#so i wrote a little angst

[crybaby-bkg]

I love jealous Bakugou who starts peacocking after a while to get all of your attention.

going to a party and Kiri carelessly picks you up to spin you during a dance, drunken laughter shared between you two. Bakugou watches on the couch the whole time, eyes slitted as he nurses the same beer he’s had all night. he listens to you giggle over the music about how strong Kiri is and—fuck it, he’ll show you strength. he takes the opportunity to scoop you off of your feet next time you guys are out and there’s a puddle in the middle of the road, puffs his chest out a little as he cradles you against him, when you let out that lighthearted giggle but for him this time.

Bakugou catches you chatting deku up, squeezing at his biceps when you tease him about how big he’s been getting. you only do it bc you know it flusters the green haired man, and you think it’s cute how he looks like a strawberry whenever you coo at him. But Bakugou only sees that as the push to go to the gym more, focusing even more on his arms, wearing all of his tanks around you. puffs his chest out again when he puts his arms behind his head and you pat at the bulging muscle and find yourself tracing the veins on his arms.

He sees you dancing with Sero at another squad gathering, something fast and sensual, your arms around his neck while he holds your waist. his face is buried into your neck and it makes you giggle whenever he whispers where to move your feet next. and does Bakugou take that as an active threat against his crush on you? of course he does. finds himself holding you against him at a party, swaying with you, way out of his comfort zone but he wants to show you that he can dance too, damnit.

Denki makes some offhanded comment about holding your bags when you go out to an amusement park, something else about going with you when you need the bathroom too. Bakugou is most definitely shoving him out of the way, manhandling all of your bags from you as he pushes you in the direction of the bathrooms instead. finds his chest practically spilling out of his shirt when you hug him by the end of the night, thanking him for being so kind, telling him that he’s the best friend you could ask for.

and does his heart drop to his ass when he hears the word friend? maybe. just a little.

#a hint of angst in the end lol a little unrequited love if you will #I wrote this last night while sleeping meds were in my system #so I hope this makes sense #I was thinking about jealous peacocking bkg tho all day yesterday #bc I wore this cute ass maxi dress and was like #he’d be so pressed to say that he was my bf lol #I want him obsessed just a liddol 🤏🏾 #oh and I loveeeee the thought of dancing with Sero so so so much #like hip to hip #faces close as you breathe in the same breath #and he’s smiling down at you all cheeky bc he sees how flustered you are just from dancing #I’m slowly becoming a Sero simp omg o vant #I CANT #what the hel is o vant #anyway #I wanna either do my makeup today or keep writing my original story #not enough hours in the day :( #have a great one guys!!! #—another tasty treat! 🍬 #mha sweets! 🍬 #bakugou treats! 🍬

[edgeray]

Arlecchino is a cold person.

(Arlecchino x Reader Blurb)

It's no suprise to anyone. It is simply an objective fact of the matter. She is aware of this. The House of the Hearth is aware of this. The Fatui are aware of this. It's ironic given the nature of her vision, but it nonetheless rings true despite the fire she possesses on her blackened fingertips. She is callous and curt, and underneath her skin there is nothing except frigid ice that envelopes her being like a fitted coat. She speaks with no warmth, acts with the absence of heat, exists in a constant state of cold emptiness--a state in which there is a void inside of her, as if sucking all that is human of her.

Years ago, when she was just a child of the same orphanage she headed, she had naive thoughts of finding companionship, someone who would provide the warmth she sought on lonesome nights. She was barely just an adolescent who dreamed of lying in someone's arms, feel the heartbeat of another so surely, it would remind her that she was indeed alive. For even the briefest of moments, she yearned for someone who would, if not shield, then distract her from the cruelties of this world. She had shed those foolish wishes aside. In the House of the Heart that she was raised in, such notions were admonished, in fact, the wishful thinking was one of the reasons she had nearly lost her life. Never again, she had promised to herself, when she mercilessly beat the backstabber. It was then that she believed when the time came, her tale would end the same way as it began for her: alone. As the years of being a Fatui, then becoming a Fatui Harbinger, hardened her, there was comfort in that view.

That is what she believed in. Until you came.

Iciness wraps her being. It is present in her expression, in her words, in her touch. But that is exactly why she finds solace in your being. Her vision could only grant her a synthetic flame, but, you, you're an everlasting hearth. She melts in your embrace every time she slots herself in your arms, as it feels like a kindling ignited in her heart. It is only with you, that she learns how warmth can be found in.

Arlecchino is a cold person.

It is why you, as a warm one, is perfect for her. You whisk away the most depraved thoughts, ease her of any emotional and mental turmoil, and you do not treat her with the same coldness as the world seems so fond of doing to her. You are her flame, the one that sparks her being and reminds her that she is alive because her heart beats with you, beats for you.

Except you are cold now. It is unfathomable to her how you can be this way when your entire being exists to warm her, but when she touches your skin, you are unbearably frozen. Your body does not tremble like it does when her clawed fingers ever so gently trace your skin. The corner of your lips doesn't quirk up into the usual small smile of yours when she appears in your sight, but they remain ever rigid like the rest of you. Uncharacteristically, your expression doesn't soften with her presence.

You are cold, just like her. And that makes her afraid. Her hand searches for it, prodding your skin for a familiar thumping that is nowhere to be found. You continue to stare at her, unblinking. Here would be the moment where you give her a beaming smirk and you'd cup her face tenderly as if she was glass. And she would let you, because you are her beloved, who has watched her shatter so many times before and wordlessly each shard back together, and it is for that reason that she would lean closer towards your touch.

Because you lie broken in her arms and her hands are stained again with the familiar color of red. Your eyes are glossy and gaze unblinkingly at her. Frozen. Even when you are covered in your blood, you are beautiful, she notes, but oh, so cold that it makes her doubt if you were warm to begin with.

She misses your warmth. Where has it gone? Or has it died along with you?

Her hearth is gone. And as she clings onto your form, her body wracking with a fear and desperation she's never known before, two revelations come to her: that there is no such thing as an everlasting fire, and even after so many years ago, she was right along.

Arlecchino is a cold person. And she will remain always cold.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #i wrote this instead of writing the actual oneshot I was planning to publish on Wednesday #whoops #i was in a little angsty mood 🥰 #that's mbad #if it comforts you the next oneshot is pretty wholesome #surprisingly whipped this up in like... an hour or so #is this my usual quality? no but #this was kinda fun #i haven't written angst in a while so this was good outlet #did you guys know I'm primarily an angst writer? :) because I am #and you will see that in the future #edgeray.blog #edgeray.writes

[guest-1-2-3]

Yk what blows my mind is when i’m reading something amazing right, i am so immersed in the story the writing is beautiful it’s making me feel more emotions than i’ve ever felt in all my years of living and then the end notes are just like. “uhhh hope u enjoyed ig? haha” or “idek what this is lol” like sir ma’am my guy your writing is the most gorgeous thing i have ever read. i cried and i laughed and i screamed and i did that thing where you roll around in bed and giggle like a child at 3am. if it was the zombie apocalypse and i could only take one story with me as i fought to survive it would be yours. “what even is this lmao” a masterpiece. a fucking masterpiece is what it is

#kissing writers on the mouth mwah mwah #i guarantee you the things you write will make at least one person so genuinely happy #u don’t understand that 20k friends to lovers fic u wrote filmed me with JOY with HAPPINESS i felt free #the angst fic made me ugly cry and it was the most beautiful kind of pain because your writing was so powerful that for a moment it was rea #i had a shit day and your self indulgent little throwaway fluffy oneshot made me smile and i felt a little better about the world #writers i FUCKING LOVE YOU #i LOVE YOU and i LOVE WHAT YOU CREATE #ao3 #fanfic #fanfic things #fandom things #fanfic writer appreciation #writeblr #writers #writing #fanfiction #writers on tumblr

[starbylers]

I think the reason I appreciate Mike and Will so much is because to me they exemplify what love is actually about in real life. That foundation of being best friends before anything else, of understanding each other so intuitively that a few simple words can contain eons of meaning. The beauty of being so comfortable opening up that all they have to do is sit quietly beside you and your most difficult feelings pour out unguarded, because it’s them: your person, your other half. That emotional bond that feels as easy and natural as breathing. I could care less about dramatic but ultimately empty words or big “romantic” gestures. To me it’s who’s gonna be there in the thick of life, to lend an ear or a shoulder to cry on or a simple smile that simultaneously gives you butterflies and the strength to push through. But also someone who will challenge you and in doing so make you want to be better, and who inspires you to live as your authentic self. Like that’s the kind of dynamic that resonates with my concept of love, and I think it’s the ultimate destination for their relationship (they’re still learning and growing etc. but the building blocks are there, and this has always been their dynamic at it’s core which is why I love them so much).

#byler #a little sappy but it was late when I wrote this and I miss them so here you go #I’m aware not everything about their relationship so far is sunshine and rainbows #but like I said I think once they deal with their issues they’ll get there. & we see it already it just gets clouded by all the angst #my tentative return to Byler posting… #in all honesty I never really left just been keeping an eye from a distance #invested for the long haul even if I dip in and out

[43sol]

i can finally go back into the tiger and bunny tag ヽ(*。>Д<)o゜

#one difference in this new season is that there was a lot more death like 100% more not just in like headshots #plot threads kinda went little tangled at the end there but overall not too bad #some character resolutions i wanted a bit more from but oh well #Lunatic they kinda wrote in a corner so understandable how they closed that one tho #lol first thing I said was nooo whos the director of justice noww #also the fact he was taking government calls in his little torture dungeon man cave #got barnaby crying multiple times NICE #i would have liked a bit more angst for moi #already thinking up some sillay stuff hehehe #tiger and bunny #tiger and bunny 2

[tojisun]

on losing dogs

: mamaguro’s named here again (it’s kaori - adopted from an old fic); just a small vent

you saw her before she saw you two and you knew right away that that’s toji’s ex-wife. she was truly beautiful like what everyone had said.

(“of course you’re beautiful too. it’s just, you know, in a different way,” toji’s friends would assure you but they’ve always shared pointed looks at each other after every confession. you chose to ignore it then, thinking that they’re just being asses like what toji said. but even sleazy jokes ring truths.)

toji marched on towards her without questions, his hand slipping from yours as you neared his ex-wife. still, he was walking along your stride and that had been a relief for you. he didn’t leave you to trudge along, at least, so you batted away the curling paranoia sitting in the pit of your stomach.

“kaori, hey,” toji greeted, his voice gentle and soft, before pulling her into an embrace.

“toji!” she cheered, her face crinkling in delight. she burrowed in his arms, rubbing her cheek on toji’s chest as toji’s body covered her petite figure.

they painted a picture of a perfect couple: sharp jaw mellowed by round cheeks, callused hands cradled in dewy palms. you felt like an intruder. an outsider.

the badge of being toji’s “new beau” that you were stamped with felt like a lie. you felt like nothing of toji’s as you stood there beside them.

when they parted, arms still linked, you watched as they gazed into each others eyes, and saw mirrors of longing looking at each other. but, still, you were in denial. because toji brought you with him, so that must mean something, didn’t it? you told yourself that you were just seeing things that weren’t there; that you were so used to being thrown away that you were projecting these onto toji.

you breathed in, trying to calm your panicked heart. it did so little.

“i’m so glad you’re here!” kaori said. “come, someone misses you- oh. who are you?”

the question startled you and your eyes flicked up, your throat going dry as they both turned to you. there was a flicker of emotion in toji’s eyes before he stepped out of his ex-wife’s arms and stood in the space between you and her.

not beside you, you noticed.

“i’m y/n,” you said, smiling as you offered your hand to kaori’s. “toji’s g-”

“friend,” toji interrupted. you blinked, your body freezing as the pit in your stomach exploded in ice, the paranoia now a screaming anguished cries of betrayal.

kaori’s eyes cleared, her smile getting its warmth back, before she reached out to shake your hand. “nice to meet you, y/n,” she said, voice kind and soft and polite. but your ears were still ringing of toji’s words.

you turned to toji, confused and hurt (there was so much hurt in you), but toji kept his eyes on her.

you cleared your throat. “nice to meet you too,” you said, feeling helpless.

kaori let go, her hands clasping behind her. “you wouldn’t mind me stealing toji, would you? we’re just going to meet family.”

family, she said like toji is still hers.

you shook your head, not trusting your words.

“great!” she cheered before turning to toji, her arm linking with his. toji still did not meet your eyes as they walked away, something that was so symbolic and yet so apparently truthful.

#suns.f #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji x reader #jjk x reader angst #toji fushiguro #jjk #its a revival of my angst era for sure #i wanted to cry so i wrote a little somesome #suns

[s1mpactafterhours]

ok so i did a variation of this over on the sfw genshin main BUT i also wanted to make a filthy version too bc like my brain's been wandering- but anyway.. hear me out 🗣👏🏻

al-haitham coming home and barging into his housemate's room to tell him something or ask about something (etc etc) and accidentally walking in on kaveh absolutely plowing you, like you're both going at it hard until you suddenly hear the door open. (kaveh had assured you he wasn't supposed to be home until much, much later!) and so you're just desperately trying to cover up or hide or something, anything- but kaveh's noticed the way al-haitham looks at you, even if the man himself has no idea yet, so he just keeps going at it, witness be damned. al-haitham makes some offhand remark about how neither of you have any decency, but if he weren't wearing those damned headphone looking contraptions you'd be able to see just how red his ears were.

this is unfortunately how he begins to come to terms with his attraction to you, and unknowingly begins his learnings of the ways of heartache. kaveh pays this no mind, feeling that he's finally got the upper hand on his smart ass, seemingly unshakeable housemate. he's on a mission to make you scream his name, as many times as possible, as loud as possible. at some point, though neither of you hear it, al-haitham just ends up slamming the door on his way out, leaving to go to the library or literally anywhere else.... but not before guiltily rubbing one out. you two provided the perfect background noises he never knew he needed, but more importantly, it was your moans that were driving him insane. how would you sound screaming out his name all night long instead?

so off he goes to busy himself with work, so much work, so much that he ends up taking on extra work just to distract himself from the honeymoon phase you're both in, and the way kaveh just can't seem to stop showing you off in front of him. he can already tell the latter is doing so on purpose, but he refuses to let the blonde get the better of him. you're aware that something is going on, but attribute it to their weird relationship and how they're just always fighting.. though it has been awfully quiet lately, and you're starting to get suspicious. kaveh is quick to assure you that al-haitham is just very busy with work, and he's even quicker to get handsy with you. cuddles while he works on his projects, hands on across your shoulders or thighs at dinner, all the nights you two fuck your stress out before collapsing together in bed.. you're far too entranced by your seemingly sickly sweet lover to see through the haze, but it's always harder to think straight when you're getting your back blown out (or blowing him out-) ..and so, you don't.

and even as al-haitham has time to get himself back together, he can't help but wonder if maybe things would have turned out differently had he been more aware of his own feelings. if he had asked you out first, would that be how the both of you would be now? or had you always only had eyes for kaveh? the questions that used to keep him up at night become mindless chatter as he tries (and fails) to block you both out on the other side of unfortunately thin walls. but life goes on, and so does your relationship, and before you all know it, you're making plans to move in together, to share your lives together, and suddenly al-haitham finally knows what loneliness feels like.. all alone in a house that used to house shenanigans for three. he's not sure if he'll bother looking for a new roommate now that he's been promoted, but sometimes he can't help but wish he could share the news with you both, and how he misses your antics and smile and.... he belatedly begins to realize he misses kaveh too. in which a new set of questions unlocks thoughts he'd never even considered... had he harbored feelings for you all this time, or was he instead projecting because he was jealous... and falling in love with his own roommate all this time?

#that ending was NOT supposed to happen but i liked the plot twist of him being so confused he didn't know who he liked anymore ifk #kinda just wrote all this rambling mess with no planning so im sorry for how sh #for how unorganized it is* ;; #genshin angst #genshin smut #genshin drabbles #genshin blurb #genshin nsft #kaveh x reader #al haitham x reader #ft hints of kavehtham (?) #my post #aerin.writings #aerin.txt #aerinposting #s1mpactafterhours #kaveh smut #...technically #......ironic how i wrote this bc i want that twink obliterated (and i want to do the obliterating <3) #this little brat istg.. #sad he wasn't in the next drip marketing but fingers crossed for next update;;; at least we'll be getting dehya (& len- i mean mika lol) #corrected papers to projects bc i briefly forgot kaveh was an architect whoops- #was so used to doing nothing but papers when i was in school tbh. force of habit. and more await me come grad school hhdhfhf #best wishes to everyone and their studies fr #also can't wait for playable kaveh and more lore drops ✨ #edit: some minor proofreading and corrections. added maybe a sentence or two but nothing major tbh #no one: al haitham: *the photo tearing scene; fake ass smile; and crying his eyes out after the wedding from kwill's please don't mv* #x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Maybe instead of getting better after Starcourt, instead of healing and mending that which has been broken, Billy just gets worse.

There’s no more playful grins behind cigarettes or keg stands held in good fun. No more speeding down empty backroads or engines revving in parking lots. He gets quiet, and that’s the scary part.

Because as soon as someone presses him to talk, he gets mean.

He outright says no when he’s asked to keep an eye on Max, because there are no repercussions anymore — his wounds from the “fire” haven’t healed just yet, and if he shows up in the hospital with new bruises over freshly cracked ribs, the doctors will suspect something.

So the most he gets is a glare from Neil and a stern do it or else.

And Billy, a believer of malicious compliance, picks himself up a walkie-talkie. Does whatever the fuck he wants while the thing sits on his dresser.

If any voices come through, he shuts it off, or at the very least tunes it to a channel that only he and Max use.

She knows better than to use it.

Things between them aren’t any less tense than before, but it’s different now. Now he knows.

So the playing field is even.

He doesn’t meddle in Max’s business, who she hangs around, and Max doesn’t burden him with asking for rides and things alike. Not that he could really do much with his car sitting in the junkyard — Harrington has taken over the task of chauffeur anyway.

Harrington, who apparently also picked himself up a walkie-talkie.

And who somehow managed to learn about Billy and Max’s private channel.

“Hargrove? You there?”

The voice is staticky over the radio, but not out of range. After the brief moment of shock passes, Billy rolls his eyes at the thought of Harrington parked down the block, sitting behind the wheel of his Beamer listening intently for a response.

Rather than reach over to his nightstand, Billy rolls over to face the wall.

His sheets have become more of a nest as of late. Gathered around him in piles because he prefers the chill on his skin to sweating beneath scratchy blankets.

He hasn’t changed the bedding in weeks. Hasn’t opened the blinds or really even left his room at all this summer — the pool has likely already filled his position. Not that he’d be going back any sooner than a year or two from now.

If he ever feels comfortable taking his shirt off again.

“Billy? Look, I know you’re there, man. Max said that this was the channel to reach you on, and—“

Billy snatches the walkie-talkie and holds the button down.

“Go fuck yourself. Over.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then static pours through. Likely the air conditioning in Harrington’s car.

“Touchy,” he tuts. Exhales a heavy sigh and blows a raspberry. “Don’t always have to be such a dick, y’know.”

“Being a dick isn’t something all of us have to try at, rich boy, so put your shit in gear and get off my block.”

There’s another brief pause.

“How’d you know I was in your neighborhood?”

“Walkies don’t work out-of-range, fuckhead.”

“Damn, okay,” Harrington huffs. “Sue me for wondering how you were doing.”

Wondering how I’m doing?

“Wondering how I’m doing?” Billy repeats.

He stares up at the ceiling, brows pinched together.

“Yeah? Y’know, like checking up on you?”

“Why?”

For months, Billy has done nothing but rot in his bed. Too sore to move, too short-fused to bother talking about it.

Too guilty to open any of the get-well-soon cards that he’s received.

Among the poorly-addressed ones with crayon scribbles from his former swimming students, he recalls one almost equally as poorly-addressed dawning the signature Steve Harrington at the bottom.

It was the only envelope he’d bothered to open. Practically had to rip it up with his teeth because of the lack of dexterity in his fingers, though, he never worked up the nerve to dial the number scrawled at the bottom.

Harrington scoffs over the channel.

“It’s like you’ve died or something, man. It’s worrying.”

Disregarding the flush spreading across his cheeks, Billy rolls his eyes and spreads out more atop his comforter.

“If you’re so worried, why didn’t you just ask Max?”

“If she answered my questions, do you think I’d be on this channel right now?”

Billy presses his lips into a line.

He knows he hasn’t been the best brother. Quite the opposite, actually.

But it still aches to learn that Max apparently refuses to so much as talk about him. Makes his limbs sink deeper into the mattress like gravity has doubled down on him.

Makes him want to shut his walkie off and never turn it back on.

“Well, you’re a few months too late on your check-up, Harrington,” Billy rasps. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head at the sound of his own voice coming out so wet and pathetic. “Walking corpse at this point.”

A beat of silence persists. Then the static comes through again.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I have a therapist that already doesn’t help, thank you.”

“Well, if you change your mind…” Harrington trails off. He holds the talk button down for a long beat, absently tapping his fingers against the door panel in his car. Then, he sighs. “Is it okay if I use this channel again?”

Billy’s vision blurs and he sniffles. Thankful that it can’t be heard by anyone but himself.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice shakes with it.

And that’s how Billy’s radio goes from being dead silent to constantly filling his room with chatter.

It helps and it hinders all at once.

Billy smiles for what feels like the first time in over a year, and laughs, even. But each time Harrington tells a little joke or giggles over the channel, Billy’s heart starts to ache more deeply.

It opens up old wounds.

He feels like Neil knows, somehow, when they’re both in the kitchen together. Accompanied by nothing but silence.

Neil asks if he can babysit for the weekend, and Billy drops the mug that was in his hand with a shaky wrist, fearing an entirely different question that doesn’t even get asked.

When Neil would normally berate him, he simply watches the way that Billy flexes his fingers. The way that he makes a weak fist, unable to straighten his fingers completely once he relaxes them, and his brows pinch in mild worry.

“Still havin’ trouble?” Neil asks.

His voice is gentle enough that Billy’s eyes well with tears as he nods. Bites his lip to keep it from wobbling.

Neil pulls him into a hug and Billy sobs into his shoulder. Not because of the pain or disability, but because he thinks he’s let a hint of love creep back into his life after all this time.

Which should be a good thing.

For once, Billy agrees to watching Max, if only because he doesn’t have the energy to snark back right now. Neil pats his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. Asks if he’s sure, like it’d be no issue at all for him and Susan to cancel their weekend plans.

Billy can’t help that he huffs a laugh. Can’t help that it comes out sounding closer to a scoff.

Why be accommodating now, after a lifetime of neglect and maltreatment? He shakes his head to himself, and his expression must give his thoughts away.

Neil digs his thumb hard into his shoulder, earning a stifled whimper and another influx of tears.

Billy cleans up the broken mug and wipes the liquid away from the floor by himself, knelt on his achy knees while he’s watched like a hawk from the doorway. Like he might shove the glass under the counter if he’s left unsupervised for even a second.

Over the weekend while their folks are away, Billy takes Max out to pick up a couple of movies and get a few snacks with Susan’s car.

Since he so scarcely leaves the house, he turns a few heads when people recognize him.

None so much as Harrington, who gawks at him from behind the fucking desk at Family Video. Billy glares hard at Max when she smirks at him before disappearing to the horror section.

The brunet is a bit more rugged than Billy recalls. Has a stronger jawline and more hair. Lots more hair.

It makes Billy feel especially pathetic, draped in a t-shirt that used to fit his figure well, but now swallows him more than anything.

That heavy feeling droops his shoulders down. He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks away nonchalantly when Harrington abandons his station, leaving Buckley behind the counter floundering at the register.

“Look who’s out ‘n about,” Harrington chuckles. He has no issue reaching out and setting his hands on Billy’s biceps, moving close as if to inspect him. “Have I always been this much taller than you?”

Billy flushes red and straightens his posture. Brings himself back up to eye-level, which spurs a dull pain in his spine. He must not do well in terms of hiding it, because the brunet’s brows furrow.

“Do you wanna sit down?”

Rather than respond right away, Billy huffs and waves Harrington off of him. Shoots Max another glare when he spies her watching the exchange from behind a shelf.

“All I fuckin’ do is sit,” Billy grumbles. “If I knew I was gonna get a pity parade I would’a just sent the shitbird in.”

Harrington nods to himself. Takes half a step back and smiles.

“Alright with standing, then. Got it.” He tilts his head to the side. Eyes never leaving Billy for even a second. “Your hair’s grown out a lot.”

His gaze is a fond one. Like they aren’t in public right now. Like Billy is his damn girlfriend on prom night, and he’s seeing the gown for the first time.

Billy shrugs. Absently toys with one of the curls that dangles over his collar bone.

That weird pit is back in his stomach. The one that leaves him crying in the dark when Harrington signs off after hours of chatting about everything and nothing at once.

Billy wonders where he parks his car when they talk for that long. If he’s right outside or in the deep quiet of the woods, where the stars can really be seen and the train shakes the ground.

He’d rather Steve just climb through his window.

“I like it,” Steve adds. Nudges Billy’s elbow with his own. “It’s a soft look. Fits you really well.”

“Are you this nice to all the girls that come in here, or just the ones you wanna pork?” Billy teases.

Steve laughs, and it sounds so much better in person. Billy wants nothing more than to bottle it up and keep it forever.

Before the brunet can come back with a snide little joke of his own, Max meanders up to them. Holds up a few tapes for Billy to approve. Without really looking them over, he hands her the cash, and they all move back to the register together.

Steve rings them up. Max pays. Everything is so much slower than it should be going, like he’s trying to prolong the encounter as much as he can.

Billy understands the feeling.

When Steve slides Max the receipt, he’s less smiley. Billy turns to face the door, but doesn’t miss the way that Max nabs a pen and scrawls something on the slip of paper before sliding it back towards Steve.

Billy decides not to pry. Fears that if he asks, he’ll find that it’s some secret nerd shit that he can’t be privy to.

Fears that the heavy feeling will bear down on him again.

He doesn’t have to ask, turns out. The phone rings later that night, and Billy’s blood pressure spikes when Steve’s voice pours over the line.

“You should come out more often,” he says easily. “Really need some sun.”

Billy just tsks. They wind up sitting on the line for a little under half an hour. Billy wishes it lasted longer.

But he’d rather not explain the minutes away when his father shows him the phone bill.

Just before they hang up, after giggling at each other nearly the entire time, Billy barks out, “Don’t call here again.”

Then he hangs up.

Steve, naturally, gets on the radio not a few seconds later. Giggles and says, “Okay, dick. You can call me from now on.”

They stay up for practically the rest of the night talking.

Billy stares up at the ceiling and wonders how long this little thing between them will last.

He starts to question it more when Steve actually, by some miracle, convinces him to come out a handful of times.

The brunet is really touchy. Always has an arm around Billy’s shoulders or a hand on his back, and constantly bumps their knees together when they’re sitting down. Billy feels stupid for wanting more.

Why, he doesn’t know, because he’s fairly certain that he could ask for anything at this point.

Steve never calls again and that’s okay.

Billy prefers hearing whispers over the radio anyway.

It’s one evening in particular that Max is out of the house for the night, away at the Chief’s place for a sleepover, that the pit in Billy’s stomach turns into a black hole.

Steve has been ranting about his manager for the last half hour, only stopping to mention how a movie cover reminded him of Billy. How he couldn’t even wait to get home before he turned his radio on and pressed to talk to him.

The black hole consumes Billy before he can catch the words leaving his mouth.

“Do you like me?” he hears himself ask.

His voice gets choked up, and the second he lifts his finger off of the button, he rolls over and screams into his pillow. Quiet enough that Neil and Susan won’t hear, but hard enough to let a fraction of the tension out.

“Obviously,” Steve says. “Why else would I be friends with you?”

Billy presses his face harder into the pillow.

He can feel the pressure building behind his eyes. Feel the blistering heat of fresh tears and the throb in his temples as he huffs a strangled sigh into the pillow. Before he can even decide between turning the walkie off or fabricating a response, static pours through.

“Jesus Christ, Steve, he means do you have feelings for him,” Max groans.

There’s a beat of silence.

“What? Rea—“

“What the fuck are you doing on this channel?” Billy interrupts.

He can feel the veins in his neck straining from how hard he’s clenching his jaw. Can practically see red when giggles pour through the radio.

A red hot flush of shame paints Billy’s face when he realizes that Eleven is listening in too.

“What are you still doing on this channel? If you didn’t want us to eavesdrop, you should’ve switched forever ago.”

“How long have you been listening to us talk?” There’s a beat of silence. Billy huffs. “Max. How long?”

“How long have you and Steve been talking?” Max asks.

Her rhetorical question is accompanied by giggles that are cut off when she lifts her finger from the button.

There’s nothing but silence for a moment. Then two.

Billy’s vision blurs as he sets his walkie down on his nightstand. The cold fingers of embarrassment wrap around him and drag him down, lower than he’s ever been drug before.

He’s ruined everything.

His sister not only hates him, but she knows about him now, and the only guy he’s ever let himself truly like is going to want nothing more to do with him after this.

Not for the first time since Starcourt, he wishes that monster had killed him.

“Billy?” Steve asks gently. When there’s no response, he sighs. “Look, we can figure out the channel thing some other time, but… was she right? Is that what you were trying to ask me?”

Silence. Then, giggles.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I’m right,” Max teases.

“Radio silence,” Steve snaps. “Now.”

His tone is stern. Brotherly in a way that should be surprising, but isn’t, really.

“Signing off…” Max says dejectedly.

Astonishingly, the channel falls silent. Billy sniffles as he reaches over to paw at his nightstand, curling his fingers weakly around the radio.

He doesn’t press the button. Tries to swallow his silent sobs in a failed attempt to compose himself first.

“Billy?” Steve coos, voice much softer now. “If you don’t wanna talk over the radio, that’s fine, but—“

“Yes,” Billy rasps.

A beat of silence.

“Yes?”

“She was right.”

Billy winces at how broken his voice sounds. A whistle pours through the radio.

“Oh, man,” Steve chuckles, and Billy’s heart sinks. “The boy of my dreams wants to know if I have feelings for him? Are you dense?”

There’s a crisp millisecond of confusion before Billy presses the button.

“What?”

“Of course I like you, dude.”

Billy inhales like he just resurfaced for air for the first time in years.

“Why?” he breathes.

“You’re funny, smart, surprisingly sweet, and pretty easy on the eyes. Just for starters.”

If his heart was thumping fast before, it’s going light-speed now. All he can do for a few beats is focus on controlling his breathing.

“You don’t like me,” he murmurs. “Trust me, Steve, I’m fucked up.”

“You aren’t the only one who’s a little fucked up.” Steve hums a laugh to himself. “And I do like you. You’re not gonna be changing my mind about it anytime soon.”

“What if I told you to go fuck yourself?”

“I’d tell you that you don’t always have to be such a dick.”

A tiny hint of a smile creeps its way onto Billy’s face when he hears Steve chuckle.

His eyes are dry. The pool of dread in his belly has begun to drain, and he feels the slightest bit hopeful.

“If you’re so sure, then I guess picking me up for dinner and a movie sometime won’t be difficult for you, will it?”

Steve sighs fondly at the notion.

“Are you asking me out?”

“Are you accepting?”

There’s a brief pause. Billy’s unable to keep from smiling giddily to himself.

“Depends,” Steve lilts. “Gonna open your window?”

There’s a light tap on the glass. Billy pushes himself up and draws the blinds, revealing a grinning brunet standing about a foot below, holding his walkie-talkie.

Billy tosses his on the bed before he opens the window and leans his elbows against the ledge.

“Is this the part where you ask me to let down my hair?” he teases.

Steve chuckles, but furrows his brows as he steps closer to the house.

“Were you crying?”

Taken aback by the question, Billy wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm. Shrugs nonchalantly, which doesn’t seem to be the answer that Steve was looking for.

“I was expecting things to go a bit differently,” Billy admits.

Steve frowns, and the expression doesn’t look right on him. He reaches up. Settles his hand on Billy’s forearm, smoothing his thumb back and forth against his skin until Billy shifts to dangle his arm out the window.

The pads of Steve’s fingers are soft where he holds Billy’s hand, clasped and suspended in the air together.

Billy really does feel like Rapunzel for a moment.

“I can be a little thick-skulled sometimes,” Steve says softly. “You’re always talking about yourself like you’re some unsalvageable disaster, so when you asked me if I liked you, my mind instantly went there. I wanted to make you sure you knew for certain that I do.”

He gives a little half smile. Billy squeezes his hand gently. Hopes that Steve doesn’t notice how weak his grip is.

“It’s not like I really gave you any context clues.”

“True. You didn’t.”

“I am a bit of a disaster, though. Feels like I’m only good at messing things up sometimes,” Billy sighs. “Max already hates me, and when I thought for a second that you might too, everything felt so lost.”

Steve makes a face.

“I would never, and I’d like to point out that Max doesn’t either.”

Billy blinks. Huffs amusedly, and as always, it comes out sounding closer to a scoff.

“Pretty sure she does. You’ve said yourself that she wouldn’t even talk when you asked about me.”

After thinking on it for a brief moment, Steve laughs.

“Yeah, man, ‘cause she bites the head off of anyone who asks about you. Definitely told me to mind my fucking business more than once.”

Again, Billy just blinks.

He never considered that maybe it was a protective thing and not a shame thing. The revelation has a surprising amount of weight lifting off of his shoulders.

“Definitely sounds like her,” he says.

They share a chuckle. Billy flattens his other forearm against the windowsill and rests his chin against it.

“Thanks for trying to lift me up earlier?” he muses. “Didn’t really work in the moment, but still.”

Steve softly swings their hands from side to side and sighs.

“I can tell. Your eyes are all puffy.”

“Should’a seen me the other night.”

The brunet cocks his head to the side in mild confusion.

“What happened the other night?” he asks. “Didn’t mention anything while we were talking.”

“It was, ah… after we signed off for the night. It’s no big deal, really. I cry after most of our talks.”

Billy looks away. Steve squeezes his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“‘S okay,” Billy rasps.

His eyes prick with tears again and Steve steps closer. Drops his walkie-talkie in the grass and reaches up with his free hand to cup Billy’s cheek.

“Oh, you’re just a big crybaby, huh?” he coos. Billy chuckles sadly and leans into his touch. “If I’d known, I would’ve snuck over here sooner.”

“My old man checks in on me sometimes, so it’s probably better that you stay in your car.”

“Well, do you have a curfew? I’d love to steal you away every now and again and kiss your cute, stuffy nose.”

Billy sniffles, and chuckles again. Wipes his eyes with his free hand and shrugs.

“Haven’t really had anywhere to go ‘till now,” he says.

Steve nods.

“You eaten yet?”

A smile cracks across Billy’s face. Steve mirrors the expression.

“You buying?”

“I’ll spend my entire paycheck on burgers and fries if it gets you outta this fuckin’ room. I swear sometimes it’s like pulling teeth.”

They share a chuckle, and Billy sits up. Flushes red when Steve presses a kiss to his knuckles.

“Gimme a sec.”

Again, Steve nods. He’s slow to release the blond when he pulls away, and Billy can’t help that he’s grinning like an idiot as he opens the door and pads out of his room.

He finds Neil and Susan in the living room watching tv. Makes up some lie about a few friends having a kickback. Even goes as far as to apologize for the short notice.

His folks share a look. Susan spreads a big smile and sets her hand on Billy’s bicep.

“No worries, sweetheart. Go ahead,” she says. “Have fun, alright?”

“Will you be coming back tonight?” Neil asks.

Billy stays quiet for a moment. Then two, just processing, and eventually shakes his head.

“It’ll probably be too late,” he says, and clears his throat. “I have somewhere else lined up, though.”

He winces at his own words, regret beading on his skin like a cold sheen of sweat.

Neil nods. Turns his attention back to the tv.

“Just stay outta trouble.”

And that’s it.

Nothing more is said, but Billy still stands there like he’s waiting for something else to happen.

When nothing does, he nods curtly and pads back down the hallway to his room, deciding not to press his luck by letting them think too hard on it. Once he has the door shut behind him, he’s immediately leaning out the window again.

Steve has his walkie back in his hands, rocking back and forth patiently on the balls of his feet while he waits. He smiles when he notices that the blond has reappeared.

“What’d they say?”

“Go get your car, I’ll be ready by the time you pull up.”

Billy leans back. Grabs the window and shuts it just as Steve nods enthusiastically. Turns on his heel and jogs off of the lawn and back towards the street.

Giddy, warm feelings pool and buzz in Billy’s stomach as he digs through his drawers for jeans that he hasn’t worn in forever. Already has a date-worthy outfit in mind as he unfolds a pair.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when static pours through the radio still sitting idly on his bed.

“Update?” Max asks.

Billy rolls his eyes. Moves to grab it when another voice comes through.

“We’re goin’ steady,” Steve informs, out of breath.

“Yes!” Max shouts.

Then, a third voice comes through.

“Finally! Jesus,” Dustin huffs.

There’s a beat of silence, followed by Steve panting when he presses the talk button.

“How many of you dickheads are on this channel?”

“Just two?” Mike says. “Technically, since we’re only using two walkie’s.”

There’s laughter over the radio, and Billy rolls his eyes. Can’t really find it in himself to be mad right now with all of the butterflies swirling in his tummy.

“You’re all banned from the front seat of my car,” Steve huffs. “And the wedding, when it happens.”

“No! I wanted to be the flower girl!” Eleven whines.

“I was gonna walk you down the aisle,” Dustin adds.

“Good luck finding another officiant, then, I guess,” Lucas says with a scoff.

More laughter is had. Max and Mike chime in with various jokes about ring-bearers and bridesmaids, but they’re cut off when Steve presses to talk again.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I highly recommend switching channels.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Max muses.

Billy can practically hear the smirk in Steve’s voice when he speaks next.

“‘Cause I’m gonna start using this one for sex stuff, and it’s gonna get real weird real fast, so be warned.”

Multiple groans and sounds of disgust pour through the radio.

“Yuck,” Max says. “Switching channels.”

“Ditto,” Dustin adds.

Then silence. True silence.

Billy grabs his walkie.

“We really gonna have phone sex over the radio?” he muses.

Steve laughs. The subtle rumble of the engine is audible from the street as his car pulls up to the curb.

“Not if you hurry up and get your ass out here already.”

The blond bites his lip. Can’t believe for the life of him how light he feels. How, for once, he feels better for having survived car wrecks and slimy monsters in the dark.

Feels like letting someone new into his life won’t cause him grief this time around.

“On my way, pretty boy.”

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #max mayfield #billy & max #the party stranger things #disabled billy hargrove #fluff and angst #tw abuse #internalized homophobia #it’s important to me that Neil is shown being more than a two dimensional mma fighter when it comes to his relationship w Billy #so I wrote him a little differently based on my own personal experiences with abusive parents #also mainly wrote this to show that Billy deserves love and compassion even if he doesn’t start making steps towards bettering himself #because healing begins with support!! #ficlet #my writing #unedited #billy antis dni

[angelizs]

[I refuse to drown - Azul Ashengrotto]

Summary: He had hurt you. Azul had hurt you and he wasn't sure how he could ever forgive himself, the guilt gnawing at his core. Despite that, you still smile at him. 

Notes: reader and azul knew each other before chapter 3, gn!reader, angst and hurt/comfort, self deprecating thoughts, some mentions of blood, injury and death but none too graphic, not proof read

Azul had lost everything.

Everything he had built painstakingly for years, crawling himself from the bottom of the depths, that he exhausted himself for, that he carefully planned and gained through his hard work. Gone, just like that, floating away in the wind the same way the sand of the beach is carried away by the waves.

But, the worst of all: he lost control. 

Control of himself, his actions and his mind. Azul couldn't remember what happened after seeing his contracts disintegrating, only that he felt more despair than ever before. Even when he was isolated and mocked by the other merman, he's never felt such helplessness, such anguish, such misery. 

His mind was muddy, he didn't feel like he was in his body. Why would it matter, anyway? It was all gone, gone, gone. 

He let himself drown in the feeling.

Drowning was a strange sensation. Azul, being a merman, never thought he could experience it, but Night Raven College was full of surprises. His lungs felt full, an inky substance occupying where once was air. His vision was dark, as if he had fallen into an abyss. He couldn't bring himself to care.

Azul didn't know which was worse, the hopeless feelings or the lack thereof. 

He stayed floating into nothingness for a while. He wasn't conscious, but he was. He was there, but he wasn't. He didn't have a body, but he did. If he could manage to string a coherent thought together, it might have been something like this: "Is this what death looks like?" Perhaps if he could muster enough strenght to feel something, he might have felt regret for all the things he still had left to do.

If he looked deep into himself, deeper than he was willing to, he might have found that he regretted making you sign one of his rigged contracts and dragging you into this mess. He should have known better than understimating you, he should have known that something like this would happen. After all, you were amazing enough to catch his attention. What made him think you wouldn't be amazing enough to find a way out of his deal? What made him think Jade and Floyd would be enough to disencourage you? What made him think someone like him, so dirty and insicere, could ever dampen someone like you, so determined and bright?

He didn't think about any of it. He didn't think about anything.

The first thing Azul felt when he came back to his senses was light against his eyelids. He was back at the surface. His body ached all over but his lungs no longer bled that viscous black liquid and he felt alive once more. He was still alive.

He could smell a familiar scent, one that he was used to smelling back at the Coral Sea, so used to he didn't identify it a first. He heard shouting that seemed to be miles away and right by his ear at the same time. His slugish head couldn't distinguish what was being said by whom, but he could swear he heard your name, it's mention alone being enough to jolt eletricity back into his being and keep him awake. There were hurried footsteps getting farther away and he finally recognized what the smell was. It was the metalic smell of blood.

He tried to open his eyes but the bright lights of Mostro Lounge burned them, so he kept them tightly shut. He couldn't get up, his legs hurt more than any other part of his body. What had happened? He couldn't have... could he? The last thing he could remember happening before passing out was... oh.

Oh. He did. Azul had an overblot.

His breath hitched, but he forced himself to keep breathing in the air, to keep the blot out, out of his system and out of his lungs and out of his veins and out out out of him. He bit his tounge, clenched his fists and forced his sore eyes to open.

The contracts, they were gone. His life's work. He had made a fool of himself in front of another housewarden. He had an overblot and put everyone in danger. He had put you in danger.

Jade and Floyd were by his side. They were talking to him, but he couldn't register the words. His head was underwater, the pressure weighting him down, his ears filled with water and dripping, dripping, dripping.

He could still smell the blood. Ah, it felt just like home.

Azul looked at his lower half, almost sure in some hysterical part of his brain that he would find his tentacles there. His legs laid on the floor, clean and useless. He breathed a sigh of relief. Still, he couldn't help but wish the blood was his.

He got the gist of what the twins were saying. Leona destroyed the contracts and you had managed to adquire his childhood photo. They were mocking him for the tantrum he threw, but he could tell they were worried. There wasn't much force behind the half hearted taunts and no matter how much they tried to hide, Azul knew them just like they knew him. They were aggravated at what happened as well, no matter how much they pretended they couldn't care less.

"What would you like us to do about the photo?" 

"I'm pretty sure we could just snatch it up with how shrimpy is now, but man, I'm not in the mood for it."

"...I don't care about the photo anymore. Tell me, what happened to the prefect?"

Jade looked at him with pity and Floyd's mood deteriorated. There was a bottomless pit of dread at his stomach, his throat felt dry all of sudden. His eyes burned, but no tears fell from them. When had his breathing become so erratic?

As soon as the twins broke the news to him, Azul tried to stand up and see you, not caring for how much his legs ached and hurt and screamed at him to stay down. Good, he thought with venom, so much loathing and disdain it left a sour feeling in his mouth, they better be hurting after what he'd done. He deserves worse.

Jade helped him balance himself on his legs and Floyd laughed at his clumsy footing, as if it was the first time the three of them set foot on land and were just learning how to walk. Azul felt like he had been stripped from his tentacles and siphon all over again. He had been stripped from his skin and from his mind, had been laid open and bare and vulnerable for all to see, had his chest teared apart and his lungs leaking onto the floor.

Once they arrived at the infirmary, Azul was almost jumped by your friends. The Heartslabyul duo and the young Savanaclaw seemed ready to plummet him to the ground, no care for his condition, if it weren't for Jade and Floyd tanking him by both sides like bodyguards. Azul was glad they didn't care, he was glad they worried so much about you. He would have let them hit him and taken the beating, there wasn't much of his pride left to salvage anyway.

The school nurse had just finished attending you and promptly went to work on his injuries. The Headmaster appeared at the infirmary right after Azul was discharged, no doubt already knowing what happened. He had never seem Crowley look as serious as he did when he asked for the three of them to accompany him to his office. 

Azul's body was exhausted, he clearly needed to rest. Still, he agreed without a fuss, the twins following him closely from behind. He could feel Jade's gaze burning the back of his neck, but he couldn't gather enough energy to care for whatever was going on the eelmer's mind. He felt empty, almost hollow. Frighteningly so, like he was still on that void state, disconnected from his body. Was he even awake?

The talk with the Headmaster was a long and tiring one. At the end of it, Azul accepted the new terms for him to keep running Mostro Lounge at the school, gripping tightly to the only thing he had left. He couldn't lose his beloved restaurant alongside everything else, it would be too much, more than he could handle.

It was dark by the time they were excused to go back to their dorm. Azul felt and looked like a mess, not like the businessman he took pride in being. His hair was dishevelled, there were eyebags under his eyes and his mouth was set in a firm line for a while, not managing much more emoting. 

There was a restlessness under his skin, on his muscles, deep in his bones, down onto every single cell. No matter how worn out he was, there was no way he would be able to sit back. Not until he saw you with his own eyes, saw exactly how much damage he had caused. 

He wasn't able to muster up the courage to look the twins in the face as he told them to go ahead, that he had something to do. Luckly, they decided he had suffered enough and didn't kick up much of a fuss before leaving him alone.

The walk to the infirmary felt like a fever dream, too long and too short at the same time. Azul wondered if your friends were still there at this time, if you were awake, if he was even allowed to enter. He stayed rooted in front of the entrance, trying to gather every last bit of confidence to put up his usual serene façade. 

He wouldn't let you see how affected he was by the whole ordeal. This wasn't supposed to be about him, he wanted to take a look at you. You, who had been nothing but friendly to him, who had caught his attention early on, who spent time with him at Mostro Lounge, who he admired so much, who wormed your way into his heart and refused to leave.

Azul was afraid you hated him now, but by the Sevens how much he wished you did. Why wouldn't you, after he tried to scam you out of your house and almost got you killed. All for his selfishness, for his stupid pride and greed. He was ready for you to scream at him, to hit him, say you never wanted to see him again. Even if the mere thought was enough for him to feel like throwing up, he knew it would be better if he stayed away from you and your light. That way, he wouldn't hurt you again, never again.

Steeling himself with the fakiest smile on his face, he pushed the door open, hands shaking.

The infirmary was quiet, no one in sight save for you. You were laying on one of the first beds, a peaceful expression on your face. You looked beautiful. You always did, to him. There were bandages all over where your skin was visible. Azul could feel the guilt choking him. How could he have the audacity to come talk to you after he was the one that did this?

He turned around and was about to leave when he heard you whisper. It was spoken so softly he wouldn't have heard at all if he wasn't hyperaware of you. "Stay." 

Azul stayed. He could never deny anything you asked for. Especially not when you sounded so pleading, when you looked at him like that.

There was a chair next to your bed, so umconfortable looking as it must feel. But it was the best way to stay closer to you, so he sat on it, waiting for you to drop the guillotine over his head for his sins. 

The silence was suffocating, denser than the pressure at the bottom of the ocean. He wanted you to say something, anything. His gaze was on the floor, lips pulled back, brows furrowed. If he closed his eyes, only the darkness would welcome him, swallow him whole, so he kept them stubbornly open.

"Azul." It felt like a blessing, like a drop of water after walking through the desert, like a warm embrace. Azul relished the way you said his name, the delicious entonation as your tongue rolled over every letter. He wanted to beg you to say it again and again. The only thing he does is lifting his head to look at you.

The proximity between you two was startling. He hadn't noticed how close you were, hadn't noticed you raising your hand, hadn't noticed the shine in your eye. He thought you were about to slap him, but couldn't drag his stare away from your eyes. They looked so gentle, so full of... something. He wouldn't dare try to name the emotion behind them, wouldn't dare hope.

Your hand made contact with his cheek, making him flinch lightly. There was no sting, only your warmth as you held his face. Your fingers left burning imprints where they touched, marked him from the inside out. Wide blue eyes meet your affectionate ones, so open and honest. Why were you being so gentle to him? Acting like nothing happened, like things were the same as before this whole mess occurred. 

"I'm glad." You confess softly, a secret meant only for the two of you, thumb brushing against his cheeks as he leans into your touch and lets himself melt into it while he still can. "I'm glad you're alright, Azul." 

"How can you say that when you're the one laying on a hospital bed?" His voice falls flat, trying to hide his emotions. But he's a cracked shell, his insides are spilling out into your palms, plain for you to pick apart and analyse as you please.

You smile, your joy is so sincere Azul can feel his eyes burn with unshead tears. How could he ever hurt someone like you? How could you still look at him without an once of hatred or disguist or fear?

"I was worried about you." You state as if it was the simplest thing in the world, because it is, to you. The sky is blue, the ocean is cold and you care about Azul. You say as if you aren't shattering his last bits of composure, as if you aren't breaking his heart into little jagged pieces. 

"Don't say that." He manages to choke out, as if the mere words hurt his throat, voice watery and breaking. "Please, don't say that." The 'I don't deserve it' is not said out loud, but both of you can hear it.

"How can I not? It's the truth." His tears flow freely, no longer under his control as he feels the urge to sob, to beg for forgiveness, to hide and never see you again in fear of hurting you. Only you had this effect on him, only you could break his barriers and composure so easily. 

You brush his tears away, whispering reassurances. Wasn't him supposed to be the one reassuring you? He had come to see how you were, to apologize, to let you scream at him, anything. He could take it if you hated him, he would understand, but how could your gaze still hold so much fondness in it, so much love? The guilt shatters him, pierces his heart, make his sobs louder. How cruel could your kindness be?

He had hurt you. Azul had hurt you and he wasn't sure how he could ever forgive himself, the guilt gnawing at his core. Despite that, you still smile at him. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He repeats, over and over. You say you forgive him, but he keeps going until his voice is hoarse. You don't, no, you can't understand it. You did nothing wrong, you're not like him, hands stained with blood and rot. He lets his guilt out before it festers and consumes him. It isn't enough to make up to you, although it does make him feel a little bit better, to let it all out like this.

You don't lie to him. You don't say it wasn't his fault or that he wasn't in the wrong, but you don't rub it in either. Azul appreciates it, the sincerity. He knows you can hold him accountable when the time is right. For now, you comfort him. You tell him how nobody else could put such effective notes together, how determinated and hardworking he is. How his past doesn't define him and how he has greater strenghts than any magic. He drinks every word up, commiting them to memory.

As his tears seem to dry out alongside his voice, you pull him closer to yourself. He submerges himself into you, your scent, your voice, your touch. He would happily let himself drown on the sensation. You just hold him, rubbing circles on his back and lending him your shoulder. 

It's like time has frozen over. Azul wishes it had. He could stay like this with you for hours if you'd let him, although he doesn't feel ready to admit it, be it to you or to himself. 

Everything is not right. You're still hurt, his contracts are still gone and Azul still feels wrong, the effects of the overblot lingering underneath his skin. His reputation took a significant blow and he'll have to change the method he's always used to work at his own establishment. 

But not all is lost, either. He can start over, the right way this time. You'll be by his side, cheering him on. There's a long road to improvement and Azul has never been one to get scared by such things. He'll put his efforts on getting back on his feet and breaking the surface of the water, as he refuses to drown. 

The late hour weights on your tired bodies, causing you to yawn, your hold on him getting laxer. With the way his body aches, he wouldn't be able to go back to Octavinelle. In fact, he doesn't feel able to move from the chair he is in. He doesn't want to leave you from his sight, to lose your touch. 

You ask him to keep you company, prompting him to lay his head on your lap, an umconfortable position, as he has to bend his torso to reach it, but he doesn't mind. Just having you nearby will be enough. One of your hands interlock your fingers with his and the other plays with his hair as you hum, not letting the silence engulf the room. He's beyond grateful for that, for how you just seem to know what he needs and is more than willing to give it to him. He's never been handled with such care before, like he's wanted, like he's precious. It makes his body feel warm and he basks on it.

He waits until you stop your ministrations, until your breathing evens out and it's just him alone with his thoughts. He keeps his eyes shut, as he knows that if he dared to glance at your sleeping face his heart would burst with affection, the feelings he's trying to rein in exploding from his chest. 

Azul only has made a promise to himself once, when he was a little kid being bullied by his peers, eager to prove them wrong, to prove he could be better than their expectations. Now, he makes a new promise, to protect you and your kindness, to never let someone, least him, hurt you again, to make up for his own shortcomings and become someone you can be proud of.

He loses consciousness for the second time that day, but this time he knows he's alive. He feels it in the way his heart beats in sync with yours, the way his breaths come out from his mouth, the way your fingers are laced with his. 

Azul is alive and swimming to the surface, as he refuses to drown.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #Azul Ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto #twisted wonderland #wonderland wonder #I was writing abt smth else when this idea came to me so I just. quickly wrote it down #on that note (* giggles and rubs hands in an evil little bastard way *) #there's a long project I'm working on that's coming soon so! stay tuned for that! #also everyone has been so sweet on my other writings so I'm really happy #have some angst as my thanks :)

[jenna-louise-jamie]

thinking about yassen gregorovich instead of sleeping (because i love him) and how he is a catalyst. yassen stabbs ash -> ash kills john rider -> ian rider raises alex -> yassen kills ian rider -> mi6 blackmails alex into becoming a teenage spy.

i have so many thoughts that i can't properly articulate. obviously this is a simplified chain of events, but yassen and his choices set off a chain reaction of the world's most unfortunate dominos. especially when you read russian roulette. to be clear im not necessarily trying to blame him for everything because that feels very mean. he was also just a 14 year old kid when everything in his life went wrong, just like alex. only difference being yassen literally had no one.

i think i should write an essay about this because i haven't even gotten into my thoughts about what yassen and alex's dynamic would look like past eagle strike. i would imagine it'd be similar to ellie and joel from the last of us part 2.

where obviously yassen loves alex and alex on some level cares for yassen back but struggles to reconcile that with the fact that yassen is responsible for his uncle's death. a very unforgivable act. it would be so messy and complicated and angsty, because on one hand here is an adult who truly cares about him and has a connection with him through his father. yassen could tell alex about john, and trust that yassen truly wants whats best for him. but he killed ian, and he cannot take that back.

while alex reels from those feelings, yassen is also trying to reconcile his love of alex with the knowledge that he on some level is responsible for the suffering alex endured at the hands of mi6. and possibly even the fact that alex's godfather is the one who killed john and helen.

#btw i think anthony horowitz killed yassen off so he wouldnt have to deal with this lmao #and sidenote ash is responsible for his own shitty choices but i think itd be difficult for yassen to cope with the fact that stabbing ash #led to some very bad consequences for literally everyone #are there any fics that are similar to what im describing?? ? #i read a ton of alex rider fics but i mostly read fluff because im actually too emotionally fragile to handle angst #i cried while reading stormbreaker and that book wasnt even supposed to be sad #if this is doesnt make any sense its because i woke up at 2 am and wrote this #its just word vomit; pure not proofread thoughts directly from my fucked up little brain #idk maybe someone will enjoy reading this #alex rider #yassen gregorovich #alex rider books #ian rider #john rider #chaotic ramblings #and final note i do not ship yalex #i was thinking of this more in terms of yassen having a weird guardian/parental relationship with alex #if it wasnt clear from my ellie and joel reference from the last of us #anyways im gonna go back to making shitposts and memes so i never have to feel anything again thank you goodnight <3

[giggly-squiggily]

The Little Things (Bungo Stray Dogs)

Don't mind me, I'm just gonna-

*drops a near 6k word count fic on y'all all about Shin Soukoku cause I can while dancing to Super Mario 2 music sped up version*

Kay bye! *leaps out window*

...Nah but seriously. Heyo everyone! Awhile back I wrote this for a friend while we were yelling about these two (You know who you are- hi bestie! :D) I originally sent it to them via google doc, but given how easy the links to those fics are to lose (The amount I've lost...gone but not forgotten *cries*) I've decided to post it here!I hope you like it!

CW: Swearing, violence, guns, self-loathing, angst, wasted food (RIP Pork Buns), mentions of the Port Mafia Boss and Elise

Summary: In between assignments and tasks, Atsushi and Akutagawa find time to enjoy the little moments within their strange relationship.

~Chocolate~

“Is that cake?” Atsushi raised a brow at the small slice of chocolate cake Akutagawa pulled from his plastic bag. It looked homemade- maybe someone in the Port Mafia made it?

The idea of anyone there baking sweets was wild.

“No, it’s a bomb.” Akutagawa deadpanned, peeling at the plastic wrap around the plate. “Watch yourself- it just might blow up.”

Atsushi started. Did Aku just make a joke?

At the silence, Akutagawa offered the first forkful in silent inquiry.

“Oh, no thanks. I hate chocolate.” He smiled, fighting down a laugh at the brief look of shock on Akutagawa’s face. “Never been a fan. You however-I didn’t know you liked sweets.”

“Is that an issue?” His expression went hard.

“Not at all. It’s just…unexpected.” Atsushi held up his hands, smiling sheepishly. “Do you like all kinds of sweets or do you have a favorite?”

Akutagawa narrowed his eyes at him, suspicion rolling off his tensed frame like waves. For a moment. Atsushi wondered if he just blew their lunch date-meetup. Then he sighed, turning back to his cake.

“I like chocolate.” There was the barest hint of a blush on his cheeks. Akutagawa shoved a forkful of cake in his mouth with a slight grimace, refusing to look his way.

As if he couldn’t get any cuter.

…..Huh? Atsushi felt himself flush.

“Hm.” Was all the weretiger responded with, taking a long drag of his teacup, ignoring the raised brow Akutagawa sent him.

~~~

“Hey, Akutagawa! Here!” Atsushi shot his arms out before the other could stop him, pressing a small handkerchief wrapped box into his chest. It was hastily wrapped- as if he was tying it while running to their usual meetup spot. “This is for you!”

“....Huh?” The wide eyed shock on his face was priceless. Atsushi resisted the urge to laugh as he watched Akutagawa handle the box like one handled a baby- careful and slightly terrified. “This is…?”

“Open it!” Atsushi encouraged, resisting the urge to bounce on his feet in his anticipation. “I didn’t knot it that bad!”

“Okay, okay, settle down.” Akutagawa’s lips twitched as he gently pulled at the knot, going especially slow, much to Atsushi’s chagrin. When the ends of the cloth fell away, it revealed a little plastic box, within it a variety of chocolates.

“Oh?” Akutagawa stared, seeming to freeze. Atsushi felt himself sweat, tugging at his shirt hem.

“I know it’s not much of…well, anything- I just remembered a while back you mentioned you liked chocolate, and I had some lying around and figured you’d like it- of course if you don’t, I can always take it back-”

“You remembered.” It wasn’t a question. Atsushi blinked. Something soft was in Akutagawa’s expression, and his hands trembled some as he held the small box of treats. Atsushi felt his heart squeeze. “I didn’t think you would…”

“Of course I did! I remember everything you tell me.” Then he flushed, eyes wide. He said too much. “For the missions! And our tasks! Ehe…”

“Yes..having a good memory for those things is important.” That faint blush was back, and Akutagawa wouldn’t look at him- not directly, anyway. “Ehem…This is…” Then he paused, brows furrowing.

“Wait- where’d you get this?” Akutagawa finally met his gaze, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you hated chocolate?”

Seems like Atsushi wasn’t the only one remembering details about each other.

“I do…but like I said- I just happened to have it on me, hehe.” He grinned, deciding not to mention where his source was. He’d bring Ranpo a fresh box of chocolates on his way back from this meeting. With all the snacks he keeps on hand, he wasn’t likely to miss it before he got back.

Akutagawa raised a brow, not entirely believing him. Then he looked back at the box of chocolates, that content expression returning. “I can’t remember the last time someone gave me a gift…so thank you. It means more than you know.”

Atsushi swelled, feeling rather proud of himself. He would make this a habit he decided in that moment; all to see that soft expression.

Though he’d probably have to start buying his own chocolates.

~Rain~

“Ugh, no way…” Atsushi groaned miserably as the sky began to cry. Raindrops dropped in a slow mist at first, but within minutes it began to pour, flooding the alleyways they snuck through. He could already feel his shoes fill with water, making his toes curl unpleasantly.

“Hm, how troublesome indeed.” Akutagawa mused, brows furrowing as he came to join Atsushi beneath the thin railings of the alley. His shoulders felt damp already, and a chill shot down his spine from the icy droplets. “Walking back in this will be rather annoying.”

As of late, it seemed like he and Atsushi couldn’t shake each other. Whether it be on impromptu missions Dazai set them up on, or just little moments like running errands and returning home- somehow in this big city, the demon and the weretiger were never far from each other.

A part of Akutagawa couldn’t deny he liked it that way. That however was a part he’d rather strangle until blue with Rashomon before ever admitting.

“Man, I should have brought an umbrella! I figured it’d rain while we were inside the warehouse and stop after, but I guess the universe has it out for me…” Atsushi shoved his hands through his bangs, groaning in his hands. “This is revenge for Ranpo’s snacks, isn’t it, world?” He mumbled.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little water, weretiger?” Akutagawa shrugged, Rashomon shooting out of his back and forming a shelf above him, shielding him from the continuous onslaught of rainwater. “Though I suppose it’s expected, given what you are.”

“Shut up! I’m not a cat- I just happen to turn into one!” Atsushi glared, rubbing his arms with a slight tremor when the rain began soaking his shirt. In an act of defiance, he took a step out into the elements.

And immediately regretted it.

“Oh my god, that’s COLD!” Atsushi flew into Akutagawa’s shelter of Rashomon, clinging to his coat and shivering. Then he glared, cheeks pink. “Not a word.”

Akutagawa didn’t think he could speak even if he wanted to. This close, beneath the immediate smell of rainwater and warehouse dust, the weretiger smelled like tiger lilies. He could see the strange ombre in Atsushi’s eyes, the way they went from a rosy pink to a warm gold- like a sunrise. The way his lashes framed those odd but pretty irises of his.

So unfairly pretty. Akutagawa forgot how to breathe.

“Hey? Is something wrong…” Atsushi began, only to flush a brilliant red and jump back into the rain. “Oh god- I’m so sorry, how invasive of me- Ah, this rain! I uh…”

Maybe it was how pitiful he looked, soaked and embarrassed. Maybe it was the way he looked at him just now, with those damn sunrise eyes.

Maybe that part of Akutagawa’s heart wasn’t so small after all.

Slowly, as if it were a machine coming back to life after many years, Rashomon extended outward, creating an umbrella-like cover beside its owner. The space was…tight, but it would give Atsushi room to walk with him. “Come on, before you catch your death.”

The weretiger blinked, eyes wide. Akutagawa could feel his face heating; he pretended it was from irritation while waiting for the other to make a decision. “Hurry up before I leave you here.”

“Oh! Right- thank you.” Atsushi ran over, standing within the cover. This close, he could smell tiger lilies again. Did he wear perfume? Would it be weird to ask?

Would it be weird to just reach out and hold his hand-

“Don’t mention it. Just- come on.” Akutagawa made his voice as curt as he could, hoping it hid the fluster he felt himself slipping into. In silence the pair walked back, Akutagawa’s hands shoved in his pockets while Atsushi continued rubbing his arms, trying to warm up.

When he peeked, the weretiger looked equally flushed.

Must be getting sick, he told himself.

Yeah. That’s it.

~Blackout~

When he got back to the agency; Atsushi decided, he was going to murder Dazai.

Just a simple task, he said. Scout out the scene for us to make sure it’s safe, he told him. There shouldn’t be any trouble, he insisted.

Of course, Dazai forgot to mention the literal Mafia meetup being held in such a place.

 Atsushi knew he should leave- turn back before any of the Port caught a glimpse of him hovering near a dirty window. It was fairly high up- the main reason why Atsushi was sent on this particular request was due to his cat-climbing skills- so the chances of being caught were slim.

He should go, had he not caught sight of a familiar face. Stoic as always, black fringe fading into white that framed his pinched face, hands shoved in his pockets. Akutagawa.

He was standing by with a short redhead- Chuuya, he assumed. Dazai had mentioned a redhead in the Port who he’d encountered a few times before. He looked especially irritated, whomever they were meeting up with apparently was late.

Finally, after around half an hour, two grungy looking guys came through the large metal doors, their footsteps echoing across the filthy floor. Between them a smaller man led, his body bent forward and his hair a halo of thinning grays around his wrinkled face.

“I take it your boss sent you with what I wanted?” He asked, and Atsushi felt himself straighten. Despite appearances, the man’s voice boomed and carried, demanding respect with each word. Within the room, even Akutagawa and Chuuya straightened, the latter glowering upon realizing it.

“Yeah. You got what we want?” He demanded, waiting. There was a tense silence before the old man gestured for one of what Atsushi assumed to be his guards. The man opened his jacket, revealing a tightly wrapped parscal.

“Toss it over, we’ll do the same.” Chuuya commanded, straightening to his full height. The old man chuckled, clearly amused.

“Kids these days- never learn to respect their elders. Fine then.” He nodded, and the parscal went flying. Rashomon was out in seconds, catching it with ease. Bringing it to his eyes, Akutagawa peered within, face grimacing.

“This is it. Boss’ order.” He didn’t sound too thrilled about it though.

“Good grief. Alright, here.” Chuuya kicked the box by his feet towards the men, his gravity control making it sail easily across the floor. It landed with a loud thump by the guard’s feet. “I’ll take it this should cover it?”

The guard peered within the box, nodding after confirming the contents. Atsushi couldn’t help but wonder what was in it. Money? Jewels? And what was in the parscal?

No time. He really had to go. He watched Chuuya and Akutagawa turn to leave.

Just as the remaining guard pulled out a gun.

“TURN AROUND!” He heard himself scream. Shit! The old man’s eyes flickered to the window-

And suddenly there was a boom of red. Rashomon exploded out of Akutagawa’s back, sending the guards flying. Interesting enough, the old man remained unfazed. In fact, he hadn’t moved at all. Rashomon bounced around him like water hitting a rock.

“His ability- it’s a shield!” Chuuya yelled, already jumping into action. He crossed the room in seconds, taking the two guards on. Despite the size difference and being outnumbered, Chuuya was easily the better fighter. He dropped low, kicking the goon with the gun in his hand in the ankles. As he fell back, he grabbed his fallen gun, pointing it at the other one. He pulled the trigger-

But the bullet bounced! Seems this old man’s ability expanded beyond just himself. The guard smirked cruelly as he charged, tackling a surprised Chuuya dead on and sending him flying.

Akutagawa started, Rashomon shooting out to catch Chuuya before he could hit the wall. Too late. The old man was upon him. He moved so fast, an elbow flying to Akutagawa’s windpipe as he brought a knee to his gut. Rashomon quivered as Akutagawa wheezed, gasping for air.

Chuuya shot out of the rubble with a roar, flying at the guards. His gravity power saved his life, but just barely- Atsushi could see he was wounded- crimson against orange hair, bruises forming on the side of his face.

Akutagawa stumbled, the old man hooting softly as he watched the boy drop. “Such a shame- the Port Mafia really has let themselves grow weak if this is the best they can offer.”

Hot rage shot through Atsushi's veins. Just who did this old creatin think he was? He got up, ready to jump into the fray- and stopped.

Why was he getting involved? This wasn’t a mission assigned to him by Dazai or the boss back at the agency. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. Right now would be the ample time to leave; to use the chaos within to slip away before anyone else saw him.

Saw him.

Saw…

Atsushi’s eyes dropped down to the breaker box just outside the warehouse, an idea already forming in mind.

Within the warehouse, it was chaos. Chuuya had disposed of one of the guards, his body crumpled in the background as he fought the one still guarding. From the looks of things, the shield only protected from the front. Right now- the redhead was trying to get around and go for the back, but the guard stayed on him like glue.

Akutagawa and the old man were fighting once more- this time however, Akutagawa was prepared. Rashomon bounced again and again off a shield, keeping him at bay. He couldn’t land a hit, but neither could the old man. It seemed he needed his arms held up in a specific way to keep it on, leaving them in a stalemate.

Just one moment. A second was all Akutagawa needed. He looked up-

Their eyes met. Atsushi mouthed only one word. Blackout.

Then he tore out the breaker box with his claw.

The warehouse went pitch black, blending in with the night sky. Atsushi rolled down the wall as gunshots exploded from within, the faint sounds of two men crying out before everything went eerily silent. For a short, heartstopping moment, Atsushi was scared one of them was Aku.

Then the doors opened, Chuuya and Akutagawa stumbling out, bruised and wounded, the parscal in hand.

“Next time that creepy bastard wants us to pick up dolly dresses, he better get them through Amazon.” Chuuya growled, limping as he dragged himself down the quiet streets. Akutagawa seemed to be half listening, nodding along as he rolled his shoulder. His throat was bruised, and he was covered in small cuts, but he was alive.

Atsushi felt himself breathe again.

“Are you even listening? Ugh, forget it.” Chuuya waved him off, walking ahead as he carried on complaining about their boss. Akutagawa paused then, turning his head.

And directly looked at Atsushi.

The weretiger didn’t call out. He didn’t say a word. He merely looked back at him, watching. Akutagawa blinked once. Then twice.

Then the rarest thing happened. He smiled.

It was small, nearly unnoticeable and a bit pained, as if it hurt to move his face. Judging by the bruise blossoming on his cheek, it must have been.

Still- that smile. It erased it all. The injuries, his messy hair, the torn clothes- all of it faded away as Akutagawa smiled at him. It was like he was a god, so painfully beautiful it was near impossible to look directly at him, and yet Atsushi did. He didn’t care if his face was on fire, or if he was gaping like a fish. All he wanted to do was get lost in that beautiful smile.

And then Akutagawa looked away, and reality came back. He was gone in minutes, fading away in shadow, leaving Atsushi sitting there, still thinking about that smile.

~Piano~

Akutagawa hated instruments.

More specifically, he hated the piano.

The boss was so insistent he’d learn to play it. Think of how useful of a talent it’d be if you ever found yourself needing to blend in. Blend in where, the orchestra? Good luck with that. They all knew the real reason why Mori wanted him to learn to play.

Because Dazai used to play.

Not the piano- but the Violin. Akutagawa remembered watching him play a few times- the way he’d stand tall, the instrument like an extension of his body as he ran his bow over the strings. His songs were always so sad sounding; they never failed to make someone cry- usually Chuuya, even if he’d never admit it. When Dazai left, Mori burned the instrument, and music was snuffed out, much like those who betrayed them.

Apparently he was now back in his music phase and decided Akutagawa would be the next musician. Had it not been for Gin and her soft encouragement for him to learn- “Ma and Pa would have liked it, I think” she told him- he’d probably set the grand instrument ablaze himself. Just what would he play on it, anyway? Songs of sorrow and anger? Christmas tunes? Suppose he could play a quick death march before a bullet lodged into his brain or a knife to his jugular.

Wasteful. The worst part? He was a natural talent. The lessons flew by and before long he knew all the cords and how to work them into songs. Gin liked them- she would lay across the top like those women in the movies, face in her hands and feet kicking while he practiced. Sometimes she’d sing- her voice soft and delicate. It was those moments that he liked best.

And then Mori asked him to play for him and Elise when they’d marry. He stopped playing it after that.

Now he found himself lingering by a different piano- dusty but well loved, sitting in the corner of what he assumed to be a church. It was abandoned now- the room stale with lack of movement. His fingers glided over the top, making streaks against the smooth black surface.

Like magic, he felt himself back at the music room with Gin, playing a song and her singing-

“Nothing of interest here- hey, is that a piano?” Atsushi’s voice shook him free from his memory. The weretiger joined him, his shoulder bumping gently into Akutagawa’s as he took a seat. “I love the piano! I wonder if it’s in tune?”

Things have been…interesting, these past few encounters with the weretiger. Since the warehouse incident, they’ve been less stiff, more relaxed. Atsushi didn’t jump away if he got too close, and he smiled more easily at him. Their once harsh word exchanges melted into soft bickering, and more than once Akutagawa felt himself fighting down laughter whenever they talked. Not mean, condescending one but genuine mirth at the little things he’d say and do.

What the hell was happening to him?

“I know like- one chord. There was this woman at the orphanage; she was the only nice adult there. She tried to teach me to play, but I never quite picked it up.” Atsushi made a big show of cracking his knuckles, wiggling his fingers. “Okay, let’s tickle these ivories!”

More like make them scream, Akutagawa soon learned. He winced as Atsushi slammed his fingers down into the keys, hitting random clumps and creating what he could only describe as “mindless noise”. He sang along with it, the words lost in the sound as he swayed with his chaos.

“Oh, there once was a cat named Piccolo! He was the fattest cat anyone ever known! He rolled and he cried, and he’d spit in your eye, so the village chief ordered him to-”

“Weretiger!” Rashomon shot out, grasping Atsushi’s wrists and preventing him from hitting more keys. The church rang with the noise. “What happened to knowing only one chord?” He growled through gritted teeth.

“Oh, right! It was…um…” Atsushi looked at the keyboard. “You know- I can’t remember. But it was one of them I just played, I’m sure!”

“That wasn’t playing- that was slapping.” Akutagawa pulled Rashomon back, shaking his head. “I don’t think I heard a single chord in any of that.”

“Oo, you can hear chords, can you? Alright, Yiruma- it's your turn.” Atsushi stood, offering the piano. “Let’s see what you can do!”

Akutagawa stared, first at the piano, then at Atsushi. A mix of nostalgia and disgust filled him when he thought of playing again; Mori ruined any enjoyment he had with it.

And yet…Atsushi was giving him those eyes. The ones that presented a challenge. And Akutagawa had a hard time turning down challenges.

He also had a hard time turning down Atsushi.

What-

He sat down in the warm seat before those intrusive thoughts came back. Stretching his fingers, he let them rest on the cool ivory, wondering where he should begin. “Any requests?” He asked, be it a tad sarcastically.

“Whatever you wanna play.” Atsushi smiled, leaning against the side of the piano. Akutagawa hated how attractive he looked like that- FOCUS AKU! “I’m all ears.”

At first, he simply pressed keys- not the way Atsushi did it- this was far gentler, and actual cords. The weretiger’s smug grin melted into a look of surprise, making the other smirk. “Show off.” Atsushi grumbled. Akutagawa fought down a chuckle.

Then he was moving his fingers against the keys more intentionally, a song coming to mind. He didn’t know all the words- he only heard a chunk of it once when he was walking with Gin through the city. He did know the chords though.

Soft music played throughout the church, Akutagawa’s fingers playing out the beats in a steady rhythm, getting lost in the sound. He felt himself right back with Gin again, her smile encouraging and kind- the few beckons of light in the awful world of the Port Mafia.

Then he was singing. He probably sounded terrible; but he kept hearing Gin encouraging him to, so he gave in.

“If you had it all, would it be enough?

Can you find the way and still be lost?

I write songs about being someone else

That say fuck the world, you’re not angry enough.”

Beside him, he heard Atsushi suck in a breath. Be it from surprise or relation to the song, he didn’t know. Akutagawa kept going.

“Yeah everybody tells me it’s alright.

Everybody tells me I’ll be fine

Everything is not o-fucking-kay,

Oh but they can’t tell me why.

I put the picture on the shelf

Leave the memory behind

But the truth is I can’t say goodbye.”

Was he getting too real? Maybe. Atsushi was quiet beside him, not interrupting, just listening. He took that as a sign to keep going.

“So I made friends with all my demons

Let ‘em sink their teeth in

Got used to the feeling of letting it go

So give me something to believe in

Or throw me in the deep end

It all feels the same with your eyes close

So you can throw me in the, Deep end

Deep end

Deep end, Deep end”

And..that’s all he knew. The rest of the song was lost to him. He dared a peek up at the weretiger, waiting to see him fighting off laughter or wincing at Akutagawa’s singing.

Instead, he was leaning into the piano, eyes misty and something incredibly soft in his expression. There was no disgust, no second hand embarrassment, none of that. Only the look of a man who found something he was fond of, the smallest of smiles on his lips that took Akutagawa’s breath away.

Surely he must be thinking of someone else. There was no way he was looking at him like that.

The idea that Atsushi was thinking of another made his chest ache, a strange hollowness within tearing at his insides. In a haste, he slapped his hands onto the keys, startling the other out of his reverie. “I don’t know the rest- really, I hate the piano; we shouldn’t have done this. We have to go before the cops show up-”

“Aku.” Atsushi’s voice made him pause, halfway out of the seat. He was focused again, the expression he was wearing tucked away and replaced by his usual smile. “That was amazing. Truly.”

His chest ached again.

“It was just a thing I learned at the mafia. That’s all.” His voice sounded foreign to his ears, cold and distant. In the corner of his eye, he saw Atsushi wince. “Just forget about it.”

“Aku-”

But he was already out the door; the cool air of the city blowing on his warm face as he stumbled out. He walked at first, but then he was running. And then he was bolting. He needed to get away- to go somewhere else. He found himself flying down alleyway after alleyway, stumbling over his own two feet before crashing hard on his knees, coughing in his hand.

When he pulled it back, it was wet. However, it wasn’t blood that made it so. When did his vision get so blurry? He blinked, shaking when he realized it was tears.

He was foolish. A complete idiot! How could he let himself fall for the Weretiger? A Detective Agency member- the Mafia’s enemy. They’d never work out; and soon- he’d leave him. Just like how Dazai did all those years ago.

It would never work. Nothing ever did in the Port Mafia. They were sewer rats- destined to live and die among the filth they waddled in. And Atsushi…he didn’t deserve someone like that. He deserved someone who could stand in the sunrise with him, who could see how it matched perfectly with his eyes. Someone who could listen to his songs and jokes and antics and laugh freely alongside him. Someone who could make him happy.

And that wasn’t Akutagawa.

Curling up, he wrapped Rashomon tightly around himself. In past experiences, he found his ability rather sound proof. It was only then did he finally let himself sob.

~Kiss~ 

Atsushi sighed as he leaned back into a park bench, head still reeling. It had been a few days since the church incident, and there was no Akutagawa in sight. He could be busy, but Atsushi was sure he was avoiding him. It hurt- the sudden shut down from the other. Atsushi recounted the event in his mind hundreds of times, trying to figure out what exactly he did that made him flee.

He truly meant it when he said Akutagawa’s playing was amazing. Really- he was referring to his everything; the way he played, the words he sung, the way they broke something within his chest as he found each lyric incredibly relatable. That last moment, when the song ended and Akutagawa turned to look at him- there was so much…vulnerability in his gaze. Was he waiting for Atsushi to say something then?

Oh dear- perhaps he failed him afterall.

Pulling the bag of pork buns closer to his hip, he stood, deciding to head back to his apartment. It was probably dumb, waiting here for him. They hadn’t agreed on a meetup spot; Atsushi had hoped if he remained at the same location for the past three days, he’d pop up. So far, it proved fruitless. He made his way to the entrance.

And found himself staring at Akutagawa.

Silence so thick it could be cut with a knife, the two stared at one another; frozen. The rest of the world seemed to go silent, the people walking by shut off like a mute button. Akutagawa seemed stunned, and Atsushi doubted he looked any better.

For a brief, terrifying moment, he was scared Akutagawa would bolt. He remained standing. Then-

“Weretiger I-”

“I bought Pork Buns-”

They had spoken at the same time. Akutagawa blinked, startled. Atsushi felt himself return to reality.

“I uh…I bought Pork Buns. At the local convenience store? I remembered you liked them and..” He waved the bag in the direction of his apartment. “It’s probably not a good time, and if not you can just take them but…do you want to come over and eat? I bought too many…”

Akutagawa stared, the look making Atsushi squirm. Then he spoke once more. “I’m not busy…sure.” Relief flooded Atsushi’s chest.

“Great! Come along then.”

~~~

The walk back was terribly awkward. Neither spoke, but it was tense this time around, words heavier than steel stuck in their throats as they finally arrived at Atsushi’s place. Fumbling for the key, the weretiger pushed open the door, flicking on the light. “Pardon the mess, I didn’t get to clean up this morning.”

Removing his shoes, Akutagawa looked around. If he noticed the messy futon and leftover ramen cup, he didn’t say. Instead, he nodded. “Thank you for having me over.”

“Yeah, yeah- sure.” Atsushi smiled, hating how polite everything felt. He wanted so badly for Akutagawa to point out something- to make a comment on his tiger plushie that the other gave him in return for the chocolates- to tease him about knocking things over on the counter. He wanted anything else but this super quiet, super polite version of Akutagawa. “Erm, let me go put these down-”

“Weretiger. I must apologize.”

Atsushi froze, scared to turn around. Oh no, was he leaving already?

“The other day- I left without a word to you. That was incredibly rude of me, and I’m sorry.” Akutagawa sounded…choked. Like there was something else there he wasn’t mentioning. Atsushi figured he’d let it be.

But then, would anything actually change if he did?

“You ran pretty far after you left. I didn’t see where you went, you just kinda- disappeared.” Atsushi turned, facing him. “I never got to finish what I was saying.”

“I didn’t want to hear it.”

Ouch. Okay. Atsushi tried to hide the hurt with a smile. “Fair enough.”

“Wait- no. Fuck, this is hard.” Akutagawa ran a hand over his face, clearly frustrated. “That’s not what I meant. Sorry. I mean- I was…” He struggled with the words, waving his hands. “Weretiger, I don’t think I can keep doing this.”

Another dagger. Atsushi felt his heart drop into his stomach. “Doing what?”

“The whole- whatever this is. It’s killing me.”

A third. Atsushi felt his eyes sting. “Just say it, Akutagawa.” He sounded harsh in his own ears. Good.It’ll make him leave faster. “Say it and be done, already.”

Akutagawa flinched as if struck. Then he straightened, eyes intense.

“I’m in love with you, Weretiger.”

The buns hit the floor.

“I’m in love with you- I’ve been in love with you since- I don’t know how long now. Everytime I close my eyes, I see you. I hear you laughing in my dreams; I see you smiling at me when the pain’s at its worst and it’s killing me because I’m not good enough for you. I’m not the kind of person you deserve- a sewer rat who’ll only stain you with my filth-”

“Shut up.” Atsushi sounded strange. Akutagawa stared.

“Shut the hell up, you son of a-” Atsushi stormed across the room, grabbing the front of his coat.

And then he was kissing him. His lips crashed into Akutagawa's like a man craving water. At first, Akutagawa was frozen in shock. Then he was kissing him back, clutching the other tightly, pulling him in against his chest like he couldn’t get enough. He tasted like chocolate. For once, Atsushi found himself liking it.

When they pulled away, flushed and breathless, Atsushi reached up, gently pulling at the fringe framing the other’s face.

“Now you listen to me, Aku.” He tugged, earning a mild wince from the other. “First of all- you don’t get to decide who deserves me. I decide who deserves me. Second of all-” He released his hair, poking a finger into his chest. “I don’t want to ever hear you describe yourself as a sewer rat ever again. If I get stained, I get stained. Despite the white fur, I’m not some pristine tiger figurine.” He moved the hand poking his chest up to cup Akutagawa’s cheek, running a thumb against the smooth skin. “Finally- I never got to say what I wanted to say the other day. So you better listen.

“I think you’re amazing. The way you carry yourself; how you’re still so you even after everything you’ve been through in the Port Mafia. How you have these cute little quirks about yourself and how you’ve got so many hidden talents. I think you’re amazing, and I’m in love with you too. I’ve been in love with you for a long time now.” He smiled at the wide eyed stare he got, watching the hope in Akutagawa’s eyes meld into soft happiness.

Then he pinched his cheek, pulling slightly.

“But if you ever just up and run off on me again, I’ll kick your ass. I’m a weretiger- we like to eat little sewer rats who drive us nuts.”

“Sorry.” Akutagawa said through a deformed mouth. Atsushi released his cheek, leaning up to kiss it. “I thought you'd be in love with someone else.”

“Who else is there? Ranpo?” Atsushi raised an eyebrow. Then he looked thoughtful. “It would make getting you chocolate easier…”

Akutagawa couldn’t stop it. The laugh he fought down so hard bubbled over, then another. Before long, he was leaning into Atsushi, laughing for the first time in what felt like forever. The weretiger stood stunned, then he was giggling. Next thing he knew, he was laughing just as much, clinging to the other and squeezing tightly.

“Ohhohoho my god. I fuhuhucking love you, Weretiger.” Akutagawa wheezed out, wiping away a combination of happy and mirthful tears.

Atsushi looked just as teary, his cheeks warm and smiling like sunshine. “I love you too, Aku.”

Thanks for reading!

#bsd #shin soukoku #atsushi nakajima #akutagawa ryunosuke #atsushi x akutagawa #fluff #angst #love confessions #misunderstandings #little moments in time #tw: swearing #tw: guns #tw: violence #tw: self loathing #kinda one of those 4 times/1 time fics #only I'm too tired to count #also I wrote this coffee high at like 3 am #so any spelling errors and grammer mistakes are possible #just kinda..look away ajerjaekrajkrjka #nah but really #this was truly self indulgent fluff created by my friend and I #and I'm fairly proud of it! :D #Aku sings in this one :D #Look I'm just really into this ship lols akljerjkajerkajr #oh and there's pining #lots and lots of pining lols #we pine here #like trees #ajerjaejrakjerkjaerjka

[purpleqilinwrites]

better than.

a/n: i fell in love with danmeshi over the weekend! i have so many thoughts and feelings about chilchuck and his wife and their daughters, so i wanted to write something about them. i wish we knew her name! since there's no canon name for her (yet??? please! i'm manifesting), i gave her one mostly for ease of fic writing but also because i think she should have one haha.

fandom: dungeon meshi

pairing: chilchuck tims / chilchuck's wife

genre: angst, general

info: told from the perspective of the wife; she is named (junnimay); takes place pre-canon

warnings: might not be canon-compliant

synopsis: for the better, she comes to learn that moving with the tides of life is a mercy in itself.

word count: 3.3k

Chilchuck Tims / Chilchuck's Wife

The apple trees were starting to clothe themselves in pale pink blossoms, releasing a sweet fragrance into the air. Kahka Brud took it as a sign of the winter's end, shedding off the furs and double-lined coats of the coldest months, and so did Junnimay. Reaching for one of the thinner woollen cloaks hanging by the front door, she whispered, "I'll be back soon, Fler," to her still-sleeping daughter before setting out for an early morning walk.

A contrary breeze made it difficult for her to shut the door quietly, a rather unceremonious slam of wood against wood following a series of laboured grunts from her lips. Fler had always been able to sleep through even the most turbulent of autumn storms; a little noise a ways from her bed surely wouldn't stir her from her needed rest.

Junnimay wiped her palms down on her cloak even if they weren't sweaty, and she started on the unpaved path that led to one of the larger streets of Kahka Brud.

At the place where the narrow local paths merged into the cobblestone main street, she greeted the elderly gnome couple having breakfast in their front yard. The younger of the two women stopped her with a shout in Gnomish and then waved for her to come closer. She approached the line of potted miniature trees that formed a makeshift fence between the public walkway and the gnome couple's property, and the elderly gnome pressed a still-warm bun into her cupped hands.

With a smile, she thanked the women in Gnomish, biting into the bread and telling them how delicious it was before she continued down the main street. As she chewed on a particularly large cluster of candied orange peel bits in her next bite, she pondered visiting the farmer's market on the way home so that Fler could have some candied orange buns to share at the tailor shop where she worked. It would be good to make a larger batch to share with the neighbours, too.

A splash of deep reddish brown dragged her attention to the present, the burst of colour out of place among the blush-pink apple blossoms and the grey-brown tree barks and the yellow-streaked blue sky. Junnimay almost dropped the last bit of the bun gifted to her, eyes wide as she took in the sight before her.

There were two half-foots under the large apple tree at the end of the street that opened to the southern market district. One of them shook out a grey bedroll that was much too large to have been designed for half-foot use, and the two of them took turns scooching into it and then reclining to watch the clouds.

The taller of the half-foot pair sported an uncannily familiar head of auburn hair, poking out of their shared bedroll that was made for one tall-man but could apparently fit two half-foots comfortably. She chucked what was left of the bun into her mouth before she took slow steps towards the mouth of the market district, keeping her eyes on the half-foot couple the whole time.

They paid her no mind, even if her gaze never left them minutes and minutes after coming from behind them to appear in front of them. They were too in love to notice her.

Chilchuck was lying in bed next to her, but his back had never felt so far.

Even when Junnimay was a child relentlessly chasing after him and his older siblings in a game of tag melded with hide and go seek, the distance of rows upon rows of tomato plants between her parents' house and his was tiny in comparison to the hand's breadth that separated Chilchuck's sleeping form from her. The entirety of the vast tomato field was easily crossed under her quick and stubborn feet, possible to traverse. She didn't feel the same way about stretching her hand out to touch her husband.

When she had yelled something or the other about getting caught in the tomato vines, Chilchuck would've instantly turned around and run to her. He always did, even if it meant that he would lose to his older brother, the person he hated losing to the most. She remembered that being the reason why she liked him; when she called for him, he made haste to come to her.

If she woke him up at this point in their lives, years and years after playing games with ever-changing rules in the tomato field that belonged to everyone in the village, would he be quick to awaken and ask her if there was anything troubling her? If there was anything he could do to help?

Chilchuck shifted as if her thoughts were so loud that they woke him. She squeezed her eyes and mouth shut, pretending to sleep the way their daughters did when they were still red-faced in the way half-foot children usually were in their most tender years. His blanket swished when Chilchuck pulled it tighter around himself, curling in on himself and inching all the more away from her. All was still on his side of the bed after.

She fell into a true sleep as she pretended. While pretending, she was trying to remember the last time her husband broke out into a run coming to her simply because she had called his name.

The neatly placed line of dark bottles filled with various alcohols that Chilchuck accumulated over the years never looked so inviting to Junnimay.

Between her and her husband, he was consistently the more avid drinker. Since she first discovered she was pregnant with Mei and Fler, she found that she hadn't had the same taste for alcohol that she once had as an adolescent. She used to sneak sips from her father's hidden stash of ales from time to time, careful never to take more than a single large mouthful off the top of the bottles that were full.

With Chilchuck out accompanying yet another party of adventurers to one of the dungeons scattered around Kahka Brud and her three daughters asleep, Junnimay thought it was a better opportunity than ever to indulge in a little alcohol. It has been years since the last time she partook, after all.

She tiptoed to grab hold of the bottle she felt was most appealing, the scarlet label on the front boasting that the mead within contained floral honey from a well-known apiary on the Southern Continent. Pouring herself an economical portion into a dark glass cup, she settled into the alcove overlooking the sea and cracked the window open to feel the salty night-time winds on her face.

"Mama," came a sleep-addled voice from past the kitchen and down the hallway. Junnimay made it to the dining table when she found her firstborn daughter rubbing her eyes at the threshold that separated the kitchen from the rooms.

"Mama," Mei said again, sounding a little more awake than she did the first time. "I think Dad's not coming back yet."

The staunchness in her daughter's statement made her inwardly flinch, and she tried her best not to show it on her face. Mei had always been an unusually perceptive child, and it worried her that her daughter might be picking up on the growing unhappiness between her and Chilchuck. She wouldn't be able to bury it from her girls forever, but she wanted to keep any marital issues hidden from their young and still innocent eyes. The world should be sunny and kind when they gazed upon it, more beautiful and right than when she was the one looking.

Junnimay put on a smile, approaching her daughter and putting her arms around her, stroking at her head of wild ginger hair. It soothed her somewhat when Mei immediately buried her face in her chest, her comparably smaller fingers clutching at the cotton of her sleeping tunic.

"Not for a while, little heart," she said, vacantly running the fingers of her right hand through Mei's hair to untangle the knots. "But he'll be back."

It had only been two days since Chilchuck left for his most recent dungeon expedition. He had never been one to complete a job sooner than he said he would, diligently seeing to it that the task he agreed upon beforehand was carried out as promised. It made him an excellent addition to any adventurer's party, but she realised it also made him an absent father and an unavailable husband.

"He'll miss my birthday again," were the condemning words Mei chose for Chilchuck, muffled from the way she was pressing into her mother and clinging. Junnimay's heart twisted at the disappointment in her daughter's voice, as if her father had let her down for the final time.

Mei suppressed a sniffle and tried to mask it with a sound of exasperation, little fingers starting to pinch at her flesh beneath the fistfuls of fabric already within her hold.

It reminded her that Mei, while able to pick up on subtle things that most children weren't, was still a child. It reminded her that Mei still needed her protection.

It reminded her that she was failing quite miserably.

Chilchuck was at the door for the first time in almost three years, and it was akin to seeing a ghost when she swung the door open, not quite knowing if it was definitely him after hearing his voice on the other side. Junnimay blinked twice, squeezing her eyes shut as she quickly completed a simple incantation of protection taught to her by one of the gnome neighbours, and then opened them once again. He was still there, so she moved aside so he could come in.

"The girls are all out today," she said, leaning against the closed front door to resume lacing up her work boots. "Puck's staying with a work friend in the meantime, so you won't be seeing her until she comes back at the end of winter."

He seemed rather displeased at her lukewarm reaction to his return home, but he didn't mention it. Mirroring the burgeoning pile of her grievances about their marriage, she kept silent when he pretended there wasn't anything to complain about. It was a complicated dance that the two of them had perfected over the years, intimately familiar with each step.

"Where you are headed?" Chilchuck asked, sweeping his eyes over her attire as if he were scanning his lock-picking toolkit for signs of wear and tear. She hated it, and it was bitter when she swallowed the feeling with an increasing level of ease, automatic.

"To the bakery," she said, needlessly undoing the fastening tie of her cloak and doing it up again, tighter the second time around. "My shift ends late, so don't wait up for me. There's leftover cured meat and cheese from Mei and Fler's birthday dinner last week in the pantry, if you want to eat."

Chilchuck crossed his arms rather aggressively as she spoke, and she felt validated at his show of displeasure. She was starting to become suspicious that he believed their marriage to be as intact as it was when they were walking away from the ceremony, but it gave her a twisted sense of unity that they were both looking at the same cracks and being afflicted with the same unpleasant feelings.

"The one along Third Street, right?" he asked.

It sounded to her like he was running out of things to say, and it made her all the more eager to get out of the house and fall back into the safety of her daily routine in which he was entirely absent. She had become comfortable as a mother of three daughters whose father's only contribution was a pouch of gold coins every full moon, delivered to the door by an administrative employee of the local Adventurer's Guild.

The money he provided for her and for the girls has been slowly and steadily increasing over the years, and she was glad that he appeared to be making a name for himself as a skilled locksmith. There was a sudden jump in the weight of the pouch put in her hands a few months ago. She wanted to ask about it since Chilchuck was here, but ultimately decided not to, keeping her questions about his work and his time in the dungeons of Kahka Brud close to her heart instead.

There was once that he had snapped at her for being too curious about his work, and that one time was enough for her to become unnecessarily cautious when speaking to her husband about the jobs he undertook.

She nodded, putting a hand on the doorknob and finding solace in the coolness of the metal against her skin. The silence between her and Chilchuck felt awkward with how large it was, taking more space in the house than even the house itself. When it became apparent that he had indeed run out of things to say, she pushed the front door open and stepped out.

"I'm off," she said, expecting him to regroup with a new adventurer's party on yet another dungeon expedition by the time she returned from her own work at the bakery.

In the early hours of the morning when she found herself home again, Mei and Fler were asleep in their beds. They left a note for her on the dinner table, saying that they ate at the tavern close to the main street and that they brought back a portion of wild boar stew for her in case she was hungry.

For once meeting her expectations at the exact line where she drew them, Chilchuck was nowhere to be found.

Mei was taller than her now.

It was obvious that her daughter was bending at the waist to give her a greeting hug, the height difference between them further exaggerated by the thick soles of Mei's work boots. A bittersweet sense of awe nipped at Junnimay as she was reminded once again how much Mei resembled her father.

"Mama," Mei said, linking her arm with her mother's as the two of them wandered the Central Market on an impromptu stop on the way to Fler's home. Junnimay thought it would be nice to take a long walk with her firstborn, since Mei had taken the opportunity to surprise her by picking her up from the bakery on one of her rare free days. "You deserve to be happy, you know?"

Junnimay froze mid-appraisal of the many kinds of honey on display at the store on her left, slack-jawed and wide-eyed as she turned her head to face her daughter. Where was this coming from? Briefly, her thoughts led her to the husband she recently left, and it brought to the forefront of her mind once again her every reason for finally acting upon what was in her heart.

Mei seemed to be taken aback by her mother's inarticulate but apparently tumultuous contemplation, so she cleared her throat, eyes darting to the side as she visibly mulled over her next words. "I saw you talking with a gnome uncle at the bakery. Your smile was so bright," she said, beginning to pick at the unoccupied holes in her belt with her free hand. "And I can't remember the old man ever looking at you the way the gnome does. I think you can be happy with him, now that the old man's out of the picture."

Bodies were skimming the pair of them in the passing as they stood in one of the many footpaths in the Kahka Brud's largest market. There were many sights to behold and smells to contemplate, and there were even more wares on sale. She had to be mindful of pickpockets in a crowd as thick as the one that eternally thronged this market, but she could only focus on the determined jut of her daughter's chin.

"I'm just saying," Mei said, making eye contact with her after allowing her a moment to ponder. "I want you to be happy. Fler and Puck, too. You deserve it more than most people."

Junnimay moved her arm from its curled position around Mei's and used it to pull Mei into a one-armed hug, squeezing. The wet warmth of tears pricked at her eyes, and she gave her daughter the widest smile she could muster in an attempt to keep her face from crumpling the way it did when she cried.

"I am happy, little heart," she said. "But I think I'm not made for a second marriage."

She watched the gears turn in Mei's head from behind the screen of tears in her eyes. Wiping at her face with the back of her other hand, she apologised instinctively to a male voice that yelled a phrase in Elvish for her to move from somewhere in the mass of people behind her.

Mei sported a scowl as she scanned the crowd over her mother's head to see who was intruding on their conversation. Junnimay laughed, making sure to steer herself and her daughter closer to the wall between the honey store and the one beside it.

"Did the old man ruin it for you? Marriage, I mean," Mei said, after her sweep of the crowd proved unsuccessful. The majority of the market-goers were tall-men who unintentionally blocked her view of the offending elf, lost in the commotion.

Junnimay felt the need to put on a smile, but remembered that Mei was too old to fall for it. Mei had been too old to believe her fanfare of a reassuring smile since she was just a child.

"His father told us that since we liked each other, we should marry. So we did," she said. The memories trickled into her mind's eye slowly, obstructed by years and years of trying to fill the space of both mother and father for her girls. Looking back on her childhood in a small village where everyone was a half-foot was akin to looking into an old spyglass, trying with much difficulty to spot something on the far horizon.

Chilchuck's father was far more authoritarian than hers ever was; if he said something was to happen, everyone around him made sure it happened. Her father, while affronted by the other half-foot's demand, was agreeable to the match and gave her his blessing since she had insisted that she liked Chilchuck enough to marry him.

"I wanted my parents to be happy, and I liked the idea of marriage at that time. I didn't stop to think about if marriage was the right thing for me," she said.

Noting Mei's silence and hoping to assuage any anxieties her daughter might have, Junnimay gave her another squeeze, smiling without the express intention of consoling. "But I don't regret marrying your father. Because of him, I have you and Fler and Puck. I gained the world's best daughters."

Mei chuckled at her bold proclamation, sighing affectionately when she leaned up to press kisses to her daughter's cheek. "Mama, you say embarrassing things sometimes," were the words that Mei spoke, but Junnimay knew her well enough to hear the words she actually wanted to say. She smiled into Mei's jaw.

"Are three daughters better than a husband?" Mei asked, a cheeky glint lighting up her eyes.

Junnimay squeezed her yet again, a tense fist of unease inside her chest loosening with the surrender of a long-kept confession that bared her heart. Even the golden afternoon rays of sun became brighter and more beautiful, her secret feelings being received most graciously by her firstborn. She was sure they would be received similarly by Fler and Puck too; the three of them were all warm-hearted women whom she was proud to have birthed and raised.

"By a thousand tall-men leaps and bounds, three daughters are infinitely better than a husband."

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi scenarios #delicious in dungeon scenarios #chilchuck tims #chilchuck's wife #chilchuck tims x his wife #chilchuck tims x chilchuck's wife #fic #angst #general #kaija writes #kaija writes: dungeon meshi #i'm anime + adventurer's bible scans only #so there's still some things about chilchuck and his family that i haven't come across yet #but still!!! #it doesn't stop me from having so many thoughts and feelings!!! #i wrote this from the perspective of his wife #but what i really want to write a little something more from the perspective of meijack #meijack chils i am writing a fic about you next #something about her eldest daughter syndrome makes her a sister to me #i don't know if it comes up in canon #but i know her #it is there and i want to write about it #i also think a lot about the fact that chilchuck and his wife are childhood friends #childhood friends + exes to lovers??? #maybe maybe maybe #i am frothing at the mouth thinking about it

[compacflt]

i’ve got a question about your writing process: in order to write a 30 year narrative, you create it out of hundreds of individual moments & actions, and each one has to function by itself and also part of a whole—have truth to itself and emotional resonance in a timeline. imo the key to doing this successfully is to care about each moment and make each one memorable, which seems very difficult: you have to get at the meat of the human behavior, believably, in a way that matters and explains and progresses the story, every time. and to write 200k words of it you do it hundreds of times! could you talk a bit about idea generation for each moment and how you brainstorm and write them?

omg an excuse to make more diagrams ! Thank you so much for this lovely ask!

okay: in case you don’t want to scroll through like four/five months of my inane icemav Poasting, I’ve done a couple other posts that go into my process — here about specifically chapter 1 and here about the fatal flaw of my fics from a construction standpoint

but from an idea generation standpoint… it’s pretty boring and cynical. I literally just make checklists. “things that HAVE to happen.” here’s my notes app check list of stuff that HAD to happen for the story to make sense in my rewrite of what is now chapters 8 & 9. this is from last december lol

and here’s a checklist/diagram of the major story beats and the changes in relationship dynamics throughout the story. any one of these dynamics changing reflects on the others in a way that‘s worth talking about. the hard part is finding a framing device or scene to talk about them.

the A plot of the fic is ice’s relationship with the navy, primarily. his arc is defined by his rank. so that’s the number 1 dynamic I wanted to focus on in such-and-such scenes, and why I stuck as stringently as possible to the “one rank per chapter” formula until ice got to the top & had to reckon with what being at the top actually means. His change in ranks is inspiration enough for most scenes because it shifts the dynamics in a way that is worth remarking upon in and of itself.

as an example im thinking of this scene (mostly because it’s short but also) because i think it’s kind of representative of how my idea generation process works

It fills a lot of gaps that i needed filled at that specific juncture in the story. the idea started with a stupid little section of dialogue in my head (mav would be surprised that ice’s official Navy docusign signature isn’t his actual signature) that happened to be symbolically relevant too (of course ice would have two different signatures for his two different personas). Then it morphed into a discussion of Ice’s canonically unhappy-looking compacflt portrait, which is canonically unhappy-looking. Then add onto that ice admitting he’s only happy at home (home obviously meaning with maverick, given that he’s literally in his house right now and still doesn’t feel like he’s home) and maverick telling him, “well that’s a problem that has literally the easiest fix in the world. youre making this way more complicated than it needs to be. just come home to me.”

so it’s literally just checking off boxes of things I wanted to talk about. as I said, a very cynical creation process. ✅ ice and mav doing the long-distance-relationship phone call thing (framing device for the whole scene). ✅ mav knowing ice’s real vs fake signature ❤️. ✅ ice’s canon unhappy compacflt portrait that makes an appearance in TGM. ✅ ice not feeling at home in Hawaii. ✅ ice not being fulfilled by the job & only being fulfilled by mav. ✅ ice coming up with excuses to see mav at any possible chance he gets. ✅ ice still obviously thinking of mav and Bradley as his family & maverick as his home. Etc etc. You see what i mean? how many stupid little ideas, symbols, and dynamic shifts can i cram into a page or so? that’s pretty much my thinking.

#btw i was out with my friends when i got ur comment on ao3 and it literally made me burst into tears in public so thanks #apartment should be house or residence and drivers license should be DOD ID card #no way the compacflt lives in an apartment on ford island. not possible #also when i wrote ‘it’s not my job to be happy in pictures Pete’ i was kicking my feet and giggling like a little girl #it is actually a huge part of his job to look happy in pictures LMFAO #or at least content with proceedings #but that doesn’t fit the debbie downer narrative!! #top gun #top gun maverick #edts notes #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #icemav #asks #the extras I’m working on are similarly stupid wrt original ideas #Ice & mav celebrate Xmas!!! then turns into like a whole big angst fest #all my ideas start small! #theyre just framing devices for what I want to say

[thatsrightice]

Have a very short very bad snippet of a 5K completely self-indulgent Iceman angst fic I’ll be posting tonight hopefully. EDIT: fic is live :)

“Uncle Ice!” Bradley shrieked, arms wrapped around his neck and legs kicking wildly. Ice shushed the boy but couldn’t help the smile on his face.

“Oh, Tom!” Carole walked towards him, having been a few feet behind her son. Ice gave her a side hug, Bradley still pinned to his chest. “Slider said you were away on deployment!”

“I came home early,” he replied. He gently pulled Bradley’s hand out of his hair.

“I can see that,” she beamed. “Oh, they’ve been such a mess without you, never able to make a decision those boys. I just know they were thrilled.”

“I’m sure they will be,” Tom affirmed offhand, more focused on Bradley wiggling in his arms.

“Are you telling me they don’t even know you’re here yet?”

“I just got home-” he quickly checked his watch. “-nearly an hour ago?”

“And not one of them were there to pick you up?” She put her hands on her hips. “You didn’t call them, did you Tom?” She accused, a stern look on her face.

“I did, ma’am. Promise.” Bradley shifted in his grip, putting pressure directly upon a particularly nasty bruise. He couldn’t help his sharp inhale.

“Cut that out, that ma’am business,” Carole scolded him. Tom ignored the pity in her eyes as she looked at him. She stepped forward to take Bradley and set him on the ground. “Uncle Mav is out back in the pool. Why don’t you go find him and tell him about your trip to the zoo?” The boy’s eyes lit up and he immediately took off for the patio door.

“They were all here, Carole,” he tried to reason politely. “There was no way for any of them to get my call.” She gave him a knowing look.

“You are going to march out that door, Tom,” she pressed, pointing a finger at his chest.

“I will be out in a bit,” he promised. “I just need a minute.” He glanced at the crutch leaning against the wall, her gaze following. He hated playing the injured card. Carole nodded, stepping forward to enter the house, but stopped to pull him in for another, much lighter, hug.

“I’m not going to ask what happened. But I hope you’re okay,” she whispered in his ear.

“I will be,” he reassured, sticking his hands in his pockets once they separated. They both knew that was a lie

#warning; it’s probably not very good but it’s something #top gun #top gun maverick #tom kazansky #iceman #top gun iceman #tom iceman kazansky #carole bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #set in the very early 90s #<- my military aviation peeps know what’s up #just a little thing I wrote #will be pre-icemav relationship #or pre-slicemav #could also be slice #I couldn’t decide #so it’s very ambiguous #icemav #iceman angst #angst

[museumgiftshoperaser]

Jargyle | Rated M | 6.6K | AO3

CW: Weed

Argyle is always first to call a tolerance break. Says it’s good for the spirit. Says shit hits even better afterwards. It might have something to do with his insomnia too. There’s seems to be a pattern to it, but Jonathan hasn’t quite figured out the repetition. Argyle’s the person who gets their weed so he calls the shots anyway. Jonathan agrees for show and they spend a week complaining about how all the movies make sense and the homework doesn’t. His skin itches and he pretends it’s fine. Food tastes kinda weird. All his memories pile up the way they’re supposed to. With crisp edges and all in order. He has to carry them with him all week, all speaking over each other in his head. Everything all at once, like that’s just who he is. He’s all the things that ever happened to him and it’s exhausting. He used to live like that, every single day. Just a collection of awful moments dressed in a sweater pretending to be a boy. No wonder he was always so god damn tired. He talks to Nancy on the phone, unsure if there’s always this many silences or if he’s just noticing them now that he’s sober. A thousand miles away, she talks about the school paper and her college applications and Jonathan nods because he keeps forgetting she can’t see him. “I think I need to break up with her,” he whispers to Argyle in the back row of the movie theater. Argyle chews his popcorn slowly, unimpressed. “You said that last time, too.” Did he? He’s been thinking about it for a while, but he can’t remember saying it out loud. It feels like a little epiphany on his tongue. A dark and sticky thing he’s not meant to admit to anyone. “No, I mean it this time.” Argyle doesn’t speak right away. The bright lights of a car chase reflect in his eyes and cast his face in a sickly green glow. Like his skin is made of asphalt. “Sure, dude.” He’s stiff. A person pressed to pause. Or maybe he’s always like this and Jonathan’s just never sober enough to notice. He sucks on a single kernel of popcorn until it dissolves in his mouth. Something explodes right in front of him, all orange and yellow, and they both flinch. Argyle ends their tolerance break right there on the stoop in front of the cinema. Reveals the little Altoids tin that has been in his pocket this entire time and it’s so bright. The sky and the sidewalk and the whites of Argyle's eyes. His teeth. It should be dark out by now, but the sun stands so tall she doesn’t even cast a shadow. And everything is so fucking bright.

Read the rest on AO3!

#jargyle #cw weed #jonathan byers #argyle #i guess this fits in the same universe as the other snippet i wrote #so it might become a full oneshot #but like don't hold me to it lol #just really eneamored with the voice of it rn #i need just a little angst for these two #as a treat

[raylasgf]

Summary: rayla puts herself in danger, again, and callum thinks that he’s gonna lose her, again.

(based on the new screencap from season 6)

#little fic i wrote here you go everyone #it’s angst and fluff in a nice mix #i think #i wrote the last 1.1k words in the last hour before posting so excuse any mistakes #rayllum #callum #rayla #tdp #fic: blame it on the fallen sky #ao3 #by me #my fic