#anyway I only have dialogue for this fic so I truly cannot post it but I think I love my terrible OC now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

clovermunson · 3 years

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knitted sweaters and fuzzy socks— george weasley

author’s note: alright i know it’s only september, but i simply cannot get the idea of Christmas with George at the Burrow out of my mind, so sue me😂 anyway, have the inaugural George fic that i just couldn’t wait to write!! as always, reblogs and likes are very appreciated, i just ask that you please do not repost and claim as your own! also a huge thank you to @lifeofkaze for her amazing suggestions to help with editing!!❤️💛—xo, morgan💜

word count: 2.6k

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

warnings: nothing really, just pure tooth-rotting fluff. George being an adorable dork. mentions of eating and food but that’s really about it. oh, mostly dialogue because my brain just refused to write extremely detailed scenes.

requested tags: @thatravenpuffwitch (@erinislands) i apologize for how long it took me to get back to editing this fic and posting it, but i remembered to tag you in it!!💕

Dating a guy like George came with its perks.

One of those many perks was that you got to spend the holidays at the Burrow, which had become one of your favorite places to be even if it wasn’t the holiday season or a particular occasion.

The fresh snowfall outside of the Burrow had made for the perfect winter wonderland, so much so that Ginny, Ron, Fred, and Harry had all decided to go sledding and play in the snow while you and George had preferred to stay in for a little while, enjoying the comfort of the couch and the warmth of the fireplace. During Christmas time, the Burrow had always felt extra homey and inviting, but when there was snow, it truly was magical and had a certain picturesque charm to it.

You watched as the string lights on the Christmas tree twinkled, almost as if they were in tune to a silent Christmas song, thinking of all the Christmases you’d spent with the Weasleys and just how wonderful each year was—thankful that you’d grown so close to all of them. The only thing to bring you out of your thoughts was the sound of your boyfriend’s voice as he entered the den from the kitchen, with two mugs of hot chocolate in one of his hands, the other closed around something that you couldn’t quite see.

“Reckon we ought to go out there and join in on the fun? Fred’s probably getting relentlessly pelted with snowballs.” George chuckled, sinking down onto the couch beside you, handing you a mug of hot chocolate.

“Nah,” you giggled, shaking your head, “I think he’ll be fine. Besides, I quite like how warm it is in here.” You took the mug from him, bringing it up to your lips and taking a sip, the mug warming up your hands as you did so.

As you set your mug of hot chocolate down on the coffee table, George pulled you into his side, your head resting on his chest as he lifted his other hand, in it were two gingerbread cookies.

“Think I’d forget?” He smirked, handing you a cookie from the batch that Molly had made earlier as he took a bite of his.

George was always trying to sneak cookies before the batches were completely baked, but this time he’d waited until after dinner before going after them.

“Quite surprised you remembered, actually.” You quipped, a sly smirk on your face as you briefly examined the cookie before taking a bite.

“Hurtful.” George feigned offense, a hand over his chest like he’d been wounded by the joke, “as if I’d forget to grab our personalized cookies.” George pointed to the icing letters of yours and his initials.

“Such a baby.” You snorted, finding his dramatics to be more adorable than anything.

“Ah, but I’m your baby.” George poked your nose, and you swore you could hear a quiet giggle escape from his lips.

You wrapped your arms around George’s waist after finishing your cookie, nuzzling your face into his chest with a smile, his scent of fireworks and sweet cinnamon comforting to you. Almost like a warm embrace upon returning home after travels.

After an afternoon of lively congregation and singing, a hearty Christmas feast, and opening presents, being able to finally relax with George was exactly what you needed to recharge your social battery. George’s leg bounced almost rhythmically as the two of you cuddled up, the both of you donning your handmade Weasley sweaters from Molly, though you had on a thin long sleeve shirt under yours for extra warmth.

You pulled the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, thankful that Molly had always oversized your sweaters a little bit every year.

“Are you cold?” George asked, snapping out of his daze, grabbing the large knitted blanket from the back of the couch for you.

“Oh no I just—” you were interrupted by George laying the blanket over both of your bodies, a smile forming as the warmth radiated over your body, “actually, this is quite nice.”

“Thought so.” George took your hands in his, the warmth of his hands coming as quite a shock in contrast to how cold yours were, but within his, they were instantly warm.

“Have I told you that I love you?” George asked, looking down to you, your eyes meeting as you slowly looked up to him.

“Hmm…only about a thousand times this week.” You giggled, shifting your weight to get comfortable.

“Well then make that one thousand and one times.” George smirked, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead, “but I do have an extra gift I wanted to give to you.”

“Georgie, we promised no extra gifts this year.” You scolded, a playful pout on your face as George simply brushed off the comment.

“No no, I didn’t buy anything extra. This gift is handmade, maybe not so much with quality craftsmanship, but with lots of love of course!” George eagerly shifted his weight against the arm of the couch, “that’s not against the rules, is it?”

“I suppose not…” you mused, “but I didn’t get you anything extra.” Your pout quickly turned to one of guilt at the realization that you had nothing to give George in return for his extra efforts.

“Don’t worry about it.” George smiled, “it wasn’t too much work, and mum helped me with it to make sure at least part of it came out perfect.”

“If you made it, I’d think it’s perfect regardless of the condition it’s in, love.” You returned a smile, though you still felt bad about not having anything to give to George.

The light from the fireplace had begun to die down, casting a dim glow over the den, just enough that you could see shadows of the flickering flames dancing around on the hardwood floor, and the soft light of the oncoming dusk just peeking in through the window that illuminated George’s nearly angelic features, bringing attention to to the light freckles that dotted his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

“Nothing could be as perfect as you though, could it?” George had noticed the small space between the two of you, and inched closer to close the gap, just barely catching your lips in a kiss before Fred came barreling through the front door of the Burrow in a panic, the sound of the door slamming shut making you and George jump away from each other. You would’ve argued with George about who looked more perfect, had Fred not looked so frantic.

“Can we help you?” George motioned to his twin, the annoyance obvious in his tone.

“I—” Fred tried to catch his breath, the harsh cold air from outside still burning his lungs, “I need a scarf, do either of you have a spare one?”

You and George shared a look of confusion before Fred finally explained, “we’re making a snowman, and Ginny’s insisting that he needs a scarf. I’m not about to argue with her over it.”

George thought for a moment before answering, “Go check in your wardrobe, there’s probably quite a few of your old ones still in there, if not go check Ron’s wardrobe, I’m sure he has plenty.”

“Great. Oh, and Y/N, be a dear and please tell Georgie to keep the snogging to a minimum, yeah?” Fred nodded to you before he bolted upstairs in search of a scarf.

“I’m so sorry about my idiot twin, darling.” George groaned, pressing a kiss to your temple, “can’t get a moment of peace with him around.”

“Tell me about it.” You snorted, thinking of all the times that Fred had interrupted you and George in the midst of cuddling or even watching a movie together.

“Now, where was I?” George smirked before pressing a quick kiss to your lips, then began peppering your face with kisses.

“Georgie!” You managed to get out through all the giggling, “stop it!” You tried to playfully push him away from you, only for the redhead to attack you with more kisses.

“Got one!” Fred interrupted again as he came down the stairs and through the den, making George stop rather quickly, “Ugh, please you two. That’s disgusting.” The older twin fake-gagged as he hurried to the front door of the Burrow.

“You’re just jealous because you can’t get a girlfriend!” George called after his twin as Fred disappeared out the front door and into the snow again.

You giggled as you watched the other Weasleys enjoy a snow day, and because you saw Fred get hit in the face with a snowball from Ginny as soon as he got outside.

“Y/N, love…” George took your hand again, “have you forgotten about my extra gift already?”

“Oh, no!” You exclaimed, shaking your head, “just with Fred being a constant interruption and you being the kiss monster it was a bit difficult to focus on that.”

“Would you like to open the gift now?” George asked, sitting upright against the back of the couch, his legs crossed.

“Well, since we can’t exactly guarantee we won’t have another interruption at any given time, I’d like to open it now before the less handsome version of you ruins the moment again.” You laughed, a bright smile on your face as George laughed, reaching under the couch to retrieve the gift bag.

“Now like I said, it’s not exactly perfect or fine, quality craftsmanship, but this gift is entirely from the heart.” George held the red and gold bag up to you, “and mind the glitter on the bag please, that stuff gets everywhere.” He chuckled, a hand raking through his hair, a couple of glitter flakes already noticeable on his cheeks.

“Georgie, I told you. I’ll think it’s perfect no matter what, just because you made it.” You sat up, taking the bag from him, the gold glitter already falling onto your sweater and pants.

“Go ahead, open it.” George was smiling like a kid in a candy store, his anticipation already getting the best of him.

“Okay okay.” You giggled, beginning to pull the tissue paper from the bag, discarding it onto the floor at yours and George’s feet. The first thing you pulled out was another knitted sweater, made with dark red yarn, and then you noticed the little detail on it: an embroidered gold heart on the upper left side of it, yours and George’s initials embroidered in red to contrast against the gold thread of the heart.

“George…” you smiled at the sweater, holding it close to your body, “you really didn’t have to!” You could tell that he had sprayed a bit of cologne onto it, given that it had a light hint of a bergamot-based scent to it.

“Mum made that one.” George quickly admitted, “I came up with the idea for it though!” He quickly picked up the tissue paper form the floor, setting it on the table. “I made the other gift though, just…please don’t laugh at it.” George nervously chuckled.

You smiled, shaking your head as you reached for the second gift, a pair of fuzzy, knitted socks made with purple and orange yarn— clearly to match the color scheme of what the twins wanted their business, Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, to be.

You couldn’t even begin to string together a coherent thought to explain to George about how happy you were to receive the extra gifts from him. All you knew was that you absolutely loved them, and would definitely be wearing them any chance you had to do so.

“These are absolutely perfect, love.” You smiled at George, your hand coming up to gently caress his jawline, “not as perfect as you, but pretty close.” You leaned forward, pulling him into a chaste kiss.

George smirked, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips, “I’m glad you love them, darling. I did get an idea for an extra gift for me, if you still feel bad about not having anything else for me.”

“Oh yeah?” You smirked, ridding yourself of the sweater from Molly, replacing it with the one from George, “let’s hear it then.” You slid the socks onto your feet, over the pair that you already had on.

“Maybe you could bake something for me?” George suggested, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes and pout, “you know that mum’s given you free access to the kitchen, a privilege that the rest of us don’t get.”

“Alright,” you giggled, “what is it that you want me to make?”

George’s eyes lit up with excitement as a smile quickly replaced his pout, “what about the cookies that you made last year? you know, those little sugar cookies with the little piece of chocolate in the center?”

“Really? I thought you liked the sugar cookies with the sprinkles on them more than those.” You smiled, stuffing the tissue paper back into the gift bag for an easier cleanup.

“What? No no no, Ron liked those more. But, to be fair, Ron likes everything though.” George laughed, “the ones with the chocolate were my favorite, not that I didn’t like the other ones though, I loved everything that you made.” He admitted, a smile parting his lips as if he’d accidentally said something he didn’t mean to and he was quickly trying to retract his statement.

You smiled to yourself at George’s rambling. Really, he could be adorable when he wanted to be, and his tendency to ramble was one of the many things you happened to find beyond adorable about him.

“Better yet, instead of you just eating them…” you mused, “what if I let you help with making them?”

“Me?” George pointed to himself, “you want me to help make your famous holiday cookies?” His brow arched, the confusion in his face evident.

“C’mon.” You pulled George up from the sofa, “surely you couldn’t mess it up. It’s so easy, I’m sure not even Fred could mess it up.” You giggled as you led him to the kitchen, showing him which ingredients you’d need as you began to make the cookie dough. If only you’d known that doing so would result in a mini flour-fight with the rambunctious ginger that you’d both have to clean up.

“So you just press your thumb into the center of the cookie, put the chocolate in, and that’s it?” George asked as he removed the sheet of fresh cookies from the oven.

“Pretty much.” You nodded, smiling up at him as you took a piece of chocolate from the bag, eating it.

“Hey, no eating the ingredients!” George playfully swatted at your hand as it went back to the bag of chocolate for another piece.

“Aren’t we going to end up eating them anyway once it’s all put together?” You asked, a brow arched in a trivial manner.

George thought it over for a moment, and in that moment you could’ve sworn you’d seen the gears turning in his mind as he mulled over the inquiry before finally speaking, “well…I suppose you’re right, in a technical sense.”

“Of course, I’m always right after all.” You teased, looking over to the window as George began placing the chocolate on each cookie.

“Whatever you say, darling.” George smirked to himself as he was laser-focused on making sure everything was perfectly in place.

Through the kitchen window, you could see Fred along with the other Weasley siblings and Harry, all of them still running about through the snow, even catching a glimpse of Ginny occasionally chunking a few snowballs at Fred again, and the older twin’s horrible attempts at dodging them.

The warm and gleeful feeling radiated throughout your body, making you feel the proverbial phrase of “warm and fuzzy”. If this was the view and sense of comfort that you’d get for the rest of your life every holiday season, you could be perfectly content with it.

#george weasley #george weasley fluff #george weasley x reader #george weasley fic #no seriously i love this so much and i’m so proud of it #and i mean that wholeheartedly #like i’m not a fan of all the dialogue #but i’m proud of this one #my own fic makes me want a george😂#morgan’s writings

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writingwife-83 · 3 years

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Hello!! I saw your post regarding sending dialogue prompts if we come up with it, so here's one :)

"I love you but we can't keep going like this."

Can you please write a Sherlolly fic for this one? I absolutely love your writing and look forward to your Sherlolly fics all the time! Cheers ;)

Hi, anon! I hope this one isn’t too much of a stretch, but this is just what came to my mind when I thought about the prompt. I tried to squeeze it all into a one shot and it started to come out weird, so I abandoned that plan. Hopefully I’ll be posting part 2 soon! Anyway, hope you and everyone else enjoy this bit of Regency AU angst and romance! 🎀

We Can’t Keep Going Like This

“Shall we dance the next set as well?” Sherlock asked as they exited the dance floor, Molly on his arm.

She shook her head, giving him a tight smile. “Thank you, no. In fact, I would much prefer some fresh air.”

Molly had been especially quiet all night, and she seemed flushed and jittery. Something was on her mind and it was only a matter of time until it came out. He could only assume their impending wedding was weighing heavily on her.

They stepped out into the late summer air which was just beginning to feel a touch cool. It was clearly a welcomed change from the stuffy confined of the ballroom as Molly shut her eyes and breathed in deep.

“Dreadfully crowded,” Sherlock commented, leaning against one of the columns of the vine shrouded veranda. “The Watson’s always seem to insist on inviting absolutely every family in the entire countryside. I hardly see the appeal. The noise and heat put quite a damper on the pleasant time that might be had enjoying music and dancing. I myself would never choose to-“

“Mr. Holmes, I shall be going away soon.”

Sherlock halted, his gaze shifting to her as he tilted his head in confusion. “Going away where?”

Molly fiddled with her hands, pacing a bit in the moonlight. “I have a great aunt in Scotland. I’ve written to her and asked if I might come and stay for a while, and just today I received her reply that she’d be happy to have me. I plan to depart in another day or two if I’m able.”

“But with merely a fortnight before our wedding?” Sherlock questioned with a little laugh. “You would scarce arrive and unpack before you’d have to return. It hardly seems worth the effort.”

“That’s just it, Mr. Holmes,” she replied quietly. “There will not be a wedding.”

He stared at her in silence for a moment, absorbing her words as best he could.

“But it has all been…arranged,” he argued, the words sounding weak, even to him.

“And it never should have been arranged in the first place.” Molly’s voice became firmer and she stopped pacing, turning to him and regarding him seriously. “I love you, but we can’t keep going like this.”

I love you.

She hadn’t said those words since…well, since that fateful day a couple of months before.

“I know there was hardly anything else for your family to do after what happened with your sister,” Molly went on.

Yes, she did rather force everybody’s hand, Sherlock thought. A crowded London ball was an inconvenient time for Eurus to go completely mad, especially since the incident included threatening Molly Hooper’s life and insisting that she and Sherlock confess their love for each other as the only way to keep her safe. It was a chaotic and heart stopping moment that he, and likely everyone else in attendance, wouldn’t soon forget. Once things were handled with his sister and the dust had settled, it went without saying that some days later an engagement simply had to be announced.

“But regardless, I cannot allow this marriage to take place.” Molly shook her head, resuming her pacing. “It is happening for all the wrong reasons but I know that neither you nor your family would ever put a stop to it, which is of course a credit to you all! So I find that I am the only one who can do what must be done. I can make a home in Scotland with my aunt, where nobody knows me. A broken engagement will be left far behind, and I can do my best to start fresh…just as you will be free to do.”

Words failed Sherlock. Not only had this completely taken him by surprise, but it also felt so very wrong.

“Forgive me, but that is quite an upheaval to pick up and move your life so far away. You needn’t make such a decision so hastily,” he finally voiced.

Molly’s lip quivered when she spoke again. “Mr Holmes, I have wrestled with myself and considered all possible options since the very moment our engagement was announced! There is nothing hasty about this decision. Surely you can see this is the most logical option.”

It was at that moment that Sherlock realized he hadn’t considered any other options. Since they’d become engaged, he’d simply accepted the fact and carried on.

“For whom is this the logical option?” Sherlock found himself questioning, stepping closer and eyeing her curiously. “Forgive me, but only a moment ago you stated that you love me, and this time it was under no duress. And yet you plan to uproot your life and flee from our impending marriage. Why?”

Molly tilted her chin in the air, squaring her shoulders as she spoke coolly. “I take no pleasure in a union that is rooted in little more than obligation and pity.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “Obligation and pity? But you are my friend, Miss Hooper. We are friends, are we not?”

“I did like to think so, yes.” She smiled softly, then hesitated, blushing a little. “But, Mr. Holmes, before all of this, tell me truthfully…had you ever thought to propose?”

Air caught in his throat and he had to swallow thickly, knowing full well that a lack of response would be just as clear to her as any spoken word.

Molly’s lips twisted and she looked down for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I shall leave a note,” she explained, a little hitch in her voice. “I will explain that I am sorry for any hurt I may cause but that I simply have no wish to marry. That will surely free you from any guilt in the matter.”

She moved to leave but Sherlock caught her wrist, causing her to whirl back and face him, eyes wide in surprise.

“And that is to be the end of it?” Sherlock asked, his voice half desperation and half confusion as his thumb moved unconsciously over the silk of her glove. “You’d truly leave England?”

“Can you not see this is for the best?” Molly whispered, a sheen reflecting in her eyes. “I beg you not to make this any harder than it already is.”

And with that, her hand slipped from his and she hurried back inside the ballroom. Sherlock watched her as she made her way through the crowds, his feet frozen in place even as he felt the urge to rush after her.

He stayed outside, replaying the words they’d just exchanged over and over, and he realized that he was about to lose Molly Hooper. The reality of it was a revelation that rivaled even his public declaration of love.

A declaration which, now more than ever, he was very sure he meant.

#sherlolly #regency au #regency sherlolly #dialogue prompts #glad to be writing something again lol

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dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3 · 3 years

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Another Life

Hi guys!! So, I mentioned in the last chapter of TPWP that I had a short-ish one shot about IshiMondo following Mondo murdering Chihiro in the canon universe. I will warn y’all that this... this is a sad fic. If I were posting this on AO3 (which I will, eventually, I think) there would be the Major Character Death warning, so... yeah.

Anyway. I just wanted to say something real quick before getting onto the fic. Feel free to skip if you don’t care. But y’all will realize as you read that this is not really my usual style of writing. I tend to prefer to be big on the details and emotion, since that sort of thing is what interests me most. This story, though, is more... barebones. I’m telling more than showing, and there is one main reason for this. This fic... it’s sad, but if I wrote in my usual style, it would be devastating. For me, at least. I got the idea for this fic months ago, maybe even before TPWP, just a quick “I wonder what an interaction between Mondo and Taka would be like after Mondo killed Chihiro would be like.”

I immediately dismissed the idea once I went down the path and realized how sad it would be, though. I love writing angst, right? I don’t think I’ve ever written a single story without some measure of angst or sadness. It’s just... what I do, ya know? But the one thing I cannot stand is hopelessness. It’s why I don’t like Danganronpa much, since it’s such a hopeless story, even if some of the students get out. It’s hopeless, and more than that, it’s pointless. The death and all that. There’s no reason for it at all, and I just... I hate stories like that, with no hope of a true happy ending. And this idea... it ends kind of hopelessly. I hate that sort of thing.

But I couldn’t stop thinking of this story. It kept coming back, again and again, and eventually... I caved and knew I had to do something. So I wrote this. I swear, it was supposed to be short! Just 1,000-2,000 words that explained the idea, to get it off my mind. I’d have posted it here and been like “hey guys, see this weird idea I had??? Man, wouldn’t it be crazy if I wrote this???” But then! I started putting more details in, like I always do. And then dialogue showed up. And by the time I finished my first writing session and went off to work, sending the story from my phone to my computer to check the word count, I had written over 6,000 words. And I wasn’t even done. Only then did I realize... this was a fic, dear god. Not my usual kind of fic, but... a fic nonetheless. I finished writing it then, and then went back to add some more detail to the first 6,000 words to make it at least a little like a fic.

Now, I know this was a long explanation, but I just... I’m anxious about this fic. It’s been on my mind for ages and I don’t know if I like the style. I oddly think it fits the story, though, given how messed up Mondo would be after what he did, so there is that. But I just... if y’all could please let me know what you think, I would appreciate it. I do plan on posting this to AO3 and FF . net eventually, but having feedback would help, if y’all wouldn’t mind. If y’all like this style of writing... I may be able to get more ideas out without taking months to write the whole thing. It doesn’t preclude me from writing full fics eventually, but it allows me to get more ideas out. So just... let me know, yeah?

Anyway! Here’s the fic! The main warning is that there is a major character death, since this, ya know... follows canon. It follows Mondo’s POV, and there is very mild sexual content. More referenced than truly shown, but it is there.

Enjoy!

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Another Life

Summary: Mondo finds himself outside of Taka’s room following the events in the boy’s changing room, his head a mess and heart even worse. While he knows he doesn’t deserve it, he finds comfort in Taka’s arms anyway.

Mondo finds himself leaving the exercise slash changing room in a daze, his body having rearranged the furniture to respect- respect Chihiro and his gender on autopilot, his head a complete mess and feeling so incredibly sick. He has always hated himself, more so after what happened with his brother, but he is positive he has never hated himself more than he currently does, the phantom sensation of bright pink blood staining his hands lingering, even though he has scrubbed them clean a dozen times.

In his distraction, he finds himself meandering through the halls without any real idea of what he’s doing, where he’s going, his brain not quite registering what he’d done, his mind wanting to reject it even as he knows he’d done it. While he has always hated himself and his tendency for violence and anger, he’d once never seen himself as the kind of person who could murder anyone, especially not someone smaller and weaker than him. Not even when he was at his angriest and wanted to hurt someone desperately. And he doesn’t know how to handle the reality of what he just did.

While walking aimlessly, he realizes that he somehow has found himself back in the dorm hallway, stomach clenched and angry, wanting to throw up but doing all he can to not do so. He tries to force his feet to walk over to where his dorm room is, but finds his legs won’t let him, his mind warring with his body. He is exhausted, has never felt so tired, but he doesn’t know if he can stay in that room by himself all night long. He... he truly doesn’t.

It takes him a minute, but he eventually realizes that he’s been standing outside Taka’s room for several long minutes, just staring at the little depiction of the kid on the door, staring like his life depends on it. For the first time since- since, he... he feels something. Anything. He has no idea what that something is, but... but...

Before he can tell himself not to, his hand is rising and ringing the doorbell, once, twice, three times, before falling back to his side dully, hating himself somehow even more for likely waking Taka, but not knowing what else to do. What even is he supposed to do, now? After... after...

A few moments pass and Mondo is just about to bail and leave Taka alone, forever, when the door opens, a sleepy but still overly concerned looking Taka standing there, taking Mondo’s breath away. The kid is wearing his sleep clothes, a white and ragged undershirt and a pair of white briefs, nothing else. Mondo has seen Taka naked before, since Taka had insisted that they ‘bare themselves to each other’ a few days before, but somehow... somehow this seems even more intimate. Seeing Taka wearing so few clothes, all sleep warm and scraggly haired, and… and…

He gets jolted from his thoughts when Taka hesitantly and yet still earnestly asks if he’s alright, inviting him inside without a single thought, not a single care for his own safety or- or anything.

For some reason, that angers Mondo greatly. And while he does find himself entering the room, his legs forcing him forward despite himself, he can’t help but yell at Taka, his frustration at all of it coming out. He snarls at the kid, low and angry, asking him why the hell he would ever open his door for anyone during this stupid ‘game,’ let alone let them into his room in the middle of the night, his fear and frustration coming out in a way he doesn’t want, doesn’t want at all.

Rather than get angry, though, Taka just stares at Mondo with wide eyes as he rants, and when Mondo is finally done, his exhaustion overcoming him again, Taka... Taka calmly and confusedly replies that he only opened the door because he could see through the peephole that it was Mondo, saying quite earnestly that he trusts Mondo completely and knows he has nothing to fear from him. His guileless and innocent words make Mondo feel disgusting, the reality of what he’d just done hitting him, and he finds himself getting angry again despite how tired he is.

He yells at Taka again, then, words that he doesn’t even register but that just burst out anyway, all his anger and frustration releasing from him as he rants. Taka just lets him, a small frown on his face, but when Mondo starts saying that he is a monster and only a goddamn, fuckin’ monster, Christ, Taka apparently has enough and marches over to Mondo, ignoring the deadly (and scared) glare that Mondo gives him in warning. And then... then, Taka places his hands on Mondo’s shoulders, looking him straight in the eye, a small and yet encouraging smile on his lips as his eyes sparkle with enthusiasm and trust, destroying Mondo entirely. Fuck...

“That is untrue, kyoudai! I used to think you were only a criminal and a no-good biker, but I have seen the best of you this last week and I know that you are more than that! So much more! You are kind, and caring, and gentle, and very, very good! I know I have nothing to fear from you, kyoudai, no matter what! I understand you have self-esteem issues, my dearest kyoudai, but you needn’t worry! I trust you and always will! I promise! A man’s promise!”

The words utterly destroy Mondo, his insides clenching and breaking and hurting, and he wants to cry but he knows he can’t, he doesn’t have the right, not after what he had done. But he can’t help the way his stomach lurches at the earnest look Taka gives him, his heart beating fast, and he knows exactly what it is he feels for Taka. Has known from the moment he set eyes on him in the main hall, so much at odds considering their respective talents, but it was so clear to him even despite that. He never has felt anything like this for anyone, certainly not so soon after meeting them, but... but he does. He most definitely, truly does.

At the time, he had even had an absent thought of how Taka just seemed so familiar to him. How— even though he knows they’d never met before; he’d most certainly remember a person like Taka— it was like he knew him intimately somehow. He’d tried pushing it away, especially considering the twisted game they were being forced to play, but he’d never been able to fully push the feeling inside him away. And when they’d had their sauna battle and became kyoudai, he knew he couldn’t deny how he felt for Taka any longer, even though it had only been a couple of short, stressful weeks that they’d ‘known’ each other.

But... as stressed out and scared and terrified as Mondo currently feels, he can’t help the desire that rises inside him, looking into Taka’s wide and trusting eyes. Part of Mondo wants to destroy that trust, to break Taka and prove to him that Mondo is just a monster that doesn’t deserve anything good, but he finds he just can’t, the thought of it breaking him more than he’s ever been broken before. And when he sees Taka’s eyes dart down to his lips after several long minutes of staring into one another’s eyes, Taka’s lips parting on a shaky breath... Mondo’s slim hold on himself breaks.

Leaning forward, Mondo kisses Taka angrily, firmly, somehow finding a way to hate himself even more for doing such a thing when he sure as hell does not deserve it, not after what he did. And yet, despite his anger, and self-hatred, and pain, pain, pain, he quickly finds himself softening the kiss, since— even with how angry and scared he is— he doesn’t want to hurt Taka. Not now. Not ever.

Taka doesn’t kiss back, though, not even after several long, long moments. It’s just as Mondo is pulling back, heart pounding and breaking and aching, thinking he’s ruined everything and that Taka will finally see how much of a monster he is, will hate him, fuck, Taka...

Taka lets out a soft noise, the sound not at all something Mondo can decipher, before he kisses back. Messy, and clumsy, and clearly inexperienced, but Mondo sure as hell doesn’t care. Not one single, goddamn bit. Not when Taka is as enthusiastic and passionate as ever, his lack of experience getting more than made up for by his enthusiasm and passion.

Mondo finds himself walking Taka backwards, Taka following willingly, trustingly, until Taka’s back is pressed against the wall, Mondo kissing him like his life depends on it. And, in a way, he thinks desperately that it does. It truly, truly does.

Because he knows. Right? What’s going to happen in the morning. That someone will find the body and a goddamn trial will begin, and while Mondo had done all he could to cover his tracks, he knows he’s not the smartest person and that there are likely so many fucking things he missed that a smarter and more capable person would have noticed. And he knows that... that if they don’t, that if no one notices and they accuse wrong and Mondo doesn’t get- get executed, then... then the whole class will. And that includes... includes...

Taka pulls back from the kiss first, and Mondo is terrified that it’s because he somehow knows what Mondo did and that he’s disgusted by him, that he hates him, oh god. But before he can utter anything, any apologies he doesn’t deserve or sorrow he shouldn’t be allowed to feel, he feels Taka’s hand gently touch his cheek, wiping away the tears that he hadn’t felt begin to fall. Taka is looking at him with such gentle concern that it breaks him again, and he wants to destroy everything, wants to scream, and rage, and cry, but Taka is talking before he can, and Mondo can do nothing more than listen, desperate and aching.

“Mondo... it’s okay, kyoudai, really! Do not cry, I... I wanted to do that. Very, very much! ... I do not know how to explain it, but from the moment I met you, I knew there was more to you than meets the eye. I... I have felt, er... things for you since that very moment! Things I’ve never... never felt for anyone else... aha. B-but please, kyoudai, do not cry! It... it’s okay, Mondo. I promise. I guarantee it! We will get out of here, you’ll see! No one would ever actually kill over something as silly as a secret, and then that darn bear will see that we will never do as he asks, and then we will be free! All of us, kyoudai. N-no one else will die and then we... w-we can be together! If you... i-if you would want that, a-aha...”

Mondo feels broken again at Taka’s enthusiastic words, despising himself as he sees how earnestly Taka believes this, even still, even after having learned that one classmate had tried to kill the other, only to get killed herself. Even after being forced to watch as another classmate got pummeled to death by baseballs, and another skewered by spears.

Mondo has a moment to despair for Taka and his trusting nature, and he wants so badly to yell. To scream at Taka and ask him what the hell his problem is, ask him why he is being so delusional, but he finds that he... he just can’t. And as he looks deeper into Taka’s eyes, as he looks closer than he’s ever looked into anyone before, he... he sees that Taka isn’t entirely being truthful. He can see the fear that is swirling within him, can see the lie that is in his words, even if Taka doesn’t allow himself to see it.

And he realizes... he realizes that, while Taka may be naive, may be trusting… he does know what is happening, in some regard. But... but he is doing all he can to pretend that it’s okay. That this will all end up okay. This is just- just his way of coping, telling himself lies that it will be okay, even though part of him knows that it won’t. Knows that... that there is a very real possibility that he will just... die here.

A reality that Mondo suddenly knows will happen to himself come morning.

Because... because, if he doesn’t get found out... if he doesn’t get accused properly by the class, if the trial goes in his favor... then Taka will die, Taka and the rest of their class, and that idea is suddenly so wrong to Mondo. That... that Mondo should survive at the expense of their class. At the expense of Taka. He...

He doesn’t know. If he’d be able to confess himself, be an active participant in his own death. While he’s always tried so hard to be strong and brave, he’s plagued by the truth that he’s not, not really. Not at all. But he knows he can’t let Taka die because of his mistake. His murder. And in that moment... he knows. No matter what, he will die the next day. That day, really, it’s so late. As he looks into Taka’s eyes, seeing the hidden fear that lurks within them, the terror and anguish the boy tries so hard to hide... he knows.

And he knows that he doesn’t want to die without knowing what Taka feels like. God...

Surging forward, Mondo kisses Taka again, desperate and needy and full of pain, but so good, too. And Taka kisses back, just as desperate, just as needy, making noises that drives Mondo out of his goddamn mind, but he doesn’t stop. He feels himself lifting the thin undershirt Taka is wearing, tossing it over his shoulder as he lets his hands explore the warm and smooth expanse of Taka’s chest. He feels hard, harder than he’s ever felt before, and he wants so, so bad. He presses his hips to Taka’s and moans when he feels an answering hardness, Taka letting out a small shout at the feeling. He knows that Taka is enjoying himself, knows that the boy wants it too, which is why he feels so confused when Taka pulls back, his eyes wide, shaking his head slightly.

Taka then says how they shouldn’t, that it’s improper, that they’re not technically even dating. He insinuates that he wants to wait until they get out before they do things, which upsets Mondo, since he knows that that won’t happen, no matter what Taka is deluding himself to believe. But Mondo... Mondo can’t find it in him to burst Taka’s bubble, not when it’s his last night on earth. The last time he’ll get to spend with Taka. Yeah, he really, really wants to go all the way with Taka, to not die a fucking virgin, but he also doesn’t want to pressure Taka. He doesn’t deserve it, anyway. Not after what he did.

So, Mondo nods, reluctantly, wondering if he should just go or not. If it wouldn’t be better to just... leave now and not hurt Taka anymore.

But then Taka is smiling at him, grabbing his hand, and... and then Taka is kissing him. It’s awkward and clumsy, the boy clearly not knowing what he’s doing, but it’s so endearing to Mondo that he can’t help the warm chuckle he lets out, even if it’s a bit watery. Taka pulls back with a small pout, looking a little annoyed, and Mondo fixes that by grinning brightly, stuffing down the fear inside him, and kissing Taka properly. Taka just lets out a happy sound, annoyance forgotten, and returns the favor in kind, enthusiastic as ever.

Mondo loses himself in the sensation and is a bit shocked to find— several minutes later— that at some point the two of them have migrated over to the bed, lips not parting for a single second. Mondo doesn’t mind at all, though, and finds that he can’t help how he pushes Taka down onto it gently, muttering promises that he won’t go too far, he swears. Taka nods absently at the words, seeming too far gone to even care anymore, but anytime Mondo’s hands accidentally wander too far south, he can feel Taka jolt, which reminds him to keep this PG. It still feels incredible to press down onto Taka as he kisses him, though, knowing then that there is nothing else he ever, ever wants to do in life.

Sometime later— Mondo has no idea how long since time has never meant less to him— he and Taka find themselves lounging together on the bed, Taka’s head on his bare chest, Mondo’s duster and tank top having been discarded at some point. Taka is drawing absent designs on Mondo’s chest, humming happily. Mondo is holding onto Taka tightly, his fear and terror running rampant through him, but it’s manageable when he’s holding Taka so close.

At some point, Mondo manages to let out the words that have been building inside him since he- he did that, his weakness and fear voiced at last.

“I’m scared, Taka,” he finds himself muttering, closing his eyes, breathing deeply and evenly. “So... so fuckin’ scared. K-know ya think we’re gonna get outta here, that no one is gonna- gonna fuckin’ kill anymore, but... I dunno. Yer so fuckin’ good, man. Believin’ the best in people, but I... I ain’t like that. An’ I... s-shit. I’m so fuckin’ terrified that I’m gonna die. I don’t... I don’t wanna die, man. I... I...”

Mondo begins to cry then, hating himself yet again for it, but Taka doesn’t judge him. He just shushes him softly, pulling him close, shifting them so that Mondo’s head is on Taka’s chest now. Mondo’s hair had fallen out of his pompadour at some point, his eyeliner smudged off, and he’s never felt weaker, but somehow... somehow, he doesn’t mind. Not when Taka is there, shushing him softly, kissing his forehead tenderly, eyes soft and caring. He can feel how Taka is shaking, knows that he’s also scared, but damn if Taka lets that be known. Mondo has a moment to think that Taka is probably the strongest person he’s ever met, heart aching, before Taka is speaking. Soft and shaking, but still so incredibly determined.

“You won’t, kyoudai. N-neither will I. We... we will both make it out of this, you’ll see! You and me. Me and- and you. We will get out and we will spend the rest of our lives together. We will finish school and then we will go to university, and I will get a job in politics while you- y-you get a job wherever you would like. We will get married and have children, if we want, and pets, and... and we... we will... we will be happy, kyoudai. Happy. And... and together. I- I promise, kyoudai... Mondo. I... I promise...”

Mondo can hear the way Taka’s voice tremors, can hear the uncertainty and the doubt even despite the confident words, but in that moment... in that moment, he just doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if that’s actually possible or not. He doesn’t care if he and Taka can have that; if he deserves to have that. He just... he doesn’t care.

Instead, he smiles. It’s small at first, but it gets wider and wider the more time that passes, and soon he is laughing. It’s brittle and fragile, but it’s more than he thought he’d ever have, after... well. After what he’d done. He lifts himself off Taka’s chest and looks down at him with liquid soft eyes, smiling with all the love in his heart.

And in that moment... he knows. Knows that he wants that. A life. With Taka. And- and had this whole thing not happened... had they met in better circumstances, better times… they could have had that. A life. A love. Him and Taka; Taka and him. Together forever. He loves Taka, truly and fully, and there is no one on this earth he can imagine ever loving more. And maybe it’s the desperation of the situation, maybe it’s not actually real, but he... he wishes that it could be. Real. That they could have discovered together if it could have been real.

(And in some part of him, deep, deep inside... he knows that it is. He doesn’t believe in reincarnation or things like that, but he knows that this is not the first time he has met Taka. The first time he has fallen in love with him. He doesn’t know what that means, but it’s such a strong belief inside him that he can’t find it in him to contradict it. Not at all. Not even a little.)

And then... while Mondo really wants to be closer to Taka— to feel him, in every sense of the word— he respects Taka’s wishes and keeps his hands to himself. And instead, he... he finds himself talking. He’s still leaning up on his arms, looking down at Taka, while he continues the story Taka had created. Of their life together. He mentions that he would become a carpenter, fixing and creating things rather than always breaking them. That they would live in a shitty apartment that is broken down and crappy at first, but that they would eventually make enough that Mondo would be able to build them a house, large and perfect, built exactly for them and the family they will have. He mentions that they will adopt at least two kids, a boy and a girl, though he wouldn’t mind more. Says that he will spoil them all rotten and do everything he can to ensure that they will never know the hardships that either of them has faced. He talks about the dogs they will own, and the cats too, and other animals, all the animals, their home full and bright and happy, and...

And Taka continues when Mondo’s voice breaks, saying that Taka will start a garden outside, one that he will tend to when he’s not working on his campaign. He will grow fruits and vegetables and herbs that he will use in his cooking, since he apparently enjoys cooking and baking and things like that. He will also grow flowers and other ‘useless’ plants, just because he thinks they look nice, their house full of color and life at all hours.

Mondo finds his voice again and talks about how he would want to start a charity, something to help kids who grow up in rough neighborhoods, giving them options in life other than street gangs and crime. He talks about how his brother always wanted to do that kind of thing, and that he wants to do it in his stead. His voice gets thick again, but it’s okay, because then Taka is leaning up and kissing him, so he doesn’t have to talk anymore anyway.

Mondo has no idea what time it is when they pull back, Mondo shifting them again so that they are facing one another, arms around each other as they cuddle close together. He knows it’s late, thinks it might almost be time for that bear’s fucking morning announcement, but he doesn’t let it get to him. He just holds Taka closer, imagining the life that they created together, a life that could have been theirs— would have been theirs— if only... if only.

At some point they start kissing again, Mondo not knowing who starts it but not really caring. The kiss starts lazy and slow, but is soon getting heated again, Taka’s hands wandering all over his chest, driving Mondo crazy. Eventually Mondo has to grab Taka’s hands desperately in his own when they travel too far south, Mondo letting out a desperate noise as he whispers hoarsely that if Taka doesn’t wanna go farther than this tonight, then they should prolly stop.

To his absolute shock, Taka gets a concentrated look on his face, like he’s thinking deeply about something, and then... then...

Taka takes his hands back from Mondo, and then...

Mondo lets out a strangled curse when he feels Taka’s hand brush against him down there, Taka blushing bright red but looking as determined as ever. Mondo asks him softly what he’s doing, heart racing, and Taka grows even brighter red, but he doesn’t back down. He just hums, softly, and looks Mondo in the eye.

“I... I do not know, kyoudai. I just... I want... hm. I’ve never. Um. Wanted. Not before. But I... with you... hm. I-it is improper, I know, a-and we don’t have to- we... we have time, I know, but... but I...”

Mondo stares at Taka with wide, wonder filled eyes as Taka trembles, his hardness pressing against Mondo’s as they mold themselves to the other’s body. Part of Mondo feels nervous about what Taka is saying. Thinks that he should deny him, should say that Taka should wait, if he wants. But the bigger part of him... the part that knows the future they made up is just that, made up... the part that knows that they both will not make it out of this alive, since Mondo fucked that up already...

It can’t quite find it in him to deny it. Not when he knows this is the only chance he will ever get. Ever.

And so... he kisses Taka again. Deep, meaningful. And he lets his hands wander. Taka lets out noises, enthusiastic and happy, but desperate, too. Needy. And Mondo thinks he knows why. Knows that Taka knows. That this isn’t okay. That neither of them is okay, but fuck, will they pretend they are.

As he slowly pulls down Taka’s briefs, doing his best to not psych himself out, he has a moment to think about how familiar this all feels to him. He’s never done anything like this with anyone, certainly not Taka, but as he grabs Taka in hand, listening as Taka lets out a loud shout, desperate and needy and fuck, he... he knows this is not the first time this has happened. He doesn’t know how he knows, but... but he does. Somehow, that thought comforts him. Greatly.

And when he feels Taka’s hands hesitantly touch him, trail over his body, and hesitantly remove his pants and his boxers, Taka trembling but oh so passionate and determined still... he wishes— not for the first time— that none of this had ever happened. That he’d never come to Hope’s Peak, that Taka had never come to Hope’s Peak. And he doesn’t wish that they’d never met, fuck he doesn’t wish that, but... but maybe they could have met somewhere else. Taka had mentioned once that his father is a police officer. Maybe... maybe they could have met during one of the times when Mondo was inevitably arrested, Taka visiting his father and seeing Mondo, but not feeling afraid, not at all. Maybe Taka would have spoken to Mondo, then, earnest as ever. Maybe he would have offered to help Mondo out, to help him leave his life of crime and settle into a good, meaningful life. And Mondo knows that if that had actually happened in real life, he’d have punched the kid’s lights out, but in this fantasy... in this fantasy, he accepts, and Taka smiles so beautifully at him, and they find a way to have their happy ending. Without this nightmare, without the threat of death looming over them even as they touch one another so softly, so gently, the first time they’ve ever done this but also not.

He pushes the thoughts aside as he gears up the courage to grab himself and Taka in hand together, Taka moaning loudly, Mondo moaning as well. Part of Mondo wants to go further, wants to take all of Taka, but he finds he can’t. Not when he knows what is going to happen in a few short hours. Not when... well. Not when.

But he allows himself this. Allows himself and Taka to build up a steady rhythm together, Taka practically sobbing as Mondo holds him close, shushing him even as he feels like he’s about to fall apart himself. He doesn’t know why Taka is crying, if he’s just overwhelmed or if he, too, realizes what this is. That this isn’t the first in a long line of times they will do things like this, but that it... it’s a goodbye, Mondo’s way of holding a part of Taka, even as he lets him go.

Mondo doesn’t know what will happen in the trial, but as he holds onto Taka so desperately, he knows he will not be winning. He still is so afraid, doesn’t know if he will be brave enough to do what he knows he must, but... but he also knows he can’t be the reason Taka dies. He honestly would rather die than do that. It’s comforting to realize, in the oddest, strangest of ways. Death is so much easier to digest when he places it in the context of saving the man that he loves. And he does. Love him. So, so much...

Eventually Mondo feels himself getting close, and feels that Taka is getting close too, so he allows himself to whisper into Taka’s ear. Whisper all the soft and gentle words he has kept hidden inside his heart his entire life, the words he’s always had to hide in order to survive the rough and dangerous lifestyle he was always forced to lead. He whispers how amazing Taka is, how Mondo is constantly astonished by how good and kind Taka is, how Taka is prolly the best person he has ever met. He whispers that he knows Taka will change the world, that he will be the best of all of them. That he already is.

And he... he whispers how much he loves him. How he knows it’s too soon to say shit like that, but that he- he means it. He also whispers his sneaking suspicion that this was not the first time they met, that he’s loved Taka far longer than just a handful of stressful, terrifying weeks, that they... that they belong together in a way that is intrinsic inside them both.

And while part of him is embarrassed by the words, thinking himself a weak and pathetic sap, the majority of him can’t find it in him to care. Not when Taka is letting out a shout, cumming against him while a few tears leak out of the corner of his eyes. And Mondo... Mondo is cumming not long after, collapsing on top of Taka, breath heaving as he rests, doing his best to not crush the love of his fucking life.

But Taka doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t seem to care at all, not when he leans up and whispers in Mondo’s ear. Voice shaking and trembling but still, always, endlessly determined. He whispers how he feels the same, that Mondo is the best person he has ever met. How, despite his gruff and harsh exterior, Taka has never met someone so kind and caring before. How he loves Mondo, too, more than he would ever think possible, certainly not after such a short amount of time. And how he, too, has the weird feeling that this was not the first time they’ve met, the first time they’ve fallen in love.

Taka asks him, then— voice small and trembling— if Mondo believes in reincarnation. If he thinks that... that they’ve lived a life together before, and that this is just them meeting up again. And that... that they will meet up again one day, in another life, far from Hope’s Peak and killing games and death that is both senseless and cruel. And Mondo doesn’t know, has never believed in an afterlife at all, but as he pulls back and looks down at Taka’s face, the boy looking so desperate and terrified, he... he can’t help how he smiles. And laughs. And leans down, kissing Taka again, the millionth time even if it really shouldn’t be. And he...

He nods. He agrees. He says that yes, he does. He does believe in reincarnation and that they- they will find each other one day. Should they... well. Well. That one way or another, they will have their happy ending. He promises. He... he promises...

He can’t even find it in him to be embarrassed by the sappy words, the desperation he knows is plain in his words and eyes. He knows it’s getting so fucking late, knows that the fucking announcement will come soon and that the body will be discovered soon after, but... but he doesn’t want to leave. Never. Never. Never. He doesn’t want to think too much, doesn’t want to think about what will happen in a few short hours. Doesn’t want to let this one small piece of happiness he’s found get ruined because he couldn’t handle being fucking soft.

And so, he doesn’t. Doesn’t ruin it. He just lays down on his side, next to Taka, and pulls him close. They are naked, bodily fluids drying unpleasantly on their skin, but Mondo doesn’t care. He just pulls Taka close and holds him, Taka resting his head against Mondo’s chest again, like earlier, fingers tracing patterns on Mondo’s skin again and again and again. Mondo is exhausted, so tired, but he doesn’t close his eyes. Doesn’t let himself sleep, knowing that this is the first and last time he will ever get to hold Taka like this and wanting so badly to savor it. And- and he knows Taka feels the same. Knows that Taka doesn’t sleep either. And Mondo... Mondo wonders if he suspects. What Mondo did. The reason why Mondo is so scared. He thinks the Ultimate Moral Compass can’t possibly suspect, thinks that Taka would never be willing to be so close to him if he- if he knew— but. But...

But... when the fucking announcement comes, seven coming way too fast for his own good... when he feels Taka stir sluggishly, the boy clearly not wanting to get up but his sense of duty likely making him...

Taka whispers to him. Soft. Gentle. As Mondo takes a washcloth and cleans them up, he hears Taka’s whispered words. And he... he...

“Please know, kyoudai, that I... I will always love you. No matter what happens. No matter... n-no matter what happens. Nothing will ever make me love you less. I swear, m-my... my love. I... I promise.”

Mondo stares at his kyoudai, heart beating both fast and slow, a contradiction that somehow makes perfect sense to him. He’s exhausted, hasn’t slept a wink all night, but for some reason, he’s not afraid. Oh, he knows he will be. Once the announcement is made that a body has been found. Once everyone is called to the girl’s locker room, once they see the dead body he left lying on the ground beside a splotch of bright pink blood. Then the fear will return. Bright and fierce and terrifying. He will mourn himself, mourn Chihiro, mourn everyone who is trapped in this sick and twisted death game.

(But not Taka. He- he can’t mourn Taka, can’t let himself believe that this beautiful and wondrous boy will ever, ever die. Even if it’s so fucking likely, since like hell would Taka ever kill anyone. Maybe- maybe he’ll find a way out. Or whoever is keeping them here will realize how twisted they are and let him out. Or- something. Something. Even if it’s too late for Mondo, it won’t be for Taka. He- he knows this. Has to know this.)

But for now... for now, he doesn’t worry about it. He just... lets himself exist, his heart beating for Taka and Taka alone. He doesn’t let himself think about what will come or what will happen. He just... loves Taka. Plain and simple.

So, he smiles. And he nods. And he whispers the same words back, even though it’s not the same, not the same at all.

He watches with all the fondness and love in his heart as Taka gets dressed in his ridiculously complicated uniform, aching for what he will never have, and yet yearns for dearly. He’s fighting the fear inside him as hard as he can, but once he is dressed in his clothes from the day before (he doesn’t care, fuck he doesn’t care) and Taka is in his uniform, it’s not like he can help it. The fear. The dread.

It only gets worse when, right before they are able to leave the room together, they get accosted by Monokuma, who is being all vague and unhelpful, even going so far as to make insinuations about them, but one thing is clear. Something happened. Not that it’s a surprise to Mondo. He... he already knew that.

And... it seems Taka did, too. Mondo looks at him, the fear kicked up a hundred-fold, and sees that the kid’s face is a blank mask. Mondo has never seen Taka look so... emotionless before. It makes him nervous, but before he can ask if he’s alright, or maybe try and beg for the forgiveness that he knows he doesn’t deserve, Taka smiles at him. Bright and guileless, with no hint of strain.

(Mondo wouldn’t have suspected that Taka could be such a good liar. Perhaps, when it’s important. When it matters. When... when.)

“I think we should head to the bath, kyoudai. Before breakfast. I remember you mentioning how much you like morning baths!”

Mondo stares at Taka for a full minute, heart aching, but Taka doesn’t seem to show he knows anything at all. And yet... Mondo knows he must know something. Taka is so big on rules and order. He is the one who insisted they all meet for breakfast every day. He wouldn’t miss that. Especially not when something clearly has happened. Not when... shit.

But Mondo doesn’t deny it. He just nods stiffly, his smile shaky on his lips. Taka smiles brightly back, before marching over to the door, opening it, and exiting quickly. Mondo stares after him for a moment before following, not wanting to waste a single second more.

The walk to the bath doesn’t take long and, thankfully, they don’t run into anyone as they make their way over. Once inside, Taka immediately goes to the men’s section of the bathhouse, not saying a word, but his back is loose, not tense. Not like Mondo’s is.

Mondo watches as Taka strips, his breath getting taken away as he sees the beautiful boy before him. He only is spurned into motion when Taka looks at him over his shoulder, head tilted curiously. Mondo strips quickly after that, very relieved that there are no security cameras around. He can feel Taka’s bright red eyes watching him as he removes his clothes, heart racing, doing all he can to pretend that this is okay. That this is normal.

It isn’t. It can’t be, he knows it can’t, but if Taka is doing all he can to pretend, then... then so will he.

Taka insists that they quickly rinse off before entering the bath itself, as is polite, and once that is done, they enter the bath together, talking softly about random bullshit, light and easy. They don’t mention what Monokuma insinuated. They don’t mention anything like that at all. They stay close, practically touching, but they don’t do much more than that. Mondo knows that Taka wouldn’t approve, and he doesn’t want to pressure Taka into anything. Not ever. Especially not now.

After a little while, they exit the bath, dressing in their uniforms again as soon as they are able. They then leave the bathhouse and head to Mondo’s room, since Mondo still has to make himself up. Part of him doesn’t really want to, as tired as he is, but he knows it would be suspicious if he didn’t. Plus... if this is going to be his last day alive (and it will, oh god, it will), then he might as well look presentable. Right?

It takes him the usual twenty minutes, during which Taka watches him, his body loose and his eyes soft. They talk again about everything and nothing, and for a moment, Mondo can pretend. Pretend that this is fine. Pretend that he’s okay. Pretend that he hadn’t... h-hadn’t...

But then the announcement comes. And his heart sinks.

They found the body. God fucking dammit, they found the body.

The next hour is a blur to him, Mondo following after an unusually quiet Taka in a daze. Mondo does his best to not show how terrified he is, but he thinks he fails. With Taka, at least. And Taka... Taka doesn’t do anything to show that he’s suspicious. He doesn’t give Mondo any looks, doesn’t frown... doesn’t really do much of anything, really. It makes Mondo feel disgusting inside, but... but he doesn’t know what to do. Goddammit, but he’s only sixteen! He... he didn’t fucking ask for this! Any of this! G-god... f-fuck...

When he and Taka enter the girl’s locker room, Mondo wonders how he will be able to fake his shock when he feels so dead inside, but the minute he enters... he realizes he won’t have to fake shock. He won’t have to fake anything, really.

Because that... that is not how he left Chihiro’s body, holy fucking shit.

W-what... who... who the fuck did that, he wonders, trying to mask the shock a little, hoping it looks like someone who is appalled at the disgusting way Chihiro is being suspended and not... not. Mondo... Mondo may have killed the dude (oh god), but he sure as shit hadn’t done this disrespectful bullshit. But who... who did...?

For one split, heart stopping second, he wonders madly if Taka did it. If he... if he did it because he knew, he knew, he... he somehow knew and wanted to try and cover it up, or throw people off Mondo’s scent, or- or... something. Anything.

But he quickly dismisses that thought because a) it’s absurd, Taka is too fucking good and moral to do shit like that, b) Taka looks as shocked as all of them, and no matter how good he may be at acting, Mondo knows he’d fucking suck at covering up his own crime, and c) Mondo spent pretty much the entire night with Taka, going straight to his room after- fuck. After. So... definitely not Taka. But then... who...? He doesn’t know, fuck he doesn’t know. He can barely think, feeling so tired and scared and afraid.

(He had noticed Taka’s momentary look of relief, though. As soon as they entered. As soon as he saw the body. It had quickly morphed to sorrow and pain, but Mondo had seen the relief when Taka had glanced at him, and Mondo... Mondo thinks he knows why.)

(After all.)

(He sure as shit wouldn’t have done that monstrous bullshit to anyone. Least of all Chihiro. Anyone who knows him would know that. He may be a biker [and now a murderer], but he has more honor than that.)

(And maybe... maybe, with that in mind... he could actually get away with this shit. F-fuck...)

(Yeah, Taka would die, they’d all die, but... b-but...)

Mondo is volunteered to stand guard again with Ogami, the class assuming he’ll do it like he’d done last time, even though he really wants to be anywhere but here. Especially when Taka goes off, eyes determined, saying he’s going to find out who did this and see that they are brought to justice. Seems Taka has stopped suspecting him entirely, then. F-fuck... he can’t leave, though. It would be suspicious, especially since he was the one who volunteered last time. So, he... he doesn’t leave. He just... stays. Stomach sick, hating himself as much as ever, he… he stays.

The hour of the investigation is simultaneously the longest and shortest hour of his life. Shortest because he knows this will be the last hour of his life, his fear making time seem like it moves faster than it should. Longest since he’s trapped in the room with his fucking murder victim, forced to see the horrifying way some sick bastard had mangled the poor dude’s body, the worst disgrace in death. He wants to rip the poor dude off the bar, wants to show him the respect he fucking deserves, but he can’t. That detective chick is still observing the body, and if he does that, he will instantly be indicating himself. And- and while... while he knows he will be caught, should be caught, he...

He can’t help the goddamn fucking hope that is blooming inside him. The hope that he’ll be free. The hope that he might actually be able to escape this living nightmare. The hope that he... he could...

Eventually the hour ends, and the class is forced into the goddamn fucking courtroom, and Mondo is forced to listen to the farce of a trial. It gets discovered relatively early who disrespected Chihiro’s body (revealing that fucking Fukawa is Genocide Jack. Or Jill. Or... whatever), but then... then it turns out it was Togami who mangled the dude’s body, for... whatever fucking reason that sick fucker had. Which infuriates the shit out of him, hating Togami almost as much as he hates Monokuma and himself, hating him for being so uncaring about someone being fucking dead.

Everyone latches onto the idea that it was Togami, though, even Taka, which shouldn’t relieve Mondo as much as it does, goddamn him, but... but...

But of course. Fucking Naegi, that goddamn bastard... he has to be suspicious. And Mondo gets it, okay, he does. No one here actually wants to die. But... but he...

In the end, it was a slip of the tongue. One mistake that will end up costing him his fucking life. He’s never put much thought into the words he says, the strain too frustrating for him to bother with, and it’s fucking fitting that that specific personality flaw is what kills him, in the end.

Blue. Fucking... blue. Blue was once a favorite color of his, though red has quickly been replacing it lately. But just... fucking blue.

Taka tries to deny it. Mondo thinks that’s what kills him the most. How desperately Taka tries to defend him. Refuting everything Naegi says. Denying it all. But Mondo had seen it, too. The doubt. The way the kid’s eyes had widened when the class caught onto his trail, darting over to Mondo quickly once, then away. The... the fear. The... all of it. Just... all of it.

But... but Mondo is tired of lying. He honestly hates lying, it makes his head hurt trying to hold onto so many tangled webs. And he didn’t get any sleep the previous night, anyway, and hasn’t eaten at all. And he’s just... tired. So very, goddamn tired...

So... he gives up. He gives in. He confesses his truth, the deadly secret that he can’t ever undo, and it... it’s hard. Not even because he knows he’s signing his own death sentence, but because of Taka. Because of the anguish he sees on the kid’s face, tears and snot flowing freely down his beautiful face, not that Taka seems to care. The kid asks him why, and he... it’s the least he can do. To confess. To just... explain.

And that hurts, too. All of this just... it hurts. But it’s not a sharp and angry pain. It’s like... pressure. Inside him. He... he killed someone. Someone who had trusted him. Someone who had admired him. He... even if he had survived, he’d never have been able to live with himself. Not in the long run. Especially not if his cowardice led to the death of so many others. Of Taka. He may be a monster, but he... he’s not that much of a monster.

So... this was for the better, he thinks, heart aching as that fucking bear reveals his secret anyway, the one he’d been willing to murder to keep safe. He finishes his confession, tells everyone what he did and why, and it… fuck, it’s hard, but it’s the absolute least he can do. He keeps looking at Taka even through the pain, through his final confession, even though Taka cannot look at him. Taka hadn’t voted for Mondo, hadn’t been able to do it, the bear had said. That breaks him even more, honestly. F-fuck...

And then... before he knows it, it... it’s time. Punishment time. And Mondo... Mondo finds that he’s not as scared as he thought he would be. He apologizes to Taka, the kid looking absolutely destroyed, and it’s not enough. It’s never enough; can’t ever be enough. He has so many words to say, declarations and apologies and promises. In the end, he has time for none of it. But he... he does get one thing in. Other than his apology. Other than... than...

“See you in the next life, Taka. Hope it ain’t anytime soon.”

Mondo isn’t able to hear Taka’s response to that, as he’s too busy getting dragged off by that goddamn fucking bear. He does his best to appear calm as he is chained to the back of a motorcycle, as that goddamn bear sits in the driver’s seat, wearing a mockery of his uniform. His heart is pounding, and he knows this is it. It’s like the moment before his brother pushed him out of the way all over again, but this time... this time there is no last-minute rescue. This time there is no freedom, no release. This time...

This time he... he dies.

But... well.

At least he dies on a fucking hog, like he always imagined he would.

There’s some measure of comfort in that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: So, that’s the story! I think y’all can kind of see why I didn’t want to write this how I normally write. And I’m sure y’all picked up on this, but yes, them feeling like they knew each other was definitely because of the memory loss. I have a degree in psychology. I learned a ton about memory during school, and one thing is that memory is located in so many places it’s almost impossible to completely lose all of your memory. Even if you lose your episodic memory (your memory of personal events, like birthday parties or what you did last month), you tend to keep your semantic memory (your memory of facts and things, like what the Pythagorean theorem is, or who Napoleon is) as well as some sense memory. Mondo and Taka were totally a Thing before the killing game. I honestly don’t believe in reincarnation, but I think it was comforting to Taka and Mondo to think about.

(It also would make seeing Alter Ego Mondo so much worse, oof.)

This story, technically, could fit into canon, I think. I even rewatched Mondo’s death to make sure, and while some things were a bit off, I tried to keep things mostly like in canon. The only real difference was Mondo’s last words to Taka, I think.

Anyway, I hope y’all liked it! Let me know if you liked the format and maybe I’ll do more things like this to get more ideas out. I have one in the works, tentatively, so we’ll see. Bye! :-D

#Danganronpa #Kiyotaka Ishimaru #Mondo Owada #Mondo Owada POV #Danganronpa fanfiction #Character death #Another Life #One Shot #My fanfic

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magioftheseas · 3 years

Text

Gundham & Yasuke

Summary: The Forbidden Tanaka’s FTEs in the SDR2 Protagonist Matsuda Yasuke AU. YES.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Language and blood/injuries.

Notes: Unsurprisingly, Tanaka was the winner of the poll for which FTEs were to be done next. So his FTEs, quite hilariously, are getting posted on the anniverary date for sdr2′s initial release. That feels pretty...fitting. Writing Tanaka’s dialogue was really hard but I did my best. Despite my best efforts, these two don’t get along the best that they could. Cursed.

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

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It went without saying that he didn’t have a normal middle school experience so he didn’t interact with a lot of people who exhibited the so-called eighth-grader syndrome. But he knew that once kids had the cognitive ability to identify their lot in life and long for more, such desires could get...twisted, to say the least.

Just about everyone wants to be fucking special if they’re not too focused on surviving. And most people grew ashamed of the lofty aspirations and special interests they developed in that delicate era. Matsuda understood that much, even if he was considerably detached from it. In some ways, those people were like animals. Strange beasts that acted on impulses and instincts. That still had intelligence but not, like, awareness. When it came to engaging with these types, Matsuda had no choice but to accept them even as he shook his head at their delusions of grandeur.

He understands he’s supposed to do that in theory.

In practice, however...

“Sharp-tongued fool!” Tanaka bellowed. “You draw too near to the barrier of the Ice Kingdom!”

It’s a beautiful day outside. It’s always a beautiful fucking day. Clear, sunny sky. Warm but with a pleasant breeze to keep it from being too sweltering. It’s such a nice day—and Matsuda Yasuke does not want to be here.

Without another word, he turns on his heel.

“Aha!” Tanaka sneered. “To think just the warning prose would be enough to make you turn tail and run. A cowardice I did not expect, but perhaps... I should have.”

While walking away and listening to that guy cackle to himself, all Matsuda had in response was to flip him off.

He proceeded to avoid Tanaka for the rest of the day—and would’ve avoided him for the rest of his life had fate not had something else in store.

It was another beautiful day. The perfect day for a walk. He was thinking by the ranch so that he could admire the chickens as he passed. Unfortunately, he not only came across chickens but also the cow that used to be a chicken he quite liked.

Also Tanaka Gundam.

And their eyes ended up meeting.

There’s no real point in reasoning with someone who exhibits grandiose delusions, he reminded himself. It’s no good to denounce them, but it’s also no good to enable them. It’s a delicate line that I do not want to fucking bother with.

Matsuda does look away, intent on ignoring the other. Despite that resolve, his thoughts don’t shut up.

I didn’t have any peers in middle school for obvious reasons. I never actually spoke to someone my own age who felt this way. I was too busy being fixated on my own goals and lofty aspirations.

A couple of steps forward. It’s fine. If he continued the way he was already going, he can just pass Tanaka. It’d be easy. Simple.

...

Fuck.

He pauses. He turns. Tanaka has already turned away, but as if guided by the third sense of a fucking Evil All-Seeing Eye, he turns back to Matsuda. His brow quirks.

“Has the barrier truly weakened so?”

“I don’t know,” Matsuda replied intelligently. “For some reason, I feel too worn down to go through the effort of pretending you don’t exist.”

Tanaka cackled lowly.

“Such an insolent remark. It seems you do not truly know your place. But that is just as well. Even now, your true name is one that seems out of my grasp.”

“I’m Matsuda Yasuke. Nice to meet you.”

Tanaka clicked his tongue, scowling at Matsuda’s blank expression and his deadpan tone.

“That,” he snarled. “Is merely a brush against the surface. It does not encompass the deepest depths of your rogue soul.”

Alright. So he wants to know what makes me tick. If I had to guess.

“Your true name,” Tanaka requested impatiently. “I have no need for superficial titles.”

“That’s cold,” Matsuda huffed. “The name my mom gave me isn’t superficial.”

...even if it is ironic.

For some reason, Tanaka does perk up. He gives a nod of approval.

“A fair retort,” he concedes. “That maternal bond is its own scarring shackle.”

That admission was the first true crack in the wall between them. Or so Matsuda supposed, and he felt himself slip just a little bit further.

What a headache...

“Anyway,” he went on with a wave of his hand. “It’d be incredibly foolish to give you my true name, right? If telling a demon my name gives them possession of my soul and telling them my birthday gives them control of my life... Then telling someone like you...”

Tanaka nodded again, grinning so widely it was damn near grotesque.

“I see...the sharp-tongued fool is still retaining a sharp mind...”

I shouldn’t have played along even in jest. Fuck.

“What special abilities do you possess?” Tanaka purrs, drawing closer now. “What hidden capabilities have you acquired?”

Tanaka stalks even closer, his eyes are flashing with curiosity and hunger. Probably because this fucking weirdo wouldn’t understand a normal interaction if it bit him in the face.

I still hate that stare. I fucking hate that stare.

“You already know that,” Matsuda snapped, forcing himself to stay relaxed. “Neurology is my talent. You even know my name and birthday because of those damn student files...”

Calm down, calm down. It’s just fucking Tanaka—

Tanaka does halt. His head tilts quizzically.

“Hmph.” With nostrils flaring, Tanaka seemed to duck into his own scarf. “I suppose you are human after all.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Simple.” Tanaka chuckled. “I sensed your apprehension, Matsuda Yasuke. I sensed—and yet, I could tell it was not a chill brought about by the Ice Kingdom.”

Matsuda does flinch at that.

“I shall take my leave for now so that you may re-gather your peace,” Tanaka declared. “Till next time, sharp-tongued fool.”

Tanaka gave him a salute. Matsuda barely had a chance to wave back before Tanaka flipped his scarf and coat so that it would dramatically billow behind him as he made his overly dramatic exit. So fucking extra, and yet—

He left so that I could take the time to calm down.

And how the hell was he supposed to feel about that?

“Even now, I can hear the crackling of the Ice Kingdom’s barrier.” Tanaka was cackling. Another beautiful day. Yet somehow this weirdo was set on shrouding himself in asinine mystery as well as his own dark layers. How the hell was he not burning up?

Tanaka noticed his staring and merely smirked. “What brings you today, Matsuda Yasuke?”

Aah. Even with that pompous fucking tone, it’s an understandable question.

“I don’t like things to be unbalanced,” he said which was a bald-faced lie but sounded persuasive enough. “Since you interrogated me last time, I thought I’d ask you a few questions of my own.”

“Hmph!” Tanaka snorted. “You seek a comprehension that may underlie a deep terror that cannot be contained! Do you not fear for your sanity?”

“No, I’m insane already,” Matsuda said flatly. “I drove myself insane years ago.”

“Is that SO?!” Tanaka boomed, incredulous or admiring, Matsuda wasn’t sure. “Your humanity is one that only hangs by a thread, then?!”

I...can’t disagree with that, huh.

Matsuda shrugged.

“We’re not supposed to be talking about me. Let’s talk about you.”

Tanaka remained guarded but gave a nod.

“Very well. Demi-human or no, I shall not lose to you.”

That’s more like it. You’re much less annoying this way.

“What talents do you have?” he settles on since it’s only fair. “Even if it’s not the full roster, I’d like to know some...special abilities.”

“You shall only get a portion,” Tanaka said, sniffing. “Despite my appearance, I’m an active fiend. Between sorcery and human hunting, I manage my website.”

Matsuda blinked, trying to imagine this guy at a computer. Actually, it was really easy to imagine. There’s no way Tanaka learned to talk like an edgelord on his own.

I bet he spends a lot of time looking up stupid shit like Norse mythology. But, if he has a website, then...

“I have encrypted my research with magic,” Tanaka informed him. “Thus, only those worthy can gain access.”

...if he means through password then I could probably hack in with ease.

“If I had to guess what kind of research it was,” Matsuda mused. “Then—probably something like a pet diary, right?”

There were a series of muffled squeaks from Tanaka’s scarf. Tanaka burst into a boisterous boom of laughter.

“Even with your wits, you would only be able to access the dummy site!” Tanaka grinned victoriously, even though no conflict had taken place. “Your skill level would only open the gates of the Exciting Breeding Journal.”

“...Alright. That’s fine by me.”

You’re literally here because of your talent in animal husbandry.

“Favorite food?” Matsuda asked next. Tanaka stiffened. Growled, even. Because he was pissed off about getting such a lukewarm response? Matsuda didn’t bother inquiring, instead pressing, “Do you have one?”

“The orange melon that bears the face of the devil,” Tanaka huffed, put out. “No other food compares in terms of high nutrients or versatility in cooking methods. More importantly, its seeds are the most effective food source for my Four Dark Devas of Destruction.”

...a pumpkin. He’s talking about a pumpkin, right?

“However! Those seeds must be carefully washed, carefully dried, carefully peeled,” Tanaka rambled on. “And lightly fried.”

“How meticulous,” Matsuda muttered. “But nothing less for...them.”

“Indeed. A difficulty that beguiles pain and pleasure alike matters not in the face of a grand purpose.”

I can agree with that even if I hate how it’s worded.

“There is more when it comes to the caring of beasts,” Tanaka rumbled. “Shall I lead you deeper?”

“Uh.” Matsuda waved his hand. “Next time. Let’s talk more next time.”

Tanaka gave him a truly wicked grin. For once, it actually felt malicious.

“Take as much time you need to prepare yourself, sharp-tongued fool.”

Matsuda made a face but bit his tongue.

Piece of shit.

Tanaka wasn’t out and about today at the ranch. He wasn’t in the diner, either. It went to reason that he was likely in his cottage.

It’s only because I found some pumpkin seeds that I’m even going...

When he knocked on the door, he found it unlocked. Since he wasn’t an animal, he was going to wait for Tanaka to answer the door rather than barge in but...

“Ku—!”

He heard a noise. A sharp, strangled sound that was undeniably made through gritted teeth. Matsuda opened the door immediately.

“Is everything alright?”

And indeed—Tanaka was holding his bloodied hand in a death grip. The hamsters were chirping and chittering, but unaffected. What happened was clear, especially in how Tanaka’s shoulders were hunched.

Thankfully, Matsuda carried around packets of wet wipes. He rummaged through his pocket for one, stepping forward and reaching out.

“Let me...”

“NO!” Tanaka shrieked, and like a startled beast he scrambled away from his hand. He was panting, still gripping his injury with a wide and wild-eyed stare. Seeing Matsuda there did little to calm him down, as he growled, “The blood that flows through my veins bears a fearsome curse. You must step away now to spare yourself their potency.”

Thankfully, Matsuda carried around disposable gloves. He slipped them on, tearing the wet wipe packet open, and made his way closer.

“Come on. We really don’t want that bite to get infected.”

“This is not my first blood sacrifice,” Tanaka snarled, even showing his teeth. Gross. “I have no need for your medical sorcery. And furthermore, that meager covering...!”

“Oh my fucking god, shut the hell up.” Matsuda snatched up his hand, prying the other off as Tanaka shrieked some more. Thankfully, Matsuda was able to pull it away and got to work dabbing and cleaning the wound. Tanaka had completely frozen now, but Matsuda was still fuming.

“Don’t ever fucking call me meager,” he snapped, and thankfully Tanaka had spare clean bandages for him to re-wrap his hand with. “Crude and foolish I’ll take. Meager I won’t.”

Tanaka finally scoffed as Matsuda made sure the bandaging was secure.

“A demi-human like you has such pride.”

Look who’s fucking talking.

“You should not have endangered yourself, however,” Tanaka went on. “I was not telling falsehoods about my poisonous blood. It is only by a thread that you have not already deteriorated. As crude and foolish as you are, I do not desire your demise.”

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of poison, so you’re worrying too much,” Matsuda replied but winced from a sudden headache. As he rubbed removed his gloves to rub his temples, Tanaka stood up.

“You once again face the ramifications for your hubris!” he exclaimed and rushed back to deal with his hamsters. “I grant you relief, and I advise you to take your leave immediately.”

“I’m fucking fine, it’s just a migraine,” Matsuda griped and disposed of the gloves and wipes. “Should you really be handling those hamsters again so soon?”

“They are not mere hamsters!” Tanaka bellowed. “The fangs I have taken are that of the Crimson Steel Elephant, Maga-Z!”

Maga-Z blinked its bright beady eyes at Matsuda.

“For the sake of the Invading Black Dragon, Cham-P,” Tanaka went to coo over the largest hamster which was orange, not black. “A golden demon, one who understands fear all too well... Much attention should be heeded to make sure they do not get overly stressed out... While many devil beasts of this ilk are aggressive and fearfully territorial, the golden variant is the most docile and intelligent. They recognize me as...”

He trails off. It’s as if he’s too moved to speak.

I have heard hamsters had an unnaturally high rate of cannibalism, Matsuda thought. But I suppose like with dog breeds, they come in all sizes...and temperaments...

It was obvious Tanaka knew his shit, being an Ultimate at all. But seeing it firsthand, watching him dote on the beasts with a cottage interior largely dedicated to their cage and tube, the guy definitely loved animals. Like, a lot. Despite his delusions of grandeur, he at least seemed to love animals a healthy, non-obsessive amount.

“They’re living well,” Matsuda commented blandly.

Tanaka scoffed at him.

“For demons that live a mere 1095 days, the luxuries in life mean everything. I would never settle for less.”

“I see...” He scuffed the end of his shoe against the wooden floor. “That’s good.”

Shouldn’t have worn open-toed shoes, but I don’t have any alternatives. Oh, right.

“I got pumpkin seeds.” He tossed the bag and it landed on Tanaka’s lap. The hamsters jumped, and even Tanaka flinched. Matsuda, however, turned on his heel. “Sorry. Bye.”

With that insincere apology, he headed out. He could feel a disproving stare on his back but that didn’t lessen his steps in the slightest.

His favorite chicken-turned-cow was in a good mood today. She was accepting pets and even nipping at his fingers. All he had on him was candy. Not any fruit much less hay although...

“If you plan to feed that creature, you should be wary of apples,” Tanaka rumbled from behind. Where the fuck he came from, Matsuda wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t surprised to be hearing from him. “You can risk over-eating which will cause a bloated stomach for the animal.”

“Ah, thanks for the advice,” Matsuda said sincerely, turning back and frowning when he noticed the other’s own hanging head. “What’s with the long face?”

“I would hope that you do not consider that creature to be your familiar, Matsuda Yasuke,” Tanaka murmured sullenly and solemnly. Like he had come across something truly pitiful to the point of depressing.

Although he seems more focused on the cow itself...

“I don’t have a familiar,” Matsuda huffed.

Tanaka quirks an eyebrow at him. Furrows it, even, as if Matsuda is the one not making sense. How seriously annoying. But rather than inquire further, Tanaka just shakes his head.

“Creatures like that one are born to be slaughtered,” he said, turning on his heel. “What a wretched fate, one that cannot be escaped even with the use of the Evil All-Seeing Eye. If one is to form a bond with such an unfortunate beast, they will invite only calamity.”

“That’s...” Not necessarily true. There is livestock out there allowed to live full lives. But they’re exceptions that prove the rule, I suppose. And the fact that I even thought to use a word like allowed... “Woof.”

Tanaka barked back. “This sentimentality only arose because I have not encountered any new beasts. I shall go searching as to put my mind at ease.”

He walked on, and Matsuda found himself following. Tanaka didn’t seem to mind at all. The opposite, in fact.

“There are many creatures I’ve tamed, sharp-tongued one,” Tanaka went on to say. “The Cerberus. The Phoenix. Even then Midgardian Serpent.”

Looks like I was right on the money about him looking up Norse shit. That’s just another fucking word for Earth, asshole. I’ve read enough shitty fantasy manga to know.

“I saw a toucan one time,” he commented in lieu of verbalizing his thoughts. “And I guess there are the seagulls. Or those mascots.”

“Those uncute fiends cannot be trusted with their speech,” Tanaka hissed. “As for the others... Ah, the ravenous, feathered beasts.” Tanaka nodded sagely with approval at that one. “They are a perilous project as they are quite fearless and impulsive. Even when greater threats arise, they gather like a court waiting to hand down judgment.”

I think...that’s more something that crows do rather than seagulls.

He does think about it though, birds judging one another. If he looked up, he’d even see a seagull or two soar overhead. A phrase rose to his mind, unbidden.

When the seagulls cry...

“Hm?” Tanaka paused when he noticed that Matsuda had stopped dead in his tracks. He turned, and whatever expression was on Matsuda’s face—whatever that was had Tanaka clicking his tongue. “What is on your mind?”

“Something stupid,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Even in peaceful times, I can’t help but worry about how easily things fall apart. Sometimes for something as petty as a broken promise.”

Is it speech alone that gives us the means of betraying one another?

Tanaka did stiffen.

“It sure is fortunate for us that we’ve yet to deal with any storms,” Matsuda went on to say. “In fact, it’s perfect weather every single day. Isn’t that strange? It almost doesn’t feel real, and if it’s not real... Does anything that happens here matter?” He paused again. “Like I said. It’s stupid.”

“Your inane ponderings still have an air of malice,” Tanaka muttered darkly.

Huh.

“Are you saying I’m someone to be on guard around?” He cracked a dry smile. “I’m not that fucking interested in messing with people. I just lack patience.”

Tanaka gave him a look. Wordlessly, he shook his head.

“I think... I will seek solace elsewhere. Do not follow me.”

Matsuda didn’t. Simply watched the other go. It might’ve been one of those annoying situations where the person was saying the exact opposite of what they wanted, but even if he could tell that was the case, he still wouldn’t have followed.

After all.

He lacked patience.

Tanaka seemed especially moody today. Although no matter how sullen his air was, the island sun wouldn’t let up in the slightest. In a way, that was pretty cruel, right? In that much light, it made it difficult to hide. Or something like that.

Wonder what he’s being so fucking temperamental about...

Matsuda makes his way over, waving as he does. He stops, however, when Tanaka regards him coldly.

“Matsuda Yasuke,” he rumbled in a gravelly tone of voice. “The sharp-tongued fool whose practices engage in the constitution of the mind... Would you like to duel?”

Huh?

Matsuda dropped his hand.

“...have you finally fucking gone actually insane?” He sighed. “Don’t answer that. No, I don’t want to duel. And if you push it, I’ll leave. I don’t have time for that bullshit.”

Tanaka’s cold stare became more of a glare.

“I’m afraid I do not have such luxury around you,” Tanaka said sharply. “You grind down my defenses with this continued, unsightly association. Despite wearing the face of a human, you, Matsuda Yasuke are...!”

“I’m just human,” Matsuda replied before he could finish. With an unimpressed shrug, he added. “And if you wanted me to stop bothering you, all you had to fucking do was say so.”

“I allowed these exchanges out of a sense of curiosity, arrogantly unheeding the danger,” Tanaka went on, muttering as he did. “Truly, I have been foolish.”

The sun shone down on him. On a day this bright, there wasn’t anyone to hide. Tanaka ‘Gundam’ looked a bit ill. When Matsuda took a step closer, however, he recoiled. With a sharp hiss, Tanaka held up his hand in warning.

Like an agitated cat.

Matsuda drew back with a sigh.

Someone like this—really is so needlessly fucking difficult. And for what? An inflated sense of importance? Wasn’t getting into Hope’s Peak enough?

...if he complained too much, he’d veer uncomfortably close to hypocrisy.

Hope’s Peak was just another step for me, but I wonder what it was for someone like this? Where the hell would he be if he didn’t get in? Honestly—I doubt it would’ve been all that significant.

“Alright,” he said. “Did you get anything out of our interactions at least?”

Tanaka stared at him, but being a normal fucking person without magical powers, Matsuda was more than capable of staring back, unaffected. For some reason, Tanaka did shy back a little.

“I have keenly observed you,” he said lowly. “Namely how your regard only shifts when directed towards creatures already marked for death. I suspect—you are a creature of calamity. The eye of the storm.”

“So, what,” Matsuda drawled. “Like a demon?”

Tanaka hummed, seemingly considering it. “No... That is not quite right.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, then,” Matsuda huffed, waving his hand dismissively. “But—I think I get what you’re saying. I just think it’s funny coming from you—and that you don’t understand.”

Tanaka’s stare blazed with an offense, and Matsuda paid no heed at all.

“How I regard creatures marked for death...” Matsuda snorted. “I’m a fucking doctor. Obviously, I treat them differently. It’s part of my fucking job.”

Although he’s referring to the cow, isn’t he? Seriously...

“I guess it’s weird,” he admitted. “With how shitty of an attitude I have. But I take my job seriously. If you can’t get something that simple, then your Evil All-Seeing Eye is pretty fucking lacking.”

“You...” Tanaka growled. “You’re truly impertinent. You wield your blade recklessly and foolishly. You and I both know—that it runs deeper than mere duty for you, Matsuda Yasuke.”

...so what if it does?

He supposes he should be impressed that Tanaka isn’t that fucking dense. That the animal freak is, in fact, a little perceptive.

Smiling mirthlessly, Matsuda reached out to pat the flinching other’s shoulder. He gripped him for just a moment.

“That’s all you need to know about me,” he murmured into Tanaka’s ear before pulling back. “I think we’re at enough of an understanding. Thanks for your time.” He gave a salute as he headed on his way. “We don’t need to talk again. We especially don’t need to duel. Have a wonderful fucking day.”

“One day,” Tanaka swore. “You will meet your cruel, disastrous end. That is the decree of the Tanaka Kingdom!” As Matsuda got further away, Tanaka boomed after him. “Mark my words, sharp-tongued FOOL! You are MARKED for des—!”

It was such a headache that Matsuda tuned him out. But as he found himself alone, he did wonder.

Marked for destruction? Or something else? Despite all that time, rather than growing close, that weirdo is now convinced that I’m hopeless. He might be right. Actually, I’d still consider us closer if he can recognize that. I still don’t really care. I don’t.

He walked on, moving forward because he had nowhere else to go.

Decree. What a fucking riot. If I do die, it won’t be because of an idiot like him. But whatever makes him feel better I suppose.

Matsuda shook his head, brushing the whole thing aside except...

If I die... It won’t be until I reach the very fucking pits. I won’t settle for anything less.

#sdr2 #yasuke matsuda #matsuda yasuke #gundham tanaka #gundam tanaka #Magi fics #Protag Matsun

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impishtubist · 3 years

Text

AO3 Stats

Thank you to @lunapwrites for the tag!

How many works do you have on AO3?

214

What's your total AO3 word count?

1.3 million (I know, I know...)

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

AO3 tells me 15, but I also have tons of fic that I’ve written for fandoms that I just never bothered posting, so it’s probably more on the order of 20 or so. Sherlock, Star Trek, Good Omens, and HP are my top ones.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

So I’ve never actually looked at this before and...........my little Data/Geordi fic has the most kudos of anything I’ve ever written???? Why???

Anyway:

1) the spaces between

2) All The Dreams We Had

3) From The Ashes

4) Nor the Years Condemn

5) Distraction

(I have precisely zero memory of writing #3 and #5 there, lmao)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Usually I do. There was a period of time there were I just could not respond to comments (or, like, function...yay, depression). I basically vanished from LJ and Tumblr and only popped up on AO3 to throw a fic up and then disappear again into the ether. I’m now back to responding to comments again, at least on stuff I’ve posted 2019-now. If you commented on something of mine and I never responded to it....I am very sorry. Your comments truly make my day!

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

I’m really bad at judging what sad actually is but from the comments I got on this fic, I’m going to assume it’s Fall of Gods.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Lmao writing rare pairs in Sherlock fandom around the time of the TJLC nonsense was....interesting. So yes, but it’s never once bothered me. I actually kind of enjoy it? Because then I get to roast the hate comments with my friends in our private group chat haha.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yeah, if the story or plot bunny calls for it. It’s not my favorite thing in the world to write, but sometimes needs must :) What kind? Uh, the sexy times kind? I dunno, it’s just smut.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t think so!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, a few times!

What's your all time favorite ship?

I’m a multishipper. I literally cannot choose a ship. So many are near and dear to my heart. I suppose the one thing that can be said for Aziraphale/Crowley is it’s the one ship I have where I don’t ship either of them with anyone else, which I can’t say for any of my other pairings. Wolfstar and Daforge are probably my oldest pairings, though.

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

I don’t have any WIPs on AO3 that I don’t think I’ll finish....the only WIP I have up there right now is one I intend to return to someday! But I have plenty of WIPs in my drafts folder that will never see the light of day. Let’s see....probably the Jegulus fic I have where Harry finds out in OOTP that Regulus was actually his other parent will never be finished. It interested me at the time, but I’ve quickly lost steam on it.

What are your writing strengths?

Making characters and readers feel things :)

What are your writing weaknesses?

Plot, dialogue, internal consistency, character arc - pretty much everything that’s not feelings.

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

I try to avoid it. I am not bilingual and I probably shouldn’t be writing characters who are because I’ll never get it right. If I do have dialogue in other languages, it’s used sparingly.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Star Trek: TNG

What is your favorite fic that you've written?

This will change by the day. I love all my fanfic children equally :)

Tagging anyone who sees this and wants to play!

#imp is writing #text post #long post #i don't actually love all my fanfic children equally #this is a lie #but i still cannot choose

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snickiebear · 3 years

Note

Hi bby! 1, 2, 3, 6, 16, 27, 29, 33, 35! 🖤

mittens!!! loml!!

1. From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

oh goodness... um, i’d say a 4?? yeah, that sounds about right, only because i often make so many tense mistakes and even when i edit there’s always something to fix. and just,,, im still learning a lot (aren’t we all). plus, sometimes the stuff i put out needs so much more work (see: my recent shisaku fic... i want to tear it up and put it back together.. ugh.. also wt&r, just everything)

2. Why do you write fanfiction?

OH GOODIE! i just... well, i wrote a lot when i was twelve-fourteenish, then kind of on and off through the years. never really had anything to ground me and get me to take writing seriously. and then i found naruto and sakura who has so much unused potential and it just made me so angry to see her treated that way.

point being, the naruto fandom (more specifically the sakura fandom) rooted me down and allowed me be able to grow as a writer even though i’ve only been posting since january my writing style has changed so much, and i can physically feel myself becoming a better writer.

plus, i just love it. the thrill of being able to use these characters and pairings and do what i want with them?? i drink it up, i love it!!! its so freeing and such a great way to really dig deep within writing itself.

3. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

i think its just the way i word things, you and a lot of others call it poetry but meh i just call it fancy words or word vomit from my brain AHAHHAHA

also, my thing is God Killers, God Eaters, and Angry Wrathful Women at this point, so maybe thats another thing?

but honestly,,, i have no clue... you’d have to ask my lovely readers, im so thankful for them 😭

6. What element of writing do you find comes easily?

plot probably. this changes often though. usually when i have an idea, the rest comes to mind and i jot it down and come back and change things and stuff, so thats usually pretty easy tbh... at least for now LMAO

and inner dialogue, inner struggles, showing the entire internal thing. its fun writing that angsty part of a story, the small insights into a character’s mind, how miserable and alone they feel. or, perhaps how happy they are, overjoyed and at peace.

OH AND WORLD BUILDING. i pride myself so much on my world building. i honestly think thats one of the better things im good at! just weaving small details into the text, and subtly building a world within your mind, oh i love it so much!!!!

16. Any guilty pleasure trope(s)?

mmmm nothing really comes to mind? men simping for women who could kick their ass? tho idk if thats really a guilty pleasure....am very fond of same age aus, sometimes mafia aus too... ummm,, yeah

(probably big dick tenzo tbh... and the fact that kakashi’s face is a legal weapon AHAHAHA,,, and broken, vunreble men. also, shattered, all consuming women.)

27. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

oh god... i cannot chose! you, ele, al, and hika leave the kindest comments, and literally any comment on the things i write just make me so so so so so HAPPY. i just them more than kudos tbh.

but! one comment on the intimacy of being understood i always come back to. it was left by GuardianMars and they wrote that the fic was like a “love letter to the pairing.” and that well. i think about that comment all the time.

there have been so many others comments that have utterly touched my heart and that i will go to read on terrible, horrible days and i value ALL comments. especially those who say “i’m rereading this again” or “i’ll read anything you put out” that just. there is something so intimate about that, that utter faith and loyalty that i do not know what to do with.

its so touching and makes me truly believe in the good of the world.

29. Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

yes! i am attempting to get better at writing smut because ol&w is going to have some fucking in it so i experimented in that shisaku fic and just..... yeah idk man. idk... its something i do want to get better at cause, meh why not? and i want to write some good porn for my readers damnit! HAHAHA

33. Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process?

hmmm,,, probably that i stress so much and yet so little at the same time? allow me to elaborate! i stress so much about whether my writing is actually good or if people are just being nice LMAO and also posting, i get cold sweats and a thumping heart and yiKES

but also, i enjoy writing so its like “fuck you (jk ily guys) imma write what i wanna!”...do you see my issue? HAHAHA

also, im a planner. most of the time, and a lot of the details in my more serious fics (ol&w) are blink and miss details but they’re important and i LOVE foreshadowing!!!! like yes, i will vaguely mention something and itll simply come back with a vengeance!

35. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

aaaaaa okokok thank you for this ask LMAO i just love talking about writing and rambling (as i often do,, im a long winded person, im very sorry)!

but anyways! my summer semester just started up and i’m taking three purely online classes and the college im attending (im a dual enrollment student; meaning a high school and college kid,, taking advantage of the system!) fucked up my schedule so! im taking two TWELVE WEEK CLASSES that will end in AUGUST???? and then my fall sem starts five days later so... no summer break for nadia! yay...

writing will be very slow and updates will be too, which i am so sad and frustrated about because i’ve finally hit a paved road and now we’re driving into the forest! all bumps and bruises damnit! BUT worry not! i (as i said above, am i severe planner. every day has a plan, i am also an avid lover of lists also. i have lists for EVERYTHING) am working out a schedule so that i can get all my school shit done as soon as i can (while not failing) and write while hopefully not burning myself out.

ol&w is such an intricate fic and im truly trying to give it the justice it deserves,,, im just hoping that my dear readers can bear with me HAHAHAHA there is honestly so much going on in that fic; shikamaru’s development, the underlying plot, the hate to love build up, the world building, and then laying down the foundations for the next fic (because yes, this is supposed to be a trilogy.. question is; will i be able to write it?) (answer: maybe. hopefully. i desperately want to but it might take some time.)

BUT ASLO i have so many oneshots i want to write! kisame week! kakashi week! kibasaku long fic! and not to mention my og work that i plan on rewriting and putting up on ao3 because a few people showed some interest. there is just so much to do and write and i am itching to do it all! but. well, but school, and the exhaustion of insomnia, and the weight of stress, sigh.

shit sucks, it is what it is. but writing is like my safe haven and i just love pouring all myself into my fics and then baring my soul to you all and you take a peek and decide to keep looking. that is my favorite part of this little pocket of tumblr.

this was not really... fic related? more like a dump of issues! so sorry about that AHAHAHAH

anyways! thank you so much mittens! :)))))))))

pick my brain!

#silly things from silly friends

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gottagobuycheese · 3 years

Note

4, 5, 7 for the writing meme. Thanks!

(Writing meme)

Thank YOU for indulging me with these questions, and sorry for taking so long to answer! What is possibly my final finals season just about wrapped up, and I couldn’t think about anything else until it did (so fingers crossed it really has wrapped up lmao). So without further ado, here are some unnecessarily long answers!

4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

Ideas as in “I am actively working on this/making notes about it” or ideas as in “I have daydreamed about it at least once”? Because there’s…definitely way more of the second than the first lol.

But if we’re talking the former, then the thing that’s currently gripping my mind is a (hopefully) short post-true ending Undertale fic in which Undyne and Asgore catch up over tea and somehow get around to talking about the nature of human souls and what it what it takes to actually collect one (i.e. what it took to really, truly perma-kill a human). The problem is I don’t remember how much each character actually knows about the subject, so I’m rewatching a pacifist playthrough as “research” — and also falling back headfirst into the vast plethora of content that exists for the source material, predictably. It’s been a good few years since I was this fixated on it, which is great news for me because there is SO MUCH stuff to catch up on! (Tangentially, I guess it was kind of predictable, since I always seem to fall back into some kind of comfort video game around finals season, but usually it’s Ace Attorney, so this is new.)

In terms of the second, an idea that has been pretty solidly in daydream territory for a while is some kind of Stranger x Nobody Knows crossover fic in which (Senior) Inspector Han and (possibly former) Detective Cha cross paths for some reason. I have no idea what I’d want from it plot/content-wise, so I doubt it’ll ever be much more than a vaguely entertaining impression in my head, but I just think it’d be cool to see those two interact XD

Sadly neither of these things are the things I’m ACTUALLY supposed to be working on, so they probably (hopefully) won’t be done for a while.

5. Share one of your strengths.

 Ah, one of my least favorite interview questions. Uh, I guess I have fun writing dialogue, and it definitely tends to come easier than other aspects of writing (like DESCRIPTION, blegh). Plus I have been told that it makes people laugh sometimes, which is usually my goal — or makes them feel Painful Feelings, which is my other goal that unfortunately rarely makes it to the publishing phase — so I will count that as a success! And therefore a strength of some sort.

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it. 

Oof, this is a hard one, haha. There is a subtle yet important difference between saying why you like something versus saying why you’re proud of something, but I shall try to veer more toward the latter since that’s the actual question.

As it turns out, being more comfortable with dialogue means that most of my stories end up being pretty dialogue-heavy, which I just discovered when flicking through fics to borrow a snippet from, but if we’re going with strictly prose, then this bit from a long-ish comedic Good Omens fic I still haven’t figured out all the plot points to was fun to write:  

In literature, funerals are often held in the pouring rain. This is because, in literature, authors can carefully describe how grief-stricken the attendees are, how their water-logged clothes, heavy and cold, cannot begin to compare to the weight of the sorrow that drags them down, how it pulls at their body, hangs from their shoulders and backs and legs and soul, begging them to join their loved ones in the ground. They can describe how the heavens themselves weep for the dead, that the earth, for once, pauses in its frantic flurry of activity, takes a moment to mourn what it has lost, and grieve for those who are left behind.

Of course, grief is complicated. Authors understand this. Sometimes the attendees are angry, and so the funerals are sunny, and the attendees are angry because the world dares to keep spinning on its axis even when theirs has ground to a halt. They are angry because the heavens won’t hide their tears for them, won’t admit they did something wrong, taking away someone who was so loved, so cherished, so good. They are angry because their heartache isn’t enough, doesn’t nearly encompass the gaping void torn in their reality, doesn’t do the dead justice. The earth and the skies and the seas ought to be mad with grief as well. Thunderstorms, gale-force winds, surging tides and shaking stone. How dare the world imply it’s no great loss?

Or maybe the funerals are held in the snow, because grief is cold and numbing and relentless, and no amount of warm soup or thick blankets or knitted mittens will make it better, fill the hollow misery the way one can fill a grave with soil and ice crystals. No one really wants to be there, socks soaked through and half-asleep from the chill, but sometimes you need to slog your way through those waist-deep banks of grief anyway, that frigid, dull, powder-white pain, focus only on how your teeth chatter and your fingertips turn blue and put all the rest of it aside for later, when it’s warm again. If it will ever be warm again.

Or perhaps the author just likes snow.

I get to ramble about some of my favorite kinds of weather for three paragraphs?? Count me IN

Anyways, I think it did a good job of keeping with the vaguely whimsical tone of the rest of the story, despite this being the opening to a (fake) funeral scene. And yeah, maybe it’s a bit excessive and heavy-handed, but it fits the context well enough and has some actual Imagery™, not to mention that it actually segues somewhat neatly into the next bit, so I think it did its job — which is all I can really ask for, so I’ll be proud of that! It’s a bit of a narrative reprieve from the dialogue-and-emotions heavy previous scene and the comedic shenanigans of the subsequent scene. Which would probably also be quite dialogue heavy, except for the part where I haven’t written it yet sjkdhfskf

#ask #Cheese talks #I tried to type this out twice and accidentally tabbed out of the page and had to start over #so I kept putting off actually starting again #but THIS TIME I made sure to copy and paste as I went #and also just type out everything on a separate note and then just copy/paste it here #thank you again for this!#it was fun to look through old writing #but gosh I sure would like to finish some of those some day #lots of ideas but very few actual Stories #and now that I have all the time I could possibly want I don't want to do anything #writing ask meme #my brain is still very much in drawing mode and not writing mode #but hopefully it'll shift into more writing mode soon #because there's a lot of stuff I need to finish writing before getting back into Obligations #ANYWAYS FEEL FREE TO ASK MORE #SO I CAN START THINKING IN WORDS AGAIN INSTEAD OF JUST PICTURES #drivingsideways

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swarmkeepers · 3 years

Text

fic writer interview

tagged by: @myclericalromance and @nonbinarywithaknife, two writers (and friends) whom i admire so much, thank you!! <3

name: you can call me sola! mordredmanor on here, SolaSola on ao3

fandoms: it’s full speed ahead dimension 20 rn but i’ve written for ngozi ukazu’s omg check please! and e. jade lomax’s beanstalk trilogy in the past! both of them are still unfinished oops and maybe someday if i can actually think of ideas i will finish them but i have fallen in far too deep with d20

where you post: fics are all on ao3 and i try to crosspost tumblr meta there if it starts to approximate fic! i don’t post full fics on tumblr though

most popular oneshot: far and away a soft and heavy weight (i never really know what makes a fic “popular” but it has the most hits, kudos, and bookmarks so this one is pretty easy lol), which makes me happy because i still adore it, literally just 5k of gorgug and zelda sharing hoodies that’s it

most popular multi-chapter: only one d20 multichapter lol so it’s almost by default actualize (the first attack) my d20bb fic! gorgug/zelda/ragh mutual pining/shenanigans/groupchat textfic during a game of assassins

fics you were nervous to post: my bb fic might qualify, but i think by the time i got to posting i was more relieved/excited for ppl to finally get to read it than nervous, though i was definitely nervous in the week running up as i scrambled to finish it. genuinely, though, i think i’m most nervous to post gift fics like slow fall / otherworldly leap and nightcap (just fall in the bed) bc i never know if i’ve written something the recipient will like!!

how do you choose your titles: rule number one is it’s gotta be three or four words MINIMUM and all lowercase that’s just how it’s gotta be but otherwise i love a good quote from the source material or a song lyric. bonus points if there’s a parenthetical somewhere or the lyric crosses a line break

do you outline: i don’t think anyone would call it an outline but i do do notes before i start writing anything! usually it’s little snatches of dialogue or what will eventually become the summary or a numbered list from 1 to 6 if it’s a 5+1. i did have a longer outline for my bb fic but my artist partner + beta could tell you that there were three separate outlines as i started cutting stuff out lol

favorite story i’ve written so far: stream this is me trying it was so cathartic to write, seven maidens rights!

complete: all of them :D (for d20 anyway) i have learned from previous fandoms that i am not to be trusted with multichap fics

in progress: none :D again i truly cannot be trusted with an update schedule or multichaps

coming soon: i think i’m gonna let myself chill for a while after d20bb and d20december exchange which were truly so fun BUT i do have a couple of wips in the folder including a 5+1 rickyesther, some brainstorming abt transracial adoptee/diaspora!gorgug whom i adore dearly (and who my d20december gift has made me newly excited about!), and of course more seven maidens/zelda thoughts! i gotta say though, the fics i love the most are the ones i spent less than 24 hours on that just come to me spontaneously, so maybe an ep of tuc2 soon will inspire something :D

prompts: oh my god yes please my inbox is always open, and i think i’m gonna try to reblog more prompt memes + work on some if new ones come through the tuc prompt meme in 2021! i love doing prompts they are always welcome!

tagging: i’m not 100% sure who hasn’t been tagged already but please please feel free to do this meme and say i tagged you if you want! i’ll tag @supercantaloupe @aelwynrights @lizznotliz @frill-shark

#some of y'all are newer mutuals and i hope it's okay i tagged you!!#if not tell me to shut up and i will alksdjfkas #happy new year (still eve for me alkdfj) may we be kinder may we write as much as we want to may it be better to us!!#sola said #long post

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galvanizedfriend · 4 years

Text

Klaroline Fic Rec - Day 4

Klaroline Fic Rec Event 2020 - Day 4: Fluff Title: Hypothetically Speaking Author: @thetourguidebarbie Summary: Caroline was totally enjoying her normal predictable life. Really, she was! And then Klaus, a New York doctor with an attitude problem, came and ruined it. Who comes out of nowhere to take over their estranged dead father's medical practice, anyway? Weirdos, that's who. She hated him, but like, at least he was cute to look at. His one good quality. Just because she was on a very strict no-jerk-boyfriend diet doesn't mean she can't look at the menu, right? Warnings: Extreme fluff that might melt your heart. Also some NSFW scenes up ahead, but do you really want to be warned about that? Status: Incomplete

Why you should read it:

If you folks follow me, you know I'm an angsty gal through and through, but even my cold weeping heart sometimes craves for that kind of soul comfort that only a good, wholesome fluff can offer, and this is exactly what @thetourguidebarbie has brought us with this story.

I don't think I need to get into details about how great her writing is because it's not by chance that she is one of the most famous KC authors out there. Everyone has read - and fallen in love with - one of her fics. But even though I've read many of her stories, it never ceases to amaze me! She has SUCH an incredibly dynamic style that flows so well! Dialogues are amazing, reactions are amazing, character interactions are always on point. It makes it so easy to fall headfirst into the story and visualize it completely. I've been a fangirl almost from the moment I joined fandom!

Now, this fic...

When she started posting that, I was CRAVING a story like this. It was almost like she could hear me wishing this into existence, because I was in SUCH a Virgin River mood and seeking an AU that would read like one of those classic romance novels set in a small town where an outsider comes in and shakes the whole thing up, and this Hart of Dixie AU is just PERFECT!

Caroline's denial throughout the whole thing is just hilarious and SO Caroline-esque! Her witty banter with Klaus is delicious, but at the same time I loved Klaus' sass, I was SWOONING with some of the scenes here! And the added bonus of the fantastic conversations between Caroline and Bonnie are just perfection. If you're still not convinced (are you insane?), there's A+++ SMUT, and if you've ever read anything by @thetourguidebarbie, you KNOW she delivers smut scene like a queen. Also, jealous!Caroline! Jealous!KC is like my guilty pleasure, I cannot resist it.

Even though this is an AU, it draws SO much from canon interactions and familiar situations that falling in love with this story was just inevitable for me. I'm a SUCKER for fics that adapt canon!KC to AU settings, and @thetourguidebarbie did this to a fault here. It just evokes the same kind of feelings from me that made me fall in love with this pairing in the first place. Klaus listens to Caroline, he encourages her to pursue her dreams beyond the limits of the small town life, he sees all the potential she has, sees that she longs for so much more. He's the one who understands Caroline's hidden restlessness and makes her realize that she doesn't have to be ashamed or afraid of her own ambitions and going after what she truly desires just because everyone else around her seems perfectly content with their lives. SWOON!

Honestly, this fic has EVERYTHING, and I find it it is JUST the perfect thing to make your heart warm and fuzzy, especially in crappy days such as the ones we've been having during this pandemic. It's just one chapter short of being completed and, trust me, my friends, you will be thanking me for this rec!

Thank you so much, Angie, for always gifting us with such amazing fics! :)

PS: The art that goes with this story done by @arrenemris is just DROP DEAD GORGEOUS!

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Here are other honorable mentions based on past recs of mine:

Can I Sleep Here? by @hotbloodedhunter

So You Didn’t Grow Up to Be Brigitte Bardot by youcallitwinter

You Were Swinging For Mars by @highgaarden

#klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #KCFicRecEvent #klaroline fic rec

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tinycaprisun · 4 years

Text

a song not about love

title: a song not about love characters: chuck taylor x trent beretta word count: 1864 part: 1/1 warnings: mild cursing, no character names are said (but the perspective is alluded to be chuck’s and the “best friend” is trent) a/n: hi! so, holy crap i’m actually doing this... i know, it’s freaking me out too. i guess for context, yesterday i literally did not sleep at all and in a 5 am sudden burst of energy, this little fic came out of my brain. i’ve never posted my work online before, so this is kind of a big thing for me? also, this is so different from how i normally write because there is next to no dialogue, and it’s not, uh... funny? but it sure is something ahah

He won’t say it. That one fucking word that has been tormenting him for what feels like his entire life. He will not under any circumstance say it, or hell, even feel it. It sets you up for failure, for a gashing claw directly to your heart as it punctures and plays with what little you have left.

It’s like that song from Hercules, he thinks. The one where Meg is singing by the fountains about her feelings for Hercules and denying them every step of the way. It feels like that, except the brunette knows this isn’t some sappy Disney movie. This is real life, the one that made him hate himself every time he looked in a mirror. The one that gave him no other option to cope with everything that swirls in his mind at blinding rates than to drown what he does have away.

Words were never his strong suit, with him always clinging to actions and movement, as more often than not, his mouth would betray him with what would come out of it.

There’s this burning sensation, festering deep under his skin, well into the flesh, that tingles and jumps no matter what he does. It gets worse when he’s around. Not that he would know it, his friend was never good at picking up on just about anything. Itching, almost, with him unconsciously rubbing his arm over and over trying to forget that was where he had last touched him. A congratulatory pat, and that was it.

The thought of already being dead crosses his mind. That perhaps, he is already dead, and that what he is living now would be his own personal hell. Set up explicitly to torture him for the wrongdoings of when he was alive. He wonders what that life was like, and if the people he knew now were there. That gave him no solace, as even if he were still living, there would still be his best friend there ruining it all.

Ruin in the best way possible, he amends. Because without him, the brunette can’t picture his life in any capacity. There would be none as far as he is concerned. There was so much of him that did not have, that lived in his friend.

Someone a long time ago said they were soulmates. Platonic, he assumed at that moment, was what the man meant. All this time later, he knows what he was getting at. He won’t say it, he never will, but he knows why the other man said it. That memory liked to crawl into his brain sometimes, replaying like a song you have stuck in your head until you can’t take it anymore and finally listen to it. It does not ease your pain, the song is still stuck.

Soulmates were someone that housed all of the pieces of you that you did not have. The parts of you that you could fully - the word - because they were in someone else. Maybe that was why he liked keeping his friend around all the time. Because they were the same person.

Except they weren’t. His only slightly shorter friend was better than him at literally everything, not that it bothered him. It just made for more to... This was getting harder and harder to not say by the ever so slowly ticking seconds.

His mind takes over again. Blocking him even farther from reality than he already was, to think.

It’s the way he smiles, he ponders. But only when it’s at him. Tiny, unguarded, and sweet like pineapple fluff. Adoration is always in there too; along with warmth, and if he himself was feeling extra in his own head, intense longing. He silently prays for the last one. Never has been sure why, but he hopes with everything he’s got, that it’s in there somewhere.

What was longing? Catching his eyes across the room as they sparkle under even the dingiest of LED lights? They’re brown, like rich earth that used to be beneath their feet when they would do an outdoor show. Exposed from years of treading, letting others walk upon it without question, working down to its most basic form. It’s very core. He decides that him and the earth aren’t so different.

There is no reason to be like this. So deep into his own recesses that even the most forceful of tactics will not rouse him. Akin to a coma, however his eyes are certainly still working and there is definitely a concerned friend staring at him through their own pair of sunglasses and a neutral expression.

He says something, slow and quiet like he usually does. It does not compute. His friend says it again. He cannot speak, but he can shrug while moving his gaze to stare past him.

It’s radiant over there, a shining oasis asking to have its glory basked in. Unsurprisingly, it’s him. Recognition helps bring back his question. Longing is time. All of it wasted, even if there is still so much to go. No mercy is given to him, not that he believed he deserved it.

His mind jitters and trails off again as it usually does. It’s his voice, he considers. Peering at him would make you guess it’s low and gritty, but he knows far better than that. His voice is of a baritone, but it’s far too uplifting and sometimes outright high to be anything else. Smooth also felt applicable, calmly finding its way to the right words and pitches as his hands say what his mouth can’t. He really enjoys that quality about him.

Reality is boring, he concludes. Sinking back into his cave of wonders and mostly misfortunes he calls his brain. He has his muse of which to think about... again, and the brunette couldn’t be any more content.

Content is the wrong word. Again, he is no good with those, but he does know that content is something he will never be. His is different though, for a reason he will not say. Fuck, are we really back to thinking about longing? For a third time? Is this what he wanted; to be caught in an infinite time loop, ala Groundhog’s Day, where he relives every thought he’s had for the millionth consecutive time?

To be fair, that was how it always was when he saw him. Everything surfacing at the same time and he gets caught in the crosshairs, winning the wonderful luxury of wading through them again.

His laugh is nice. His hair looks good today. The tank top he has on is way too tight fitting and leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Not hard to imagine anyways, he’s seen it a thousand times, having roamed it with his hands. But only briefly, and the idea sends him into a tizzy.

One that marks the end, the one that finally has snapped him and made him have a new goal. It’s like drowning again, except not in his usual Crown. This is one where he actually can’t breathe, unable to get above water safely and take those precious gulps he so desperately desires.

He is standing in front of him now, fueled by this very known force that has a known name that managed to carry his battered body to the other side of the room, without him even noticing. There is no one else in the room. Or maybe there is, but he can’t tell. For him, it’s only his friend and himself, which is all he could ever want.

His best friend asks him how he is. He does not answer. The other brunette seemed vaguely alarmed by this, commenting on this fact and letting the notion hang in the air. There is no true reply, not to what he is asking nor to anything else. They stand in silence, pressure building and concern rising, like a dam that’s about to burst open and destroy everything in its wake.

Being forward has always been his calling card. Breaking any tension or an awkward silence with little tact and a lot of bluntness. He’s rough around the edges, as are most things in his life.

This one comes off as a cliff though, hurtling himself off of it and waiting until he hits the bottom. But there is none, all there is- is his best friend, still concerned for his well being, because of course he was. Did he really need another reason?

Now there was even less reason to be cautious. If he didn’t say something now, the brunette was going to faint, the lights behind his green eyes going out like the flickering flames of a candle. Where he would drop, essentially dead to the world, straight to the floor and live there for eternity. Or until his friend kneeled down and checked on him.

That idea… The thought of waking up to his face. Seeing him tending to him because for his friend, life seemingly depended on it. But he didn’t know that. What he did know was that the thick and uncomfortable quiet that had filled the room; reminiscent of a smog like haze, was becoming unbearable.

Caution. Wind. Blunt. Do it. He has to. He will explode if he doesn’t. His best friend is staring at him with what feels like baited breath and stitched brows. He looks completely mental, clearly needing to say something, anything really to amend the situation. At this point it doesn’t matter, he’s so gone for him that even if this irreparably damages their relationship, he would at bare minimum be rewarded with getting real sleep at night.

His mouth opens on its own accord, letting the words waterfall out nearly unceremoniously as he keeps eye contact with his friend.

“I’m in love with you.”

He says it.

The one fucking word that has been tormenting him for what feels like his entire life. He says it out loud, to his best friend’s face, with a few words before and after it. Sure, he could say that they don’t matter as much to this whole ordeal he got himself into, but truly, they make up the full saying that has been playing on loop on his head for months.

His friend doesn’t react, not instantly, staring at him with a blinking gaze as either his brain self-destructs, or tries to figure out a way to let him down easy. Heavy doubt sinks into his bones, weighing him down and taking residence within him.

It’s a new, hellish, spiraling sensation that the brunette was not ready for. He was used to his usual downward hole of thoughts, usually brought about by his unmitigated need to bash himself, but this… This feeling didn’t even compare, with it being so much more destructive and raw, it opened him up like he was a frog being dissected and leaving him vulnerable to the world.

He finally speaks, his words soft and slightly timid as he can’t seem to look away from him. Unlike what he was expecting, his friend's expression was open and understanding, albeit still taken aback by his forwardness.

“I… I love you too.”

#chuck taylor #trent beretta #chuckie t #trent?#no real names #aew fanfiction #wrestling fanfic #shut it liz #tinycaprisun writes #my writing #chuck tea #trenty b #fics #current song: why not me

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kashimos-hajime · 5 years

Text

promises, promises | t.s.

summary: You loved him, and he loved you, and then a boy and girl went off to war and never came back.

WARNINGS: mentions of PTSD and war flashbacks, swearing, drinking, also they’re both idiots pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!doctor!Reader word count: 4.8k

a/n: my first peaky blinders fic!! i’m absolutely hooked and i wrote this right after watching ep 2 so forgive any out of character dialogue/actions/etc. for some vibes, listen to shrike by hozier.

The knock on your door, three raps and a pause in between each as long as a pendulum swinging, is just as he’s always done. It’s enough to let you know who’s at your door, as if the hour wasn’t telling enough.

A part of you aches to go to sleep. The other knows you can’t anyway, so you abandon your post by the fire. You give the kit you have resting on the cabinet a passing glance before making your way to the door.

“Thomas Shelby,” you greet the man before you. He doesn’t look right and you frown, eyes raking up and down his figure. He stands straight as he does, hands at his sides but his face is milk white, stark against the tear drops that are beginning to drip down his cheeks. Not injured then, or maybe he’s just hiding it well. In the rain, his mop of hair is darker than ever. “Must be a blue moon.”

“Evening, love,” he mutters and his eyes flicker from your face to the hallway behind you, bathed in shadow. The black is chased by the spilling orange from the fire you have crackling in the night, and you cross an arm over your chest, feeling almost indecent in your robe. “May I come in?”

A soft ‘of course’ slips by your lips and you step aside, watching the man step in and you try to pinpoint what it is that makes something inside you crawl.

Ever since the war, nothing quite shakes up Thomas Shelby anymore, and yet here he is. Shaken.

“Are you alright, Mr. Shelby?” you ask as he unbuttons his jacket and you catch the water trail that follows his wake. The rain patters at your windows and you tell yourself it’s a chore that can wait for the morning. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” You do not know which question he answers. He thrashes it off, tosses it onto the coat hanger and you walk into the drawing room to poke the fire, to pour him a glass of his poison, to wait.

“Would you like something to drink, then? Warm you up?” You set the poker down, stand, turn to see his eyes, unusually glossy in the firelight as they dance over his surroundings. He pulls off his hat, that Shelby hat of his, and wipes at the rain along his brow. “Mr. Shelby,” you begin because now it is unnerving, how the air shifts and how he is quiet.

Thomas Shelby is a quiet man, but not quite like this.

“Mr. Shelby,” he repeats, low and deep and it is then that his laughter cracks the air. You stand by the fire still, unsure of what to do. You haven’t seen him in weeks and here he is now, in your drawing room and laughing.

You stay silent.

“Mr. Shelby,” he says again, quieter, somber-like. His eyes flicker to yours, lock like he can’t quite look away and you watch the fire play games in the blue of his eyes. “You never called me that before.”

“You’d rather I call you Sergeant Major?” you bite back, all at once bitter and sad. It’s too late in the night for him to speak of a time that neither of you can go back to now. “Rather I ignore the fact that all you’ve ever seeked me out for was to satisfy your need for opium? Rather I pretend like your visit is my prayer fulfilled?” You don’t have to. Your heart had sung at the sound of his knock but you cannot say that. “Or that this isn’t the first time you’ve spoken to me in months?”

“As if you’ve done the same for me,” he growls and he sinks down onto the settee. You almost want to bark at him, stop him from spilling rainwater on your pillows, but he crumbles in a way you can’t explain.

“You don’t know a single thing,” you murmur, sitting down beside him. He barely looks at you and your fingers itch to reach for him but instead, you curl them into a fist and look into your lap. “For all your wit, Mr. Shelby, you don’t know a bloody thing about what I’ve done for you.”

“And what have you done for me, love?” he asks, scathing. His eyes dart to yours and the glowing orange plays dangerously across his godlike structure, shadows dancing beneath his eyelashes and across his cheeks. A fire rests in your belly at his words, heat coursing through your veins as he definitely looks at you like you’re an offense to his eyes and like you’re some goddess and everything that confuses him made flesh.

“I went to war for you,” you whisper. He blinks, but he does not look away as you stand. All of a sudden, the confession has made you parched. Walking to the liquor cabinet, you pull out your father’s whiskey and pour yourself a scorching glass. You hope it’ll tame the fire that pools in the base of your skull, and that it’ll chase the memories away. “Not for Arthur or John, but for you.”

You take a pull, let it burn you all the way down to your empty stomach and grab the handkerchief left beside the glasses, turning around again to look at him. He still stares back but he almost looks empty.

“I sewed you shut time and time again. I went down into the trenches at night to bring any scrap of good I could afford to spare and stitched up your friends even though my father forbade me from going down there.” You walk towards him, whiskey in one hand, handkerchief in the other. He sits still and silent, and you pause to take a breath, the fire beginning to wane. You set down the glass. “I wrote to your sister and Aunt Pol, lied for you when you were bleeding out on my stretcher.” You sink beside him. Leaning in close, you can smell the smoke and the racetracks imprinted into his shirt as you raise the handkerchief to his face.

“I never asked you to.”

“As if you needed to,” you murmur, dragging the cloth over his cheekbones, and you watch his lips part, sinfully so. “I know your mind better than I know my own.” You run the handkerchief across his nose, to his other cheek. You focus on the task at hand, and not the heat of his skin or the haziness in his eyes. Not the way his lips part, watch you as if bewitched. “It’s why I know I’m nothing but a friend to you.”

“You know nothing, love,” he murmurs, almost shocked, and you can feel his hand at your thigh, tentative and heavy all at once. It trails up your body, drags your thin robe up your thigh and a shiver crawls up your skin.

“You came here tonight for a reason, Tommy,” you whisper, heat flashing in your cheeks at your own slip, your lips quivering at the soft sigh that escapes his own. How easy it would be to kiss him now. Your handkerchief stalls on his cheek after a gentle swipe across his brow and temple, his soaked hair still dripping. “And it’s not to talk about times we wish we didn’t have.”

“I just… needed to see you. I’ve missed you.” A kind of bitterness floods your tongue and you flinch, stung. You twist away to the fire and suck in a breath, his hand falling off your leg when you detach yourself from his heat. Bile crawls up your throat and you shake your head. A resentful smile curls your lip and you pull your robe tighter around yourself, standing to approach the fireplace. Sitting on the footstool nearby, you grab the poker and stir the flames. You are an idiot to fall for his wiles and charms, again and again, with nothing to show for it. To wait on him, desperate for him to look your way even for a moment. To be thrown face first into your and his shared reality when he just says the wrong thing—

“Of course you have.” You shake your head. “‘Course you bloody have when it’s convenient for you.” You stab a log violently, the tumbling of wood rattling your thoughts. He only ever comes when something’s gone wrong, when he wants a resemblance of a simpler time, when he wants something he won’t let me give him—Your mind is a whirlwind as your mouth runs. “I’m done playing your games, Tommy. It was an awful kind of fun when we were just a boy and a girl, but that was before the war.” It’s a great task not to look at him, to read his face and wonder. “Now, go home instead of hanging around here like you belong.”

“I did once,” he says softly and you wish it weren’t true.

You finally turn to stare at him, trace the sharp curve of his cheeks and the cut of his jaw. Features you know well enough and once dreamed to lay kisses upon. Then you drag your gaze to the beginnings of darkness beneath his eyes. The war has stolen him away from you. “You look exhausted, Tommy. It was nice seeing you, truly, but go home.”

You turn back to your fire, the crackling and the tumbling of the logs filling the emptiness in your chest as you wait for his steps to begin and fade.

“What are you fucking doing?” you ask roughly when a minute ticks by and then another, and he still hasn’t left your heart or your home.

“You call yourself a game,” he says, as if something turned on in that brain of his, but it sounds more to you as if he’s stalling for reasons to stay. If he talks enough, he will convince you—the both of you know it.

You don’t turn to look. “Go home.”

“Is that all you think you are?”

“Tommy, I’m warning you. Leave.”

“You think you’re only a game to me?”

“What else can I be?” You frighten yourself with how loud your voice is yet you cannot contain it. “Thomas Shelby doesn’t want any girl after the war.” You are grossly venomous and loud enough to fill every empty room. It shakes you and a reverent silence hangs in the air. You can’t remember what has made you so scorned, but perhaps it’s the keen knowledge of knowing that tomorrow is not certain, the knowledge that Thomas Shelby has never loved you the way you loved him and yet he still dangles promises in front of you. “That’s the word around the street. And it’s true, isn’t it? It’s the awful truth.” Your words float, hushed and dainty again across the flames, nearly consumed by the fire. You cannot let your rage grow more than quiet.

If you do, the tears will come, and you’re awfully sick of crying for men you’ve lost.

“You’ve never wanted me the way I wanted you to, Tommy,” you whisper, the yawning ache in your chest splitting you in two. “And your promise was made out of fear.” The silence that meets your words make you look at the iron poker in your hands, the handle ribs pressing into your palms. “But there is no war, no fear, no uncertainty of tomorrow.”

A shadow casts over the mantle and you look at the silhouette warily. Glass clatters against wood.

“No reason to hold you to your word,” you mumble, ashamed that you hold so much to his words—words he must’ve said in a desperate time, words that still linger in your worst and best nightmares. By his silence, you realize he has not forgotten either.

“So we resort to passing glances, then?” His voice sends chills down your spine. It’s a sharpened sword coated in honey, and you relish the way it twists your gut. The shadow crouches beside you and you can feel his heat seep into you. “Lingering touches, fires in bellies we can’t feed,” he whispers, the words kissing at your neck as he leans in towards you. His hand, open and large along you arm, pulls the poker out of your hand and you sigh, turning your face away. Metal clatters to the floor as the taste of whiskey pushes into your lungs. He’s drank it all, yet he’s sober as a priest. You know it takes more than one glass to get Thomas Shelby drunk. “Promises we can’t keep, since we’ve already started it seems.” His eyes are dark and bitter, angry, and you swallow the fire he stokes inside you.

“Tommy—” Your breath shutters in your throat and you crane your head to look only for him to be there, blue eyes half-mast and lips just parted. His fingers trail up your wrist, brush against the sleeve of your robe—“you don’t want me.”

“Trysts when we’re too drunk to see straight ‘n’ moaning the wrong name when we’re in bed with other men ‘n’ women. It’s what you want, eh?” Up and up his hand, further into your sleeve until he touches the pulse point in your elbow, feels your heart racing and a sigh flutters past your lips. His other hand grips your jaw, fingers heavy and warm. “A dirty little secret. A little game, is that what you want?” Your eyes widen and he narrows his own. “I asked a question.”

“Fuck you, Shellby.”

“I loved you.” His words hiss like smoking coals and you let out a soft whimper when he squeezes your jaw. “I fucking loved you.” His fingers wrap around your arm and you lean into him, hypnotized as his fingers grip your chin harder. The blueness of his eyes, the smattering of fine brown hairs across his forehead, the smell of him, and the heat of the fire, it draws you forward.

Your lower lip catches between your teeth as he leans in closer. You can taste his breath on your tongue. “Then why?"

”We both know you deserve better than me,” he whispers, words hot against your lips. If you slant your mouth just so, you’d feel him everywhere. Your skin prickles as he cocks his head, eyes on your parted mouth. “No matter how much I have loved you, it wouldn’t have been fair, turning a bride to a widow. And before,” he chuckles as he repeats it and you feel the heat rise to your face. “You bloody think I had a chance with the surgeon’s daughter?”

“You bloody could’ve,” you reply stubbornly. His fingers on your chin trail down to your neck, a featherlight presence but one that makes you warm. “My father stitched up every one of your brothers and you, and adored you like his own sons. He wouldn’t have cared.” A wave of melancholy washes over you and you wrap a hand around his wrist, pulling his hand away from your neck. Your fingers slip into the crevices of his, insistent. “Damn shame he couldn’t have a chance to stitch up Finn.”

“Be thankful. I don’t want him to end up like me,” he whispers and you smile slightly, knocking your forehead into his.

“Would that be so horrible?” you ask softly and his eyes flash to yours, eyebrows rising. “You’re a good man, Tommy. Even if you don’t see it that way.”

“Because I’m not.” His eyes close, breathing in deeply as his hand cups the back of your neck, tangles in your hair. “I don’t want you getting caught between Blinders business, love. I can’t allow it.”

“I can take care of myself, Tommy,” you promise. A sort of bravery sends your hand through his hair and you hold his head to yours, eyes closing. “I know what your business is like.”

“Love,” he sighs, and the corner of your mouth quirks up.

“I can be on your payroll. A surgeon’s daughter is a valuable asset. It’d be understandable why I have protection and I’d be nothing more than a service.” His silence causes your smile to spread. “Aunt Pol always said you only ever listened to me.”

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” he quotes half-heartedly and you pull back. His eyes flutter open as you stroke his cheek, tracing the curve of his cheek. “And I’ve no doubt she’d be happy to hear I’ve spoken to you again.”

“Exactly.” You stroke the hair carefully away from his eyes, watch as he sniffs and holds back his cough from the rain. “You ought to get warm. Give me a moment and stay by the fire.” Your lips press against his temple for a moment and he freezes. Before your liquid courage can leave you, you rake your fingers through his hair again and stand. You bring another glass and the bottle of whiskey before grabbing a rough old blanket from the closest guest room. “My father’s clothes might fit,” you offer, pouring him his glass. He takes the glass and you sigh when he downs it like water. Draping the blanket across his shoulders, you add, “They’d be warmer.”

Now, without the jests and banter between you two, Thomas Shelby is cold and quiet once again, and you sit on the footstool, pouring yourself a glass of whiskey. Glancing into your liquor, you watch the fire play in it.

“The spare rooms are always open to you and your brothers, and your Ada, too. You ought to sleep, Tommy, and get warm.”

He doesn’t respond and you half think he doesn’t hear you so you quiet yourself again, watching the fire and picking up the poker to jostle the logs.

“I don’t want to be warm,” he says at last. “And I don’t want to sleep.”

“And why’s that?” You set down the poker.

“Because all I hear is the picking and the shovellin’, and I don’t want to hear it.”

He sits before the fire like a man watching the sunrise and the orange heat that blasts at the both of you has begun to dry out his hair. You reach for his hand, but then think better of it.

“It keeps you up, too,” you say, a terrible knot in your throat squeezing you tight. “My father said it’d happen. Happens to boys and men too after something like a war.” You down your whiskey and let it scorch your stomach before turning to pour yourself another glass. “Never said it happens to women.”

“And we volunteered.” He turns to look at you, lips parted and eyes dark with a certain kind of humour. “What do you hear?”

“The screams.” You clear your throat as you catch glimpses of blood and broken bones. “The moaning and the sound of bones breaking. It’s all I ever hear, but it’s at night when it’s worse. Silence with my thoughts, and all that.” He’s gone noticeably stiff and you blink, turning away. “What about you? What’s made you come to my door of all places?”

“I needed company.” You wait for him to elaborate. “I put a bullet through my horse’s head.”

“The horse you bought from the Lees?”

“Yes.”

Your lips press together. You know what the Lee family is capable of. Heard it enough from talk between patients and whispers on the street. Reaching forward, you touch his hand. His skin is still freezing cold and your heart wilts in your chest. “Tommy, I’m sorry for everything. For the war, for my distance, and for your horse now, too.” His hand twists beneath yours and fingers interlace as he sips his whiskey.

“Nothing you have to be sorry for,” he says, turning to look at you. You pull your hand away and he looks down. His hand curls into a fist and you watch every vein along the back of his hand go taut. “You’re angry with me.”

“Of course not.” It shocks you that he can root out the thoughts you hadn’t known lingered in your head. You were sure you buried your previous thoughts far down deep enough they couldn’t surface, yet you shouldn’t be surprised. You weren’t his best friend, but he was yours. You were open to him like none other. “Why would I be angry?”

“I promised to marry you, didn’t I?” He sets down his glass. You note the dark dust along his fingers and an involuntary shudder passes down your spine. Your heart thuds in your throat and you swallow it down, turning the glass in between your hands.

“Tommy, stop.”

“Promised to be the man you loved. Promised to I’d come back. And then I never did.”

“Tommy—” You twist to set down the glass with a hard clack. Just the mere words, the call of his promise to the forefront of your mind makes the embers of your rage ignite. Perhaps he had been distant and different and nearly unrecognizable, but you can still see glimmers of the Tommy Shelby you’d known.

“I failed you, didn’t I?”

Enough.

“Stop it, right now.” You slip off the footstool and fall to your knees beside him, grabbing his hand. “You didn’t fail anyone.” When he doesn’t even acknowledge your words, you squeeze his palm. “Tommy, please, look at me.”

“I’m tired, love,” he whispers, voice breaking and a quivering breath is sucked into your lungs at how his eyes seem to shine in the burning light. “I’m fucking tired and all I can see is the tunnels.” The blanket slips off his shoulders and you hasten to pull it up again as he turns to look at you. Water slides down his cheeks and you cup his face, thumbs swiping away the tears.

“Come on. I’m not going anywhere.” You urge him to stand and make sure his blanket does not fall from his shoulders as you guide him to the nearest bed. He trails like a ghost, fingers barely entangled with yours as you help him through the darkness.

Your mind turns over, remembers wet, dirt-smeared lips against your cheek, the top of Tommy’s head as he descended down into the tunnels, a harsh whisper grating against your ear. You lead him through the dead and damaged once, just like this through the darkness, to see Freddie who you’d stitched with your own fingers.

War seemed much simpler than this.

“I don’t care about your promise, Tommy. Not really,” you confess finally as you lead him to the bed. He sits on the edge of the mattress and wood creaks beneath his weight. You sit beside him. “I suppose I’m clinging to pieces of myself that I can still recognize.” A cracking smile pulls at your lips when he turns to look at you and you brush hair out of his face, palm cupping his cheek. “We’ve both changed, and we can’t go back. All we can do now is to understand this is who we are now.” His hand lands heavy on your cheek and you smile, leaning into it.

“They stole the light from you,” he whispers and you turn your cheek away. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the life you wanted.”

“Our time has past.” You know it now. You had been so desperate to be the girl you once was, so desperate for any semblance of what was that it blinded you to the truth. The Tommy Shelby you’d known and loved with all your very being is all but gone, and you… you are a husk of the girl you once knew. You look at him again and reach up to touch his wet cheek. He’s warmer against your palm now and half of you thinks maybe. Maybe there will be a chance when we are both older, when we are not in a million pieces that are barely holding together by a thread. “But I still love you, Tommy.”

“And I you.”

“Then, that’s enough.” You lean to kiss his cheek but he turns just enough that your mouth meets his. For a moment, you are startled by how hot his lips are and you catch your eyes closing before you remember who he is, and who you are, and what mustn’t happen. Your lips linger for just a moment more before you pull yourself away slowly, watching his half-lidded eyes flutter open. A sorrow lives there, one that mirrors the ache in your chest. Of missed chances and lost time, you know it is a written tragedy. “Goodnight, Tommy.”

“Goodnight, love.”

His confession follows you long after you leave his room and his kiss lingers on your lips, burning. You wonder if he lays awake, staring at the ceiling as you do, listening to the war in his head as you do.

You hear the hours tick by and the sound of shuffling, grunts in the other room of your guest. Black edges your vision and your eyes begin to slip close.

The floor creaks.

You jolt into a sit in your bed, the blankets pooling around your waist as your gaze darts to the door. You had been slipping in and out of a light sleep, your mind hazy as you try to gather your bearings, calm your heart. A swelling sensation in your throat, you slip out of bed and amble over to the door with a half-hearted sigh.

Your home’s old enough for you to know that a mouse could disturb the floors and stairs. Your hand rests on the doorknob and you take a deep breath, wondering if it’s even worth checking every nook and cranny of your home just to be sure there’s no German soldier lurking in the shadows.

You know your mind won’t quiet until you do, but the exhaustion chaining your limbs to the ground says otherwise.

A quick search, you tell yourself. Then sleep. Or hours staring at the ceiling until it comes.

You twist the knob and pull, open the door again for the second time tonight to Tommy Shelby’s face.

“Tommy,” you utter, almost startled but the very sight of him settles your heart. His eyes flash in the moonlight. His shirt is wrinkled and sweat dots his brow in a fine sheen, and the both of you stand there, on opposite sides of the door, an invisible line between you, one he does not dare to cross and you think, What a tired man, what a lost boy.

Your name barely breezes past his lips, fragile and cautious, and you reach out to touch his wet cheek. He smells like whiskey still, and tears and sweat, too.

You step to the side as an invitation you hope he takes. He does and he crosses the invisible boundary between two souls as your heart slows. Whirlwind thoughts freeze and a warmth floods your body. His fingers hook on your wrist and he drags you to follow him.

Your mind turns over again, this time feeling bloodied fingers smearing warm thick red over your cheeks and the bone-crunching grip of a soldier as your father dug a bullet out of his leg. You remember a time when you walked just like this, through darkness, through the trenches at night as Tommy lead you to the sick and dying.

He sits down and you watch his face catch the silver moonlight, eyes blue-grey like frozen iron and he tugs you onto the bed beside him. You feel your joint weight dip the mattress. He is cold and all limbs, lean strength wrapped around shrapnel bones and you adjust the pillow beneath your neck as you lie down beside him. The sound of soft breathing fills the air and shadows swallow his face when he turns away from the window to look at you.

When he looks at you, it’s almost as if everything is drowned out.

He turns on his side, thumb dragging over your cheek and lips and then closes his eyes, breathing in deeply. He smells the girl that clings to the sheets, a soft supple scent that chases away the muddy torchlight in his head as his hand trails down to find your fingers.

You are stronger than he remembers, ironwire muscle wrapped with thick stone skin, and when you lean forward just so and his forehead meets with yours, he lets out a sharp exhale. It is as if you take some of his burden, whether he likes it or not.

“Promise me, you’ll stay,” you whisper suddenly, “not as a lover, but just as my friend. That would be enough.” His eyes flutter open, barely. He’s exhausted and in your bed, surrounded by everything that is you, he knows he can sleep for ages. Your eyes are still shut, your eyebrows knitting together as if you cannot watch him react in some poor way. Half a smile curls his mouth and he just barely, the tiniest sigh in his breath, answers.

“I promise.”

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