#while i am the one primarily writing this au just know that he is always somewhere in the background making comments | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

separatist-apologist · 1 year

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What A Time To Be Alive

I just need someone to hold me, even though you don't even know me

Summary: The prompt was: Modern AU where Lucien is a tiktoker who posts POVs and Elain always wants to duet them to be the love interest he’s talking to but she doesn’t bc how could he ever be interested in a girl like her… UNTIL SHE DOES

Note: Big thanks AND dedicated to @ablogofbipanic who thought she could give me unwritable prompts. I'll write anything.

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Elain Archeron recognized that deck. Recognized the parking lot below and, when the camera zoomed out for a moment, recognized the white coup sitting in a patch of hot California sun. That was her apartment complex broadcast to an audience of one point two million people.

And her upstairs neighbor filming another tiktok.

Jackinthefox. Everyone thought his name read Jack, but Elain knew his name was actually Lucien Vanserra given how often his mail was shoved into her slot. Mostly junk coupled with the occasional energy bill. Lucien, with his sun kissed, golden brown skin and auburn hair that fell past his shoulders. She’d caught him in the basement gym once, lifting weights in a shirt so loose she could see all the carved muscle just beneath.

She’d started working out at night to avoid him.

It seemed Elain couldn’t avoid him on tiktok, though. No matter how quickly she swiped through his videos on her feed, they always came back. Look at me, they seemed to demand. Look at how handsome I am.

Yeah, yeah. Lucien was absurdly good looking, a fact he must have been well aware of. To his credit, he didn’t react to the thirst comments people left for him like other tiktokkers. And he always kept his shirt on, which honestly was a crime. If the women following him learned what lurked beneath, they’d riot.

Lucien did dance, occasionally, though always to 90’s boybands—Elain liked those videos best, not that she’d ever admit it. What Lucien did, primarily, were POV’s to popular television shows. Usually the Office, though he did a fair amount of New Girl, too. And women practically lined up to duet him, hoping to be the Jim to his Pam.

While Lucien had exploded in popularity during quarantine, Elain had a more modest following of ten thousand people following her for her aesthetic baking videos. And while Elain had a good time baking bread in cute aprons in front of her window, what she secretly wanted was to duet Lucien back.

She didn’t have the guts. What was worse, she thought, was duetting him, being ignored, and having to give him his mail when it was inevitably put in her box again. He’d know she had a crush on him and probably laugh behind her back.

Or maybe not—but Elain didn’t dare risk it. Not when she had one of the last affordable and nice units left in California. Close to the beach, within walking distance of her favorite grocery store…and with the hot, upstairs neighbor.

It was hot that day, which made going to the store a miserable venture. Elain was making lemon bars and had run out of nearly everything. If there was a hell, surely it was hauling massive canvas bags of flour, sugar, and lemons in the California heat. By the time she reached her building, Elain was drenched in sweat. In the distance, she could hear the screaming laughter of children in the pool, and the smell of chlorine blew in on a rubber and asphalt scented breeze.

She just wanted to get inside the cold building, to park herself naked in front of a fan, and stay there until winter arrived.

Elain went to yank open the glass door and drag herself up the flight of stairs to her unit. She fumbled with the metal handle, hot beneath the sun and her sweaty fingers.

“I’ve got it,” called a familiar, masculine voice. Honeyed and deep, rich and warm like the day she was so desperate to flee, Lucien Vanserra must have had one of the nicest voices she’d ever heard. A moment later he’d wedged his towering frame in the door so she could slip past. Lucien’s russet colored eyes slid to the bags hanging from her shoulders.

“Want help?” he asked, reaching for one of the straps.

Elain tried to protest— “No, I’ve got it—”

But he’d already taken two bags in one hand like it was nothing to him. He reached for the other two and suddenly Elain was freed of her obligations. She knew he saw how she exhaled with relief, a smile quirking over his full lips. Lucien was in another loose tanktop and basketball shorts.

Like herself, Lucien was slick with sweat, which made her feel a little better. They were both disgusting, which somehow put them on equal footing.

“What are you baking today?” he asked with a sidelong glance. Elain’s eyebrows shot skyward. She followed him up the purple carpeted steps, a relic from some mythical time period in which purple carpet made sense. Though, it did add a certain charm to the otherwise beige, fingerprint stained walls.

“What do you know about my baking?” Elain asked, hoping she sounded appropriately flirty and not breathless with wonder.

“I know that I tried those cranberry bars you posted last week and they turned out like shit.”

“That sounds like user error,” she replied, trying so hard not to grin. He watched her videos? Elain could have died.

“Oh, if definitely was,” he said cheerfully, keeping easy pace with her. “They tasted good, though. What are you making today?”

She swore those eyes of his looked hungry. “Lemon bars.”

Still, he grinned. “Can’t wait to fuck those up, too.”

She could have invited him in. As they reached the landing and her door a mere three steps away, Elain could have asked Lucien to help her bake. Lord knew he would have looked great on camera, even if no one ever saw her face on tiktok. They had to follow her on instagram for that. Still, Lucien’s hands were big and broad and her mostly female audience probably would have liked seeing them as much as Elain liked watching him hold her groceries.

She didn’t invite him in. The words got tangled in her throat, jumbled so when she dug her keys out of her pocket, she heard herself say, “Well…thank you for the help.” “Anytime,” Lucien replied smoothly, handing her the bags without complaint. He didn’t look around her to try and get a glimpse of her apartment, nor did he offer to come in and help. Elain appreciated that so much, though it was truly a low bar in terms of not being pushy.

“Catch you around,” he said with a wink, turning back for the steps. Elain admired the shifting muscles of his back for a moment—just until he rounded the corner. His thundering steps seemed to clear her head, if only a little.

He was just being neighborly. Friendly.

He watched her videos.

The first thing she did the second she got inside was whip out her phone. And sure enough, buried in her notifications, was Lucien Vanserra quietly liking months of baking videos. How many had he made? All those months of agonizing about dueting him while he was liking all her videos and making her recipes…Elain felt giddy.

She felt like pulling out her ring light, after showering and carefully applying her make up, and dueting his latest video.

New Girl.

Elain loved New Girl.

LUCIEN:

Flopped on his couch, phone on the coffee table, Lucien replayed the afternoon in his mind. He’d been looking for an excuse to talk to Elain for the better part of a year. Ever since her sourdough video popped up on his for you page. He’d been in a dark place then—a new transplant to California for grad school, lonely and now quarantined before he’d had the chance to make new friends. Lucien had never felt so isolated in his life. His whole life was on the east coast, and even if he’d wanted to drop out and go home, there were no flights to take him.

He sure as shit wasn’t making that drive, either. So Lucien did what everyone else did, and began mindlessly scrolling tiktok. He’d recognized the kitchen those delicate hands worked in, and though it made him feel a little creepy, he’d followed the link in her bio to her instagram page only to find the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his entire life living directly beneath him.

Lucien had tried to stage several run-ins with her. At the gym, in the parking lot, even at the pool though it was closed. Elain had never taken the bait. In fact, she barely looked at him at all. Lucien supposed, with a face as beautiful as hers, he simply didn’t register. That didn’t stop him from trying.

And when he couldn’t make conversation with her in person, Lucien turned back to the internet. He ordered a ring light off amazon and made his first video, hoping she’d see it like he’d seen hers. He’d heard her watching New Girl through the vents so he knew she liked it.

After a year, though, Lucien was starting to think it was time to give up on Elain Archeron. Maybe she had a boyfriend. Maybe he wasn’t her type. Hell, maybe she didn’t even like men. They were still in lockdown, still only supposed to go out for essentials, and maybe Elain didn’t want to risk getting sick on his account.

Lucien had sworn he was going to give up. His titkok had blown up by that point—surely she must have seen him at least once. Must have realized he was her neighbor. She could have liked one of his videos if she’d wanted, and she hadn’t.

All that changed with a little ding of his phone. Lucien reached for it, replaying walking her up to her apartment. She’d looked so good, with her golden brown curls stuck to her sweaty forehead, and how the heat had caused the yellow of her strappy sundress to conform to her tan skin. Lucien had forced his eyes forward and his mind anywhere but how she might look beneath him, just as sweat soaked and flushed. How those little, panting breaths might feel against his neck and fuck he had been so close to asking if she wanted help baking before he’d retreated, half hard just from the nearness of her.

He needed to think about something else. Lucien picked up his phone, illuminated in the last pinky rays of daylight pouring through the sliding glass of his balcony doors. Flipping open his phone, Lucien’s heart leapt into his throat.

Areyoubreadyforit dueted your video!

Lucien’s hands all but shook as he watched. She’d changed into a pretty blue top—or dress, he couldn’t tell—and lipsynced through the words, talking to him. Gorgeous, like always, bright eyed and confessing her pretend feelings for him through the medium of a POV video.

Be cool, he told himself even as he slipped on his shoes. Don’t do anything stupid.

Famous last words as Lucien went outside into the dry heat for the escape ladder that would take him straight down to the parking lot.

Or her deck, a floor below.

This is charming, he told himself, well aware he was skirting the line of crazed upstairs stalker. Why not go down the hall and knock on her front door? It was too late—the minute his feet hit the wood, Elain Archeron looked up from the kitchen. Her eyes went wide when she saw him, cheeks covered in a light dusting of flour.

Lucien raised his hand and mouthed, hey.

Elain came to the door, wiping her hands on a pretty pink and white dotted apron. “Hey,” she said, clearly surprised. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he lied. What Lucien really wanted to say was I like you, but that felt too much given he was standing on her deck like a maniac all because she’d dueted one video. “I ah—I came to see if you wanted any help. With your bars, I mean.”

“Oh,” she murmured, her eyes sweeping over his body. He’d showered after the gym, and still he felt self conscious as he pressed a hand to his stomach through the white fabric of his shirt. “I was actually about to make dinner.”

Lucien’s stomach fell for only a moment as Elain added, “Do you like chicken?”

“I love chicken,” he replied, unwilling to admit he would have eaten trash if she offered it. “Anything to watch the famous Elain Archeron cook.”

Pink stained her cheeks. “Hardly. I think it’s you who is famous, right?”

Lucien followed her into her apartment. The set up was the same—a living room that opened into a kitchen, and a hall that he knew would lead to both a bedroom and a bathroom. Every night, she laid just beneath him.

Maybe tonight, too, if he was lucky. That seemed distinctly like pushing things and yet Lucien still hoped as he closed the door behind him.

“Hardly,” he said, flashing her a smile. She didn’t realize all those followers were merely a monument to his crush on her. Elain glanced over her shoulder, still in the blue dress from the video.

“I guess you saw my duet?”

Her blush was so pretty. Lucien could do nothing but follow after her and try and keep his jaw off the floor. Did she know? Did Elain have any clue the effect she had on him merely by existing? That he wanted to wipe the flour off her face with his tongue?

“It was cute,” he said, bracing his elbows against the counter so he could watch. She wasn’t lying about the chicken—she was currently tying twine around an entire bird she’d seasoned rather nicely. “What took you so long?”

She scoffed. “It was the first interesting video you’d made all year.”

So she had seen them. Lucien’s heart was pounding in his chest. Oh god, oh god, oh god— “Tell me what interests you so I can better curate your experience.”

“I liked the Backstreet Boys videos,” she said, the pretty menace.

“Yeah? And if I make them again, are you going to dance with me?”

Her whole face was flaming red. Elain ducked, sliding her pan into the oven as she said, “I don’t know the steps.”

“I can teach you.” Fuck, Lucien could teach her anything she wanted to know—the steps to cheesy 90’s boy band music, how he liked to be kissed—

“I’ll bet you could,” she replied, those eyes cutting right through him. “Did you come down here to hit on me?”

“That depends,” Lucien grinned back, letting his gaze slide to her mouth. “Do you find it charming or creepy?”

Elain angled her chin as she contemplated. “Charming,” she declared with a pretty smile. Fuck Lucien had to fist his hands at his sides to keep himself casual and in place.

Leaned against the laminate counter, Lucien didn’t dare let his eyes drift below her neck though he fucking wanted to really look at her.

“Does it count as a date if you do all the cooking?”

Elain exhaled a puff of air. “Do you want this to be a date?”

God, Lucien wanted nothing else. He offered her what he prayed was a roguish smile. “Yeah, actually.”

She hesitated. “For…for content?”

“Because I’ve had a pathetic crush on you ever since I moved in,” he replied easily. There was no way in hell he was going to let her think his interest was about titkok fame. One day Lucien would be a lawyer, his tiktoks a blurry memory—his hobby when the world had shut down and nothing more. He had no interest in being an influencer or an actor.

His interest was standing directly in front of him wearing a blue sundress and smeared in flour.

“Oh,” she murmured, her face pink again. “I guess this could be a date. I do have some wine I got from Costco.”

“My favorite,” he lied—again, Lucien would have drank sewer water if she was offering. “I can plan the next date, make it more romantic.”

“Next date?” she teased, pulling out two wine glasses. “You’re awfully confident.”

Lucien only shrugged, at a loss for words. “Hedging my bets.”

Elain offered him a glass of red and when Lucien took a drink, he could hear his older brothers sneering words in his head—grape drink—Eris called anything under one hundred dollars that.

The alcohol took some of the edge off his nerves. Elain was closer than she’d ever been willingly, standing in front of him with that glass pressed to her lips. Lucien wanted to be it, wanted to know what it felt like to have her touch him like that.

“That’s awfully bold,” she said, her voice light and breathless. Fuck fuck fuck.

Lucien set his glass to her nice, round table before he dared a step closer. She was so much shorter than him, would have to lean up on her tiptoes to kiss him if she wanted. God how he hoped she wanted to.

“Isn’t the saying fortune favors the bold?” he murmured, brushing a curl from her cheek. Her skin was so soft, so warm beneath his fingertips. “Maybe it’ll favor me, too.”

Elain looked up through dark, thick lashes. “That was corny.”

He cocked his head as she dared a step toward him and oh my god, this was happening. Lucien didn’t dare breathe when she angled her chin, her thick cascade of hair falling down her shoulders. Eyes bright with invitation. All he had to do was not fuck this up. Just one kiss, which was more than he’d had for an entire year, despite wanting her that long.

“All that matters is that my corny line worked,” he replied, reaching for her cheek. Lucien threaded his fingers through her hair before lowering himself to her. She surged upward, meeting him in the middle for what he thought was the most perfect first kiss in the history of first kisses. She smelled like rosemary and tasted like sugared lemon. Her mouth was soft, her fingers curling against his biceps as she reached for something to steady herself.

It was over far too quickly. Lucien wanted to yank her against him. To haul her up on the table and declare she was the only meal he was interested in. Already, his body was far tighter than he would have liked—all the blood he needed to form sentences was currently rushing to his cock.

Elain smiled as she lowered herself back to the ground. “So uh…dinner?”

Lucien’s eyes nearly rolled back into his skull at the breathless way she said those words.

“I’m yours to command,” he said stupidly. “Tell me where you want me.”

He didn’t miss how her eyes darted toward the hall. He’d go, if she told him to. Lucien would lay flat on the bed and let her do every depraved thing she was thinking of—he’d thank her for it, even. Lucien didn’t care what it was, as long as they were both naked and— “Bread?” she was saying, though she, too, sounded far away.

“Yeah,” he replied, praying she didn’t look down at his shorts. “Whatever you want.”

ELAIN:

Whatever you want.

What she wanted was for Lucien Vanserra to take off his shirt and let her lick the line between his abs straight to his— “How is this?” he asked, pulling out a loaf pan of bread he’d been working on.

“It’s good,” she lied. It was sagging in the middle, but not a bad first try given they were both distracted. It had been one polite kiss. One kiss.

One kiss where he’d cupped her whole face in the palm of his hands. Now she knew he smelled like sunshine and woodsy smoke and how his arms felt beneath her fingers. It was too much knowledge for her small kitchen and her overactive imagination. Lucien was being perfectly polite, unaware that Elain was trying to figure out how to get him into her bedroom.

Did she just ask? Did she say, hey Lucien, do you want to have sex with me—

What happened if he said no? Elain didn’t think she could stand the rejection after that kiss. She wouldn't just have to move out of her building, but the whole state if she wanted to escape him. While she carved the chicken, Lucien refilled their wine glasses and set the table, glancing over at her surreptitiously. Likely wondering why she was acting so strange.

Lucien had a talent for keeping the conversation going which Elain immensely appreciated. She didn’t have to think about what to say—not when he so effortlessly had a comeback for everything she said. He maintained eye contact and somehow managed to be funny and laid back and charming.

She should have sent him home. He was dangerous. Elain had the distinct feeling that a man like Lucien Vanserra could very easily ruin her life. Which was why, when dinner was over and a third glass of wine seemed ruinous, Elain meant to say, You should probably go home.

But what she actually said was, “Do you want to stay and watch a movie?”

Lucien’s eyes gleamed. “Of course.”

God, he knew. He knew what she was trying to do when he slid off his tennis shoes and padded to the couch, one strong arm slung over the back of the white sofa. “Something scary,” he told her when she began scrolling, so close her arm was brushing his chest.

“Subtle,” she joked, daring to look up at him. That was a mistake. Lucien’s expression seemed to burn, lips parted as though that were the only way for him to get in enough oxygen. She felt the same—worse, maybe, when his fingers gripped her chin gently, tilting her face toward him.

“I wasn’t trying to be subtle,” he said, his mouth brushing hers. “In fact, I’d like to be a lot less subtle. Skip the movie and ask me to stay with you tonight.”

“What about the second date?” she asked, afraid if she slept with him, he’d go back to ignoring her.

“We’ll start when we wake up. I was thinking a picnic,” he panted, his thick, long hair forming a curtain around them.

“You’re just saying that so I’ll invite you into the bedroom.”

Lucien smiled, his eyes fluttering shut. “You have no idea, Elain. Absolutely no idea how long I’ve been trying to get your attention.”

“How long?” she challenged, wondering why she was still dragging this out. All she wanted was to kiss him again. Longer, this time. Long enough all her good sense evaporated beneath the heat of his body.

“When did I create that account, again?” he asked. She opened her mouth to call him a liar and Lucien pressed his advantage. This kiss was not like before. There was no hesitance, not tentative, polite pressing of the lips. Lucien knew he had her—or, perhaps he was afraid she’d come to her senses and he needed to take what he could before that happened.

All Elain knew was one moment she’d been about to speak and the next his mouth was slanted against her own. One of his arms wrapped around her, pulling her into his lap before Elain could protest.

As if she would have. Elain was too quick to straddle his waist, well aware she was in a dress and the only thing keeping her from being fully bare against him was a thin strip of cotton already wet from the kiss before. Not that Lucien seemed to be faring much better given the moment she was seated against him, she could feel his own erection poking up through his shorts.

Good, she thought with delight. Arms wrapped around his neck, Elain kissed him like she, too, was never going to get another shot at him. His tongue swept into her mouth, pulling the most embarrassing, unexpected moan from her throat.

Beneath her, Lucien seemed to buck unintentionally. He held her tighter, pushing her against him until his straining cock was lined up with her perfectly. It was experimental, to roll her hips against his shorts. Just to see what would happen if she did.

Lucien groaned. Loud and sweet, right into her mouth, fingers digging into the fabric of her dress in an attempt to get her to do it again. It had been so long since Elain had kissed anyone—even before quarantine and the pandemic, Elain hadn’t been with anyone since she’d broken up with her ex.

It was good, the taste of him in her mouth and his hands on her body. Knowing he wanted her, had wanted her maybe as long as she’d wanted him. That they were in this little hell together, desperate and needy. Elain arched again, rubbing herself against the hard slap of his body until Lucien pulled his mouth off her.

“Elain, Elain have mercy. Please,” he panted, sweeping his thumbs over her cheeks as he gulped down air. “You’re going to make me come if you keep that up.”

She didn’t believe him, rolling against his erection again. Lucien threw his head back, moaning while his back arched up off the couch. He was so absurdly hot, so ridiculously sexy. She yanked at his shirt, lifting it over his chest and throwing it to the floor.

“Maybe I want you to come,” she replied, hands gliding down the muscular planes of his body.

Lucien’s dark eyes fell on her and in one smooth, fluid motion, he had them both on their feet.

Well, he was on his feet. She was in his arms while he strode purposefully through her apartment to her bedroom.

“How do you know where I sleep?” she asked when he tossed her to the rosy duvet.

He angled his head toward the ceiling. “Same layout. How many nights have you laid just below me, touching that pretty pussy of yours, Elain?”

“Almost as many as I’ve touched myself thinking about you,” she dared to reply. Lucien doubled over, hands gripping the edge of the bed frame to steady himself. She gestured toward her nightstand, determined that her night with Lucien would live up to how she’d imagined it. “Would you like to see?”

He groaned again. “Yes. Show me.”

Elain sat up, eyes never leaving Lucien’s face as she reached behind her for the zipper. She had to stand to shimmy out of her dress, noting how white his knuckles were. He was clearly holding to the wood for dear life, which made stripping all the more fun. The wine helped with her nerves, leaving her own hands steady as she removed her bra and then so, so slowly, pulled her underwear to her ankles.

“Fucking christ,” he whispered, breathing through his nose like a wild, near feral animal.

“Don’t move,” she reminded him as she laid herself back out on the bed. She’d get herself mostly there, she told herself. Spreading apart her thighs, Elain let Lucien see her fully unclothed just like she’d imagined.

“What’s in the drawer?” he asked when she raked her nails lightly over her parted legs.

“Things that vibrate. Do I need one?” she asked him, thinking she likely did.

“Not tonight,” he whispered, his gaze fully on her pussy. “I have other ideas.”

Elain’s fingers slid through the wetness coating her skin and Lucien whimpered. “What ideas?” she asked, rubbing slow circles over her clit. In truth, she rarely touched herself like this, preferring the ease of vibrating toys. It was fun to tease him, though. To see his obvious want written all over his face. To see the straining bulge in his shorts.

Lucien, as if reading her mind, yanked them off over his hips, kicking them onto the floor without looking. It was Elain’s turn to whimper at the sight of his large, thick cock now held in his equally large hand.

He pumped himself once, unaware of the thrill of arousal that spiked through her. She understood how a little grinding could bring him so close to the edge. If he kept stroking himself, she was likely to come, too. The sight of his muscular body, how his cock seemed big despite his hands, how hungry his eyes were was all too much.

“What ideas, Lucien?” she asked again, still drawing lazy circles around that swollen nub of flesh. Lucien came closer and closer still, until he was at the side of the bed. Lifting his body onto the mattress with one powerful thigh, straddling her stomach so his cock nestled between her bare breasts.

“Fuck, Elain,” he whispered, thrusting up between the valley of skin. She pressed them together, using her fingers still sticky from her own arousal to tease the slick head of his erection.

Their eyes met. “Do you have a condom, Lucien?”

He groaned. That was a no.

“Upstairs,” he said, thrusting again and again, slowly, clearly doing so for the view. She could have scooted a few inches and found his cock in her mouth. It was so tempting, and yet the moment she began to readjust herself, Lucien was swinging his body off of hers and throwing his shorts back on.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice ragged.

A second later, he was gone. No shirt, no shoes. Her door slammed shut as he raced back upstairs. Elain heard him thudding inelegantly overhead, heard his door slam, and then a second later he was back.

“Hard to fucking run like this,” he panted, ripping his shorts off again. Elain reached for him, wanting to kiss him as he tossed several foiled packets to the bed but Lucien fell to his knees loud enough the people below her likely heard, grabbed her by the knees, and dragged her right to the edge.

Without preamble, his mouth was on her and Elain understood why he’d said no to the vibrating toys. “Oh, god,” she moaned, the sound echoed by his own appreciative groan. Elain had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep herself silent even as she pressed her thighs around her face, ankles crossed behind his head.

Lucien’s tongue was far better than her fingers, than any toy she could possibly own. Lucien licked with expert, unyielding precision and when one of his fingers slid into her body, Elain was wrecked. Grinding into him with shameless abandon. She’d never been so easy like this, so unconcerned about being sexy versus just chasing pleasure.

Lucien pumped one, and then two, before finally working a third finger into her. Stretching her open to take him, she knew, though in truth Elain didn’t care so long as he kept rubbing that spot just inside her body and kept licking her clit.

Elain couldn’t remember the last time a man had gotten her off. Had one ever? Graysen hadn’t, which had necessitated the toys. She could use them while he fucked her, which Gray had preferred. And Elain didn’t mind that—really, she didn’t—but sometimes a little effort would have been nice.

Maybe it was unfair to compare her ex to Lucien, but Gray had never eaten her out like this. There was a desperation to Lucien, like he needed to do this perfectly—like he’d never see her again and this was his only chance.

If he always ate pussy like this, he could see her whenever he wanted.

There was nothing elegant about the way she came. Clamped tight around his fingers, riding his face as she split apart, her body arching so hard off the bed she heard her spine crack. Elain scrambled back, gulping down air while Lucien licked himself clean of her before chasing her up the bed.

Their mouths collided, messy and rough in a clash of teeth and tongues. She could feel him between her legs, torturing himself by rubbing the head of his cock through her slick arousal. All she had to do was spread herself a little wider and he’d be inside her. She wanted him in her, wanted to know what it was like to share a body, to have him.

Elain shoved him, ignoring that the taste of her pussy was now in her own mouth.

“My turn,” she whispered.

LUCIEN:

He was dreaming. That was the only thing that made sense to him because otherwise he was living in a reality in which Elain Archeron was naked. Naked and pushing him to the bed, where he was also naked and hanging on a razors edge. A condom was going to do absolutely nothing to save him. The second he was buried in her, he knew it was all over. Lucien had been too close on the couch just kissing her.

Usually, going down on his partner tempered some of his arousal. With Elain, it has only made things worse. Flat on his back while Elain and licked and sucked her way down his chest, Lucien knew he was ruined.

He felt her reach across the bed, searching for one of the condoms he’d hastily grabbed. It was optimistic to take a handful and yet he’d gotten this far, hadn’t he? Why not hope he’d get to fuck her the entirety of the night. That maybe he hadn’t brought enough, even, and would make another trip upstairs.

Maybe this time he’d bring her with him, just so he could go down on her in his own bed, too. Lucien was certain his sheets could be improved by her pussy smeared across the fabric. For now, Lucien was happy to watch Elain settle between his legs and rip the corner of the gold foil packet.

Lucien gathered up her hair. “You’re so fucking pretty, baby,” he whispered, thinking he ought to say something appreciative. Thank you for fucking me, I might be in love with you now didn’t seem like the right thing.

Elain looked up at him just as her fingers curled around the base of his cock. Did he think he was somehow owning this experience? That he was exuding confidence? Lucien practically whimpered at her touch, his hips arching off the bed.

She smiled. “Do you taste as good as you look?” she asked in that sweet voice of hers. God, she had been sent to kill him.

What a way to go.

“Find out,” he said in a voice that was decidedly not his. Whoever that man was, he sounded like he had a modicum of control, which Lucien absolutely no longer possessed. Maybe it would be smart to come, he rationalized. Maybe he should have taken a minute upstairs and finished himself and come back with the kind of stamina women boasted about.

Maybe— “Holy shit,” he choked, gripping her hair tight without meaning to. Elain sucked him into her mouth, unnoticed as he agonized over what to do next. The sight was obscene, her pink lips wrapped around the skin of his throbbing erection. She slid nearly half way before she gagged, widening her jaw to take in a breath of air. Lucien nearly came from the sight of her tongue peeking from her lips, of her hand gripping him so tight she must have felt his erratic, pounding heart.

“Baby,” he tried, unsure what he was even trying to accomplish. Lucien could die happy at the sight of Elain’s bobbing head, of her soft, wet mouth working over him with the kind of enthusiasm he had only once dreamed of. “It’s too much.”

That was true, at least. His whole body was so tight, was buzzing with anticipation. He was buzzing, practically electric.

“You’re going to make me come,” he whispered, trying one last time to get her off him. It hadn’t been a minute and she was going to laugh and call all her friends and tell them how quickly he’d come in her mouth.

Elain hummed, pulling him back to the present. “Come,” she said. A trail of her own saliva connected those swollen lips to his cock and fuck he almost did. He quite liked her telling him what to do, now that he thought about it. Elain took him back in her mouth, squeezed her fingers tight. One, two—

Lucien came with a rough gasp of air. She’d ripped that orgasm out of him and when he jerked his ups upward, unable to avoid the instinctual desperation to bury himself deeper, Elain let him pour himself into her throat.

Lucien groaned again when Elain wiped her chin with the back of her hand.

“I think that makes us even,” she said primly, sitting up on her heels.

He gaped for a second, still leaking come onto his stomach. Was she serious?

“Get on your hands and knees,” he growled. It was the only thing he could think to say that wasn’t thank you, I love you— which, again, seemed like the wrong thing to tell her.

“Are you going to spank me?” she teased, though Elain did exactly as he asked. Lucien’s eyes rolled upward at the sight of her heart shaped ass wiggling right in front of him.

He ignored the condom she’d begun to open, unsure if it was safe to use it. It took three seconds to roll it over his erection and another to bring his palm stinging against her ass cheek.

Elain gasped. She hadn’t expected him to do that. Lucien hadn’t either, but she’d put the idea in his head and Lucien couldn’t resist.

“Are you going to be my good girl?” he asked her. Say yes, say yes, say yes—

“What if I’m not?” she replied. Lucien didn’t know, though he lined himself him up that pretty, wet pussy of hers and pushed himself in an inch. The soft, warm heat of her body nearly made him come again.

He was so fucked. “My good girl gets to come on my cock. And my bad girl gets her ass spanked until she’s raw.”

Elain didn’t hesitate. “I’m your good girl.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck— Lucien buried himself inside her with a mighty stroke, using her hip to pull her back roughly. Elain moaned, squeezed so tight around him she might have been his own skin. For the first time in his life, Lucien thanked God for the condom. It was the only thing that kept him from becoming a mindless, rutting animal behind her.

“Are you going to come for me?” he asked, slowly pulling himself out. Lucien would remember this moment until he died. On his death bed, thinking not of a life well lived, but his hands on Elain Archeron’s ass, spreading her apart while his cock vanished into her perfect pussy.

“Make me,” she replied, half challenge, half plea. Maybe he should have asked for one of the toys in her bedside table, just to ensure his success. This was fine, he told himself. He’d put her on his back if he had to, and if that failed, he’d just go back down on her.

Actually, that seemed like an incredible idea. He nearly proposed it when Elain moaned, shifting to her forearms and changing the angle. Lucien gasped, suddenly deeper than he’d been before. Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

“Do you like that?” he asked. It was a genuine question. He thrust again, the head of his cock brushing against something distinctly soft. He knew that spot—he’d had his fingers on it not five minutes before.

“Yes,” she panted. Perfect, he told himself. Keep his strokes steady and deep and he’d have her shaking around him in no time.

Though, just to be sure, Lucien snaked a hand around them for her clit. That made her moan, made her pulse around him which Lucien liked more than he’d ever admit.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he said, unsure what he was even saying. His mind was repeating out a rhythm—stroke, rub, stroke, rub, stroke, rub—

“My good girl takes my cock so well,” he continued, babbling out words as he tried to hold back his own desperate need to come. Again. It seemed important to call her his good girl, to plant that seed in her head so when they woke in the morning and he bypassed all the social niceties to ask her to be his girlfriend, it seemed normal.

Natural, even.

Elain had her face buried in her pillows, her hands pulling at her sheets until she’d pulled the corners off.

“Come for me, baby,” Lucien ordered, praying she would. He wasn’t above begging if he had to. “Come on my cock, let me see—”

She was loud enough to disturb the neighbors, not that Lucien cared. The sound speared straight into his balls, breathless and high pitched and needy.

His name, he realized. She’d screamed his name like that.

“Fuck, Elain—”

He couldn’t get another word out, not when his own orgasm ripped through him. Lucien couldn’t think, his eyes blurred black at the edges. When he did manage to look around, his eyes landed on the clock.

He felt like he’d been fucking her for hours. He’d managed twenty solid minutes. She’d come both times, though, which felt like a win all the same.

Lucien discarded the condom gingerly in the bathroom trash, giving her a moment to process what had happened alone. If she wanted him to leave, he’d go though he might also get on his knees and beg. That was a very real possibility, too.

When he padded back into the dark room, Elain was under the blankets. The corner was flopped to the side in what he hoped was invitation. She smiled when she saw him, pulling him toward her without a word. Lucien tumbled into the bed, gathering her into his arms. Her hair smelled like honey, her body like sweat and to his relief, Elain was naked beneath the covers.

“Let's make lemon bars in the morning,” he whispered. Elain twisted to look at him. It was clear she expected him to take off.

“Okay,” she agreed, her brown eyes wide and shining. “And then what?”

“We have our picnic, don’t we?” Lucien didn’t mention he fully intended to fuck her in the grass. That could be a fun little surprise for later, after he’d convinced her to put on another one of those strappy little sundresses.

Elain burrowed her head in the crook of his arm. “Good.”

“I’m not done with you, you know,” he said, though in truth he could use some water and a thirty minute nap.

“I know you’re not, Lucien,” she said, trailing her finger over his stomach. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Neither was he.

#elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #no pretty graphic/moodboard you ask?#look- you get what you get

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raayllum · 1 year

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yeah my bad, honestly forgot that he was half asian (I have not interacted w the show or fandom in a while, so thats on me tbh), but I definitely agree with your input. I know that Callum is the main character, so he’s going to get more love and attention, same as Rayla, especially since Rayllum is the main couple (not dissing on them or the ship ofc) but it really upsets me when I look for art/fics of Ezran he’s either A) with Callum or B) in the background of something Rayllum related and in fics i rarely ever see solo fics of just him, he’s either in the background of rayllum or being their therapist or something like that

TDP has done a good job when it comes to portraying their characters of color, and its nice to see POC in positions of power for once (Harrow, Ez, Janai, Anaya, Kasef, etc), I just wish that the fandom as a whole would do the same thing yknow?

I’ll get out of your askbox for now, but this was definitely something that was weighing on me for a while lol

Omg you're all good! That's actually why I've run two Ezran Appreciation Weeks (although I still need to finish my fics for the second one, but life got unexpectedly super busy) and why I use the tag Ezran centric for fics that well, focus primarily on him and his relationships, rather than him being in a supportive or background role. I still wanna write a fic about him and Janai (maybe I can work it into a speculative S5 piece, since it seems like maybe we'll get to see them on screen together, and they had a Lot of parallels in S4).

But yeah there are definitely people in the fandom who aren't open to critique in how they treat Ezran. I once pointed out that hey, most of the time when his character is incorrectly tagged in a post, it's almost always in relation to his brother. Did not go over well, but I don't really care. It was still worth saying (and hopefully people will think a bit more thoughtfully about it too).

We could definitely all do more; I do my best to put dents in it when I can, but with varying degrees of success I'm sure

List of Ezran focused fics for anyone who wants em! (to the dashboard, i know i've missed some, so please feel free to add 'em)

Ezran appreciation week day 1: animals

3 shot collection on AO3

Ezran dealing with possessed Callum (post s4)

Opeli & Ezran drabble 1

Ezran & Rayla oneshot

Opeli & Ezran oneshot + future oneshots

Chessmaster Ezran oneshot

i hope i wake up young again: Soren is the “best crownguard,” ten years in the making. Ezran&Soren, 3.7k

if i am the king: then you have to let me go.“ Ezran and Corvus make their way back to Katolis, times three. 3.2k

ezran contemplates viren’s death

ezran and ethari’s first meeting (pre s4)

will not be denied: Per the monarchs of old, King Ezran is visited by Lady Justice in a dream. 1.5k, Ezran centric

can my eyes rest: otherwise known as how many autistic Ezran headcanons can I fit into one ficlet

Other relevant tags perhaps: autistic!Ezran, let Ezran be messy, chessmaster ezran, ezran's council, ezris (for ezran/ellis) and ezran x aanya, ezranedit

Upcoming Ezran projects:

Canon divergent Ezran & Kasef focused oneshot

why is it a monster: Ezran finds Aaravos' mirror first.

Ezran oneshots/drabbles about missing Rayla during the timeskip; feelings about his mother's death; bonding with Ibis in 3x09; etc.

Aforementioned Janai&Ezran parallels piece

great responsibility: Modern AU. Ezran gets bit by a radioactive spider. feat. Rayla as his boxing trainer and Callum as an overprotective big brother while he becomes the superhero he's destined to be

#ezran #tdp ezran #thanks for asking #anonymous #in regards to #like the two main characters introduced in S4 were both men of colour #terry (we support trans wrongs) and karim #and it's like. they deserve way more than what they get #i should write more terry & haven't written canon karim yet either i need to get on that

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lexa-griffins · 11 months

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Are you sure we're not sharing the single brain cell? Cuz I am really digging the concubine x senator one. Like have lexa be a competent princess, whose smart, knows politics, athletic, knows how to fight etc. She aids Clarke in a lot of things for her senator work. But bc Roman society is extremely sexist (might need to fact check that jic) Clarke's getting all the credit. Clarke always tries to elevate her wifey-in-all-but-name when she could.

I think the story could be like this: At first Lexa is not vibing at all with clarke. But clarke is really gentle and not classist/sexist/etc like she expected. Maybe they have the same goal (like idk, equality? Abolishing a certain dogma? Taking down a political opposition?) Lexa realizes that she could get what she wants by going along/working with clarke. And somewhere along the lines, she discovers things about clarke and falls in love and fuck nasty.

Damn am I doing a great job of not nudging this not-au along. Yeah it would be a lot of work to write. But! It is fun to fantasize and talk about it❤️❤️❤️ So thanks for indulging in my babbling? 😂

Lexa is the daughter of a merchant, she has big dreams but knows she cannot accomplish them from her social standing, and much less being a woman. But she learns how to read and write as best she can, very much pushed by her father to do as such as Gustus wants a better life for Lexa. He also taught her to spar with a sword, and although she is no gladiator, she can fight pretty well. And when she becomes Clarke's concubine - im thinking Gustus is killed for something and being unmarried Lexa has to fight to her a life og her own - she has the opportunity to read and learn even more, and the more she learns the more passionate she becomes about helping Clarke change certain rules in place. And yes, Clarke definitely takes all the credit and although Lexa dislikes it, she knows its necessary as Lexa herself would never be taken seriously, but Clarke never once pretends she did it all herself and every small win will bring Clarke running home to puck up Lexa and tell Lexa "You did! It worked!", like absolutely giving Lexa all the credit!

If we go in a direction of Lexa meeting Clarke when she's preventing as a man, who clearly finds Lexa attractive, I can see Lexa playing with that, knowing Clarke is a senator if she manages to get "him" to fall for her maybe she can try and persuade "him" to try out her ideas, even if Lexa doesn't like man at all. And Lexa manipulates Clarke in a way really, she is looking for an end goal but when Clarke confesses to her that she is a woman and feels like a woman, Lexa softens towards her. She clearly wants what Lexa wants and she's a sweetheart really. Still Lexa has in her mind to use Clarke's "secret" against her of all goes wrong but with the way Clarke respects her so fully and is trying hard to change things around, Lexa definitely starts to fall for her and Clarke can tell because Lexa has always been cold and rather distant and while Clarke does like her, she was primarily interested in Lexa's smarts and how she could help her achieve a goal that no matter how hard she tries, Clarke cant seem to fully get into action. And the more Clarke reveals about herself the more Lexa seems to soften around her and the more their arrangement starts to resemble a marriage. And Clarke loves coming home and being treated as her true self and seeing Lexa let her walls down more and more, she smiles more and just seems happier both because she is visibly falling for Clarke and because its working, they are making advances to change things!

You sure are making a great case for no nudging me in the way of this non-au 😂 i am always here to indullge your guys' babbling, lord knows ya'll indulge mine 😂🩷

#letter opened #i think Clarke's a senador because her dad was one #its not really what she wanted #she isnt good at philosophy or law or any of those things #she can argue for them but creating the ideas and the plans gor such isnt her forte #and thats what Lexa does #she has all of these ideas and the passion for change if she could she would have reformed the impire entirely

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roleplayfinder · 3 months

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Howdy and Hello! You can call me Slime!

New to this whole submission thing but not new to writing and roleplaying! I’m a literate Roleplayer with 10+ years of roleplay/writing experience in mostly action, fantasy, and some fandom works as well! I am still a bit new to other styles like smut, romance, and angst but always willing to give that a shot if that’s what you’re looking for too!

As I’ve been at this for a while now my responses can range between anywhere from 3-5 paragraphs to even more than that if needed/depending on how many characters I’m playing!

My current muse right now is an OC I’ve had (you’ll see that mentioned a lot in this submission), and I’d prefer to always be able to play him! He has his own homebrew setting, too, but he’s usually always thrown and changed around to fit any AU/Fandom I want to put him in.

I write fast and am available a lot of the time! When work calls, I will have to step away for that but it’s rare for me not to find time to write. Expect response times less than 24 hours from me unless something comes up!

In terms of roleplay partner aspects, I’m mainly looking at this:

ALL writers & characters aged 18+. No-go if you’re under that! Preferably the 21-24 range!

Canon characters or OCs. I primarily play my own original characters!

Literate (3-5+ paragraph) posts. I write a lot though so be warned hah!

Third-person perspective

OOC Chats (I’d love to get to know my RP partner! I also just love to talk to people too lol)

Partner who enjoys fantasy settings and is open to some action, romance, and maybe some smut too! Would like to develop my writing in that area.

Non-Negotiable things:

As I write in the third person, I’d prefer a partner who writes like that too! Please, nothing script-related or first-person.

As stated before NO Writers or Characters Under 18!!!!

Long wait times between responses. I know life gets busy, believe me, I know, but please don’t keep me waiting, like, a week! Sucks the excitement out of me.

I normally write with a primary OC I’ve had for YEARS now but my fandoms/brain rots are currently in the following:

Elden Ring

Pokémon (MastersEX, PLA, SV, and really any game in the franchise tbh)

Legend of Zelda (BOTW, TOTK, AOC specifically)

Monster Hunter (World+Iceborne, Rise+Sunbreak, Generations Ultimate, Stores 2 specifically)

And some homebrew stuff as well!

I write best when using one of my OCs but can play some canon characters in any of the fandoms too, but I prefer being able to use my OC! If you’re looking for a long-term writing partner for any of those fandoms or even some of your original homebrew ideas, I’d love to connect!

Oh yeah! If you have a group roleplay planned and are looking for a possible new member, I'm not opposed to that either! I've been in numerous roleplay groups having upwards of 5-6 writers at a time.

If I’ve stricken your fancy, please message me here on Tumblr or on Discord @slimeknight899

Alternatively, you can give this post a like and I can message you too!

Thank you!

#eighteen and over #loz #loz roleplay #elden ring #elden ring roleplay #oc #oc rp #group rp #pokemon oc #pokemon rp #Monster Hunter rp

@slimeknight899

#eighteen and over #loz #loz roleplay #loz rp #elden ring #elden ring roleplay #elden ring rp #pokemon #pokemon roleplay #pokemon rp #oc #monster hunter

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findroleplay · 3 months

Note

Howdy and Hello! You can call me Slime!

New to this whole submission thing but not new to writing! I’m a literate Roleplayer with 10+ years of roleplay/writing experience in mostly action, fantasy, and some fandom works as well! I am still a bit new to other styles like smut, romance, and angst but always willing to give that a shot if that’s what you’re looking for too!

As I’ve been at this for a while now my responses can range between anywhere from 3-5 paragraphs to even more than that if needed/depending on how many characters I’m playing!

In terms of roleplay partner aspects, I’m mainly looking at this

ALL writers & characters aged 18+. No-go if you’re under that!

Canon characters or OCs. I primarily play my own original characters!

Literate (3-5+ paragraph) posts. I write a lot though so be warned hah!

Third-person perspective

OOC Chats (I’d love to get to know my RP partner! I also just love to talk to people too lol)

Partner who enjoys fantasy settings and is open to some action, romance, and maybe some smut too! Would like to develop my writing in that area.

Non-Negotiable things:

As I write in the third person, I’d prefer a partner who writes like that too! Please, nothing script-related or first-person.

As stated before NO Writers or Characters Under 18!!!!

Long wait times between responses. I know life gets busy, believe me, I know, but please don’t keep me waiting, like, a week! Sucks the excitement out of me.

I normally write with a primary OC I’ve had for YEARS now but my fandoms/brain rots are currently in the following:

Elden Ring

Pokémon (MastersEX, PLA, SV, and really any game in the franchise tbh)

Legend of Zelda (BOTW, TOTK, AOC specifically)

Monster Hunter (World+Iceborne, Rise+Sunbreak, Generations Ultimate, Stores 2 specifically)

And some homebrew stuff as well!

If I’ve stricken your fancy, please message me here on Tumblr or on Discord @slimeknight899

Alternatively, you can give this post a like and I can message you too!

Thank you!

#roleplay #oc roleplay #Monster Hunter RP #Zelda RP #Elden Ring RP #Pokémon RP

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allylikethecat · 3 months

Note

Ahh just read the first ch of equestrian AU, cannot wait for more, I always love how you write Matty especially, I wanna know the backstory so bad!!

Just a q- as someone with a severe horse allergy I literally have no clue about the equestrian world (😬)... what do George & Matty do that they're working with horses? Is it like professional show jumping you see in the olympics some times as a job?

Thank you so much!! 🩵🩵🩵 I have so much fun writing him and all of my different fictionalized versions. Fictional!Matty is like my own personal little toy doll that I get to shove into all different situations and it's something i have so much fun doing!

(In my mind, fictional!Matty is 100% separate from IRL Matty, like they are not the same at all, they just share a name, a general likeness and a profession, Fictional!Matty is my own character and creation lol)

On that note, I have such a soft spot for this version of Fictional!Matty he's one of my favorites I think 🥹

Don't worry, all will be reveled in time, and you'll have to let me know if you think Fictional!George is being fair in his judgements or now 👀 I'm having so much fun writing Fictional!George as such a bitch as well!

I am so sorry to hear about your horse allergy oh my gosh, I can't even imagine, I would be so upset!

Yes, Fictional!Matty and Fictional!George are professional show jumpers - not quit on the level of the Olympics, but they are near the top of their sport. Training horses for the sport of show jumping, competing them, and coaching other riders is their job. In my little fictional world, Fictional!Jamie owns the barn they work at and is the "Head Trainer" however, injury and age means he does not ride as much himself anymore and primarily coaches from the ground. Fictional!George is his assistant trainer who in addition to teaching clients does most of the day to day riding and showing. Fictional!Matty has been brought on as a second assistant trainer, primarily to work with more of the beginner clients / kids in addition to helping ride. I hope that makes sense - I am realizing now how insane this industry sounds to people who are not involved in it 😂

Thank you so much for this ask, for reading, and your kind words about my writing! I smiled so much while reading it! I hope you have a great weekend and continue to enjoy what comes next!

❤️Ally

#allylikethecat #ask ally #anon ask #fanfiction #keep it kind #matty fic #gatty #fanfic #All the King's Horses #Equestrian AU #AHHH i just im so happy this fic is out there now #thank you so much for saying such nice things about it #i hope this helped clear some things up #and im sorry for not being more clear in the text #if you have any other questions let me know!

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m0thisonfire · 1 year

Text

Blog Masterlist and Rundown:

Where I reblog memes and art, and post my art and stories too-

—

Ao3 link- I post fanfiction on Tumblr from time to time, but you can find most of my stories on my Ao3 account!

Update: With people now feeding unfinished fics into Chatgpt, I’ve locked my works because I don’t want people stealing them. It breaks my heart to do so because I want people to be able to read my stories, but it’s hard enough for me to write. I can’t risk the possibility of people taking my unfinished stories and feeding it to the machine, if they haven’t already, which I genuinely hope hasn’t happened yet.

Update!: I have decided to unlock my works again!! I feel a majority better, and I don’t think any too unsavory will happen anymore!

—

Sideblogs:

cr0ssingmoth for all my Levi thirsting and Aot oc tormenting needs.

—

Tags and characters-

I mostly reblog memes and such, but you can find my art under the ‘m0th draws’ tag! My writing should be under ‘m0thwrites’ if you want to see some drabbles I haven’t posted to Ao3

The characters I mainly write for right now are from Tfa and a bit of Tfp, and that includes ocs and self inserts for them too!

The main s/i is Faux Pas, and is her main tag!

The lesser ones are listed under the name Grey! Tfa or Tfp Grey have their own little niche that pops up here and there, no definitive tag yet-

The two Tranformers that currently occupy my mind 24/7 are Prowl and Starscream, so expect to find *a lot* about them on this blog- and by alot, that includes a ship for them. You can find it under the Ninjastar tag!

The lesser known ocs I talk about once in a blue moon is Devanii Hellfrost and Sybil Jorther. The only lore you’re getting of those two is from tags and obscure Tumblr reblogs, but they’re here too

Another tag worth mentioning is the comms tag! Every now and then I get wonderful commissions that definitely need to be checked out! The artists are phenomenal and I do love the pieces they were kind enough to work on!

Status on asks-

Always open. I may take a while to respond due to work and gathering my courage, but I encourage questions and asks. Just expect awkward response in the beginning since, of course, I am not yet used to asks-

Current aus I have I feel are worth mentioning- (more likely to be added)

The Faux Pas au. Everything is the same except for the fact Faux Pas exists in the Tfaverse and is there to solely cause problems and go through problems.

Holoform/Humanformers au. Human Error if it actually happened, but Meltdown, Blackaracnia, and Soundwave are the main causes. All Cybertronians on earth turn into humans and is essentially a huge slice of life sitcom. Focused primarily around Starscream and his redemption arc.

Bounty-22 au. A work in progress, but Cybertronians and humans living in cowboy times. Prowl-centric in a way, him exploring the Wild West looking for vengeance and an artifact while traveling with an outlaw he doesn’t know is an outlaw. (The outlaw is Starscream, the best and worst liar in the west. I just really love Starscream, okay? But never fear, Lockdown plays a huge part in this au too. Because you can’t have cowboys without Lockdown.)

Zombies/Last of Us au. Yes, that’s right. Softbody robots and horrors beyond imagining. Another work in progress, but based around survival and zombies. No, none of the main cast die, I love them too much for that, they deserve their little community during the apocalypse.

Dead Space Au: A newly recruited Tfa Autobot Starscream replaces Isaac Clarke in the events of Dead Space. If you know Dead Space, you know he’s fucked mentally and physically. If you don’t know Dead Space, space zombies and serious fucked up shit. The Thing level horror. Know he is not coming out unscathed.

Tfa Ninjastar Twilight au: Exactly what it sounds like. The werewolves don’t exist here, and Starscream is the human in place of Bella. Takes no shit and runs most of the show because he’s Starscream. Meyer has no power here. I’m highjacking the lore and making all the characters suffer.

#blog masterlist #Enjoy your stay!!! <3

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recurring-polynya · 2 years

Note

Besides the obvious orchid-related topics do the Byakuya/Hisana couple have other things that they like to do together? And for something different, what might it look like if Hisana had gotten the chance to meet Ichika and/or be involved in Rukia's love life/marriage/etc?

My headcanon about Byakuya and Hisana’s marriage is that a) Hisana was already sick when they got married and they were both aware that she was not in it for the long haul, but b) she was still very mobile and able to do a lot in the first years of their marriage.

I like to think Hisana was a more social person than Byakuya, and I also think she liked being rich, so a lot of their early days involved dressing up fancy and going to parties and galas. I, personally, am pretty uncomfortable in social situations by myself, but my husband is very personable and it makes a huge difference, and I think Byakuya would feel this way too-- that for the first time in his life, he likes going out and talking to people, even if it’s just a thinly veiled excuse to show off his beautiful wife and listen to her sparkling wit. While Hisana may caused a lot of mixed feelings in Byakuya’s family, I think she was very charismatic, and there were genuinely people she was able to charm (she was also barely-reformed con artist and was loved playing mind games with people).

Byakuya knows What’s Good in Life, and he also loved showing all of it to Hisana-- theater, fine dining, trips to the lake house. He wanted to make up for everything she didn’t get early in life and more.

At home, I think they were people who both had their own projects, but enjoyed working quietly in parallel, intersecting paths sometimes. Hisana liked to draw, primarily botanical illustrations, and she also liked to paint, flower and landscapes. Byakuya likes write poetry, and do calligraphy and to draw his weird fucking cartoons. I am standing by my assertion that Hisana had her own seaweed-based OC and they would tell little stories about Wakame Taishi and Hijiki-sama’s adventures together. One of my very niche Byakuya headcanons is that he really likes to sing, but does not feel like it’s appropriate for a clan head (he is not supposed to entertain, he is supposed to be entertained). Hisana also liked to sing, even if her voice wasn’t always up for it, and she spent some time learning to play the shamisen, and they used to make music together, just for the two of them.

I do not care if anyone else thinks this is out of character, but I think Byakuya spent a lot of time by her bedside in the later days. The man has a tremendous ability to just sit peacefully and exist, which is not something everyone can do. I think he read to her, mostly poetry, but anything she requested. Byakuya is not a person to ever take over a duty that a servant should rightfully be doing, but he knew which foods she would want, depending on how she was feeling. He kept track of her various blankets and jackets and socks. I think he really put aside the other aspects of his life to be with her in every way possible.

ENOUGH SAD STUFF!

For the other half of the question: I have written quite a few Hisana-based AUs now, and the one thing they all have in common is that Hisana is very pro-Renji. I am very interested in the curious negative space relationship that Hisana and Renji have on each other. Renji likely would never have met Rukia (or at least wouldn’t have had the same relationship with her) if Hisana hadn’t left her behind, but also, Rukia ended up being taken away from him because of Hisana, except that, in a Hisana Lives AU, I feel like he can’t be 100% mad at that because Renji doesn’t begrudge anyone loving Rukia. In a Hisana Lives AU, I feel like she would feel tremendous gratitude to Renji for having cared for and about Rukia in the wake of her abandonment-- that Renji did the job Hisana was supposed to, and that she would want to do whatever possible to enable their relationship.

I also like to write Hisana as a nosy meddler who pesters Rukia about her love life, because Rukia is naturally so closed-off and stoic and this is how sisters are.

It depends on the AU a lot, but I tend to think that even if Hisana had lived, it’s unlikely that she would be able to have children, so I think she might naturally have some difficult feelings about her sister having a child. That being said, I think she would try really hard not to let them show (Rukia would know) and she and Byakuya would be at least four times as ridiculous as a team than Uncle Byakuya is by himself.

#hisana kuchiki #byakuya kuchiki #rukia kuchiki #renji abarai #ichika abarai #i got like seven asks in a row a while ago that could all...basically be answered by reading my fanfiction?#and i know i have written a lot of fanfiction and i don't expect people to read all of it #but that is why it's taken me so long to get thru these #anyway if you like these answers i cannot recommend enough simply....reading my fanfic #i put a lot of work into it and it's pretty good

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vivispec · 11 months

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hey, i’m bloo/vivi (she/her, 25). feel free to send me asks/message me/tag me in stuff, i always love interaction!

mostly posting dragon age rn (and for the foreseeable future) but i’m also pretty big on bg3, outer wilds, mass effect, zelda, msa, ghibli, ancient magus bride, and lots of other things i pick up and put down. i do a lot of writing for my da ocs which you can find on my ao3 here.

speaking of, here are links to my big completed projects:

derecho (my submission for the 2023 dragon age big bang, with AMAZING art by neoendydy)

my whumptober 2022 collection (100% completed because. i have issues.)

under the cut are my dragon age ocs whomst i love dearly, and write about pretty much exclusively! i am a dirty dirty console player so janky quality be upon ye

just realized all but one of these bitches is elves. look. i told you i got issues ok.

here we have my beloved viera’vun ‘viera’ lavellan, my inquisitor and a solasmancer (i am so sorry to her), as well as the oc i write most by far. she was a dalish hunter trained primarily in daggers, later specializing as a tempest. she is a pathfinder at heart whose greatest strengths are her perceptiveness and resilience, while her greatest weaknesses lie in her impulsivity, lack of assurance in her identity, and her tendency to run from her problems. i have a bunch of fucked up aus centered around her and all the situations i put her into! she likes to run, climb, and sing (she is Bad at it). varric calls her ‘finch’.

iloniyn, my most preciousest boy. him and viera are hunting partners as well as (platonic) soulmates, a phenomenon known to the dalish as tael’inan. they are each one half of a whole. iloniyn is incredibly sarcastic, confident, and prickly, but tends to care deeply about those that he considers his people, and gives of himself freely to them (even if he complains while doing it). he is bonded to @sweetmage‘s oc athimien, likes to whittle, is a great shot, and can play the lute. varric calls him ‘snipe’.

ishme aeducan, a sharp, hard woman who will not be made a fool again. raised to navigate the subtle and dangerous world of dwarven politics, she is incredibly cunning, and often pulling the strings in any given situation. she is softened by alistair, who teaches her how to be a person as she teaches him how to be a king. wields dual blades as a warrior.

taufei! oooh i love taufei. a leader alongside ishme by the end of origins, she is idealistic, friendly, and generally just a chill person to hang with. though content enough to do her own thing, once she sets her sights on something, she does not relent, often leading her into...hairy situations. those situations include wooing a witch of the wilds and having a sweet lil totally-not-in-any-way-shape-or-form-creepy baby with her! yippee! she was the second of her clan, though her magic was never incredibly powerful and, as such, she made her living on making and infusing potions for her clan. she is a skilled herbalist, knows enough archery to protect herself, and actually has really long luscious curls that Do Not Exist in game you are just going to have to trust me okay.

kita tabris. she is...intense. if you are her friend she is kinda just a dudebro. picked up the big sword her mother used to wield and decided to learn how to use it because, hell yeah, big sword (which, as it so happens, is exactly what her mom did). if you are not her friend, she is. intense. finds battle thrilling, and isn’t afraid to spill blood. while she can come across as flippant or immature, much of her disregard stems from an avoidance of her more serious (and painful) thoughts and emotions. she is zevran’s gorgeous and incredibly powerful girlfriend whomst he adores and cherishes, and the fact that she can, will, and has crushed a man’s skull with her bare hands only strengthens his devotion.

araia surana, a very sweet young mage who is wholly overwhelmed by this big, new world around her. previously a teacher’s pet who didn’t much mind kinloch hold with little in the way of friends, jowan’s ‘betrayal’ left her reeling with nowhere to turn. while she is curious of the world beyond, she is also incredibly anxious. she picks up a habit of lying to avoid confrontation, and while she is very good at it, her dishonesty puts strain on her and leliana’s relationship early on. her passion is in ancient and forgotten magical techniques and practices. she loves listening to leliana’s stories of adventure and romance, and often plays ‘doll’ when her girlfriend decides she needs something to dress up. after the archdemon is defeated, she spearheads efforts to find the cure for the joining.

#pinned intro #been meaning to do one of these for. a long time #all of my ocs be upon ye!!#lets be real tho this ain't them all skjdnas

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agapovheir · 9 months

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Rules.

1; I reserve the right to drop threads if they aren’t working out. However, don’t assume that means I don’t want to write with you at all. We can always start a new thread and take things in a different direction.

2; My replies may not be as frequent as you’d like; I work a full time job. I’ll usually be around more on my days off. Don’t be afraid to shoot me a message making sure I know it’s my turn or asking when I might be able to reply! I’m definitely fine with reminders, just not demands that I do it right this second.

3; I am 28. I would prefer not to write with anyone under 21. This character heavily features themes of drug use, organized crime, and sex. He's definitely R rated.

4; On that note, there's a massive trigger warning for those topics. Nikolai is nearly always high and nearly always actively consuming drugs while interacting with other muses. Mostly weed, but occasionally other things. When he's sober, he's worse, with violence and aggression issues.

I write him as a villain; he is ultimately meant to be a bad person who isn't going to get a happy ending because he doesn't care about other people. There will be topics of se/xual assault present, primarily in the form of coercion, but not graphic depictions of it. Dennis from It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia is one of my biggest inspirations for Nikolai's personality, so if you've seen IASIP you know what to expect. I don't intend for these themes to be any heavier or explored any deeper than they are in IASIP. These habits might be mentioned, particularly in headcanons moreso than threads, but not written in detail or portrayed as "sexy."

5; His canon, the story he was originally written for alongside my boyfriend's protagonist OC, has a science fiction / cyberpunk setting. Things like cybernetic body modifications and androids are prevalent in his home setting. If your character is already sci fi, or if you want to make a sci fi au, we can absolutely write in his canon verse. Otherwise, it's very easy for me to just tweak his lore so that it's a normal real life setting. Nikolai himself is a perfectly normal human, no sci fi augmentations.

6; This isn't really a rule, but I don't have a real life face claim for Nikolai yet and fandom gets weird things in their head about feminine/androgynous characters. Nikolai is not a lanky white twink. He's buff; he's kind of a gym bro, to be honest. He is also not white! He's mixed, his father is white but his mother is Brazilian and also a mix of latina, indigenous, black, and white. He's fairly light skinned, but visibly a person of color and has 3b curls.

#[reworking these from mobile so im just going to make them a post i can link to]

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shadowsong26fic · 11 months

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Papa and J-----, 28 August ‘34

Author: shadowsong26

Rating: PG/PG-13

Fandom: Les Misérables

Characters: Technically all on-page characters are OCs; Valjean, Cosette, Marius, and Javert are discussed as historical personalities. Backstory Cosette/Marius and heavily implied Valjean/Javert.

Warnings: Nothing specific, I don’t think?

Summary: Euphrasie Pontmercy--known in the art world as La Jardinière--isn’t exactly a household name. Still, the sheer length of her active career (her work was first displayed and sold in 1839, and she left one last work unfinished at her death in 1910) makes her interesting to people who actually study that century in art. But as far as the historical record is concerned, Jardinière seems to have sprung semi-fully-formed from the streets of Paris somewhere in the mid-to-late 1820s. Other than the fact that she was educated in a convent, essentially nothing is known about her parents or her childhood.

Until now.

Or:

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a PhD student with no thesis topic must be in want of an undiscovered painting to go absolutely feral over.

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of their respective creators.

Notes: So, this story came out of a midnight/one am rambling conversation with my roommate @tigerkat24. And then we realized it was interesting enough to be worth, like, polishing up and turning into an Actual Thing (translation: tigerkat dared me to actually write it and I was like ‘you know I really could’), so here we are. As the title implies, this is an AU timeline--short version, Javert didn’t die; he went to talk to Valjean some time later, and then just sort of…never left; Valjean also successfully failed to pine away in 1833. All other relevant AU details should be included within the text of the fic, which is set in a vague Present Day. My knowledge is primarily of the musical, though I have drawn in a few details from what I remember of reading (an abridged version of) the novel years ago; tigerkat just read it and has also provided some additional notes/helpful bits and pieces to draw in.

It all started on a blind date.

Which, I mean, when I tell people that’s how I met the love of my life, they assume I mean Phil. Don’t get me wrong, Phil is great, and I love having him in my life and have no intention of changing that any time soon. But he’s not what I’m talking about.

Phil was a friend of a friend of my roommate; I was working on finalizing my thesis topic for my PhD (art history, with a planned focus on the intersection of technological changes and shifts in the art world in the middle third of the nineteenth century). He worked in a bank, not at the university, which was probably for the best. Academia is a small world, and it can get super incestuous when ninety-five percent of the people you meet are, if not actually in your fairly small field, in something related.

So, Phil wasn’t an academic (although he had worked as a freelance translator while getting his CPA), and math (especially money math) has never exactly been my strong suit, but we found plenty of other things to talk about. A shared fondness for murder mysteries, the more ridiculous the better; a couple of fandoms in common; a similar sense of humor. And he was over the moon proud of his older sister, who was apparently making a major name for herself in the world of classical piano, so. You know. He clearly appreciated super-nerdy niche careers, even if he didn’t have one himself.

Besides, it was nice to get a break from going through all of the preliminary research I’d gathered, trying to find a thread to follow and spin into my actual thesis.

It was even nicer when the Agatha Christie movie we saw was better than we expected, and then we spent almost two hours at my favorite Middle Eastern place (best falafel in town) just talking, until they kicked us out at closing time.

Phil was sweet, and kind, and funny, and I’ve always been a sucker for boys with big blue eyes.

Naturally, we ended up back at his place.

He lived at home with his parents--which, no judgement; I’d probably still be living with mine if I hadn’t had to move halfway across the country for my PhD program--but they were out of town for the week, and I like to give my roommate a little more notice before asking for privacy.

His couch was also a hell of a lot nicer than mine.

We’d been getting into a nice rhythm, and then Phil had come up for air--and to strip his shirt the rest of the way off--when it caught my eye.

I’m still not sure what exactly drew my attention. The piece isn’t large; including the frame, it’s only a little bit bigger than a standard letter-sized piece of paper. A simple portrait of two men at a window; one seated, the other standing.

“Oh, hey, what’s that?” I asked.

“Huh?” Phil said, blinking a couple of times, then turning his head to see what I was looking at. “Uh…the painting? It’s…a painting? I don’t know, it’s been there for as long as I can remember.”

“Right,” I said, sitting half-propped-up on my elbows, still looking more at the painting than the (admittedly very pleasant) view of shirtless Phil. “…sorry. Uh. Art nerd brain activating.”

“…right,” he said, and sighed a little, but sat all the way up himself, climbing off me and pulling one of the couch cushions over onto his lap.

“Thanks. Sorry again. Can I take a closer look?”

“Go ahead,” he said.

I smiled at him and headed over to the other side of the room, leaving my own shirt behind.

Could be anywhere from the late 1820s to the 1840s, I guess, I thought. Men’s fashion didn’t provide as many clues as women’s fashion in that period. At least not to me--while I had done some research into fashion and textiles, if only because I was interested in the development of dyes and other pigments, my focus had always been more on painting.

My phone was on the coffee table, right where I’d dumped it when it started getting in the way; I picked it up. “Can I…?” I asked.

“Sure,” Phil said, running a hand through his hair.

“Great.” I took a quick picture of the painting on the wall--I knew a couple people who might have a better time dating it by the clothing than I would.

Right. So, I have at least a vague time period. What else?

The subjects weren’t young men; I’d guess both were somewhere between fifty and seventy or so. The seated man seemed like the older of the two, but that was hard to gauge even with a photograph. He had broad shoulders, a full beard; was wearing a fairly plain dark suit. First impression: quiet, steady, calm, strong. A vague melancholy, but not overwhelming. Just a general vibe.

The other man was positioned just to the side of and slightly behind the chair, standing absolutely perfectly straight--but not stiff; more like the kind of ingrained upright perfection you see in career military men. Impressive muttonchops, rather than a full beard. Everything about him said stern, severe; except for one hand, resting almost gently on the back of the chair.

It was definitely posed--most portraits before the Impressionists were anyway--but there was almost a sort of casual intimacy to it, anyway. What kind, I couldn’t say. But whoever these men were, they were close. One way or another.

“Do you know who the artist was?” I asked.

“Uh, my great-great-something grandmother, I think?” Phil said. He got up off the couch and wandered over to stand next to me. “Like I said, it’s been hanging there as long as I can remember, and I think it’s been in the family forever.”

“Right.”

With that in mind, it could have been an amateur piece; plenty of upper-class and bourgeois women and girls studied painting as just part of how to become an Accomplished Young Lady. But there was something familiar nagging at the corner of my mind. Something about the hand on the back of the chair, or the eyes, or…

If I could get a closer look, really get into the fine detail of brush strokes and other aspects of the composition, maybe it’d fall into place. But the style was definitely familiar, and not in the sense of ‘this was the work of a talented schoolgirl; I’ve seen half a dozen like it before.’

More specific than that.

“What was her name, do you know?”

“Family stories always call her Mémé Cosette,” he said. “But that was a nickname, I think. Her real name was…very French, but, well, that side of my family’s French so that’s, uh, not really surprising.” He frowned. “I know I know it, hang on.”

Well, worth a shot. “Maybe it’ll come to you in a minute,” I said. “Is this the original frame?”

“Far as I know,” he said. “Sorry, like I said, it’s been there forever. Just sort of…part of the living room.”

So, maybe. “Can I take it down? I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Sure,” he said. “…Emilie? It started with an E, I’m absolutely sure.”

“Right,” I said, absently, focused on taking the wooden frame off the wall.

A simple thing, and definitely actual wood, not plastic; probably not brand new. So, it could have been original, or not too much later than the portrait. Or it could have been a decent frame from ten years ago. Once again, hard to say for sure without further study.

I flipped it over. There was a handwritten inscription on the back.

Papa et J---- 28 août ’34.

And the handwriting was--

Oh my God.

“Eugenie? No, that’s not--Euphrasie? Yeah, I think that’s it.”

I had always thought that, when people said their heart skipped a beat, it was a poetic exaggeration. But, hand to God, in that moment, mine did.

“Ari?” Phil asked. “You okay?”

“Euphrasie,” I said. “Euphrasie Pontmercy?”

“That…sounds right,” he said. “…wait, you know her? Uh, of her?”

I turned the painting back over, and--yeah, yes, absolutely, that was it. That was what I was seeing--the distinctive way she did detail work in her early period, particularly in the shading around the eyes and hands in her rare portraits. The things that show the most humanity, as one of my high school drawing teachers had put it. I’d still need a closer look, outside the frame, to be absolutely sure, but.

“I--yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I…I know her.”

And the inscription on the back--Papa et J----, 28 août ’34. Papa and J----, August 28, ‘34. 1834, obviously. And--Papa.

Holy fucking shit.

“Wait,” Phil said. “Was…was Mémé Cosette actually famous? Like, people study her?”

“She was pretty well known for a while, but mostly it’s the length of her career that makes her interesting,” I said. “Not like she was a major player in any of the art movements she was on the fringes of, but she adapted some of their techniques to her own style as time went on, and…yes. Yes, people study her.” I took a breath. “Is there…do you think there’s any chance your parents would let me borrow this? To do more detailed study and analysis, I mean. Maybe. Maybe write a paper?” Or a thesis?

“Probably,” he said. “I mean, you can always ask, and I don’t see any reason why they’d say no?”

“Great,” I said. “Uh. Just let me…” I took a couple more pictures with my phone--the portrait, the frame, the inscription--and then carefully, and hopefully without being too obviously reluctant, hung it back in its place on the wall. “…I’m sorry, Phil, I have to…”

“Yeah, of course,” he said. “Rain check?”

I blinked and--we’d had a good time, before I sort of ruined it, and he was very beautiful, standing there with his shirt off and those big blue eyes. “Definitely,” I said, leaning in to give him a very quick peck on the lips on my way to collect my shirt. “I’ll call you. For more than just the painting. Promise.”

He smiled, and. Oh, yeah. Definitely calling him back.

Later. In a few days.

First, though. That painting.

#shadowsong writes other fandoms #shadowsong writes self-indulgent bs

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heavyhitterheaux · 1 year

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“I’ve been carrying it around for two weeks trying to think of a creative way to ask you to be my valentine and I still haven’t come up with anything. Soooooo, Y/N, will you be my valentine?”Awwww 🥹 baby Jack rlly has a special place in my heart

Just then you heard commotion behind you and turned around to see Urban, Quiiso, Shloob, and Ace with Urban holding his phone up to record Jack asking you. Broo js has no respect for privacy 😭

“Baby, why do you keep looking at me like you want to kill me?” Jack asked while making sure he was across the room just in case you wanted to throw something. Cause maybe she do🙄

“JACKMAN, I AM CARRYING THREE OF YOUR CHILDREN SO EXCUSE ME IF I GET A LITTLE EMOTIONAL!” Why tf did I forget she was prego 😭

“Oh wow, this is such a surprise! This is just so unexpected and I… I just don’t know what to say!” You said while getting a startled look on your face. Somebody come get this girl an Emmy. CAUSE BBYYYY this performance & switch of emotion is js gold 😭 🤗

“Oh did I say Clay? I meant Dua.” AHHHHH 💀 She wanted to be asked just to say no…..mood 🫡

“Just playing with you, baby. Of course I’ll be your valentine. Forever and ever and ever.” You said while leaning up to kiss him and he eagerly kissed you back. Ohh wowwww I was played 😔

Jack slid you off of his lap and went into the kitchen as you continued to eat your chocolate that Dua not Clay bought for you, but Jack didn’t need to know thatOKAY SEE I knew Dua was gonna do something, it would be off brand of her if she didn’t 😭

“Babe, not again. You have always cried easily, but now that you’re pregnant, it’s even worse. You cried because I put on your pink fluffy socks as you were telling me thank you last night.”AND WHATS WRONG WIT THAT?!?! She’s js expressing her thankfulness for you

and SPOILED(mAND WHOS FAULT IS THAT?!? All u do is spoil her, so what do you expect 🤷🏽‍♀️

quiiso: jack been going all out for valentine's day every single year. every time I think he can't top the year before he does As he should 🤭😌

yungskylark: can we collectively all say to count us in lol Yes & count me in as well 😘

y/ninsta: danivalentine again?! 2forwoyne DON'T TOUCH THE PIE OR THE WHIPPED CREAM THAT GOES WITH IT Ohh I didn’t know yo name was Pie now 🙃

DO NOT READ PAST THIS POINT IF YOU ARE NOT 18+ AHHHH LET THE NASTY SHIT BEGIN 🤭😏….

Baby Jack is the absolute cutest and I melt every time I write him lol

PG and privacy? Yeah issa no. Been there since the beginning of that relationship and they aren't going anywhere lmao

She is so incredibly spoiled that it's not even funny. People get on Jack and think it's primarily his fault (it is) but you have to look at evveryone around her too lmao

Her crying gets worse as the pregnancy goes on lmao

They all spoil her to a certain extent and have done it ever since she was younger

Quiiso always getting her milkshakes

Dani is her big sister so she gets her literally anything she wants

Don't get me started on Urban

But Jack is definitely the worst one out of everybody lmao

In one of the au's it's mentioned how she's even spoiled by Neelam

She has everyone wrapped around her finger lmaoooo

And you know Dua is always going to have to make an appearance or she's mentioned lmao

And we all know what that whipped cream was going to be used for 😏😏😏😏😏

#awhore4moree

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phantomato · 2 years

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[F]or a long time I stuck to writing pre-canon fics or AUs because I felt intimidated by the need to Address The Thing. And eventually, I did…. 197,000 words of Addressing The Thing. It was a lot of fun to write, it got a good reception, I was pretty happy with it overall.

But then the fic was finished, and I went on to writing other things…. I had a reader ask me “Do you ever plan to Address The Thing in this fic?” I felt kind of jarred. Because… I already wrote that fic….

And that’s just it! That’s just so exhausting, both from a writing and a reading perspective. I don’t want to have to wade through ten thousand words of Addressing The Thing, over and over and over…. An entire fandom full of fics that are about exactly the same thing would be awful.

Clipped from: mikkeneko

Thoughts on this and why I’ll never order two cakes below the cut.

With apologies to those who will always order two cakes.

If there’s one thing I love, it’s older meta. I came across the linked piece tonight, and I don’t even fully agree with the discussion that led to mikkeneko’s addition, but I adore that addition, so it was a worthwhile read. I’ve carved out the core part of it, if you’ll excuse my ellipses; it’s worth reading the less-choppy version.

Anyway, what I enjoy about older meta is seeing how the same thoughts and conversations have been circling through the fan community for years, even decades, in essentially recognizable forms. I’ve felt this for a long time, as my very patient and wonderful friends can attest, and here I am, quoting a six-year-old post, finally able to put my thoughts in order thanks to it.

There’s that adage that goes around tumblr, and fandom more broadly, about authors who worry whether their take on a recurring trope/premise/etc. will be welcome. “Well, of course,” the tumblr post/comic assures the reader, “what’s better than two cakes?” And I am so glad that fandom makes space for that, joyfully encourages it, and that readers and writers who love revisiting the same moments in canon, the same plot inspiration, the same tropes or kinks for their favs, can find all that they want in this space.

With that said, I don’t want a second cake. It’s just not my temperament—if I’ve had a satisfactory/enjoyable cake, I will next want a pie, or something to drink, or something that’s not sweet at all. This goes double for my work as a creator; perhaps I will circle back around to wanting to eat yellow cake in a few weeks or months, but I don’t want to bake it again for years. I like variety!

I write pre-canon, primarily. It’s not a coincidence. The character I like best lives for 64 years before canon starts up, which is most of his life. He experiences everything you would expect of someone that old, and more, and there are dozens of jumping-off points in even the scant history we get about him. On the other hand, canon lasts seven years, and he dies at the end of it. Canon doesn’t account for every second of his life in those seven years, no; there are many plot threads to pick up. However, by virtue of being the antagonist, canon brings bundles of baggage—if you diverge in year three, what about XYZ other plot events that we know are taking place? If you do anytime before the end of year four, you’ve got to reckon with how he gets a body, and after year four, his body looks a certain way that you’ll have to address. Don’t forget about his supporters, and his housing situation, and the increasing degree of investment from the protagonist towards destroying the antagonist, and…

It’s a lot.

It’s a lot that I have, quite neatly, sidestepped (re)writing.

I took it on in Oily Water, a project that had a false start, 10k words deep before I realized I wasn’t satisfied, needed to scrap it all, and restart. That’s over a sixth of its finished length, mind. I rewrote it from an entirely new POV. And while I love what I created, I consider that exercise finished. I’ve written the canon-era fic; I’ve eaten that cake. It was a chore for me. Perhaps I’ll want to eat it again in two or three years, but probably not before. I don’t care about canon—and not just in the sense of “screw the rules, I have money I can write a different plot,” but very, very sincerely: I don’t care about anyone or anything that defines the canon era, and I don’t want to write there.

I’ve done it already.

I’ve Addressed The Thing.

Not every story needs to be about The Thing, even when The Thing is defined as “the canon and core of this universe.” I write a villain; I am so tired of the set of expectations that demand answers as to how he deals with his boy-hero nemesis and how he wins or ends or survives his war and how his magic macguffins are dealt with. The boy hero’s never born, and if he is, he’s irrelevant, not fit for even a one-line mention. The war doesn’t start because my story changed so much in the decades prior. I don’t give a shit about magic, let alone macguffins, and they’re not named. I free myself from baggage by refusing to pick it up in the first place.

And that’s lonely, as it happens. I think it’s very reasonable and expected that most fans of a thing will want to spend the majority of their time in the canon, playing with the main characters, and revisiting the events that define the series. I know it’s a little silly to look for community in the vast blankness of the extra-canonical timeline, where there are few signposts to guide the way, but I do. I relate very strongly to the statement that it is exhausting to both encounter the same types of content over and over again, and to deal with the expectation that my content provide those same elements. I would stop writing before I put myself through replaying canon endlessly—it is, again, just not my temperament. I need the change and lack of expectation that comes from looking at other parts of the timeline in order to feel creatively fulfilled.

There’s no takeaway message in this, I’m afraid. I don’t come out of reading mikkeneko’s post with any great insights into… how to be more content with my role as a fic author, or how to navigate membership in the wider fandom. I am glad to see someone else express that desire to avoid particular areas of canon baggage, and the associated pressure to do just the opposite, that’s plagued me in my time here. I just don’t want to Address The Thing, and each time I flirt with it, with taking on some part of the mantle of expectation, I become only more convinced that it’s a poor fit for me and that I shouldn’t try again.

I only wish it were easier!

#navel gazing

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maniacwatchestheworld · 2 years

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Hearts Made Monochrome | Part 1: Trapped Inside

This story is also on AO3 Words: 6956 Pairings: Ingo & Emmet (familial/platonic), No romantic pairings Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst With a Happy(?) Ending, Pokemon/Kingdom Hearts Crossover AU (More Pokemon than Kingdom Hearts. That is to say, Pokemon characters in a Kingdom Hearts or adjacent universe. You shouldn't have to know anything about Kingdom Hearts nor its lore to understand what's happening here.) Warnings: Human experimentation, suffocation, child abuse/neglect, dehumanization, cannibalism if you squint Probably don’t read if you can’t stand bad things happening to kids. Summary: He lost his Heart. He was just a kid when he was taken, experimented on, and turned into a Heartless, all against his will. But from his body, a Nobody was created. Part 2

Note: It/its will be used interchangeably with other pronouns throughout this story, primarily for the sake of clarity and variety. (The Gay Smut Pronoun Conundrum and all that, you know. When everyone is ‘he’ things can become a clusterfuck fast!) This is Pokemon so I am using it/its pronouns affectionately. However the characters within the story do not necessarily share the same sentiment.

Also huge shoutout to @penquinlori for beta reading this fic! We also basically made this AU together, so their help has been genuinely invaluable to me! Go check them out!

Dark smoke entered the small chamber from the vent above. It burned his lungs. He felt like he was choking. While he inhaled air, when he tried to exhale, his lungs could only emit a bubbling sound. It felt like he was drowning. He coughed and a viscous, inklike fluid left his mouth. His tears were thick and leaked from his eyes in a slow, painful drip that smeared his vision in blacks.

He was never given much relief, even when the gas stopped being pumped into the small, glass room. He would collapse onto the floor, trying his hardest to catch his breath. He spat the black gunk that filled his lungs back out as best as he could before rising to his feet once more to pound on the thin glass separating him from the one responsible for this. The boy knew that the man on the other side of the glass could hear him. He could always vaguely hear what that scientist was mumbling to himself between each round of experiments. Though no matter how much he kept desperately slamming a fist against the glass, screaming and crying, the man never reacted.

“Patient is still refusing to accept treatment. Dosage has been increased again. It must be noted that no one has been subjected to this much of the chemical agent during a single session in these experiments prior to this point. if these trials yield results and the patient survives, this process should create the strongest specimen on record.” The man scribbled something onto a pad of paper as he spoke into an audio recorder. Once he had finished writing down his observations, he turned towards the boy in the glass chamber with an apathetic expression on his face. “New dosage being applied… Now.”

They were words that the boy dreaded, but ones that had become familiar to him. He tried to brace himself for what he knew was coming next, but it was never enough. It didn’t lessen how much the coming experiment would hurt. Why did he keep fighting against it anyway? It wasn’t as if surviving this next round of experiments would set him free, and it wasn’t as if anyone was coming to save him. He was well and truly alone.

The boy was never given much time to rest before the next experiment would begin and his chamber would once again be filled with that suffocating smoke. With every new round, he could see how the gas was thickening, and knew that he was being exposed to it for a longer duration.

In spite of how much he fought- and he had been fighting for far longer than the scientist could have ever anticipated- it was only a matter of time before he would succumb.

He was submerged, his head forced under sickly black waves as the last Light within his Heart was snuffed out. Fluid entered his lungs, but he found that he no longer had the need to breathe. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he found that he could no longer see. And yet he somehow felt alright with that. A current ran around him, smoothing out his edges and flaws like sand and water, wearing down a stone over the decades until he no longer had a body or shape to grasp any sense of self onto. He was surrounded by warmth and darkness, uncertain that anything else existed anymore for him. He found it oddly comforting.

“Experiment is a success. Heart has left the body and is being put into containment. Subject is unconscious. Subject will need to regain consciousness before further observations can be made. Opening chamber to remove the body.”

There was a hissing as the pressure on the locks keeping the door shut were released, the smoke escaping to the air as it opened.

“... Hell… Hello? Wh- who are you?

“... Interesting… Perhaps this should have been expected...” The scientist shook his head.

“Sir…? Where… Where am I?”

“With the creation of the patient- Ingo’s Heartless, it appears that a Nobody was created as well. Said Nobody has retained its human appearance.”

The first thing he could remember was waking up in a chamber, folded into some sort of fetal position on the floor. While there were black stains splattered underneath and around him, and his eyes were wet with tears, his chest felt fresh, empty, and new. He inhaled and exhaled the thick gas around him with ease, savoring the cool sensation of air in his lungs, filling the empty cavity inside of him before leaving once more.

Then the door opened and he was no longer alone.

“... Sir… Please don’t kick me out… I don’t know where to go… I don’t know where I am! … Please… I’m just a kid… I’m scared…”

The scientist let out an annoyed sigh. “You’re a Nobody. You’re not scared. You don’t have a Heart. You can’t feel emotions.”

“... I don’t…?” it blinked, eyes wide with confusion… Or was it interest…?

“You’ll find a way to survive. So just get out.”

“... I want to stay.”

“I don’t care. Get out.”

“I want to understand.”

“Not my problem. Get out.”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“Don’t know. Leave.”

“Why did you make me?”

“I didn’t intend to make you. You are just a mistake. You aren’t really supposed to exist. Happy?”

“... What am I supposed to do now that I’m alive?”

The ‘kid’ felt a searing force across its face as it was knocked to the ground. It put a hand to its cheek where it had just been struck. It was the first time that it had ever experienced pain.

“I don’t want you. Do you understand? Do whatever you want. Just as long as it isn’t here, I don’t care. Now leave.”

It was the instinct to avoid that pain again that made the ‘boy’ run away.

Two glowing yellow orbs suddenly emerged from the shadows as he awoke. When he opened his eyes, the lights shining down onto his form hurt. He tried to move a hand to shield them from the glare, but found that he was completely paralyzed. He tried to shut his eyes to block out the light, but they were being held open against his will. Before he could think of something else to do about how the light burned and made his body ache, he could hear muffled voices from just beyond the glass wall ahead of him.

“Subject has finally awoken, but has not taken on any specific shape or form yet. If this is a previously undiscovered type of Heartless, it may take time before he settles and can create a new body for himself.”

When he saw the figure behind the glass, he pushed himself back into a corner and shivered. He was scared, but couldn’t look away, his wide, yellow eyes being held in place for reasons that he didn’t understand. He knew this person. He had seen them before. There was a memory of this man bubbling in the back of his mind, but his thoughts were all being smudged at the edges with charcoal. The more he tried to recall the memory, the thicker and grittier these black splotches became until they rubbed against his mind like sandpaper. He had to stop. He didn’t need to think about it anyway. He may not have known who this person was. But all's that he needed to know was that the man’s gaze scared him as it bore into him from behind the glass. Those eyes made him shiver as if he were cold. Everything felt so cold in the stark light that now shone down on him. And even as multiple pairs of eyes thoroughly studied him, he felt so very alone.

The ‘boy’ stared blankly at the hustle and bustle of activity happening all around him. He knew that it was late, but that was a concept that didn’t mean much to him. The world around him was dark, and yet the lights shining from posts and buildings all around him were just a little too bright and hurt his eyes. Things were moving, people were talking, buildings were emitting audio, and all of it was just a little too loud. He was only wearing a thin medical gown which did little to shield him from the chilling night air, leaving him to shiver from the cold. He had no shoes and so nothing was there to protect him as he accidentally stepped onto shards of a broken bottle that had been left abandoned in some alleyway that he had stumbled his way down. He had no idea where he was and nowhere to go. So he picked a direction and began walking, limping so as to not open the cuts in his foot any wider.

People seemed to dislike how he looked at them- watching the others go about their business as they passed by. Most quickened their pace, casting backward glances at him as they hurried off, while others simply glared at him. One or two had shouted at him to stop staring. He had a feeling that if he didn’t do as they asked, they would hurt him even more than he already was, and so did his best to avert his eyes and look in some other direction whenever he heard people starting to yell.

He had been looking at the ground when someone stepped in front of him, making him stop in his tracks. “Pardon me, kid. But are you lost?”

The ‘kid’ blankly looked up at a woman in uniform. A police officer. The lady had a look on her face that he figured was something like sympathy.

“... Yes,” he answered plainly, which seemed to take the officer by surprise.

“Do you know where you’re supposed to be right now?” she asked, tilting her head in obvious curiosity.

“... No.” Once again that seemed to give the officer pause.

“Well then... Can you tell me where your home is?”

“... No.” The officer was lowering herself down to a crouch, trying to speak on a level field with the kid. But with each question, her face seemed to grow more and more troubled.

“Can you tell me who your parents are?”

“... No.” By now the officer was down on one knee looking the ‘boy’ directly in the eye.

“... Can you at least tell me your name…?”

“... No…”

It was at this point that the officer placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. A motion meant to reassure him, the ‘kid’ was certain. Not that he was capable of feeling particularly scared or nervous in the first place.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just trying to be your friend. Is there any reason you can’t tell me any of this?”

“... Yes.” At this point, the ‘boy’ felt that he should look down and away from the officer, though had no idea what this action was supposed to mean or portray.

“... Well…?” The officer’s tone had a tinge of impatience to it.

The ‘boy’ hesitated in his answer. “... I do not have a name… I do not know who my parents are, or even if I have any… I do not know where my home would be…” He didn’t even know what his home would be.

There was a deafening silence between the two before…

“Oh…” the officer had a befuddled look on her face.

“... I am a Nobody.”

“Now you don’t need to say that about yourself. You’re not no one. Now why don’t you follow me down to the station so that we can go and get you back where you belong.”

“... Okay.”

“Alright… Good!” The officer let out a heavy breath as she got back up to her feet.

The Nobody took the officer’s hand as it was offered to him without resistance as she started to lead him away.

“And you don’t need to look so dour all the time! Don’t worry. We’re going to sort all of this out. So why don’t you give me a smile?”

The ‘boy’ could register that the police officer was trying to cheer him up, but he could not make himself feel the emotion that she was trying to elicit from him. But instead of trying to contradict her, the Nobody tried his best to imitate the woman’s expression.

“Good. Now isn’t that better?” she asked, shooting a smile of her own back at him.

The ‘boy’s’ smile was forced. Artificial, and it didn’t reach his eyes. But if it satisfied the police officer, it was good enough for him.

The not-’boy’ was crying as it stared at the bright lights shining down on it. But even if anyone looked at it right now, it doubted that anyone would have even been able to notice its tears. It knew that something had changed, and whatever it was, it certainly didn’t think that it was human anymore.

The Heartless constantly felt like it was treading water. That it was only ever able to keep its face above the surface just high enough to be able to breathe, but nothing more. It felt as if even the smallest waves or rise in tide could drown it in an instant and at any time if it wasn’t careful. Even then, it had to constantly spit a black liquid from its mouth to keep its airways clear. That was all it felt as it stared at the lights above. It just focused on the feeling of trying not to drown in whatever was inside of it that threatened to submerge and consume it whole, unable to even blink as it let its mind passively wander wherever it wished.

They always seemed to fade away the moment it tried to focus on them, but the not-’boy’ knew that it had memories of its life before all of this- from when it was still human. And as it absently stared into the light, the memories were able to manifest into something tangible and that it could hold onto. Even if only briefly, they kept it company as they passed through its mind. It was the only thing keeping the loneliness at bay as it sat and waited for… Something to happen. It wasn’t sure what.

Lights were flashing as it watched the gathered crowd. The boy wasn’t allowed to get close and had to stand around the borders as people ahead of it gossiped amongst one another using words like, “It’s such a shame.” And, “No one could have seen it coming.” They didn’t know what they were talking about. It remembered that tears were streaming down its face as the hand holding its own squeezed just a little tighter. The man holding its hand was large and when he kneeled to talk to it, it buried its face deep into the man’s chest as it sobbed, lost, not knowing what to do anymore. Not that it had any idea what it had lost anymore anyway. It just knew that it was alone. The man had let it wear his hat as they moved between train cars that it observed with rapt fascination. The hat was much too large and heavy for it, always sliding down to cover its eyes. And now the two were staring out at the countryside as it passed the train they were riding by, but memory became too bright and blurry before it could remember what happened next.

There was a girl. She was dressed in warm yellows as she laughed at it. It had the feeling that she had always liked getting the boy into trouble. She was pulling it towards the creek before telling it in a hushed tone to be quiet and to duck behind a fallen log among the tall grass. She pointed to the water’s edge where it saw a malformed creature of some kind. It wasn’t certain if the creature was actually malformed or if the memory had just been warped somehow. But either way, it found the creature fascinating. She ran towards the creek and it had held a hand out to try and grab her, but then the memory faded away into dust just as it tried to wrap its fingers around her wrist. It would have liked to see her again, it thought. But it didn’t see how that would be possible anymore. Something deep inside of it knew that it didn’t look human anymore. Its new body would probably just scare her away.

It remembered looking up at a man. This man- this guardian was much different from the one that it had been remembering before. While the previous one was portly and always seemed to know what to say to put its mind at ease, this new figure had always struggled trying to talk to it. He was tall and muscular and somehow looked and felt very familiar to the boy. More so than the man from before at least. The sound of a dragon’s roar came to its mind upon thinking of him. There was an overwhelming sense of admiration filling its heart as it looked up into his eyes. He was holding something out to it. Something about the object felt familiar, though it had difficulty figuring out what. What was the object anyway? All features were alluding it. Was it a stick? No… Maybe something more like a sword? Closer, but that wasn’t it either… As it touched the object, it felt an electric tingle of power begin to course through both the object and its own body. The guardian had said something. Something important. But the words were muffled and its mind slid off of them the more it tried to focus on them. It just knew that whoever this person was- whoever these people were, it missed them dearly. The not-‘boy’ wanted nothing more than to see them again. It didn’t want to be alone anymore, but knew that was impossible. Even if it could escape, the Heartless knew that no one would be able to recognize it anymore, it had changed so much in body, mind, and soul. It couldn’t even remember its own face… Did it even have a face anymore? The not-‘boy’ wasn’t certain…

“Subject has yet to take a physical form. He is to be put into pasture with the rest of the subjects. Exposure to other Heartless may cause a reaction.”

Upon hearing the muffled voice again, its eyes turned to the window and it remembered why it was supposed to be so scared and lonely in the first place.

From the corner of its vision, it noticed that a section of the wall had opened. But as the not-‘boy’ tried to move closer to it, just to get a better look, it stumbled and toppled onto itself, leaving it dizzy and unable to move any further.

“It appears that the subject still hasn’t gotten used to his new body yet. Motor functions are limited. Subject will have to be placed into pasture manually.”

A gas was released into the air and it felt a great sense of relief as it could slowly feel its eyes closing. Finally. Darkness again at last. Maybe these gasses weren’t so bad after all.

As he sat in the police station, he thought about how peculiar it was. The ‘boy’ had no memories from before waking up in that glass chamber filled with thick purple gas. And yet he had still known what a police officer was. He may have no memories, but it seemed that this body of his still contained a lot of knowledge. Knowledge that even he wasn’t aware of right now.

The officer had left him at the bench as she went to talk to the others about what should be done with the boy with no name, no home, no parents, who seemed to have come from nowhere. Since then, he had been silently waiting as the officers made calls and filled out paperwork as they tried to figure out their next course of action.

“Come with us.”

When he looked up to see who had spoken, he was surprised by what he saw. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t human. And it wasn’t like those shapeless black blobs that he had caught a glimpse of as he left the laboratory either.

“Who are you?”

There was an unnaturally lanky figure swaying before him. Its motions almost resembled dancing. Its skin was paper white. It had no eyes, but did have a long, stretched out mouth that bore a row of pointed teeth.

“We are like you. Your brothers and sisters. We too are Nobodies.”

“... Nobodies…?” As he asked the question, two more of these creatures appeared at the first one’s sides.

“We will take care of you. We wish to serve you.”

“You can be our Master.”

As the two new creatures spoke, their mouths didn’t move and yet he perfectly heard and understood them.

“Your Master…?”

“Yes. You were just born so you have no idea just how powerful you are yet.”

“Come with us and we can teach you.”

“It won’t take long for the humans to learn what you are. And when that happens, they will try to destroy you. We will protect you.”

He thought back to how the scientist had struck him, the man’s words echoing in the ‘boy’s’ mind. “... You weren’t supposed to exist either…?”

The three vaguely humanoid shapes sunk in their postures to match the child’s height. “Yes. We understand the hate that these humans would subject you to if given the chance. So come with us and we’ll protect you.”

“... Okay.”

When the boy stood, the police officer finally looked up from her paperwork.

“Kid, what are you… What the hell is that!?”

The mood of the room shifted in an instant as the officer unholstered her gun and started open firing upon the nearest Nobody. The bullets seemed to harmlessly pass through the creature’s body as the two Nobodies closest to her came forwards to confront the officer. The third led the boy away.

Just as they left the station, the ‘boy’ could hear what the officer was shouting into her radio.

“Mayday! We need backup! We need a Keyblade Master here STAT! Nobodies have shown up at our location- three Dusks, and their leader looks like a child. White hair, gray eyes, between the ages of 6 and 8. We need backup! Repeat, we-”

As the door shut behind them, the boy didn’t realize that he still had an empty smile on his face.

He opened his eyes to see several other pairs of glowing yellow orbs staring back at him. Startled, he backed himself into a corner where no one could sneak up behind him and examined the new room he found himself in. Stark lights still shined down on him, chilling him to the bone and making his body ache. But at least he wasn’t alone anymore. The room had several creatures in it. The swarm closest to the not-‘boy’ looked very similar to him- black shadows that melted into the ground that were not quite defined in their shapes yet. A few of these amorphous creatures had risen from the floor, taking on the shape of some kind of silhouette; round features that made a vaguely humanoid form with spindly limbs. Though in actuality perhaps they looked more like humanoid bugs than any actual person. These figures seemed to be examining him in curiosity, but when one reached a limb out to touch him, he shied away, shrinking into himself. It seemed that the creatures sensed his fear, the closest one withdrawing its clawed hand as the other not quite formed yet shadows backed away from him.

As the others gave him his space, he began to relax, letting himself occupy more of the floorspace instead of pressing himself into the corner.

His eyes wandered beyond the shadows that were scurrying around him to the other figures in the room. There were creatures, diverse in their shapes and sizes ambling around the cell, passively observing him. Some were wearing what appeared to be some kind of armor, meanwhile others were stout and seemed to be wrapped in some kind of brightly colored cloak as they floated in the air above him. Towards the far side of the room there were a handful of large, intimidating figures that could only be described as monsters. Hulking creatures slumped over in animalistic poses, looking ready to pounce. Creatures with wings and claws and tails. Creatures wearing strange outfits, but taking shapes that were mere mockeries of the human form.

The not-’boy’ and one of these creatures happened to meet eyes as he examined the room around him, and to his surprise, the creature slumped to the floor in a bow. He couldn’t help but to stare in confusion as the other creatures in the room began to follow suit and lower their heads, bowing to him. While he could understand the gesture, even from the creatures writhing in two dimensions on the floor, he didn’t understand what it meant and refused to move from his corner.

When the creatures rose once more, the shadows around him made chittering sounds to one another. He was surprised to find that he somehow understood them. They said something about feeding. Something about feeding and growing strong. However he was still afraid and trembling, unable to focus enough to truly comprehend what they were discussing.

He didn’t understand what was happening as the vaguely humanoid bugs sank back down into shadow and pieces of their collected mass started to break off and stream towards him. He tried to back away from it, but when one of these black flakes touched the shapeless pool of darkness that was his body, something about it felt… Good.

It felt like something within him was being filled- a hunger satiated as these flecks of shadow streamed into him. He could feel himself growing stronger, rising up from the ground.

For just a minute, he felt himself dip below the waves, some sort of dark power flowing through him. He was beginning to emerge.

An arm formed, ending in a clawed hand, digging into the floor as he tried to find enough purchase to pull himself from the formless shadows and into the light. There was a want inside of him. A hunger. In that moment he wanted to reach out and devour the Shadows around him whole. He knew that he could.

And then he resurfaced.

He looked down at the hand he had formed and the hulking body of his that was trying to bring itself into reality. It made him panic. A sound that was entirely inhuman escaped him as he collapsed back into formless shadow. He sank into the floor, pressed into his corner, now trembling and crying harder than ever before. His unblinking eyes made him watch as the creatures turned to one another, chattering.

“Not ready.”

“Not ready yet.”

“Not ready.”

“Not mature enough.”

“Not ready.”

They backed away from him, giving him his space before beginning to amble around the room with seemingly no purpose.

“How did you get back in here? I thought that I told you to go away.” The scientist was taken aback when he saw the Nobody again.

“... I’ve been talking to the Nobodies. They’ve been helping me. Taking care of me... Explaining things to me.”

“Ah.” The scientist had been surprised to see that the Nobody was wearing new clothes. That must have been how it had gotten its hands on them and why it didn’t look as filthy as the man would have expected from a homeless street urchin like it. “So you found more of your kind. Alright. But that doesn’t answer my question. Why are you here?” It had been days since the ‘boy’ had been chased from the lab. And now it was back.

“... I want to know more about myself…”

“And what? The Nobodies can’t do that?”

The boy turned to the window, staring at the creatures milling around the room, placing a hand on the glass.

“... How could they?”

The scientist looked down at the small Nobody, his eyes narrowing in thought, but he didn’t say anything.

“... I don’t have any memories,” the boy admitted. “... They said that I’m supposed to have memories. But I don’t… I want to know…”

“You want to know more about your Heartless.”

He nodded before turning to look at the scientist. “I can be useful to you.”

Now that caught the scientist’s attention. “Oh?”

“You and everyone else in this lab are all fully human- you all have Hearts, right? So it must get dangerous dealing with them.” He motioned to the Heartless in captivity.

“Yes, that would be correct.”

“You were right. I am a Nobody. I don’t have a Heart. They wouldn’t be interested in me. They aren’t able to hurt me like they can hurt you. I’ll do anything you ask. I just want to be able to speak to him.”

“And you expect me to take care of you?”

The Nobody shook his head. “… The others… They call themselves my brothers and sisters… But they also call me their Master… They’ve already taken care of that.”

There was a stretch of silence as the scientist considered it. In the meantime, the ‘boy’ watched the black creatures, examining each one individually and with care, trying to get a read on each type of Heartless currently being held there.

“Which one is mine?” the Nobody asked, breaking the silence.

The scientist scanned the room before pointing off in a direction. “That one in the corner.”

“The scared little one?” He could tell that it was watching them through the glass with unblinking eyes.

“That would be the one.”

“... You don’t sound very happy about that.”

“I’m not.” The scientist scowled. “He has yet to fully create a physical form for himself. There have been a few promising partial manifestations, but not enough to tell what kind of Heartless he is. It seems that he’s barely even able to move, much less take on a solid form.”

“... Can I talk to him? Maybe I can make him do… Something.”

The scientist let out a sigh, considering it for a minute. “Fine. But make it quick.”

It was hard to make out the people on the other side of the glass, the glare was so bright. But he could always recognize the form of the scientist. He would try to make out the details of the other people that would sometimes accompany the scientist as he watched the Heartless through the glass, but they never stuck. But today he could tell that someone new was watching him. Whoever they were, they were so much shorter than anyone else he had seen accompanying the scientist before. And when their eyes met, he found that he had a hard time looking away.

There was a hissing as the door opened, and he could immediately tell why the new person on the other side of the glass was so short. It was a kid, just like him just like what he no longer was. He watched the boy enter. The other Heartless in the room seemed to part as their new guest passed between them, heading towards the puddle of shadow pressed into the corner.

As the boy stood before him, the shadow tried to push himself further into the corner, but it was to no avail. He tried to climb up the wall, anything to escape the new arrival, but he just fell over himself instead. He was expecting the worst, for this kid to hurt him, but to his surprise, the youth just sat down in front of him on his knees.

The two studied one another for a long moment. Now that he was actually looking at the kid this closely, somehow something about the boy felt familiar. He had the feeling that he had seen this child before.

“Are you Ingo?” the boy asked after letting the shadow calm down.

The creature hiding in the shadows stared at the youngster for a long moment in silence before trying to move. “In… Go…” The sounds came out as a gurgle as he tried to form a mouth for himself. “Ingo.” He managed to create a hole from which he could emit sounds, but it was filled with a black sludge that dripped back into his shadowy form on the ground the moment he opened it. The ooze threatened to seal the hole shut again if he didn’t continue using it. “Ingo… Am… Ingo…” The beginnings of the top of a head began to pop out of the shadows, eyes still transfixed on the boy. The small mound began to bob up and down in a movement that the urchin assumed was supposed to be a nod.

The two could hear a Shadow approach, chittering to the youth. The kid was surprised to find that it understood the Heartless.

The boy nodded. “... I see… So that’s why you haven’t taken on a physical form yet…” it mumbled more to itself than any of the Heartless observing their new guest.

“You… Me…” The Heartless- Ingo started speaking without prompting, taking the boy by surprise.

“What was that?”

“Look… Like… Me…” He had realized what it was about the boy that made it feel so familiar. As he inched closer to it, some sort of form began to rise from the shadows, climbing onto the youth.

The kid found that the creature manifesting himself into a physical form around it was something like a liquid or a gas. Or maybe both at once. There was a weight and mass there, but if it so wished, it could pass a hand through the Heartless’s body without much resistance. But it was becoming more and more solid and tangible by the minute.

The youngster didn’t know what the Heartless’ intentions were or why he was building his physical form on top of it, even as the smoke wrapped itself around its neck. But his intentions soon became clear as the limb became solid and tightened.

The boy let out a small strangled sound as those unblinking eyes bore into it still. The boy was still smiling that icy cold smile even as the Heartless tried to strangle the life from it.

He found it terrifying. This boy… This thing was wearing his old face. It felt like some kind of mockery. And why did it smile like that? Even now it was smiling. And the way its teeth flashed in the light felt nothing less than predatory.

The ‘boy’ wasn’t fighting back. And soon it was leaning into the Heartless’ hold. Ingo braced himself. This thing had to have something planned. It was up to something. It had to be. He felt the ‘boy’s’ hands reach down, grabbing at shadow that was still caught between being corporeal and incorporeal before pulling it up and closer to it. His form had largely been pulled from the shadows, now being held in a tight embrace. The boy was holding the semi-formed shadow in a hug.

When he realized what was happening, Ingo loosened his grip around the boy’s neck as the shapeless limb turned into arms, desperate to hold the boy in return. The kid didn’t let go even as it sputtered and coughed to get the air back into its lungs to breathe again.

He was crying. Ingo was crying as he leaned into the warmth of the boy’s being, gripping its back. Legs were forming underneath him, his body finally taking on a physical, if smoky form that vaguely matched the proportions of the boy that was holding him.

“I’m going to get you out of here. We will beat him. We will win this. Together.” Ingo was confused by what it had whispered to him. What was it that they were going to win?

Ingo desperately didn’t want to let go as the urchin pulled away from him. At least it let their arms remain interlocked.

“You are going to be okay. You used to be me. I can’t remember it, but I know that you used to treat me well. Now it’s my turn. I’m going to take care of you. We are going to be okay.” The boy said it with unflinching certainty in its eyes.

“Alright, that’s quite enough. Get back here.” The two looked up as they heard the scientist’s voice over the intercom.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.” The boy was staring at the ground as it let go of its Heartless and stood. Ingo tried to stand as well, but instead fell over in a puff of smoke, sinking back into the floor where he once again became a formless puddle of shadows. “But I will be back. I promise. I am Emmet. I will see you again soon.”

“Em… Met…?”

“How did you do that?”

“... What do you mean?”

“How were you able to get him to create a physical form for himself?”

“... You don’t know…?” The ‘boy’ tilted his head.

“If I did, I would have done it already so that I can continue my research.”

The ‘boy’ blinked. “... We’re still kids.” He looked back at Ingo through the glass. While he was still a shapeless shadow on the ground, he was no longer huddled in the corner, shivering and afraid. “... He’s not mindless. He was just scared. He’s not strong enough to take on a consistent form right now. We’re just not mature enough yet. He hasn’t even decided what he’s going to be… But it helps if you give him a reason to want to create a body for himself that can actually interact with the world around him in the first place. Something to hold onto, in a sense. In this case literally. But how could he even think to take on a physical form when he felt so scared and alone in the first place? Maybe if you showed him that he didn’t have any reason to be afraid and that you weren’t going to hurt him, then he would have tried to take on a more permanent appearance for himself entirely on his own. Or at least when he did try to take on a more tangible form, it wouldn’t have scared him so much that he immediately shrinks back down to… Well… That.” The Nobody motioned to Ingo, who was still a shapeless figure on the floor, but who had formed a round blob of a head that poked up just enough to press his face flush against the glass at their feet. “But it never occurred to you to play nice, did it?”

“Tch. So now you’re wanting me to be nice to you?”

“... You don’t have to be nice to me if you don’t want to. I’m a Nobody. I’m built differently from him. But it will take practice before he’ll be able to move and take on a physical form for himself and at will.”

“And you want to help with that.”

“If you’ll let me.”

“... Fine. I’ll let you help with the research. You can come back tomorrow. But you have to do exactly as I say. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Master, there are bruises on your neck,” the Dusk observed, seemingly appearing from out of nowhere to stand at the boy’s side.

Emmet didn’t even slow his stride as he continued heading towards the abandoned storehouse the Nobodies had secured for him. Though he did touch his neck where he knew the bruises must have been. “Ingo did this. He was afraid and was acting out on instinct. It’ll clear up in time. There’s nothing to be done about it.”

“He hurt you and you still intend to help him?”

“Yes. He’s still on our side. A valuable ally. I want to win this battle. It will be a greater victory if we free him too.”

“I see… So other than him trying to kill you, how is your Heartless?”

“... It’s going to take some time before he’ll be ready. He seems to have a lot of difficulty even moving around. He can barely take on a physical form. I will try to teach him how to do both before we act.”

“And the human. He took the bait?”

“Yes. He agreed to let me ‘help’ him in his research.”

“Well, don’t get hurt any further, if it can be helped. The wound on your foot still hasn’t fully healed yet. You are still very young, Master, and are therefore very fragile.”

“... I will try.”

There was silence as Emmet continued walking, navigating this maze of a city as the lesser Nobody drifted along beside him.

But the silence didn’t last long before the Dusk once again broke it. “Master, there are stains on your shirt.”

“There are?” Emmet briefly looked down to see the black splotches that now stained the white fabric. After a moment of consideration, he recognized what they must have been. “... Ingo was crying… The clothes we get for him should be darker to make it easier to hide any stains like these.”

“We will need to find new clothes for you. We will keep that in mind.”

“You don’t have to replace these clothes for me. I’m fine with this.”

“Of course we have to, Master! We cannot let anyone think you are some ordinary street urchin. It is beneath you.”

But not inaccurate, Emmet thought to himself.

“Now let us clean your wound and change your bandages.”

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