#nathaniel writing prompt

[icanbeyourgenie]

“ I can read! Just not very well. Words swirl on a page for me. ” – Achilles to Nathaniel

Nathaniel could feel he raised a sensitive issue. He didn't mean to, it happened on accident. Three days together and the two men didn't experiment one dull moment, until Nathaniel asked questions about surgery, and one particularly heavy book. It became clear quite quickly that Achilles had troubles reading the words and relied heavily on the pictures. And for some reason, he seemed ashamed about it. Nathaniel didn't see why - any man who could do what Achilles could do with a scalpel should be proud.

“But I have a very good memory. Read me a book once and I memorize it quite easily.”

It broke Nathaniel's heart to see the surgeon try to compensate. He could only guess how many people made fun of this particularity. And he didn't know why he cared that much, but he did.

“Well, I'm afraid I won't be really useful here. I never finish a book. Not unless my Father is forcing me to. And even then, it's pure torture.”

Achilles seemed intrigued. “You have trouble reading too?”

“Not reading, no. Just staying focused. Books are too long, my mind plays tricks on me. No matter how hard I try to stay focused, it just becomes too... boring. I can't help but doing something else. That's why I love poetry the most. It's way shorter.”

Achilles looked at him, and Nate would give anything to know what was going on in his head. They were both seated on a couch, not far away from the table where Nate's victim died, but it was almost forgotten. They were very close. Almost touching, really. Every single one of Nate's senses tingled at this proximity. He wanted to be even closer.

“I...” Nate cleared his throat. “My Father always took this at impertinence, but I just feel like I can't control my brain sometimes. You know?”

“Yes. I do...”

“Look, I don't know what people told you, but I think you're brillant. Really, really brillant. And interesting. Even if there's so much I want to know about you. It's just... Not being able to-”

Nathaniel would've continued to babble if he wasn't stopped by the sudden but welcomed feeling of Achilles' lips against his. His brain completely froze. Achilles must've taken it like a rejection, because he stepped back, looking ashamed.

“I'm... Sorry, I thought... I thought I saw a sign, I probably mistaken it...”

He started to get up, but Nathaniel grabbed his wrist and pulled him back, making Achilles land half on top of him. They looked at each other for a second before their lips joined on her own accord.

It was not a quick and light kiss. Quite the opposite. Nathaniel didn't understand how someone he met so little time ago made him feel the way he did, but he welcomed it anyway. His entire body was on fire, butterflies dancing in his stomach. He only stopped when he realized he already had his hand under Achilles' shirt.

“Wait.” He said as he pulled back, and enjoyed more that he'd admit the sound of protest coming from Achilles' lips. “I'm very bad with timing. Are we going too fast?”

“We met three days ago so I'd say yeah. Definitely.”

It didn't stop Achilles from picking up the kiss where they left it, and all thoughts left Nathaniel's head.

#and that's neurodivergence here #they're so perfect and they don't know it #it's short but i had the scene in mind okay #nathaniel blackwater #nathaniel x achilles #nathaniel writing prompt #writing prompt #likeafairytale

[ionlydrinkhotwater]

Imagine the streaming series true crime doc about the "Butcher of Baltimore". The Moriyamas are fine with it cause it mostly leaves them out of the story, the doc makes it sound like Nathan and his evil henchmen were independent criminals and not acting for the Moriyamas, and pins the majority of the crimes done by them on Nathan leaving out that he was often acting on their behalf. And paints the narrative they want. The only mention of the Moriyamas is that Tetsuji wanted Neil to join the Ravens when he was a kid because he saw potential in this talented child and if he had been able to he could have "protected this poor child from his monsterous father" (queue the Moriyamas positioning themselves as brave, kind and generous) but Neils mother ran off with him before the "kind and generous" offer could be finalized cause Neil and Mary had had enough of Nathans abuse (and not cause the Moriyamas were gonna buy Neil as property as well). The FBI are happy with the doc cause it's copaganda that makes them look great and competent, the good guys beating an uncomplicated villain (to be clear Nathan is an uncomplicated villain but the FBI are NOT the good guys), the Hardfords are totally absent from the series.

Neil Josten starts trending cause even non exy fans are FACINATED and the press is lapping it up.

It becomes one of the top streamed docs cause the details are so lurid and horrific and the fact that the son of the Butcher is on his way to being a sport celeb.

Neil was contacted by the true crimes doc but he refused to participate.

He hates the inaccurate way they portray his mom as someone who had no idea of the kind of monster she married until it was too late who was fleeing from her horrible husband who she had "loved" for her and her sons safety (ignoring that it was an arranged marriage between crime families and her hands are as bloody as any other gangster. It also ignores that she was abusive and imperfect too and makes her the perfect victim. The only accuracy was that she wanted Neil alive.

Coach Hernandez was contacted too but he refused to participate, though a bunch of other Millport teachers and former students/ teammates happily jump on board. Sadly some Palmetto staff and students do as well and other teams who've faced the Foxes do as well (not the Ravens [too risky] or the Trojans[to honorable])

The Foxes REFUSED to participate and they also REFUSED to watch this tripe and shut down anyone who tries to talk to them about it.

Also the only real accurate bit of the documentary is Neil's ordeal in Baltimore and its cause it's taken from his confession. Queue people gaping at Neil for the next few weeks knowing what the poor guy had to endure

#aftg #neil josten #nathaniel wesninski #nathan wesninski #the foxes #the foxhole court #tfc #nora sakavic #all for the game #prompt #please someone write this fic id be so happy

[miraculousfanworks]

Fanfiction Prompt

When Alix comes back from being lost in the time stream with her adult self, she casually tells Marc and Nathaniel, "y'all had banger food at your wedding, by the way". Nathaniel nearly chokes on his drink and Marc goes so red he passes out. She's not going to let them live it down and will use it as part of her Best Man speech later.

Prompt by kopycat101

#miraculous fanworks #miraculous ladybug #ml #writing prompt #mlb #miraculous #prompt #ml promt #miraculous prompt #alix kubdel #marc anciel #nathaniel kurtzberg #marcnath #marcthaniel #marcaniel #nathmarc

[sulky-valkyrie]

happy friday! for dadwc may i request "I didn’t ask you for permission, I’m telling you that’s what I’m doing whether you like it or not." for.... Nanders?

Hi Jay, happy DADWC Day! for @dadrunkwriting

screenshot yoinked from this video, which is a delightful animated banter compilation

“Shit shit shit!”  Anders’ frantic muttering echoed down the hallway as Nate approached.  He wasn’t worried, of course.  Merely curious.  Not curious enough to investigate if he didn’t already have business on this side of the Keep, of course.  The mage was maddening: standoffish and aggravating all day every day, but inviting Nate to his bed every night.  Or just in Nate’s bed already when he completed his watch duties.  

The first time it happened, Nate had been so shocked at the offer that he'd simply walked out.

The second time, Nate had suggested it himself in a moment of desperation for him to just shut up, and hoping it would make him more bearable when they were out on patrol.  That had been a resounding failure, long term; Anders had been even more flippant and annoying after that, and Nate spent hours biting his tongue to keep from snapping that there were better things he could be doing with mouth.  

And now, yet again, he was making poor use of that thrice-blasted mouth, and ranting a torrent of profanity as he tossed the room apart and threw all manner of supplies on his bed.  Potions, food, a waterskin and, strangest of all, his Warden dress uniform.  

“Going somewhere?”  Nate asked from the doorway

Anders jumped and spun around, magic crackling on his fingers.  When he recognized Nate, he scowled and turned back to the shelf, then tossed a few more things from it to the mattress.  “What do you care?”

The vehemence in his tone and the fury in his eyes actually made Nate step back.  "I, I didn't see any orders," he stammered.

"And you're not going to."  He grabbed a bag and started dumping everything in it.  "I found my - a friend.  And I'm going to go get him."

"You have friends?"  Nate winced the second he asked.  It wasn’t as though Anders wasn't friendly, just that it was only on the surface.  He never seemed to let anyone inside, treated everyone with the same familiarity and indifference equally.  Everyone except the Commander and possibly Nate himself.  The Commander got respect, and Nate got, well, disrespect.  And a bedwarmer.

Anders shot him a glare over his shoulder. "Apparently not.  Not enough to fucking help when I ask, so I'm… ugh."

"What?  You're a Warden, if course we'll -"

"Commander said no," Anders snapped.  "So I'm on my own.  Again."

"Doing what?"

He kept packing.  "What the void do you even care?"

Why did he?  Daytime Anders was irritation piled on exasperation, but he liked Nightime Anders a great deal.  And, theoretically, they were the same person.  Nate took a deep breath and pinched his brow.  "You've shared my bed, why wouldn't I?"

"Hasn't mattered before," he muttered, then turned around.  "I'm going to Kirkwall. Karl is… he's a mage.  And I'm getting him out."

Fear pricked at his gut.  They'll kill him.  “So, you’re just going to do what, exactly?  March up to the Gallows and Conscript him?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“It’s the Gallows,” Nate said sternly.  “They’re just as likely to haul you in for being apostate as anything else.”

He stabbed a finger at the uniform peeking from the bag.  “I’m a fucking Warden, they can’t.”

“And if they don’t believe you?”

“Then Kirkwall fucking burns,” he spat.  “You don’t get it, Howe.  I’m not asking for permission, or your blessing, or your help.  I’m telling you that’s what I’m doing whether you like it or not.”

“And what about us?  What about everyone here in Amaranthine?”  

“Us?  What us?  You can all burn too for all I care - I was only recruited because I happened to be here, and the Commander can't stand Templars.  You all fucking hate me, just be glad I'm leaving, alright?”

“Maybe if you weren’t such an asshole -” Nate started. 

“I love him!” Anders shouted.  “There, happy now?  I love him, I’ve loved him for years, and I finally found him!  I don’t give a shit about darkspawn, or any of you, and I’m going to get him back or die trying.  You got it?”

“What if the Knight Commander laughs you out of her office?”  Nate demanded.  “What then?  You can’t seriously think you can take on an entire contingent of Templars on your own.  They’ll have you down with a Tranquil brand on your forehead in under a minute.”

Anders spun around as he slung his pack over his shoulder.  “I’ve got a whole damn sea voyage to figure that shit out.”

“No, we need to figure this out now,” he insisted as he grabbed Anders’ elbow.

“Piss off, Nate,” Anders snarled as he shoved him back.  “You can get out of my way on your own or I can put you through through the fucking wall, but you’re not stopping me.  Not you, or the Commander or anyone else.”

Nate snatched his bag off his arm.  “I’m not trying to stop you, you fool, I’m coming with you!”

#dragon age #da drunk writing circle #prompt fills #anders #nathaniel howe #anders x nathaniel howe #anders x karl #nanders #kanders #da awakening

[thedarknesssings]

Prompt 25: The Lies that Bind

Prompt 25: Call it a Day - FFXIV Write 2023 Characters: Simon Frost; Nathaniel @zoetic-tome Note: Not a ffxiv fic, based off a Vampire the Masquerade, 5th ed. campaign.

The promise of daylight warmed the horizon.  Simon sensed its coming.  Metal shutters sealed the windows and still the servants in his home drew heavy curtains across to obscure the blemish of the metal.  In his arms lay Nathaniel, his blond hair spilling over his arm and across the pillow.  Half the night they laid entwined like this.  Simon was unwilling to leave him.  No one came to ask him to.

The release of them both earlier that evening still stung. This curse of theirs started ages ago has lasted lifetimes.  Simon has walked through them all since the first days. Every lifetime, every age, every failure, and every death Nathaniel met.  He swallowed them all down, words to eat and memories to fade away from the rest of the world.  They still exist inside of him and now inside of Nathaniel.  Even the messy endings where Nathaniel died at his hands for his refusal to love him.

Simon exhaled a breath.  Those endings weren’t uncommon.  The inner rage that consumed him when that outcome was obvious made him tremble even now.  A shivering in his limbs he crushed out by tightening his arms around Nathaniel.  Not this time.  This time they had forever so long as he kept Nathaniel safe. His love kept the madness at bay.

Dawn melted Simon's limbs into a repose he couldn’t refuse.  His head tipped down, nose buried in the soft silk of Nathaniel’s hair. The scent of him was the last thing he purposely inhaled.  For the daylight hours, the both of them slept like the dead they were.  Come duskfall, they could start forever together, without the lies that bound them in the past.

#ffxiv write 2023 #prompt 25 #writers on tumblr #vtm fanfic #vampire the masquerade #Simon Frost #Nathaniel #short and sweet

[mexicancat-girl]

Ooh how about #80 for your favorite pairing?

Thanks for the ask @uchidachi and sorry it took a few days! I ended up writing 4k words and filling a day for my OTP's pairing month that passed in November.

So thanks again for the prompt, it really got the writing juices flowing!

Also posted to AO3 here

Different, But The Same

Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg

Rated T, 3911 words

...

Nathaniel loves Marc with his entire heart.

Maybe it’s just him being young and stupid. Getting attached to the first boyfriend he’s ever had. To the first person he’s ever dated, really, discounting taking Marinette out on a date as Evillustrator.

But no one’s ever made Nathaniel feel the way Marc does. The way Marc’s smile makes his heart flutter and his insides warm, makes him feel safe and seen. How Marc’s laughs always gets Nathaniel to laugh along, buoyed by the other’s joy. How they can be sitting together doing nothing at all, and it still feels monumental because he’s spending time with Marc. The time he spends with Marc makes him feel different, makes him feel better.

Nathaniel adores Marc, but he knows Marc could do better than him. Deserves better than him.

After all, Nathaniel’s hurt Marc. Got him Akumatized that first day they knew each other.

Who the hell dates the person that got them Akumatized…? Either someone very stupid or very kind, and Nathaniel knows Marc isn’t stupid. He’s got top grades, one of the smartest kids in Mendeleiev’s homeroom.

So, Marc is kind. Ridiculously so. To be able to forgive Nathaniel for ruining his journal and getting him Akumatized all because of a misunderstanding and Nathaniel’s paranoia. And not only forgive Nathaniel, but to work on a comic with him. To be his friend. To… To date Nathaniel.

Nathaniel knows Marc can do better, knows he’s a burden. Nathaniel’s difficult to deal with.

He’s incredibly introverted and anti-social. It’s hard to take him out anywhere before his social battery drains and he needs to leave after just a few minutes. He gets overwhelmed easily, hates crowds and sudden noises. He gets twitchy and scared and runs away all the time from danger. He has a short attention span and is always drawing all over his schoolwork because of his ADHD. He has a hard time working with others. He’s been burned too many times before in group projects where he’s had to do all the work, or situations where he’s ignored and forgotten completely.

Already, Nathaniel knows he’s a bother, that he’s no good with people. And that’s not accounting his bad temper. He blows up harshly after he’s been wound up from stress. He’s constantly anxious and worried that people are making fun of him or waiting to ruin his things, not in short part because of Chloe’s bullying. And that leaves him with the tendency to lash out when things pile up too much.

It’s what led him to react so harshly to Marc that fateful day, at the fountain. Thinking he’d been getting tricked, because having someone so pretty and kind compliment his artwork and meet him alone, only for him to be recorded the entire time—that’s just another setup for humiliation. So Nathaniel lashed out. He realized right afterwards he’d done something terrible when Marc looked so horrified and cried about the ruined notebook, but it was too late, and—

Nathaniel apologizes often to Marc about it. Marc keeps shaking his head and insisting, “you don’t need to keep doing this, Nath, it’s in the past.” And they keep hanging out, building newer and happier memories together in the art room and by the fountain.

Even when Marc accepted Nathaniel’s offer for a date, a little voice inside the artist had been telling him to wait for the other shoe to drop. That Marc will date him, and at any point realize that he’s too good for Nathaniel. That Marc deserves better than Nathaniel and will break up with him. And it’d hurt, but at least they’d still have the comic. Nathaniel can live with that.

But they’ve been dating for two months know. In middle schooler time, that’s insanely long. The only other couples that beat them out of going steady for so long are Ivan and Mylene, Juleka and Rose, and Alya and Nino—in that exact order.

So maybe there’s something there. Maybe—maybe their relationship lasting so long is a sign. A good sign.

Unless Marc is only putting up with you because he doesn’t want to lose you as his artist for the comic, says a vicious voice in his head, because why else would he bother putting up with someone as lazy and hard to deal with as you?

Nathaniel’s always feeling his best when he’s with Marc, feeling like he’s at the top of the world with Marc’s laugh and smile and kisses. But afterwards he’ll feel so low, his doubts come flooding in like an unstoppable storm. Sure, Marc seems to enjoy their dates. But what if it’s less because Nathaniel is a good boyfriend and more because Marc is nice and has low expectations?

Before long, Nathaniel’s stomach is twisting itself into knots out of pure nerves. He can’t sleep at night. Sometimes he launches himself from his bed to dry-heave in the bathroom. What if what if what if echoing in his mind.

Maybe he deserves it. Maybe it’s a small price to pay, for being so terrible. Maybe Marc should just get it over with and break it off, stop pretending to put up with him, so he doesn’t have to keep waiting for it.

Then again, maybe he deserves this torture. After getting Marc Akumatized, maybe this is the way he can repay all the pain he caused.

Maybe maybe maybe.

---

Nathaniel’s tired and irritable and scatterbrained today at school. Well, more than usual, that is.

Him and Marc are in the art room, like always. They’re working on their comic, like always.

At least they would be if Nathaniel wasn’t feeling so sluggish and getting nothing done. Just a bunch of dumb scribbles with terrible anatomy, fit to be ripped out of his sketchbook and chucked into the garbage.

“Nath… Have you been getting enough sleep?” Marc asks worriedly after the artist throws his pencil down in frustration.

“I haven’t,” Nathaniel bites out. He buries his face against his hands, fingers curling and tugging on his hair. He takes a few deep breaths in and out, like his anger management coach has told him to do when he feels overwhelmed. It helps, especially when Marc rubs his back in comfort.

“You know, maybe we should go outside and get some fresh air today. It’s nice out,” his boyfriend says sweetly, voice a soothing balm. “Everyone keeps telling us we work too hard, anyways. A break will do us both a lot of good.”

“Okay,” Nathaniel chokes out, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes to keep his tears at bay. Marc’s a life saver. It’s like he knows just what to say to help. Nathaniel takes a few more deep breaths until his heartrate is back to normal and he doesn’t feel like breaking down. He drops his hands and gives his boyfriend a grateful smile. “Okay. Thanks, Marc.”

“Of course,” Marc responds warmly with an equally warm smile. Then he turns to pack Nathaniel’s things up for him. “C’mon. I know you’re allergic to sunshine, but it’ll be good for you, I swear.”

The artist snorts. “Oh, haha,” he says sarcastically, but a smile tugs on his lips as he takes his bookbag from Marc. He leans in to give Marc a quick peck in thanks, earning a shy smile with flushed cheeks from his boyfriend. “You don’t have to drag me outside all the time. I’m a big boy, I can walk.”

“Tell that to Miss Bustier next time you want to skip gym class. I literally had to drag you by the hand to get you to show up for soccer,” Marc shoots back, stuffing his notebook in his bag and shouldering it. He grabs Nathaniel’s free hand and presses a kiss against his hair.

“That was one time, okay. Will you ever let me live it down?” Nathaniel whines.

“Nope,” Marc responds sunnily with an impish tilt to his smile. “Not when soccer’s my favorite sport. I’ll always remember you not wanting to play.”

“I still showed up in the end to balance out the teams…” the redhead pouts, walking with his boyfriend as they exit the art room and make their way down the hall.

“You did! And I’m proud. That was a big thing for you, Nath,” Marc nods, swinging their connected hands slightly.

Nathaniel ducks his head, flustered. “It wasn’t a big deal. I just did what I had to—”

“Well, sometimes those are the hardest things to do.”

He’s just saying that, Nathaniel thinks as he bites his lip and glances up at Marc, he’s just being nice. He probably still thinks you were a whiny brat and totally lazy for not wanting to go in the first place.

“The hardest things to do…” he mutters as he turns his attention back to their path as they exit the school, heading towards the park.

Nathaniel never has to make hard decisions or have hard things to do. He’s just so scatterbrained and cowardly, even simple tasks get blown up into a huge production in his head. It used to be worse when he was younger, though, without getting diagnosed with ADHD and getting the medication for it. But still…

The hardest thing to do… Nathaniel thinks he knows what that would be, as he sees the fountain in the distance. The place that holds so many memories, not all of them good…

“A comic book? Us…? Never!” The memory of his cruelty echoes thickly in his ears, making Nathaniel wilt. His palms get gross and clammy. His stomach twists itself into knots so hard he feels like he wants to throw up.

It’s a relief to sit down on the edge of the fountain, his knees weak and wobbly. Marc looks at him with such sweet concern just then, it makes him feel supremely guilty. “Nath? Do you want to go home instead? I’ll walk you back—”

“Don’t,” Nathaniel chokes out, ripping his hand away from Marc’s so he can rub the sweat away on his thighs.

He feels his heartrate thump in his ears as he tries to breath. Is he having a panic attack? He’s not sure.

“Nath, do you want me to touch you?” Marc asks softly.

“No,” he says firmly, gripping his knees tight as he tries to do some breathing exercises. He’s so fucking pathetic. Why is he like this…? “No, I—Marc.”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry. I just. Please.” He takes one last shuddering breath, and decides, he’ll do it. He’ll make the hard decision. “Please just break it off already.”

There’s a long silence then. Nathaniel’s too cowardly to look at the other’s reaction, but he hears the other gasp in shock.

“What?” Marc says, alarmed, and then there’s a hand on his. Those familiar fingerless gloves glint slightly in the sunlight as Marc’s painted nails thread through his. “Nath, please. What are you talking about…?

“Dump me,” Nathaniel chokes out, “I—I’m a fucking mess, Marc. You don’t deserve putting up with me.”

“Don’t deserve—are you even listening to yourself?” Marc demands, sounding angry than anything. Nathaniel can’t help but cringe, making himself small and shying away. He tries to pull his hand from Marc’s, but the other just holds onto his hand tighter.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s taken me this long to make you happy. I should’ve let you be free sooner—”

“Nathaniel, no,” the writer says firmly. “No I’m not—I’m not forced into this relationship with you. You’re not letting me be free by breaking up with me.” Well, that’s a bit hard to believe, since he’s such a burden— “Nath, look at me.”

Nathaniel flinches. Marc sounds furious—more furious than he’s ever sounded before. But Nathaniel does what he says, looking up at Marc through his bangs.

“How can you think any of this? How can you say those things about yourself?” Marc demands, tears budding in his pretty emerald eyes. Nathaniel gapes back at him, panicked at seeing the other nearly crying from frustration.

“Marc—”

“No. You listen here, Nathaniel Kurtzberg. I like being with you,” he states, thick with emotion. Using his free hand, he swipes at his eyes. “I just—if you didn’t want to date me, fine. People break up all the time, and I’m not the easiest to deal with, either. I get too emotional. I used to have panic attacks once a week. I’m sure anyone would get sick from that.”

“Marc…” Nathaniel gasps, squeezing his hand back. “Marc, no. I—You’re amazing. I don’t hold your panic attacks against you—”

“Then why…? Why are you saying that I ‘put up with you’, if that’s not what you’re doing with me?”

And that’s when the flood comes, unbidden as Nathaniel babbles out, “I—you’re way more outgoing than me. People—people like you more. You’re smart and talented and so fucking nice. You’ve got top grades, and you’re the star of the soccer team. You could be dating anyone you wanted to, Marc. Anyone. So why settle for a—a stupid, lazy, hard-to-please loser like me?”

Nathaniel pants for breath after his torrent of word-vomit. He’s never said all these things aloud before to Marc, all these insecurities.

“…You really think that about yourself?” Marc asks quietly, emerald eyes shining with more unshed tears. “Nathaniel… I’m not settling for you. You are the sweetest, funniest, most genuine person I’ve ever met. You’re such a talented artist, it seems like every time I look over at you, you’re improving leaps and bounds. But you don’t have an ego, and you’re modest, and you’re so passionate about what you make it inspires me. You inspire me, each and every day.”

Nathaniel gapes back in shock, stunned silent by the other’s raw thoughts.

“It feels like I’m the one lucky to have you as my boyfriend. So don’t you dare say that I should dump you when you’re the only person I ever wanted to be with so hard it hurts. Unless you hate me and our relationship, then fine, dump me—”

“No! No—Marc, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Nathaniel confesses frantically, clutching back at Marc’s hand like a lifeline.

Marc’s hard expression softens, thumb swiping Nathaniel’s knuckles. “So are you.”

“Even after I got you Akumatized?” he asks in a thin, disbelieving voice.

“Oh, Nathaniel…” Marc says with feeling, a look of heartbreak on his pretty face. He carefully raises his hands, giving Nathaniel enough time to see what he’s going to do before cupping his face. “Is that what all this is about?”

Nathaniel’s lips tremble. “You should hate me, for what I did.”

Marc shakes his head. “That’s long in the past. And I don’t hate you. I never have.” He leans in to gently press their foreheads together. “How can you think I’m anything but hopelessly in love with you?”

Nathaniel finds himself letting out a shuddering breath. He searches those bright green depths. Waiting to see an ounce of dishonesty or discontent. But all Nathaniel can see is an honesty so genuine, it makes him ache.

“I just—” he starts, voice cracking. “I was such an asshole to you that day.”

“You’re different today than you were back then,” Marc adds softly, still cradling the artist’s face with such tenderness it makes tears prick in his eyes. “Why would I still hate you after everything you’ve done for me, everything we’ve been through together…? You’ve apologized so many times to me, Nath. And I’ve forgiven you a long time ago.”

“I… I’m sorry,” Nathaniel chokes out, before he’s sobbing like he’s five years old instead of fifteen.

“Oh, Nath…” Marc sighs. He quickly pulls the artist’s head down to lie against the crook of his neck and shoulder before wrapping him in a hug. Nathaniel buries his head against Marc’s neck, shuddering out sobs and tears of pure relief and adoration.

“You love me… You love me,” he warbles out, clutching back to Marc fiercely.

Marc’s arms just tighten around him in response, their bodies swaying slightly as comforting things slip past his lips. “Shhh, Nath. It’s okay. I love you so much… Let it out. I’ll still be here for you…”

It takes a good minute or two, but Nathaniel finally cries himself out, hiccupping and gasping for breath. Marc’s neck and the edge of his hoodie is soaked in tears, but Marc’s warm and comforting as he rocks them both in their embrace. It helps the artist push past the faint feeling of embarrassment as he basks in Marc’s love and care.

He always feels so warm and safe and comfortable with Marc. It’s just the little niggling in the back of his mind, that voice of anxiety and paranoia that insists that Marc hates him, that ruins his time with his comic partner. Marc’s one of his best friends even before they started dating. Their bond only grew closer once they got together romantically.

Nathaniel felt lucky he could have such an amazing, talented, kind, gorgeous boy to be by his side. He felt like he was living something too good to be true. That he didn’t deserve Marc.

But he does. He deserves Marc—because Marc loves him. Thinks Nathaniel is worthy to love him just as much as he loves Nathaniel. And that should be enough, shouldn’t it…?

Nathaniel feels lighter, now. His stomach stops twisting into knots, his heart slowing it’s frantic beating driven by fear and shame. It’s like a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

“Thanks, Marc,” Nathaniel says with a sniffle against the other’s neck. He pulls back just enough to press a quick and teary kiss against his boyfriend’s cheek. “Sorry, I’m kinda snotty right now—”

“I still think you’re handsome,” Marc says loyally, letting Nathaniel go from his embrace. He turns to slot their lips together, completely ignoring how much of a mess the redhead is. And Nathaniel feels himself melt even further.

“Sap,” Nathaniel says fondly once they part with a wet laugh. He pats his pockets, finding a stray tissue to swipe at his eyes and blow his nose with. “Ugh. I feel crusty.”

“But you seem much better now. I think crying’s helped release your bottled-up emotions,” the writer says with a soft smile. He carefully tucks his boyfriend’s long bangs behind his ear. “It’s like you can finally breathe again, right?”

“Yeah. It does feel like that,” Nathaniel notes wonderingly, hands wandering to grab Marc’s forearms. “Huh. I guess it’s been a while since I last cried.”

“Couldn’t be me. I cry way too often,” Marc says sheepishly with a little cringe.

The artist shakes his head. “I think you cry just the right amount,” he says warmly, a smile tugging his lips. “Plus, I think it’s cute you get so invested in the characters of things you love, you get emotional when stuff happens to them. It shows you really care.”

“If you say so…” Marc trails off with a little pout, ears flushing pink.

“I know so,” Nathaniel says. He gets on his toes to give a kiss against Marc’s button nose. Marc scrunches said nose, going cross-eyed in bewilderment, and the artist can’t help the warm laugh that spills out of his mouth. “Um, I kinda want to just curl up in some blankets and cuddle right now. We could watch something too, if you want…?”

“I’d love to.” Marc gives an easy smile and adds, “You wanted to show me Ponyo, right? That movie looks sweet.”

“The little kiddy fish movie? You sure? ‘Cuz there are other things you might like better—"

Marc cuts him off with a swift kiss. When he pulls back, he grins down at Nathaniel with fond exasperation. “You love the Ghibli movies. And I love watching them with you. I think it’s a good choice.”

That’s right. Marc doesn’t hate Nathaniel. That includes not hating when Nathaniel wants to watch certain things that Marc might not know about.

“Okay. It’s super cute, so you’ll probably enjoy it, too,” Nathaniel admits with a nod, threading his hand through Marc’s. Their fingers curl together naturally, like little puzzle pieces slotting into place perfectly.

“I probably will. You’ve got good taste,” Marc says warmly. He raises their connected hands to kiss Nathaniel’s knuckles, and it makes a lovestruck smile spread on the artist’s lips.

“Alright…”

And then Nathaniel was tugging Marc along to go back to his house, feeling as light as a feather with his boyfriend by his side, swinging their connected hands slightly and smiling down at Nathaniel like he hung the moon and stars.

Nathaniel might be different now than he was back then—might be more willing to love and trust and collaborate with others—but the feeling of bone-deep affection for Marc since he first complimented Nathaniel’s drawings has always been there. And that won’t ever change.

---

Nathaniel breathes a sigh when he exits his therapist’s office, feeling strung out and tired… but in an oddly good way.

Marc is sitting in a chair in the waiting room, head snapping up and leaping to his feet. “Nath…! How’d it go?”

“Well, my therapist confirmed a few things I kinda already figured,” Nathaniel explains as he goes over to Marc. His boyfriend instantly threads their hands together, and it makes a smile naturally try to tilt his lips.

“You wanna talk about it, or are you good for now?” Marc asks with concern and doe eyes, “I know therapy sessions can be a lot to deal with. Either way, I support you.”

“I know, Marc. Thanks,” Nathaniel says, oh so fond and full of love he feels like he might burst. He leads them out of the waiting room, Marc beginning to swing their hands a bit. “I—so it turns out I have Major Depressive Disorder. Which explains a lot. Especially all the, like. Massive self-loathing.”

“Ah,” Marc replies softly, squeezing Nathaniel’s hand in comfort. “At least you’re going in the right direction, then. Getting help for it.”

“Yeah,” Nathaniel says, letting out a long sigh of relief. “I’ve gotta wait to see first how anti-depressants mix with my ADHD meds before I get any prescriptions. But I think just having the therapy sessions for now will help.”

“Good. I’m so proud of you, Nath,” Marc says, stopping them in place. Nathaniel blinks as Marc cups his face with his free hand. “I really am. I love you. And I’ll keep coming to wait for you for your sessions.”

“Marc…” the artist breathes, feeling choked up. He gives a wobbly smile and says a heartfelt, “Thanks. For always being there for me.”

“You’d do that same for me,” Marc says firmly, “You already do. I—we’re partners. Okay?”

“Okay,” Nathaniel nods, before he’s leaning up to kiss Marc on the lips. Marc kisses back, quick and eager, rubbing Nathaniel’s cheek with his thumb. Nathaniel finds himself melting from the kiss, from the unconditional love and support.

It’s different, to be going to therapy. To have someone so completely and utterly supportive of him seeking help. But it’s a good change.

Nathaniel is different now than he was back then when they first met. He’s finally happy. He’s healing.

Nathaniel is a different person, and he loves himself more than he ever has before. And no matter the changes, Marc loves him, too.

#marcnath #marc anciel #nathaniel kurtzberg #marcaniel #miraculous ladybug #fanfic #mexicat writes #mexicat asks #prompt #ask game

[awritingcaitlin]

Brutal choke in a fight

Adler’s first shot did not miss his target. His first shot did not seem to matter either in the grand scheme of things.

The Nidtrin elf leapt at Adler, who fired on reflex, striking his target in the gut and robbing the jump of its force as the elf sprawled on the floor two feet from Adler’s boots. That was a fight-ender as far as Adler was concerned, so he kicked the elf viciously in the head to make sure he stayed down and then focused his attention on getting Riela to the stairs.

He reasoned this would give her the best defensible position in case any of the possessed people or the wayward Nidtrin or two survived whatever Killian was about to do to them.

He turned around as the big longshoreman reached out and spun Riela around by one of her shoulders. She would’ve fallen had he not caught her by the throat in an unsophisticated, yet brutal, choke. Riela’s eyes bulged as she tried to stab him with her knives, but the man simply shook her and it was a wonder she held onto them.

Adler’d wasn’t going to risk shooting past Riela. Too dangerous of a game. Instead, he bounded to the pair and feinted to the left. The longshoreman bodily swung Riela that way to keep her between them. Adler switched his pistol to his off-hand in mid-stride. He dove and twisted as he shoved the gun against his target’s kneecap and pulled the trigger.

-for @nosebleedclub's February writing prompt 10. brutality

#writeblr #writeblr community #writing community #fantasy #sff #my writing #writing prompt answers #the brewing war #riela #nathaniel

[thiefbird]

19, 42, or 48 for the micro story? 😁

I... May have done all three

19: Sea Change, for Anders and Nathaniel Howe(just a HINT of past Nanders)

He was... So different from the flippant young man Nathaniel recalled chasing skirts (and trousers) around the Vigil. Of course he was. But was it only Justice's presence that enacted such a sea change in him?

Nathaniel doubted it. Justice had always been... Idealistic. Almost naive. This new Anders was cynical, beaten, downtrodden. It hurt his heart to see his... To see Anders like this, to see how his time away had hurt him.

42: Savior, for my Warden Dirthail Mahariel Sabrae and Alistair(they have a Complicated Relationship that toes the line between ace-romantic and platonic)(this one got away from me in length)

Sometimes, Alistair wondered how he'd gotten so lucky.

Sure, he'd gotten a rotten start, between Isolde and the Chantry, and then throw in losing Duncan and the other Wardens. But gazing across the campfire, watching Leliana weave a complicated braid into Dirthail's hair, he felt so Maker-damned lucky he could cry.

Until the *harpy* opened her mouth, that is. Alistair didn't understand how Dirthail tolerated her, let alone why he spent his time hunting down baubles and trinkets to gift her.

Morrigan muttered a complaint about the state of tonight's dinner, but before Alistair could formulate a response to defend the honor of his cooking, Dirthail brushed Leliana off and shot Morrigan a nasty look.

"If you'd like to cook, be my guest. Until then, no complaints. *I* think Alistair's cooking is delightful."

Alistair flushed, ducking his head at the unearned praise. Morrigan sneered at him, tossing her head dismissively.

"I do not understand why you forever choose to be his savior, Dirthail. You save him from his responsibilities as senior Grey Warden, you save him from darkspawn, you save him from the slightest criticism," she said haughtily before retreating to her own campfire.

Dirth dropped to the ground beside Alistair, butting his head affectionately into the taller man's shoulder. "Just ignore her, Ali," he murmured softly, leaning his full weight against Alistair's side. "She's just nervous and prickly about going South again."

Alistair sighed mournfully. "She's right, though. You're always coming to my rescue."

"And I always will. I'm your savior. And you're mine."

48: Rampage, for Justice and Anders (this one is kinda sad; I wanted to play with Anders'/Justice's guilt complex, and how they try to atone for their perceived sins)

They'd almost killed a child. A mage child, a young girl they'd meant to rescue.

All because they couldn't control themselves around Templars.

Just the sight of purple and silver made their jaw clench, their shoulders hunch defensively. The Sword of Mercy (they couldn't even laugh at the irony of the name, not after Karl and the mercy they'd shown him) sent them on a rampage. It wasn't safe for them to be around people, but every time they thought to leave, another Darktown resident would appear at the clinic door to halt their packing. They couldn't abandon those who needed them.

And sure they kept working, till the was more lyrium than blood in their veins, till their stomach cramped with hunger, till their fingers bled. And then, just a little bit longer. Always a little bit longer.

#dragon age fanfic #prompts #nanders #nathaniel howe #anders #nathanders #dirthail mahariel #alistair theirin #mahariel x Alistair #mahariel x morrigan #if you squint #justice #i am Justice positive but i don't think Anders is always justice positive and this is his/Justice's pov #thiefbird writes

[iinkheart]

❝ You’re here because you want what you’ve been fantasizing about ever since you left the other night. ❞ ( gisnate and/or billiam)

“You’re here because you want what you’ve been fantasising about ever since you left the other night.”

Camille Park is no stranger to walking up to doors to close a chapter. Leaving – people, places, promises – is her greatest talent. Yet approaching this one feels more like admitting defeat than reaching a conclusion.

It takes Xander long enough to open that she’s already ready to stab him. Just a little. A light poison pinprick as payback for the pounding music leaking from under the door. 

“Forget something, sweetheart?”

“Sophie’s homework,” slips out automatically, ignoring the lean he’s adopted against the doorframe. It’s not the sharp rejoinder she was aiming for, but it’s the best she can do at present. There are miles of skin on display, and Camille finally understands Ada’s whole approach to attraction. One glimpse of her infernal ex-husband looming over her in nothing but a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants, and her brain promptly melts out of her ear. Smug motherfucker. Clearly, the jibes she’s been making about the dad bod are precisely that, because he looks good. Sinfully so. Maybe enough to make up for the insolently pleased smirk that spreads across his face the longer she stays quiet.

He finally gives up on her elaborating. “Sophie doesn’t forget her homework. Also, it is August. No school.”

“Right. Ada’s babysitting her.”

He doesn’t ask anything else, just raises an eyebrow. Babysitting. Christ, even she heard how that one came out sounding. Why would a 12-year old need to be watched for the half hour it would take her to grab something from his apartment? Certainly not one as independent as their daughter.

No, she’s here for an agenda and he knows it.

Xander crosses his arms across his chest, momentarily dragging her glance to the curl of ink around his shoulder. “And you just wanted to come say hi or something?”

“Or something,” she agrees, shifting impatiently.

He doesn’t take the hint. “Say it.”

She cannot speak to him of desire, of the heat pooling in her core just to see him challenging her again. “Sophie’s homework? I already said.”

“Cam.”

“No.”

His smile spreads wider. “Cami.”

Her breath stutters to a halt. That’s not fair, is it? He has no right to go around using nicknames and sounding endeared when this is already nothing. He’s already gone.

“Stop.” 

And see, the thing is that Camille promised. She promised Liam that this time she really would try, and she promised Ada her efforts weren’t going to waste. Not if they were going to stage goddamned interventions. What they don’t have to know won’t hurt them, though. She does plan on talking to him, but later. Before she loses her nerve, but after she has gotten rid of the goddamn itch under her skin that will probably lead to making all sorts of awful decisions. Decisions as awful as advancing on him with one pointed nail poking into the centre of his chest. “She could forget something. Pyjamas. The book she’s reading.”

“She’s in the middle of Lord of the Rings, she would never,” he informs her, letting her back him up as if they are discussing the weather. “Her mother, though. You forget a lot of things, don’t you? How much you want to be here, how good this feels.” He tips her head up with a gentle nudge, thumb stroking her chin.

Oh, she’s going to kill him. She should be used to this by now. After all, isn’t this the back and forth they’ve been trapped in for years now? This doorway is one she has darkened too many times to find foreign, a situation she’s been in too many times to blame anyone else. Once again, it is her own fault. Her, and her lonely goddamn heart that has no idea how to say goodbye.

Liam has just inconveniently pointed it out too, not that she’d ever admit as much to him. 

Camille slams the door shut behind her and whirls to face him again. Her free hand joins the other on his chest. Mostly because, otherwise, she will simply strangle him.

At least that’s the story she’s telling herself after she has just systematically dropped her bag on the table by the door and kicked her shoes off.

Xander welcomes her back like she’s a game he doesn’t know if he wants to play but is confident he will win. “You have to say it if you want it.” His warning is not smug, per se, but it is still somehow infuriating. He knows what she wants.

He also has to know she won’t say it. That’s the whole, awful truth of it, isn’t it?

They know each other all the way through, down to where it hurts.

A deep breath and then she meets his glance head on. “You say it. You’re the one making assumptions.”

He actually laughs at that, which naturally makes her want to throttle him. “It’s not an assumption if it’s true, sweetheart. You’re here because you want what you’ve been fantasising about ever since you left the other night.”

Ah, yes, the other night. As in: the night of the tinder disaster.

Flashback. Camille on yet another uninspiring fuck appointment masquarading as a group outing at a club. A woman who had seemed fun over text but was now grating on her nerves with her high-pitched rambling. Drinks that had stopped being fun and a social situation that had drifted into pathetic instead. A silhouette catching her attention from the corner of her eye. Locking eyes with him on the edge of the dance floor, necking a stranger like it was still 2006. His hand disappearing between him and the other body. The urge to claim what was hers burning through her like wildfire.

Camille snaps. “It’s not about that.”

“Isn’t it?” Xander lifts his other hand to ghost knuckles feather-light against her cheek. The tenderness of it cracks something vile and vicious inside her.

“No. You can fuck as many people as you like, and you’ll still be mine. We both know that. You’re mine.”

Blazing ferocity. That’s how she declares it. That is how impossible it seems for anyone to claim a single string in the web between them.

It startles her when he doesn’t fight back as she expects.

No, the way he tilts his head and gazes at her feels something akin to pity, and that Camille just can’t abide by. Not with a lock of hair slipping out of its dishevelled coiffure to droop over his forehead rakishly (trust him to be pretty when she feels unhinged), like he gets to be silver-screen handsome while she is slowly spiralling right in front of him.

“Am I? After all this time?” There’s laughter in his tone, but why? Is he laughing with her or at her? It is almost enough to sow the seeds of doubt in her mind, had he not taken hold of both wrists just then. 

Long fingers wrap firmly around her wrist, punctuated by a breathless gasp. It’s so, so stupid. She came here to fuck him. Old hat. Why, then, does this feel shiny and new? Pressed between his fingers and chest, her fingers are warmed by the pounding thrum of his heart under her grip as he begins to slowly lead her to the living room sofa. 

Fuck, what a liar. 

Of course he knows what she wants. When has he not seen her? “It’s just you and me, wanting each other. Who else is there?”

“Why does there need to be someone else? Maybe I’m enough for myself.” He sprawls back across the sofa as he says so — putting necessary space between them, she’s sure. Like that will work. She follows him down, straddling his lap as easily as she has been for most of her life.

“After all this time?” Camille echoes. “You could be, but that doesn’t work for people like you and I, doesn’t it? All these years of belonging nowhere, with nobody, everyone else better off without us. Where else can we go to feel wanted?”

Xander laughs again, this time terrible. “You said no, remember? You said we don’t belong together, so I should take our daughter and leave.”

Oh, so they’re going there now. Finally, after all these years of avoidance and all these months of bickering, it is time to lay the truth bare: “Well, maybe I needed you to stay anyway. I lied.”

“Yeah, that’s not how it works, princess. Besides, you were pretty damn sure back then. Are you sure this isn’t just Liam talking? I hear you’ve been taking advice from him.”

“Yes, because at least one Delgado sibling has the ability to listen more than he likes the sound of his own voice. Not sure why you’re blaming him though. He just wanted me to tell you how I bloody feel. It’s like he doesn’t know you at all.”

“Oh, he knows me, but he knows you too. All of them know by now too. You think I belong to you.”

“Okay,” she agrees, smoothing back his hair. “Tell me you don’t.”

For a moment, his eyes slip shut. His brow furrows and Camille is struck by the urge to kiss him there, to smooth out the lines of worry creasing his forehead. It is pathetic how deep the desire for closeness runs, really.

She’s right there when opens his eyes again, bare inches from his steely gaze. “And you? Who do you belong to?”

“Is that even a question?”

“Don’t be a coward, Camille. Tell me what you want.”

The declaration falls between them bathed in nothing but frustration. “What have I ever wanted? You.”

“To prove it to yourself, right? That I’m still yours – there at your beck and call?” As quiet as he is – and he is muted as a graveyard, deadly serious about holding her accountable for once in their lives – she knows that this is the tipping point. This answer will define them for years to come. Still, she spits it impulsively, because how else could she say the truth?

“No. You haven’t been. That’s the entire damn problem.”

“You don’t think it’s a problem, though. Not strong, independent Camille. Doesn’t need anything or anybody, except to be alone and not held accountable.”

And oh, that one hurts. More than anything, being shown the mirror about what a despicable caricature she’s become stings more than anything. “No, I don’t need anyone. But want? I want you. And Soph. You already know that, you don’t have to be bitchy.”

“Yeah, you sure do want Sophie around. At least when it’s convenient.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t over already. That she still loves me.”

“Sure, but should she?”

Abruptly, that is where it ends. To that, Camille has no idea what to say because she’s known the answer to that one question for years: no, she shouldn’t. For all of her denials and plans, Camille is an exact replica of the awful Adele Rousseau. Even as something she’s been thinking about for years, it’s a hard pill to swallow. 

For maybe the first time since they met, she’s struck dumb in horror. Xander shifts her aside until they aren’t touching anymore, and she lets him manoeuvre them like a marionette cut loose. Him highlighting her faults like she would herself is a new one. Abruptly, she understands why Liam and Ada felt the need to sit down with them. This is what they do now, isn’t it? All they do is cross lines they never have before and find new ways to get the upper hand.

Camille doesn’t know how long she waits for him to say something more. She just stares at her hands, unfocussed, like the paint-stained phalanges are withholding some ancient wisdom from her. 

From the corner of her eye, she watches Xander get up and walk away. Huh. Another metaphor for her life? It seems like it and, as she sits there for silent seconds summoning the strength to walk away from him again, she watches him return.

“Okay, that was uncalled for. No invoking the kid in our arguments, and anyway, it’s not true. She does love you and she knows you’re making an effort now. It counts.”

She can’t even summon the strength to look him in the eye anymore. “Does it? Because you’re right – it shouldn’t.”

He has her hands before she can finish that train of thought, both of hers engulfed in his large, solid grip. “Camille. Of course it does. Of course it fucking should. That was a stupid thing to say. She loves you.”

Camille scoffs, clear precisely how much she believes him. “And I love you. Doesn’t stop us from hurting, does it?”

“No, but hey—” Xander chides gently, cupping her face and turning it towards him again. “—it’s worth it, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know if it is anymore.”

“Of course it is. ‘Cause you’re right, I am. I’m yours. And you’re mine.”

“But, Xander, it’s not enough.”

The admission is whispered between them as she bows her head towards him, leaning her forehead against his. “We’re alone. We keep pushing each other away and it’s miserable, but we don’t cut loose either, so we’re just fucking alone whenever it matters. And anyway, what’s the alternative? After this, how can anything else be enough? How can anyone else be enough? Nobody will ever know us like this. Not that you still resent your mother a little for how quickly she replaced you with Liam. That you love your siblings and they make you feel alive but they can also make you feel so, so small. And not that I’ll never forgive Grandmere for making me exist either. That some nights I can’t sleep for how suffocating it is to be alone and untouched and unwanted but then one of your arms goes around me and all the screaming in my head goes quiet. That’s not something that we just talk about and tell people. We just know. So what’s the alternative, mediocre sex with Jon from Tinder because he has a decent stroke game? That’s pathetic. That’s puny compared to what we could have.”

“Yes. It is.” She barely has a moment to look up at him before Xander curls an arm around her back and pulls her tight against his chest. A fractured breath shudders out of them both. Like this, with her face tucked against the warm, solid expanse of his chest, caged in by firm arms and his head leaning atop hers, she feels anchored. Like a ship come home and tethered where it’s safe. Only the trembling grip around his back, fingers pressing against his skin, betray her.

“If you know all of this,” he finally continues, like they’re not clinging on for dear life, “then why do you insist on pushing me away? You can’t be this committed to being a pain in my ass.”

“Fuck off, I’m the most committed to your ass.”

“Yes, darling, I’m aware.” Xander’s tone drips sarcasm so thoroughly, she almost laughs. “But shut up — you can’t go back into hiding already.”

“It’s terrifying,” she finally admits quietly, and he sighs.

“I know, but being alone isn’t?”

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” She pulls away far enough to look at him again.

At last, he smirks again. “Come on, you know the answer to that.”

The terribly mischievous glint lingering in his eyes bonks her over the head like a particularly helpful club as he tilts her chin up again and carefully brushes his mouth against hers. God, how has she ended up here all over again? They’re somehow wound together on the sofa Xander has had since he moved to Vancouver, but every inch of her being feels like a victor returning home after a war to rest at last. A few thousand may lie dead in their wake and there is destruction to be dealt with, but for now, there is safety and rest.

Camille sighs, whisper-soft, and chases him as he tries to draw back, fingers already lacing in the back of his hair. A laugh breathed against her mouth, and then he gets back to work thoroughly kissing her mouth, her neck, her clavicle.

It should be so embarrassingly juvenile, the wild escapades of their teenage wet dreams, but who cares enough to ponder that? Xander is far more interested in sliding both hands up the back of her sweater and wrestling. She allows herself about two and a half seconds of contemplation before she throws a leg across his to straddle his lap again and gets her delightfully willing, easily pliant lovely ex-husband right between the apex of her thighs until they’re pressed together in the best way possible and she can tilt her head back for the better angle. 

See, this? They’ve never had trouble speaking the same language in this respect before. When Camille presses her mouth to Xander’s again, tongue swiping teasingly against him, she is received with his broad hands cupping her whole entire face – holy shit? – and meeting her open-mouthed. It quickly turns dirty, all tongue and slick mouths and wandering hands. It’s desperate and sloppy, and she loves it, loves how Xander groans into her mouth and bites down on her lower lip with a bitten off curse.

It’s a herculean effort to lean back, to concentrate on saying a single word, especially since he has taken to cupping her breast instead, but. She has to. “Wait, are you trying to fuck me into agreeing with you?”

As expected, all three of Xander’s functioning brain cells are more focussed on pulling her sweater off. “Don’t need to.” He shrugs, giving up on buttons and pulling the offensive garment over her head instead. “I don’t know if you noticed, but you did admit you love me still. I should probably seal the deal, make sure you don’t change your mind. Besides, wasn’t this what you came over to do in the first place?”

#yes i found a prompt from dec 2017 to hurt you what about it #TBF THOUGH i was just gonna give you trash that was the plan #stormscngs #letters from the void. #liza. #answered: meme. #inkstains. #rel: scars on our hearts. #rel: sugar we're going down. #opp: nathaniel matheson. #muse: gisèle rousseau parkinson. #{ writing: gisèle rousseau parkinson. } #anyway this is v dialogue heavy and kinda toxic in places but also mostly just highkey #doing the MOST #you tell them to do literally anything and they make it dirty #but the one time i told them smut #thEY WENT ABSOLUTELY AND UTTERLY UNHINGED #they're supposed to be the fun loser pairing smh smh ANYWAY #im emotionally exhausted from this trip #I HOPE YOU ENJOY THOUGH ALMOST BDAY GIRL!!!!!

[hunnybadgerv]

July Writing Prompts | Day 2

Summary: The Warden-Commander’s arrival at Vigil’s Keep proved far more exciting than planned, even managing to reconnect her with a long departed family friend with a renewed opinion of her.

a/n: Written for July Writing Prompts: Day 2 - Unexpected Reunion

Apologies, I'm posting these as first drafts because I only discovered the list recently and I want to try and keep up with it if possible.

Unexpected Reunion

The man in the cell sat with his back against the stone wall, his forehead leaning on the arm he rested on his knees. Black hair curtained around his face. His lithe frame did not seem to support the tale of his capture, but the Warden-Commander harbored no disbelief in the tale based off his appearance. His clothes were a bit tattered, but well made, and his boots—thick soled, and well-maintained—told her he might not be what they thought him to be.

Garavel didn’t care for the nameless man, who he did not mistake for a thief. His attention to detail raised Yvaine’s opinion of her captain of the guard.

“On your feet, cur,” the tall man ordered.

Yvaine set her hand on his forearm and shook her head. If this prisoner had held his tongue for three days, she did not expect it would loosen now. She held her hand out for the keys.

“Leave us,” she told them.

“Commander?” Garavel asked. It was Varel that guided him out of the dungeon in order her to deal with the situation.

The Warden appreciated the senechal’s confidence in her, people questioning her tended to put her on edge and lower her opinion of them. She studied the man in the cell who stayed curled up like a snake. Once everyone else had left, she unlocked the cell door. It screeched as it opened outward.

Perhaps out of hubris or just curiosity, she approached him, only stopping when the toes of her boots were within inches of his. Yvaine wanted to see this serpent’s strike for herself.

“If it isn’t the great hero,” he said, eyes still on the floor.

She made no reply.

In the next moment, he was on his feet and lunging at her. In the frenzy of dark hair and bared teeth, something familiar struck out at her as well. His hand closed on her throat. Yvaine shifted her weight and jammed her knee upward into his groin without a trace of remorse or caution. The man choked on his own breath, enough strength fading from his grasp to allow her to pull his hand off her. She twisted that arm behind his back as he crumpled to the floor. Leaning forward, she wrapped a handful of his greasy black hair in her fist and jerked his back to allow her a close study his face.

She thought she’d glimpsed something familiar in him when he launched himself at her. Once icy blue eyes glared up at her, baring his teeth in a pained hiss, she was certain of it.

“Nate?” she said, her voice holding a note of familiar softness. Nathaniel Howe and Fergus had been friends. She’d straggled behind them trying to keep up with them when she was small. When she was older, she’d grown tired of trying to be included and instead sought out to show both of them up on the field—the only place it really mattered. 

It seemed like a whole other lifetime ago, now.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Yvaine Cousland,” he growled back in a tone clouded with darkness and ire. Clearly, he was not as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Fanfiction #Badger Scribbles #Yvaine Cousland #Nathaniel Howe #Ser Garavel #July Writing Prompts

[icanbeyourgenie]

“ You're playing hard to get... I mean, to know. Hard to know. ” – Achilles to Nathaniel

Nathaniel fought a smile. It wasn't really effective.

“Hard to get?” he teased.

“To know.” Achilles corrected again. “Just a slip of the tongue.”

Nathaniel dropped it, but inside he felt a pleasant warmth. He was only with Achilles for a few days - just three really - but he could already tell how infatuated he was with the doctor. He should have already gone back to the sea, the traces of his victim were gone by now, but he couldn't bring himself to leave the man just yet.

“Well, as much as I'd love to say I'm just playing the mysterious card, I'm not. I genuinely can't answer this question.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don't remember.”

Achilles raised an eyebrow. The two of them had spent the last days talking about many things and asking each other questions. There were a lot Nate couldn't answer, especially regarding his family. Because he had to keep it secret, but also because he didn't want Achilles' attitude to change.

But the last question Achilles asked was about his time before he was a siren. And as much as he wished to remember, he couldn't.

“Because you're asking about a time before I can remember. Sirens don't have memories of before their transformation.”

Nathaniel could see he picked Achilles' interest. He quickly learnt that the man had a very good memory, maybe the concept of not remembering was foreign to him?

“I see.... Can I try something?”

“That's onimous.” Nate answered, but Achilles laughed while coming a bit closer, and it was enough to bring back the butterflies.

“Just... trust me?”

So he did. Achilles came a bit closer against, and softly touched Nathaniel's temple with his fingers. The contact sent shivers down Nate's spine. They were very close now, but none of them seemed to care.

Nathaniel closed his eyes on instinct, and then something strange happened. It was just noises at first. A voice calling his name, the sound of the wind blowing through the trees, and then a face. A face of a man who looked like him. Who was smiling.

It lasted only a second but when Nate opened his eyes, his breathing was out of control and he realized he had grabbed Achilles' hand. He didn't know yet if he intended to move it away, or to keep it on his temple, so he just froze and looked at the man. Nate was breathing heavily, confusion in his eyes.

“What... what just happened?”

“It's my fault, I should've asked, I just wanted to see if I could... Well, the thing with memories is that they're never really lost. Even when we forget, they're here somewhere.”

“So... this voice... this face...?”

“I don't know who they are. But I can tell that your memories are here. If you want to, I can retrieve them for you.”

Nathaniel was still breathing heavily, but at some point Achilles fully took his hand in his and was gently stroking his skin, which helped him relax a little.

Nate felt his entire world shifting. He was convinced that his memories of his previous life were lost. He made his peace with that a long time ago. But now he could have them back? He didn't know yet if he wanted too? What if they were terrible?

“Just breathe. You don't have to answer right now.”

Nathaniel realized that Achilles came a bit closer in order to calm him down. Strangely, it worked. His breathing came back to normal and he smiled while looking at the doctor.

“I don't have the answer yet, but what I can tell you is that I was right.”

“On what point?”

“You're a very, very intriguing man. I can't wait to know more about your story.”

#it's short but i so wanted to write it anyway #i love them so damn much. #they really said “talking stage? what is that? love at first sight or nothing” #nathaniel blackwater #nathaniel x achilles #nathaniel writing prompt #writing prompt #likeafairytale

[windborn]

prompt if you're interested: post awakening, fergus reacting to cousland being involved with nathaniel howe

WHEN DID THIS PROMPT HAPPEN!? I will do this. This is exactly the sort of thing I need to get the creative juices going again.

#dragon age #nathaniel howe #fergus cousland #writing prompt #answered

[miraculousfanworks]

Fanfiction Prompt

When Marinette walked into her classroom, the only one there to meet her was Adrien. Marinette: What's… um… going on? Adrien: I have no idea? Downstairs, in the boiler room, an emergency class meeting was in progress. Rose: One more time, so I can be sure that I'm hearing this right. Nino: We have spent all year trying to figure out how to help Marinette confess to Adrien. Juleka: Using fair means and foul. Kim: Yup. Max: And now… Adrien's realized that he's in love with her, too. Ivan: So he's asked us for help in figuring out how to win her heart… Alix: Because "she totally doesn't see him that way." Nathaniel: And she's not jumping for joy at this news. She's kind of… avoiding him? Mylene: She might not even know for sure, but yeah, the universe has flipped over. Alix: And you can't tell us why. Alya: Yeah. I can't tell you why. Rose Can we ask Monarch for help? He might be the lesser threat to our sanity here.

via @dfcfanfics

#miraculous ladybug #ml #miraculous fanworks #prompt #writing prompt #LoveSquare #adrinette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #rose lavillant #nino lahiffe #juleka couffaine #le chien kim #max kante #alix kubdel #nathaniel kurtzberg #mylene haprele #alya cesaire #akuma class

[sulky-valkyrie]

fenris/anders/nate prompt: da2 quest 'finding nathaniel', fenris seeing anders flirt with nate, and nate also seeing anders flirt with fenris. bonus points for being jealous and in denial, DOUBLE bonus points for any reflections on changes or consistencies in anders from awakening to da2

hullo my darling!! This may have run off the rails a bit, and I'm not sure I earned all my points, but I hope you like it regardless and HAPPY FRIDAY 💖💖💖 for @dadrunkwriting

“That was foolish, but timely; thank y - Anders?”  The Warden they’d rescued stopped mid-sentence to gape at the man in question.

Regret and . . . something else flickered across his face.  “You can’t get rid of me, Howe.”

Howe shook his head.  “Never wanted to,” he said softly, so softly that Fenris was certain no one was meant to hear it. 

Hawke prodded at one of the corpses with their staff.  “So, why are you down here, anyway?  Other than to upset your sister.”

“Delilah’s here?”  He sighed.  “Maker, she’s as bad as our m-”

“As bad as the Commander, right?” Anders cut him off with a tinge of hysterical desperation in his voice.  “’Where are you going, how are you getting there, when will you be back, did you bring mittens, don’t let the darkspawn smack you on the ass on the way out?’”

He frowned.  “It’s his -”

“Anyway, let’s get out of here, right?”  The mage took a few steps forward, then glanced back at Fenris, clearly conflicted.  “I - everyone, this is Nate.  He’s -” He cocked his head and looked at Nate.  “There are more of them.”

Nate nodded grimly.  “There were six of us originally.  I tried to lead the rest of the pack away to give Dworkin’s cousin time to set the lyrium charges.”

“Maker, is he as bad as -”

“He is,” Nate chuckled.  

It was like they weren’t even speaking in Trade anymore.  Fenris gave Hawke and Isabela a helpless look.  Bela, of course, made a rude gesture impling sex, and Hawke shrugged as they crouched down to pick at the nearest corpse for anything useful.  “You said you had to lead them away?  Away from where?”

Nate shook his head.  “I can’t tell you that.”  He turned to leave.  

“Asshole, do you want help or not?”  Anders snapped, lunging forward to grab at the quiver on his back and spin him around.  “If you go back down there alone, you’ll die!” 

Nate shrugged.  “You did.  Suppose it’s my turn now.”  He started to pull away.  “And if you get involved, I won’t be able to keep everyone quiet.  Not this time.”

“Do I look like I care?!” Anders hissed, grabbing at his elbow as cracks of blue light spilled out from his skin.  “This isn’t about me, this is about people in danger, and I’m not about to just let you die if we can help it!”

Nate looked down at the fingers digging into his arm, then smiled sadly.  “I suppose not.  Good to see you, Justice.”

Justice pursed his lips in annoyance.  “You were not happy to see me before.”

“I -”  Nate closed his mouth.  “I was wrong about that.  Can this wait?  If you want to help, if anyone is still alive, we need to move.”

“It would not be just to allow innocents to come to harm while selfishly looking for my own answers,” Justice agreed.  He released Nate’s arm and pulled out his staff.  “Lead on.”

He didn’t even check to see if the rest of them followed as he and Nate headed down the hallway.  

Hawke sighed, pulled themselves back up to their feet, and started after him, with Bela close behind.  Nothing about this felt right.  Anders was being cagey, Justice was upset, Hawke was following instead of leading, and Bela was keeping her mouth shut.  Did she know this other Warden from back in Ferelden as well?  

Hawke’s voice echoed as Fenris hurried after them.  “Nate, do you know my brother?  Carver Hawke?”

There was a long awkward pause.  “We’ve met,” Nate said slowly.  “He was - he’s in Orlais.”

Bela leaned close to Hawke to stage whisper in their ear as Fenris caught up.  “I smell a story there.”

They barked a short laugh.  “That’s not all you smell.  Was it this bad last time?”

“Thaw’s ending,” Anders answered.  “More of them around.  A lot more.”  He tilted his head, like a dog scenting something.  “Emissary?  No, two.”

Nate chuckled fondly.  “Justice finally taught you how to do that?”  

“More like Kristoff.”  He tapped his temple.  “It’s pretty crowded up here.”

Fenris frowned.  Who was Kristoff?  And why was Anders so concerned anyway?  He’d spent the last seven years bitching about Vigil’s Keep; had it all been a lie?  And if it had all been a lie, what else was he hiding?  Before he could ask anything, as if by some sort of unspoken agreement, Nate and Anders broke into a sprint around the next bend.  

There was a woosh of fire, bright enough that Fenris had to look away, and a rasping scream that turned into a gurgling death rattle. Fenris rushed forward, sword at the ready, but found nothing to attack.

“These seem . . . less fearsome,” Anders mused thoughtfully as he toed at a charred corpse and juggled a small ball of lightning from one hand to the other.

“I’m not sure anything could be scary after the Mother,” Nate replied as he yanked an arrow out of a genlock’s corpse.  

Anders snickered.  “Too many tits, that’ll scare any man off.”  

The easy camaraderie between them made Fenris’ heart clench.  He’d never considered himself jealous or possessive before, but the look in Nate’s eyes when Anders laughed made him want to rip them right out of his skull.  What was their history?  Any fool could see they had one.  

Another pack of darkspawn rounded the corner.  They didn’t seem to notice or care that there were three other people in the cave, just screamed in that almost-language of theirs and charged directly at the two Wardens.  

Fenris was too far to intercept them, and coming from the wrong angle, but he tried anyway, flaring his lyrium for the extra speed.

And it didn’t matter.  Anders threw the lightning out almost casually, and Nate sent a volley of arrows out so quickly it was a wonder the force of the spell didn’t shatter them.  The darkspawn were pinned down in a matter of moments, and the ones that hadn’t been stunned outright pulled out makeshift bows and slings.  

The entire side of the cave crackled with magic as Anders continued to hurl electricity and fire, and Fenris decided he was better off just sitting this one out and watching.  They fought together seamlessly, almost like a dance, constantly moving, constantly weaving in front of each other, and somehow never hitting the other with a spell or an arrow.  It was a dizzying display, and horrifyingly effective.  Each spin and turn they did left another darkspawn dead and another two grievously wounded. 

Fasta vass.  Fenris had never felt so useless in his life.  He’d been ready to fight tooth and nail to keep him here, keep him safe, but . . . even in the Deep Roads, even surrounded by charred genlocks and exploded emissaries, Anders looked happy.  Happier than he’d ever seen him in Kirkwall.

Whatever their history was, it was obvious that they still cared for each other, and who was Fenris to stand in the way of that?  A runaway slave and an elf living in a derelict stolen mansion.  What could he offer him?  Certainly not safety or security.  The Wardens might come with their own kind of death sentence, but at least he’d be safe from Templars.

“You’ve gotten sloppy,” Nate said, breathing hard and smiling.

“Not much call for Warden practice drills in the sewer.” He shrugged.  

Nate’s arm circled his waist in a way that was clear he’d done it many times before.  “Come home.”  

Anders leaned into his touch, then shook his head, almost like he’d suddenly remembered something, and stepped back, tossing an apologetic glance at Fenris.  “I - I can’t.”  He shook his head again as Justice surfaced.  “There is too much to do and we are two souls in one body.”

“Aedan and I could protect you,” Nate protested.  “Void take it, even the bloody King likes you, so-”

“No more hiding, Nathaniel.  The Grey Wardens have their own justice to pursue and we have ours.”

Nate caught his sleeve. “But -”

Justice receded as Anders patted his hand gently.  “I’m not the man I was, Nate.  You wouldn’t like this one as much anyway.”

“I like him alive,” Nate grumbled, letting go and walking stiffly over to the pile of corpses to retrieve his arrows.  

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as they continued through the tunnels, broken up only by brief skirmishes and briefer thank yous afterward.   Anders wouldn’t meet Fenris’ eyes, but he also kept his distance from Nate as much as fighting in close quarters would allow.  By the time they finally made it down to the lyrium charges, not even Bela and Hawke could keep the conversation and they could talk about anything.

They found a dwarf with a head wound behind an outcropping near one of the explosives.  As Anders patched him up, Nate sidled over.

“He’s trying to hide it, but I’ve seen how he looks at you.  Are you and Anders . . . something?”  he asked quietly.

“Were you?”  It was petty, answering a question with a question.  He might not fight to keep him, but he wasn’t going to surrender either.

Nate sighed.  “Felt like a lifetime ago.”

Anger flared up in his chest, spreading out like fire through his markings.  “Then why did you let this happen to him?” he hissed.  “Why take the cat, why let them try to kill him?  Why let him merge with a-”

“You think I had a choice in any of that?”  Nate snapped back.

“There’s always a choice,” Fenris growled.  “And you chose to -”

Suddenly Anders was between them, pressing them apart, and eyes flashing blue.  “Not now, Temmerin says Merrin was still alive when he ran.  That cut to his head was still fresh, he can’t have been unconscious for long.” 

Nate nodded sharply and turned to follow the trail of bombs back to their source.  Anders watched him and sighed wistfully as he tucked his hand into Fenris’ palm.  “I never thought I’d see him again,” he muttered softly.  “Didn’t expect it to hurt this bad.”

He squeezed Anders’ hand lightly.  “What did Justice mean about him not being happy to see him again?”

“We - he found me.”  He shuddered.  “After we . . . you know.  Covered everything up for me so it would look like I died.  Wasn’t happy about any of it.”

“And Ser Pounce-a-Lot?”  Fenris asked.  “Did he -”

Anders barked a harsh laugh.  “No, that was someone else who ordered that.  Nate suggested giving him to his sister, actually.  We gave him to my - Kristoff’s widow.  We were going to see her when Rolan cornered us.”  He shuddered.  “We should keep moving.”

The stench increased the deeper they went; it was that sickly sweet odor of decaying flesh, but mixed with burned hair and excrement.  Hawke had their face covered with a sleeve, and even Bela looked a bit green, but the two Wardens didn’t seem phased at all.  Was this some other side effect of the Joining?  Or were they simply used to it?

They found Merrin’s corpse surrounded by charred pieces of ogres a few hours later, though ‘corpse’ was a generous way to describe it.  ‘Smear’ was more accurate.  Nate crouched down to examine the remains.  “He must’ve waited to detonate it until they were practically on top of him,” Nate said, suddenly looking years older.  “We were too late.”

“Story of my life,” Anders muttered.  

Nate exhaled slowly as he stood up.  “Thanks for the help.  I suppose we don’t need to worry about anyone finding out.”

Anders ran a hand through his hair and made a frustrated noise.  “At least come back to Kirkwall.  Prove to Delilah you’re not dead?”

“Weisshaupt is waiting for a report.”

“They won’t get it for three months, they can wait a few more days.” Anders caught his quiver, in almost the same gesture as before.  “At least have a hot meal and a night’s sleep in a real bed? For old times sake?”

Fenris frowned.  “Anders, I’m not -”

“I’m not inviting him home,” he sighed, then tugged at Nate again.  “Just a night at the Hanged Man, choking down mystery stew and making friends with the fleas.”

Nate chuckled softly.  “You drive a hard bargain.  Fine.”

~~

They camped out near the surface that evening.  Bela and Hawke had spent most of the trek talking quietly.  Fenris caught a few snatches here and there of what sounded like a hushed argument, but he wasn’t about to get involved in any sort of lovers’ quarrel.  He wasn’t about to get involved in any ex-lovers’ quarrels either, but Venhedis, it was difficult.  

His lip twisted up grimly as he glanced over at Nate while he speared some foraged mushrooms on a stick to roast over the fire.  Anders was circling the perimeter anxiously, apparently too full of nervous energy to rest even after spending all that mana fighting and healing.

“You’ve been watching me,” Nate said.

There was no reason to deny it.  “So have you.”

“He makes terrible decisions sometimes,” Nate replied, answering the real question that hung between them.  “I hope you’re not one of them.”

“Were you?”

Nate flinched.  “In the end?  Probably.  Don’t let him push you away when he’s -” he sighed.  “Does he even still get like that?  Those moods when everything is wrong, especially him?”

Fenris thought back to Anders arriving on his doorstep after he and Justice nearly killed a girl, begging him to tell him whether he was a monster.  “He can,” he answered slowly.

“And you’ve stayed?”

He snorted. “Do I look like I’ve gone anywhere?”

“Don’t.”  Nate wiped at his eye.  “He’s - he needs people.  People who don’t leave.”

“Like you’re going to.  Again.”  Why was he arguing with him about it?  Was this even an argument?  Shouldn’t he be glad any former lover would soon be on his way and out of their lives?  Fenris turned to watch Anders picking his way around the camp.  Blue light flashes across his skin occasionally, and his mouth was moving constantly.  Some sort of discussion with Justice, no doubt.  

No.  He shouldn’t be glad.  Not when it hurt Anders like this.  The man had lost enough, and seeing him regain a measure of it, even for a moment, just to watch it fade away?  Unacceptable.

“You heard him: the Wardens have our own justice, and he has his.”  He shook his head ruefully.  “Literally.”

“Come home with us.”  Fenris felt almost as surprised by his words as Nate looked.  He swallowed and tried to backtrack through whatever reasoning had lead that snap decision.  “He - you said it yourself: he needs people who don’t leave.”

Nate arched an eyebrow.  “And where will you be?”

“Wherever he wants.”  His face warmed as he realized how many ways that could be taken.  Fenris walked over to the other side of the fire to crouch next to him and offer his hand.  “We know you can’t stay, but that doesn’t mean you have to leave.”

He looked down at his palm curiously.  Cautiously.  “They’ll come looking for me.”  It wasn’t an excuse, but a warning.

Fenris bared his teeth.  “Let them.”

Nate answered him with a feral grin of his own as he clasped his forearm.  

“What Andraste’s oversized bloomers are you doing?”  Anders was closing in on them, and squinting suspiciously.  “You’re not telling him about all the dumb shit I did in Vigil’s Keep, are you?”

“Haven’t had the time.”  He stood up fluidly, pulling Fenris up behind him with an unexpected strength, then cupped Anders’ cheek.  "But I'll make it later."

Anders' eyes widened, then rolled toward Fenris in surprise. "I don't - what?"

Fenris smiled and stepped to his other side to wrap an arm around his waist and press a gentle kiss to his jaw.  “If you wish it, he’ll be returning home with us.”

#da drunk writing circle #nathaniel howe #anders #fenris #anders x fenris #nathaniel howe x anders #DA2 #Finding Nathaniel Quest #fanfic writing #pre-fennanders #prompt fills

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

THANK YOU, EVERYONE, FOR 1000+ FOLLOWERS!

Thank you, everyone, for your comments, reblogs and likes. Thank you for your asks. Thank you for your support.

😊😊😊

And, as a little celebration, I want to start an 'event'.

Self-Aware BSD AU x SAGAU Imposter AU Crossover

"If you weren't alone"

What would happen, if Reader were transported into Teyvat with someone from BSD Cast.

I want to write a series of headcannons/short imagines.

Rules:

1. If you want some general headcannon/prompt, send me next ask: "BSD Character Name, SAGAU"

2. If you want to see some specific interaction, or characters being in specific region, send me next ask: "BSD Cast Name, SAGAU, Region, and/or, GI Character"

3. You can ask for organisations (ADA, Hunting Dogs...), smaller groups (Flags, Buraiha...) and specific characters.

One ask - one organisation

One ask - one group

One ask - up to three characters

4. Oda's kids are considered as a group and as one character at the same time. You can ask for two more characters with them.

5. Elise are Mori's 'plus one'. She won't fill a character spot. You can ask for two more characters with Mori. Same with Elise, Mori is her 'plus one' without taking a spot. However, you can ask strictly for Elise/Mori. In that case, they will take one spot.

6. You can ask for both OG! Manga and BEAST! Characters. Character list are under the cut.

7. It's short fic/imagine or pure headcannons event. While I will keep this ideas in mind for a future, I won't write full fics for now.

8. Karl and Ayatsuji's cats are viewed as 'plus one' for Poe and Ayatsuji, and won't fill free character spot, leaving two more spots. You can ask not to include them.

9. You can ask solely for Karl or Ayatsuji's cats. In that case, they will fill characters spot. Ayatsuji's cats viewed as one character.

10. Mii-chan and Natsume Soseki are fiewed as one independent character. If you choose Haruno and want Mii-chan with her, you also should ask for Natsume.

11. Buraiha is fiewed as one group. You can ask for specific Flag characters.

12. You can ask for Zenku/Soukoku/Shin either as one group, or pick characters separately and have a chance to add one more character.

ABOUT READER:

You can ask for GN/Fem/Male Reader.

You can ask for Child/Teen/Reader.

Specify in ask, if have some preference for Reader.

If you don't specify, Reader will GN and Adult.

List of characters and their organisations:

1. Adam Frankenstein (Others)

2 Akutagawa Ryunosuke (Port Mafia, Shin Soukoku)

3. Albatross (Port Mafia, Flags)

4. Louisa May Alkott (The Guild)

5. Ango Sakaguchi (The Government, Buraiha)

6. Atsushi Nakajima (Armed Detective Agency, Shin Soukoku)

7. Aya Koda (Others)

8. Ayatsuji Yukito (The Government)

9. Bram Stoker (DOA)

10. Chuuya Nakahara (PM, Soukoku, Flags, if clarified in ask)

11. Dazai Osamu (ADA, Soukoku, Buraiha)

12. Doc (PM, Flags)

13. Fyodor Dostoevsky (Rats and DOA)

14. Elise (PM)

15. Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald (The Guild)

16. Fukuchi Ouchi (Hunting Dogs, DOA and Fukuzawa/Fukuchi Duo)

17. Fukuzawa Yukichi (ADA, Zenku Soukoku and Fukuzawa/Fukuchi duo)

18. André Gide (Others)

19. Gin Akutagawa (PM)

20. Nikolai Gogol (DOA)

21. Ivan Goncharov (Rats)

22. Nathaniel Hawthorne (The Guild)

23. Ichiyou Higuichi (PM)

24. Icemen (PM, Flags)

25. Saigiku Jouno (HD)

26. Tanizaki Junchirou (ADA)

27. Motojirou Kajii (PM)

28. Karma (PM)

29. Katai Tayama (ADA)

30. Kenji Miyazawa (ADA)

31. Kirako Haruno (ADA)

32. Kouyou Ozaki (PM)

33. Kunikida Doppo (ADA)

34. Kyouka Izumi (ADA)

35. Kyuusaku Yumeno (PM)

36. Lippman (PM, Flags)

37. Howard Philips Lovecraft (The Guild)

38. Lucy Maud Montgomery (The Guild)

39. Herman Melville (The Guild)

40. Margaret Mitchell (The Guild)

41. Mizuki Tsujimura (The Government)

42. Mori Ougai (PM, Zenku Soukoku)

43. Naomi Tanizaki (ADA)

44. Natsume Soseki (Others)

45. Oda Sakunosuke (PM)

46. Oda's orphans (Others)

47. Oguri Mushitarou (The Government)

48. Piano Man (PM, Flags)

49. Edgar Allan Poe (The Guild)

59. Alexander Pushkin (Rats)

60. Ranpo Edogawa (ADA)

61. Arthur Rimbaud (PM)

62. Shibusawa Tatsuhiko (Others)

63. Sigma (DOA, can be added to ADA, if clarified in ask)

64. John Steinbeck (The Guild)

65. Tachihara Michizou (PM and HD)

66. Santouka Taneda (The Government)

67. Teruko Okura (HD)

68. Tetchou Suehiro (HD)

69. Mark Twain (The Guild)

70. Paul Verlaine (PM)

71. Yosano Akiko (ADA)

_____

BEAST Characters

1. Atsushi Nakajima (PM, BEAST Shin Soukoku)

2. Akutagawa Ryunosuke (ADA, BEAST Shin Soukoku)

3. Dazai Osamu (PM, BEAST Soukoku)

4. Chuuya Nakahara (PM, BEAST Soukoku)

5. Oda Sakunosuke (ADA)

6. Gin Akutagawa (PM)

7. Mori Ougai (BEAST Others)

8. Elise (BEAST Others)

9. Kyouka Izumi (PM)

_____

Maybe, you will be interested. Tag list: @withered-blossoms , @myluckymoon @cocodrilofeliz @c4xcocoa @vvyeislazzy @whisperingwinters

#self-awarebsd #self-awareau #imposter sagau

[emry-stars-art]

The princess bride is an incredible movie but I have to say my very favorite scene is the sword fight between Westley and Inigo. (I fence so this scene is one of my all time favorites) Anyway what I’m proposing is that Andrew learned to fence growing up and kept at it. First because it would be very cool and second because I think everyone should fence especially gay royalty.

And you're RIGHT

So. I drew it obviously but i also love the idea of this being one of Nathaniel and Andrew's first close encounters. So I also wrote it here, thank you SO MUCH for your tips on how fencing works and i hope it doesn't mess it up too bad that I switched around some of the rules, we'll say it's Palmetto's traditions 💕😅

And actually I think this it's how Nathaniel gets to be Andrew's bodyguard in the first place. You guys read the ideas below and tell me if you agree or not bc honestlyyyyyyy 👀

(Find the royal au writing masterpost here 💕)

The first thing Andrew notices is that Nathaniel listens. He didn't expect to be taken seriously with "Don't come back until you're equal in the sport". Or he expected Nathaniel to come back time and time again to challenge him until he finally beat Andrew by luck or sheer probability. But the next time Day tries to hand Andrew's fencing off to Nathaniel again, Nathaniel declines (which infuriates Day in his usual huffy attitude but thats besides the point).

When Day goes over to question Nathaniel on it where he's leaning on the fence - again just watching - Nathaniel only says "I'm not good enough yet." Not "the prince ordered it" or "I'm not allowed to". It seems like he really is just listening to what Andrew said.

Day tries to say he's fine, he needs work but he's getting better. He won't get "good" without more practice. But Nathaniel only shakes his head.

Andrew finds this horribly interesting.

So Nathaniel keeps practicing with Day and maybe some others - maybe he gets to practice against some soldiers and he meets Matthew Boyd, the infantryman the myth the legend (was that even a rank back then I can't remember. Probably). Until finally, a good while later, Nathaniel actually manages to beat Day. They're both surprised, but time and time again Nathaniel proves he's at almost equal skill. And if he's equal to Day, he has a chance against Andrew.

Andrew's first hint that something has changed is that Day actually asks Nathaniel again - he'd stopped trying after a second refusal. The next is that Nathaniel actually accepts.

It's exhilarating to have Nathaniel on the other end of his challenge once more. It takes more clear prompting, but he even has Nathaniel talking again, though less boldly than the last time. He enjoys it (by Andrew's terms in a sport he still considers halfway useless) as much as he had the first.

Nathaniel wins fair and square.

After that, seeing Nathaniel take his words so literally and respect them and then best him in fair hand-to-hand combat? Andrew knows exactly who to ask for when Day's finally had enough of being his stand-in guard.

#thissssss was super fun hehe #i was bemoaning the loss of the sword under the chin #bc it doesnt take far into nathaniel/abram's employment for both of them to be very careful with each other #MUCH LESS after evermore #but we snuck it in bois #anyway #fan art #my art #my writing #royal au #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #kevin day #asks