An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Arlo and Avery haven't been together for more than a month yet, and while half of the city must think they're jumping one another at every opportunity, they... haven't.
They've held hands. They've cuddled up on Avery's too-small couch for hours at a time. They've kissed ā in fact, they've kissed a lot. Every chance they get, like they're glued to one another.
The simmering heat under their skin has been content to just be that; a simmer. A warm excitement, the flush of something new, something content to take its time.
That is, until Avery takes Arlo on a date late at nightā
That is, until Arlo pours him just slightly too much wineā
That is, until they're panting against one another, hidden under the privacy of a moonless nightā
That is, until something snaps and they catch themselves boiling.
Hey guys! Long time no see. Remember Avery? I published pt 1 of a spicy Arlo/Avery fic on ao3 last night for the hell of it so hereās the link if you wanna read! <3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 7/?
Fandom: My Time At Portia (Video Game)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Summary:
Ayla's first full day in Portia isn't really the best. Moving to an entirely different city when you're a small settlement gal whose never left home is always rough.
Chapter 6 and 7 is out now! My brain turned off for weeks and suddenly got struck by motivation so weāre getting two chapters at once instead of one.
āSweetie! If youāre going to the Danger Ruins, count me in, Iāll protect you.ā
A solemn smile descended upon you, āArlo, you knew I didnāt like it when you put it like Iām some kind a damsel in distress.ā You crossed your arms, raising your eyebrow expectantly. The sunset-haired man let out a subtle sigh, smiling knowingly after having a similar conversation every other day. Arlo understood more than anything that you were undoubtedly very capable of taking care of yourself.
Of course he did, after witnessing your victory over any danger ruins there are in the Portia, barely scathed. Hell, he knew damn well you could easily take down any member of the civil corps any time of the day, including himself.
But that did not and will not change the desire Arlo has of wanting to protect you, the person he loves. Smiling a little to himself, Arlo drew a hand to your face, wiping what you guessed must be dirt or a smudge from the machines worked with closely on a daily basis. The feeling of his thumb under your bag of eyes was rough, but extremely loving. Sometimes you couldnāt comprehend the actions Arlo does and what did it do to your heart. Honestly, the man was full of wonders.
āOkay, I think thatās enough,ā you said holding his hand, stopping his gesture. āAre you sure you donāt want me in?ā He gave your hand a squeeze, a sign of assurance. āArlo,ā you whined, knowing for sure heās doing it intentionally. A low and buttery chuckle escaped him, āOkay, okay. Just be careful and donāt go overboard, alright? The last thing we need was the extinction of monsters, the civil corps members would be out of job if you tried hard enough.ā
You let out a satisfied smile, āIāll keep that in mind.ā
Jude: āDonāt know if I can help you with anything about love issue. Iāll try to be a good listener at least.ā
Arlo:Ā ā Thanks, that will do. So the thing is...ā
Iām writing a Arlo x Male builder fanfic! This is a quick sketch of the scene in it where Arlo asks the builder about what to do with Noraās confession. The builder dudeās name is Jude, a one-hundred-percent introvert, sentiment is the thing he hates the most and he loves cats. He might seems unfriendly but he can be cute sometimes lol. Below is the sketch I did before I started writing. I thought it would be fun to let a total opposite character romance Arlo, actually itās more like the other way round though lol.
My fic is calledĀ āNight Crawler at Portiaā and there are 11 chapters so far. Check it out if you are interested! Comments and kudos are highly appreciated! THXXXDĀ
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 5/?
Fandom: My Time At Portia (Video Game)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapter 5 is out because I impulsively worked on it on a work night instead of sleeping all night like I shouldāve. I had a part of this one sitting around since 2019 so Iām glad it gets to see the light of day finally. One more chapter and I think weāll finally get to the Tree Farm.
This is from chapter 12 where Jude is spying on Arlo trying to find out whether he accepted Noraās confession or not. Heās the kind of person that will never ask questions like this and rather to find out the answer himself lol
Hi guys! If you arenāt aware, I wrote a thirteen-chapter, 38,611-word builder/Arlo fic called you have to know that by now, which you can read here. And Iām writing a sequel!Ā
I havenāt made much headway with writing the yet-unnamed sequel, but I did finish the prologue, and it doesĀ give you a pretty good look at whatās going on. I figured Iād share, since Iām not sure when Iāll be able to devote more time to this and update semi-regularly. So, without further ado, hereās your sneak peek!Ā
Words: 1826
day one---
Avery smiled easily.Ā
He grinned and he winked and he laughed and he shone under the warm lights in the barn, passing between his cousins and ducking under auntsā and unclesā arms like water slipping between rocks. The music from his handmade boombox filled the barn to the brim, the old-world cassette singing sweetly to them about lost love and new beginnings. The music spiked dramatically in volume as someone bumped the dial and Avery froze for a moment, a jolt of panic ricocheting through his chest. He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply, opening them with a new sparkle, a new smile, and a new smooth joke about whatever the hell his Aunt Denise was talking about. She reached forward and touched his arm with a warm hand as she laughed- it felt like television static buzzing angrily under his skin. His instinct was to tear his arm away from her grip but he suppressed it just in time, his hand twitching with the effort.Ā
āI really should go check in with Aunt Ken,ā he insisted, putting up a hand as his throat tightened.Ā
Her jaw dropped in exaggerated offense. āShe gets to see you every time youāre in Barnarock!ā she complained. āWeāre only here all together once every couple years, I have a lot of catching up to do!āĀ
He grinned sheepishly. āI know, I know.ā He took a half step back, and her hand trailed off until only her manicured fingernails remained caught in his shirt. She finally dropped her arm. āIāll see you soon, though. We have all week.ā She rolled her eyes lightheartedly and waved him off.Ā
He cast his eyes around the barn and felt something constrict in his chest.Ā Ā
Thereās so many people.Ā
It wasnāt even everyone- the kids had gone to bed, and some of their parents, too. But the rest of the family had packed into the barn, sheltering their party from the pounding rain outside-
Lights, the rain.Ā
It fell upon the tin roof with such force and vigor that, along with the heavy beat of the music, everyone was yelling to make themselves heard. Avery backed away from the center of the mass, dodging and weaving, avoiding eye contact and conversations until he gently bumped into the worn wooden wall. He touched it gently, feeling its rough edges and pulling his hands back for fear of splinters. He shuffled to the side until his hip met the snack table and he hovered over it, arms crossed tightly, hoping to appear busy enough to be left alone for a moment. There was no quiet space, there was no dark corner to retreat to and recharge, there was no getting outside without being drenched. He was as far from the boombox as he could be and the depressing lyrics of the upbeat tune were still clear, as was Anthonyās voice yammering on about his studies and Aunt Gabby talking about the price of gasoline and his unclesā political debate and the hammering on the roof and-
His nails dug into his arms and he didnāt notice, the feeling dulled under scarred skin. He met the gaze of his reflection in the spiked punch bowl- his eyes were wide and his pupils pinpricks. The sight startled him.
I need to leave.Ā
A cool breeze grazed his cheek, and he looked up at the door across the table. It was cracked open, letting the stuffy air out and the cool air in, beckoning him with the static sound of the downpour. He glanced around, still deciding but already edging closer. He wondered if anyone would see him leave, if anyone would notice him gone in a crowd so large, if anyone would mind all that much.Ā
He led with one hand, feeling the weight of the raindrops in his palm. They hit hard- in fact, they almost stung- but they were cool on his warm, calloused hands. This close to the door, the fresh air wrapped slowly around his overheated neck, taking him by the waist and luring him closer. He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder, but nobody was looking, too busy laughing and screeching and clinking glasses of golden wine.Ā
He stepped out into the dark.Ā
Walking through the downpour felt like parting a curtain that wouldnāt end, and Avery could only do his best to keep the rain from his eyes as he pried his space into the atmosphere. The flickering bulb on his auntās porch was his beacon in the black night, tossing light out across the otherwise pitch-black yard. He watched his feet, trying not to stumble, and stepped over the three short steps onto his auntās porch.Ā
With his hand and forehead pressed to the door, dripping wet under the protection of the awning, he closed his eyes and released a breath. Something tight loosened in his lungs. He turned back and watched the barn quietly, traced his eyes over the light pouring through the cracks in the wooden walls, like stretched seams fit to burst. His grip on the doorknob tightened slightly and he slipped inside.
He peeled off his denim jacket and hung it on a hook by the door, watching with a pang of guilt as it dripped heartily onto the floor. The mop bucket was in its usual spot by the stairs, so after he toed off his boots he dragged it underneath his jacket. The drops splattered loudly against the tin, but it was better than leaving a puddle at the door. He slipped across the kitchen and to the staircase; the stairs creaked gently, but he avoided the loudest spots with practiced ease even though he was alone.Ā
He went to the bathroom to brush his teeth but met his own eyes in the mirror instead. He looked tired. He leaned in, inspecting a small red spot on his chin, when a vivid memory of Arlo standing behind him in his bathroom at home flashed across his eyes.Ā
Donāt pick at your skin, heād told him, pulling his hand away and lacing it with his own. Avery had complained but quietly relished the touch, leaning back into his warm chest as they prepared to face the day together. Watching someone comb their hair and brush their teeth had never felt intimate before those mornings with Arlo.
But now.Ā
Avery gripped the sides of his auntās sink, white knuckles to match the porcelain. He hissed out a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face and fumbling for his toothbrush. He kept his head down as he brushed his teeth, staring intently at the water flowing down the drain. He couldnāt face his reflection again; he couldnāt stomach the reminder that he was alone.Ā Ā
He moved slowly into his bedroom. The guestĀ bedroom, he had to remind himself. Without the lights on, the only illumination was what little light made its way through the thick night from the barn; the soft haze of second-hand light blanketed the room. Under the layer of dust that he couldnāt see but could feel under wandering fingertips, he knew that the room needed more care than he could give it while he was here. He hated visiting Barnarock like this. He hated coming home to find his old life encased in dust like a bug in amber, frozen in suspension as the world around it changed. He needed fresh air. The only fresh thing in the room was his bed, tucked against the small window with recently laundered sheets. Eyes fixed on the dim light from outside, Avery marched to his bed, eyes wide to the light in determination and knees squeaking the springs. He crossed his legs and sat, finding the window latch and flicking it aside, but as he planted his hands against the wood and pushed the window stayed firmly shut. The frame had swollen in the summer humidity. No. Enough had gone wrong recently; the dust was suffocating, he needed fresh air, he needed to go home, he needed to throw out Arloās-Ā
I am done thinking about Arlo, he told himself, and clambered up onto his knees. The backs of his eyes burned. I am done crying about Arlo, he told himself, and braced his hands on the wood once more. I am done with Arlo, he decided, and with one great heave the window panel swung forward, flooding the room with the sound and smell of thunder. He gripped the ledge in a tight fist and tried to ignore the tears on his cheeks, tried to pretend that they were rain, as though heād stuck more than his hands through the window. He inhaled the fresh air and it burned, too much and too fast, too strung with the tension of the moment, and he exhaled it in a choked sob as he clamped a hand over his mouth.Ā
There was a short knock on the door, and Avery froze. He hadnāt heard anyone on the steps. He reached up to wipe at his face, but before he could say anything the door swung open and his Aunt stepped in, a glass of water in her hand.Ā
āAvery, are you being anti--ā their eyes locked and she stopped, face fallen. āOh, honey,ā she breathed, āis this about Arlo?āĀ
Heād opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of his name kicked him firmly in the stomach and he could only choke out another sob of pain. He turned back towards the window and buried his face in his sleeves, trying to recompose himself, trying to just calm down and get past this, but he felt the bed dip behind him and the comforting hand rubbing his shoulder blades, he heard his Aunt Kendra sigh and tell him that heād been so strong all day, and he knew there was no reigning it in.Ā Ā
It took a while.Ā
It took a while of the shaking and sobbing and pounding-angry-confused-upset-lonely headache behind his eyes, but eventually, he calmed down.Ā
He felt empty, and tired, as though heād cried out all of his emotions and would need a refractory period before feeling anything again. The hand was still rubbing circles on his back, slow and steady. He dragged his hands down his face and sighed, felt it echo in his chest. He felt hollow.Ā
The glass of water was pushed into his field of vision.Ā
āDrink this,ā his aunt said quietly. He took it without question and drank half of it, setting it on the small table beside his bed. She sighed deeply, throwing her arm fully across his shoulders and pulling him close. āI know that you said you didnāt want to talk about it before, butā¦ Do you want to tell me what happened yet?āĀ
āIāll-ā Avery started, but he stopped when his voice cracked and wavered over the syllable. He cleared his throat. āIā¦ yeah, justā¦ give me a minute.ā
