#i love/hate this so much i might polish it up and post it on ao3
Note
You always push people away. I just thought you'd never do that to me.
Or
I never meant to hurt you.
(From Hit 'em where it hurts sentence prompts!)
human au. CW: infidelity. some spice.
EDIT: expanded on Ao3!
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“This needs to stop, Dream.”
Dream blinks as he looks down the bed at Hob, who’s sitting on the edge, fully dressed and far out of Dream’s reach.
“What?” Dream mumbles, sitting up against the headboard and rubbing the gunk from his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Hob takes a long breath, holding it. Like he’s preparing himself for a fight. Dream blinks again and fully takes in Hob. The t-shirt that he had ripped off him last night. The leather belt holding up Hob’s jeans that they’d used once or twice, tying Dream to the headboard and Hob raveging his body while all Dream could do was pull at his restraints and make noises no other man had managed out of him.
His gaze travels down and Dream’s heart gives a painful lurch at the sight of Hob’s wedding ring on his left hand.
“What’s going on?” Dream dares to ask, his voice unrecognizable even in his own ears.
It’s agony that Hob doesn’t turn his head. Doesn’t even acknowledge Dream.
“You heard me. I’m–” Hob takes another rattling breath, his head dipping down towards his chest. “I’m leaving.”
Dream’s entire body goes cold but he yanks the duvet off him anyway, crawling up behind Hob.
“No.”
Hob gives a breathless laugh, disbelieving, bitter.
Dream gets a hand on Hob’s shoulder. “I won’t let you.”
Hob finally turns his head and the look he levels Dream with breaks his heart.
His eyes are pleading. They also shine, like Hob’s on the verge of tears. Dream swallows a lump in his throat, desperation clawing up through his chest and knotting itself there.
Hob was married.
It was never a problem for Dream. They’d met at a bar and it was so obvious Hob had just stormed out after a fight. Dream was happy to be his distraction. To be a toy that this handsome, sad stranger could use over and over again.
Only after the first time, it became an addiction for both of them.
Hob came back to that bar a week later, looking for Dream. And Dream had been so flattered, so fucking smug about it that he’d popped a boner right there, smirking in victory as Hob pushed him into the bathroom and railed him within an inch of his life. They’d almost snapped the sink off the wall of that establishment.
Dream never considered himself a “home-wrecker,” especially when it appeared Hob had no home to eviscerate. He never spoke of his unhappy marriage and Dream never asked, only offered up his body and his comfort and… over time, his home and his kisses and then coffee, dinner, and–
And then three months went by and Dream fell in love.
But Hob never left his wife.
Dream had hoped… selfishly, in the back of his head, that Hob would choose him. Would invite him back to his house, the home he’d shared with his wife, and remodel it with tales of their love. Of their passion and interests and early mornings lazing naked in bed, tea in their hands as Dream snuggled up to him and allowed himself the crazy concept of being in love and someone loving him in return.
Dream refused to believe that would never happen.
“It was never meant to go this far,” Hob finally speaks again, his voice thick, quiet.
A high pitched ringing filled Dream’s ears, deafening him
“I never meant to hurt you–”
“Stop.” Dream takes a breath and it rattles down his lungs. “Stop talking.”
Hob’s brows knit together, agony written all over his face and Dream has to look away. He can feel his ears getting hot, tears welling up in his own eyes.
After a painful stretch of silence, Dream finally swings his gaze back to Hob, swallowing and forcing himself to speak.
“What’s her name?”
Something cracks in Hob’s expression and he levels Dream with a serious look.
“Dream–”
“What’s her fucking name?”
“Eleanor.” Hob responds with just as much venom, his lips parted, breathing through them. “And I told her everything.”
Dream huffs out a sarcastic breath. “You love her?”
He’s glaring at Hob now, forcing anger into his voice, into his body. Pushing down the anguish and the desperation. The wild, pathetic need to beg and plead and scream his case. Stay with me. Stay with me. Don’t leave me.
But Hob was never his. And when he opens his mouth again, the truth slams into Dream like a nail in a coffin.
“Yes.”
Hob stands and Dream lets his hand slide off him, landing onto the bed with finality.
“And we’re going to overcome this. We’re going to make it work.”
Dream couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“And you came over last night to– what? Get one last fuck in? From your side bitch?”
Hob flinches and he looks away. Good, thinks Dream. Clearly he was nothing more to Hob than that. Surely. After all this time…
“I came to tell you…” he takes a breath, eyes landing on Dream again.
Dream doesn’t miss the way Hob’s gaze rakes down his naked form, sitting in a tangle of his own legs on the bed, looking up at Hob with what he’s sure is wild hair made from Hob’s own fingers gripping and pulling it. If Dream were to close his eyes, he could probably still feel it; Hob’s strong hands, bigger than his own, yanking Dream’s head back as he latched his teeth onto his neck. One final claim that wasn’t Hob’s to give.
Unconsciously, Dream moved his hand to rub at the spot on his neck, hiding it.
“But then what?” Dream taunts, raising an eyebrow. “You got distracted?”
Hob shakes his head, closing his eyes and smiling derisively, self-deprecating.
Dream surges up, gets his hands on Hob’s shoulders and shoves. Hob lands against the wall opposite them with a surprised cough and Dream marches forward and takes Hob’s face in both his hands and pries his mouth open with his tongue.
Hob’s hands fly to Dream’s shoulders, up his neck, and into his hair as he kisses back just as ferociously. Jaw dropping and moaning as Dream slots his front against Hob’s, pushing him further into the wall as he punishingly consumes Hob from the inside out.
It’s all teeth and tongue and Dream chokes back on a sob at the desperate way Hob holds on to him, how he bites and snarls back, spinning them around and crowding Dream against the wall instead.
Dream whines as Hob bites his bottom lip and rolls his hips, his erection straining through his jeans rubbing against his own in delirious friction. And Dream hates it. He hates Hob.
“You’ll never be rid of me, Hob Gadling,” Dream purrs in his ear, biting it.
Hob goes very still in Dream’s hold and Dream almost laughs. He wishes he could. He’d laugh and laugh and laugh until he was screaming.
“No,” Hob agrees, breathless. He finally pulls back. He stares at Dream, pupils dilated, chest heaving. “You have a piece of my heart.”
He brings a hand up and presses his thumb against Dream’s bottom lip. Dream wants to bite it. Wants to push him off. Wants wants wants.
Hob takes a breath, finally, truly, stepping away from Dream. His hands drop to his sides.
“But you’ll never have all of it.
(thank you @seiya-starsniper for helping me figure this out)
angst prompts
#dreamling#hob x dream#summary: Hob cheats on his partner with Dream#i love/hate this so much i might polish it up and post it on ao3#mm hmm#my heart hurts why did i do this??#my writing#angst!
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SOMETHING TO DREAM ABOUT ➵ F. CASTLE
Summary: Various moments between you, Frank and your glasses. (Fem!reader, some descriptions added.)
Word Count: 2.9k
Author’s note: Y’all, I am so nervous posting this because I have never posted on Tumblr before but I figured I might as well. I’ve been posting on AO3 for years now but I think Tumblr might be more active and eager to react so here I am :) I’m still figuring everything out so bear with me!
He was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. That was immediately crystal-clear to you — even with old, fading bruises and fresh cuts on his face, even with a beaten nose and an eternal scowl etched onto his rough features, he was nothing short of breath-taking and you wanted nothing more than to spend the entire evening mapping out all the details of his face.
But, considering you were at your friend’s birthday party, that was probably not appropriate.
Maybe Frank would have preferred it, though, because this definitely wasn’t his scene. He was only here because he had a soft spot for your best friend, something she had mentioned to you in passing before but you had still never seen him apart from the news. He didn’t look so scary now, obviously awkward and uncomfortable sipping a beer in the corner of the room while your best friend’s other guests mingled with each other. He had even bothered to put on the one black button-up he had without blood on it.
”Okay, so, I see you eyeing Frank and I’m kinda glad, ’cause I have to admit I had an ulterior motive with this party”, your best friend intervened with your thoughts, and with a frown melting onto your forehead, you turned to face her again.
”Don’t be mad, but I totally think you two would hit it off! You’re this… anxious ball of love and kindness and he’s a protective ole’ teddy bear who’s been through the wringer. You’re both introverts, you both love dogs—”, she continued rambling, and with a scoff, you waved your hand to stop her from going any further.
”Save the pitch, I don’t think The Punisher wants anything to do with me”, you argued, although your gaze still lingered on him. It was safe to say that you were wary when it came to relationships — blame it on the familial trauma and the worst examples when it came to marriage, but you also knew that your best friend wouldn’t set you up with just anyone.
Pouting, she took your drink from you. ”Do me a favour, please. If you hate him, I’ll never try this again”, she insisted, and with a huff, you glanced at her and then back at the brooding, tall man. He did look good in that button-up.
Without a word, you adjusted your glasses and stepped past your friend to make it towards Frank, not even quite sure what you would say to him. In the end, you settled for good old,
”Hi.”
He had noticed you already. Fuck, of course he had. You were adorable in every possible definition of the word, with your floral dress and your black, heavy boots that almost matched his, not to mention the shaped glasses hanging on your nose. His throat closed up at the way your dark curls fell on your collarbones, and the sight of your twinkling smile made him hastily draw a sip from his beer to avoid dry mouth.
”Hey”, he grunted before licking his lips and nodding towards your friend, who was definitely not watching the two of you from behind the cake. ”She make you come up to me?”
Your smile fell at the idea of being the umpteenth woman your friend had sent his way. ”Yeah”, you swallowed, ”does she do this to you a lot?” A wave of nerves washed over you and you began fiddling with your fingers, something Frank noticed immediately, as well as the chipped nail polish.
”Nah. Just mentioned that there’d be someone special tonight”, he corrected you, but his words did very little to ease your anxiety — if anything, being put in the spotlight made it worse. He could see it on your face, and it pushed a chuckle out of him before he extended a hand for you to take. ”Frank”, he introduced himself curtly, and with a renewed smile, you took his much, much larger hand and shook it gently.
Okay, maybe approaching him hadn’t been the worst idea.
He certainly was glad you did. Before he knew it, you had gotten under his skin, and the more time he spent with you, the more obvious it became.
He was still kept up at night thinking about that time you had stitched him up for the first time. He had a nasty gash on his hip, and the tension in your apartment had been thick enough to cut with a knife — you had been on your knees, he had been on the couch, stripped down to just his boxers and giving you words of encouragement when you hesitated with the needle.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He had hissed in pain when you had poked him with the needle and you had apologized profusely, prompting a gruffly spoken ”’S okay, sweetheart. You’re doin’ good.” Then he had really looked at you in the dimly-lit living room and the words had just tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.
”Ya got new glasses”, he had noted, stating the obvious and catching your attention. You had halted, looked up at him and broken into a ridiculously sweet smile, one that still made his heart do flips when he thought back to it.
”You noticed”, you had hummed softly, clearly touched by his attentiveness, and he could swear he could pinpoint the exact moment he knew he wanted to kiss you.
”Yeah”, he had breathed out, ”they look nice on you.”
You made him feel at home without even knowing, your presence always reassuring and encouraging, your positive energy and big, sympathetic heart an absolute contrast to his gruff, scary demeanor. And yet, it worked so well. He longed to touch you, hold you, kiss you, shield you from the world and learn everything about you. He was undeniably falling for you and there was nothing he could do about it even if he wanted to.
Your friend had heard all about it, fucking Red had heard all about it, though that was more so because one skip of Frank’s heart had exposed him entirely. Lieberman hadn’t heard much but picked up on it easily, right before proceeding to tease Frank about it and then declare being in love looked good on him. And now, the group Curt had introduced him to was hearing all about it.
”She’s real good, y’know?” Frank thought out loud, a ridiculous grin on his face as he looked down at the cup of coffee in his hands and huffed. ”It’s—it’s weird, I guess. Didn’t think I’d feel that way about anyone again. And don’t get me wron’, I… I miss my wife like crazy. Every day. But this girl… lemme tell you, she makes me feel like, uh, like there’s hope. Yeah. Yeah, that’s… that’s kinda cliché. But she makes me wanna believe that every day doesn’t have to just be survivin’. There can be somethin’ real and meaningful. Because she is. She is so fuckin’ special. She’s kind and understanding and against all odds she… it’s the way she looks at me, yeah? Like I ain’t a monster or—or broken. She looks at me like I’m…”, Frank explained, trailing off as he struggled to find the right words. You looked at him like he was beautiful. Good. Worthy. He still fought to believe in it, but you made it a little easier for him.
”Sounds like you really care about her, son”, one of the older men chimed in when Frank failed to speak up again, and with an almost embarrassed chuckle, he glanced at his fingertips before giving the man a look.
”Yes, sir. Got that right”, he confirmed, his heart jumping at his chest at the mere thought of you and your bashful smiles. There was no feeling sweeter than making you grin like that, awkward but flattered, like you didn’t believe you were as cute as he had said. But you were. You were.
”Why don’t you ask her out? Life is too short to pine”, another older man scoffed, a little unimpressed with Frank’s lack of action, and at that, the Castle snorted.
”Nah, I… I want to. Just feels a lil’ unfair to her, ’s all. How can I drag her into all my shit, y’know?” Frank contemplated with a frown, and at that, Curtis finally took the turn to speak, a small smile on his face.
”It’d be her decision, Frank. It’s scary, it is, but… she’s a grown woman. It’s not unfair to give her the choice to stick by your side. I mean, who knows — maybe she’ll reject you”, he pointed out tauntingly, and at that, Frank laughed — great pep talk. Nevertheless, he knew Curt had a point. ”But maybe she’ll say yes. And maybe it won’t be a walk in the park but any baggage is easier for two to carry than one. If she wants you like you want her… it’s not dragging her into anything. That’s what companionship is. Standing by your loved one even when it gets tough”, Curt continued, before speaking the words that finally convinced Frank, ”would you not do the same for her?”
The next time Frank saw you, you were once again meeting your mutual friend. The diner she had coaxed you both into was bustling with people and noise and yet, the only thing you seemed to notice was each other. As soon as Frank entered the quaint diner, he spotted you laughing with your friend, the joy in your voice reaching his ears in a way that had him suppressing a smile while making his way over to the right booth. His tall frame striding past the other people caught your eye almost immediately, and when you saw his dark eyes staring back at you, your laugh melted into a shy smile while greeting him.
”You look nice”, Frank noted while seating himself opposite you and your friend, his nod directed at the both of you but the way his eyes lingered on you made heat crawl to your cheeks. Picking at the sleeves of your dress, you couldn’t help but wonder if you looked nice enough, and on cue, Frank leaned in while licking his lips. ”Real nice”, he emphasized, and it made your heart swell as you met his gaze.
”Thank you”, you breathed out, ”you too, Frankie.” Between the nickname, your signature perfume and the kind look in your eyes, Frank could have combusted right there and then, but instead simply leaned back in his seat and exhaled.
”Oh, my order’s up, I think”, your friend cleared her throat with a knowing smile. ”Why don’t you two catch up?” she planned mischievously before slinking away, leaving you and Frank chuckling awkwardly while observing one another.
God, he was so pretty. He put your stomach in knots and filled your chest with butterflies and made your knees weak and you so wanted to tell him but in the end… you just smiled up at him in silence, hoping he’d realize how much you adored him.
”Hey, this is gonna be weird”, you broke the peace, getting up from your seat so you could slide next to his and give him a doe-eyed look, the kind that made his breathing pick up. ”But your shirt looks really soft and my glasses have so many fingerprints on them”, you finished, and immediately, he choked out a laugh but gave you an encouraging nod.
You grinned and reached for the hem of his t-shirt, trying your damnedest not to accidentally brush against his bare skin while you took off your glasses and quickly began swiping the lenses with the material. Frank was speechless, unable to do anything except stare at your teeth sinking into your bottom lip while you diligently scrubbed the glasses.
”Hey, uh… I was thinkin’”, he coughed, swallowing thickly when you put your glasses back on but remained close to him, the height difference forcing you to look up at him. ”Yeah, uh, I was wonderin’ if you, uh, maybe wanted to do somethin’ together some time? Just the two a’us?” he questioned with his eyebrows furrowed as if he was doubting himself as soon as the words left his mouth.
He looked a little shy, even, his lips twitching adorably as he eyed you carefully, and certain that your heart would burst, you just managed a nod.
”Yeah?”
The sheer amazement in his voice made you giddy to a point where you couldn’t hold back an incredulous laugh, nodding again and again to confirm. ”I would really like that. I could make you dinner?” you proposed, and with narrowed eyes, Frank tilted his head at you, suddenly spiked with confidence. He was so used to being nervous with you, but now, realizing you felt the same way around him, he couldn’t help but feel a little smug.
”Think we could do it together? Wouldn’t want you put you out. And, you know, more time for us to spend together, right?” he planned, and with your heart swinging in your chest, you exhaled shakily.
”Does tomorrow work for you?” you uttered out, unable to believe you were a promise away from having a date with Frank. And with the same, astonished thought, Frank broke into a grin.
”It’s a date, sweetheart.”
And as promised, he showed up to your apartment the next evening and helped you with the pasta meal you had agreed upon. Both of you got over your initial nerves and in a blink of an eye, it was almost midnight and you were laughing on your couch, your loud cackle probably disturbing your neighbors but giving Frank an absolute sense of peace. He snorted into his wine glass over his own, stupid joke, his ego boosted by making you so amused and entertained.
”I am really glad you came tonight, Frankie”, you sighed, a shy smile taking over as you eyed him and placed a hand over his. His stomach swung at the feeling and he exhaled before turning to face you and nodding.
”Me too, sweetheart”, he whispered. Before either of you could say anything else, he noticed the stray eyelash on one of your lenses and leaned forward. ”Stay still f’me”, he spoke lowly, and not daring to even breathe, you watched the concentration tug on his eyebrows and narrow his eyes as he sat an inch from your face.
Carefully, he lifted his finger up to your glasses and with his trimmed nail, caught the eyelash and observed it briefly before blowing it away. The warm air touched upon your face, as well, and you exhaled heavily when he seemed to stay right there, not moving even though he was so, so close.
Fuck it, he thought. He had spent enough time fantasizing about the touch and taste of your lips — he needed to take action. And so, he gently placed a hand on your jaw and pulled you in to close the imperceptible distance between. Your lips met in the middle and your eyes closed on instinct, your hands clamoring up to his knees to balance yourself as he kissed you; first, sweet and tender, but eventually he leaned in deeper and his tongue took your breath away.
The air got hot and heavy and your hand wound up wrapped up in the chest of Frank’s button-up — the same one he had worn the first time you had met, and you felt light-headed when he pulled away. Your eyes met for a fleeting second, but no words were needed for him to dive back in and paw at your hips so you would get the hint and straddle him. You pushed him back onto the cushions enough to sit on his lap, his back pressed against the couch and his feet planted firmly on the ground as he let you tower over him.
And it was so goddamn better than he had ever been able to imagine.
When he was finally balanced over you in your bed, your chest rising and falling beneath him and his chain hanging above your face, he reached to take your glasses off of your eyes. It took you a few blinks to get accustomed to him being right there, the cuts and bruises on his face looking so soft now, and you slowly smiled while taking in the sight of him. From the endlessly deep and dark eyes to the swollen lips, he was beautiful and you couldn’t help but feel so lucky to be right here with him, legs wrapped around his hips and his fingers interlocking with yours.
He made damn sure to grab your glasses for you the next morning, too.
And it became a routine. Still now, an entire year later, he rolled over to you on the bed and attached his lips to your temple while murmuring a husky good mornin’ baby into your skin, before reaching over onto the nightstand and grabbing your glasses. While your eyes got oriented to the morning light, he gently unfolded the frames and slid the glasses onto your face, a smile curling his lips upwards as he did.
”There’s my pretty girl”, he mumbled before leaning down to kiss your forehead.
Yeah, he was pretty damn in love.
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20 questions
how many works do you have on ao3? 11 works!
what's your total ao3 word count? 385,785?! wow
what fandoms do you write for? i have primarily published for zelda and one fic for honkai star rail, i've been working on a number of genshin impact fics but we'll see if i ever finish any haha. i miss the days when i could get myself to just post chapters as i wrote them but now i feel like i have to have all or a significant amount done before publishing :')
what are your top 5 fics by kudos? to hold the sun (zelink, complete), pawn structure (zelink, complete), i could only have you in my dreams (danstelle, slowly whittling away at another chapter), thunderstruck (zelink, complete), all in a day's work (working on a re-write!)
do you respond to comments? always and i feel guilty if it takes me too long to respond!! writing fanfiction is fun and cathartic but the reason i publish it is to talk to people about it. please comment on fanfic and feel free to respond again when/if authors reply - it's one of my favorite things!
what's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? ummm i'd have to say i could only have you in my dreams but that's mostly because it's "unfinished" as it stands right now. i love reading and writing angst in a fic but i'm too baby to give something an actually angsty ending :x
what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? EVERYTHING ELSE but maybe to avoid a cliche (zelink, complete) because the entire thing was a cliche and predictable and i just wanted it to feel cozy
do you get hate on fics? umm i'm sure i have but i don't really dwell on it. if someone's hating on skill, go off, i'm not a writing major and i'm publishing fics for free. if they want to hate on content/themes, different strokes for different folks. if they think i've done something "wrong", then i'd much rather they bring it to my attention respectfully so i can do better and learn. but at the end of the day, fanfiction is for fun, and i publish things i love and am proud of, and i've been lucky to receive a warm reception!
do you write smut? if so, what kind? absolutely i do! i feel like what i've published is on the kinkier end of the spectrum for a more vanilla reader, but on the vanilla end for a more seasoned reader. i like playing with power dynamics and desperation and worship/infatuation/obsession.
do you write crossovers? if so, what's the craziest one you've written? i haven't, and i don't know that i would! i really like coming up with plots that rely heavily on canon (even if it's just in my own way lol), and struggle with writing concepts that don't. i'm not sure i could get myself to write a crossover, unless it somehow still felt possible within canon!
have you ever had a fic stolen? not to my knowledge!
have you ever had a fic translated? i haven't! i'm working on a specific fic that i'd love to have translated into ukrainian eventually, so if there's anyone reading this that might be able to help, hit me up!
have you ever co-written a fic before? yes! to hold the sun with @obsidiangst and @hyperphonic, and pawn structure with hyperphonic. i learned so much through both experiences (and, yes, i'm tagging you both to do this xo)
what's your all-time favorite ship? easily zelink, i've loved them ever since i was a kid. it's the pure love, the cyclical romances, the trauma and the angst and the slow burn... and the forever and ever and ever. i've been really into chilumi lately too - the dynamic of "more than meets the eye" childe and "aloof intergalactic goddess that cares, believe it or not" lumine. i just love pining hahaha
what's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? *looks at wips folder* all?!?!?!?! just kidding (?). i'm really not sure! i did start a midzel piece a long time ago, inspired by carmilla, and i don't know that i'll pick that one up again. maybe i'll try to polish up what i have and put out a one shot instead of the slowburn longfic i wanted to do :')
what are your writing strengths? the easiest thing for me to sit down and write through to completion (pun very much intended) is smut! that's very often the part i finish first, while doing everything else in bits and pieces. i'm generally going for sexy but artsy, with the right mix (for me!) of blunt words and prose. i also feel that i'm good at characterizations that align with/expand upon canon.
what are your writing weaknesses? i definitely struggle with getting all of my thoughts onto the page, and i often have to read and re-read and RE-re-read to see if what i wrote makes sense (i.e. i didn't forget to include anything critical because my brain assumes it's already there). lately i've been having trouble with really connecting to writing, too, which makes the text feel shallow to me. working on being patient and writing one good sentence at a time!
thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? i love the idea and have a lot of thoughts so let me try to summarize! logistically, i would do it either in brackets (a la to hold the sun) or italics (if it was like a particular phrase in an otherwise english line) or just mention it, depending on the context. creatively, though, to me it's important (and fun!) to start by researching the culture. i also would be more comfortable including specific phrases/pet names rather than entire bouts of dialogue, unless i found a native speaker to help me!
first fandom you wrote for? zelda HAHA if i ever wrote any fanfic before that i don't remember it!
favorite fic you've ever written? hylia's greatest gift. it was something i felt was missing in the fandom, for a lot of reasons, and i think it represents what i'm best at writing as well as what i want to read. it's funny, it's lovely, it's sexy, and i really put no pressure on myself while writing it. i have something upcoming that can hopefully feel similar to me :)
thank you so much to @1up-girl for tagging me, i had so much fun reading your answers and then thinking through them myself! to anyone else reading, if you want to fill this out, consider yourself tagged - share your brain and @ me so i can read!!
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Hello! I know you've recorded podfics of your own in the past and was wondering if you have any tips on podficcing in general? I've listened to your podfics before and loved them a lot, so I figured you might have some pointers 😁
Hello 😊
Thank you so much for your kind words about my podfic! 💛
I’m not super experienced (I have only made a few) as the @dispatchpodcast basically took over my life at the time I started podficcing 😂
But I can give you some info on what helped me. This got kinda long so I’ll stick it below the cut:
Firstly, I would say, just give it a go. It can be hard when you listen to podfic and it’s so amazing and polished and you feel like you can’t achieve that, but you will learn and get better as you go. I was very intimidated but am so glad I did it anyway.
I picked a shortish fic that I really loved to get started, and that’s what I would recommend. Something that you love so you’re excited to read it, and something on the shorter side so it’s not so overwhelming. Make sure you get permission from the author of the fic. The author might have blanket permission given for podfics in their AO3 profile or on their Tumblr, but if they don’t you can reach out to them to ask.
I listened to lots of different samples of podfic by others to help me get an idea of what I wanted to do in my reading and editing. Different people have different styles, and you’ll figure out what works for you. For example, I love podfics where the reader does different accents, but I am personally rubbish at accents so I don’t do that. As another example, from a editing point of view, some people remove breathing sounds, some don’t - I do because I hate the sound of my own breathing (though I don’t mind other people’s).
I have an external mic, but you don’t need one. You can use your laptop mic or phone mic, or start that way and get an external mic later if you like.
I record directly into and also edit using Audacity. It’s a free program available for Windows and Mac. I had some previous experience of using it but had forgotten pretty much everything, and found it easy to pick back up. But there are other programs available, and you don’t have to record straight into the editing program.
There’s lots of tutorials and things online. I heavily used this one when I got started (and still refer to it now).
AO3 has some very useful guides too, such as this one which goes through the whole process from choosing what to podfic to posting the final product.
I also am in the podfichat discord, which is really helpful. And I cannot go without thanking @mistmarauder, who has been super kind and supportive of me, always willing to answer my questions, and is a huge inspiration!
Hope this helps and please let me know if you have any questions at all!
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20 Questions for Fic Writers
1. How many works do you have on ao3?
28, 32 if you count the MCU fics I am not particularly proud of. But some people seem to like them, so they stay.
2. what's your total ao3 word count?
266,092 - I probably have a good 50k+ in sitting in my wips.
3. What fandoms do you write for?
Genshin Impact, BSD, VLD (but only klance), the Wolfstar corner of HP, and BNHA. Also, I'm planning to write for Carry On for Carry On Countdown this year. At some point I’d like to write for kingdom hearts and sk8. (Previously MCU but as mentioned that's been long abandoned.)
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
Whoops, There Goes My Heart (T, 38.4k)
Iced Coffee is Not Supposed to be Spicy (E, 11.1k)
He Makes Me Bloom (E, 30.5k)
Rosé & Bubblegum (E, 11.3k)
Make This Home Yours (E, 10.8k)
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
Yes! I like engaging with my readers, sometimes I'm just very slow. Or like in the context of a wip, I don't always respond until I'm ready to post the next chapter. Which can be very quick or very slow, depending.
6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
If Love Was Labeled Poison (E), definitely, easily, by a mile. It's a wip, but it was originally written as just this first chapter. And its ending is heartbreaking. And it's still not gonna be the happiest ending when I post the following two either.
7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
Most of my fics have happy endings, so just a fic that's extremely precious to me in its healing feelings: and it was enough (T)
8. Do you get hate on fics?
I wouldn't call it hate. There have been a couple weird comments I've deleted since entering VLD's fandom space about headcanons but I don't think it's hate. Just people being kind of asses. And in general it doesn't bother me, most of the comments I get are glowing.
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
So much smut. Very kinky, queer smut. No one is hetero and no one is cis. I generally try and tag dynamics and kinks used though so no one gets jump scared.
10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?
No. I mean, I've thought about it, but in the end, I just end up pulling elements from what would be the borrowed setting for the characters I want to write for. I'm not generally the sort who would dabble in crossover character interactions for longfic. Maybe in a silly drabble, if someone requested some of my favs.
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Not that I'm aware of.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
Yes, but I'm unsure if those translations are still available somewhere.
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far away, before the time of ao3. But not since. I do have a couple ideas with one of my partners that we might hash out eventually.
14. What's your all-time favorite ship?
Honestly? I love all my ships, I couldn't exactly rank them and it depends entirely on my mood. But, if there's one ship I'll always come back to, it's probably tddk, it's my comfort ship, they're always there for me. I have written exactly one fic, but they mean a lot to me. I'm going to write them more. (On that note, please give The Tea Shoppe at the End of Time (T) some love).
15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?
I don't think I have one. I know I have some old wips, but I do plan to go back and polish them up and finish them out.
16. What are your writing strengths?
I'd say... probably emotionally evocative imagery and metaphor, I think? I'm very much a smut author, but I think my imagery deserves note. Probably also snarky dialogue I love me some snarky ships.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
Fight scenes. Yep. Fight scenes.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?
I like it, I support it, sometimes I do it. It can feel very intimate, but I try and have a native speaker double check my work, and always leave translation notes for my readers.
19. First fandom you wrote for?
Oh, if we reach way back when... Probably Yuyu Hakusho or One Piece. But who knows where those ran off to. It was before ao3 times. I wasn't even an adult.
20. Favorite fic you've written?
To be honest, I can't really pick a favorite. But if I had to pick a writing I've done I think people should read (that I haven't already mentioned) I present Pettiness in Portraiture (E). Mind the tags, it's fucking rough.
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Tagged in '20 questions for fic writers' by the @chiropteracupola — thank you!!
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
4. Very shameful... I have many, many fics started, and so many ideas, but I usually lack the energy to finish them, but slowly work on them. And while I do have a couple that are finished, posting them wouldn't make a ton of sense without prior explanation on a lot of things. So it stays in the vault for now.
2. What’s your total AO3 word count?
8,887! I need to publish a fic that's just one word now!
3. What fandoms do you write for?
Primarily Sharpe- but more often I've written for Tolkien, even though I've never published anything publicly to AO3, just tumblr.
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
....I don't want to link the first one bc it's embarrassing, but it has 199 kudos.
Home has 34.
Longest Night has 26
And Después de guerra has 19.
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
Absolutely- I try to respond to every one I get. It's very rare I get comments for my fics, especially the Sharpe ones, so I treasure them dearly!
6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
This is going to sound terrible, but I usually don't write fics with angsty endings!! I always try and end with at least a silver lining. (And at least for Sharpe fics, canon already is pretty depressing, so I like to write happier things lol). I think it would have to be the one where my dúnedain ranger dies at the Battle of the Morannon, being snatched by a fell beast and dropped from a large height.
7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
I think Home. I just love Teresa and Sharpe and Antonia safe and happy and loved 🥺 Though it's been so many years since I wrote it I might have to go back and polish it....
8. Do you get hate on fics?
No, thankfully. But the fear of getting hate is what's prevented me from posting most of my Tolkien ones, I would say.
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
Yes! I've got one in the works atm that I really like. I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort in general, but honestly, I'm game for any smut. I'm the type of person who writes a 2,000 word blowjob fic thats IMPERATIVE for the character development lmao.
10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?
I don't think I've personally written any fics with crossovers before. I guess like 12 years ago I wrote a Resident Evil/Silent Hill crossover but never got far into it...I posted it to LiveJournal lol. Those were the days.
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
No, thank goodness. At least for Sharpe the fandom is so tiny it'd be hard not to notice if someone did lol.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
Nope! Though I've considered translating my own into Spanish, I'm not quite proficient as I am in English and it wouldn't be the same.
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
Almost every single bit of writing for the Sharpe series that isn't posted to AO3 has pretty much been written with @properbastard. Sam and I pretty much every day bounce ideas off of each other and share one brain cell. But she also beta-reads my fics and often helps me when I'm stuck, so even if it's a fic I wrote myself, she's pretty much embedded into it too. And if rping counts as cowriting a fic, then yes, absolutely!
14. What’s your all time favourite ship?
If you're following me and reading this, you probably already know <3
15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
Personally I try not to think of WIP's that way. I think I have the potential to finish any fic, but I don't want to set myself up for failure by thinking I'll never finish something. Or maybe that's just me being in denial LOL.
16. What are your writing strengths?
I think descriptions and maybe dialogue? I like to describe landscapes and set up scenes so that a nice image is painted and sets the stage for the main characters, so to speak. I also have a decent feel for dialogue, I think. Since I've very rarely written modern fiction, one of the most important aspects of historical fiction is being conscious of how characters speak. What words would they use? Do they shorten sentences, or not? What's their background? Upper class or from the gutter? Do they speak English natively? Can they use this phrase, or is that a modern one? I'm a stickler for it, and if I read a fic where the characters Do Not sound like themselves, I usually have to exit out of it.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
Actually writing lmfao. I don't tend to have a lot of confidence with my writing, which is a shame, but I struggle a lot with that and second guess myself on a lot of things. I'm also incredibly slow- I have so many fics on the backburner just chillin' that I get overwhelmed just looking at and then don't do it, despite wanting to. I create a lot of obstacles for myself that I know don't need to be there, but I'm not sure how to get rid of them.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?
I've done it before! Least not in published fics. For Teresa, since I literally got a Spanish degree because of her, in the past I've incorporated a bit of Spanish into my writing to practice my lessons with her. It was really fun- and honestly, I think it can definitely serve a purpose in a fic- sometimes not knowing what's being said and being forced to extrapolate for yourself through context clues can really put yourself into another characters shoes.
19. First fandom you wrote for?
Left 4 Dead. I was hugely into the Valve games, but L4D was my first foray, and probably my biggest and most popular fic. I had quite a few chapters and people really liked it on FF.net, and I would write out the chapters on paper in class, in middle school. I ended up deleting it because I had no idea what to do with it- no plans, no story, just writing as I went. I fondly remember a scene I wrote where Zoey was bleeding out and Nick used a defib on her and it worked <3 oh 13 year old medical knowledge....
20. Favourite fic you’ve written?
I can't choose! I think I'm so critical of my writing it's so hard to like anything I write.
I tag @phoenixflames12 @properbastard @conquistadoradelmar @prvtocol and whoever else wants to do it!!
#;memes#(thank you for the tag!!!)#(me: does this instead of writing)#(but to be fair I DID work on a fic yesterday and made some progress so!!)
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I'm sooooo excited for one fell swoop!!! i loved loved loved the snippets! do you already know when you are going to post it?? also, could you give us a context about the story?
if you have more snippets i wouldn't complain yk
ahhhh! this makes me so excited! I'm also sosososo excited to finish and edit and share it!!! I always laugh thinking about this post where I shared pieces of the old draft for it (scroll to the bottom to read it on the reblog) and this specific thing I said back in 2019 makes me laugh:
it might not be for another decade but a girl would like to return to this idea! maybe!!! she’d have to rewrite the #yikesheavy one-shot first. but like. you never know..... i’ll hit y’all up again when i’m in my 30s.
well jokes on me because I turned 30 this year and have 70k of the first draft written now lmfao. #yikesheavy one-shot included. I have NO clue when I'll be posting it but not a single piece of it is going up on Ao3 or FF until the entire thing is finished and polished to perfection baby!!!! I will eventually post the first chapter of it on tumblr exclusively sometime in the next several months (yes even before I finish) but not until I throw a few more tens of thousands of words onto the 1st draft first 🤪🤪🤪
[context + a special lil treat under the cut! 😌]
I summarize the gist of the story fairly well in this answered ask from october, so it's just as I explain it there.
when the story starts we meet jasper, a 21-year-old freshly-relapsed addict who is sprinting towards rock bottom. this girl, alice, quite literally stumbles onto the scene. she's a rude little amnesiac and the most well-off homeless girl jasper's ever met (not that he has a lot to go off of). very quickly jasper finds himself stuck trying to keep this damn girl from getting herself killed while he barely wants to be alive himself. it oozes codependence! unhealthy relationships! and they make just! about! every! bad decision you can make in their positions! it's great honestly. they're having a horrible time but I'm having a fantastic time writing it and it's pretty much a super-long rewrite of the first twilight fic I ever wrote back in high school! 🤩
if we're lucky I'll be able to split my time between writing this fic and writing roots and hopefully at least one of them will be done and ready for posting by summertime!! no promises, but fingers crossed! 🤞🤞🤞
anyways here's a tiny snippet from chapter 8 since this ask just got me soooo excited to get some writing done this winter!!! enjoy!!!
---------------------------------------------
It was as he was rearranging Alice’s clothes on his arm when someone smacked him on the back of the shoulder. He stepped forward, dropping the clothes to the ground and ducking. Spinning quickly, he pulled his fists closer to his face, readying himself.
“Relax, fuck!” A man stood a few feet away, hands lifted in front of him in surrender. “I didn’t even hit you that hard.”
“Peter,” Jasper gasped, shocked to see his friend. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing, motherfucker,” usually Peter’s tone was good-natured but today it held a hint of ice. “You’ve been ignoring my calls all week.”
“My phone’s been off.” He glared, straightening himself back up. He felt a little embarrassed at reacting so severely to a clap on the back, but since getting back into town a few nights ago, he’d been especially anxious. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw your car outside. Why are you in Kohls? And,” he glanced around Jasper, his jaw going slightly slack. “Are those women’s clothes?”
“I’m shopping with a friend,” Jasper growled, turning his back to the white-blonde man and picking the clothes back up. “What do you want?”
“Just checking up on you, God,” he defended irritably. “You fell off the face of the fucking planet when you got fired from Paul’s. Forgive me for fearing the worst.”
Jasper glared down at the pile of clothes as he shuffled them back onto his arm. He hated that Peter—the only person who really knew him—would apparently just know how he’d react to news like that.
“I’m fine.” He lied.
“Then why’d Charlotte see you pulled into Maria’s driveway last Friday?”
Fuck.
“I thought you weren’t in contact with her anymore,” Peter accused, his voice low.
Jasper understood the man’s anger. Being caught seeing her again was a shameful thing. And knowing that Peter knew about it made him feel worse. The self-hatred that fell over him in that moment was almost suffocating.
“Those aren’t for her are they?” Peter asked, voice still hard as he stared at the clothes Jasper held.
He turned back around and shook his head. There was nothing more he could really say. He was embarrassed. “Are you going to lecture me?” He asked, finally looking his only real friend in the eye.
“Depends,” he folded his arms. “How high are you right now.”
“I’m not,” he muttered. He wasn’t going to admit the fact that he wished he were, because that was a given.
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20 Questions for Fic Writers
I was tagged by @mysterygreentea thank you!!
I have two ao3 accounts I use regularly so I'll be answering for both!
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
On hcsf: 68
On stormoftara 215
2. What’s your total word count?
On hcsf: 362,281
On stormoftara: 1,185,425
3. What fandoms do you write for?
Too many to count, but currently Hermitcraft/Life series. Previously it was Undertale, Omori and Osomatsu San
4. Top 5 fics by kudos
On hcsf: A Game of Love, Distances and Lies, Scar is Oblivious, Truth or Dare, Dick Measuring Contest
On stormoftara: The Dreamer, If not you then me, The Heaviness of a Heart, Drunken Ramblings, UN//Forgotten
5. Do you respond to comments?
Oh how I try… but fail. I'm sorry.
6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
Uhhhhh. That's a good question. Maybe Missing, an Osomatsu San fic about Karamatsu dying.
7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
That's hard too. I write a lot of angst. Lots of my short fics are fluffy and have good endings. I can't think of one thats like super happy.
8. Do you get hate on fics?
Yeah. Some of my Omori fics for reasons I don't understand. At one point I had one person really harassing me about it. I don't know why honestly.
9. Do you write smut?
Yeah. Most of my highest kudos fics on hcsf are smut, if the fuc title "Dick Measuring Contest" is any hint lmao
10. Do you write crossovers?
Sure do! Mostly Mob Psycho 100/Osomatsu San. But there are other, much stranger things
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Not really. I've had some really close plagiarism, in which someone took my exact idea, but thats not really stealing. I was mad that there were comments on the other fic saying it was the best thing they ever read when it was a copy of my work, but eh... On Wattpad someone stole my story from reddit, but that particular story has been stolen and it's everywhere. It shows up a bunch in those YouTube videos where people read reddit posts too. That's not a fic and I'm not that upset since they usually credit me.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
Yup! One Undertale fic and one Omori fic. There might be others, but those ones I know for sure!
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
Nope and I wouldn't do that. I can't write like that.
14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?
I dunno. I like a lot of things. I guess TotoNyaa and Scarian
15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?
I have about 50. I don't think I'll finish any of them. There's an Undertale fic and an Omori fic I want to finish but I don't have time. Sigh.
16. What are your writing strengths?
Writing fast. I have no lack of ideas.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
Grammar. I write too fast and forget words. I get lazy and I don't edit things or polish them like I should
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?
Nah. It's confusing for the reader. If someone is speaking another language I either translate it in the text or if the Narrator doesn't understand I just say that.
19. First fandom you wrote for?
Marble Hornets
20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?
A Game of Love. It's also by far my most popular fic so I'm happy that others like it too!
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Begin
Word Count: 402
Summary: The beginning of something, or something. (Alt: A brief moment in the day before Chase started getting properly puppetized.)
Notes: Not much to say, had it lying around in my documents, polished it a little bit, posted it. Enjoy. (Ao3 link here.)
“I don’t know if I can rightly call you a toy anymore,” the demon hummed as he threaded his fingers through Chase’s hair, “I’ve grown fonder of you than that. I think I ought to give you something for all the entertainment you’ve given me.”
Chase wasn’t sure how to take the compliment and fidgeted uncomfortably. Some small part of him fruitlessly hoped he might wiggle out of Anti’s grasp, but monstrous claws slid out of his fingertips at the first sign of struggle and held on tight. “Um… I uh…”
“You know the last person I grew this fond of was a thorn in my side,” Anti kept going, and although he was looking at Chase, the man got the distinct impression he wasn’t actually seeing him. Or… maybe he was seeing him as someone else. “Dear old Jackieboy, so optimistic, so cute. And so pathetic in chains. His eyes used to be baby blue, you know, but I’m sure you already knew that.”
Chase’s stomach started to turn.
“Ah, I hate him now, but back then he was my favorite. I wish he could have been awake more often, he was a lovely pet,” Anti sighed, and his claws disappeared, “Maybe that’s why you happened to end up in my lap, I can’t imagine finding this much joy in Jameson now.”
“I’m, uh, I’m not sure I really—”
“Aw, are you shaking?” Anti laughed, “I haven’t even done anything yet.”
Chase’s tongue seemed to move on its own. “I-I, you, I saw… Jackie you made him into a monster, I don’t want—”
“You don’t know what you want,” Anti snapped, “And neither did Jackie. I gave him a gift, a privilege. I could have kept him as my toy forever if I wanted, just like you are right now, but no, I decided I would make him something more.”
“A puppet.”
“Yes. He would have been a fun puppet, too, but at this point he’s out of my control. No point in dwelling on what-ifs when I have you now, though. I can do this the right way this time after all…” his tone smoothly transitioned to a soft, sweet one again, and he playfully tapped Chase’s nose, “Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’m going to start working on you, it’s going to be fun. And you are going to behave yourself, or I’m going to work on you while you’re wide awake.”
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Under Your Guidance, I Fell in Love - Prologue
You can find future chapters on my AO3! Here, I’ll only post the prologue. I hope you will enjoy my new Shigaraki x Reader project! Gonna be a long one, and to summarise it in tags: slow burn, angst, lov as family, it will get worse before it gets better
Shigaraki x Reader / Prologue
Trained and raised to make sure you fulfill your Master's wishes, you are sent on a mission to make Shigaraki Tomura fall in love with you and grow into the leader he is supposed to be. Soon after joining the League of Villains, complications arise.
AO3 LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33437170/chapters/83061598
--
“Your mission is about to commence, darling,” a cold, deep voice echoes from behind you. Shivers avoid you after years of training and you turn around to come face to face with your Master.
“Of course. The meeting point hasn't changed, I assume?”
All for One only nods and hands you a black sport bag. It's filled with various clothes, hygiene objects, and with some little personal belongings that will soon belong to you and your established persona.
“Go be his guidance, my dear. Make me proud,” you nod and put on a smile. Your mimic muscles fall easily into the practice move. Turning around, you glimpse at All for One for one last time before both of you disappear into the night.
--
It rains heavily as you enter the bar accompanied by Giran. You let out an exhale once you cross the threshold, only to breathe in the stale air from the room. You aren't even fully inside yet and the atmosphere is heavy.
According to your Master, Shigaraki Tomura had already recruited two other members, and even if they did end up in the organization, their rapport was anything but friendly. Toga was too eccentric and Dabi had no problem letting his mouth run as it pleased, ending up in a quarrel between him and your target.
This meeting was supposed to go smoothly, to calm down both Shigaraki Tomura and the new recruits. They needed at least some form of stability and friendly manners that could eventually grow into comradery. And you would do everything in your powers to ensure that the next hour will go swimmingly.
You shake off the water from your coat as you take it off, faking a nervous smile in Giran's direction. After all, you were supposed to be the local murderous sweetheart. Well, at least as much of a sweetheart that a villain could be. More like a nice healer that hates heroes and will do anything to help the fight against them.
Giran nodded and guided you further inside while lighting a cigarette. The door opens with a crack, revealing a dim light of the bar. Kurogiri, the mist man, is standing behind the bar, polishing spotless looking glasses. He seems to be talking in a hushed voice to your target. You can only see his lean figure covered in a black shirt. As expected, he has his family on him.
You quickly take control of your hitched breath. Shigaraki Tomura looks different from the photos you had seen. Even with his back turnt, you notice his slimness and pale hair that actually looks fluffier. It may not feel bad to run your hand through them, you wonder.
The broker lets out a puff before he speaks, not waiting for him to turn around. “Shigaraki, this is (L/N) (Y/N). The healer you asked for. Her criminal record is basically spotless, but that doesn't really mean anything, does it? She can heal you, and herself, and she hates heroes as much as the next guy. I can only assume she will make a fine admission to the team,” he finishes his monologue before smirking at you and going off to the corner.
You take a deep breath, trying not to cringe. Before you can open your mouth, Shigaraki Tomura straightens his back, effectively making you wait like a good subject-to-be. He looks at you over his shoulder. Father still in place as crimson eyes scan over your body, judging your frame.
He scoffs and returns to his glass, one finger carefully circling the edge. “So, how does your quirk work?”
“I can accelerate cell regeneration to restore missing limbs or heal wounds. It works on other people as…”
“Missing limbs, you say?” he finishes his drink as he interrupts you, putting the glass down with a strong thud. You wait for him to continue but even with his face facing the other way, you can say he is deep in thought. Shigaraki Tomura’s fingers braze the hands of his dead relatives until they settle on Father. Gently, it is put down next to the glass.
Suddenly, he turns around to get off the stool and straightens, standing in full height in front of you. You remember his height, weight, and every little detail that is known about him from your files but nothing could prepare you to meet him face to face. His features were softer, a sparkling contrast to the strained expressions he always wore on photos.
The depth of Tomura’s red eyes gained an edge, erasing all softness. Or maybe there never was one to begin with. You realized he was expecting an answer, a slight test on how you managed confrontation.
A wave of confusion ran through you, carefully hidden from your face. You saw the tape of how the recruitment went while preparing for your debut. Mentioning Stain or All Might was a big no-no, unless you wanted to be decayed faster than you could heal, but after the outburst with Toga and Dabi, you expected to find yourself in a similar situation. However, it looked like the manchild was able to actually put some thought into this.
“Yes, sir,” you quickly respond, pushing your chin forward. Before you can elaborate a sharp, unbearable pain starts to cruise through your veins. You let out a scream as you watch your left hand disappear into nothingness. Your life and Master have given you a fair share of pain but nothing could prepare you for the phantom of your limb.
His hand moves away before the decay spreads but the agony stays the same. In horror, you realise you are standing in the puddle of your own blood as he slides back to the chair. Drops of blood fall down in an uneven rhythm from what stayed from your arm. “Heal it then, if you can.”
You want to spit at him, kick him and yell insults, but the sharp voice of your Master in your head reminds you of your mission. And for it, Shigaraki Tomura must, unfortunately, stay alive, and you in his good graces.
Still, you let out a few curses as you focus on your left arm. It takes a few moments before the healing itch registers in your brain over the pain, and soon, you flex your fingers, cracking a few knuckles when it grows back.
You should have expected an outburst like this but you didn’t think you would ever come to harm, not after yesterday Kurogiri stopped everyone from killing each other. Maybe he was too slow to react this time, or rather, Shigaraki Tomura convinced him beforehand not to. From what you knew about his current caretaker and portal man, he was more compassionate than the rest of the villains. Still, ignoring your professionalism, you glare at him and your target as you uncomfortably flex your hand.
Shigaraki Tomura looks as unimpressed as always when he puts Father back onto his face. A low groan and an exhale escapes him once it’s set in place. Tension that you hadn’t noticed before seemed to evaporate from him.
“She may be useful after all, Giran. Sort the payment out with Kurogiri, I’m leaving,” with these words, he sets off to a long hall, not bothering to look at anyone in the room. You can only bite your tongue and remember your Master’s words. You were trained to handle him, take care of him, and a few days back you were fully confident you would fulfill All for One’s wishes, but after spending a few minutes in your target’s presence, the harsh reality only laughed at your hopes. Making Shigaraki Tomura fall in love with you and grow up certainly wasn’t going to be easy.
#shigaraki tomura#shigaraki x reader#tomura shigaraki#tomura x reader#shigaraki tomura x reader#shigaraki tomura x you#shigaraki x you#tomura x you#bnha#bnha x reader#bnha x you#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#mha x reader#mha x you#my writing
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Don’t Take the Money
(cross-posted from my AO3 and based on the Bleachers song of the same name; you should give it a listen ‘cause it definitely shaped this story)
-vomit tw, depression tw, lots of angst and emotional whump with a happy ending, of course-
Jaskier had received six urgent messages in three weeks, each delivered by a different exhausted messenger in the same oddly familiar livery. They showed up outside of inns, in the corner of taverns, and one of them even had to trek through the deep woods to find their hidden campsite; Geralt almost felt bad for them. Almost.
After the seventh strange man appeared with a scroll for Jaskier, the bard didn’t even bother reading it. He merely tossed the rolled and sealed piece of parchment into a refuse pile on their way out of town and didn’t look back. Geralt picked it up when the bard wasn’t paying attention, letting his eyes scan the fancy, swirling script of the Viscountess Pankratz.
Julian Alfred Pankratz,
Return home immediately! Your wedding cannot be put off any longer! Lady Ainsley will not wait another month for your foolish adventures with that Witcher to come to an end. If you do not return for your wedding in three weeks time then you shall be officially disowned and your name will be stricken from the family records.
With Urgency,
Lady Pankratz
Geralt swallowed hard. Jaskier was betrothed? He was to be married in three weeks? But they weren’t anywhere near Redania. Or Lettenhove. Jaskier had never mentioned anyone by the name of Lady Ainsley before, or anything about his past if he could avoid it. Did that mean...?
“Why aren’t you going?” the Witcher asked. Jaskier whirled around, his eyebrow already raised in confusion; he went three shades paler than normal when he saw the limp paper hanging from Geralt’s fingers. “We’re not even remotely close to your hometown and we’re traveling in quite the opposite direction.”
Jaskier made a face and waved his hand dismissively.
“I know. I don’t want to marry her.”
“Why don’t you want to marry her? They’re going to disown you, Jaskier. Isn’t this” - he shook the letter for emphasis - “the life you’re used to living, anyway? You should go home and be with...with someone like you .”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Geralt? You think I belong with someone foppish? Loud? Annoying?” The bard was spitting mad already. The Witcher had touched on a sore spot, apparently. “Should I be with someone more breakable and human and petty?”
“Don’t you want- aren’t you-”
“C’mon big boy, use that fantastic Witcher brain of yours. Figure it out.”
Geralt didn’t understand.
“Wouldn’t you be happier with her than on the Path with me?”
Jaskier looked...hurt. His expression changed from indignant to heartbroken in the measure of time that occurred between split seconds. It did something awful in the Witcher’s gut. Something unfamiliar and painful. The bard’s next words were barely above a whisper. Even with his enhanced hearing Geralt had to focus hard: “Would you prefer me to be married off and out of your way?”
“No, that’s not what I-”
“I don’t even know what we’re even getting at here, Geralt. I’m sorry. I can return home if you’d like. If I send a messenger first thing tomorrow then the family’s hired mage can portal me back in time for the wedding.”
“Jaskier,” the Witcher was pleading. He didn’t know why or for what, but the pitch of his voice left room for no other possible interpretation. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
“Then don’t ask me to marry her, Geralt.”
The Witcher dropped the letter back onto the refuse pile and shoved it deeper with the tip of his boot. Jaskier’s bright smile returned and the soft notes of his lute filled the air once again. For some inexplicable reason Geralt felt triumphant. As if he’d won a battle he didn’t know he’d been fighting against an enemy he’d never met before.
---
“Are you Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf?” a well-dressed stranger asked, approaching the table where the Witcher was seated. It had been a week since his and Jaskier’s argument over the summons. Neither one had brought it up again and the bard had seemed almost unusually affectionate since. The amount of casual touching they did had significantly increased, even when the sun set and it was growing close to bedtime. Jaskier seemed to be happy touching Geralt and the Witcher had no reason to complain; he liked knowing that his best friend wasn’t scared of him.
He regarded the messenger with a suspicious gaze, “Aye. I am Geralt of Rivia.”
“I have a contract for you.” The man slid a piece of paper across the table and folded himself into the chair across from Geralt’s. The pattern stamped into the red wax seal was familiar but the Witcher couldn’t quite remember where he’d seen it before. His strange visitor smiled benignly, “It doesn’t even involve killing.”
“Then why hire a Witcher? That’s kind of our schtick.”
“This agreement is of a more personal nature,” the man shrugged, leaning back in his chair and waiting for Geralt to read his missive. The Witcher took the delicate stationary in his large hands and unfolded it until he could see the printed words:
To Sir Geralt of Rivia,
Witcher and Friend of Julian Alfred Pankratz
We, the Pankratz Family, come to you and offer this agreement:
Return Julian safely to our ancestral home within two weeks and you shall be paid the sum of 1500 crowns. Consider it a bodyguarding mission, if you so desire.
You are also formally invited to attend the wedding of Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove to the Countess Ainsley DeStael of Rinde, which will occur three days after your mission ends.
In order to complete the job and claim your payment, however, you must leave the wedding party without Julian at your side and return to your Witcher duties alone. He isn’t cut out for such a hard life on the road. He is of noble blood and has responsibilities here at home. Please return him to his kind of people and claim your coin in recompense.
Sincerely,
Francois Reginald Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove
&
Constantina Charlotte Pankratz, Lady de Lettenhove
Geralt glanced up from the contract and out into the main dining room where Jaskier was currently jigging atop one of the surprisingly sturdy tables. The bard’s smile was bright, his voice was strong and clear as he sang of lovers meeting in secret, and his blue eyes twinkled with joy. He loved the attention of performing. How could Geralt take that away from him, even if he would be safer at home? Even if he would be married to another, spending his time with another, caring for another…
But didn’t Geralt care about Jaskier? Isn’t that why he’d risked life and limb over and over to keep the bard safe? Because Geralt loved him? He pushed the thought away with haste and tried to keep his expression neutral. His amber eyes strayed to the upturned hat at Jaskier’s feet. People had been depositing coins there all night and a rather decent pile had sprung up but -
But he could be doing better, Geralt thought. He could be taking a warm bath every night and buying expensive oils from real apothecaries and not sketchy traveling salesmen. He could be dressing in silk every day and never complain about having to wear a woolen doublet for warmth again. He could sleep next to a fire in a real feather-bed. With blankets. He could stay healthy and safe and never go near another angry monster for all his days.
Something in the Witcher’s heart withered and died when he realized just how much he’d been holding Jaskier back; something important. Something the bard had helped him cultivate over six long years of traveling together. In an instant the Witcher had hidden it away in a dark corner to die.
“Alright.”
“Huh,” the messenger smirked. “They thought it would take more bribery to get you to agree, Witcher.”
“It’s not about the crowns,” Geralt shrugged, gaze flitting back up to Jaskier. The bard’s twinkling cornflower-blue eyes met with his and Geralt quickly glanced away, already ridden with guilt and shame over his decision. “It’s about making him happy and keeping him safe.”
“If I didn’t know any better about your kind and their lack of feelings,” the messenger snorted, “I’d say you might even love the Little Lord Pankratz.”
“If I didn’t know any better about myself,” Geralt replied, “I might agree.”
“See you in two weeks, then. Hope you can make it to Redania in time.”
“Why not just portal us there? Jaskier said his family had a hired mage.”
“Busy with wedding preparations,” the man shrugged. “Anyway, I must be going. The Viscount and her Ladyship are eager to hear your reply. See you soon, I’m sure.”
The stranger stood, bowed, and disappeared back to Lettenhove with the signed contract. Geralt swallowed back a mouthful of bile. He hated himself. He really did. But this is what’s best for Jaskier.
---
“Who was that, earlier at the table?” the bard asked. He was lounging on the bed with a tin of lute polish in one hand and a rag in the other. “Did he have a contract?”
“Yes. In Redania, actually.”
“Oh, lovely! It’s almost time for the summer festivals to begin; I can show you the best alehouse in all of Novigrad while we’re there.”
“My job is near Lettenhove. Do you want to go with me?”
“Sure. Might be fun to swing by my old stomping grounds. This doesn’t have anything to do with my canceled wedding, does it?” the bard shot him a pointed look. Geralt schooled his features into some sort of passivity and shook his head.
“Vampires rarely attend the weddings of minor nobility,” the Witcher lied through his teeth.
“Vampires, huh? Nifty. Haven’t had one of those to write about in awhile.”
“Hmm.”
---
“Geralt, help! Geralt, please! GERALT!”
The Witcher tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He kept hearing Jaskier’s raw, heartbroken voice ringing in his ears. He could still smell the desperation and panic that clung to the bard’s soft skin as he struggled to get away from his captors. To get back to where the Witcher stood with Roach and the gatekeeper. Geralt kept imagining those eyes, those fucking beautiful eyes, brimming with tears of betrayal as a liveried servant handed him a velvet pouch stuffed fat with crowns. Oh gods, the way his bard had looked at him…Geralt shoved his head out the window and vomited. There was nothing but the sour sting of bile against his tongue and the back of his throat. He heaved in a breath but choked back the sob threatening to come with it.
“Please don’t leave me here, Geralt! Don’t take the money! I’ll be better, I promise! I won’t talk as much, I won’t touch Roach again, I won’t write any ballads about you, Geralt please, I lo-”
The guards had dragged Jaskier inside and slammed the heavy oak door shut before he could finish his sentence, but the Witcher had gotten the general idea. The bard thought he was doing this out of hatred and not out of the sincerest, purest love Geralt had ever felt. He thought this was a punishment and not a slightly backwards form of rescue. If only the bard could understand.
Jaskier’s love wasn’t unrequited.
The bard stole the very breath from Geralt’s lungs every time their eyes met. Every time Jaskier crowed with pride after finishing a new song about their adventures together the Witcher felt his icy heart melt a little more. Each casual brush of their hands as they walked side-by-side sent his emotions reeling. The way his exuberant bard looked as he strolled beside Roach, the sunshine bringing out streaks of dark red in his chestnut hair and lightening the embroidery on his travel jerkin, it was ethereal. Magical. Overwhelming in all the best ways.
And he’d given it all away for a measly pouch of a coin and a slightly clearer conscious. Or was it?
Geralt retched again as he came to another realization.
He had forced Jaskier into something he didn’t want. Geralt had always given his friend free reign. The younger man came on and off the Path like a bee between flowers, visiting and traveling with the Witcher when he pleased and leaving again for odd jobs or festivals when Geralt wasn’t in the mood for company. But he’d given him no choice about the marriage. No, he’d wrestled Jaskier to the ground and bound his hands. He’d gagged him. He’d flung the bard into Roach’s saddle and tied his crossed wrists to the pommel so he couldn’t pick the knots free and escape. He’d passed Jaskier off to the guards and watched them drag him away as he spit out the gag and started yelling.
As he confessed his love to Geralt after six long years on the Path together.
Fucking hells, what have I done to him?
The suddenly panicked Witcher tumbled from his rented bed and reached for his boots. There was no time to spare. There was no time to waste.
There was only Jaskier.
---
Jaskier couldn’t believe it.
After all this time. After all their adventures. After all the songs he’d written and rooms he’d gotten them at comfortable inns, this is how the Witcher repaid him. Trading him back to his parents for a bag of coin like he was some sort of slave or whore.
He was a bard.
He was Geralt’s bard.
Well, he used to be Geralt’s bard. Now he was going to be Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove and Lord of Rinde by marriage.
He wished he could just stop breathing and disappear. His heart thudded dully in his chest and it felt as if he was floating several feet below the surface of deep water. He was unable or unwilling to surface; maybe both. There was no point anymore, really. Geralt, the only person he’d ever really loved, had trussed him up like a market goose and traded him for silver.
The food his family’s servants brought him laid mostly untouched. He knew how to eat just enough to keep from dying. He’d been in plenty of dungeons and bandit camps before. Jaskier had spent six years following the Witcher’s Path and surviving off of whatever Geralt caught or he traded for. There was no reason to eat any more than what he needed to keep his body alive. There was no reason to get out of bed. Or bathe. Or change clothes. These clothes still smelled like the road. Like lute polish and chamomile oil and Roach and mud and Geralt.
“Please,” his mother begged, clasping his limp hand in both of hers. She’d been sitting at his bedside for maybe an hour, watching him stare listlessly up into the green velvet canopy above him. “Just eat something substantial. Say something. Do something, Julian. We know you aren’t happy with us or our decision but you can’t just lay here all day and wallow in self-pity. You have responsibilities to take care of; Ainsley has grown worried and her father is impatient.”
“The wedding is tomorrow,” he’d replied. There was no emotion in his voice and the monotony was soothing to his own ears. Geralt didn’t like it when he got too excited. Best to be calm and quiet like a good little noble. “I will be presentable. I will be at the altar. I will do my duty for the family.”
“Thank you, Julian.”
“But I will not love her.”
“You never have to love her,” his mother smiled. She gave his hand another small pat before standing and moving towards the door. Her job here was done, after all. “We only need you to marry her.”
---
Geralt pounded up the steps of the keep two-at-a-time. His usually slow heartbeat was now pounding in his ears like a warlord’s drum. He had to save Jaskier, he had to - the door slammed open and something hard went flying into his chest, knocking him back a step. The Witcher reached out a hand to steady the person he’d collided with but his amber eyes were still focused on the castle’s front door. He moved to step around the stranger and into the building when they suddenly spoke. The bard’s voice was pitchy and low from crying all morning: “Geralt?”
“Jaskier?” the Witcher gasped. His grip tightened around the younger man’s upper arm. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” Jaskier looked truly flabbergasted. His expression shifted from shock to anger quickly, however, and the hurt in those blue eyes nailed Geralt to the ground where he stood. “Am I OKAY? You absolute fucking moron; of course I’m not okay. The love of my life tied me up, handed me over to my horrible fucking family like a Beltane offering, and disappeared into the night with a fat bag of crowns. The one person I love most in this world, the only person I’d ever trust with my life or my lute, treated me like a transaction of some sort. I am very much not okay, Geralt of Rivia! Now pick me up, take me to Roach, and get me the fuck out Lettenhove before I have to marry that horrible, terrible, hideous woman!”
The Witcher cracked a smile. Jaskier jabbed a finger into his chest and frowned even more deeply. “Why the fuck are you smiling, Witcher?”
“Because I missed the sound of your voice.”
The bard blushed, his righteous anger faltering.
“I love you too,” Geralt added. Jaskier’s eyes somehow grew even rounder and more watery. “I’m so fucking sorry but I didn’t know how else to protect you. I thought that maybe after coming home and seeing how much nicer it was than being on the Path you might want to stay here and be safe. Live your life normally. I thought you’d be happier here than you were with me. You’d certainly wouldn’t be hurt as often.”
“Did you just say that you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear me say that I love you, mere moments ago?”
“Yes.”
“Then why the fuck would you try to get rid of me?” The Witcher tried not to flinch when Jaskier placed a gentle hand against his cheek. He’d expected a slap. A kick to the shin. A knee to the groin. Screaming. He hadn’t expected that look of soft understanding to dawn on Jaskier’s boyish face. Despite the knowing sparkle in his eyes, the bard’s voice was sad. “Caged birds never sing, Geralt. What an awful cage it would have been; I'd never see my handsome Witcher again. I'd never attend another royal wedding as entertainment. I'd never write another line of song, much less be able to sing it. I would have been miserable Geralt. I probably would have died much sooner here than I would on the Path.”
“Can you ever forgive me?”
“As soon as you do as I say and get me the hell out of here, then yes, I’ll consider forgiving you, Witcher.”
“Well I suppose we shouldn’t waste any time.”
Geralt flung the bard up and over his shoulder and took off back down the steps at a sprint. He wasn’t going to let those people have his darling Jaskier back. Not if they tried to cage him and take his voice. He knew better now. He understood.
They loved each other.
The bard was laughing brightly, bouncing along as Geralt made for the stables. He could see his family exiting the Great Hall and making their way in his direction. It didn’t matter. They’d never catch up with his Witcher. He shot them several naughty hand gestures and grinned widely when Geralt swung them both up into Roach’s saddle. “Sorry girl,” he apologized. “Time for our daring escape into the woods.”
---
"Fifteen hundred crowns, huh?" Jaskier asked, eyeing the hefty purple velvet bag.
"Actually there are only fourteen hundred left," Geralt shrugged. He reached into his saddlebag and brought out a small leather pouch, which he handed to Jaskier. The bard opened it, peered inside, and gasped in very genuine surprise.
"Geralt..."
"Do you like it?" the Witcher was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth in the cutest way. Jaskier wanted to answer but his heart was caught somewhere between his throat and his stomach so he couldn't quite form words. He nodded.
"Can you help me put it on?"
"There's no clasp. They aren't meant to have clasps."
"I know."
Geralt's heart soared as he lifted his gift for Jaskier out of the bag and lowered it over his head. The medallion rested just between his collarbones, framed by a tuft of the bard's chest hair. It was a copy of Geralt's wolf medallion, only this wolf held a flower in its mouth. Gently, as if unwilling to break the stem or let it go.
"It's perfect," the bard beamed. His eyes were watery and he blinked the tears free to keep staring at his new jewelry. "Thank you."
"Hmm."
"What do you want to do with the rest of the money?"
"I don't know," the Witcher shrugged. "Maybe go to the coast?"
"I've always wanted to go there!"
Geralt pressed a tender kiss against Jaskier's lips, reveling in the sensation of his bard melting against his chest. They'd spent the last few nights wrapped around each other, whispering secrets and stories into each others mouths until sleep overtook them. Tonight would be no different, except that now Jaskier felt truly safe. He felt loved. He felt utterly surrounded by the happiness that came with being on the Path next to his Witcher. "What are you thinking about, little lark?"
"I'm glad you came back for me. I'm glad we're together now."
"Hmm. Me too."
#geraskier fic#geraskier#geraskier fanfic#geralt x jaskier#geraskier whump#geralt of rivia whump#jaskier whump#geraskier hurt/comfort#hurt/comfort#geralt/jaskier#emotional hurt/comfort#h/c fic#the witcher fanfic#the witcher fanfiction#the witcher netflix
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WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.
⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic
pt. ii: they whose lives do not taste of evil ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )
words: 2.7k
warnings: none that are chapter specific.
rating: m/t
notes: thank you to everyone who has loved on me and supported me after posting the first part of this! it really makes me so warm and fuzzy inside and i cannot express in words how grateful i am. ♡
as always, thank you to my love @starcrier for being my most wonderful beta. ♡♡
Morning light filters through the curtains in the bedroom. The air conditioning had clicked off moons ago, having decided that the room was at its sufficient temperature; now just a few rays of the sun are warming the carpet on her side, cutting across the cream-colored knit blanket at the foot of the bed. Through the windows, she can hear the bustle of New York—churning, grinding, a beast of its own as it laboriously beneath their own feet.
Sometimes, Euphemia thinks that she hates New York—that she misses the countryside in Italy, that she misses bare feet on grass and warm, dark earth and the sticky-wet of pulling fruit straight from the vine. Sometimes, Euphemia thinks that New York is a beast waiting for her, to swallow her up, teeth ripping through pavement and concrete and brick to bite bite bite until it reaches her.
But not today. Today, Euphemia is not thinking about the Beast. She is thinking only about the fact that Santino’s spot beside her is empty, and then she’s reminded that today he will be wandering out into the world under the Table to ask a man who doesn’t want anything to do with Santino to grant him a favor. To grant Santino what he is owed, as he would prefer it framed.
Euphemia sits up in bed. She’s not sure when it is that she finally fell asleep, but if the drag of exhaustion in her mind is any indication, it wasn’t very long ago. She can’t recall if she dreamt, or if she rested even at all—if she had to guess, she’d think she spent the entire night tossing and turning, restless, with the burning itch of John Wick’s threatening presence looming in her future.
She can hear Santino out in the kitchen; the smell of coffee drifts in through the open door. The blonde slips out of bed to wander out, her footfalls quiet on the plush carpet, and she sees him—dressed, polished up, as though he got a perfect eight hours of sleep. An old song hums through the speakers of the sound system on the entertainment stand.
So much for keeping him distracted, Euphemia thinks ruefully.
“Good morning,” Santino greets, pouring a cup of coffee and setting it on the island counter to scoot it in her direction. “You were sleeping so soundly that I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You could have,” Euphie replies, taking the cup in her hands and using it to warm her fingers rather than drinking the coffee. “It wouldn’t have mattered. I don’t feel like I have slept at all.”
“Yes,” he agrees somberly, “you were restless.” His hand reaches up, the pad of his thumb tracing the slope of her jaw. “My little worrier.”
She crinkles her nose at him, finally relenting and taking a sip of her coffee. He’s made it just the way that he knows she likes—strong, rich, cream and no sugar. Santino winds his arms around her and laces his fingers against the small of her back, leaning so that he can get a long, good look at her.
“Well, go on,” he prompts her, eyes glittering playfully. “I know you want to say something to keep me home.”
Euphie’s chest tightens. It’s a little cruel of him; he wants to hear her ask, even though they both know there’s nothing she could say to change his mind. He likes to have her ask just so he can tell her no, and usually, she won’t bite. Not for his ego.
But this is different.
She sets the coffee aside, her hands instead finding his chest, holding on to the lapel of his jacket. She says, “I don’t want you to go, Santi. Please don’t go. We can stay in bed all day, or—what if we went back to Italy? Just for a little while? My mother would like to see you, I know.” Swallowing, Euphie feels her lashes flutter, the desire to let her voice wobble with emotion almost overwhelming. I won’t, she thinks, I won’t cry. “We can do anything you want, but—not this.”
“Sweet Euphie,” Santi sighs, taking her face in his hands. “Così dolce, just for me, aren’t you?” He leans in and kisses her temple; for a split second, she thinks that he might acquiesce, that he might set it aside, even for one day—indulge her, the way that he likes to do. Santino has always wanted her to be selfish with him. When they’d started dating, it took her months to get used to the way he’d buy her anything, cook her anything, give and get her anything, and for a girl who’d had so very little for so long, it had almost been nauseating. She would eat her fill, and Santino would say, more, cara mia? Would you like more? As if he had known that allowing her to indulge herself in the fruits of his world under the Table would curse her to stay, forever.
And here she was. Stuck. Blissfully, dreadfully, wretchedly, sickeningly and wonderfully stuck.
“But no,” he continues, pulling back and tilting her chin up with his fingers. “Business needs to be taken care of before I can relax.”
Euphemia releases a breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding. It’s not an unexpected response, but she won’t kick herself for trying—not considering the circumstances, considering what he is leaving to do. In anything else, she might have been too proud to say please.
Her fiancé plants a kiss on both of her cheeks. “Drink your coffee,” he commands, his voice light as he grabs his phone and tucks it into his pocket, heading for the door. “What time is the engagement party?”
“Seven,” Euphie replies tiredly. She does as he bids like it’s second nature to her now, taking a drink of the coffee. “Be back by five, Santi.”
His hand is on the handle to the door outside. She thinks she might be sick. He says, “Wear the red dress I like.”
“Maybe. If you behave.”
Santino flashes her a grin from the doorway. She wonders if anyone else is comfortable ordering him around, or if she’s just so accustomed to living with an apex predator that she’s become numb to his dangers.
“Yes, cara mia,” he purrs. “Anything you say.”
Except that isn’t true, she thinks, watching him open the door and greet Ares, who has been waiting—lurking, in the hall to the elevator, like the shadows cut across the floor from the chandelier lights. There is a tiny moment where their eyes meet over Santino’s shoulder, and Euphemia hopes that she might see pity; she’s miserable, after all, knowing that Santino is walking into a slaughterhouse.
As ever, Ares is unreadable. There is only the tiny, almost imperceptible quirk of the corner of her mouth, and then door is closed and Euphemia is alone. And there is a tiny, vicious part of her that says, we ought to get used to being alone. We never should have forgotten it in the first place.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
Santino is late, and when he shows up, he doesn’t say whether things went well or not.
They must have gone well enough, because he’s alive and in one piece and in a fine enough mood. But that is the problem—his mood is fine. He arrives at his own engagement party in a fine mood, and Euphemia can’t decide what’s more irritating: that he’s late, that he won’t tell her how it went, or that he can’t fake being delighted for a few hours.
“Ah, there’s your man,” Winston says, a smile lifting his expression. The older man had been keeping her company as the hour ticked by and she had to say hello and hi and thank you to every guest attending at Santino’s behest—yet another frustrating detail, Euphemia mentally notes, that he’d bothered all of these folks to show up and didn’t have the decency to arrive on time himself. She’s very certain that Winston did not intend to stay as long as he has, and for that, she feels poorly.
But she’s too irritated to express it properly. “Is that one mine?” Euphie asks lightly, turning her gaze away from Santino striding into the room and getting stopped by guests on his way to her. She twists her untouched champagne flute in her fingers, fixing her gaze back on Winston. “No man of mine would come late to his own party. Not if he wanted to walk out in one piece.”
Winston laughs at her words and gives her hand a pat. “You are a woman after my own heart, Euphemia Volpe.”
“I’ll be accepting applications for the position of my husband shortly, I think.”
She feels Santino’s hand on her waist just before he leans into kiss her cheek; the movement is so quick that she doesn’t have the time to properly avoid his affection, and he almost certainly does that on purpose.
“I am so glad you could come, Winston!” Santino announces, reaching and shaking the older man’s hand. “And that you got to spend some time with my own personal star.” He turns to her now, finally, reaching up to take her face in his hands. “Mi dispiace, Euphie, I did try to hurry.”
She tilts her head a little, lifting her chin out of his grasp. “Don’t apologize to me,” Euphemia replies. “Winston is the one you kept waiting.”
Santino grins. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes—or rather, it doesn’t look like the kind of grin that you make when you’re happy. Nothing about him screams happy, future wedded-bliss. Everything looks strained, like someone’s pissed him off and he’s just had to do something about it.
He looks at Winston, dropping his hands. “I’m sorry, truly.”
The man waves his hand, as though it isn’t a big deal—but it is, Euphie knows, at the very least to her; Winston has always treated her kindly, regardless of whose arm she was on-and he puts a hand on Santino’s shoulder. “I only came to say congratulations and see this fine lady, and then I was going to be off. So—congratulations...” His gaze turns to Euphemia. “Miss Volpe.” He kisses both of her cheeks. “Here I have seen you. And I will be on my way.”
Euphie says, “Thank you for coming, Winston. You did not need to wait around for this idiot.”
“I never say no to time with a beautiful lady,” he admonishes, making to leave. “Santino just happens to be here.”
“I will walk you out,” Santino declares. He’s only just arrived, and he smells a little bit like smoke, and he’s carrying with him a strange, frantic energy; but before Euphemia can think to say anything, he’s kissing her—hard, and a little desperate, and she can feel an eerie tremble in his hands before he pulls away and takes her drink out of her hand and swallows the entire thing in one go.
And then he’s off. Walking away with Winston, who looks calm and unbothered by the erratic display (though Winston always looks that way, so it’s no good gauge for Euphemia to tell when something is off). But something is off. As they’re walking, Santino is talking to Winston with a frenetic urgency that translates only in ways she can recognize. To the outside eye, her fiancé is composed, and perhaps a little stressed, his strides collected and tight and his lopsided grin to sharp to be pleasant.
His kiss tastes of ash. She can feel it in her mouth, still, gunpowder and smoke lingering in the palette, but she will not bring herself to think about where it came from.
By the time Santino returns from “walking Winston out”—which probably means talking to Winston about something he doesn’t want Euphie to hear—she has decided to bring it up. She doesn’t know how, yet, but she’s going to do it.
He slides his arms around her as she visits with some of their friends, burying his face into the crook of her neck, like he just can’t stand not to be touching for a second longer. The conversation carries on blithely without her; Euphie reaches up and cradles the side of Santino’s face with her hand, fingers brushing the dark, honeyed curls at his temple. She’s decided to be sweet about it.
“You seem stressed,” she murmurs.
“Not stressed,” Santino replies, speaking the words into her neck. He sways a little, turning her in his arms and pulling her against him so that he can sway her with him. The movements are leisurely in comparison to the energy that he’s carrying; pushing and pulling with the lull of the delicate music playing overhead. It should be a dream, this engagement party. It’s all golden light and warmth billowing from an ornate fireplace, the people that she cares the most about celebrating her and Santino’s love.
Euphemia says, “You smell like smoke.”
It’s not a question, and Santino knows it. He holds one of her hands in his and presses their foreheads together.
“You are so beautiful, Euphie,” he sighs dreamily. He kisses her again—less urgent this time—and she knows what it means: it’s better if she doesn’t ask. She’s going to be a D’Antonio, which means that problems get taken care of for her, and she doesn’t have to worry about following up.
Still, while the warmth of his kiss is distracting and lovely, and the feel of his hands pressing into the base of her spine where the plunging back of the red silk dress he likes the best on her makes her skin break out in delighted goosebumps, she cannot help but think, I should know. I have a right to know what’s going on.
“Santi,” she begins, lower her voice even more, “if something has happened—”
“Nothing has happened,” Santino insists, turning her slowly before drawing her back against him. “Mia piccola volpe, stop fussing. I promised you, didn’t I?”
Her lips press into a thin line. “Yes,” she replies after a minute, “you did.” But if something has happened, she wants to say, and can’t bring herself to because Santino is kissing her again, pleased with her concise and obedient answer; he kisses her again and again, between breaths, funneling all of his frenzied energy into her instead. He gives it to her to hold, but won’t tell her where it’s come from or why it’s there. Just shoves it into her for safekeeping.
People cat-call and holler and whoop and laugh, and he grins against her mouth, lifting her up against him playfully—just far enough off the ground that she loops her arms around his neck to steady herself, unable to focus on how frustrating it is to be worried, and not know why.
“Ti amo,” Santino rumbles against her collarbone, kissing there reverently. “What do you think about leaving, hm? Sneak out of our own engagement party early, so I can take you home and enjoy you properly?”
It sounds too good, to go home. It sounds too good, because just that morning, she was begging him not to leave.
“I don’t know,” she ventures, smoothing her hand absently over the lapel of his suit jacket once he’s set her back down. “I don’t know, Santi, I...”
Her voice trails off. Ares is by the door. Once, the woman had been a comfort to her; now, she’s a reminder of this traitorous thing Santino has done, this thing that sits between them but only he can see and touch and feel, and Euphie just has to suffer the consequences of it one way or another.
“Come on, cara mia,” he coaxes, drawing her eyes back to him, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger. “We can do whatever you want.”
There must be something he isn’t telling me, she thinks. Something that’s blown his pupils wide until the black at them is eating away at the gorgeous jade green of his irises. Something dreadful, that he knows she’ll hate. That she’ll fuss about.
The question sits there, just on the tip of her tongue. What about Wick? she wants to ask. But she already knows that he won’t tell her, and she is learning quickly not to ask.
Ignorance is bliss, anyway.
#santino d'antonio x oc#john wick fic#spilled ink#santino d'antonio/oc#f: where there is no temptation there is no glory#c: euphemia volpe#santino d'antonio#i still feel exceptionally shy about this but dkjhfdkf#thank u thank u thank u everyone who has given me love!!!!#x: senza tentazioni senza onore
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Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.
Interview with Audrey Roget
Audrey Roget has 10 fics at Gossamer, with some different ones at AO3, fanfiction.net, and her website. You might know her from her very good fics or as part of Musea, a collective that all wrote fic and posted X-Files fic recs. I’ve recced some of my favorites of her stories here before, including Three Times Dana Scully Didn’t Go to San Diego for Christmas and The Shirt. Big thanks to Audrey for doing this interview.
Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?
A little, yes. Not so much by folks who were around in those days. I sometimes go hunting for beloved stories from the early years, both those I read and loved, and those I never got around to. I am always delighted to hear that later generations of fans have stumbled across my stuff, especially since I haven’t posted anything new in a number of years. It’s fantastic that both years-long fans and new ones are out there continuing to rec fic from all eras, and to maintain archives for fans yet-to-be born.
What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it? What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?
It may sound corny, but the main thing I think of, and the thing that has ultimately been most valuable and lasting, has been the friendships. The feeling of having found a tribe – not just of TXF fans, but of other people who could be as enthusiastically engaged as I was (if not more so) with fictional stories and characters – was mind-blowing. Since I was a kid, I had often mulled over the books/movies/TV I loved and speculated internally about what happened off the page or off-screen, or created new stories for characters in my head. But, except for an elementary school phase where I and my two BFFs regularly played Charlie’s Angels, I hadn’t engaged in that kind of gleeful immersion in a fictional world with others until TXF fandom. My involvement in fandom followed pretty quickly from getting hooked on the show, so for me, it’s all one big ball of experiences. Even as my interest in/involvement in fandom has waxed and waned over the years, I’ve been lucky to remain friends with wonderful people who I originally connected with as fellow fans.
Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)? What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?
My initial entrée to the fandom was through fanfiction. I didn’t get interested in the show until mid-season 5. Around the same time, I read an article in a zine called Might (co-founded by Dave Eggers) about this thing called fanfiction that people would write and publish online. At first I thought it was satire or a joke – the fic cited involved Wilma Flintstone and a polished sabre tooth, as I recall – but then realized this was an actual thing. So I figured that a show then at the peak of pop culture must have fanfiction, and I went looking. Early on, I scrolled atxc on a daily basis and downloaded stories. But I didn’t engage in discussions about the show on Usenet, since I only knew how to access it with my Earthlink email client, and I didn’t want to post using my real name.
Later, I set up a pseud address with Yahoo and subscribed to a couple of email fanfic/discussion lists, and stayed subscribed to those for years. There was also a period in there somewhere – of maybe only a year or so, when I think about it – when I’d often nerd out into the wee hours with other fans via IM chat groups. That was around the time the small writers’ collective Musea was founded, and we were active for several years after the show’s initial run. In the early aughts, I followed many authors to LiveJournal and eventually set up my own account and stayed involved in fandom that way, until it mostly dispersed as well.
What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?
In a word: Chemistry. I had casually watched a couple of episodes during the first four seasons, but I’m not a huge sci-fi/horror fan at heart, and the story lines didn’t immediately grab me. But I happened to tune into The Red and the Black in 1998, and BOOM. For the first time, the intense layers of emotion and attraction between Mulder and Scully really struck me – and then of course, upon further viewing, I realized it was unmissable, an essential element in the fabric of the show. As a wise woman once said, a switch had been flicked. Mulder and Scully’s magnetism was like nothing I’d ever seen, and though I eventually came to appreciate the storytelling, humor, production values, and other components that made the series so successful, watching those characters interact has always been what kept me coming back.
Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?
I was part of a list-serv discussion group for The West Wing for a while, which was a fun melding of character and plot analysis with political discussion. Later, I got into the House, MD fandom, again mostly as a fanfic reader/writer. I was finding that other fandoms, unlike TXF, were more dispersed, the networks of people structured more loosely, if at all. There were fanfic and discussion communities on LiveJournal, and fanfiction.net was the other main hub for posting and reading, but if there was anything centralized like Gossamer, Ephemeral, or the Haven, I never found it. Within all those fan communities, as in TXF, there were partisans for various characters and pairings, and flame wars erupted over plot developments that outraged this faction or that. One main difference was that those other shows had larger, ensemble casts and more varied subplots. So on one hand, there was more opportunity to explore back stories and multiple perspectives. In House MD in particular, there were several entrenched rival shipper camps, which were about equally grounded in canon, rather than TXF’s central ship. I was less into TWW fic, but my impression was that readers were less militant about their pairing preferences than TXF or House fans.
Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?
I was deeply fascinated by Greg House for several years. (And the love-hate chemistry between him and Lisa Cuddy was a strong draw for me.) House MD came early in a wave of TV shows centered on anti-heroes, and Hugh Laurie brought amazing complexity and thoughtfulness to the character.
Philip and Elizabeth Jennings (The Americans) are a lethal pair of antiheroes. The inherent moral conflict of a sympathetic narrative from their POVs, and the global political conflict they embody was TV catnip for me. The internal struggles at the hearts of those characters were so exquisitely written and performed, they completely fascinate me.
The West Wing felt so much like a show created specifically for me. I’m especially fond of story arcs and scenes that centered on CJ Cregg, Charlie Young, and Josh Lyman. Though I loved Martin Sheen’s human portrayal of Jed Bartlet, the fact that he was the President always made him a little untouchable in my mind. But CJ, Charlie, and Josh were basically hard-working functionaries who were ambitious and idealistic and funny and flawed, and they spoke to me.
What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully? Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?
I do continue to think about Mulder and Scully and watch episodes somewhat often. I’ll sometimes run a favorite episode as background when I want something comforting on. I read TXF fic pretty regularly, which can inspire me to go back and watch a particular episode or story arc I haven’t thought about in years. Just recently, I started listening to The X-Files Diaries podcast (@XFDPodcast, @admiralty-xfd), and that’s a fun dive into the characters, and how other fans react to and interpret episodes.
Every once in a while, a TV show or movie – and more particularly, the characters – will grab my attention and make me curious about how fanfic writers have interpreted the original material. Random example, I saw Singin’ in the Rain for the first time in a theatre a couple of years ago, and the chemistry of the three leads sent me to AO3 as soon as I got home. I also loved the first season of Mercy Street and found some well-done stories in that fandom. I usually peruse the Yuletide gifts every year and have been amazed by the sheer variety, creativity and cheekiness of the output. There are a bunch of other shows I’ve followed faithfully, and sought out fanfic – Broadchurch, The Killing, Agents of SHIELD, Elementary, The Good Wife. Although I’ve found some well-written stuff in those fandoms, I’ve rarely gotten the same charge from them as reading TXF fic.
Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?
syntax6 (@syntax6) – Universal Invariants/Laws of Motion. I’d also shout out to syn’s Hunter fics, too – well worth reading even for those who have never seen or particularly loved the show itself.
JET – I re-read Small Lives Awake every year around Thanksgiving time. Other annual holiday re-reads: Revely’s The Dreaming Sea and Jordan’s Through the Fire (both set at Halloween).
Amal Nahurriyeh’s Casey universe – the rare post-col fic that felt hopeful, made extra intriguing by a kick-ass original character. [Lilydale note: the series starts with Machines of Freedom and has lots of additional fics and snippets.]
Prufrock’s Love – Finding Rokovoko was genuinely terrifying and tender.
melforbes (@melforbes) – Seaglass Blue is a recent favorite, lyrical and bittersweet.
These are just a few (apologies to those that didn’t come to mind immediately). Fortunately for readers, there’s an astonishing number of authors who have written in TXF fandom whom you can depend on for a good yarn, insightful character study, and/or ingenious “fixes” where 1013 went awry.
What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?
Probably the two set in my own (former) backyard of Southern California: Enivrez-vous and Ravenous. I’d first read the Baudelaire poem that was the source of the former’s title back in university days, so I was tickled to be able to use a few lines as an epigraph.
Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?
It’s not out of the realm possibility. I’d meant for “Three Times Dana Scully Didn’t Go to San Diego for Christmas” to be followed up with “And One Time She Did.” In fact, the idea for that never-finished story was what inspired “Three Times” in the first place. I have a couple of scenes sketched out and – unusually for me – even know exactly how to end it. Every year, November rolls around, and I think I should finish and post it…maybe in 2021?
Where do you get ideas for stories?
Sometimes it’s from my environment. “Enivrez-vous” and “Ravenous” describe places that I’m fond of, that made me want to place Mulder and Scully there. “What Not to Wear” has that element too – I set it in Memphis as a tribute to a great trip there with a sister Musean. But WNTW was also inspired by a kink challenge in a years-ago LiveJournal thread, so sometimes ideas come from fandom discussions or even other fanfics. In the House MD fandom, a fic by another writer made me want to continue the story, and the author kindly allowed an authorized sequel.
What's the story behind your pen name?
I wanted my pseudonym to sound like it could be a real person’s name – or at least, maybe like a romance writer’s pen name – rather than an online handle. I also wanted to use a slightly obscure fictional character, to amuse anyone in the know. I had long had a bit of an obsession with Whit Stillman’s 1990s film trilogy, which started with Metropolitan; the 3rd installment, Last Days of Disco, came out the same year I started down the TXF rabbit hole: 1998. The central heroine of Metropolitan – who is mentioned in or makes a cameo in the other two – is Audrey Rouget, a lover of Austen and, eventually, a book editor. I altered the spelling of the last name as a nod to every writer’s companion, Roget’s Thesaurus.
Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?
I have a few close friends – from outside TXF fandom – who know that I’ve written fanfic. I don’t know if they know my pseud; if they do, or if they’ve ready any of the fic, they haven’t said so to me. They are fannish sorts themselves, but not really TXF fans. A smattering of other friends and family members know or could intuit that I’ve been a fangrl on some level for years. My boss, whom I’ve known for about 3 years, recently mentioned off-handedly that she was really obsessed with TXF “back in the day,” and I am DYING to know if she got involved in fandom, but don’t think I’ll ever work up the courage to ask.
Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?
Most of the X-Files stuff continues to be generously and steadfastly archived by Forte at The Basement Office. The House MD stories and some TXF things are at fanfiction.net; same for AO3. If ever post anything new, it will probably go to TBO and AO3. I really ought to get it all together in one place, one of these days…
(Posted by Lilydale on April 6, 2021)
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The Real Deal
Ao3
Lena comes to the Nine-Tailed Diner just often enough for the waiters to know her face, but not often enough for them to know her name. She prefers it that way. The anonymity is comforting, but she knows in her gut it’s just an illusion when the waiters give her familiar smiles as she slides into her usual spot in the corner.
There was a time, before she met Webby, when Lena would scowl and duck her head away from the waiters’ friendly greetings. Where the mere notion of being noticed would make her gut churn and blood boil.
Not anymore.
Lena taps her carefully manicured nails against the smooth table as she waits, watching the cozily bustling diner. She’s not usually one for nail polish, but Dewey was just so excited when he saw the color that perfectly matched her magic, and despite her snarky exterior she couldn’t say no to Dewey’s infectious excitement when he bounced up to her with the bottles of nail polish. She smiles at the memory.
If Lena from a year and a half ago could see her now, she’d be unrecognizable. That’s not such a bad thing, Lena muses.
She pulls out her phone and quickly scrolls through social media, smiling when a picture of Webby pops up on her feed. Webby doesn’t post much, but when she does, just seeing her face never fails to make Lena smile.
The noise of the city and the harbor outside eventually fades into a calming white noise in the back of Lena’s mind. She’s used to the city. It was her home for fifteen years. But the sound of a particular car pulling up to the curb jerks Lena out of her thoughts, and she presses her face to the window, filled with an almost childlike glee.
A familiar car, light green and blocky and just as eccentric as its owner, putters at the curb. Lena can only see into the drivers’ side, but she snorts as she spots a familiar stupid-looking hat and chuckles to herself. Soon enough, a familiar face pops out from the other side of the car, looks to the corner window expectantly, and waves enthusiastically. Lena grins and waves back.
The bell on the diner door jingles, right on schedule, and Lena’s friend nearly sprints over to her booth.
“Hi, Lena!” Boyd chirps, and Lena grins.
“Hi,” she responds, significantly less energetic but with the same sentiment behind it.
Every month, Lena and Boyd meet at the Nine-Tailed Diner, just the two of them. It started one day when it was supposed to be all of the kids, but the McDuck kiddos were called away on an adventure, Violet had a school project, and Gosalyn was busy in St. Canard. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize how similar Lena and Boyd’s unique situations and backstories are.
Lena didn’t realize how lonely she was until she had someone who shared her experiences.
Boyd rubs at his elbow. It’s a nervous stim, and Lena’s attention is piqued. If Gyro said something insensitive to him again, well, he may be tall, but he’s a skinny twink, I can take him—
“Lena?”
Lena bites back a swell of nervousness and feigns casualness. “Hm?”
“How… do you feel about Webby?”
Lena blinks. “Well, I like her. You know that, dummy.”
“Yeah, but… how does that feel? You know… liking someone?” Boyd won’t meet her eyes.
Lena frowns. “What do you mean? Doesn’t everyone feel that way?”
Boyd stares at the table, lip trembling, and Lena ponders.
She doesn’t entirely know how to describe how she feels about Webby. Before Webby, it was just her and Aunt Magica. The two of us against the world, Lena always told herself, but it was always the world against Aunt Magica, with Lena sandwiched in the middle. And then she grew to hate Magica as well, like she always should have. For so long, Lena only knew hatred and apathy, whoever it may be directed to.
And then she met Webby.
And then she met Webby, and everything changed.
Webby was—is—a literal ray of sunshine. When Webby’s smiling face pops up in Lena’s view, when her bubbling laugh or high voice makes Lena’s heart sing. It’s stereotypical and cliché beyond belief, much to Lena’s chagrin, but that’s how she feels . If Huey offered her a thesaurus he must have stored in his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook somewhere (that thing has everything — it’s kind of ridiculous, honestly) she wouldn’t change it. There’s no other way to describe it.
“I… don’t know,” Lena hums. “Just… whenever I see her, I instantly feel better. It’s free serotonin, y’know?”
Boyd hums in acknowledgement, and after a moment of semi-awkward silence Lena continues.
She’s never been all that good about putting her feelings into words. She’s not particularly wordy like Huey, and she doesn’t have Violet’s extensive vocabulary (although she’s picked up quite a few words and phrases from the Sabrewing family). Not that she cares about it. It makes these kind of conversations difficult, though. But for Boyd, she will try.
“She was the first person to ever care about me,” Lena muses, fidgeting with the hem of her oversized sweater under the table. She’s had it forever. It feels like home, in the same way Webby does. “She has a special place in my heart. She was my first friend, but it’s different than my relationship with the boys, or Vi, or you.”
Boyd nods and avoids her gaze. He’s unhappy with that conclusion, although Lena can’t fathom why.
“So… by that logic,” Boyd begins, “I should be in love with Huey, right?”
Lena shrugs. It is true that Huey directly parallels Webby in their respective situations. “However you want to define it, dude.”
Boyd flexes his fingers. He’s still unhappy.
“Look, I’m not gonna judge you,” Lena says, snorting slightly and raising her hands placatingly in front of her. “I know homophobia is A Thing, but I literally just talked extensively about how I’m head over heels for another girl, so…”
“Homophobia is terrible,” Boyd responds finally. “I genuinely do not understand how people could think such a thing! How does one act so cruelly to another just because of something so trivial as sexual orientation?”
Lena presses her lips together. “Beats me, dude.”
After a moment, she adds, “So what’s your problem, then?”
Boyd’s head jerks up. “Huh?”
“You’re clearly disappointed about something ,” Lena says, gesturing with her arms and raising her eyebrows. “I know you well enough, ‘cause of these dumb meetings. I’m just gonna point out they were your idea.”
Boyd smirks, ever so slightly. “You love them, though.”
Lena looks away and crosses her arms pointedly, but allows the smallest of smiles to slip through her mask. Boyd cackles at that.
“But seriously. What’s botherin’ you?”
“By all accounts… I should feel that way about Huey. I don’t care about genders, and I feel differently about him than I feel about you and the other kids. But saying I love him, it just doesn’t feel right.” Boyd rubs at his arm.
“Hey, that’s fine!” Lena replies. “That’s kinda how I feel about labels, y’know? Webby likes ‘em, but I don’t.” She narrows her eyes and leans forward with her elbows on the table. “Is Huey pressuring you? ‘Cause if he is I’ll—”
“No! Nononono, Lena, it’s fine,” Boyd chuckles nervously, raising his hands placatingly in front of him. “If anything, I guess I’m pressuring myself. Logically, based on all accounts I have consulted, I should be in love. But…”
Lena gives an exaggeratedly frustrated sigh, making Boyd chuckle despite himself.
“Look, Pink tells me aaaaalll the time that my magic isn’t logical. Especially friendship magic. It follows its own rules, and it’s about looove and the power of friendship or whatever. So cheesy. But I guess your love might be the same thing.”
Lena takes a deep breath and leans back in the diner booth. “Stop pushing your feelings into dumb little boxes they don’t belong in. They won’t fit.”
Boyd smiles at her, small but not muted. “Thanks, Lena.”
Lena glances away, staring pointedly out the window. “Whatever. Don’t expect it to happen again.”
Boyd just giggles at that. His laughter is frustratingly infectious, and after a moment Lena finds herself chuckling alongside him.
The rest of the afternoon flits by, and for the life of her Lena cannot recall what they talked about. But their first topic of conversation, and Boyd’s worry, sits heavy on her mind for a while to come.
--
When Doctor (unofficially, shh, if the news got out that he had never finished his doctorate because of those ridiculous geese Gyro would be ruined ) Gyro Gearloose secured a job with McDuck Industries, he did not expect his precious lab would be run afoot by small children. Not even by Fenton, who acts more like a small child than some of these literal small children sometimes.
It’s almost closing time, but that has never mattered to McDuck Industries’ research branch. Even if Fenton and Manny go home eventually, Gyro has spent weeks on end in the lab. He will outlast them all.
Well, he used to. Before his team and his boss dragged him out to see the sunlight. And before Boyd.
For the record, Gyro did not forget about closing time. Not this time. He was working with that infernal little rodent, who, along with the blue nephew, had somehow wormed Mr. McDuck into allowing her to take some freelance work in the research department. Gyro’s department.
...He did have to admit that Gadget Hackwrench was frustratingly proficient at mechanics and machinery. Especially since she was so small. She was a great help to Gyro’s newest project, which required a lot of rough mechanical know-how.
Gadget, unlike the rest of them, was not incredibly self-sacrificial and actually liked clocking out when she was supposed to. She had to go home to her Rescue Avengers, or whatever they were called. Gyro couldn’t wrap his head around her way of thinking.
So they were tinkering away at the panel of the machine when Gadget glanced at the clock and reminded him of her obligations. She was packing up when Boyd came in.
“Dr. Gearloose!” Boyd, chipper as ever, entered the lab and bounced up to Gyro’s workstation. He was a bundle of energy, reminiscent of the blue and pink children. His hands darted around him like a hummingbird, never quite staying in one place long enough for Gyro’s tired brain to process. After a minute of unconsciously trying to watch and comprehend it, Gyro glanced away and rubbed at his forehead under his glasses while Boyd greeted Gadget with the same enthusiasm.
Wait. Was it really enthusiasm?
Pushing his glasses up his nose, Gyro watched carefully as Boyd flitted around Gadget, mentally comparing his movements and stims with what he knew of happy Boyd. And yes. It was off.
Gadget packed up, and Gyro slowly but carefully placed his wrench down and turned to face Boyd, leaning against his desk in a facade of casualness.
“So.”
“Can you fix me?”
Gyro pinches the bridge of his nose. “What did you do?”
Boyd clasps his hands nervously in front of him. “No. No. Nothing! I just… I know how I’m supposed to feel, but I don’t feel like that! So I must be broken!”
Gyro stares at Boyd like he’s grown a second head —- which, with Gyro’s robotics, is actually plausible. “Pft, you’re not broken. You think you could be broken?! I made you, kid. I fixed you up after Akita tampered with you. The great Gyro Gearloose does not make mistakes.”
Manny taps something unsupportive, and Fenton and Gadget both —- purposefully badly —- hide their laughter. Gyro screeches something incomprehensible at them. It doesn’t matter what he says; the point gets across.
Boyd is still staring up at Gyro, with that hero-worship puppy-dog look in his eyes that he wears so well, and he looks so scared that Gyro’s heart twists. His body sags, and he sighs and rolls his eyes and gestures for Boyd to follow. He perks up, and is immediately at Gyro’s heels with a characteristic grin, but his hands are trembling. Did he teach himself to do that?
Gyro kneels in front of Boyd, behind his desk, and stares into his eyes. Not in a symbolic way —- if he focuses just right, he can see the circuitry in his head.
Gyro purses his lips. “Everything looks fine. I told you I don’t make mistakes.”
“But—- But Lena’s in love with Webby and Dewey’s had three crushes in the past month and I don’t feel anything like that, ever! Lena says it’s fine but she’s had one girlfriend and that worked out for her perfectly and I’m happy for her and Webby, I really am, but I don’t know how to make it work for me and it must be some sort of error in the programming and I—-I just want to be a real boy!”
“Whoa, whoa!” Gyro shoves his hands in front of him reflexively. He pulls them back, out of Boyd’s face, when he processes and realizes how overwhelming that gesture could be. Boyd buries his face in his hands. “You are a real boy.”
Boyd gives him a tiny nod and doesn’t respond. Gyro’s throat feels tight and constricting, bile building up inside. He wants to say something and break the tension and silence, but he doesn’t know what or how.
“Love isn’t everything,” he says lamely after a minute. “I didn’t fall in love until Fenton, honestly. Not for real. Della said something about ‘demiromanticism,’ whatever the hell that is, and she says Mr. McDuck is the same way, but honestly I don’t really care. I don’t need to compartmentalize and hyper-analyze every aspect of myself that way. But if you want to, you could talk to her. Or the red nephew. He’d know.”
It’s weird, being this open and honest about his thoughts and feelings that aren’t inventions and blueprints. A part of Gyro is screaming at himself to close, shutter the windows and pull the walls back up and raise the prickly spikes to defend against anyone who dares get close. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, really.
Strike that. He knows why. It’s Boyd . He’ll do anything to bring that kid’s sunny disposition back. And he knows why he’ll do that, too.
“Demiromanticism?” Boyd places a finger on his chin and tilts his head ever so carefully to the side, testing out the feel of the word. “What’s that?”
Gyro shrugs lazily. “I dunno. Some fancy way of saying I only want a relationship with people who get close to me. Which is a very exclusive circle.”
Boyd pauses. Blinks. Gyro can nearly see the wheels turning in his head. “If there’s a term for that, do you think… there’s a term for going all the way? A term for never wanting a relationship?”
Gyro raises his eyebrows. “Probably.” He reaches for his phone. Boyd could search for it in his internal search engine (proudly programmed by Gyro two months ago, since search engines didn’t exist twenty years ago, but for the record if he had thought of it Akita hadn’t had him on such a tight schedule he could have done it. For the record.)
“Aromanticism,” Gyro muses, reading out loud. “The lack of romantic attraction. Does that sound about right?”
“Hmm,” Boyd puts his finger to his chin again. “It fits! I like it!”
Gyro smiles, that soft and gentle smile reserved exclusively for Boyd (and Fenton, sometimes). “Perfect. Now get out of my lab. It’s past closing time.”
Boyd sticks out his tongue, playful. “Like you care. Don’t stay up too late!”
Gyro just smiles in response and resolves himself to not make any promises he won’t keep.
Boyd gives him a quick, tight hug goodbye. He always gives hugs, to say hello and goodbye and everything inbetween, and Gyro is never quite prepared for them, although he certainly doesn’t mind them. Gyro isn’t very comfortable with touch or affection in general when it doesn’t come from a select few people, but he never protests. Boyd is one of those “select few people”.
If today’s hug is a bit tighter and longer than usual (but still brief, since Boyd knows well how Gyro clams up with physical affection, even if it’s from him, and he respects that), neither Boyd nor Gyro say a word.
Boyd says his goodbyes to the rest of Team Science (Gadget is long gone by now) and skips out of the room. “I can’t wait to tell Huey about this! He probably knows all about aromanticism! It’s probably in his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook!”
Gyro leans against his desk, the cuffs of his shirt catching on the corners. “You do that, kid.”
“And Lena! She’ll be happy to know I figured it out, even if she won’t say so!” Boyd chirps. “Thanks, Dr. Gearloose!”
Gyro’s wry smile turns into something monumentally more sincere and real. “No problem, kid.”
The elevator dings and Boyd is gone. Gyro used to revel in the lab’s silence, but even with the background noise of Fenton, Manny, and Lil’ Bulb tinkering away at their respective projects (and decidedly not saying anything), it feels uncomfortably quiet without Boyd’s incessant chatter.
He hums softly to himself and picks up his phone to call Della before she hears about this from Huey and berates him for not telling her right away. He puts on a new pot of coffee for when he comes back, and lets Fenton know he’s going on his break.
“You know the workday technically ended half an hour ago, right? You don’t need me to clock you out,” Fenton replies, grinning. He can read Gyro like a book.
Gyro rolls his eyes and grumbles under his breath, but waves his former intern off.
As he walks out, he pictures Boyd. He would be sitting in the limo, brimming with excitement, tapping his fingers eagerly on his legs with barely contained enthusiasm. Launchpad picked him up for a sleepover at Mr. McDuck’s, so by this point he should be almost home. He’ll burst into the mansion and spill his discovery to Huey before he catches his breath, and he, Huey, Webby, and Violet will make a board and a list of thoughts and information on aromanticism while Dewey tries to catch popcorn in his mouth and Lena and Louie add snarky comments. They’ll all chime in with their own experiences and eat lots of sugary snacks until they eventually fall asleep in a pile of pillows and blankets and each other on the living room couch. Boyd will come into the lab on Monday and tell him all about it, and maybe Huey will as well.
Gyro smiles fondly to himself as he steps into the hallway outside of the lab and leans against the wall, pulling up Della’s contact on his phone. The tab on aromanticism is still open on his phone, and he scrolls through it idly, taking note of all the information and how it could relate to Boyd.
He’s not fit for this role in Boyd’s life. But he loves Boyd, so he’ll do his best. And Dr. Gyro Gearloose’s best is a feat they tell tales of.
Across town, in the mansion, sitting on her sleeping bag in her pajamas and sneaking handfuls of gummy bears behind Violet’s watchful eye, Lena shares a similar sentiment. Boyd explains what he’s learned, bursting with excited energy in the form of overenthusiastic gestures, and Lena wonders why this little, enthusiastic kid decided to choose her as a sister figure.
But she’s not complaining.
Lena sneaks another handful of gummies and wraps her arm around Webby, who makes a bright, contented sound and snuggles into her side. No, she’s definitely not complaining.
~
i wrote this almost a year ago actually, for the Because We're Family LGBTQuaranzine! (@ducktaleslgbtquaranzine) This is a nonprofit pay-what-you-want zine, with all of the money going to DirectRelief, a charity dedicated to Covid relief in countries that have been hit hard by it. I had a lot of fun working on this zine and this particular piece, and I worked with a lot of great people. The zine is chock-full of amazing pieces and really talented, skilled people, and all the proceeds go to a reputable cause. I cannot recommend it enough!
this piece is pretty close to my heart because it encompasses a lot of my favorite things - weblena, lena & boyd friendship (they have SO many parallels i think they would get along so well!), and gyro being a father to boyd! in all honesty, this was my very first zine and i was really nervous, but i had so much fun writing this and i'm grateful it was such a good experience!
a lot of boyd's confusion about aromanticism is taken straight from my self-realization process. that's some good ole projection, baybee! i didn't have anyone like huey, but it's certainly difficult to figure out what romantic love really is and how that affects you and your relationships. it's like a puzzle. it's not explicitly mentioned in the fic, but i'm autistic, and boyd is pretty heavily autistic-coded (and god i could go on for hours about that, and i have before, but i'll spare you all the tangent, although i'll happily talk about it if you want me to), which adds this whole other obstacle when figuring out aromanticism, because we struggle with social relationships and fitting them in boxes. sometimes labels feel really comforting and satisfactory, but sometimes it's a real puzzle to fit into these boxes that weren't always made for us. sometimes they fit, and sometimes they don't. it was pretty fun exploring that from a slightly different perspective, as well as putting some of my own thoughts and experiences into words.
if you ever wanna talk ducktales, writing, these amazing characters, or really anything hmu here or on my twitter! thank you for reading, and please leave a like/reblog/comment (i read tags) if you enjoyed it!
#ducktales#ducktales 2017#dt17#wavey writes#boyd gearloose#lena sabrewing#gyro gearloose#ducktales fanfiction#ducktales 2k17#ducktales reboot#dt 2017#dt#weblena#lena de spell#lena lestrange#boyd drake#boyd beaks#b.o.y.d.#ducktales lena#ducktales boyd#dt lena#dt boyd#lena ducktales#lena de strange#boyd ducktales#gyro ducktales#dt gyro#webby x lena#ducktales gyro
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Ao3 Questions
Tagged by @midnightprelude and @johaeryslavellan - my two trusty co-writers; thank you for the tags! And tagging on @onionjuggler @fandomn00blr @dismalzelenka @blarrghe @faerieavalon @in-arlathan @suliswrites @leafylost @serial-chillr @tessa1972 anyone else who would like to do this!
How many works do you have on Ao3?
32
What’s your total Ao3 wordcount?
924,518
What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
tell the angels (DAI, Part two of my Here In This Moment series following my Inquisitor Aran Trevelyan) - 56
it’s the promise you made (DAI, Part one of Here In This Moment) - 55
watching you (DAI, Part 3 of Here In This Moment) - 51
Underneath the Bough (DA AU, Victorian AU, Dorian/Anders/ OC Almila, co-wrote with @midnightprelude) - 42
I... I am (DAI, Part 4 of Here In This Moment) - 37
Pour Forth Thy Soul In Ecstasy (DA AU, Dorian/Ril origin story, co-wrote with @midnightprelude) - 29
Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
Honestly, not as much as I should. I spend so much time writing that I let a lot of the social aspect of things fall by the wayside. Fortunately, I co-write everything except my own little series, and my co-writers are phenomenal communicators who make up for my introversion. I do go through batches at a time and try to answer people when I can think of anything relevant to respond with; sometimes that takes me a while..... But I really appreciate comments! Even if they’re just little “adiubasuidgaibda”. :)
What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?
Ummmmm...... Hmmm. They mostly all have angsty beginnings..... Maybe Pour Forth Thy Soul in Ecstasy. Or Crash (still being posted, but finished writing).
What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?
By The Earnest Stars has a nice ending (spoilers, finished writing, not finished posting). Excess of Joy Would Wake Me is a sweet ending to a one-shot (I actually have accomplished a COUPLE of those!)
Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?
I have a few crossovers in the works and mixed into Here In This Moment into other writers’ Dragon Age universes, especially in my continuing series “travels in time” which deals with my time/world hopping Inquisitor.
Have you ever received hate on a fic?
Hmm. Nope. No hate. And there have been a few things I’ve written where I was a little worried about it, honestly, because I write pretty viscerally about things. But. Yeah. No hate. Just love or silence and some thoughtful constructive criticism.
Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
Yup! All kinds! Mostly M/M, but also M/F and F/F. Lots of kinks, lots of play, all consensual except for one scene for one specific reason and I labeled the heck out of it.
Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Not as far as I know.
Have you ever had a fic translated?
Nope.
Have you ever co-written a fic before?
Yes! Many! Lots! Love it! Finding a rhythm with another writer is so fulfilling and I really love it.
What’s your all time favourite ship?
.......Oof. I mean. Honestly, my favorite ship at any given moment is the one that I’m writing if the flow is good. If I’m looking up fics to read, I usually look for Dorian-centric stories.
What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?
travels in time. I have it all plotted out, but there’s years of it and I’m beginning to think it might be better not to show everything that happened in the missing time interim. Mystery is more interesting. However, if you read it and there’s a particular part of the journey that you’d like to see detailed, let me know. :)
What are your writing strengths?
Does tenacity count? I’ve been told that I have a knack for creating visceral scenes that evoke the feelings of the characters for the readers really strongly and that is my goal. To bring the reader into the scene. I love sinking deep into a point of view and focusing on the particular lens of the narrator. I also really love building out the bare structures of largely sketched in canon characters, like Rilienus and Karl Thekla.
What are your writing weaknesses?
One-shots. Getting to the point quickly. Fight scenes - I hate writing them. Arguments, I love, but action sequences are really difficult for me for some reason. Apparently they actually turn out pretty well? But I find them very stressful to build.
What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?
I do it. I like it. I like reading it. There are some images and ideas that are communicated better in other languages. And when there are characters switching between languages for the sake of privacy/community/shared history/etc, I find it more satisfying to allow them to actually switch languages rather than continuing to point out when they are and are not speaking in a language that might be understood by those around them. I use Polish for Nevarran, French for Orlesian, and Latin for Tevene. I also use the much debated Elvhen Lexicon, in conjunction with other Dalish sources online.
What was the first fandom you wrote for?
Mobile Suit Gundam Wing (1995). That’s right! I was and still am a hardcore Trowa/Quatre shipper and I refuse to feel bad about it. My first poly-triad fix was Duo/Trowa/Quatre and it got a lot of good feedback on Livejournal (remember that, back in the day?) and that was before poly was a thing people actually talked about. Still proud of that.
What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?
I cannot possibly answer this adequately. I’m proud of them all in different ways. The series Everything Will Be Okay that I’ve written with @johaeryslavellan has the most original characters and is a modern AU and is basically just our own world with touches of Thedas along the edges and I’m really proud of the relationship between the two original characters; it’s very real and unique and strange and fun and painful. I’m also really proud of Pour Forth Thy Soul In Ecstasy, which I wrote with @midnightprelude, because I feel like we really just caught the sail of what the Tevinter Imperium is like and absorbed and explored that world really well from a single setting, and also we did some killer magic exploration that is still really fun to re-read. And solo-wise, I’m still the most proud of “my window through which nothing hides” which is pure, unadulterated smut from Cole’s POV and I had so much fun working through how he would interpret physical sensation and living in his brain and body for a minute.
#meme#questions and answers#oftachancer answers#dragon age#dragon age inquisition#johaerys writes#midnight writes#co-writing#fanfiction#da fanfiction#dai
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Paper Flowers: the final count down
Roman and Virgil have a fight as the end of their character’s time on Vine draws nearer every day.
You are giggling as you finish reading a PrincexNemesis fanfic on AO3.
It was a great story about Nemesis, named Marcus/Marcia in the story, was cursed at a young age to switch gender every time the sun passed the horizon. Leading to the poor kid being Marcia by day, the Prince’s bethroted whom he could not stand, and Marcus by night, the Prince’s sworn enemy who he was madly in love with. It was mainly a very funny story and the author left it very vague which gender Nemesis was born with. All they said was that Nemesis would be stuck with the gender they were when the received their first kiss. Which was given to them as Marcus. The tension came from whether Nemesis would be able to avoid getting stuck as Marcia on the wedding day, as he preferred Marcus.
It was very funny, but also surprisingly deep. Or maybe you are reading too much into it.
Just when you pressed ‘post’ on your comment you get an alert.
It’s vine time!
The video opens up and you see Prince pushing of an enemy and stabbing him.
You can hear a cheer and the camera turns to dad. “That’s my boy!” he cheers.
Prince kisses a maidens hand. Once more a shout is heard and you see dad. “Great job buddy!”
Prince polishes his sword, yet another shout. “Just look at you!” dad squeals from the doorway.
Prince looks up exasperated. “Can you not!?” Dad looks sheepishly and slowly glides out of view.
You wipe away a tear as you let your laughter subside. Everyone who’s been to any game or play ever has seen one of those parents.
You’ve seen people on tumblr who have jumped on this ‘the characters all live in the same kingdom’ concept and ran with it. It was a fun world they’d created. Teacher was the Prince’s tutor. Nemesis had several potential backstories, from the son of a nobleman to an orphan servant in the castle. Prince was, obviously, heir to the throne. And dad was either a nanny to the prince and other children in court, or father to the Prince or the nemesis. It made for some fun imagined shenanigans, that was for sure.
You are curious though, what will come next.
...
“No.”
Roman groaned in annoyance. “Anxiety, I don’t need your cooperation to propose a skit idea to Thomas,” he reminded him. He didn’t, he’d never asked before they became friends. But they’d been doing so well on communicating since. What, one might ask, made Roman dismiss Virgil’s input now?
A couple of bad nights, for starters. The fact that they’d been having this argument in front of Patton and Logan for the past half hour, meaning he had to keep up pretenses. And lastly, Virgil was just being difficult on purpose it seemed.
All Roman wanted was to have a nice final skit between their characters before they moved to youtube. There still would be skits involving either of them, but he liked the thought of wrapping up the nemesis story line before starting the story of the prince of creativity and Anxiety on youtube.
Virgil, however, seemed unwilling to even entertain the idea of another Prince vs Nemesis skit entirely. Let alone one to wrap up the semi storyline they’d made.
“Then go ahead and do it. See if I care!” Virgil growled before storming off.
Roman let out a frustrated sigh and dropped in the couch. “Impossible! That man is simply impossible sometimes!” he complained loudly. He was angry with Virgil right now. He wasn’t even going to try to deny that. Virgil could be infuriating sometimes.
And he was going to complain and pout as long as he liked, thank you very much. He was not the unreasonable one in this scenario.
“Kiddo, Anxiety is just like that. You know that he has a tendency to disagree on principle.”
Roman huffed. He knew better. Virgil was not usually difficult for no reason. He was a safety measure of sorts. He made sure they all thought through every decision. Every action.
Often a little too much, but he meant it well.
It was rare that he gave Roman no room to argue. A straight up ‘no’, even before their alliance, was rare. There were arguments, objections, doubts. But ‘no’ was usually with very good reason.
Roman just could not phantom the reason right now though. Which was why he was so angry.
He had learned to manage patience when he could see the source of Virgil’s concern. But now?
“Actually Patton, usually when Anxiety disagrees with us, he has at least some form of reasoning behind it. Be it of an irrational sort. It is not often that he gives no form of motivation behind his outbursts. This would lead me to believe that he has reasons, he just does not wish to discuss them, or maybe even might not wish to acknowledge them to himself.”
Roman listened to Logan making perfect sense, as he tended to do. But he didn’t feel like really thinking about that. He was still upset with Virgil.
“Or maybe he is just in a rude mood,” Roman objected stubbornly.
Logan took in a deep breath. “As much as I dislike figuratively feeding your ego, Roman, I feel like the positive changes in his behavior over the last year might be largely due to you.”
Oh, now this was something Roman was willing to pause his sulking for.
He shot up and looked at Logan expectantly.
Logan looked like he regretted speaking to begin with. Luckily for Roman, Patton had gotten curious.
“What do you mean?” he asked. Roman thought there was a strange sting to Patton’s voice, but he must’ve been mistaken, surely.
“Roman… You have been different ever since you asked for your memories of interactions with Anxiety… What was it that you found in there?”
Oh, no. Damn him and his promises.
Roman shrugged, feigning losing interest. “He saved Thomas and his friend earlier that day, and he didn’t seem to consider that a big deal. So I got curious and looked back and found that most of what he said, like you mentioned could maybe be read as trying to help somehow.”
Roman prayed Logan wouldn’t ask more. Luckily he didn’t.
“I see. I assume that this new information led to you changing your approach to your communication with Anxiety and this led to him being less tense around you.
He let you convince him to interact with us, he made an effort to explain himself and collaborated more on your projects,” Logan deduced.
“Could it be that to Anxiety, the start of that positive change in his life is connected to the skits between your character and his?” he wondered.
Roman’s eyes widened. “What? So me ending that storyline feels like me rejecting him or something?” he asks a little incredulously.
Logan looked up in surprise. “Well… That is a possibility,” he nodded. Why was he so shocked Roman could figure stuff out on his own. He could be empathetic enough for this. He might be the ego but he was not that self-centered. Bonds with others was high on his priority list too.
“The poor kiddo feels like he’s all alone now,” Patton mused sadly.
Roman got up. He was not ready to feel bad for Virgil. Especially when he was being ridiculous. As if Roman would end their friendship like this. Did he think so little of him?
He stormed off to his room and landed himself on his bed.
He wasn’t in the wrong, it was not his job to apologize. He kept repeating that to himself but occasionally he wondered if Virgil was overthinking right now. Thinking that Roman hated him now…
No. He was not in the wrong, he got to be mad if he wanted to. Virgil got to be mad with him when he got lost in a monologue and got all kinds of ideas stuck in Thomas’ head without consulting anyone making Virgil feel like he had to be the bad guy for scaring Thomas away from the ideas he loved too much to let anyone else convince him to adjust them.
He’d swallowed his pride and apologized to Virgil then.
So he was going to be petty and stubborn for as long as…
There was a knock at his door. Roman shot up and walked over to his front door and opened it. There was no one to be seen. When he looked down though, he saw something that took his breath away.
He picked up the paper purple hyacinth and the accompanying note.
“I know you are mad. Please let me explain before you hate me forever? I’ll be waiting.”
Roman let out a sigh. Purple hyacinths represent sorrow and regret. And it must’ve been such a pain to get the paper to bend to his will like this.
Now Roman had to go and meet Virgil. He put the flower in the vase along with the rest of the assemble bouquet and hurriedly opened the door to the field.
“Virgil?” he called out before he even closed it.
The anxious man was pacing through the field, trampling a path in the ground.
Luckily the field fixed itself every time they left.
Virgil looked up and his shoulders relaxed. Clearly he saw Roman’s swift arrival as a good sign.
His anger already fading, Roman added the hyacinths to the field to show he’d gotten his apology gift and accepted it.
“I thought about what I said… Or didn’t say and… Maybe I was just… I didn’t want us to stop making skits together,” he rambled, playing with his hoodie sleeves and pointedly not looking at Roman.
Roman let out a sigh. Logan had been on the right path then.
“Virgil, you really think that I did not enjoy working on those with you?” he asked.
Virgil shrugged.
“Well I did. Therefore I will call upon your aid any chance I get. I actually expect you to assist me quite often in the creation of the sanders sides series and many other projects. I merely wanted to give the fanders a satisfying ending to the adventures of the prince and his nemesis on vine,” he explained calmly.
Virgil nodded. “Yeah… I’m sorry. Really I am. I was pretty rude to you and you did nothing to deserve it,” he said softly, glancing up at Roman nervously.
“You are forgiven, Grim Creeper,” Roman smiled reassuringly.
Then he got an idea. It would let him vent the last bits of frustration and Virgil could maybe work of some angsty energy as well. “If you really feel like you’ll miss the prince and the nemesis that much though…”
And just like that Roman summoned two swords, tossing one to Virgil who caught it in surprise.
“I shall teach you the art of the blade!” he declared.
Virgil rolled his eyes but smirked. “Let me have it Princey,” he challenged.
...
While the two younger sides sparred in the field, the fatherly side was headed to the stairs leading down in search of an anxious sides room. Hoping he’d be let in now.
“Patton?” Logan called.
Patton flinched at being spotted. Though he wasn’t sure why. Was it so bad that he tried to help Anxiety?
“Hya Logan!” Patton greeted sheepishly. “I was going to make sure Anxiety was okay…”
Logan cocked his head. “Patton, I’m obviously no expert, but if my interpretation of his thought process of today was correct, he feels rather vulnerable right now. While that might mean he’s more open to sharing and closeness, it also means he might be in a state of heightened alertness.
If you attempt to approach him now you could very well make things worse with small mistakes.”
Patton bit his lip. Logan was right. Anxiety was not in a right state of mind. If Patton wanted to him to let him in, then it couldn’t happen when he was feeling hurt and alone. No matter how badly Patton wanted to comfort him. Going in now would be for Patton’s sake. Not Anxiety’s.
“We will make our way back to him Patton. Who knows? Maybe Roman’s youtube project lends us a chance to interact with him more frequently,” Logan offered.
Patton nodded. They’d get there. Sooner or later they’d be a happy family.
He just had to be patient and let Anxiety decide when he felt ready to try again.
Intorducing the sides
@vixdoesbadart @vpow @apinkline2715 @tired-yeetling @firegirl156 @soysaucevictim @1nsomniacwriter @moonlightshow00 @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290 @meowthefluffy @frida0043 @angelic-cali @selenechris @theblackveilinreverse
#sanders sides#ts sides#virgil sanders#roman sanders#logan sanders#patton sanders#paper flowers au#prinxiety
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