trees that Dan's not even really bothered to notice. Phil's been far more interesting to look at - his skin reflects shades of red and blue and green, and his eyes sparkle alongside the lights.

It's sappy and cheesy and Dan sort of wants to gag at his own thoughts but 'Phil outshines all the Christmas lights' flits through his head before he can stop it. Phil turns halfway back to Dan, then, his lip curled in a smile; it’s the same kind he's had on all evening, bright and full of wonder.

"Pretty, right?" Phil asks, and Dan can feel his smile widening to match Phil's grin.

"Yeah."

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

If Phil had to pick, he'd say Dan's a Christmas tree.

Not the kind decorated with a hundred lights and ornaments (at least, not always, not unless he really wants to be) but more the kind you might find while wandering through the forest - ironically - late in the afternoon, wading through snowdrifts in search of the 'perfect' Christmas tree to chop down and drag home.

After passing quite a few that look almost right, just slightly too tall or too short or too whatever, this one would appear in the path, haloed by the setting sun and cast into a dark shade of green that might appear black if you were standing too far back.

But Phil gets to stand close, as close as he wants, so he takes a step toward Dan and appreciates him for the colors he gets to see. Dan's subtle, that's just how he is, not exceptionally vibrant until you get him in just the right light, catch him at just the right time.

He looks that way now, Phil thinks, with the soft kind of smile on his lips and the warm glow of the Christmas lights surrounding him.

"Should we go? Cornelia and Martyn'll be waiting," Phil says, even though he could stand and stare at Dan for an eternity and never get bored. Dan would probably say there's layers to him, make some Shrek pun, but Phil sees him more like a tree: branches and needles and all sorts of things, and Phil can't always see how they’re connected but Dan knows it down in his soul.

In place of an answer, Dan just turns in the direction of the theater, so Phil follows. Of course he does, he'd follow Dan to the ends of the earth and back if he asked. Fortunately, he’s only asking to go down the street.

Colors bounce off the curls of Dan’s hair, tint the tips of his ears that he's refused to hide under a hat in spite of the cold. He'd gotten his hair just right, hadn't wanted to mess it up, and Phil couldn't argue with that.

Some days, Dan's the kind of Christmas tree you find in the middle of a forest, and it's exactly what you were looking for but you can't bear to chop it down, can't bear to change it at its core. So you leave it, and you return the next morning with a bag full to the brim with tinsel and ornaments and decorations and a sparkling star to place at the top of the tree even though you've got no idea how you'll get up there but it just felt incomplete not to bring it. He's the kind of tree you don't want to change, you just want to exist in its presence and help it shine.

It only takes a moment for Phil to catch up, then he's walking right beside Dan, the sleeve of his jacket brushing against the sleeve of Dan's. Winter air floats around them both, but they’re inside a little bubble where Phil can feel the warmth radiating off Dan and it doesn't matter that Phil’s hands are a bit chilly and he probably should've brought gloves because he feels warm.

Warm on the inside, like drinking hot chocolate while curled up against Dan on the sofa and under their biggest blanket, their Christmas tree lighting up the corner of their lounge and a holiday-scented candle lighting up their coffee table. Warm like their home.

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

There's something about this time of year that gets to Dan - it used to have a negative connotation, the lights and music and way-too-giddy laughter from passersby - but that was before Phil.

Now he has a reason, he knows that giddiness, he feels it when he glances over to find Phil right beside him, cheeks dusted red from the chill and forehead and hair tucked up under a matching-colored hat. Phil has an unreasonably easy time fixing his hair if it's been messed up, of course, so he doesn’t have to concern himself with whether or not he can keep his ears warm.

Then Phil turns, catches Dan's eye, and he feels like a disgustingly in-love eighteen-year-old again, cold and hot all at the same time in the middle of winter and lost in Phil's eyes. It's a flash of a feeling he gets every now and then, one that threatens to overwhelm him the same way it did all those years ago, but he lets it fade into a warmth in his chest. It doesn't overwhelm him, Phil doesn't overwhelm him.

Even after nine years, Phil doesn't overwhelm him, somehow. Maybe because he's all different colors, reds and oranges when he's mid-game and leaning into his competitive streak, bright yellows when he's excited, when he's laughing. Green when he's in business mode, curt and methodical and brilliant and focused. Blues and purples late in the evening, early in the morning, when Dan's lucky enough to catch him half asleep. Sometimes pink, when he looks at Dan the way he's looking now, full of love.

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

A tree suits Dan, especially a pine of some sort. Something with needles.

Not because he's prickly and pokey, although he's definitely that on occasion, but because there are so many little bits and pieces to him. Dan is so much, so full and nuanced and Phil wonders if he'll ever know every single branch, every single needle.

He's sure some of those needles have fallen off over time, he knows they have, and yet Dan is still Dan, still his Dan, in his entirety. He's still the tree- the person Phil fell in love with all those years ago. He hasn't changed, even though he's changed so massively. He's just growing, becoming more himself.

They go on in silence for a while, Phil lost in his head, in the idea of Dan, as snippets of miscellaneous Christmas songs drift into his ears. They pass shop after shop, and Phil thinks this is it, this is how it should be. This is how he wants it to be, his whole life, with Dan. He wants his whole life with Dan, whoever Dan becomes, whoever they become together.

#phanfic #dnp #dan and phil #fluff #domestic

[sevencrystalstars]

Secrets that are worth sharing {Dark Beast & Silver and Blue Twins}

This takes place in Brawl

Today is Lucas’ first day in smash, this is the first time he’d ever left his island home and he was very nervous.

Clutching his suitcase in hand and standing in front of the doors of the Smash Mansion, he knocked.

His hood was up covering his eyes so that no one could see, and he wants to keep it that way. Someone opened the door and the one who opened it was the famous superstar himself, Mario.

“You must be Lucas right?” Mario asked, “Um, y-yes that’s right.” He replied, “Welcome to the Smash Mansion, come inside and introduce yourself to the others.” “A-alright.” Lucas walked inside the mansion.

The mansion looks surprisingly normal and nice looking, Lucas was amazed at what he is seeing. The main room has other newcomers besides himself, an angel with a bow, a strong blue haired warrior, a young boy with green clothing and....who is he talking to?

The boy that the one in green is talking to has a red cap, a yellow and blue striped shirt, blue short, red shoes, a brown backpack, long blue gloves, black hair, purple eyes, and bandages on his face.

Lucas was curious to know what happened to him yet when he took a good look at his face, he instantly fell in love.

No, Lucas is trying to get a hold of himself saying that he just met him, he can’t fall in love with him already, just as he was thinking to himself he heard someone said, “Hi, you must be a newcomer.”

Lucas looked and saw the same boy that the one in green was talking to earlier, Lucas is starting to get nervous seeing that this boy is in front of him. “Y-yes I am.” Lucas replied.

He’s still nervous about talking to him when the boy immediately said, “Hi I’m Ness, w-welcome to the Smash Mansion! Just in case you want to know about my wounds, I got into a bike accident!”

Did he just heard him stutter? No matter what he tried to think about what happened Lucas has to replied with, “Hi I’m Lucas, nine to meet you! Sorry about your wounds!”

All of a sudden, everything went awkward. Lucas wanted to make things less awkward so he started to speak up and asked Ness, “So Ness, where would I be staying?” “Oh, you’ll be staying with me since I was wondering who I was rooming with.”

Wait, did he just say that he’s going to be staying with him!? That means he’s going show him his eyes and he doesn’t know that they’re ‘special’ as well.

“O-okay then, can you lead the way?” Lucas asked, “Sure!” Lucas went and followed Ness to their room when they found a door with a nameplate ‘Ness & Lucas’

They went inside and it looks really nice, the right side contains Ness’ stuff and belongings while the left side is empty with a bed. “That’s your side on the left.” said Ness while pointing to the left side, “Thanks.” Lucas walked to the empty bed and place his suitcase there.

“Ah, that reminds me of something!” Ness suddenly remember, “What is it?” Lucas asked, “You’re going to fight Toon Link today, that’s what the battle list showed me.” “Toon Link?” “He’s the young boy in green.” So that’s what his name is.

“So is there a place where I can train for battle?” Lucas asked, “Yeah the training room is downstairs on the left hallway, you can’t miss it.” “Thanks Ness.” Lucas left the room leaving Ness alone in their room.

After Lucas finished his training, it was time to fight against Toon Link. He went to the stage selection room with Toon Link and they decided to choose Battlefield.

//Time skip because I’m not good at writing battle scenes//

After the battle, Lucas won victoriously, he and Toon Link became good friend after that. As Lucas was about to return to his room, he was interrupted by Ness.

“Lucas you were great out there!” He said excitingly, “Well I wasn’t that good out there.” Lucas replied, “What do you mean, you were amazing!”

He smiled for what he said, even though he only met Ness for a day, he thinks it’s time to tell him about his eyes. “Hey Ness.” “Yeah Lucas?” “I need to tell you something.” “Sure what is it?” Lucas lead Ness to their room and went inside.

When Ness closed the door he asked, “What is it that you wanted to show me?”, Lucas took a deep breath and started to remove his hood revealing his eyes.

Ness was amazed at what he saw, Lucas eyes are central heterochromia with the colors of silver and blue. “Lucas, your eyes are incredible, why did you hide them?”

“I-I was afraid that if someone knew about the secret of the silver eyes, then they’ll take me and then used me for something bad just like what happened to my brother.”

“Your brother also have those eyes?” Lucas nodded, he opened his suitcase and took out a picture frame of his family. He showed it to Ness, there in the picture was Lucas’ parents, his brother, his dog and himself. He looked at the twins and saw that he also have the same eyes as Lucas.

“Is he okay?” Ness asked, Lucas sat down on his bed when his eyes are starting to form tears. “He’s alright, but, during the time he was kidnapped, these people started to punish him whenever he disobeyed. When he was caught trying to escape, th-they replaced his right arm w-with a mechanical arm as punishment.”

Ness’ eyes widen in shock, his brother has been through a lot when he was kidnapped. He sat next to Lucas with a sad expression, “Are your eyes really that special?” Lucas wiped away his tears, ��You could say that, you see it’s the silver color that makes us powerful. The silver creates a powerful light that can only work if a certain creature is there, but if the silver is combined with blue, then this powerful light will also effect other creatures and people as well, but it can only blind them for a short time.”

Ness was impressed that Lucas has that kind of power, yet he knows that people wanted that kind of power to rule over. He thought about showing his secret since he showed his, but he’s still not sure yet.

“Can you control this power like you control your PSI?” Ness asked, “Apparently I can’t, I’m still learning how to used them.” Lucas still looks sad after telling him his story, so Ness took a deep breath and asked Lucas, “Would I make you feel better if I showed you my secret?”

Lucas looked at Ness surprisingly, he didn’t know he has a secret at well. “Sure, if you want.” “Alright then, also can you don’t freak out please?” Lucas looked at Ness confusingly, he doesn’t know why he told him not to freak out.

“Alright, I promise.” “Okay then.”, Ness removed his bandages on his face revealing red markings on his face, he then removed his gloves revealing these black and white monsterous arms, and he then removed his hat showing a pair of ears.

Lucas was shocked seeing what Ness was hiding this whole time, “I was cursed by Giygas when I was 5 years old, ever since the curse I was homeschooled by my mom because I was scared that people would avoid me or make fun of me and called me a monster.”

Lucas is starting to feel bad for Ness, going through a life with that curse must have been tough, “The first person who knew about my curse was my neighbor Pokey, or Porky is what he likes to be called.” Lucas widen his eyes in fear, hearing his name gave him bad memories of him and Lucas’ brother.

“At first he kept it from everyone and I thought I could trust him, but ever since I started my journey to stop Giygas, he changed and decided to use my curse against me.” Ness looked down at his arms and added, “There’s a certain power that I can’t control it yet, me and my friends called it rage mode.”

“Rage mode?” Lucas asked confusingly, “Whenever all of my friends have fallen, I go insane and start attacking the enemies that did this to them.” Ness explained, “The first time it happened was the time my friend Paula was kidnapped, me and Jeff went to defeat this alien department manager(?) when Jeff has fallen, until all of a sudden my anger rushed inside me and I don’t feel my gloves, my bandages, or my hat on me, and that’s when I knew, I snapped.”

“I attacked it when I managed to finished it off, my thoughts came back when I saw that my monsterous hand was digging through that alien’s chest. It told me where Paula was and it also added that it ended up haunting me forever, the alien said, ‘Guess they were right, you really are a monster.’, when it faded away.”

Lucas wanted to comfort Ness, yet at the same time he doesn’t want to let him know his feelings so he decided to hold his hand. Ness looked at Lucas, he was surprised that he’s holding his hand when he’s not wearing his gloves.

“Ness, you’re still a person no matter what. Even if others said that you’re a monster, you’re still you.” Lucas said with confidence, Ness is starting to form tears in his eyes when he hugged him. “Thank you Lucas.”

Lucas hugged him back, “Your welcome Ness.”, they stopped the hug when Ness asked, “Want to be friends with me so that we can get stronger and support each other?” Lucas smiled and said, “Yes, I’ll become friends with you.” Lucas decided to put his feelings aside for now and confess to him later when the time it right.

Man this took a while for me to write, and if you read my first fic on my profile “True love after the battle” that’s where Lucas confess his feelings to Ness

#earthbound #mother 3 #ness #lucas #nesscas #alternate universe #au #super smash bros #dark beast au #silver and blue twins au

[gneisscastiel]

Hey there! I was wondering since you make posts about angel wings, do you ever think about the softness or fluff of them? Or even the possibility of there being a difference in a soldier's wings compared to a cherub's? I've read fanfics on AO3 that describe wings with such great detail (such as Tarred and Feathered-by NadiaHart & TrickyJerseyGirl, Flight-by @northern-sparrow, and SO many others) that I wanted your take on this. You have awesome ideas 😊

Yes, I do think about the softness of angel wings!  One of my favorite things to imagine Dean and Cas doing is cuddling while surrounded by Castiel’s wings.  I understand that isn’t based on anything canon but Dean loving the parts of Cas that aren’t human is extremely important to me. 

This is going to be a pretty long reply because I have tons of ideas about angel wings. I am very familiar with @northern-sparrow‘s fics  (AO3). That is probably my favorite authors in this fandom. I will admit it’s probably been a few years since I read Flight but the same head canon about angel wings is used in all of northern-sparrow’s fics. I never read Tarred and Feathered-by NadiaHart & TrickyJerseyGirl before, so thank you for the fic rec. 😊 I always love to read about wing grooming and the fact that this was between Castiel and Gabriel as brothers made it a little different from what I have read in the past.

I like to think about angel wings very much like bird wings. With about the same softness and feel but maybe a lot less brittle. Cas is a warrior after all.If you brush feathers in the wrong direction they feel kind of pokey because of the rachis/shaft, but as long as you brush them the right direction they will be soft.  I think especially the underside of an angel’s wing would be soft and nice to lay under. Though once in a while Dean would probably get poked by a stray feather or two. I don’t think he minds very much though.

I have a lot of different thoughts about angel wings varying with the different kinds of angel. Canonically I think there is little to no variation in wings between the different kinds of angels. Even between archangels and regular angels. At least comparing the wings that we get to see, such as wing shadows and wing prints. There could be differences between the angel’s true forms that we do not know about yet.  I like to think of differences as they are described by the lore about angels such as seraphim having six wings and cherubim having four wings. This is somewhat supported by canon too. Zachariah describes his true form as having six wings and four faces. This is similar to some descriptions of cherubim but we know that Zachariah wasn’t a cherub as far as the Supernatural definition of Cherub. So I like to think of Castiel as having six wings in his true form because we know that Cas is a Seraph. 

Now as far as differences in softness or the kinds of feathers. I like to think that Castiel’s wings and any other solider-like angel as having wings that are very similar to a raptor’s wings. Strong enough to take some damage but also meant for speed. In particular my head canon for Cas is that he has an osprey’s wings.

Nyoooom going to grab that righteous man from hell

If different kinds of angels have different wings, their wings probably match their job. So I would think something like a cherub (as in the cherubs on Supernatural) That has to move around really fast over short distances, like between different couples at a bar. Might have wings like a humming bird. I mean Cas did described the cherub in My Bloody Valentine as “pollinating.”  So I imagine them having to dart around really fast.

💙Thank You so much for this lovely ask! You get all the wing cuddles.💙

#interactions #castiel #destiel #fic rec #trueform!cas #castielsbubblewrap0976

[blindtaleteller]

I’ll Be Missing You (mini-fic)

                                             ~--+--~

                                        .\\\\BRUCE////.

       .////TERRA (DOMESTICALLY IDENTIFIED AS EARTH)\\\\.

                     .////AVENGERS TOWER, NEW YORK\\\\.

  \/\/.65-66TH FLOOR : BANNER-STARK CONJOINED LABRATORIES.\/\/.

                      .\///MAY 3RD, 2015 : 5:36 AM US EST\\\/.

                                    ------=============------

Banner hadn’t had more than a sip of his coffee, and didn’t feel like he’d gotten all the sleep out of his eyes as he pushed the heavy polymer-glass-compound door to the upper half of the lab open with his shoulder blades and the hump of his back. Plated hot pockets in one hand, current numbers under that arm; coffee steaming and hooked into the fingers of the other. His reading glasses slipping and probably needing another adjustment to tighten them back up; he hadn’t even flipped the main lights on yet when he heard it.

The sound stopped him just inside the swing of the door as it closed; looking around for where it was coming from. Checking one of the many the digitals hanging out in the lab. Five thirty A.M. No one should be in there unless they had some serious business after finally getting the Sceptre out of Hydra’s hands; except himself and maybe “ Tony..? “

No real answer, except that he could still hear it going. Some conversation over an unknown speaker about energy levels and boosting signal speed that sounded really familiar. He heard Steve’s voice, asking something: and set the food down to follow the sound of it and whatever motion was going on over that same speaker. Back and around one of the console sets. Dark corner, a little extra light coming from the monitors currently bouncing the screen saver around their black background and the phone that was tilted in it’s charging stand half towards the man it belonged to where he had passed out in front of the keyboard well enough that Tony had ended up shuffling that back to make more room for his own head and at some point pulled the little cord to his earbuds from said phone at the other end of it.

A sigh, and Bruce left the papers behind, pushed his glasses back and took the only step he could manage when he heard “ I am telling you; it’ll work. “ from that speaker in a voice he’d almost forgotten the sound of. The sound of a smack catching his dark eyes on the view of the back of a familiar dark head; a screwdriver poking out from either side where he remembered, he had put it between his teeth just to deliver that swat.

       Tony’s chuckle, where he was holding the phone taking the video. “ Watch it Loxley, you might lose a finger or four if you screw with the new baby too much. That’s a week plus of work you’re poking your digits into. “

                          “ Yeah yeah.. Covered this already,  but I still don’t trust him with anything remotely this .. pokey, looking. As a start. “

                                  “ If it helps, “ was Bruce himself, swatting Clint in the face with his papers to get him to back up a few inches, and then feet when he finished on “ there’s also the chance you might end up a toasty scorch mark on the floor if you poke the wrong thing while the casing’s open. Yeah.. that’s a thing. So stop screwing with tech you don’t get man, you’re making me twitchy. “

           Wrench handed over to him; he held up the swatting papers and pointed out what he remembered was the new frequency they were adjusting the drone to latch onto while Lolo had stuck that screwdriver into his back pocket. The briefest dip of the camera towards where he had briefly misjudged the strength of those jeans and poked the pointy end straight through the bottom of that pocket.

            Steve’s  ‘pft’ of a chuckle off screen, he was smiling himself at the video, that tiny screen feeling so much smaller than the memory; unable to stop watching as Tony snapped out at the ass shot from off it’s view. “  We really gotta get you a tool belt, Lolo. “ and managed to get his younger self and Loki both to look over his shoulder, and then down when Tony’s hand pointed out the pierced denim. “ What’s that, the fourth pair you’ve trashed like that? I mean, “ and he was reaching back and down, feeling out the rest of the screwdriver’s shaft where it was hanging and pointing off his ass before he pushed it up and grabbed it out. “ even if you’re doing it yourself, surefire way for someone to give you decent grope, yeah: but we’re gonna have to send Cap out to the factory they make those patches at, at this rate. Pretty sure we've almost bought the gas station out. “

                 “ Oh no, those are gone actually. They ran out last week. “ From Steve got the space to the right of the camera a nasty look while he himself had just smiled and got to helping Loki with the recalibrations and rechecks. “ Local Wal-mart’s getting a little low too though, so .. “

       “ What Cap’s saying is, he’ll help you with the mandatory make-out session required to get it out next time. “ still made Bruce laugh, and more so when the camera jerked a little and Lolo flexed one lower cheek after the other for it during Tony’s dodge from right side.

                    “ ..you’re more qualified. “ a little late after a brief dash of the view to catch Steve’s amused but also slightly annoyed face at an awkward angle that probably had something to do with the fact he remembered Tony handing them the first cover panel about then. “ I totally am, but let’s face it Rogers, you’ve been chasing that tail since you moved in, huh? “

            “ Brave man, for still being in arms reach.. “

                                                     “ Admit it! “ sung from behind the camera as it mostly righted itself. Steve in one of those too-comfy tees and relaxed jeans, big arms crossed looking as usual like he’d stepped out of a higher end clothing catalogue instead of a shower an hour prior. “ You totally decided to move half your shit out here just to track that booty! Whole upper floor to choose from and you gotta take the side that uses the same shower..? “ the view flipped to Barton; looking not quite as amused but showing small signs of it. “ Barton! Am I wrong,  huh?  He’s pasted to Lolo’s ass  almost  as much as you are since he moved in. “ the dry expression that received. “ Oh  wait.. The jealousy bit. I forgot! You should just get it over with and pounce him man, work it out between the sheets already. Maybe a triple-tangle if you don’t mind actual fun and the bulky blond in the mix..? “

                         “  Tony. “ from his own mouth had the view swapping back to what they were doing from the agitated squint Clint had taken on behind him. “ What..? Am I  wrong?  “

     Had his glasses tipping down while Bruce had been holding that panel in place, and Loki was screwing down the next part. “  Just..  yeah no, you probably aren’t. “

                         “ Assholes. “ had most of them chuckling a bit, though he and Loki had been distracted enough with the remaining work at hand not to.

                                        “ Well, maybe if you didn’t hug his so much Clint; we wouldn’t feel so obligated to pick at  yours when it gets irritating. “ Glasses back up, and Bruce saw himself smiling in that little screen. Remembered the closer view he himself had when Lolo had turned his head just then to smile at him in return. The slight surprise to the expression Bruce had kicked in like that, but  ..very warm return. He remembered the lines at the corners of his eyes when it was a real smile. The way he sometimes said things better without ever saying a word. Remembered the way he hadn’t said anything just then either; hands at the last screws: but had felt the  thank you  just the same.

         Things like that kept him from shutting it off. Brought him down onto the balls of his feet a couple of feet away to watch, hear and feel it again. Wanting to see and feel them as clearly again, even if only through a glowing three by six window into the past. Tony clearing his throat as they snapped and bolted on the next, outer panels. Spewing out the test number and take as most of the rest of them had backed off.

He was smiling at it, knowing what was coming next. The little explosion of sparks from where they’d forgotten to pull the extra node before flipping it on thanks to that still just distracting enough bullshit conversation. The laugh when Barton had been the one to tackle Lolo to the ground with the wool blanket and pat the fire out on his chest, until he’d noted the big grin and pull where his hands hooked under his neck and the fall of his hair along with the fact Clint had ended up straddling him cowgirl. And his chest was nipple-out staring up at him.

      The restrained laughs when Clint just turned an angry red and stormed off at an equally angry retreat swearing in response to Tony’s “ Don’t stop  there  Hawk, we  totally  don’t mind seeing just  how  bad you  got it  to swoop in on the pec-grab  that  fast… “ or the call from somewhere further off across the bay over the alarm. “ Guys!? Strip shows don’t  usually  involve setting each other on fire but, if you  wanna  keep it going? “ Natasha, deadpan-ish from the railing outside the then very plain training suite. “ At least shut the  alarm  off so I can turn up the stereo instead? “

  “  Yes ma’am-- “ was cut short as a hand reached over his head and paused the video; his expression coming down a bit. He expected to turn his head and see Tony giving him the face. That, face. The one that said he had been butting in on his coping, because he knew that was still very much a thing even now.

          He was not expecting to see Tony was still laying there; and still asleep. Or to turn his head when he heard the sniff along the way to the open door behind him in the quiet dark; and see Clint’s barely lit back making a fast but quiet stride for the one that led out of the lab. The guy’s hand making a fast rub and flick across one side of his face. The kind of jerking yank to the handle attached that sent it wide and just short of bouncing off of the printer when he did get there and padded down the stairs to the right like he was being chased.

Looking up to Tony, the screensaver lighting his face in odd ways from an odder angle, and back to the screen again where it had stopped on a downward view at Loki catching Bruce’s hand to help him up off the bay floor? He thought, maybe he was. Being chased.

   Maybe, and especially now with the staff Lolo had once tapped Clint with, and tried to tap Tony with standing at a horizontal hum in the middle of the lab; they all were being chased by these kinds of memories. All thinking he should be there. All wishing he could just walk down the other side of those same stairs from an apartment room that hadn’t had him in it enough but still had enough of him in it to stare at them and what was going on with Hydra and these enhanced kids and Asgard and the piece they’d finally retrieved to raise his hand from a tablet to flick the lights on and smile at them in greeting, and step up to work right alongside them on getting the thing assessed and the hell off their planet to someplace safer that much faster like they knew he should be.

     Wasn’t fair. Not to them. Not to Tony. Not to Clint. Not to anybody.

                                  “  You shouldn’ta died like that man. “ was just a whisper at that face, stuck in time on a little window that could never be made big enough for him to climb out of. “  You shouldn’ta left me to be the only monster left on the team, either.  “

         One touch was all it would take. To close the video, shut the screen down.

            He couldn’t do it right away though. Brought his hand up. Reached, even. Just a breath away and he could actually feel a little of the warmth from it’s glow while his fingers hung there.

         Bruce pushed play instead. Almost broke when he heard that laughing  “ ...stars, I love every one of you fools. “

                    And did break, when he heard Tony, right next to him in his sleep, mumble in response “  Love you too Lo… “ and had to shut it off so he could curl over his knees in the dark next to him, and let the wet go the way it had to down his face.

--------=========From GROUNDED: Chapter 6 - BONUS TRACK

#frostiron #BONUS TRACK #Chapter 6 #tumblr reprint #fluff #ouch #grief #phone theatre #Bruce Banner Perspective #feels #missing you

[greyskieslatenights]

seventeen: jicheol: good morning (i think i'm into you, this is dangerous)

...i am a mess

a jicheol fic inspired by their duet of good morning :,) featuring gratuitous usage of italics for flashbacks, by yours truly. happy birthday, jihoon.

in which drunken confessions make for awkward next days.

9:47 AM Choi Seungcheol: good morning

  1:36 PM Jihoon stares at the two words in the preview bubble, his head throbbing from the alcohol he’d drunk the previous night. He hasn’t gotten drunk like that in a while – he generally likes to keep a clear mind at all times, and rarely indulges in more than a couple shots of soju.

His thumb hovers over the message preview, ready to reply to his best friend’s message like he normally would, but something stops him this time.

He’s not quite sure what it is that makes him do it, but he swipes the bubble to the side instead of tapping on it, hiding the message from sight.

Staring at the bright light from his phone screen is only making his headache worse, so he puts it into sleep mode and lets it drop down to the mattress. He closes his eyes, trying to use force of will to make the headache go away (if anything, he’s probably making the problem worse).

His mouth feels like cotton and his throat feels like fire and his stomach is starting to churn unpleasantly – despite the extreme lethargy he feels throughout his entire body, he somehow manages to propel himself to his bathroom barely in time to empty the contents of his stomach into the sink. He dry-heaves for a few moments afterwards, narrow shoulders moving up and down with the force of his heavy exhalations. He hates the scent of vomit, and remembers yet another reason why he doesn’t like to drink much.

He turns on the tap, flushing the sink clean, and proceeds to brush his teeth vigorously to rid his mouth of the foul taste. After he’s done, he splashes cold water on his face to try and revive himself; when he catches a glimpse of his tired eyes in the mirror, he grimaces. He must’ve had quite a night.

The problem, though, Jihoon muses as he pads over to his tiny kitchenette and readies a package of instant microwavable rice, is that he’s still not quite sure what triggered his abnormal desire to drink, and why he feels like he’s missing something from last night.

He’s got a nagging feeling that it has something to do with Seungcheol, though, given that he was so hesitant to reply to the elder’s message. He’s never done that before.

He ponders this as he stirs his rice around with a spoon, blowing across the steaming surface before taking a bite. As he chews, his eyes wander around the kitchen, eventually landing on two soju bottles that he swears weren’t there the day before.

What happened last night?

  2:25 AM Seungcheol walks Jihoon home, Jihoon borrowing Seungcheol’s jacket as he always does after they go out late; Jihoon’s always found it a little strange – they don’t live in the same apartment complex, and they’re both men.

(They’re not dating.)

The silence is still upon them, and it makes Jihoon uneasy. He and Seungcheol have never been the types that talk nonstop, but the quiet between them has always been comfortable. He doesn’t like how this feels, not one bit, but he doesn’t know what to do about it, either.

Jihoon’s ready to punch in the access code to the front entrance and give Seungcheol a wave goodbye like he always does, but the elder reaches out and lays his palm over the keypad before he can do it.

“What’re you doing?” Jihoon asks, giving Seungcheol a vaguely dirty look. A beat later, he registers that that’s the first thing he’s said all night after they’d left the restaurant.

“Can I… do something before you go in?” Seungcheol asks, voice soft and hesitant.

This worries Jihoon. Seungcheol is never hesitant.

Jihoon nods, slightly confused; Seungcheol steps in a bit closer, far within the bubble of personal space Jihoon usually insists on maintaining. The elder slips a hand into Jihoon’s hair, giving it a soft ruffle before sliding it back to cup around the back of his head.

At this point, Jihoon would normally swat away the hand of whoever dared mess with his hair or do anything that resembled a jab at his height. He’s endured plenty of it throughout the years and generally makes it immediately known that he won’t stand for it. Seungcheol of all people should know this.

And yet, Jihoon does nothing to stop him, does nothing as Seungcheol folds him into an embrace that smells of barbecue smoke and laundry detergent; an embrace that feels warm and distinctly Seungcheol.

(Jihoon doesn’t think he’s imagining the soft press to the top of his head before Seungcheol releases his hold, but he doesn’t know how much he can trust his memory with finer details at this point.)

As if nothing ever happened, Seungcheol steps back and shoves one hand into the pocket of his jeans, holding up the other and making a small wave. “Good night, Jihoon-ah.”

Jihoon doesn’t catch himself in time to reply until Seungcheol’s already out of sight.

Seungcheol’s jacket is still wrapped around his shoulders.

  2:49 PM Jihoon supposes it’s fitting that he remembers the end of the night first – the memories start filling in as he gets up to toss the bottles in the recycling. He remembers Seungcheol walking him back to the apartment, which he’d always found kind of weird but never bothered to argue harder against, and remembers his confusion about Seungcheol wanting to do something different before departing.

It’s strange, though. While Seungcheol hugging him goodbye is certainly out of the ordinary, it’s nothing worth downing two bottles of soju for.

Clearly, there’s still something Jihoon’s missing.

He’s got a better idea now that he knows it has something to do with Seungcheol, but that could be a lot of things. If he’s not spending his free time alone, he’s most likely spending it with Seungcheol. And while the two of them do get along most of the time, it’s not completely uncommon for them to have some sort of argument.

Jihoon’s got a feeling that an argument wasn’t what triggered his sudden need to drink to forget, though; if that were really what happened, the first message he received from Seungcheol probably would have been some sort of apology, not just good morning.

If Jihoon’s really going to get into this, sending good morning isn’t something Seungcheol usually does. If he sends Jihoon something in the morning, it’s usually some sort of cute animal picture or weird meme, not a formal greeting.

Something else happened last night, and Jihoon still doesn’t know what.

He returns to his bed, flopping back down on top of the blankets with a loud exhale. He doesn’t like not knowing things, especially when it comes to Seungcheol. This isn’t like them at all.

Mentally, he tries to go back to the earliest relevant point in the night that he remembers. He and Seungcheol were hanging out in his studio (more accurately, Jihoon was trying to finish up the arrangement for one of his tracks and Seungcheol was alternating between offering helpful suggestions, browsing on his phone, and trying to pester the younger. But details, really.)

Sometime around midnight, Seungcheol had successfully talked Jihoon into shutting down for the night and going out to get something to eat; as per informal tradition, they made the quick walk to a barbecue restaurant close to the studio. They’d been seated quickly, barely needing to give their order since they end up there every other week and nearly all the workers recognized them by now.

The charcoal grill had been fired up and a plate of samgyupsal placed next to them, along with lettuce, pickled radish, and ssamjang. Seungcheol took the tongs, laying out the strips of pork belly on the grill while Jihoon poured them a shot of soju each.

“To us,” Seungcheol had joked, raising his glass. Jihoon had rolled his eyes, but clinked his glass to Seungcheol’s all the same.

That’s all normal.

Jihoon thinks harder, trying to remember what happened after that, but draws a blank.

With an exasperated sigh, he starts to roll over, but stops short when he feels something hard and pokey and decidedly not his blanket digging into his back. He sits up and feels around for the source of the offending feeling; it doesn’t take long for him to notice a mass of red fabric amidst his blue sheets.

He yanks it up, shaking it out to see what it is – it’s a hoodie, and despite Jihoon’s penchant for wearing oversized clothes, he knows that this isn’t his.

It’s Seungcheol’s.

This, again, isn’t out of the ordinary in and of itself. Jihoon has a bad habit of not dressing warmly enough at night, and Seungcheol tends to overheat; this combination leads to Seungcheol forcing Jihoon into wearing his jackets when they go out more often than not.

What’s unusual is that the hoodie is actually in Jihoon’s possession – he’s usually quite good about giving them back to Seungcheol before he goes back to his apartment.

He remembers Seungcheol hugging him before he left to go back to his own place, but Jihoon can’t imagine being that startled from a hug to forget giving the elder back his jacket.

There had to have been something else that happened that night, but what?

  2:07 AM “Hey, Ji-hoon,” Seungcheol says, slurring over his words a bit, “I have something I want to tell you.”

“What’s stopping you, then?” Jihoon asks, taking a sip of his cola before reaching for the last piece of samgyupsal off the grill. If he were eating with anyone else, he’d have asked the other person if they wanted it first, but Seungcheol’s always deferred the last piece of anything to Jihoon, so he’s stopped asking.

“It’s really important.” Seungcheol looks quite serious when he says this, and Jihoon can tell that despite the amount of alcohol he’s consumed, he really does seem to mean what he’s about to say.

Jihoon raises an eyebrow. “Go on, then. You’re acting kind of weird, Cheol-hyung.”

Seungcheol closes his eyes, takes a breath. “Jihoon, I love you.”

“You—what, now?” Jihoon sputters. He can feel his face heating up, and he’s pretty sure his ears are bright red at this point. Scratch what he said before – Seungcheol is most definitely drunk and out of his mind.

“I love you,” Seungcheol says again. “I have for a while, I think. I don’t know when it started, and I don’t really know why, either, but it’s a feeling I’ve been having. I kept wanting to say something, but I was never able to get the words out until now.”

The elder lets out a soft chuckle and follows it up with another shot. “You probably think I’m drunk and crazy—”

“Hyung, you are drunk and crazy—”

“—but I needed to say something, sometime, and I felt like I could only say it after I drank enough that my brain wouldn’t quite stop me.”

Seungcheol smiles softly, his cheeks red (from alcohol or embarrassment, Jihoon doesn’t know.) “I mean, I guess that’s it. You can forget I ever said any of this, if you want. If it were up to me, though, I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

A silence falls over the table. Jihoon doesn’t know what to say, too shocked by the sudden confession.

(If Jihoon really thinks about it, though, the confession wasn’t sudden – if anything, it was overdue.)

  5:17 PM Things finally fit into place – he remembers the confession, the numb shock he’d been in for hours afterwards, the confusion that led him to dig out the soju that he keeps at the back of the fridge for emergencies and drink.

(Jihoon’s struck with a bit of an urge to drink again – he’s mortified.)

It all makes sense, though: the awkwardness between them after the confession, the overly-formal morning text. It all points to a shift in their relationship that neither of them quite yet know how to define.

All this time he’s spent with Seungcheol as…

…what were they, really?

Jihoon’s thought about this a few times before, but never too seriously. There was nothing that really described the elder’s place in his life: best friend seemed somehow inadequate, lovers was completely off base, and there was no other term Jihoon could think of that made sense.

Seungcheol was, is, (and Jihoon had thought he always would be) Seungcheol; Jihoon had always thought that things would be the same for the elder, too.

Now, though, he realizes that he was wrong. Seungcheol wanted Jihoon to be something else to him, and wanted to be something else to Jihoon.

Jihoon’s simultaneously more and less confused the more he thinks about this. He’s definitely not opposed to bringing something different into the relationship he and Seungcheol have. The way he thinks about it, there won’t really be much that changes – Seungcheol will still be his closest person.

But somehow, Jihoon feels like everything’s going to change. He’s put up so many barriers around himself, many for no real reason other than that he likes to feel protected, that he almost doesn’t know how to let someone in that deeply.

(The irony of it all, though, is that Seungcheol’s already seen almost all of Jihoon that there is to see, know almost all that there is to know, and what little left that he doesn’t Jihoon knows that he’ll accept with the same open heart that Seungcheol always has when it comes to him.)

Does Jihoon love Seungcheol?

When faced with the question directly, it seems almost preposterous.

Jihoon’s knee-jerk instinct is to say no, of course not – he and Seungcheol are just friends, after all.

Yet if Jihoon takes the time to pause, mull over the question before responding, he finds that the answer isn’t quite so simple after all.

Out of all the people he knows, he probably likes Seungcheol the best. He’s willing to do things for Seungcheol without a second thought that he’d refuse to do for others in the same breath. He knows Seungcheol almost as well as the man knows himself, and even though Jihoon would like to think otherwise, he knows that the reverse is also true. Being with Seungcheol in any capacity feels right – it feels like home, if home were a person that has no familiar relation to him.

If there’s anyone that Jihoon can see himself being in love with, it’s probably Seungcheol.

And yet the question remains: does Jihoon love Seungcheol?

  5:50 PM The sun’s just started to set across the horizon – the warm light filtering through the clouds turns the sky a thousand colors of pink and blue and gold. Jihoon looks out the window; he wonders if Seungcheol is, too.

He picks up his phone from the table and unlocks it, tapping on his messaging app.

  5:53 PM Lee Jihoon: I guess it isn’t good morning anymore, but hi, hyung Lee Jihoon: sorry this is so late, I was thinking a lot

 don’t you love a good shitty open ending :,,,,,)

#seventeen #s.coups #woozi #jicheol #vobowooziday #seventeen fanfiction #jicheol fanfiction #fanfiction

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Biting Off More Than You Can Chew; part 7

Summary: Rus gets answers which is kind of a problem, since he didn’t even know there were questions. 

Tags: heatfic, dubious consent, NSFW, frenemies to lovers, mates, first time, more if I think of them

PLEASE READ THE TAGS: This is a Heat story, so there are going to be issues of consent. I don’t do partner rape, nope, but hey, I want to be straight with y’all. I like heatfics personally, but I understand how they can be troubling for some people. So there it is.

Read Chapter 1

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Read Chapter 7 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Rus always enjoyed sex. The Underground could be boring as shit and that was a fact. A librarby of books and Napstatton on the tube at all hours didn’t change that, and a good, rousing bout of the pokey-pokey was a great way to kill time, helped to ease the pressure of a mountain pushing down on them. Plus, afterward, it put everyone in the mood for a nice, long nap.

Really, it was a win-win.

He had to admit, though, of all the sex he’d had, all the one-night stands, the afternoon delights, the quick morning-afters, no one had ever brought him breakfast in bed. Come to think of it, he couldn’t recall anyone bringing him so much as a cup of coffee, so for Edge to come up with a tray, loaded down with delicious-smelling things including the gorgeous aroma of liquid caffeine, well, this already put his bout of mercy sex above most of his other encounters.

“please say one of those is for me,” Rus begged. He didn’t, quite, put it past Edge to bring up two cups of coffee for himself, even taking into consideration how their last bout of morning sex went; Edge pushing him with unexpected gentleness down into the blankets and maybe those teeth were sharp as hell but he sure as fuck knew how to use that mouth of his.

It hadn’t exactly stayed gentle, either, not that Rus wanted to register any complaints.

His memory of the heat sex was a little blurry, swallowed up in the haze of pheromones. This morning? Eh, Rus could lie, but what was the point? It had been damn good sex, and Rus knew from past experience you didn't really have to like someone for that. The possibility of breakfast, now, that would raise Edge in his esteem.

“It is,” Edge confirmed, earning himself a shit-ton of unspoken accolades. He set the tray on the bed and nudged one of the plates at Rus. His eye lights were all for the coffee, though, and he snagged one of the cups, draining half of it in one gulp. The pancakes didn’t wait long, and Rus couldn’t help a groan as he took a bite of the honey-soaked stack. One thing no one could argue was that Edge knew how to cook; his pancakes were actually better than Blue’s, Rus could tell that much, even if he was hungry enough to chow down on fried chunks of dog biscuit.

So, if he were keeping track, thus far Rus could mark down one night of heat sex, one surprisingly pleasant shower, one morning of extremely surprisingly good morning-after sex followed by a long nap, and a damn good breakfast. He was starting his day in the green, for sure.

“We need to talk.”

Aaaaand, there it went, right back into the red.

“aw, man,” Rus sighed. Of course, Edge would have to go there. At the end of the day, everything had turned out okay, better even than he could have hoped. No dust pans required, good sex had been had. And now Edge wanted to open up his mouth and ruin it all. He should’ve known. Rus pushed a bite of pancake around the plate moodily, sopping up some extra dregs of honey. “you’re going to make it weird.”

That made Edge rear back a little, blinking in surprise, “What? I’m not going to make it weird. There are simply a few things we need to discuss.”

“see?” Rus said accusingly. “weird!” Damn the pancakes and coffee for tempting him, he should have ditched while he had the chance. He could have gone home, practiced a little careful repression, and moved on from all of this by the next movie night. Breakfast should have made him suspicious from the get-go. That’d probably been part of Edge’s plan from the beginning, tasty bait for the idiot who should have fucked off a few hours ago.

“I am not going make it weird!” Edge snapped. Like it wasn’t already strange, seeing that familiar constipated irritation while Edge was sitting there in his pajamas. “Must you...never mind, of course you must.” He took a long, slow breath, obviously bracing himself to make things weird.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to cut this off at the pass.

“look, i get that you’re probably feeling kinda ‘eh’ about all this,” Rus gestured vaguely at the bed with his fork, only just catching a drip of honey from falling on the sheets. “but it wasn’t really any of your fault, so tell you what. let’s just bury it all and plant a tree on it. doesn’t really need any talking about, does it?”

Rus took another bite of pancake, because fuck it, they were already here. May as well enjoy his bribe. “i mean, this has been a lot of fun and all,” he winced the moment he said it, abort, abort, the plan was to not make this weird. “um, i mean, not fun, it wasn’t as bad as i was expecting…not that it was bad! it was good, i…fuck, make my mouth stop talking.”

This was why Rus never got breakfast in bed, he really was shit at the morning after.

Edge, who’d been sitting there staring at him while all those words came flopping uselessly out, said in that nerve-gratingly dry way of his, “Let me talk for a moment, then.”

He slipped a hand beneath the blanket, curling it around Rus’s bare ankle. For a long moment, Rus didn’t get it, like, was ‘talking about this’ a euphemism for let’s go one more round? Because Rus was pretty sure his crotch wasn’t going to speak to him for week, at least.

Then Edge added, “I want you to promise not to leave until I’m done. You owe me that much.”

That hand made a lot more sense, all of a sudden, a calculated move to keep him from shortcutting away. Fucking hell, this was all so…so Underfell, everything planned from the moment the pancake batter hit the griddle. Trying to fight loose would get him exactly nowhere, his little spat with Red proved that much, but the temptation to try was pretty fucking hard to resist.

“i owe you?” Rus ground out. “that’s what you think? i helped you, you dick!”

“You did,” Edge agreed, and that made Rus’s growing anger falter. He hadn’t expected Edge to actually agree with him. “But the fact remains that I did not ask for nor did I want your help. That leaves me in the unique position of appreciating what you did and still being angry that you did it. So, if you could please be quiet for a few minutes and listen to me?”

How was it that the fact that Edge wasn’t wrong only made Rus all the more pissed off?

“fine,” Rus said, grudgingly. He pushed his plate away, tugging the blanket up a little higher since Edge obviously wasn’t going to let him go long enough to put on his damn pants.

Edge set his own empty plate back on the tray. “How much did my brother tell you about heats?”

Rus only crossed his arms over his rib cage and looked at him.

After a moment of silence, Edge said impatiently, “Well?”

“you told me to be quiet and listen.”

Edge closed his sockets and pressed a knuckle into the spot over his nasal aperture as if he was getting a headache. “Do you want to stay here all day discussing this or could we get it over with?”

“fine, fine,” Rus grumbled. He hoped that headache took over Edge’s whole skull. He hoped it was bad enough that Red could feel it. Speaking of… “your brother didn’t tell me shit—" Rus stopped and gave Edge a narrow look, “how do you know it was red who got me here?”

Edge favored him with a humorless smile. “Who else would have sent you to check on me? It wasn’t difficult to narrow the pool of suspects.”

“fair,” Rus admitted. Wasn’t like anyone was going to post it to the Undernet, he supposed. ‘Tall, asshole skeleton, needs a good time in a bad way.’ “anyway, he didn’t tell me anything that i didn’t already know. i found an old science journal in underswap, it gave me the gist.”

Edge nodded. “And did that book of yours discuss bonding?”

“not…really?” Not that he remembered. He’d been a little distracted by all that info about biting and marking, but he was pretty fucking sure he’d remember something that sounded so ominous.

The hand on his ankle tightened a fraction. Edge wasn’t wearing his normal gloves, the bone on bone contact scraped a little. “Technically speaking, any partner with the appropriate genitals can get you through a heat cycle. Most often the night ends with nothing more than a small scar and possibly a fond memory. But on rare occasions, there can be a…residual effect.”

“what kind of residual effect?” Rus asked suspiciously.

The slow, deliberate way Edge was talking did not make Rus feel better about any of this. “There can be a certain level of commitment with an actual, truly compatible mating.”

“okay, yeah, you just said the bad word, i’m going to go home now.” But the grip on his ankle was implacable, almost painful, and Rus wasn’t liking his odds of fighting out of it. He wasn’t liking any of this, not a stars-damned word, and the pancakes, which should have settled nicely into his magic, were instead making it churn into something close to nausea.

Edge only kept talking, slowly and carefully, “Most Monsters can move on easily after a simple heat mating. But in some instances, the marking becomes a more,” he hesitated, then added, softer yet, “permanent bond.”

“please, stop.” Rus barely managed to whisper it, almost a plea, because he didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to hear any of it, he wanted to go home, he—

“I can’t,” Edge said, and his gentleness was so much worse than any anger he’d ever shown. “You need to know this, because it’s going to affect you during my next heat.”

“your what now?” Rus said blankly.

“My next heat. Since you didn’t catch pregnant, this will happen again.”

“um, yeah, i can’t get pregnant!” Every time Rus thought Edge had said the worst thing, he scraped up the dregs from the bottom of this fucked-up barrel and found something else. “my cunt is there for the entertainment value only!”

“I'm aware of that, but until someone figures out how to inform my body, I’ll keep going into heat.”

Rus could only laugh, too-high and sharp, because it was starting to become very clear that, in the end, the joke was on him, wasn’t it always? “i’m not exactly a dick whisperer! red said the first one is the worst!”

“Yes, that’s true,” Edge agreed. “After a first heat, they aren’t as intense, and the chances of a mating bond goes down. But if you already have a mate, then the objective is reproduction. And the next time I go into heat, so will you.”

“what??”

Edge sighed impatiently. “What exactly do you think being mates means? The risk of bonding was always there; it started from the moment I marked you and finished with consummation.”

“i…” He hadn’t thought about it, what mates meant, and he didn’t have a fucking clue what bonded meant. “so, you want me to believe that a bunch of monsters are wandering around with some kind of mating bond in underfell?”

“Not at all. Most Monsters prefer to go through their heats alone rather than risking it and either survive or don’t. My brother’s first heat almost killed him.”

None of this made any damn sense, Rus hadn’t been hanging around with the science-types for a while now, but even he could see that. “so how the hell do you keep your population up if no one uses heats for what they’re for?”

He felt Edge’s hand flex on his ankle as he hesitated, his thumb moving in a circle as if trying to soothe, then with gentle candor, “That is not a question you want to hear the answer to.”

From what he’d heard of their King, Rus suspected it was true. He shook his head, trying to ignore where his own headache was starting to blossom. “no. no, no, no, i didn’t sign on for this!”

“Neither did I. We both know who signed us up for this.”

Any gentleness vanished with those words, gone hard and cold, and without even thinking, Rus blurted out, “don’t hurt him!”

That caught Edge off guard. He blinked, visibly surprised. “Really?” Edge sounded almost amused, certainly disbelieving. “He set you up and you’re protecting him? I was expecting you to demand his dust in a jar after this.”

Rus cringed. No matter how he felt about Red, he was still sort of wearing Blue’s face. He didn’t want that, never that. “he’s your brother!”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t understand what he’s capable of.” Again, that same little soothing motion of his thumb against his ankle, and Rus fought the urge to try and yank his foot away. “I am not about to hurt him. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“don’t. don’t apologize to me, i can’t.” Rus took a shaky breath and tried to think. This was all too much information, way too much, he couldn’t sort through it all. “i don’t understand. what makes you think we are having this ‘residual effect’?” He didn’t like that other word, didn’t even want to think it. “how do you even know you aren’t still just, i dunno, heated?”

Edge lifted his other hand towards him and then seemed to think better of it when Rus couldn’t help flinching. “I knew when I didn’t want you to leave. When I could feel you, this morning. Here.” He touched the center of his own chest, right over his soul, and it was all Rus could do to keep himself from yanking away and fleeing in a blind panic.

Not because he didn’t believe him, but because he did. Edge had no reason to lie and if he was saying they were going to be crotch buddies going forward, then it was the truth. But, fuck, he didn’t want to believe, he didn’t, he couldn’t.

His mouth seemed to be in agreement. “i don’t feel shit!”

“Not yet. I was the one in heat, I would be more sensitive to it. It will develop further over more matings.”

“no. no, no, no, no no, this was not the deal! i don’t want to feel you, ‘right here’!” He slapped a hand over his chest, hard enough for the bones to clack. The blanket started slipping and Rus caught it, yanking it back up.

Edge raised his voice a little, talking over him, with that same calm, almost gentle tone. “It’s going to affect you more than that because soon you’ll start going into your own heats.”

Okay, what the fuck—

“no,” Rus said flatly. “monsters from underswap don’t go into heat.”

“That would have been true before I put my magic inside you. Even if we hadn’t bonded, that much was going to be true.” A certain sourness twisted Edge’s expression. “Red could have warned you about that, at least.”

“put your magic inside me?” Rus laughed harshly, he had to laugh, this was all such a joke. “is that what we’re calling fucking now?”

“If it was only fucking, we wouldn’t have this problem. But like it or not, we’re bound together in this.”

“bound,” Rus said aloud, tasting the word. It was bitter, wrong, but that was the real word for it, wasn’t it? “okay, so you said you can ‘feel’ me.” Rus made little finger quotes, catching the blanket as it started to slip again. “so what, this bonding thing, what does it do? you feel what i feel, all that shit? read my mind?”

“Of course not, nothing so direct.” But Edge looked away, his eye lights sliding lower, down to the blankets.

“uh huh. and how does it do it indirectly?”

Softly, he said, “I can feel that you’re frightened."

“uh, yeah, you don’t need some kind of fucking bond to know that. i don’t want to be bonded at all and sure as fuck not to someone who hates me!”

“I don’t hate you.” His free hand, resting on his knee, curled into a fist, hiding the sharpened tips of his fingers.

That was worth another laugh, “you’ve got a really fucking strange way of showing it! you’ve been an asshole since we met.”

“Yes. We aren’t good for each other. You infuriate me. You test me. But I’ve never hated you.”

“okay, stop,” Rus said unsteadily. “you need to stop.”

“And I believe the bond really isn’t as much of a problem as you’re thinking,” Edge said, a touch briskly. Like he thought somehow that they were winding towards the end and, oh, well, here’s how it is now, everything’s fine. “It’s hardly more than vague impressions, I expect you could get as much information from reading someone’s expressions. The point is supposed to be to form a closer bond to your mated to produce stronger offspring. A better soul connection results in offspring with higher HP and Magic levels.”

“this is so fucking stupid! why the fuck would we bond, we can’t make offspring!”

Edge smiled thinly. He was still looking at the blankets. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take that up with evolution.”

“okay…okay…this is…this will be fine,” Rus said, slowly, as much to himself as to Edge. “we just need to fuck every once in a while, that’s all.”

“More or less.”

Okay, he could do that. What was a little sex from time to time, right, he already knew Edge was pretty good in the sack. Except— “what if i want to fuck around?”

“I wouldn’t begin to dictate what you do with your own body,” Edge said. As though he didn’t stiffen, that curled fist tightening with a creak of bone. “Mating is a biological function, not a marriage proposal. So long as neither of us are in heat, it shouldn’t matter.”

“yeah, that would’ve been more convincing if you unclenched your teeth.”

“The heat still hasn’t quite cleared my system,” Edge said defensively. “You smell—“

“i smell?” Rus groaned. It was something else to focus on and his mind snatched it up gratefully. “fuck, really? i can’t go home stinking like—"

“Enticing,” Edge finished. He looked up then, his eye lights sliding over Rus, lingering on his exposed collar bone where the bite mark was still healing, and Rus realized with sudden, cold clarity exactly why Edge was trying to keep his eye lights down.

“oh,” Rus said, a little blankly. And for a split-second, a wild surge of pure lust shot through him, from his soul straight down to his aching crotch where a sputter of magic made an attempt at a pussy before Rus ruthlessly squashed it.

Bonded. Yeah. Now he was getting it.

“this wasn’t the deal,” Rus said, again, thinly, hating the whine in his voice, hating fucking everything. This was supposed to be a one-time gig, keeping Edge from dying, it wasn’t supposed to be this, not any of this.

“I know. I’m sorry.” The real sympathy in Edge's voice only made it worse.

“i can’t—” breathe. “—think. i need to go. let me go.” It was closer to begging than Rus preferred but right now, he couldn’t give two shits.

“All right.” And maybe Edge was trying to say he didn’t hate Rus, yeah, whatever, but in that moment, Rus hated him. Because Edge knew he could let go, he knew it. Because he also knew Rus couldn’t really get away from him. Not anymore.

The very second Edge’s hand was off his ankle, Rus was gone, dragging the blanket with him down to the machine. With shaking hands, he inputted the code and went through the portal, stumbling over the trailing hem into his own basement.

He shortcutted right up to his own room, kicking aside socks and empty honey bottles to reach his bed where he curled up on the mattress in a sheet that still smelled like sex, his magic and Edge’s together.

Bonded.

Sleeping was more like self-defense and Rus didn’t try to think, not about anything. He only closed his sockets and let the world fade away.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #biting off more than you can chew