#too many ideas but i can't write a fic

[drysaladandketchup]

Mattdrai and 14 please for the Game. Thank you 💜

Thank you, anon! Once again I have failed to understand the word 'mini'. Seriously never ask me to write something short I don't know how to anymore. I hope it's to your liking :)

14. things you said after you kissed me

He expects a lot of things when he walks into the airport toting his life behind him in a suitcase: the drone of hundreds of voices, the inevitable bustle of bodies, brightly lit screens flashing so much information it makes your head spin, lines, because there's always lines everywhere for everything, the smell of fifteen different coffee shops vying for traveller's attention. Fuck knows he's going to need one of those soon.

What he doesn't expect is to be grabbed mid-yawn as he's on his way to check his luggage. If he was already jittery about the move before, he nearly has a heart attack now when a hand latches onto his bicep and drags him into a shadowy alcove, half-concealed by a thick pillar.

Matthew's brain very unhelpfully provides him with the image of being mugged before he's even out of Calgary. Pissed off fans angry he's leaving for bright, sunny, warm-all-year-round Florida, perhaps? Some even more pissed off Edmontonian who saw he was leaving and came down here thinking now's my chance? He wouldn't put it past some of them.

He's not too far off the mark with that last one. When he rips his arm free and spins to face his assailant, he laughs right in their face.

"Jesus, dude, you look like a stalker."

In fairness, Leon usually dresses pretty decent. But right now he's in plain jeans and a thick, unassuming pull-over sweater--it's fucking summer in Calgary, who does that?--with the hood pulled up over a snap-back, head ducked low so the brim hides part of his face.

"Didn't want to be recognized," Leon says, somewhat defensively, like he's only now realising how very conspicuous he looks in a place like this.

"I got that." Matthew checks his phone. He's got a bit of time for... for whatever this is, so he sets his stuff down and leans against the wall across from Leon. It only puts a couple feet of space between them.

"What are you doing here?"

Leon tugs the hood and hat off his head, runs fingers through his hair. It's still pretty long--Leon's let it grow since the spring, and Matthew has very distinct memories of running fingers through it--but it's also uncharacteristically messy. He doesn't look entirely focused, either; there's shadows under his eyes.

"I came to see you," Leon says.

Suddenly, Matthew really wishes he wasn't here. Either of them. It's been two weeks since they've seen each other, since Matthew broke the news. Not that it was Leon's business. They weren't... weren't anything. Not partners, anyways. Not really. And this was Matthew's choice, his career, his future he was considering. That had to come first.

But now Leon's here, and Matthew has never wanted to run so badly in his life. This didn't feel like running before. The earth could split open and swallow him whole, and it would be kinder than that look on Leon's face, all anger and desperation and confusion and... God, he looks so fucking tired.

It's a 9am flight to Florida. It's just past six now. The sun's barely up.

"Have you slept at all?" Matthew asks, instead of a million other questions.

Leon shoves his hands in the pocket of his sweater and shakes his head. "I couldn't."

"So you drove all the way down here."

"Don't sound so surprised."

"Hard not to be when you haven't talked to me in weeks."

Leon's mouth twists. Slumped back against the wall, curled in on himself, it may be one of the few times Matthew could ever say he looks small. Fragile.

Sighing, Leon finally, finally looks Matthew in the eye. He's not scowling like the last time they met, the night he stood in Matthew's doorway and told him he didn't understand anything before storming out of Matthew's life.

"I thought we should talk. Before you go," Leon says.

Matthew does understand, now. He put it together staring at Leon's back as he disappeared into the night. He knows why Leon's really here. What he really means.

I wanted to see you.

It's amazing how many people say Leon is hard to read. He's always been an open book to Matthew, even when he was snapping and bearing his teeth. All his emotions spilling from the pages.

"Okay." Matthew swallows. "We can talk."

Neither of them does, for a minute. They stare at each other, through each other. Remembering. Committing all the little details to memory. Matthew's palms tingle with the urge to touch.

"You kissed me," Leon finally says, "then said you were leaving."

Yeah, not Matthew's finest moment, if he's being honest. But he didn't know what else to do. There was already so much turmoil around the trade and the shit going on with the Flames.

And then there was Leon. There was no way it wouldn't be gruesome.

"How long did you know?" Leon's voice is rigid, but still calm. "Would you actually have told me, if I hadn't come to see you?"

A year ago, yeah, he would have said it was none of Leon's damn business. Why would he care? But they've come a long way since then. Farther than Matthew could have anticipated. Farther than he realised, until he was staring at Leon's retreating back and silently begging him to turn around, to come back, to stay.

Of course Matthew was going to tell him. He's not an asshole. But that's not what this is about.

"Does it really matter?"

"It matters to me."

"You're not here because you're pissed I didn't tell you sooner."

He knows why Leon's here, and he knows why part of him is stupidly happy Leon is here. Even if nothing will change.

"Did you even think about how I'd--" Leon groans, scratches at the back of his head.

"I did," Matthew says, because it's the truth. Of course he thought about Leon. How could he not?

Leon's gaze drops to the floor, and he grits out, "Fuck. I wanted to do this better."

Matthew can practically hear time ticking by. His heartbeat makes a good clock, thudding away in his chest.

"What is this, Leon? What do you want?"

Dangerous question. Leon could say a million things that would make Matthew's entire resolve waver. If they're not done, if there's even a sliver of hope...

But Leon doesn't say anything. Instead he steps forward, cups Matthew's face between his hands, and kisses him. Not rough or desperate. There's no urgency. It's slow and deep and bruising, and Matthew melts into it because he could never do anything else, and Leon holds tight like he thinks Matthew will disappear if he doesn't.

It's an apology and a confession. It's not the first time they've kissed, but it may be the first time it's been an honest one.

It doesn't last long. Matthew barely has time to taste it, savour it, get a fistful of Leon's hoodie like he's the one threatening to leave. There's a moment as Leon pulls back where Matthew thinks he's imagined it all. Where it feels like something precious is slipping between his fingers.

But no, Leon's still there when he opens his eyes, pressed from hip to chest, noses brushing, beard catching Matthew's freshly shaved cheek. Hot breathes mingle between their mouths.

"Would you stay," Leon whispers, hand sliding back to tangle through Matthew's curls, "if I asked?"

He didn't ask the night Matthew told him. He was too angry, too upset. It took Matthew too long to realise why, to recognise what he was seeing on Leon's face was heartbreak.

But they both know the answer. Still, Matthew closes his eyes and takes the luxury of thinking about it. Considers the possibilities.

"Would you actually ask?" he says.

Leon's fingers curl around the back of Matthew's neck. "If I thought you'd actually say yes."

"But you won't."

"No."

"Because you know I won't."

"I know."

"It's not you."

"I know." Leon steps back only as far as Matthew's grip on his hoodie will allow. "Fuck, you don't make things easy."

Matthew chuckles. "When have I ever? You're not winning any awards either."

Leon scoffs.

"Still," Matthew says. "This is better than what you said to me the first time we kissed."

"What did I say?"

"Pretty sure it was, 'Get the fuck out of my arena.' And something about hoping I lose my next game."

Leon smirks. Doesn't look even a little sorry. "And did you lose your next game?"

"Fuck off." Matthew shoves his shoulder, unable to keep a grin from tugging at his mouth.

He looks away only long enough to straighten out his shirt and run a hand through his hair, but when he looks back, Leon isn't smiling anymore, and his brows are pulled low.

"I really fucked up my timing, huh?"

Matthew winces. "Just a little, yeah." Makes two of us. He's about to say more but Leon waves a hand.

"But you were going to leave anyways, I know. I got it."

"Leon--"

"I'm not here to stop you. I just wanted to... you know."

I don't want this to be over. I want to make this work.

Still an open book.

Matthew angles his head, forces Leon's eyes back to him, staring right into that mystifying grey-blue that always reminded him of a thunderstorm. Everything about Leon kind of reminds him of one. What does that make Matthew? A whirlwind? A hurricane? Storms, both of them.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Matthew steps closer, crowding Leon against the wall this time. They may not have known what they were doing before, but Matthew knows what he wants now.

Leon must have found his answer too, because he kisses Matthew again, no less meaningful than the last, pulling Matthew into his body, into his hands, his mouth. Breathing his air and tasting his tongue, giving and taking until they're light-headed and fitting pieces of each other together.

"You better not be fucking with me, Draisaitl," Matthew pants out once he's got his breath back.

He doesn't get far before he's pulling Leon to him, into his arms, getting the bulk of him in a crushing hug. And Leon hugs him back, a deep laugh rumbling right in Matthew's ear and fingers carving into his back. That's answer enough.

Somehow, Matthew is strong enough to let go. And just like that the world is moving again. He's too aware of everything outside their little alcove, so loud and invasive. He's running out of time. His future's waiting for him down south.

When they step back out into bright lights and bustling strangers, Leon's got his hat and hood back on, keeping his head tilted low. He doesn't stray far, bumping Matthew's arm every so often as he walks with him through luggage check and down towards the gates.

They get to security, and for the first time since the trade decision was made, Matthew hesitates. This is what he wanted. What he still wants. What he needs. The only variable left is...

Leon has stopped a few steps behind, leaving Matthew stranded and alone. He turns back around to find Leon watching him silently. They may as well be the only ones in the world, the way his vision tunnels.

"Well," Matthew says, words clogging his throat. "Guess I'll... see you around. We'll talk. I'll call, or..."

"I'm serious, Matthew." His name always sounds beautiful and dangerous on Leon's tongue. "About this. You and me."

And fuck, Matthew's only human. He drops his bag, marches back over to Leon and tugs him into another kiss. He nearly knocks the hat off Leon's head with the force, crushing his lips and clacking their teeth together. It doesn't even matter if people see them.

One more time. Just one more. Until they can see each other again.

"I know." Matthew shudders against Leon's eager mouth, kissing the smile that breaks out under his lips. "I want to try us too."

He swallows the strangled sound that comes up from Leon's throat, tipsy with it, like he's getting drunk just from this. Is that possible? Fuck knows, but he sure as hell wants to find out one day.

Matthew jerks back, breathless, hot-cheeked, and beaming.

"And I'm gonna be fucking great."

If Leon wasn't slack-jawed, if they weren't the them they are now, he would have chirped Matthew to high hell. If they were on the ice he'd probably put Matthew into the boards just for fun.

But the Leon here and now only scoffs, shaking his head like he's been well and truly defeated. Then he smiles.

"Yeah, I know. So get the fuck out of here and go be great."

#hockey #mattdrai #matthew tkachuk #leon draisaitl #my writing #asks #florida trade drama my beloved #there's photos of them making out in the airport all over social media the next day. publicity shitstorm. good luck boys #This is over 2k. Even less 'mini' then my last one wtf is wrong with me #I used to be able to write drabbles but no no no too many ideas to write down now it seems #I realise this has the same 'can't admit we're in love until it's too late' energy as my last ask fic but apparently that's my fave trope #I CAN write other dynamics I swear

[keirawantstocry]

Can I get more of fit calling tubbo his british boyfriend 🥺..............

anything for you Oakley I would kill for you /hj

“Yeah yeah,” Tubbo sighed. “Go see your Brazilian boyfriend.”

“Are you jealous of the nickname?” Fit teased.

Tubbo rolled his eyes while a blush started to bloom on his upper cheekbones. “Absolutely not that's fucking ridculous.”

“No, no, I get it,” Fit said as Tubbo stared at him with narrowed eyes. “Don't worry you can be my boyfriend too.”

Tubbo attempted to sputter out a protest as Fit pulled out his communicator. “British boyfriend, how does that sound?”

Tubbo clearly liked it more than he wanted to admit. “I hate it.”

“Liar!” Fit crowed with a laugh. Oi! he typed into his communicator instantly reviewing an Oi! back from Pac. “Our British boyfriend wants attention,” he spoke aloud as he typed it out, sending it off with a woosh.

“You're fucking embarrassing me,” Tubbo bemoaned, looking anywhere but Fit's eyes.

“You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Tubbo growled deep in his throat before to Fit's utter surprise, he grabbed his face and kissed him hard on the lips. Fit leaned against his instinct and pressed in closer, affirming the action. “What was that?” Fit asked as soon as they pulled apart from each other, breathless.

“Only way to shut you up,” Tubbo said, pushing him away with that bright blush still on his face. “Now fuck off.”

#fitbo #poly morning crew #technically #my writing #qsmp #q!tubbo #q!fitmc #terezicaptor #fic requests #eeee they're so fun #and to anyone who sent in requests #I promise I'm thinking and considering #for the most part I just have too many ideas #and can't decide what to do #fanfiction

[petricorah]

#this probending oikawa au is looking like it would make a better fic than a comic #me @ myself: you have no time to write a long ass fic thats not even a comic for a character outside your primary fandom! you have so many #other projects! #also me....but...what if i did.... #ghajksks #something something pro bending where the events of haikyuu happened in a junior league so that i can follow canon but give oikawa a chance #to win #and he's going to have to face the fact that he's always holding himself back and saying he can't do something instead of taking a risk #which mirrors the fact that he's unable to risk his friendship with iwaizumi to tell him how he feels #i was an anime only watcher of haikyuu but now im trying to get some of the aoba josai #manga matches for my textual evidence... #comics would take too long to donthis idea fully...but drawing...and writing oikawa might be hard...but also...full length fics...

[merakiui]

azul has that single dad on vacation vibe nailed to a T in that new card and i’m going insane. i will be his wifey so he never again has to be a single dad on vacation

He's literally this:

But it's okay because he makes it look so good. orz I will also be his wifey so that when he has his next vacation trip he won't be alone. <3 anything to make dilf Azul happy hehe!!! >:3c

#twisted chit chat #there's the most terrible itch to write summer smut fics for the cast of the event... #those summer outfits have me in a chokehold #i want to write a silly fic where ace and floyd have a competition to see who can rizz up the most people on their tropical vacation #but floyd takes it too far and it goes from a rizz competition to seeing how many people you can kiss/fuck in a day #and poor riddle doesn't want to lose because the loser has to drink whatever alcoholic beverage of the winner's choice #and everyone assumes riddle will lose so they're all planning to make him drink this huge margarita #that will definitely give him a horrible hangover so he tries to rizz you because you seem nice enough to reject him #but maybe you like his sincere awkwardness hehe #it's a very silly plotless idea but the cast swearing on 'whatever happens on this tropical vacation stays at the tropical vacation' #is a fun mindset that they all agree upon #maybe it's a fic where they celebrate after they've graduated so it's one final trip of silly antics before they all have to focus on life #omg maybe they're drinking and daring each other to do silly things and everyone (except for jack) is dogpiling on riddle with absurd dares #like 'i bet you can't get that person's number' or 'i bet you can't get them to fuck you' T_T leave riddle alone everyone!!!!! #i have too many ideas in my mind orz #i'll stop rambling before these tags become far too long ;;;;;

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

Okay, but. SWK Truth serum au. Imagine him being forced to communicate. Comedy, hurt/comfort, and finally clearing up, well, everything. I’m not sure where I’m going with this, sorry. Have a great day, bye!

“You know who broke the toaster, Monkey?”  The word “yes,” was pulled out feeling forced and unpleasant.  Pigsy looked like he already knew the answer before he asked. Wukong wasn’t sure why he bothered asking at all.  “Who?”  “I did.”  “Of course…” Pigsy pinched the bridge of his snout and sighed before looking at him, brows furrowed with some familiar annoyance that made Wukong’s hands twitch. “Mystic Monkey strength and all that I bet.”  Not a question so Wukong just gave him a forced smile instead of answering. He glanced away to look over at where Mei and Mk were arguing over whether it was sane to put butter on plain bread without toasting it first.  “Nothing to say for yourself?��� Pigsy asked after a long moment of silence.  “No,” the words slid out, unraveling, too many.  It made him lightheaded the more he said, not unlike the feeling that came with blood loss. Dizzying and empty. Every word took something with it as it left him. “It never matters what I say.”

Anon you have no idea how desperately I want to write an entire fic about this, I have been thinking about this constantly since you sent this ask bKL;SDMAFAOWEF

#knox rambles #KNOX WRITES (me) #Monkie Kid #LEGO Monkie Kid #i KNOW YOU LITERALLY SAID COMEDY BUT I'D VEER SO HARD INTO ANGST YOU HAVE NO IDEA BGLKAMOWEFMSD #watch the crew realize exactly how messed up Wukong's belief system is #watch one of them ask 'you don't really believe that right?' and then realize that he believes it as truth and fact because he can't lie #so he's telling them what he believes is the truth #watch them be horrified #watch Wukong hate how they look at him #watch how he sways on his feet when they ask too many questions because the serums pulling stuff from him he doesn't want out #watch him resign himself to their anger because he can't deflect with jokes or lightheartedness when it won't let him say anything but the #truth when they ask him a question #I'M GOING FERAL I TELL YOU #YELLS #Monkey King | Sun Wukong #WATCH LITTLE THINGS TRIGGER HIM LIKE BROKEN TOASTERS AND LIGHT SCOLDINGS AND HAVE NO WAY TO HIDE THAT IT HURTS HIM #WATCH HIM RUN OFF ON HIS OWN TO TRY AND FIX IT BECAUSE IT SCARES HIM #GODS I'M FINE #I WANT TO MAKE THIS INTO A FIC SO BAD I'M SCREAMING #HGHSDFBSDF;AGB;OAIFMFKKSDF #Asks #anon #THIS IS SO LATE BECAUSE I SO DESPERATELY WANTED TO WRITE SOMETING FOR IT #THIS WAS ALL I HAD BRAINPOWER FOR I WISH I COULD WRITE MORE

[fractiflos]

Yandere Second.

I'm not a big fan of orange (understatement) and I can't help but prefer the second user with pink hair for some reason. Then I was mulling it over when I realized:

Pink hair + red eyes = Yandere

Yandere Second, who thought of Third as a brother since the day they first met, vowing to do anything for him. This wasn't the metaphor Third thought it was.

Yandere Second, who formed the vigilante group, not because he wanted to fight AFO for the sake of justice, but because the man had threatened Third. He had dared to threaten what was his.

Yandere Second, who chooses to rescue Yoichi, not because he was good, but because he saw an opportunity to get back at AFO.

Yandere Second, who ended up falling for the beautiful man and promised to do anything to stop AFO in his honor.

Anything to keep him safe and happy.

Poor Yoichi didn't realize that he'd fallen out of the frying pan and into the fire.

....

What do you think?

#second one for all user #second one for all holder #mha #yoichi shigaraki #I kind of want to write this #but I don't think I'm capable of writing this level of obsessive love #someone else can if they want too though #I'm actually considering having this be a blog where people can also ask me for fic ideas #Because I come up with so many and I know I can't even write some of them #Jane's Headcanon's

[lonicera-edulis]

Behold! 'Tis I, the mysterious Bagginshield Cryptid, returned from the deep woods and here to visit you with another Bagginshield question. . . What is your favourite headcanon?

The question puts me in stupor truly 🤯 I can't make a list when thinking of it. But I prefer how Sansûkh handles them, over what any Everyone-Lives-AU can offer (just because I don't want to throw away LOTR storyline and like some suffering I suppose, and Thorin needed a few decades of therapy before getting into a relationship xD). But it doesn't mean I don't like these AUs ☝️ And I haven't read enough stories to know/remember of more headcanons I am afraid. Sorry for this awkward answer, brain bad 😵‍. But hopefully some headcanonny things are seen through my art.

#thank you for asking though! #maybe if there was a list to choose from it would be easier xD #strange that I can't even talk about my favorite things #hmmm #I usually vent about what I don't like though phhh #bad way of thinking which I can't start dealing with yet #replies #I need to write down headcanons I like for myself next time though #maybe it will help to organize it and bring some ideas too #hopefully I am not too annoying with gushing over sansukh #don't want to demeanor anyone #I feel I may sound harsh sometimes #especially when I talk about some dislikes which are many #but they are nor awful #just not for me #also sorry to fic writers whos fics I am yet to read but too late #it's difficut to read anything at the moment

[mohabertalan]

"Get down."

Danny jumped off the table, surprising Tucker with the quick maneuver, as he pulled him along under the desks. As soon as they hit the floor a swirling of green energy manifested itself above them. Danny put a hand on Tucker's mouth, making sure he didn't make any noise, not to grab the attention of the apparition.

As fast as the ghost formed from nothing, it vanished even quicker, phasing through the wall entering the hallway of the school. Shrieks and screams filled Tucker's ears as he covered in his hiding spot. Danny let go of him and looked out from under the desk.

"What is going on?" whispered Tucker, barely keeping it together. His eyes couldn't leave the spot where the ghost had vanished, his feet planted to the ground in fear.

a little art for a scene in chapter 2 of my fic v.v

#help i can't stop thinking about them #i have so many ideas i know where the story is going and how everything comes together #i just need to write it down dhjskslsfhjdks #screaming because i wanna get to a certain part of the fic #and i realized too late that i messed up the perspective of the chair oh well lmao #and i still dont have a red marker hsjgh need to get one #danny phantom #im like oh boy i cant wait to see chapter 12 and 23 because hahahaha (random numbers they dont matter) but i am still on chapter 3 and i #still have more to write for it hdjkdkdhfx

[anna-hawk]

I need a mental notepad that I can go back to whenever a good plot point hits me out of nowhere and I can't actually write it down. Because whenever I do sit down to write it, it's always either gone, or the vague memory isn't as good as the original.

#the number of ideas I get when I'm driving #lalalala round about #lalalala ooooooooh that would be the perfect scene for X fic #and then poooof #I can't even help to play out scenarios as I drive but it's frustrated me so many times too #writing #txt #stef talk

[asjjohnson]

Part 18 of my poll adventure fic. Links: the beginning, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17.

---

Despite his resolve to graduate high school, Dan still had that itch for destruction.

The thrill of using his power against something and overcoming it.

Doomed, the online game, was different than real life.

The monsters were fake; the town was only disguised computer code.

But blasting everything in the level and seeing the ground littered with nothing but the same three images of splintered wood and drifting smoke, still gave him that giddy feeling of accomplishment.

And when the objects came back after fifteen minutes, he could do it all over again.

It was good enough for now. A way to lay low until he got that diploma.

While Dan was enjoying himself, he heard an unexpected voice.

Well, if 'voice' was the right word. Using ghost powers to physically enter a computer program did strange things to his perception. Everything he saw and heard were signals interpreted by his mind and imagination. Including the very human, but generic voice he imagined hearing behind him. Or, rather than 'behind' him, from outside of the section of code he was paying attention to.

When he 'turned around', he recognized his old Doomed avatar, along with Sam's and Tucker's.

Even while the three of them had a conversation about homework, Dan expected his past self to eventually fight him. If for no other reason than videogame fun or childish morals.

So he was surprised to realize the fight he was waiting for wouldn't happen.

"You're just going to leave?"

Dan had only heard his past self's side of the conversation, Sam and Tucker having whispered too quietly to make out their words, but he gathered that Sam had offered to help his past self raise his grades.

It reminded Dan of how much work he still needed to catch up on.

Too much time had passed since he'd last been in school, making him unable to pick up where he'd left off. And the current schoolwork was a few months ahead of where he'd been. Not that he'd been caught up at that point. He'd been slipping behind as the CAT approached.

"Yeah. You win. Have fun blasting everything."

So much for Doomed taking his mind off of the nearly impossible task for a few hours.

"Wait," Dan said a bit impulsively.

The three of them didn't move for a couple seconds, so he figured they were staying to see what he wanted. He imagined their expressions behind their helmets urging him to continue. He sighed and said, "Look. I have several months' worth of work I need to catch up on in class; can I join you?"

The three of them almost talked on top of each other.

"What's with the aitch-aitch-aitch-aitch-aitch? Is that supposed to be some kind of sound effect?" Tucker asked.

"We probably don't even go to the same school," his past self said.

"You're the transfer student, aren't you?" Sam asked.

"Yes."

"'Yes' you're the transfer student?" his past self asked. "I guess that explains the Phantom username. But you still have no idea who we even are."

"You called her 'Sam'," he pointed out. "And the name 'FRYERTUCK' isn't exactly subtle."

"Okay, I guess that makes sense."

---

Danny was curious about the transfer student, despite being more concerned about Vlad.

Talking to him face-to-face would probably help with figuring out more about him and maybe why he looked so much like Danny, and even had almost the same name.

After agreeing to let him study with them and deciding on the specifics, they all logged out of the game to meet.

---

“Alert me when there’s an update” list:

@charlietheepic7, @chrysanthemum9484, @mymadmedleyw, @dp-marvel94, @aikoiya, @whydouwantmyname, @cinturon-cadena, @freakofyournature, @satanicrutialspecialist, @danphantom80, @kaezer, @chipsyay, @mysterimax, @56thingsinaname, @derpxp, @potatoofweird

(if you want on the list, specifically ask to be alerted for updates in a tag or comment. Ask again if I forget to add you! If I can’t tag you, I’ll send a Message.)

#danny phantom #dan phantom #dark danny #poll fic #poll adventure #asj writing #asj post #I thought I might've had an idea for a possible ending ...but then realized the location was a possible variable and now it may not happen. #...this part would've been really really long if it'd been an ending anyhow. There was too much still to tell. #But I kinda hope the 1st ending will be near. I realized how many parts this has now and I probably can't do the 'go back' poll anymore. #because I want to do 'go back' polls to rewind time and choose other ways. #(suddenly thinks of one more poll option... No! They are Not going to meet up in the Ghost Zone! No.)

[justgayrevolutionnaries]

The sun, the stars and everything in between

My gift for @fructidors for the @drinkwithme-exchange ! I chose to write for Enjolras and Jehan, with maybe a bit of Triumvirate and Jehan/Grantaire friendship because I couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy !

Find it on ao3 or read below for those who prefer tumblr

1826

It was not that Enjolras distrusted rich people. He just couldn't stand them, and would rather forget that he was one himself.

So naturally when Combeferre pointed out to him a student he had met at la Sorbonne, who seemingly had no trouble with paying the monthly fee asked of him by the school, he couldn't help but at first consider him with the usual level of scorn he felt when looking at anyone coming from the higher classes.

He was soon to be proven wrong, however, for the young man turned out to be everything but what Enjolras expected.

His hair was longer than what was socially considered conventional, he spent hours looking at anything and everything with a thoughtful look on his face and seemed to be taking more interest in the sky than in the world of men. Enjolras immediately had him pinned down as a Romantic- which wasn't necessarily a good thing, since he couldn't help but feel irritated toward people who, in his eyes, spend their lives contemplating the world in melancholy but doing nothing to change it.

What really caught Enjolras's attention, however, was when he overheard the Romantic talk to a group of other students in a café often used as a gathering point by- well, young students. It sounded more like he was delivering a poem than properly talking, actually, seeing how smoothly the words were coming out of his mouth. And those words were explaining the misery of the world- and of orphans. From what Enjolras could hear, the young man was deeply affected by the fate of orphans in Paris, and seemed more than willing to act about it.

After that, Enjolras felt more than willing to talk to the redhead, even though Combeferre had been begging to introduce them for weeks. It actually seemed surprisingly easy to approach him- maybe it was the way he always looked at everything with a dreamy look on his face, or maybe it was the way Enjolras sometimes found his eyes fixed on him at gatherings, as if he was studying Enjolras or looking for something specific in him. The point was, he seemed nice. And maybe easy to talk to. Maybe that was why Enjolras found himself walking toward the young man's table at the café, forgetting he usually had no idea how to start conversations.

"I liked what you said earlier," he said bluntly. As the other looked up at him in surprise, he felt the need to elaborate : "your poem, about the night and, um, orphans. I really enjoyed listening to it."

"Well, thank you. If is not my best, but I was kind of proud of it, so I figured… why not share it with the class ?"

He had an awkward smile, much to Enjolras's surprise- for some reason he had expected him to be very laid back, like Courfeyrac, another one of his friends, but it turned out the redhead was about as talented as Enjolras to start a conversation in a decent way.

After a rather awkward moment Enjoras was wondering what he was supposed to say next and silently cursing himself for trying to start a conversation without Courfeyrac there, the poet held out his left hand for the blonde to shake, while his right one was busy trying to extract what looked like an old smoking-pipe from his pocket. He had to take out various items, including three rocks of various shapes and what seemed to be peacock feathers (Enjolras decided not to ask) before he found what he was looking for and could focus back on Enjolras.

"Jehan Prouvaire, at your service. Does it bother you if I smoke ?"

"Not at all" answered Enjolras, somewhat amused by the manners of the young man. "Jehan, huh ?"

The other waved aside with a nonchalant look. "Mere fantasy of a poet. You can call me Jean, or even Prouvaire if you like. Do you happen to have a name, or am I expected to find one for you ? Because I have multiple ideas that would quite suit you. Did you ever consider-"

Enjolras thought it wiser to interrupt him there. Not that he disliked listening to the other man, who actually had a very soft and pleasant voice, but he was afraid of the kind of nickname the eccentric redhead thought would fit him.

"That will be quite unnecessary. I am Enjolras." He said, finally reaching out for Prouvaire's hand. "I am glad to make your acquaintance… citizen."

The last word had escaped his mouth after a second of hesitation, carefully watching Prouvaire's face for his reaction. He was not, however, expecting the small laugh that came out of his lips.

"I am only amused by your carefulness. Do I look much like a royalist to you ?"

Enjolras felt the pressure on his stomach untighten. He had witnessed the unconventional behavior of the young man and heard the way he talked of the world around him, and he actually would have been very surprised if such a man turned out to be anything but a supporter of freedom- but again, one never knew. For the first time he found himself smiling genuinely at him.

"Not really. And I shall admit, I am rather happy you aren't. I would have been very disappointed to find out I was wrong about you."

"I shall be happy to have proven you right, then," the poet, who at this point was surrounded by a cloud of smoke, answered with a mocking reverence.

***

1828

He didn't know exactly what Prouvaire was doing here. Despite openly having political opinions that answered more or less those of Enjolras, the poet had never struck him as what he would call a fierce revolutionary. Not that Enjolras was unhappy to discover he had misjudged him, he was always more than content when a new friend joined their group. It was just that he suspected the poet of dropping by the café only to try and meet people who were as interested as him in studying in detail a play of Corneille, the appearance of a new constellation or the shape of the clouds.

While Enjolras was wrong in that the poet was indeed one of the most helpful members, and certainly the one that cared most about doing everything he could to help others, it was true that Jehan wasn't helping by always choosing to sit near one of the newest members of the group, whose only purpose in life seemed to be to empty as many bottles of wine as it was humanly possible.

As a matter of fact, when Enjolras happened to overhear one of the conversations taking place at the table in the corner, the two men always seemed to be talking of any imaginable subject except for the revolution.

"... must have been nice to be one of those gods living on Mount Olympus", Grantaire was currently saying. "To spend your days to eat, drink and contemplate the world- what more could one possibly ask of life ?"

Prouvaire reflected thoughtfully : "The greek gods, huh ? I have always found it quite nice that Apollo was for them not only the god of the sun, but also the god of music. After all, isn't music a way to bring light and warmth in our lives ?"

"What I like about those gods is that they seem to live on, even today, in some of us. For me, I guess I shall be Dionysus, for obvious reasons." Grantaire gestured vaguely at his body, as the poet threw him an amused look. "You can be Apollo if that pleases you- would it only be because you are such a strong defender of poetry in our world, and you can play the lyre."

"The harp, actually," Jehan interrupted him with an offended tone, "and I am surprised the comparison did not arise from my ability to brighten your life a considerable amount."

Grantaire made a disdainful gesture while rolling his eyes to the sky.

"The harp, the lyre… same difference to me. If I touched either one, all I would get out of them would be an atrocity that would so gravely offend one of your music gods that they would probably-"

He stopped abruptly when he noticed that Enjolras had left Combeferre and Courfeyrac to argue on their own on the other side of the room and was making his way toward them.

"I should probably leave now" Grantaire muttered, and before his friend could stop him he had grabbed his coat and made his way through the (extremely) crowded room to the door.

He had probably sensed that Enjolras was not in a mood to be nice with him- and he had been right, since as soon as the blonde reached the table where Jehan was left alone, seemingly wondering whether or not he should run after Grantaire, his first words were : "Do you ever wonder why the man even bothers coming here- does he at least have fun annoying all of us with his meaningless talk ?"

The words probably came out way more rude than he intended to and he immediately felt guilty of it- Jehan hadn't really done anything to deserve this.

"You should give him more credit, you know" Prouvaire said absently, his eyes still fixated on the bottle his friend had left on the table without even bothering to finish it.

Enjolras turned to him, not even trying to mask his irritation. "What should I give him credit for ? Being here ? Those meetings are for serious matters. Everyone here genuinely cares about our revolution, about helping people, fighting for them. Everyone here believes in something better that keeps them going. Grantaire doesn't believe in anything, save maybe wine."

"Doesn't he ?" There was a thoughtful look on his face, as if he hadn't been expecting Enjolras to say that. "You know… sometimes I wonder."

Prouvaire got up, most likely to try and catch up with Grantaire, leaving Enjolras to wonder what he had been trying to say.

***

1830

Prouvaire was vaguely aware that he and Enjolras were the only people left in the café, and that all the others had left when it had started to get dark. He was also vaguely aware that his friend had been talking for a while, most likely about what the better place to build a barricade would be or Courfeyrac's latest idea to find ammunition- sometimes a few words reached his ears, such as "strategic area" and "take back their freedom".

But he was only vaguely paying attention to all of this, because he had spent his afternoon in the café doing what he did best- living in his own world and writing endlessly. For some reasons the ideas were flowing to his mind today, and he had covered countless sheets in scribbled words, unfinished verses and distracted doodles. But now he had been stuck on this verse for a while and did not like it.

At this moment he heard Enjolras clap his fingers and ask, in a voice that seemed worlds away from him : "Prouvaire, do you really find me this boring ?"

The sarcasm passed unnoticed as the poet, not looking up from the sheet in front of him and seeming incredibly focused on the quill in his hand, managed to let out enough words to communicate like a normal human being. .

"I think I need your help, actually." Paying absolutely no attention to his friend's sigh, he added : "Can you find a good synonym for "loyalty" ?"

Surprised at first, Enjolras's look was quick to soften and since he knew that it would be useless to try and blame Jehan, and was not even willing to, as he felt a kind of tenderness where the soft nature of the poet was concerned, he chose to be helpful and answer the question.

"Faithfulness ?" He suggested. "Devotion ?" As if his own words had brought a new idea to his mind, he frowned and added "things I wish more men would have."

Jehan was about to answer that "faithfulness" had too many syllables for what he was trying to do, but surprised by the bitter tone, unusual in the usually passionate voice of his friend, he managed to get out of his bubble and looked up to find the blonde staring into space, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Well, that sounds like an optimistic thought coming from you. What do you mean by that, if I may ask ?"

His friend sighed and opened his arms. "I don't really know myself. I guess sometimes I feel like I have lost faith- we are doing something so important here, but we have no guarantee of anything. No guarantee that what we do will change something, no guarantee that the men will have the heart to come and help us in this fight. I know I shouldn't think that, because I believe in our fight, but I can't help it."

Prouvaire interrupted him with his soft voice, putting a hand on the other man's arm : "why shouldn't you ? It is normal to have doubts, you know. But as long as you remember what you are fighting for, those doubts can not stop you."

Enjolras let his head fall back with a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"I envy you, you know."

The poet glanced an intrigued look at him.

"Before I consider myself flattered, I am going to need you to elaborate. You are really looking quite weird today, Enjolras."

"You always seem to be so optimistic, you know. About pretty much everything- the flowers in your garden, the friends you meet, the fact that any of this-" he gestured with a bitter look at the empty tables surrounding them, "has a chance to ever succeed. This is why I admire you, and with you all the poets. You know how to find hope in the smallest things, be it a ladybug in a garden or a burnt-out candle."

"But you seem to be quite the poet yourself, my friend."

Enjolras merely shook his head, although his friend's suggestion had managed to bring a smile to his lips.

"I leave such activities to those worthy of them. I fear one couldn't call anything I do poetic- all I ever do is talk of revolution and mythic battles, and you can not call me a poet for merely writing speeches."

"You are wrong here. I have seen how you always have your way with words. It is why they admire you, you know. People such as our friends, Grantaire, myself… everyone. Unlike so many people, you know the power of words and how to use it. Maybe it seems to you there is no poetry in your thoughts, but I can assure you your speeches and your ideals inspire me as much as any poem of Dante or anyone else could. And this is a compliment, really."

Enjolras, whose only reaction to this had been to smirk at the mention of Grantaire, had to admit softly :

"If you say so my friend. I suppose I can trust your opinion on those matters. As long as you do not ask me to start smoking the pipe or write what you would consider a poetic verse, I am fine with being considered a poet in the way you mean it."

Jehan burst out laughing at this.

"Don't come and give me ideas. And I am sure you would love it, by the way."

***

1831

"I can not believe I got out of bed for this. Did we really have to be there this early ? The night hasn't even fallen yet" Courfeyrac complained.

"You didn't have to come, then" Combeferre replied mockingly, which earned him a scandalized look from the former.

It had been Prouvaire's idea, unsurprisingly- to spend the evening in the Luxembourg garden so they could look at the stars. There were only four of them, Prouvaire, Combeferre, Enjolras, who was there half willingly and half because the first two had threatened him or dragging him to a ball later if he did not come, and Courfeyrac who could not possibly imagine not being involved in an evening between friends. Grantaire had been invited as well, but for some reason he did not elaborate on, he had refused to come.

"You know," Courfeyrac reflected, pensively looking at a flower he had picked up a few minutes ago, "I have always wondered why you poets always enjoyed looking at the stars so much. I am not saying they are boring, but to look at them your entire lives… what do you find in them that we," he elbowed Enjolras in the ribs,"mere mortals, don't ?"

Jehan let out a small laugh at this. "There is not one answer to this, you know. This is why I like the stars, actually. They mean something different for everyone. I guess I like how they mostly remind me of how small we all are- or, if you want a more optimistic thought, they are at the same time a symbol of hope. Simply consider the way they are so far away from us, yet they are so big that their light still reaches us from over there. And they have been shining like this for longer than we could even imagine."

"Stars can die too, like everything." Enjolras couldn't help but point out, which caused Prouvaire to frown slightly.

"Who is talking about dying ? Dying can wait for now. I would much rather spend my time listening to the sound of a river, watching flowers grow or studying the stars, like now. And like you are doing right now for what I believe is the first time in your life. Enjoy life for a moment, my friend."

He put an arm around Enjolras's shoulders, smiling encouragingly at him, but the blonde shoved him back playfully.

"Contrary to popular belief, my friend, I actually do enjoy looking at the stars."

Combeferre looked at him, raising his eyebrows slightly in a disbelieving manner. "Do you now ? Not so long ago I would have sworn you would rather take a bullet to the chest than even take a second to contemplate the world around you, let alone the world above you."

Enjolras purposely decided to ignore the mocking undertone in Combeferre's voice and answered with a simple shrug. "I don't know any more than you do. It simply happens that they have a calming effect on me, so I like to look at them every so often. And even objectively speaking, stars are beautiful. You shouldn't expect a man to just pass them by without ever looking at them once in his life."

"Actually, you can," Courfeyrac chimed in for some reason. "Look at Pontmercy. He is always so absorbed by his thoughts, I doubt he even noticed there is a sky above us."

As Combeferre rolled his eyes to the sky, as often when Pontmercy was mentioned, Jehan pointed out softly : "you can not blame him for that, Courfeyrac, if he is in love with one of them."

The three of them got into an argument to decide whether or not Pontmercy was actually in love, and Enjolras smiled softly at the stars, thinking that Prouvaire might actually be right about them- like he was about everything.

Life was good.

***

1832

Jehan had been blindfolded. That was the only thing clear to him right now. His memory felt foggy. All he could remember was looking at Bahorel in horror as he got stabbed in the chest. Then lots of noise, screams and shorts, and then a new voice (was it Pontmercy ? It sounded like Pontmercy) dominating all the others. After that he remembered being dragged away in an alley, and trying to scream for help- Enjolras's name, Grantaire's name, anyone that could come and help him.

And red. Lots of red. So much red… everywhere.

He felt someone seize him by the shoulder and push him forward- against a wall. He didn't even need to listen to the declaration of the captain -he guessed it was a captain, a general wouldn't bother with this- to know what was going to happen next.

"Any last words ?"

So many.

He wanted to see his friends one final time, tell them how much he loved them. He wanted to write so many poems, many small verses that would just make one long poem, and claim it to the world.

He wanted to look at everything around him- Paris, his friends, the sky- one final time. He wanted to tell Grantaire all about the sun rising. He wanted to promise them, all of them, that they needed to hope, that the future would surely be brighter, it was only a matter of time. He wanted to tell Enjolras that he needed to look at the stars again, because it might be his final chance to do so.

But he knew he couldn't do any of this- he was out of time.

So all he did was raise his chin proudly and smile. And now he could smile genuinely, because he knew what he believed in- because it was what Enjolras had taught him. Because he had hope for the future, if not for now.

"Vive la France ! Vive l'avenir !"

***

"Vive la France ! Vive l'avenir !"

Enjolras clenched his jaw. His hand was still on Combeferre's arm when the shot rang out, and he used it to steady himself as he realized -as they both realized- what the succession of noises meant.

"They killed him !" Combeferre gasped in horror.

Enjolras nodded slowly. He had expected it, they had talked about it- he just didn't expect for this to become real. He didn't imagine a poet could actually die like anyone else, let alone Jean Prouvaire.

But apparently it was real. Not that it could change much, at this point. He knew that he couldn't afford to lose hope- not right now, not until this was over.

But for now…

He turned to the spy attached to the pillar, who still hadn't moved. "Your friends have just shot you," he said.

#I had no beta for this one so this is 100% the naturally unhinged thoughts that go on in my brain. hope you enjoy /hj #a few things I might add to this... #i had way too many prompt ideas for this one so I couldn't resist making a longer fic to write what I wanted #writing dialogue is officially my black beast I can not write a decent conversation for my life #although I had tons of fun trying to come up with lines for those two ! #also I had to make give a tragic ending because I am physically incapable of writing anything not angsty #... also it's canon era in my defense #okay leo stop ranting in the tags challenge #yes I got a bit carried away but you can't prove anything against me #*digs a hole and disappears for the next few years* #les mis #les miserables #enjolras #jehan prouvaire #jean prouvaire #drinkwithme2023 #victor hugo #les amis de l'abc

[starrystevie]

where i think the big kids would be working in the mall for the holiday season

jonathan: taking pictures of the mall santa with kids that range from screaming to smiling to crying to scared, yet somehow manages to get only the best pictures that tired parents buy in unnecessarily expensive frames

argyle: one of santa’s helpers who keep the kids entertained in line with stories of santa magic and no one can confirm if he still believes in santa or not because he sure acts like he does

robin: works at the gift wrapping counter and is surprisingly good at it. she’s fast an efficient and incredibly perfect at wrapping the weird shaped packages

steve: works at a perfume counter across from robin so they can gossip when it’s slow, helping tired husbands pick out the perfect perfume and even giving ideas for gifts to go along with it

eddie: hands out praline samples outside the roasted nuts stand where he normally ends up bouncing off the walls on a sugar high after eating too many of the samples himself

nancy: cashier at the toy shop that ends up being some parents’ personal shopper because she knows what’s worth the money and what was made in unethical sweatshops

#clearing out my drafts because MAN today sucks at work and i'm on the verge of crying so i wanna focus on something fun #i'm sure there are so many fun fic ideas to go along with this too but i can't write anything new right now #spicy six #jonathan byers #argyle #robin buckley #steve harrington #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #feel free to use this to write any and all holiday blurbs okay thank u #stranger things headcanon #my writing

[whysamwhy123]

HALLEJUAH!! I REMEMBERED HOW TO ACTUALLY FINISH WRITING SOMETHING FOR A CHANGE!!

Of course, it's not any of the fics I wanted to finish. I went back to what is essentially my bread-and-butter now and wrote a short-ish, random OrangeHook fluff. But considering how much writing's been a struggle as of late, I'm just glad that I successfully finished something. I was back in one of those stretches where I couldn't seem to write much of anything. And this fic isn't about their age difference or Hook being a cuddlebug, so...progress?

Unless I decide I completely hate it (which is always a possibility) expect something to drop on Valentine's Day, tis the season, after all.

#What is wrong with you Sam you should not be allowed to write #Small victories you know? #Will I ever get sick of OrangeHook?? Apparently not #Can't even remember the last time they interacted on screen but that ain't stopping my brain LOL #On a more serious note - I really do hope that I can get back into the swing of things and make some real progress #On the bigger fics I want to work on #I want to finish the messy angst OrangeHook fic at some point even if it's unlikely to appeal to anyone #Annnnnd deep down in my cold dead heart I still wanna make an honest attempt at that DG Dead Dove fic #Even though that would be even more unappealing + a huge undertaking because that bitch would be loooooooooong #Also I had a slightly less angsty OrangeHook idea recently about them having their first fight and I wanna write that too for some reason #And there's still a part of me that really wants to continue Business/Pleasure because I have soooo many ideas for that AU #But that would require me to get over my inability to write smut #And I don't know how to do that (would appreciate any advice on that if you've got some...) #But at the same time I don't wanna beat myself up for not being able to write much - if anything - most days #This is a hobby after all - it's supposed to be fun #There ain't no deadline and it's not like I'm letting anybody down #Just gotta do at my own place #And write whatever absolute trash I want to write 😈 #My tags are always so obsessive like SHUT THE FUCK UP SAM #But if you've actually read all these - hey. Thanks. Love ya 😘

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Me: I have a few FitPac ideas but I don't think I've written that much.

The document:

#The joke here is that this is only one of two documents I have compiling my stuff for them #WAIT NO. THREE. THREE DOCUMENTS #I forgot I had a new idea and pulled up a new document to write in a frenzy #I'm really bad about posting 'ficlets' or things that I don't think are polished 100% #so of this MAYBE I'll wind up with a ~5000 word piece after writing 20000 words or so #I write a lot but only like 5% of what I write ever sees the light of day #I'm still working on the structure rn for the current one and that's always the hardest part #This might wind up being a 5 times or whatever fic because there are too many similar things I want to write but all in a different light #but not different enough to be their own thing #idk I'm tired and stressed rn so I'm dropping this into Word TTS so I can hear it be read back to me while I try to chill & sleep #agh. #i talk #fic talk #qsmp talk #I never write in Word anymore I write in docs now since 90% of my writing these days is on mobile #I just never have time to write #and I can't focus anymore

[dont-f-with-moogles]

People Will Talk

People Will Talk (AoT High School AU) Characters: Levi x Hange (Mentioned: Isabel, Petra, Miche and others) Word Count: 1309

This one’s loosely based on the AoT Junior High Manga volume where Hange and Isabel make Levi cookies for his birthday. Here, they're older and the ending is pretty different… Song suggestion: Snowman - Sia

Shingeki High’s frost-glazed grounds lay empty following the mass exodus of its students. With the anticipation of the Christmas holidays hanging upon the air, the chattering crowds had departed early from their afternoon lessons. Only a small number of boarders were left on the site, Levi and Hange among them. The pair had quietly retired to Levi’s dormitory; his rooms not quite reflecting the festive cheer which had been so violently enforced on the rest of the student body. Still, Hange had exerted her own efforts despite Levi’s strict No Tinsel Policy (“it shreds everywhere and clogs up the vacuum!”) She had managed to procure a small Christmas tree which sat beneath the window. Its branches stood bare, apart from a few titan baubles and a small string of fairy lights (stolen, of course, from the giant tree in the school’s reception).

The pair sat with their backs against the sofa and legs curled beneath a low table. Two cups of tea stood upon its surface, steam curling upwards. The television showed a sun setting over a wide plain, marked only by a lone railway track. Within a cramped, open-topped carriage, a group of older adolescents were shown seated uncomfortably next to one another. 

“Why are they all blushing?” Hange wondered aloud, “this whole scene is so awkward, I’m tempted to skip it.” She swung round to Levi, who was regarding the screen in solemn silence. With a click of the remote, the picture paused. 

“Hey, you weren’t even watching! Do I have to rewind it?”

“No…” He had lifted his mug tentatively by the rim but instead placed it back upon the table. “Hange… I need to ask you something that’s been on my mind. It’s about those Birthday Cookies you and Isabel made for me.”

Levi was staring down at his knees. The glow from the fairy lights glinted off Hange’s glasses. “Eh… you know, this is a pretty important episode, so maybe we should watch that first, then-”

“Isabel said that you only helped her to bake the cookies so that you could take half of them to sell?”  

Hange uttered a strangled laugh. She pushed her glass further up her nose, feeling her cheeks warm. 

“D-did she? Well… look, it’s a little more complicated than that…” She opened and closed her mouth as Levi watched her patiently. “The truth is… I’m totally broke, okay? I’ve got Sawney and Bean to feed. And I owe you like 2000 yen towards bills and…”

“Try 16,378 yen…”

“Yeah, like I said, 2000 yen… and besides, you don’t even like birthday presents!”

Levi sighed and leaned forward, his elbows upon his knees. His dark fringe fell into his eyes as he moved. “Right, that’s what I told her. Relax, will you?.”

“Oh… so no harm done then, right?” Hange raised the remote brightly, poised to continue the programme. 

“Yeah… she…” Levi glanced at the doorway, as though expecting Isabel herself to come storming through at any given second. “She just made this weird comment about me taking sides, that’s all.”

“Taking sides…?”

“Yeah. Your side. Said that I keep choosing you over her and Farlan.” Levi shook his head. “She’s been like this since I transferred schools. It’s not like she has a reason to be jealous. Does she?”

“No. I mean they’re your oldest friends…” Hange twirled the remote control in her hands. Levi picked up his tea again but did not drink.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of,” Levi repeated firmly. “Everyone needs to stop making things out of nothing. First Petra, then Isabel…”

“Right!” Hange chimed in, flinging the remote down and stretching back against the sofa legs. “The Petra Incident was unfortunate but then again, she did only ask you to the Summer Festival at the last minute.”

“Exactly. You and I had already made plans…” Despite the steadfastness of his tone, Levi seemed unable to meet Hange’s eye.

“It’s not worth worrying about Levi!” Hange cast out an enthusiastic arm which almost sent her own tea flying. “People will say things. Miche calls us an old married couple all the time and it simply isn’t true!”

“Hah… that’s because you’ve got more chance of marrying Bean,” Levi returned darkly.

“Besides, since when do you care about what others think?” Hange shifted around to face him, her legs tucked beneath her. There came a whistle of breath down Levi’s nose; his eyes narrowed in thought as he lowered his cup.

“People say things because you seem to be everywhere I go,” he said finally. “If you want people to stop getting the wrong idea about us then don’t hang out in my room constantly. Look-” Levi jumped up and lifted one of the giant red socks that Hange had taped onto the television cabinet. “His and hers Christmas stockings? Besides which, your stuff is everywhere-” He gestured to the floor space before his front door which was occupied by a set of biology text books and a jar of titan toenails. “And-” Levi gave a slow blink. “... are you wearing my hoodie?”

“It’s mine,” Hange snapped, pulling the material around her. “Well, I found it in the lab so… it’s probably mine.”

“Hange…” Levi pressed his palm to his forehead, his expression glazed with exasperation. “This isn’t healthy… and I don’t just mean that germ-ridden hoodie.”

“Wait… are you really saying that you want me to go?” It was Hange’s turn to stand. Her voice caught a little as she continued. “I thought we had fun hanging out together. Whoever thinks there’s more going on between us is just being crazy! Ignore them, Levi!”

Levi’s eyes were fixed to the spot of carpet before her feet. “I can’t, because… they’re not crazy at all.”

“Huh?” 

Levi’s shoulders were rigid, fists clenched at his sides. He struck himself on the leg in an effort to get the first syllable of speech to topple out.

“What I’m trying to say is… your eyesight is even more shit that I first realised. As soon as you see titans you get a blind spot for everyone else around you.” He dug his heel into the carpet and cursed softly.

Hange frowned and she weighed his words carefully. Her eyes widened with realistion. “Ah… are you talking about Moblit?” Levi ground his teeth. He made towards the two cups on the low table.

“I’m kidding!” Hange grabbed his upper arm. Levi’s body tensed. “Come on, we had a moment there. Don’t let Moblit ruin it.” 

“M-moment?” 

Hange’s hand trailed down Levi’s arm, sending pinpricks of heat through his shirt.

“…I found your hoodie in the lab because you kept coming by, even though you never enrolled in Biology Club.” Hange took Levi’s hand and squeezed his fingers reassuringly. “See? You’re not so invisible after all. Not to me.”

Levi held her cheek, the heat from his skin sending a flood of colour into Hange’s face. Her hand encircled his wrist.

“Levi-”

“Then look at me… and be sure!” Levi’s breath was on her mouth and neck. “Because I’ve seen you. I’ve listened to your non-stop rambling about titan toenails and secret money-making scams. I’ve seen you bait titans four times your size without flinching. I’ve watched you make shitty tea and decorate my dorm with stolen decorations.”

His fingers were entangled in her hair.

“I’ve seen you obsessed with stupid tv shows and caught you wearing my clothes.” His hand tightened upon her head as he brought her closer. “You’re everywhere, all the time. You never give me a moment of peace, Four Eyes. I can hardly breathe. All I can see is your temper and your recklessness. Your kindness and your beauty.”

“Levi-” 

“So, if everyone else is crazy…” He brought his mouth to her own, so that his words were muffled as they fell into the silence. “Perhaps I’m crazy too.” As he pressed his lips against hers, Levi’s racing heart drowned out the rest of the world in a roar of sound. 

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan high #levihan #levi x hange #levi ackerman #hange zoe #levihan fic #levihan fluff #Christmas #why can't I write anything under 1000 words? #I promise the next one will be shorter #drinking wine and listening to Tom Odell is giving me too many angsty ideas #my writing

[council-of-beetroot]

Not having a wip is killing me

#i could finish polpru #i want to write the feliks and Ivan fic but can't decide how weird i want to make it #i have some lietpol ideas #and rusliet week is coming up #too many ideas