#krush fics
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soldier, poet, king
chapter i: soldier, poet, king
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In the small town of Dahlia under the rule of the Shaw King, lives a small tavern. It’s occupants are queer, to say the least, but the mead is good, the bard that sings there is wonderful and the owner is a retired bard themselves.
Under the watchful eye of the mercenary for hire, the tavern brings the most peculiar pairs. It’s even said to be a matchmaking spot. Is it the drinks? Is it the atmosphere? Or is it the charm of the town that draws in the most unusual travelers?
Whose to say.
—
i’ve been very m.i.a. the past two-ish months, but i come bearing an offering of the first of a feel good, fluffy, romantic fantasy au
you can find this on ao3
cw/tw: mentions of blood and alcohol (mead is alcohol)
The usual buzz in the atmosphere held true, even as the late summer heat hung over the patrons of the small tavern. The merriment had crescendoed as more and more people found makeshift seats on the floor. The chattering and murmuring hummed pleasantly in the patrons’ ears. Light acoustics strung from the lyre of a bard mingled, floating through the conversations, while soft drumming added to the impending excitement.
The drinks flowed freely, the autumn’s first harvest melding with the taste of honey on the tongue. The pumpkin and nutmeg fell over one’s tastebuds, igniting images of crisp leaves, the cobblestone getting colder in the morning, and the apple trees swelling; ready to be harvested again. This was the harvest celebration, and the Crooked Canon was home to the best mead in the Shaw kingdom, according to the locals. Ran by a retired bard with some help of their surly vampiric friend, the tavern proved to be booming with business all year long, and tonight was no exception.
Mabon was the celebration those in the tiny town outside the palace looked forward to the most. Celebrating abundance, the town of Dahlia always lived up to the word. The prosperity reflected on the Crooked Canon, with its owner never having enough time or storage for the harvest.
“Babe, you’ll be fine. you always have enough for these bad boys” Angel said, giving the barrel behind them a slight tap. “Besides, you know the customers aren’t gonna bitch about an extra one or two,” they paused, eyes catching a row of unnumbered barrels, “five or six barrels. If anything, it might bring in some of the people from Ferris. You know they travel for the Yule festival and rave about the apple cider from Mabon. Whose to say they won’t come down this year? Last year King Keaton himself wanted a taste.”
The owner scoffed, wiping a glass dry, filling it and sliding it down the bar to Sam. “And just what do you suppose I do if the they do come? We barley have enough room for Mabon, let alone enough for Yule. I’ve been trying to get my plans for some expansions approved, but it feels like it just sits on the King’s desk until it collects dust!” They paused, sighing. “That was unfair to him. I know he’s trying his best. I just-“
Sam’s rich voice interjected. “You just need to relax. Ya know the patrons don’t care if they sit on the stools or a strip of fabric on the floor. Hell, they don’t even care if they’re sittin’ bare ass completely on that ground. They like comin’ here for you and the whole place. Besides, I reckon we’ll be sellin’ out faster than we can replace. The orchard’s puttin’ out double and last year’s batch was triple. Now go wash these dishes and take a breath.” He all but dumped a box of dusty glasses into their arms.
Sensing they wouldn’t win, Angel gently pushed Babe towards the back kitchen, the clattering of cups being the only sound between the two of them.
As Babe filled the sink, they stopped for a moment before laughing. The snickering became a full laugh, shoulders shaking and all, with Angel standing with a hand on the well pump, completely bewildered.
“Did you hit your head or something?” They asked.
As Babe wiped a tear from their eyes, they stood up. “Sorry. I just thought about how absolutely ridiculous I’ve been. I shouldn’t worry about space, or barrels, or any dumb shit like that. I miss them, ya know? It’s not the same, and with my father’s birthday being next month and the harvest proving more than usual, and Keaton supposedly coming to visit-“
“It’s okay.” Angel cut off, handing Babe a glass to rinse. “This year’s been really hard. You don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine. You know you can’t keep secrets from me.” They wiggled their brows, earning them another giggle from their friend.
Babe sighed amusedly. “No, I really can’t, can I? Nothing escapes that insightful knowledge you have about me.”
A knock on the doorframe took their attention away from the dishes.
“Sorry to interrupt your gossiping therapy session, but do either of you have some spare trousers? Mine got completely ripped during my last assignment.” The mercenary’s voice elicited excited noises from the two as they bound their way over to their friend.
“WHEN DID YOU GET BACK?” Angel exclaimed, taking the bag from their shoulder. “God DAMN this thing is heavy. How much did you get paid?”
The other two laughed as Babe took their sword.
“Just now you hooligan. Though I’m not sure if it was worth all the trouble.” Sweetheart sighed, watching Angel heave the bag onto the counter like it weighed nothing.
Babe wet a rag and absentmindedly cleaned the blood spots from the blade first. “I thought you said it was going to be an easy assignment? Was the Shade truly that tricky?”
Sweetheart pulled an extra stool and winced as they sat down. “It wasn’t bad before, but it got me pretty good. I stopped by Marie and got nothing but an earful while she healed me. The Shade wasn’t anything I haven’t dealt with before, but it had some kind of creature with it. And before you ask, no I don’t know what kind of creature it was.”
Sam suddenly appeared in the doorway, eyes scanning the rogue’s appearance. “Ya look like hell, and smell worse than it. Stop moving, let me get a good look at you.” He wiped his hands, taking in the cuts and bruises on them. He smelled fresh blood, and saw a small trickle of said thing from their leg. “Jesus Christ Merc. What kinda assignment did you get?”
The mercenary looked up with their eyes closed. “If you’re gonna lecture me, save it. Marie gave me enough as it is.”
He rolled his eyes. “Just give me your damn leg. I’m not having you bleedin’ and drippin’ blood everywhere and I’m sure as hell not havin’ ya be in pain.”
They stuck their leg out to him, muttering under their breath.
“I can hear you smartass.”
“That was the point.”
Babe snorted, setting the freshly-cleaned blade down and rummaging through the cabinet for leather polish.
Angel laughed, offering a (clean) rag for their sweat. “I have to agree with Sam. You do smell like hell.”
They grimaced, feeling his healing magic snap at their skin. “You did that on purpose.”
“You’re bleedin’ onto the floor.”
“Is’not like I’m trying to.”
“Not like you’re not trying to.”
“You know what-“
“Settle down children. Sweetheart, clean the blood when you’re all healed and go take a bath upstairs. There’s plenty of hot water, and Sam, go and tend the bar. I’ll be out in a moment.” Babe interrupted, stifling a laugh.
“Yes Babe.”
“Okay Babe.”
They both muttered, admitting silent defeat.
“Hey Angel, aren’t you performing tonight?” Sweetheart asked, looking at the pan pipe on the counter.
“Yeah. It’s been a while and rent’s due soon.”
“What do you mean ‘rent’? You live here!”Babe exclaimed as the bard laughed.
“I’m only saying! Lodging outside of this place ain’t cheap ya know!” They fished two gold pieces out of their apron pocket. “For the year’s rent and food.”
With a sharp toss, they flicked the two coins up, landing right into Babe’s open rag with leather polish. They stared at the two pieces in disbelief.
“Angel, this is too much.” They struggled to form the words. “The Canon is fine and you pull your weight around just fine. You don’t need to pay me, you’re my best friend- sorry.” A sharp look from Sweetheart caused them to stumble over their words. “One of my best friends and if my parents had a problem with you staying here since we were kids, they would’ve said so. I’m not making you pay rent when you have lodging to think about and traveling.” Babe took a breath, taking a clean part of the bloodied rag and wiping the polish off them. “I’m not accepting these. You need them far more than me. Plus, this is from when you went to that weird cult meeting right? Or was it some school with that weird headmaster?”
“Hey Canon, get your bard out here. We’ve got the extra mead set up.” Vincent poked his head through the door, ruby reds looking in amusement between the four of them. “It’s a packed house and I’ve got some patrolling to get done.”
Before any of them could reply, a short yelp came from the mercenary’s mouth.
“Watch the leg! I’ve got a bar stool to sit on tonight.” They playfully hissed at Sam, who rolled his eyes in response.
“Uh-huh. You’re all healed up anyways. You should really stop getting so injured on these assignments. Marie ain’t gonna like to keep seeing you like this. I sure as hell don’t.” He got up from his squat and took a fresh rag before hurrying out.
“I hate it when he calls me Canon.” Babe muttered, their grip on the sheath tightening slightly and their fingers polishing harder.
Angel took the lyre from the counter before sympathetically patting their friend’s shoulder. “I’m just surprised he even showed up tonight. He’s been awfully conspicuous about something. Not sure what though.”
“I’ll bet it’s a woman. Or money. Actually, it’s probably a horse. You know how William spoils him with them.” Sweetheart said from the wash basin.
“I mean, he showed up tonight. I can’t be mad at the other times because of that incident out in the wonderwoods.” Babe shrugged, sheathing the sword and shoving back into Sweetheart’s belt. “There’s a basin upstairs in my bathroom that’s made for washing your hair. And your body.” They quipped before standing in the doorway.
The tavern owner took a deep breath and stepped into the main room.
#redacted asmr#redacted angel#redacted babe#redacted sweetheart#redacted sam#redacted vincent#redacted david#redacted asher#redacted milo#redacted darlin#redacted lovely#redacted marie#redacted fics#krush fics#fantasy au
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I am nominating Chloe Kwon for the profile pic because that's an icon!
SO TRUE! the most iconic soloist in the fic if you ask me!
kaleina jung from KRUSH ( @urmykrushhh )
baebi from VENUS ( @venusvity )
gyujin from LOOPiN ( @intoloopin )
oliver from Plastic Flowers ( @plasticflwrs )
soloist, chloe kwon ( @chloekwon )
click here to suggest your favorite fictional idol as our icon!
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❝ welcome to our world ❞
hello ! i'm cece (@nxmuzluv), and welcome to my blog ! this is a revamp of krush's previous blog, which was created in 2019. after 2 years of inactivity, i decided to completely redo the group, and here we are ! i hope u enjoy ♡
❝ masterlist ❞
INTRO !
PROFILES TAG !
VISAGE TAG !
ALBUMS !
FIC TAG !
SOLOS !
AESTHETICS !
KALEINA TAG !
AERI TAG !
L.I. TAG !
MOONSUN TAG !
ARTICLES !
MISC !
#KRUSH !#MASTERLIST !#kpop oc#kpop group#kpop girl group#fictional idol#fictional idol community#koc#idol oc#fictional kpop group#fictional idol group#fictional kpop girl group#cece writes !
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❥ welcome to my blog !
i’m cece (@nxmuzluv), and welcome to jaeizms ! if u know me, u know that i’m the creator of a few other koc / fic blogs, such as krush (@urmykrushhh) ! i haven’t been around in a min, but it’s nice to be back ♡
MASTERLIST !
(notice ! this blog is currently undergoing a revamp !)
i do take requests, but pls keep in mind that i will not write things involving:
excessive violence
and r*pe
anything not involving those topics is completely fine !
hope u enjoy ! ♡
#WELCOME !#kpop oc#idol oc#kpop addition#kpop idol oc#koc#bts addition#bts added member#fictional idol#fictional idol addition#kpop group#fictional idol community#cece writes !
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I have a very dumb idea for a fic prompt.
Apparently, Drake has a thing for Myst. Know in "Lady Wifi" when Alya mistook Chloe for Ladybug? Now imagine (Him not acknowledging Myst and Andy were seen in the same place for purely convenient reasons.)
Ridiculous circumstances. Andy acting nicer whenever Drake helps Myst. Hearing Andy discuss stuff that only Ghostforce members did. Andy apologizing to Drake after Liv told him to (using Liv's words that resemble Myst's somehow) after a bad prank. Andy carrying Liv's communicator to her after she forgot it in her locker, gets spotted by Drake without noticing.
Drake ends up assuming that Andy is Myst and has been using a vocal changer the entire time, completely misinterpreting what's going on
He leaves a drawing of the Ghostforce in Andy's locker with the note "I know your secret, Andy Baker". Andy's panic making Drake think his theory is confirmed.
Suddenly he quits being too much of a jerk and switches to just being deadpan. Getting a bit nervous when Andy gets near but also being pushy trying to hide what he knows. Assuming when Andy says his favorite is Fury, he's hiding who he is, so Drake says Myst and Krush are just as cool, earning Andy's approval. Invites Andy to play on his team saying he doesn't know any better team player "who knows how to hide his game"
It culminates into Drake asking Fury if Andy's safe (on a mission where Liv can't come and help), who then tells him the Bakers are fine.
(a snide remark to Liv, telling her her brother is "GNC AF", with Liv calling him insane)
Mike sees it all (well not all) and doesn't know how to break to Andy and Liv they got into a love triangle (with Liv being Myst instead) with Drake.
Pffft, I love this XD
I couldn't get this image out of my head until I drew it
#ghostforce#andrake#what would be drake/myst ship name?#mystake??#that could be the name of the fic!#replies#drake miller#andy baker#liv baker#myst#fanfiction#crack
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Hi! Do you know a fic wherein Jungkook is the bodyguard of Jimin? I wanna read it again. Thanks
Rin: Omg this is perfect timing because I just finished reading a fic where Jungkook is model Jimin’s bodyguard. I’m not sure if you’re asking for recs or a certain fic but here it is anyways!
Into You AO3, Complete, smut/fluff/angst, also the added bonus of crying Jungkook angst and bottom Jungkook.
shoutout to @krushed for showing me the fic!
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referring to this post about empowered people during puberty, i’d like to offer this
—
damien thought he had long gotten over the awkward days of bursting into flames around any sort of crush he may have had. he’s cool, ironically so, for a fire elemental and he’s heard the snide remarks of maybe he’s actually a fire contra-elemental in class. despite his temper, he’s maintained his composure and smugly enjoyed the building annoyance from his classmates at his lack of reaction.
classes came easy, the work not difficult, but he’s meticulous and extraordinarily thorough. two hour assignments become four, six, eight hours and he’s left rubbing his bleary eyes at the messy dining room table in his apartment. he’s gone through the motions countless times before, and those motions only shift slightly to accommodate the freelancer and their slightly more reasonable schedule.
damien does not blush. he does not stutter in front of people. he does not walk with his shoulders hunched. he does not heat up around the earth elemental jock the freelancer had just introduced him to. and he most certainly does not accidentally set the freelancer’s couch on fire when said earth elemental (huxley, he came to learn; he likes the way it sits on his tongue way more than he’d ever admit) brushes his giant muscular shoulders against his on accident.
#i just think that them <3#redacted asmr#redacted damien#redacted huxley#redacted freelancer#wildfire#half and half writing#krush fics
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The Three Times Asher Nearly Said I Love You, and the One Time He Did
a brief look into the three times asher almost says those three words way too early
wc: 1005
read here on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42212634
These two are so fucking cute give me a break (affectionately) i am screaming over ash a lot and i think it’s very apparent who my favorite is despite me saying i don’t have one
This is from July but it’s such a cute wip i HAD to finish it- also i think babe was a little dense at the beginning of their relationship when it came to asher complimenting them or being subtly romantic lol
Month One: The Elevator
“Do you remember the first time we met?” His tone was uncharacteristically soft. Was it mildly unsure? It was almost drowned out by the steady hum of the rickety elevator ascending to the fourth floor.
His partner’s eyes snapped up from their phone at the sound of his voice. The current work email they were hastily replying to was left open on the screen. Their brow furrowed at his question for a moment.
“Of course I do. This damned thing broke down and I had an absurd amount of anxiety about it. You were way too nice to me about it. And a little too charming.” A warm smile followed as their brow relaxed when they shifted their gaze to him. Babe shut their phone off while they waited for his reply.
He stared at the ceiling with a neutral expression. Silence followed their reply and worry replaced the warmth that had previously worn their face.
“Asher? Is everything alright?” Their eyes looked him up and down for any potential injury. Babe knew his job as a security guard put him in dangerous situations, and while they adored his want to protect, he wasn’t the best at alerting them of any type of cut, bruise, etc. His shoulders seemed more tense, and the dark circles under his eyes were more prominent than usual. They wondered what his last job entailed.
This hadn’t been the first time their boyfriend had asked a question like this. They found Asher to be a more sentimental guy than their previous lovers. It was off-putting, but Babe was flexible and soon grew to adore their partner’s mushiness when it came to reminiscing on the past.
30 days wasn’t long to know someone well-enough to say the big three yet, but Asher knew from the minute he stepped on that elevator and saw them. He felt silly and embarrassed to already be itching to profess his undying love for his Babe, but the heart wants what it wants, right?
However, he doesn’t want to scare off the best thing he’s ever had. He'd be a fool to do so.
He swallowed harshly and gave them a weak laugh. “Yeah Babe, I’m fine. See?” He flashed his ‘thousand watt grin’ (as Babe put it) and watched their worried composure relax again. They leaned their head against him and were rewarded with a strong arm around them.
“You know you can talk to me right?” His love replied.
He laughed, fully, this time and pressed a kiss to their temple. “Of course Babe. You know I don’t keep things from you. I’m just thinkin’ about some things is all.”
“I know your job is hard. I just wanna make sure you feel safe to tell me things about it.” They mumbled.
He hummed in response. Babe felt his fingertips press slightly harder into their skin. The pressure was comforting, and his cologne enveloped them in a safety blanket. The afternoon heat combined with the comfort of being held only made them more reluctant to go back to the office. They fell into a comfortable silence, only interrupted by the elevator signaling their arrival.
The pair stepped out and embraced. Babe buried their face in him and elicited a laugh from him.
Asher felt his chest swell with love. They made him feel valuable. He felt smart and funny and confident. His Babe reassured him completely and never made him feel like his worries and concerns or hobbies, even, were stupid. It was so early though, and the thought of spilling his guts made him swallow them. He couldn’t do that to th yet. No, he’d save it for a special time.
They pulled away from him reluctantly and sighed.
“I guess lunch breaks can’t last forever.” He spoke with a teasing lilt to his voice.
They smiled softly and he swore the world became brighter.
“I suppose not. Thank you, for taking me to lunch today. I know you usually sleep way in on your days off, so I appreciate it a lot.” Babe admitted, feeling their cheeks burn. Expressing their feelings became easier after meeting Asher, but that didn’t make them less embarrassing (in their mind).
“It was really my pleasure. Besides, you know I wouldn’t wake up for anyone else but my wonderful Babe.” Asher teased, leaning in as they pressed the elevator button for him.
Their lips met in a saccharine embrace. His heart fluttered as the idea of being able to do this for the rest of his life flashed through his mind.
“And there’s no one else I’d lay in bed with for hours on end with, besides you.” They mused and flashed Ash a crooked smile. He grinned like an idiot.
“Hey,” he said, his mouth moving before his brain, “You know I lo- like you a lot right?” Panic set in as his brain finally heaved through the race between it and his mouth.
They half-cocked their head to the side in confusion before laughing.
I’ll never get tired of hearing that, he thought, feeling like a complete idiot. He knew he looked whipped. He is whipped and can’t argue when Milo pointed it out.
“I would hope so. Otherwise this would be way awkward.” They teased and tugged his shirt to bring him to eye level. They pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and whispered “I really like you a lot too.” Asher felt himself ascend to cloud nine. Nothing could be better than this.
The elevator dinged, grabbing their attention. They softly pushed him back towards it.
He stared at them with the dreamiest, dopiest grin on his face. The man knew he looked like a complete fool, but in that moment, he didn’t think he could care. Babe waved to him as the doors closed, and he just kept staring until they were completely gone from view. He stood in complete bliss until the halting realization hit him like a ton of bricks.
“Oh my god. I almost said I love you.”
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liar
oh hey, fancy seeing you here.
anyways, here’s a scene that i’ll never make into a full fic.
you can also read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46119334
wc: 740
The two men gripped the wooden dining table. The dark oak groaned under the strain of the strength in their fingertips. Their chests heaved out of sync as Adam laughed that awful laugh.
His vicious gaze met the steel that lived in Vincent’s iris’s. “Go on, Vincent, tell them. tell them about the Inversion and their mortal, life ending wound” Adam sneered, a harsh smile bared his unnaturally sharp fangs.
Lovely’s brows furrowed, their eyes flicked uneasily and frantically between the two men. Their breathing was uneven, and if their heart did beat, they were sure it’d be in thrumming in their throat.
“Tell me what?” The silence that followed for a brief moment pounded in their ears. They fixed their gaze on their love. He wouldn’t meet their eyes, instead, choosing to keep his eyes on Adam. The lack of a response made the hair on their arm stand up.
Their tone rippled, taking on an almost desperate tone. “Tell me what Vincent?” They repeated once more.
He moved his gaze down to the table, noting a slight dent from one of the first dinners he attended. His own heart would have also hammered in his chest. Vincent sighed, knowing exactly what was going to happen once he admitted it. “The wound.”
He cringed internally, the words losing the grit he wanted them to have. His eyes flicked up to the ceiling, but not before taking note of the smug look on the antagonistic vampire’s face. Said vampire crossed his arms over his chest, a triumphant look on his face that made Vincent really want to beat the shit out of.
“Vincent,” Sam began quietly, the cold familiar dread seeping into his bones, “What about the wound?” As he examined a man he considered his brother, Sam Collins got the distinct and horrible feeling that what Vincent was going to admit would completely alter the course of part of the Solaire Clan dynamic, as well as completely ruin the relationships he had with his partner, and Sam himself.
Vincent took a sharp breath, chest shuddering slightly. His voice failed him as he spoke in a low volume. No need to say it loudly when they could all hear a pin drop from a mile away. “When the Shade, when they…” He struggled and the dawning horror that overtook the formal dining room was palpable. “Your chest,” he motioned to the faint scar that had made a snug home on his love’s chest, “It wasn’t actually fatal like we thought.” The words were bitter, but it was all his fault anyways.
The tension threatened to smother the three as Adam watched, his face taut with an ever wider, crueler, triumphant grin. Silence blanketed the room, and he strolled over to Vincent, who refused to look at Lovely. Placing a faux sympathetic hand on the vamp’s shoulder, he whispered into his ear.
“Oh so sorry to hear that you lied. Good luck with the aftershocks.” The three heard his laughter ringing in their ears for a solid minute.
Lovely blinked, their lashes fluttering rapidly as their mind raced to digest the chalky confession from their lover. He lied. The man they chose to bypass death for, the man they suffered through a hellish newborn phase, the man they lost their power for, lied. Hot tears welled up into their eyes, their chest spluttering and heaving. Quiet sobs turned to full wailing as they sunk onto the plush velvety carpet.
The tears that spilled from their eyes burned their cheeks. The heaving sobs that left their chest haunted Vincent. The full weight of his confession slammed into them, pulling them into the riptide. They gasped for air, grief choking their lungs and for a brief moment, they wished it was their own blood. On the floor, they curled in on themselves, a hand around their abdomen and one over their mouth in a pitiful attempt to stifle the sounds that echoed in the men’s ears.
Sam stood there frozen, eyes wide and he’s not sure about the last time he took a breath over the previous hour. Every nerve in his body screamed at him, his muscles felt fatigued from the tension that overtook him. He felt sick, and briefly wondered how sick Lovely was feeling. He looked at the wailing vampire on the floor, then back up at Vincent, who still wasn’t looking at them. What was he supposed to do?
#redacted asmr#redacted audio#redacted lovely#redacted vincent#redacted sam#redacted adam#angst#also adam's alive#the inversion#redacted fanfic#krush fics
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neon moon
day 7 of the 30 day writing challenge
prompt: use the words: small town, bar and jukebox
vincent x lovely
sometimes you fuck up and find yourself in a run down bar across the railroad tracks.
tw: alcohol, “drunkenness”, argument
cross posted on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40741584
—
the whiskey burned his throat the way he remembered. the glass felt cool and clammy, the condensation around the outside from the ice coated his inner hand. it felt nice on the hot summer night. it would’ve felt nicer if the argument from several hours ago wasn’t replaying in his head like some sick jukebox on repeat.
“are you serious?”
“i’m dead fucking serious. you don’t flirt with people when you’re in a relationship and your partner is standing right there! what the fuck is wrong with you?” they exclaimed, the hurt splattered across their face. their chest heaved, and he could hear their heart stuttering and the knot that had made itself at home in their throat.
“it wasn’t flirting! it was playful banter. you know i would never intentionally flirt with anyone besides you.” he spat back. vincent felt a phantom headache come on as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“it wasn’t banter vincent. you gave them the crooked smile with a fang out. you only do that with me. and before you ask, sam pointed it out to me a long time ago when i wasn’t sure if you were being genuine with me. he said you only do that if you truly like someone. and you did it to them.” their tone was soft, the hardness in their spine buckled under the hurt they felt. lovely couldn’t meet his eyes, tears threatening to fall from their own. “i think i need to be alone tonight.”
he groaned, letting his forehead hit the wooden bar counter with a thud. alcohol didn’t make him drunk. it couldn’t make him drunk anymore but the placebo effect from sitting at the stool, ordering and sipping on shitty drinks in a not-so-small-town place was more than worth it.
vincent knew he needed to apologize, genuinely this time. the half-assed text he sent them wouldn’t be sufficient. he needed a genuine apology, but how do you say “i’m sorry for genuinely flirting with someone when i thought my actions were playful at best and my body language betrayed me.”?
he snorted before finishing the glass. they should make cards for that.
“now what in the hell are you doing here?” the heavy accent startled him out of his miserable wallowing.
he turned, eyes meeting the intense gaze of Sam Collins, who wore a heavy scowl on his face. vincent smiled, purposely stretching it slightly too wide.
“what does it look like i’m doing here? i’m drinking away my feelings.” he motioned to the glass that had been refilled without his notice.
the vamp sighed. “i know about your argument with them -don’t you dare open your mouth right now- and regardless of what you meant to do, it’s not how it came across. you’re a good man solaire. don’t fuck this up. i kinda like that partner of yours. they keep your ass in line.” he put a 50$ on the counter next to the glass. “go on and fix this before it gets to william. you know how much he loves them too.”
vincent stood up, wobbling slightly. “thanks sam. don’t worry i’m not actually drunk. the mind is a hell of a thing.” he lisped slightly, words slurring as sam chuckled lightly. he patted his shoulder, his own feeling lighter now that he knew lovely wasn’t going to dump him.
as he exited the bar, he felt good. they’ll be alright.
as he looked for his car, two teenagers giggled while dancing to a crackling speaker in the parking lot.
#the teenagers at the end are a reference to them#in case it’s not clear#redacted asmr#redacted vincent#redacted lovely#redacted sam#30 day writing challenge#krush fics
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across the dining room table
sam’s immortal.
darlin’s mortal.
it’s about time they had “that” talk.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/39573912
The talk wasn’t violent. It wasn’t explosive, it wasn’t heated. It was calm: so chillingly calm and Sam swore he could feel time again in a way that unnerved him. The last time he felt like that was with his progeny (and by default, their progeny but everyone treated the two of them like they were both Sam’s) and that was far more uncomfortable that he had ever really verbalized.
They sat at his (really, it was also Darlin’s) dining room table. The evening saw the sun hang low in the sky, refusing to dip below the horizon. The house was freshly cleaned, a single candle burning on the island. Its sweet aroma curled pleasantly along the walls of the house, leaving a softer version of the smell behind as it lazily exited through the open windows. The grandfather clock that Sam had made himself stood mighty and tall in living room, occupying a space in between two bookshelves with almost comically different genres lining each one.
To be honest, Sam hated that damn candle. Vampire senses were a blessing, but also a curse when it came to things they didn’t like, and that candle was one of them. However, it was Darlin’s favorite and they never burned it longer than an hour. Their excuses consisted of “It’s an expensive candle and I don’t have much money” or “It’s discontinued, so I gotta be careful.” And yet, when he was out grocery shopping one night, he saw that exact candle and smiled.
He never did tell them otherwise.
The air was heavy and stagnant despite the breeze rustling through the leaves and the screen of the open window. It felt nice, but only cooled Darlin’ and Sam’s nerves for a small time.
They picked at the oak, seemingly unable to meet his eyes; those beautiful mulberry eyes they’ve looked at hundreds of thousands of times before. The maroon irises melted with streaks of chocolate brown in an almost hypnotizing swirl. They sat slightly bit sunken in, adding a certain depth to his expressions. Just him looking at them with complete neutrality could make them shiver. When he was fed, the mulberry brightened to a dark reddish color. It reminded them of the cherry wine they impulsively bought one night and how they talked for hours over the fireplace. Both of their cheeks hurt by the time they decided to sleep, and the sun had announced its presence. Those eyes made them feel so safe and loved and cared for, for so many years now. Yet, they couldn’t meet them. Their fingers threatened to tremble as nails scratched against the wood again, quiet breaths shaking slightly.
Sam silently observed his lover. Noting the refusal to meet his gaze, he settled on roaming his eyes along them, drinking in the same details he’d known for four years know. Darlin’ always asked why he looked at them so often.
“It’s not like I’m something new everyday” they blurted once after catching him one afternoon. He had laughed, further confusing them as they looked into him. “What? It’s true and you know it.” They seemed to fold slightly into themselves as he laughed more.
“I just like lookin’ at ya, that’s all.”
They paused, their brows furrowed. He watched intently, making a mental note of how cute their scar was. The one that went through the arch of their right eyebrow and nearly down to their eyelid. It was the only scar on his Darlin’s body that wasn’t from a fight. He remembered the tears that fell from his eyes as they told the story of why they had a lifetime ban from a pottery center and why “I’m sorry to dash your Ghost dreams Sam but I’m not allowed to be around wheels or clay anymore”. He hadn’t ever laughed like that before, or at least it had been years since he did. The cherry wine in his system pleasantly burned him, or maybe it was just that Darlin’; their cheeks flushed and looking at him with stars in their eyes that made his cheeks warm. It was the second time they kissed, and Sam swore he felt his soul leave his body the second their lips met.
A soft cough from said person brought him back from his reverie. They eyed him with concern and heavy amusement. He did that sometimes. His eyes sort of glaze over with a dreamy look to them. They can see the adoration he holds and freely shows and they accept it (now at least). Sam retreats partially into his mind and suddenly they’re hit with a wash of love. It pulsates, their core meeting his as their threads entwine. A warmth floods Darlin’s senses, like rain on a summer night. They feel more alive with him around, and ironically enough, he does too. They like seeing that look on his face and how his body seems to move closer to theirs subconsciously. His fingers itch to touch some part of their skin and Darlin’ makes it a point to find his hand. They wish so desperately that he’d reach for them, to soothe their frayed nerves and to keep them from picking the damn table apart.
Neither of them expected to be so anxious about this conversation.
There wasn’t anything to be anxious about. They both knew that. And now they’re sitting at this dark oak table, feeling like they’re going to jump out of their respective skins. Sam takes a breath before speaking, and so does Darlin’.
“About that immortality-“
“We need to figure this-“
They stared at each other for a split second before laughing. It wasn’t anything particularly funny, but it did break the goddamn tension that threatened to suffocate them. They both giggled for a minute, finding it silly that they were so nervous to talk about it. It’s Darlin’, and it’s Sam, they both thought.
Sam spoke first after wiping a stray tear from his eye.
“Look at us. Nervous to have this talk that we both know isn’t gonna be the end of the world and here we are frettin’ over each other. We both know I’ll live forever, assumin’ I don’t die of some awful battle. You,” he faltered.
They offered him a small smile.
“I won’t live forever. I know I’ll die old and wrinkled while you stay young and healthy. I’ll be accused of robbing cradles and they’ll nearly faint after learning you’re the older one. It’s okay baby. I’m fully aware of my painfully short lifespan compared to you.” They let out a humorless, almost bitter laugh. It felt wrong to say it out loud even though they both know it's the truth. It sits uncomfortably in the air before residing in their chests.
His brows furrowed a bit, the lines in his forehead deepening. “Don’t shifters live longer than most? I mean, I could be wrong, but I do remember reading somethin’.”
They shrugged almost impassively; their nails picked at their cuticles.
“Wolves don’t live much longer than regular people. Maybe by 5-10 years. It’s not a huge difference. We are still people, after all. Just… slightly different. Ain’t much to it really.”
While he noted they still couldn’t look him in the eye, the slight accent that pushed its way into their voice caused his heart to flutter for a moment.
He really did love them. Sam Collins was a fool to fall in love with a shifter, but somehow his heart completely blocked out his logic the second he laid eyes on them, sniffing around his property at some godawful time (was it 4:30am?) of night. The determination rolled off them in waves; it nearly knocked him to his feet. Their eyes were sharp and fierce, observant and cautious as they glared at him for daring to ask why they were on his property. It made him shiver involuntarily. He always did like folks that knew what they wanted, who they wanted and why they wanted it.
They sighed again, running a hand through their hair. The words seemed to pour out, like the dam broke and the forest was being flooded. They couldn’t stop it once they started. Like prosecco, it had been building up for months now and the cork finally popped.
“I love you, Samuel Collins. And I love being with you. Frankly, I don’t give a damn about this whole immortality thing. If I did, I wouldn’t have made the choice to stop running from how I felt about you. Hell, if I cared even a fraction, I wouldn’t be at this fucking table about to shit myself from this entire topic. You know what you’re getting into. I know what I’m getting into. Can we be done with this and enjoy the house being actually cleaned for once?”
Sam could feel the heat rising in their body. Darlin’s leg started shaking again, urging him to speak before they locked themselves away again. Old habits die hard, but they die harder in Darlin's case.
“Darlin’, there ain’t anything in this world that could keep me from loving you. If you go grey, I’ll still love you. It’s still you. Underneath everything: every scar, every cut, every bruise, every wrinkle or sunburn or whatever the hell, I would still be with you. If the world ended tomorrow, I’d still spend those last 24 hours in your presence. Time is nothing but pocket change to me baby. The bank of time will let me withdraw however much I want until I decide if I’ve had enough. I know time is precious to you and I want to make sure you feel that way with me. I want to see you until your dyin’ day. Whenever that is-“ he paused, taking their hand in one of his and gently moving their chin to make them look at him with the other, “-and it better not be soon, lord knows you have a habit of agin’ me despite my frozen age- I want nothing more than to be next to you. Nothing you say can scare me away. Aging be damned. I want you to age. I want to see you look older and more beautiful and more radiant. I want to see the crows feet on your face when you smile at me and I want to hear your voice change. I want you to get what I won’t ever have. I want you to see your friends and family grey with you. You deserve to have a full life.”
Tears welled up in their eyes as their expression softened. It was rare to see them like this, heart completely bared. Bared only to him. He held it so carefully. It was an honor. It was a privilege. One that he’d never take for granted.
“You’d want that, for me?” They choked out, the tears fully falling now. “Wrinkles and all?”
He nodded, placing a chaste kiss on their lips before pressing his forehead onto theirs, both of their eyes closing.
“Wrinkles and all.”
#ive said it once and ill say it again#i LOVE their relationship#i adore them#so so much#redacted fics#redacted asmr#redacted sam#redacted darlin#angst#kinda#two idiots in love#krush fics
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soldier, poet, king
chapter v: coille
me? focusing on another setting than the tavern?? and other characters than the wolves and sam?? no way
two updates in two days too?? holy shit it's a miracle. chapter four was the reason i took so long to update bc honestly i hate writing song fics but the dancing and singing was how the boys were gonna meet their mates. had to make sure it wasn't cringy lol but now im finally on a roll. that time also gave me time to figure out how i wanted the main plot to go and what i wanted to change, universe-wise.
when i tell you this is an alternate universe, i mean it
enjoy lovelies <3
you can read this here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41903367/chapters/109104064
The chill air of the autumn night seeped into their bones and the fading light of their lantern should’ve made them stop.
The woods were dense, the canopy a thick, inky blanket that made the hooded figure nervous. The wind sang through the branches, making them click and clack against each other. They heard nocturnal animals call to each other and swore they saw eyes that didn’t belong to man or beast. Leaves crunched under their boots and they couldn’t shake the vague feeling that someone or something was watching them.
They clutched the small brown pack closer to their chest and attempted to close their cloak. To no avail, the breeze picked up, and blew the dark fabric open again. Their teeth chattered and the traveler realized their clothing was too thin for tonight. The map definitely didn’t mention how creepy the woods would be at night.
Wonder Woods my ass. The bitterness of that thought stained their mood. They could hear their former master’s hearty laugh and knew how much shit the woman would’ve given them if she ever found out how hopelessly lost they had gotten themselves. The mud squelched under their worn boots as they stopped to look at the map.
Ink smudged under their fingertips as frozen fingertips attempted to smooth out the wrinkles from being mushed against their hip in their waist bag. The map was a crude, hastily sketched outline of the three day journey they had embarked on. Though the traveler would argue it barely constituted little more than a poorly drawn treasure/scavenger hunt paper scrap. It would’ve made the shop hand’s daughter’s drawing look like a royal painter’s. Their gaze traveled along the path they believed they were currently on, but memory seemed to fail when the fork on the map was smudged. They quickly realized they couldn’t remember if they had taken a right or left-
A small curse fell from their lips as a stick snapped behind them, causing them to jump.
They whirled around, their heart thundered in their ears and fear shook their hands as they fumbled for the knife in the leather garter on their thigh. Squinting their eyes, they faintly made out a shadowy silhouette. The figure seemed solid but their borders were hazy, as if the darkness around them melted in the environment: like a candle made of shadows. The traveler could faintly see their long, gnarled hands, accentuated with long yellow fingernails, marred with a harsh line of black under the nail bed.
They couldn’t make out a face, much less any mildly distinctive facial features. The thing’s face was covered by what looked like a hood. Or maybe it was that weird darkness that made them almost shimmer.
The figure hadn’t moved since the traveler had gripped their knife. They felt their knuckles pale from the death grip on the ruby encrusted handle. Standing extremely still, the figure seemed to be unable to see them. They willed their breaths to slow down and hold them for a few seconds.
A gust of wind blew through and in the blink of an eye, the figure was gone as fast as it had arrived.
They released a breath that came out more of a gasp and felt their knees wobble. The dump of adrenaline, combined with a restless and long journey released exhaustion in their bones, and they felt themselves collapse.
-
“He couldn’t have assigned me patrol any other night! Any other time, but nooo, it’s Mabon and I’m stuck out here while everyone gets to have fun at the tavern.” Vincent grumbled to himself as he kicked a rock along the trail. He recalled the irritating conversation William had pulled him into after the last clan meeting.
”You wanted to talk?” He asked, his eyes watching the rest of the clan mingle and talk after the hour-long meeting.
William flashed him a warm smile. “Yes, I did. I am afraid that Alexis will not be able to patrol on the 21st. She is wrapped up in some, <b>business</b>, that day. I need you to take over her shift after you’ve helped set up the tavern.” He met his progeny’s gaze with an apologetic look, though the two of them knew that Alexis was just going to be sulking the whole eight day celebration.
Vincent sighed, trying to find a way out, but something told him William didn’t want to deal with any of her tantrums if he tried to refuse. He looked at the ceiling and closed his eyes. After a moment, he turned to his maker.
“I’ll take over, but it’s going to be a half-shift. I think Canon is going to join in Angel’s performances and I want to be there to see it.”
William nodded, a fond smile washing over him. “Of course. I would like to see it, but unfortunately, I must head to the Meridian.”
Confusion spread across his brows. “The Meridian? Is everything okay with it?”
His maker paused before trying to reply and being interrupted by Sam.
William hadn’t answered his question or sought him out after that meeting. When Vincent thought back on it, he seemed reluctant to even mention the trip to the Meridian at all. Running a hand through his hair, he shook away his curiosity. No use in ruminating over answers he wasn’t going to get.
The woods were oddly quiet tonight and the vampire wondered if any more sightings would occur. The reports on his desk were piling higher everyday, and the sandpaper behind his eyes was conducive to it. Vincent dreaded tonight’s report and based on the last few patrols, it would be empty, save for the occasional drunk from the tavern that got lost in the thicket of brambles and bushes.
His ears picked up on the sound of boots crunching roughly a couple hundred feet ahead, flanked by a seemingly hooded figure. Picking up the pace, he kept his own steps silent. A terrible feeling crept over him, the alarm bells screaming as he observed the two. The cloaked figure didn’t seem to know that the hooded figure was there. Vincent’s eyes swept downwards and if he had any blood left, it would’ve run cold when he saw the lack of feet from the tall second figure.
What in Meridian’s name?
The cloaked figure suddenly stopped and whirled around. Quickly, he hid behind a thick bush, the thorns pressed into his fingertips as he moved the branches to get as clear a view of the potential stand-off as possible.
Despite his status as an immortal, time didn’t feel any different to the vampire. Days passed the same as they did 20 years ago, and yet, in that single moment, time had slowed to an agonizing crawl as he realized who, or rather <i>what</i> had been following the first figure. Each muscle in his body tensed for that long, horrid minute and soon found himself peering over the collapsed body on the ground when the dark shadow had vanished instantly.
The hood on their cloak had fallen off, and Vincent found himself entranced by their beautiful features. His fingers itched to touch their nose and feel their cheeks rest in the palm of his hands. He shook his head, and turned his eyes down to their chest. They were still breathing, and their pulse was strong. They were so warm despite the frigid air, and a sheen of sweat coated their forehead. Puffs of air were visible as they exhaled through slightly parted lips. Their eyes flung open and heaved a gasp as they shot up and cradled their pounding head in their hands.
“Welcome to the world again sleeping beauty.” He greeted them with a playful tone. They looked up at him and scooted back with a start. A hearty laugh fell from the vamp’s lips. “Relax. It’s gone, and I promise I haven’t done anything.”
Eyes squinted in distrust. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”
He feigned a hurt look and clutched a hand to his chest. Holding up his middle and index finger, he said, “Scout’s honor. Besides, you’d know if I touched you.”
The traveler rolled their eyes and went to get up, but found themselves woozy. He rushed over and steadied them.
“Easy, Lovely. I’m not an expert on human health, but you look like you’ve got some sort of fever.”
They looked at him strangely before wiping their forehead. “I’m fine, but thank you for helping. What are you doing out here anyways? Do you always find random strangers collapsed on the woods’ floor?” The words were sharp, but the mischievous light that danced in their light told Vincent they trusted him- for now.
“Actually, yeah. I do. More frequently than I’d like to admit.” He laughed at the bewildered expression on Lovely’s face. Now that they could stand without falling, they rubbed their temples in an attempt to quell the throbbing and million questions running through their brain. They settled on asking the handsome stranger about their location.
“Where exactly am I that makes you find so many strangers?’ I know this is the Wonder Woods, but I can’t be too far from something. A town? Or-”
“Couple miles from the tavern. It’s on an apple orchard and I happen to know the owner. I’d say let’s get you to a healer, but that same healer is also there. You look like you need a drink, a bath and someone to listen to you.” He flashed them a dazzling smile, and the traveler found themselves unable to say no.
They sighed and adjusted their cloak. Sensing they couldn’t say no, they met his gaze after putting the ‘map’ away. “Fine, but this tavern better be worth your insistence on.”
His smile widened further. “I’m glad you said that.”
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soldier poet king
chapter iv: kingdom dance
long time no update lol
this one’s a doozy and the longest chapter yet! i promise you, this is when things start to get going!
wc: 2707
you can read it here
As he reached the bar, the consistent crescendo of drums brought Milo out of his reverie. He found himself at the standoff he claimed to be “dramatic”. The baritone voices of several young men caused him to only hear the tail-end of the bartender’s greeting.
“What can I get ya?” When he finally tore his gaze from the silent battle between the two, surprise flashed across his face when Milo realized he was face to face with a vampire.
He clumsily set the glasses on the counter.
“Refill. On tab for Green.” He stated dumbly. Get ya shit together Milo. Ya nearly fucked up the alias we took on.
The silence that stood between them was louder than the drums. His eyes floated back over to the scene.
The owner refused to look at the bard. Their white linen bandana contrasted the dark shirt under the stage light. Though he hadn’t caught their face, Milo knew their gaze was piercing if they were able to stand up to the beautiful Angel this long. Their shirt nearly matched David’s in sheerness, and ”billowy-ness” (as Asher put it). The black shirt was abruptly stopped by black bottoms and tied together with an apron.
He felt their reluctance and quietly snorted in amusement. His mind wandered to the stand-offs between David and Asher in their childhood.
”Stop looking at me like that!” David exclaimed as he stood barefoot on the grass, leaning over a reclined Asher.
“Or what?” Ash replied, the lazy grin on his face prominent while his slender fingers unconsciously wove a half-finished dandelion crown. “You gonna ask your father if we can go to the creek after dinner?” Milo laughed as he knew David’s cheeks burned in annoyance.
“No. I just,” the Prince huffed in irritation. “Ugh!” He threw his hands up, his gaze leaving one of his best friends. “I swear, if you weren’t half-wolf, I’d say you were an elf in disguise.”
The two boys giggled as David sulked. Asher, having abandoned his flower crown, pushed himself onto his elbows.
“Hey,” he began softly, voice laced with earnesty, “You don’t have to ask. I’m only pulling your tail.” His tone was sincere. The last thing the aspiring advisor wanted to do was damage his friendship with the future king, and politics aside, Asher really hated genuinely upsetting David.
David sighed before meeting his gaze. Internally, he groaned and felt himself crumble. Damn, he really couldn’t say no to his best friends. “It’s okay Asher. I’ll ask my dad-“ His sentence was interrupted by the excited exclamations of the others. “Guys! I’m only asking so you can stop pestering me about it. But just this once, got it?”
The clanking of glasses threw him from his reverie and the bartender offered a fanged smile (though Milo might have mistaken it for a grimace).
“Take it easy on the drinks,” he motioned for the knight to lean in, his voice sprinkled with amusement, “I know the king isn’t the best at holding his liquor.” His words made Milo blanche as the vamp leaned back and called for the next customer. His hands shook as he took the glasses, the dark amber sloshing and threatening to spill. Willing himself to calm down, he forced a smile on his face, but not before looking back and being thrown a wink by the bartender. The knight let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and forced the rising tide of worry from his mind.
How had he known David was here? They were inconspicuous enough. The castle was an hour or so away, there’s no way the locals would know what he’d look like. Unless they had a recent portrait or sketches from Asher that got sent out. Hell, most folk didn’t know what Gabe looked like until he implemented the annual tour early into his short reign. Speaking of touring, once Ostara was a week away, they’d have to start the tour and the preparations for that were going to take even longer now that David was almost fully settled into his role. Once that was figured out, Milo would have to send his letters to all the Councils then-
His train of thought derailed as he hit what felt like a brick wall. Sparkling eyes met his and Milo found himself stuttering out an uncharacteristically meek apology as he took in the sight of the fabled mercenary he had heard much about. He felt his cheeks heat up as he realized the tales conveniently left out how attractive and physically present they were.
His heart beat as fast as the drums and Milo hadn’t realized he had been staring until the merc paused expectantly. Something about an apology? He waved them off as best he could with the drinks and felt embarrassment ooze through his veins. They were being kind about the whole thing. A laugh fell from their lips as he made some wisecrack comment about a wet tunic contest and being first place. He liked the sound of that laugh, and felt a hazy happiness cloud him as they hastily (and apologetically) ended the conversation when an arm looped around their’s. The stranger with red eyes apologized for interrupting, but Milo couldn’t care less as he locked eyes with the mercenary, a silent promise to see each other again being made.
A grin seemed to lock itself onto his face as he finished the journey back to the table. He was greeted by the sight of Asher and the man named V arm-wrestling while David watched in mild amusement. Distracted by his sudden appearance, Ash looked up and yelped as his attention was pulled back to the competition. His knuckles slammed on the table. V let out a victorious laugh and Ash groaned and handed him two silver pieces. He turned to face his friend.
“What took you so long? Get bitten by the bartender or-” Asher paused as he studied the dopey grin and dreamy look on Milo’s face. His eyes lit up with that glint the other two were far too familiar with. “You met someone.” He smiled, his canines flashed in the shit-eating grin on his face.
V turned to Milo and glanced him up and down, nearly mirroring Asher’s look. David took note of the slight discomfort in his knight as he looked at V’s smile. Milo had mentioned earlier that while he wasn’t inherently distrustful of V, something about his smile wasn’t quite right. His statement echoed in his head as David watched Milo shake his head and struggle to hide the smile from appearing on his face again.
”It’s like there’s something beneath the surface. It’s not quite the genuine happiness that ya get from being nice.”
“You absolutely met someone. No one puts off that amount of happiness just from mead.” V leaned back and took a long, deep drink of his abnormally large stein. Milo had never noticed the size compared to the other patrons at the table.
Asher nodded and David found himself also nodding and speaking.
“Who was it?” Now it was his turn to struggle to keep his tone neutral. The king felt the twitches of a smirk tugging at his lips, facetious enjoyment joining the strain.
Milo looked behind the three men, desperate to take the conversation off him.
“Okay look-”
His voice was cut off by the sound of someone singing. All four heads turned toward the source of the singer, surprised to see the crowd part and even more surprised to see the other bartender joining the Angel.
They had untied their rust colored apron and laid it on the counter while the first verse began. Milo and David didn’t know what language they were singing in, but Asher caught vaguely familiar words. Something about seaweed and marriage? His head felt as if he were swimming as he watched the bartender interact with an older man that he thought was Old Man Lillian.
So he hadn’t been escorted out. The three shared telepathically and held in a snicker.
Asher watched as they interacted with the young men that had been the first line of song. The three men had presented them with different objects -a turtle shell comb, a piece of black and yellow seaweed, and a gold mirror with pearls- and the Angel scrutinized with stormy eyes and gossiped about each man with their companion, the gold accents flashing in the stage light. His eyes locked on to their features and felt himself become entranced by the shining eyes framed by a look of mischief. He watched with rapt attention as they interacted with the audience, almost beckoning for a reaction. The crowd joined in the singing at the behest of the bard, and everyone except the three exploded in song. The harmonies flowed smoothly over one another, and the poet found himself in a small, drafty house, watching a mother, father and child deal with the courtship of silly young men as the song swelled to its peak and abruptly ended in a triumphant flourish.
The bartender and Angel bowed as the crowd roared with thunderous applause. Asher swore he felt the entire building shake a little. The musicians looked to the Angel, and as if on cue again, another song started immediately. The newer of the two performers groaned and rolled their eyes, but a smile lingered on their lips.
Milo turned to his friend and stifled a laugh at his expression. He met David’s gaze and the king merely rolled his eyes before taking a drink, the edges of his lips curled faintly upward.The knight made a mental note to give both of them shit after they got back to the castle.
Turning their attention back to the song that had started again, and a young woman in a linen hunter green dress with long golden ringlets was pulled from the crowd to join in the song. The lyrics flowed off their tongues, switching between the local dialect and that same foreign language again. Asher knew what this song was about, mostly, and watched as the bard and young woman scolded the other person as they fiddled with the apron that still hung around their torso. They grabbed the young woman’s hands and twirled her around as they happily sang about traveling and dancing in the lights of a far away town. The two performers replied in faux anger about staying home and doing work. Looking around, they cheekily sang about handsome men and the three men individually swore they looked at them as their eyes swept over the audience.
As the story played on, the trio pulled more and more audience members to dance, and soon the entire floor was dancing, even David. The music crescendoed to the finale and burst into an instrumental that sent the tavern’s heart pounding. Boots stomped on the floor, laughter echoed through the building, and the audience wove together in an intricate knot. Garments flashed and sparkled, the air became scented with perfumes and oils. Hands clapped and grasped as strangers became friends as the music united everyone young and old. Kids giggled as they were spun by fathers, mothers, siblings, friends, everyone. They mimicked the tune they had heard since before their birth, warbling pitches and drunken voices joining them.
David caught flashes of gold and black, and found himself wanting to see them up close. He could see them expertly criss-crossing with a variety of dance partners. The bracelets on their wrists jingled, catching his ears and pulling him in every direction. He caught glimpses of the top of their head. They truly did live up to their name as the Angel of the Crooked Canon. Mysterious, strong and beautiful.
His daydream was broken when he found himself paired with Asher for a moment. Ash’s laughter rang in his ears, his cheeks burned in mild embarrassment as his best friend poked fun at his dazed look.
“Got the hots for the Angel huh?” He grinned cheekily, spinning the king and clapping after.
David rolled his eyes as he came back. “Shut up,” he growled as he noticed Asher’s eyes wandering off in the crowd. He smirked. “Do I have the hots or do you? And don’t think I haven’t noticed that idiotic look on your face when you saw the bartender.”
Asher spluttered as a babble of words erupted. He couldn’t meet the king’s gaze and knew he would be reduced to an even more embarrassed mess, and mentally cursed himself when he realized he was searching for that white head covering and rust colored apron, hoping to end up dancing with the person he was enthralled with.
Just as he was about to reply, the two were separated and swept away in the music as it danced its way toward the end. It was a blur of people and hands and feet and the two found themselves panting and staring, two sets of eyes as the music stopped on the final staccatoed note.
As they stared at one another, their chests heaved slightly, the heat and excitement of the night swiftly caught up to them. The tavern seemed to fade away as the bards stared at their respective partners’ faces. Electricity crackled immediately but was pulled when the clinking of glass drew their attention from each other.
Sam stood on the bar, motioning for the bartender in Asher’s grip. They gave him a warm smile before letting go, and he felt his heart skip a beat.
The Angel slipped out of David’s sight and moved toward the counter. They gave them a boost up and the patrons looked at them expectantly.
“Alright everyone. Thank you Sam.” They said after taking the vamp’s hand to steady themselves onto the bartop.
The crowd silenced, their rapt attention captured by the figure on the bar top. Milo’s eye caught movement and a flash of silver hurrying into the back before turning back to the person.
“After our amazing performances tonight, I’d like to thank everyone here for coming. And Angel, for undoubtedly ruining wallets for some of you as to my performances. Don’t think I didn’t know about y’all’s little betting pool.” They smiled and laughed, a warm clear sound that rang out. Asher felt himself swoon. The crowd laughed heartily. “Now there’s some new faces in our sea of regulars,” their gaze passed over the crowd, lingering on the trio, though the poet wasn’t sure when David and Milo had found him. “So you lot better be on your best behavior to make the newcomers feel even more welcome, and welcome to come back.” The crowd nodded in agreement. Asher nudged David in the ribs while mouthing ‘I told you’. He rolled his eyes while his friend silently laughed to himself.
“It’s been a hell of a year, and I’ve found myself in charge of this damned place. A lot of y’all are regulars from my parents’ time as owners. Thank you for taking a chance on their hopeless kid, who frankly, has no idea what the fuck they’re doing.”
They laughed at this and a rough voice behind Milo shouted “Yer parents would’ve been proud to see it tonight!” Murmurs of agreement followed, and she felt themselves soften a bit.
“They would have been wouldn’t they? Mahbon was always their second favorite holiday, after Yule of course. But enough of them. Tonight is about abundance, prosperity and celebration. Without any of you having the slightest sliver of faith in me, I’m not sure this place would’ve gotten through last winter. But it did, and for that, all of your drinks are on the house!” Cheers erupted as Angel hopped up onto the bar and closed the owner into a bone-crushing hug.
“They would’ve been beside themselves with pride to see you now.” They murmured into their ear, and the owner wiped their misty eyes.
“I just wish they could’ve been here to see it.” They replied, before turning back to the crowd. “The night is still young! We have until dawn. Band, take it away!”
The music started once more.
#redacted asmr#redacted david#redacted angel#redacted asher#redacted babe#redacted milo#redacted sweetheart#redacted sam#redacted vincent#soldier poet king#krush fics
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routine
day 3 of the 30 day writing challenge little late but it was chores and errands on my day off
prompt: use the words kitchen, date and music
lasko x freelancer (i adore them so much)
cross posted on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39511536
lasko had become a part of the freelancer's routine. when? they're not sure, but they don't think they'd give him up for anything.
—
The Freelancer wasn’t sure when this became a habit: finding Lasko in their kitchen around 9am on a Sunday morning, making them breakfast. They weren’t complaining. He was a great chef, and it showed in the way he spoke about what he made. It was refreshing, to see him have an air of loud confidence about him. It could’ve been that one Saturday last year. They invited the boys over for general tomfoolery after getting out of school for the year. It turned into some drinking games. While Hux and Damien could handle their liquor, Lasko was the unfortunate lightweight. After an ill-fated couple hours in their bathroom the next morning, he turned into the kitchen, mortified and not sure how to apologize except to make some food before leaving. The Freelancer had to have something right? And he could play some music that always helped a hangover. They wouldn’t mind, surely. And they didn’t. So, they invited him the next weekend. And the next. And then the routine became a fixture in both of their lives.
Before they’d stumble into the kitchen bleary-eyed with a fried brain from an all-night study session, they’d look at the freckles on his back as he slept, nails gently running over the patterns they’d see. They’d drink in his features in the early morning light that peeked through the blinds. They’d note his nose, how the bridge stood straight, and the nose tipped slightly upward. How his lips parted so slightly, his gentle breathing moving a small piece of hair. How his hair splayed out on the satin pillowcase and curl into their neck. How his limbs, long and lanky, seemed to find a way to tangle around the sheets and cover him to look like he was a sculpture. Undine Rising from the Waters had nothing on the way his skin was so smooth: how the fabric folded and twisted onto his muscles, leaving his upper body bared. How the goosebumps lined his arms, the hair on them standing up. The Freelancer would move themselves to him if they woke up facing away from him. They’d curl themselves against him, fingertips brushing against the curve of his spine. A small smile graced their lips as they traced his skin entirely.
Lasko knew they woke up before he did, but they always slept for another hour or so after. He liked that. Their touch was so gentle: so calming. He got to see past their rough exterior, the spikes and armor stripped away, revealing the tender flesh he cradled in his arms every Saturday night. He got to hear their voice deepened and hoarse after speaking all day. It was music to his ears. Lasko got to see the genuine Freelancer. The one that cried into his chest after getting a phone call and voicemail from their parents cursing them for being “devil born” for something they had no control over. The one that laughed softly and smoothly at his stupid jokes and puns. The one that stroked his cheek before kissing him with a feather-like touch. The one that wasn’t a ghost in a room that they should’ve been alive in. The one that kissed him fiercely after he confessed his feelings to them. The one that laughed so wonderfully and accepted his request after he stumbled through asking them on an official date. He got to see that in these four walls.
He wouldn’t change it for the world.
#i love them so much#redacted asmr#redacted fics#redacted lasko#redacted freelancer#fluff#krush fics#30 day writing challenge
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apologies
day 2 of the 30 day writing challenge!
prompt: write a scene without dialogue
guy x honey i am so in love with them!
cross posted on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39472239
in hindsight, it’s probably not a good idea to randomly show up at your new partner’s place after pulling a double shift without texting them first
—
the sharp crackle of the bacon grease sizzling in the pan was enough to completely rouse guy from his hazey half-sleep. he could hear his lover humming along with the old analog radio in the kitchen that was maybe 10 feet from the “bedroom”. the studio was small, but honey didn’t need much space, except maybe another foot for the third bookshelf that was going to reside next to the makeshift tv stand.
guy blamed that on honey’s love of sickly sweet romance books. truly living up to their namesake.
he couldn’t be bothered to make the bed. the orange sheets that were usually tangled from his sleep thrashing were almost eerily normal looking. he made a mental reminder to “interrogate” them about that over breakfast. he took note of his apron and hat hanging up neatly on the coat hooks by the front door; the one stubborn stain that had sat in the fabric for over a year, taunting him, was gone. his hat was devoid of all the usual sweat, dirt, splatters and god-knows-what-else. a smile crept onto his face. they really were too good to him.
he stretched, feeling his sore muscles and joints groan in protest. that 11 hour he pulled last night hit him like a truck. he couldn’t quite remember how he got to honey’s apartment in the state he was in.
the road was slightly blurry and guy thinks he was swaying when they opened the door after he attempted the knocking pattern they established with one another. their eyes widened and their tone was soft as they ushered him inside. they helped him shower, brought him some spare clothes he kept in one of their dresser drawers, and the vague taste of some kind of fruit lingered on his tongue. he looked over at only door in the apartment, a soft smile on his lips. they worried he hadn’t eaten enough but he waved them away with some promise to eat more in the morning.
his brows furrowed a moment and the smile melted into a frown. why had he gone to honey’s place? his own apartment wasn’t that far away from Max’s. he could’ve woken them up if they weren’t a night person. luckily for him, it was his one saturday off a month today and he had already planned on coming over. but still.
he rolled over and grabbed his phone to really make sure he had the day off. as he scrolled through his messages, guy realized he hadn’t texted them to tell them he was driving to their place. he inhaled deeply, his eyes scrunched as he prepared to apologize to them, only to be stopped by a plate being put on his nightstand. the feeling of their body dipping into mattress stopped him.
they nudged him with their elbow. he faced them and they just smiled, cheeks slightly full from the water they had just drank.
he’d apologize after breakfast.
#them <3#UGH#SO CUTE#redacted asmr#redacted fics#redacted guy#redacted honey#comfort#fluff#fanfics#krush fics#30 day writing challenge
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i was there when the rain tapped the way down your face
based on big black car by gregory alan isakov,
aka elliott being the best friend and comforting sunshine during their worst heartbreak while having to pick up his own broken heart in the process
pre-confession elliott and sunshine
read here
He knew something was wrong.
His phone had been cold the past three days. The suspicious lack of texts and daily updates from Sunshine’s garden steadily loomed over him. A squall slowly formed in his mind as he habitually checked his phone again. With a frustrated huff, he turned the thing off and shoved it into his pocket. Why was he so irritated by this? He knew they’d be on a trip with their boyfriend. It was their anniversary yesterday, and they went on it early, since Sunshine couldn’t take that day off from work.
Elliott ran his fingers through his hair in a pitiful attempt to calm himself down. there wasn’t a reason for him to be so worried. It’s not like something was horribly wrong. granted, he didn’t particularly look forward to that specific day. The familiar ache in his chest burned numbly, a full reminder that he wasn’t supposed to think of sunshine like that. They were his best friend. They had a boyfriend, for god’s sake. They were happy with him and as long as Elliott got to be their best friend, that’s all that mattered.
So why did he feel so on edge? The hair on the back of his neck had stood up for the past few days. The air around him felt like the tension right before a lightning strike. He was anxious. He was impulsively picking his cuticles again, something he knew sunshine would chastise him about. The thought of hearing them say “you have to stop doing that, it’s so bad for you” as they would grab his hands and hold them to stop him brought a small smile to his face. He missed them a lot, and while it would sting to hear how wonderful the trip was, Elliott wouldn’t care as long as he got to hear his love’s voice: his own aural ambrosia.
In the past 72 hours, sleep’s comes fitfully for sunshine. every type of stability in their life has been crashed into. The waves finally eroded the limestone columns, the chunks of it hitting their cheeks. The tears are acrid and acid, staining their face and burning their eyes a vibrant shade of red. The phone’s nearly dead and sunshine has the vague feeling that they feel a bit like that cold piece of metal they discarded on their desk. The floorboards warp and wobble their feet under them. It’s a feeling that makes them feel seasick on dry land. A lifelong sailor that finds themselves stranded on an island, unable to feel the calm rocking of the waves that stabilized them for so long.
On the fourth day of bleeding onto the floor, their fingers subconsciously sought out the comfort that was four floors down. Trembling fingertips and lips accompanied an equally trembling voice and breath.
“Hello? Sunshine? Are you there?” The waves stopped momentarily and the sinkhole that threatened to swallow them closed its gaping maw.
“Hi.” It was small. Cowering in pain and fear and Elliott felt a strike of lightning hit him with such a force. The world lit up in a flash of yellow and purple and settled into a bright crimson. Before either could say anything, feet thundered and rumbled the stairs, breaths of anger and protection exited him and pounding wood sounded. He swore the air became more humid in a moment and the portal to hell opened.
They stared at him, eyes wide, a deer. An injured animal, with blood on the floor and tracks leading from the scene of the crime. Their open wound barely staunched by tissues littering the floor, and the dam broke. Shrieking echoed in his chest, agony dripping onto his shirt, the two of them embraced and sunk to the floor. Betrayal scented the home that had been haphazardly torn apart with a relish so evil it nearly made him keel over from the pungent smell of backstabbing and decay.
They trembled violently through the torrent, fingertips carving themselves into his skin. Waves crashed into them, the only lifeline being the familiarity of those calm waves they could feel underneath it all. The screaming and battle that resulted in deep wounds died a slow, agonizing death. The world closed for another 96 hours to reconcile with the carnage and carcass that was so raw.
Through heaving sobs and waves of confession, they wove the deceitful tale that made Hamlet seem like child’s play. Caesar was not worthy of standing next to them in the words of love, betrayal and not just from one pillar of their life, but two. Friend and boyfriend, acting as agents of deceit, parasites of good faith. Fair weathering the one person they knew would let them both into their home and rot it from the inside out.
Elliott’s muscles were sore the next day from keeping himself still enough to listen through the red that covered his vision and roared in his ears. 106 hours of heartache had suddenly been worth it.
And burning his stuff had been good for the two of them too.
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