#I am acutally really proud of this chapter

[elfboyeros]

The Bridgehidien Ball

Find More Bridgehid Stuff Here

@lerenee @jj-pines @karaboutmyart

"What?"

"The Bridgehidien Ball," Georgia replied, across one of the circular cafeteria tables, "Are you going?"

"I don't know what that is," Rowan replied.

Georgia looked at them with wide eyes.

"You live with Indigo Bookstone freaking Corals, how do you not know?" the seer replied.

"Indigo isn't fond of social events," Maverick remarked, "and Indigo isn't—"

"Do not dis my woman, Ricky," Georgia growled.

"I'm still not being told what the Bridgehidien Ball is," Rowan retorted, looking at their new friends around the table as Georgia and Maverick began to argue.

"The ball is like an American prom," Elias commented, "It goes back to old tradition, the custom brings everyone together at the beginning of the new year, while also throwing a grand party for the lady Bridgehid."

"American prom," Rowan muttered, thinking of all the American teen movies they watched as a little kid.

"So, are you gonna go?" Georgia asked again, "It's this Friday, everyone is invited. Please say you're going."

"I..." Rowan thought for a moment, it would be fun spending time with Georgia, Maverick, Elias, and maybe even Nemo, "I don't have anything to wear."

"It isn't until Friday night," Georgia replied, "We can go out Friday morning and get you something to wear."

"That does sound like fun," Rowan said optimistically, before remembering that they would probably have to ask Indigo for permission.

The week went on quietly, ending on Thursday evening.

Rowan looked for Indigo in her home library. "Indigo?" Rowan questioned, trying to find her in the maze of bookshelves.

"Yes?" she responded, poking her head around one of the shelves.

"Could I go out with Georgia tomorrow?" Rowan asked, "...I wanna go to the Bridghidien Ball, but I don't have anything to wear, so she's gonna help me find something."

Indigo nodded, "You can go. Just be safe," she replied, as she continued to put a stack of books back on the shelf.

"Wow."

"Quoi?"

"I didn't expect that to go so smoothly," Rowan admitted, "I've been anxious about asking to go all week."

"You're sixteen, jellyfish," Indigo chuckled, "You're allowed to go places and have fun. Georgia, Elias, and Maverick are your friends, aren't they? If you want to hang out with them, you can. I just have to know where you are, or where you all are going, and as long as you're back by 22:30 at the latest, I am unbothered."

There was a slight pause, "Thanks," Rowan replied, "I think I'm still getting used to not being at Oceanside."

"I mean you've only been here for a month," Indigo added.

"Yeah," they sighed as they leaned against the closest bookshelf, "It's also weird to have friends."

"Having friends is... different," the mage agreed, "especially when they seem to pop up out of the thin air."

"I never thought I would like being around people this much."

Indigo smiled to herself, "It's like that," she began, "There are those certain people that you click with almost instantly. Those people you won't mind spending the rest of your days with, even though you hadn't wanted to before. Your mother said something like: "You'll find your people whether you like or not, and even if you didn't want to find your people in the first place," she told me that when I asked her to leave me alone when we first met."

Rowan smiled, "You make her seem like Georgia."

"In the way of making friends, she was like Georgia, although your mother wanted to befriend the kids that were not exactly the social type. Georgia however wants to befriend the world."

"Thank you," the teen remarked.

"For what?" Indigo asked in confusion, looking toward Rowan who was now standing away from the shelf.

"For letting me go out tomorrow," they answered, Indigo opened her mouth to reply but Rowan quickly interjected, "and for telling me about my mom."

The French mage closed her mouth for a moment before speaking, "Of course."

Georgia and Rowan agreed to meet at a little boutique in the center of town the next morning, an hour after the shop opened. The shops in the Marquisian town center had a European aesthetic, Rowan thought about the nation they stood in as they waited for their friend.

Marquis Island is an island in the North Sea, with a close relationship to its nearest neighbor, Denmark, and is of fair size, but not nearly as large as Great Britain and some of the other European countries. Though it is part of the EU it is a nation all its own. The nation actually only had two cities, if you can even call them that, one on the East and the other on the West (the west being the "capital" which its royalty and government are and the East where Bridgehid resides). It is sort of funny how the island is seen as a refuge, much of the country is a melting pot of -mostly- Europeans that have stories of leaving their old lives behind for something new, in the quiet whimsical land of fae, sorcerers, and magic.

"Rowan!" Georgia called loudly, snapping the young teen out of their thoughts, "Sorry I'm late. I was on the phone with my bebia, so I lost track of time."

"Bebia?" Rowan questioned.

"... It means grandmother in Georgian."

Rowan nodded, before following Georgia into the boutique. The pair greet the employees.

"Do you want something in pink, since it's your favorite color?" the seer asked as the two of them began to browse the racks of clothing, "You want something with a skirt or pants?"

"Since my hair is pink, I don't like wearing pink clothes," Rowan answered, "...I would rather not wear a dress."

"Alright, to the masculine section!" Georgia remarked with vigor.

The two friends spent a while in the shop perusing the men's section.

Georgia pulled many garments to get Rowan's opinion, which was mostly a shrug and a head tilt to the side. They came across a dull green suit jacket and high-waisted matching pants.

"Georgia," they verbalized, holding up the ensemble, "...What do you think about this?"

"This is really cute!" she proclaimed, "You just need an undershirt."

Rowan nodded in agreement, before wandering around the store a little while longer. They went with Georgia while she went into the feminine section.

Georgia was looking for a dress that was formal enough for the ball but fitting with her personality. While she found a light orange gown with flower detailing on the sleeves, bodice, and hem, Rowan found a lace undershirt.

Happy with the clothes the both of them had picked, they decided to pick a few accessories.

Rowan grabbed a pair of shoes before paying for their items.

Afterwards the two stopped at a café after having a late lunch together, then they both headed to Indigo and Calvin's place to get ready for the night ahead.

"I'm back!" Rowan shouted, taking off their shoes at the door and slipping on some home slippers.

"Is Georgia with you?" Indigo called, from the kitchen.

"Yeah!" Rowan declared, looking over at their friend who had those magical stairs in her eyes, like she had in magic class, clearly marveling at the home she was in.

"Did you two have a nice day out?" the Frenchwoman asked while walking out of the kitchen and into the living room. She was dressed in a robe with her hair wrapped up in a towel.

Rowan started heading towards their room with Georgia following slowly behind.

"Yeah, I was surprised that I found stuff I like," the teen answered, motioning to the shopping bag in their hand.

"Merveilleux!" Indigo remarked, turning her gaze to Georgia who was still in awe of the mage's home.

"Your home is beautiful," Georgia complimented.

The mage professor smiled, which was basically a shot in Georgia's heart, it was very obvious who Georgia looked up to.

"We should go get ready if we want to meet Elias to take pictures together," Rowan remarked, as the Georgian seer was still in admiration of the woman in front of her.

"Right," she squeaked out, following Rowan down the hallway to their room with a skip in her step.

"Okay!" Georgia uttered in a confident stance turning from the pile of items on Rowan's bed, "No makeup, light makeup, a lot of makeup?"

"Uhm... light makeup," Rowan replied, sitting in their desk chair.

The teen artist pulled out a few pallets and cosmetic bags sitting them on the desk before beginning to work, "I never thought I would be in Indigo's house, like ever," Georgia commented, with a soft smile.

"You look up to her," Rowan stated.

Georgia nodded, "My family moved here when I was little, and there was a day the whole family went on a shopping trip in the town square," she explained, "And of course because I was little, I got lost. I touched some random guy by accident and -because I'm a seer- I froze. I saw stuff I didn't need or want to see. And of course, the guy I touched wasn't genuinely nice. Just imagine little Georgia in the town square being stared down by a large ass man with a really mean look on his face. He was about to punch me, a literal child. Then she popped up out of nowhere – Can you close your eyes, please?

Rowan stayed silent, wishing for the girl putting the pigment on their eyelid to continue, "She was this goddess-like being in my child brain, this woman that appeared from the heavens to save a small Georgian child," she continued while continuing to do the pink haired teen's make-up, "...And then seeing her in action! Her talents go beyond controlling the elements, obviously, but Indigo punches and kicks grown men in the face. When it was over, I was awe-struck, and couldn't stop thinking of the mage with the turquoise & lavender hair, and her handsome knight with the épée. Just because they were so cool!"

"Do Indigo and Calvin remember you?" Rowan asked curiously.

"Calvin doesn't, he only knows me as Maverick's friend and my older sibling's little sister," the seer answered, "Indigo does, I've been trying to become her apprentice for the past year!"

"She won't let you?"

"...Not through the college, if I would have become her apprentice – open your lips a little. I could have gotten into some of the college classes early, but every time I've asked, her answer was always no. Now that I'm actually at the college, I haven't gotten the chance to ask her."

"Maybe the answer will be different," Rowan commented, hopeful for their friend.

"Me too. Okay I'm done, look!"

Rowan looked in the mirror that sat on their desk, seeing the light and natural make-up upon their face, "I like it," they commented.

"Yay!" Georgia exclaimed, and started going to grab her gown, accessories, and make-up bag, "I'm gonna get ready in the bathroom, then we can go meet up with Elias."

Rowan nodded while continuing to stare at themselves in their little desk mirror as the Georgian seer left the room, only to start pulling their items out of their shopping bags a few moments later.

They took out their braids, after putting on the lace shirt, dull green slacks, and suit jacket. Layering two belts on their waist, and slipping on their new dark dress shoes, they were satisfied. Well, satisfied after just slicking back their hair to get it out of their face.

"What do you think?" Georgia asked, reentering the room, and spinning around in her peach-colored gown with the flower details. Her face was covered in orange, yellow, and gold make-up, "You look great!"

"You look really cute," Rowan complimented.

"Alright, let's go meet Elias!" Georgia declared, before the pair left the bedroom.

"Oh hi, Mr. Bookstone," she remarked as she saw Calvin walking down the other side of the hallway, heading to his bedroom.

"Don't call me that," Calvin chuckled, waving, "You two look nice."

The two of them thanked him as they passed each other.

"Be safe and have fun tonight!" Calvin encouraged as the teens left for the front door.

The two of them met up with Elias on the college campus and aided the photographer in one of his favorite pastimes before entering one of the great halls for merrymaking. They met up with Maverick in the process.

The rounded ivory walls and marble brown floors, the room is full of many people in ornate gowns and suits. Everyone was pleasantly enjoying themselves with the food and drink provided.

Maverick seemed to be looking for Nemo.

"Nemo is..." Elias searched the sea of people before seeing the ravenette speaking to his tutor, "over there, Mave."

Maverick nodded, waving to his friends before linking up with his boyfriend, as Nemo and Sloan (along with Casper, because he and Sloan are never separated) went their separate ways.

"Woah!" Georgia exclaimed as her eyes locked on Indigo and Calvin when they walked into the ballroom.

Indigo wore an emerald gown; her hair was worn up messily. Calvin was in all black from his shoes to his open front shirt.

"...I wonder how he got that scar," Elias muttered, calling attention to the large scar on Calvin's chest that happened to be on full display, to which Georgia and Rowan shrugged.

"Am I going to get a dance out of you tonight, love?" Sloan inquired, catching Indigo's attention as she stepped aside to talk to others in the ballroom.

"Possibly, dear, but not at the moment," Indigo countered.

"What about me?" Casper asked with his hands, which made the mage smile.

"Of course, lead the way!" she responded before he took her hand and began to lead her to the dance floor.

"I'm stealing your husband," she mouthed jokingly to Sloan, before being led away.

"Do you want to dance with me, Sloan?" Calvin asked.

"I would rather not," the alchemist professor sighed into his drink, "Plus, you and I have nothing to discuss."

"Fair enough," Calvin chuckled.

The night was full of life, full of dancing, adults drinking, having fun with friends, and eating small finger foods.

While Georgia was off speaking to some of her friends from the art club, and Maverick and Nemo were dancing, Elias and Rowan were off to the side.

Rowan was trying to catch their breath from all the dancing with Georgia, and Elias was looking through his camera.

"Uh... hey," he uttered, catching Rowan's attention, "y-you look really nice."

"Thanks," they spoke with a kind smile. They stared at him trying to take in his appearance: dressed androgynously in cream and white. His outfit was formal, yet simple, with his pearl necklace around his neck, "You look really nice too."

Elias blushed at their compliment before something caught his eye.

"Huh, I wonder what Percy is marching towards," he observed, watching their biology professor move across the ballroom floor.

"I have no idea," Rowan replied, "She looks pissed."

"She always looks pissed," he commented.

Percy stopped beside Indigo, who was on her own for the moment sipping on alcohol, "Corals, we need to talk."

"Ah, hello Percival, how is the year going for you?" Indigo asked, giving Percy a small glance, "You look very nice."

"Your ward shouldn't be in my class!" Percy declared, after rolling her eyes at the mage.

"Why?"

"They are too smart for my class, Indigo!"

Indigo sat her empty glass on a nearby table before turning to Percy, "Aren't you the one that always says that you don't care why students take your classes? And you also often state that your Biology 130 class is the easiest class a student will ever take here."

Percy opened and closed their mouth, "That's not my point. You have seen your ward's testing scores, just like I have. They should be in more high-level classes, so they could be challenged while being educated. ...They already know what I am teaching!"

"I see that being easier on you, you know their work will be perfect every time," Indigo retorted, clearly done with the conversation.

"Your ward—"

"Their name is Rowan," Indigo pronounced with narrow eyes.

"Rowan should be in my organic chemistry class," Percy offered.

"They don't like organic chemistry, they tried taking it before graduating primary school, they barely passed," the mage informed.

"That exactly my point, I—"

"Then talk to Rowan about it," Indigo sighed, making eye contact with Percy.

"You already have, and they said no, and you want me to make them do it," Percy gave a small nod in agreement, "Look, Percival, I have too much to worry about right now, I'm not going to make Rowan do something they don't want to do. Really, if I had things my way, they wouldn't even be here. But here we are, so I'm letting them do as they please."

Indigo looked out at the dance floor.

Georgia and Elias had an impromptu dancing session while Rowan and Maverick watched laughing (Nemo was watching his brother too, although he was not laughing, but smiling slightly).

"And right now, that's what they should be focused on," she ended her remarks with a soft smile.

"When did you become motherly?" Percy scoffed.

"Why are you still so rude?" Indigo retorted with a smirk.

Percy had a retort in the chamber but didn't get to say it as Calvin approached.

"Do you mind if I steal Indigo away for a moment?" he asked politely.

"She's your wife, do whatever you want," Percy scoffed, "We were done."

"Have a nice night, Percival," Indigo said as Calvin began to lead her away by hand.

"You look very nice, by the way, Percy," Calvin called, with his signature smile.

He led her out to the balcony of the dance hall, the night sky a shade of dark blue, the full moon shining on the garden, full of winter plants in full bloom below.

"It's been a while since we've been out here," Indigo commented.

"Seven years," Calvin replied.

"Goddess, we've been married for seven years," she sighed as Calvin turned to face her, "and I did nothing for our anniversary, I'm sorry."

The healer smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear, "It's alright."

"Non, it's not—"

"Indigo, you're enough," he said abruptly, but softly, "We've been busy, it's alright, you're always enough."

She sighed, rubbing her face, "...I feel like I'm falling apart," she admitted.

"I'll catch you, don't worry," Calvin pulled her close to him. Her new height, thanks to her heels, allowed her face to fit perfectly in the crook of his neck, "Dance with me?"

"Of course."

Back in the ballroom Rowan was still enjoying the company of friends.

Until a man with mint hair, covered in scars, and one golden eye loomed, dressed in a satin metallic green dress shirt and a pair of slacks approached them.

"Rowan King?" he asked, his voice was an odd "normal" compared to his appearance.

"That's me," Rowan responded.

The man stared at them. Their friends looked at him, seeming intrigued.

"Come with me for a moment," the man said firmly.

Rowan looked around the ballroom attempting to find Indigo or Calvin, to no avail, before nodding and following the man to wherever he wanted them to go.

"Who was that?" Georgia asked her friends.

Elias shrugged.

"It looks like the guy that hangs around Duke," Nemo answered.

"The Necromancer," Maverick sighed.

The mint haired man led Rowan to Duke, who had hidden himself in the hall around a group of people all laughing and interacting with one another like the highest of aristocrats.

"Ah, thank you, Neon," Duke thanked, making eye contact with the man Rowan had followed.

Neon passed Duke to sulk in the group of people who were in a corner.

"Hello, Rowan. How have your studies been going?"

"Good," Rowan replied, now being stared at by a group of my ten or so adults, who had stopped loudly snickering with each other and begun speaking in whispers.

"I assume you are having fun tonight."

Rowan nodded, feeling extremely uncomfortable from all the eyes on them.

"I'm surprised Indigo is letting you be so free," Duke commented, "although I assume she doesn't keep an eye on you for long."

There was something about his tone when mentioning Indigo, it was clear he's not a fan, even though he is the one who brought her up.

"Indigo and Calvin treat me almost like an adult, they give me a curfew and keep track of my whereabouts, but I am allowed to be a normal teenager," Rowan commented, hoping that their reply would not continue the conversation for an extended period.

"It shocks me, she hasn't locked you away like she threatened," he scoffed into the glass of whatever he was drinking.

"Pardon?"

"After your mother died," Duke let out a laugh, "Indigo and I got into many arguments, all about your well-being, because simply, Esma was gone."

His flippant way of talking about the deceased huntress, when she's only been spoken about with admiration, is jarring.

"I remember Indigo once said that she was going to keep you away from me, far away actually," he added, "and yet here you are."

Rowan said nothing as the headmaster continued to speak, "She and Sloan think I killed Esma, you know."

"Killed?" Rowan asked quietly.

"And it wouldn't be shocking if they think I caused your father's mysterious illness... which I didn't."

"My... father..."

"Oh, do you not know Jacob?" Duke asked with this smirk that seemed unnatural, and with such an offhanded tone, that clearly showed he had no respect from anyone but himself if that.

Rowan froze.

"Indigo and Sloan should know just because it happens in my college doesn't mean I am the reason it happened, even if it is the death of loved ones," Duke continued, "I hope the best for you, I really do, and I also hope that you didn't inherit your father's weak immune system. Despite what everyone says, you look just like your father, not your mother."

The words were so insignificant, but why didn't Rowan remember their father, this Jacob, who was he? What illness did he have? And Esma! Sloan and Indigo thought she was murdered by Duke. Was this the college negligence Sloan was talking about? What the hell was going on?!

"Let's hope you'll even live longer than they did," was the last thing they remembered him saying, before Rowan disassociated and walked away from him.

"Rowan! Rowan! Are you okay?" Sloan asked in great concern, grabbing their shoulders.

They were no longer standing in front of Duke and his group of his corner people, but now in the middle of the ballroom, seeming dazed and zombie-like, tears perched on their waterline.

"I need... I need Indigo," was all they could muster.

Sloan looked over at Percy, who he had been talking to before he spotted Rowan in the middle of the dance hall.

"I think Calvin took her out to the balcony," the biology professor replied, a hint of worry in her voice.

Rowan followed them out to the terrace, catching Indigo and Calvin mid-kiss before the waterworks started and they broke down.

"Indigo!" they cried, snapping Indigo and Calvin out their romantic gaze.

"Goddess, Rowan, what's wrong?" Indigo asked, rushing over to them.

"Du-Du-Duke talked about my mom," they heaved, hot tears streaming down their face, "He-he-he said you a-an-an-and Sloan think he murdered her."

Indigo was becoming irate, "He mentioned my dad, and he—"

"Bastard," the mage scoffed, before letting go of their arms and marching back into the room.

Rowan couldn't hold themself up in their current state, thankfully, Calvin was present to catch them.

"Woah, woah, woah, I gotcha you kid," he remarked catching them mid-fall, "I've got you."

Indigo's dark colored heels loudly clicked against the marble floor as she stomped her way over to Duke.

She found him in his corner with all his "followers" around him in a circle as he stood in the middle. She pushed her way through all of the people and smacked the smug dean in the face.

"YOU INSENSITIVE BASTARD!"

"Good eveni—"

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO BRING UP JACOB!" she screamed, pushing her finger in his chest, "You've been cursing Esma's name for years, and despite our better judgment Sloan and I have let you, but bringing Jacob into this melodrama when he has nothing to do with it is a low blow. You only did it to get under my skin and make an orphan cry!"

"Angel, let's go," Calvin called, Rowan in his arms. Georgia, Elias, and Maverick running up to him to see what was wrong.

"Is Rowan, okay?" Georgia asked.

"Is there anything we can do?" Maverick questioned.

The healer didn't reply, as everyone continued to listen to Indigo rant loudly.

"I don't just think you are a murderer; I know you are! You hide behind falsehoods to disguise whatever the hell you are actually doing. You are ruining the lives of those that have the displeasure of being in the same room as you."

"And you!" she turned her rage toward that mint haired man that led Rowan to him in the first place, "You just enjoy watching other people's suffering! Is this your revenge? For surpassing you? You old parasitic fu—"

"INDIGO!" Calvin yelled; his voice so loud that it bounced off the walls. He sounded angry, but not at her, no, he was mad at the situation.

Indigo's mouth shut as soon as he screamed her name.

She stared at Duke with so much wrath and heat, while he stood there with a small smirk on his face, his left cheek bright red.

She turned on her heels, and left following her husband, feeling defeated, like she had just lost some game that she didn't know she was playing in the first place.

"What do you think happened?" Georgia asked her male friends as they sat on the college dorm backsteps under the night sky.

After leaving the event not too long after the mage professor, her husband and their friend took leave.

Nemo, a few steps below her, blue smoke from a vape pen he wasn't supposed to have, before sighing, "Indigo mentioned Sloan and they both don't like Duke, so maybe she finally just snapped?"

"Even Calvin was mad," Maverick added, sitting beside the alchemist in training, hugging his legs, "so it has to be deeper than just Indigo not liking Duke."

Elias shrugged beside the young seer, looking up at the stars, "I just hope Rowan is okay."

Georgia, Maverick, and even Nemo all nodded.

[sybilius]

20 Questions for Writers

tagged by: @grand-magnificent thank you so much!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

108! Wow!

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,047,840 words! I've been writing a while :)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

My main right now is pro wrestling, currently NJPW with some AEW :) . I've got a lot of different ones on there, but The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly is still top with 33 fics

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

burn this city, my first fic, lawlight for Death Note. Nothing special tbh.

ghost in the machine, my first longfic and third fic, also lawlight for Death Note and also nothing special.

acute gifts, which was a Beth Harmon / Benny Watts knifekink fic. I got in the Queen's Gambit tag very early and so it rose to the top. It's not too bad, not in my top 10 of my own fics but definitely quite charming.

sword and the pen, my second fic, lawlight for death note, nothing special.

Oesterle's Derealization Claim, a Disco Elysium Mathematicians AU. Cherished fic and I am so glad and proud it climbed the ranks to be top 5 :)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Always! I love responding to comments, it's not always right away but I do get there.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Intentionally? flowers grown in forgotten lungs, probably. Like in a lot of ways, that fic is about L giving up, knowing he's going to die, and saying "fuck that, I'll burn all my ideals and drag as many people as I can down with me". I think other fics that I've written have hit people harder, especially the ones that I intended to make a happier followup and lost energy for it. But that one was meant to be absolutely gutting.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I'm going to go with the most recent one I'm proud of and say blueprint drift, which I'm sure is more melancholy than some other ones but idk, I love the story that's there, I love to see Takeover lowkey husbanding.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not generally, I can't remember if there was anything too egregious? I've gotten a few passive-aggressive "why won't you finish this" pleas but I tend to shut that kind of behaviour right down.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Hell yeah, though less than I used to. I really like writing new and weird scenarios and I've done a LOT at this point. Some of my top 3 weird ones were "skeleton threesome" "the cask of amontillado but it's kink" "spider/bat porn"

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

A few! My craziest is probably Blair Witch Project x The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: The Grey Desert Mythos. Still very proud of that fic!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No! I have had a fic chapter podficced though, which was a transcendent experience: Static Contact [podfic]

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

SO many. SO many. That's probably why my word count is so high hehe

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

HMMM. In practice my favourite is whatever I'm obsessed with at the moment, in which case Jaykada (Jay White / Kazuchika Okada, NJPW). By the numbers? Blondeyes (Angel Eyes / Blondie, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I'm pretty good about letting go of things I don't think I'll finish, so there's nothing I'm holding out desire for at this point. I have a longfic cooking but at present I do think I'll get it together for it.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, strong POV, thematic intensity. People say my settings are very evocative/atmospheric, which is flattering since I worked pretty hard on those.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Humor. I always feel so awkward with clown characters. I don't really do plotty works in the conventional sense, but I don't think that's a weakness, more of just an intention.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

So funny, I'm working on a fic with that right now! I would say the my practice is to write the dialogue however the POV character is able to understand it, and however they parse it. In my mind if you speak the language or know a solid translator, it's all right to actually "quote the dialogue" in its characters for the reader who can speak the language. If you don't, probably best not to use machine translation and only stick to vetted phrases if you can.

For the fic I'm writing right now, it's a lot of fun because the Okada/Jay series spans different stages of understanding they have of each other's language. In the young lion era fic, Jay barely speaks any Japanese, and Okada has patchy English but he's sort of limping along. In the current WIP, Jay's Japanese is better, but not perfect, and similarly with Okada's English. So they sort of speak to each other semi-fluidly and the gaps in understanding are written in the text. So it's fun to think about how in the later fic, Jay speaks fluent Japanese and exclusively talks to Okada in Japanese to keep his language skills sharp.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

In another life, Batman. Specifically I was inspired by The Dark Knight but I based a lot of my work on the comics.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

My favourite fic is always my most recent, which was Shadow Gimmick (a FinJay Fic!). Barring that, the Grey Desert Mythos :)

-

tagging: @girlfriendsofthegalaxy, @jaimehwatson, @blizzardsuplex, @nagdabbit, @elphantasmo and if you wanna do it go for it!

[alwayswriting101]

Fic that I'm never going to post.

Hello everyone, this is the first chapter of a fic that I am absolutely never going to finish, but it was taking up space on my computer but I also didn't want to delete it without acknowledging it existed. So here you go! Basically, I wanted to write a short two-chapter smut fic, realized I'm TERRIBLE at writing smut, and thus never finished this fic. There is no instance of smut or anything inappropriate in what is posted here. Please ignore any spelling or grammar errors. Hope you enjoy!

Title:????

Pairing: Flora/Helia

Themes: Comfort??? Slice of Life???

Summary: Basically, Flora is bored with her life. Helia comes to save her (uncompleted). They were supposed to have s*x but that never happened.

Chapter 1

It was an unusually chilly day as Flora slowly went through the routine of opening her family’s flower shop. She watered the flowers, arranged beautiful bouquets, swept the floor, and finally counted the cash register. Then she sat down behind the counter and prepared for a wonderful day of…nothing. 

Nothing new ever happened in the teeny tiny village of Marigold, Lynphea. Rural by even Lynphean standards, the village barely had a population of 100, and to get that you stretch it to include the cows. Everybody knew everybody, so close that most relationships were practically incestuous. 

Flora hated it. 

She dreamed to be like her childhood friends, Sakura and Lily, who both went Lynphea College to become fairies. Young women rarely left the village, and while Flora was so proud of them, she also felt resentful. Everyday she saw on social media their amazing adventures in the big city: the parties, their new friends, the freedom. She yearned for it… no, she needed it. 

And she almost had it: Flora was a very academically and magically talented nature fairy, some even said she could have been a guardian fairy. She even received a scholarship to Alfea College at 16. Her future was beautiful, it was bright, and there was no stopping her. 

But then her father died. 

And her mother couldn’t cope. 

So Flora finds herself taking care of her mother and younger sister, Miele. Then, she’s delaying her admission to Alfea. She blinks and suddenly finds herself taking over the family business (how else would the bills get paid?). And before she knows it, she’s deferring her acceptance year after year. And just like her parents and her grandparents before her, her life is confined to Marigold, and her struggling family. 

She wouldn’t change any of her decisions; she obviously cared for her sister and would do anything to protect her. But she never wished for this life either. 

Flora sat behind the counter, slowly flipping through a magazine that she already read too many times. Mail from the capital came only once a month, unfortunately. Her neighbors usually come by sometime in the late afternoon to pick up their daily bouquets for their wives, and all the remaining online orders were packed up and shipped out the night before. The morning was usually slow. 

The bells chimed at the front door, but Flora didn’t even bother to glance up. “Good morning Mr. Nightshade,” she called, as he usually was the first of the gentleman to pick up his order, “Are you off work today?”

“Well, I’m not Mr. Nightshade, and I’m actually in the middle of my work, so I’m afraid you’re completely wrong.”

Flora’s head snapped up, and suddenly was face-to-face with a gorgeous man. He was tall, with a lean but muscular body. His features were so unique… pale skin, sharp facial features, and bright blue eyes, really long hair. This man was not of Marigold, clearly. And while she’s never left the village for the capital, she can be sure that he’s not of Lynphea. 

So who was he? What did he want?

“Oh,umm…,”. Flora became very acutely aware of her disheveled state; wearing bleached sweatpants and her dad’s oversized farming shirt, hair unbrushed in a very messy bun. “Ummmmm,” she mumbled as she tried to find…words…any words to rectify this bizarre situation. 

“I’m sorry, did I disturb you?”

“Oh! Oh, no! No, of course not…I’m so sorry. I was expecting someone else,” Flora murmured as she indiscreetly pushed her magazines off the counter. “How can I help you, Mr….,”

“Calypso. Helia Calypso,” he smiled, and Flora felt like the air was knocked out of her.

She didn’t know him, but she knew that he was handsome. He was handsome and different. He was…exciting. 

“Mr. Calypso,” Flora felt ashamed at how much she liked his name rolling off her tongue, “How can I help you?”

“Well, to give you some background, I am a traveling photographer, and I am working on a photo series that captures planets in the Magic Dimension along with their inhabitants and native magic powers. So sun and moonlight on Solaria, music and the arts on Melody…”

“Nature on Lynphea...”

“Exactly,” Helia laughed a bit breathlessly, “So I’m touring several nature reserves and flower shops to find some candidates who are willing to sell me a large number of flowers and to consult on my shoot.”

“Oh wow… So what brings you here to Marigold? There are huge flower stores in the capital, surely even the other major cities like The City of Trees or The Region of Shimmering Flowers are more appropriate for your project?”

“You know most business owners usually don’t drive customers to other businesses,” Helia said as he raised an eyebrow. 

Flora squealed as she turned away from Helia, kicking herself for being an idiot. But before she could completely retreat into herself, Helia reached out and clasped her arm, pulling her back towards him. 

Flora’s face and neck turned completely red. 

This was the first time a man has touched her. 

“I’m only teasing, dear.” Helia chuckled, and Flora swore she’s never seen a more perfect smile, “I already visited the more famous and popular shops of Lynphea, but they weren’t…speaking to me.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. The flowers were almost…too perfect. They were beautiful yes, but they didn’t seem…authentic,” Helia’s eyes tore themselves away from Flora, finally taking a proper look around the shop, “but then I saw you and some of your business pictures online, and you’re so beautiful… er, um, your flowers are so beautiful.”

“They’re not that great…just some plants that I grow…” Flora said as she ducked her head. Her flowers were pretty, sure, but they were nothing compared to—

“I think they’re incredible.” Helia said sincerely, “Seriously. I spend a lot of time in nature, and I think that you have something special.”

Flora’s head could have snapped off, with how quickly it came up to stare at Helia incredulously. Special? Flora couldn’t remember the last time someone thought she was special. Maybe Ms. Petal in middle school? She was plain ol’ Flora, destined to stay in her little ol’ village forever and marry an ol’ man. She was pretty good at school, but anything that would come of it has come and gone. What did he see in her to think that she was special?

“Thank you, Mr. Calypso,” Flora said after some time, “You’re too kind.” 

“I don’t think so, but I can see that you’re too humble to take a compliment, so I’ll let it go for now. But what do you say? Would you like to work on my shoot with me?”

Flora didn’t know. She had so many responsibilities for today alone, never mind this week. She had to pick the flowers in the garden and plant the next crop. The chickens, cows, and pigs had to be fed. She had to maintain the business and keep up with its social media. She had to buy and make lunch and dinner. She had to make sure her mother ate, got out of bed for a  couple of hours, maybe take a shower…she had to make sure Miele came home from school safely, did her homework and understood it, and went to bed normally. She had to—

“You’d be handsomely paid,” Helia interrupted as if he could see her spiraling, “And you’d receive all credit from the pictures in the shoot. I just need you to provide the flowers, help with the arrangements, and pose, that’s all. It would take about a day—the weekend at most.” 

Wow. It was a clearly great opportunity, when would she get another chance like this? 

There was no hesitation.  

“No, I’m sorry Mr. Calypso. I can’t,” she whispered. 

“What’s wrong?” If Flora wasn’t so upset she would almost laugh at how flabbergasted Helia looked, “Surely this would be great exposure for your business.”’

“I…have a family to care for.”

“Oh,” Helia’s smile fell, “I see.” He let go of Flora’s hand. 

She missed his warmth. 

“Right. It’s um, a complicated situation…they need me every day.”

“Oh, okay. Well then,” Helia smiled softly and took several steps backward, “Well then, thank you for your time.

“You’re welcome, and thank you for your consideration. I hope that you find what you’re looking for.”

“I’ll find something similar,” he shrugged. 

“But,” Helia suddenly stepped forward and leaned over the counter to whisper into her ear, “I’ll never find anything as wonderful as you.” Helia took her wide eyes and gaping mouth as his opportunity to leave.  Just before he fully stepped out of the store, he turned back and met her eyes once more. “Flora, you have an amazing talent, it’s a shame that it would all go to waste…don’t set yourself on fire to keep others warm.”

With that, he left.

Flora never felt more alone.

[draconixiaa]

tired but i'll do a bit of this (will be a bit rambly:D)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

24,, wow not bad

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

165.5k wow thats a lot,, most of it comes from one tho; everything else are shortfics

3. What fandoms do you write for?

DSMP and ive just started a bit of genshin at the behest of my Tartaglia-obsessed irl and he's kinda cool but like for 95% of my other fics its all cdream ahahahhh(dies)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

"Consequences" tops the charts obviously bc its my one and only longfic and it was written during the peak of dsmp and man id link it bc i love my storyline (cdream obviously gets messed up in prison but then gets a healing arc) there but at the same time i feel like the writing had too many grammar mistakes and could be better so nahh

"North Star to Freedom" is one im actually really proud of, like obviously the writing could be better bc ive improved, but i just like it and id deffo rewrite it too if i had time or steal it into an original fic (premise is that cdream escapes prison with the rebibe book and oh lord my lingo anyways (spoilers) he dies and he gives techno book)

"Persevere" is third, wow that's a long time ago, its alright, i like it in general, but it feels almost cheesy. idk. i like it, but i dont like it. its not mixed feelings, but eh. anyways, something about cdream getting captured by the egg which is about to take over the world but he sacrifices himself to cleanse it. the most acute thing i rember about it is that its a 3parter

"Coup de Grace" ok wth i didnt expect this to be on there it was a small little cdream suffering in prison and cphil comes over, sees him in pain, and cough relieves him of it, and i dont like the writing in a specific part of it, but i like it in some other parts, so eh

"turn the claret tides" whoops i forgot what this one was about ok i glanced through the doc its ctechno getting cdream out of prison wow that title was really vague but he gets the letter and things went on.. it was inspired by another fic and happened during the hype of the prison arc which is kinda cool

(man im looking at the amount of fics i want to rewrite but it aint happening sadge)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Sometimes, most of the times nowadays, if it particularly made my day or it has something deep and insightful or literally makes any observation on my fic. sometimes im just too tired to answer,, maybe laziness is a part of it too, but i stare and its like,, i cant generate a response . but nowadays, i do it most of the times bc i appreciate my commenters :D

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

my recent fics mostly have happy endings, but all my pre-like, mid 2023 fics were all sad sad sad. they all ended in cdream dying, one way or the other. so idk which ones the saddest now its been too long,, the one i personally think is the saddest is one that i like, was listening to sad music to, the song being 'sociopath,' an orchestral piece (or was it piano?)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

consequences

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

once on consequences bc that was max cdream apologists vs inniters era

9. Do you write smut?

nop never ever ever

10. Do you write crossovers?

dream + tartaglia is one i wrote in fudging october that i am still trying to find time to continue

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

prob not, if there is, then i wouldnt know of it

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope, if there was, i also dont know of it

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

wow thats crazy that i havent, but idk, teamwork and coordination just go meh when i only share my interests with online people

14. What‘s your all-time favorite ship?

idk i dont do ships but my fav friendship is dream + techno or dream + punz

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

all my chapter continuations except the tartaglia + dream one i Need to finish that. but also the palace of stone idea will Never Ever get written

16. What’s your writing strengths?

descriptions idk they go lengthy but ive practiced with them a lot so ive gotten kinda good

17. What’s your writing weaknesses?

dialogue, pacing, idk literally everything, i can prob improve on anything and every aspect of my writing rn, and i just need to practice more

19. First fandom you wrote for?

DSMP lmao

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

consequences i love the storyline + ending of that one even if the writing couldve been better

uhh tagging? idk if theres anyone that doesnt overlap wiht people whove been tagged b4 les see: @milktearosethorn , @victoriacoffee , ,, oh theres only two ok well, have fun if u decide to do this!

[anlian-aishang]

um! I know your requests are closed, but if you have some time, I would love love love to see a fic where Levi is super good at math and is helping reader with her linear regression homework?? thank you so much I hope you have a wonderful day!!! Love you!!!

Word count: 1600 Tags: levi x reader, fluff, modern AU, college AU, pining, academia, gn!reader

The two leftovers. Those were Levi’s first words to you - as you two stood across from each other, the only ones left after your professor’s dreaded “Partner up.” It had been a month since the partner project started, hell - the final presentation was tomorrow, but come to think of it, Levi had not said much more since then. You could tell from that first interaction, that first glance: he was a man of few words.

Text messages made up the majority of your conversation. You offered your Facebook, Snapchat, Wechat, but Levi insisted he had no social media. At first, you wondered if he was trying to hide it from you, but at moments of mindless procrastination, you found yourself tabbing out to verify that. Even in this day and age, he really didn’t. Only his school email and cell phone number, both of which he handed to you on day one. Such a small exchange that was, but somehow, it had not left your mind since. At the end of class, you typed your number into his phone, but it was not until 2 AM that night that he sent his introductory message:

Levi Ackerman. Linear Regression. 

But over the course of the project and on the night of the deadline, you would come to know him for so much more.

// // //

A full-time max-credits semester. When your advisor warned against it, you assured them you were a hard-worker. When your parents showed concern, you reminded them of your secondary school success. Your peers’ jaws dropped when you told them your schedule, but still, you shrugged your shoulders and said you were doing fine. Truth be told, you were doing fine, that was until finals week: five finals in the final seven days. 

And now that the partner project deadline was approaching, you realized how much you had been putting off your stats class. Optional homework and no midterms made motivation hard to come by, but it also meant that your collaboration with Levi would be 100% of your grade. Instead of being proud of the four finals you had completed already, your consciousness berated you: You haven’t even opened the shared folder yet.

Levi got the worst of you. Your most chaotic semester: nothing to offer to the project. The end of finals week: exhausted, drained, on the brink of tears. Your presentation was Sunday at noon. It was now Friday at midnight that you - after a pot of coffee and a good crying fit - texted Levi like the responsible partner you pretended to be:

12:00 AM > Hey! Down to finalize the project tomorrow?

12:03 AM > Sure. Chem library?

By then, you had already crashed, but at 7 AM the next morning, you sent a confirmation text before you had even rolled out of bed. A half-hour later, you were in the library with a table reserved - a coffee for you, a black tea for him - trying to cram a semester’s worth of coursework before Levi arrived.

// // //

You were both anticipating and dreading his arrival. Excited to spend some time with him, excited to get this project over with. Anxious about the deadline before you, anxious for his reaction to how clueless you were. 

For as much as you had overthought his arrival, it was actually Levi who spotted your first. Morning sun shining through the blinds and reflecting off your readers. Latte steam put a highlighting haze over your features. Your nose was buried in your book - as if you were such a diligent student - but only in chapter 3 of 15. Pencils and notebooks were neatly arranged - as if all was in order - but the haste in your handwriting suggested otherwise. Maybe others would have bought your act, but he found it adorable - the way you thought you had him fooled. Perhaps you underestimated how acute his senses were, or how much interest he had in you. 

Likewise, if you were not so preoccupied with cramming, maybe you would have noticed how Levi was presenting himself. Joggers and a sweatshirt for his first-day-of-class impressions, but now, a cardigan, corduroy, and Converse. Glasses perched just right, shielding the dark circles beneath his insomniac eyes. Textbook, notebook, laptop stacked in the crook of his arm, resting against his waist as he approached you. You thought it looked effortless, but he bit his cheek - looking this carefree required a lot of care.

Levi gripped the back of the chair across you. In the motion, his sleeve inadvertently rolled up and revealed his watch. For some reason, you could not take your eyes off it, that was until he spoke. Silver stare shone down to you, a sliver of a smile, “Alright if I sit here?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Beneath the table, you squished your hands between your thighs. A fragile bob of your head, Levi raised a brow and pulled out his seat, taking that as a yes. 

It was the first of many replies he read off of you. Is that black tea for me? Yes. Are you ready for tomorrow? Not exactly. Is there anything you need from me? Oh, you have no idea.

Levi opened his laptop, you followed his lead - as you intended to do for this entire workday. In the shared folder, everything was perfectly organized. Not only that, everything was done! Most noticeable was the front slide, even more than the scripted subtitles, your name spelled correctly. Most people got it wrong, not him.

“You -” a clear of your throat, “You finished the presentation already?”

For someone else, he may have thrown his trademark sass, Well - I had a feeling you weren’t going to do it. But instead, Levi continued sipping, nodding his head, and swallowing. Above the lid, his eyes met yours, “I knew you had a lot of credits.”

All data: cleaned. Every graph: labeled. Introduction, methods, results, limitations, conclusion, further studies: all there.

Before, you were struggling to get even one word out, but as you took in the fruits of all his hard work, you were blurting out in a library, “How long did this take you?”

Levi propped his head on one hand, combed his fingers through his hair with the other. Out of habit, his tongue thought to clapback. Again, he opted for something far nicer, “Wasn’t too bad.”

Unspoken but understood: he was your lifesaver. The quality of his research looked straight out of your textbook, a conference, even better than your professor’s dissertation. A toothy grin spread across your face - one you could not help. Who would have thought that the two leftovers would have the best presentation? Who would have thought you would have lucked out this hard? Your partner was not only a sight for sore eyes, but he was smart too. 

Smart enough to read the situation. Even though he had written a script for you, there was the Q&A afterwards, during which you would be expected to answer at least some questions. To do so, you would need at least some understanding of the research he did for you.

Smart enough to make the most of your resources. “Levi?”

A smirk, a raised brow, Yeah?

“Can you teach me everything?”

Now, it was you to read the affirmations off of him. Pulling his chair to your side, taking a seat next to you, Of course.

// // //

Chapter 3 to 4. 4 to 5. Sunrise to sundown. Library’s open to close. 

Levi left to grab lunch for the two of you. His treat, he insisted. While he was gone, you highlighted certain concepts you wanted him to explain. When he returned, he suppressed a sigh and a chuckle, finding your paper a lot less white and a lot more neon yellow than when he left. 

Things just made sense when you were with him. Your professor would go on and on about abstract proofs, but Levi was the one who could translate concepts to concrete and theory to practice. He was what you had needed all along. Calloused fingers pointed out the key terms in a paragraph of word problems. His low voice snared your attention, intonation emphasized as he tutored you.

Tutored you until the librarian was making closing rounds. Levi checked his watch, “Five past nine.”

“One more?” Please?

Levi subdued a round of chills. A slow, calculated exhale thwarted his instinct to invite you over to his apartment - no closing hours - for as many as you would like. The spell of a new crush, not even Ackerman was immune. He curled his toes against the soles of his shoes, clenched a fist at his side, and prepared himself to do one more.

“Alright... Problem 51.” His voice so kind on the ears - prioritized over the problem, you hoped your brain would memorize that. “In Canada, the height of the average male is 175 cm…”

This novel infatuation, a man spending his weekend to help you with the class he had carried you through, you were particularly susceptible to it. Acting with a courage you never had, “Don’t worry, Levi,” you rested your hand on his shoulder and teased, “size doesn’t matter.”

A vein in his neck. Red on his cheeks. Shivers you felt through the shoulder you caressed. His physicality revealed his hand, only his comeback instincts would save him now.

You want my help or not? A sarcasm he feared you would take seriously. 

Appreciate it. A pushover that he wasn’t.

With calculated confidence, Levi leaned in. An inch from your mouth, his breath tickled your lips, mint gum and black tea. “Thanks, brat.”

As he turned back to his legal pad, you allowed yourself a bit of unravel. But when it came to you, Levi missed nothing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw your signs of susceptibility, but his steady composition gave no insight into the rile that give him as well. 

On blank printer paper, he drew his axes straight, his curves symmetrical. He wrote with a speed that seemed sloppy, but ended up creating a space that was perfectly outlined. Raw data at the top of the page. Its corresponding table on the next line. The graph to the grid’s right. Thus, on paper, placing the chi-square problem within a square itself. Even and oddly satisfying.

You felt like such a nerd for that, but you were content with him thinking you were infatuated with numbers as long as he didn’t discover that you were infatuated by him. 

That was for next semester. 

// masterlist //

[wheelsup]

the taming of the shrew | two

if i be waspish, best beware my sting

after some setbacks, penelope is willing to do anything to get you back on board. but has spencer already ruined things?

A/N: hello! im so sorry that this posting schedule is super inconsistent. the more i thought about this chapter, the less i liked the more technical aspects of it. but! i hope you enjoy to plot aspect of it nonetheless <3 thanks for reading!

category: fluff, slow burn series, spencer reid x fem!reader

wc: 4.4k

<- prev | next ->

Since that phone call with Penelope, she’d been over nearly every night for a week with plates of treats and onslaughts of apologies. Each time she came knocking, you told her there was no amount of persuasion that could change your mind. And yet the following night, she’d be there, a new type of pastry in hand and a new set of reasons why Spencer was worth the trouble.

First, she brought blueberry muffins and reasoned that deep below that prickly exterior, he really was everything she promised –– sweet and caring. But that must be deep, deep down. Like, The Lost City of Atlantis, deep down, because you didn’t expect it to surface any time soon. 

Then, she brought fudge brownies and explained that his behavior wasn’t personal –– he was getting snippy with everyone lately. And while you maintained that anybody would have a hard time getting along with Spencer, you were absolutely positive that it was now impossible for you. 

Quite frankly, it wasn’t just Spencer who was unwilling to play nice. You hated him. More than you’ve ever hated a stranger. 

You wished him a lifetime riddled with minor inconveniences that would drive him to the edge of insanity. You wanted him to miss all his trains by just a quarter of a minute; close enough so that he could see it leave the platform, knowing he almost made it on. You wanted him to constantly feel like he was about to sneeze. You wanted his socks to be perpetually wet, and if he should happen to put on a dry pair? You hoped he stepped in a puddle.

That was all you could think about as you laid out on your couch, munching on one of Penelope’s lemon bars while she paced around your apartment. She kept going on and on advertising Spencer to you. As annoying as it was, she was also saving you a ton on groceries that week. 

For the most part, you filtered her out. Not a single word that came out of her mouth was believable anymore, especially not when she was talking about Spencer. Despite what Penelope thought of him, you saw in him what she refused to accept. 

As her speech came to a close, she looked at you like she expected a response to dignify her prattling. 

“Give it a rest, Penelope. He’s a lost cause,” you laughed dryly. “He doesn’t need –– nor does he want –– anyone in his life.” At the very least, he definitely didn’t want you. 

“Yes, that’s the problem!” If you’d been listening to her, you would’ve heard her saying the same thing. “He doesn’t want to date!” 

Your head just about exploded when she said that. 

There had been countless, fruitless conversations about this, and all along she saw the gaping hole in her supposedly airtight plan?

“If he doesn’t want to DATE, then WHAT was the point of this?!” Your fingers pressed the bridge of your nose; you suddenly felt a headache coming on. Funny how it always happened around the time of day that Penelope came to visit.

Penelope stopped pacing. She stalked over to your couch, picked your legs up by your ankle, and moved them to make space for herself. You begrudgingly sat upright as she took her place beside you. 

“Because he’s not himself anymore. He’s not open like he used to be. Not to the people who care about him the most, and certainly not to the world.”  

Penelope toyed with the hem of her dress, distracting herself from her quivering lip before pressing on, “Spencer Reid has always wanted love. And it’s not right that he no longer believes he can have it.” 

You hadn’t seen Penelope look so desperate until now. It was concerning. Because what could make her look so hopeless? What could make Spencer so hopeless? 

“Penelope, I don’t know what’s wrong with your little friend, but… there’s a lot more bubbling inside him than you’re letting on.” 

She chewed up the insides of her cheeks, wincing to herself at your incredibly accurate claim. 

“You are hiding something, aren’t you?” You narrowed your eyes on her. You were no detective, or whatever exactly her team did, but she was just awful at concealing her thoughts.

“It’s not my story to tell,” she murmured. 

She could already feel herself about to give it away and doubled down her mental defenses against it. Focusing extra hard on keeping Spencer’s privacy intact. If only you knew her track record with secrets, you’d be proud of her for staying quiet this long.

“What isn’t your story?” 

“That his girlfriend died last year.” 

She spilled it before she even realized what she was saying. You’d just asked so nonchalantly that she forgot she was talking aloud. Penelope turned purple, terrified now that the whole truth was out there. 

You couldn’t even take satisfaction in the fact that your trick worked. You were just as mortified as Penelope, and if you weren’t already sitting down, you knew you’d need to. You assumed there was something deeper going on with him, you didn’t think it was a dead girlfriend. That was some Nicholas Sparks shit. 

“He pretends like he’s fine but I know he’s not. And if he found a way to move on, maybe he’d start feeling as okay as he claims to be,” she sniffled before snot could run from her nose, tears lining the rims of her eyes. “I know I should’ve given you the full picture, but I didn’t think you’d go for it if you knew…” 

You were too floored to process it all right away. This added a whole new layer of complicated to an already uneasy arrangement.

“Well, I know you’re right about one thing. I would’ve said no.” 

She gave you a set of pleading eyes, praying you’d see where she was coming from. 

“I know,” she whispered defeatedly. “But maybe... now that you know, you can understand why he acts out the way he does.”

“Penelope, I can’t just… make someone move on, or –– or get them to believe in love! Especially when it’s fake.”

How on Earth did she expect you to pull that off? Did that guy from A Walk to Remember move on when Mandy Moore died? You hadn’t seen the ending of the movie, but you assumed not. 

“I’m sorry, this is just… a lot bigger than the favor I thought it was ––”

“What if I could return it?” she cut in. The gears in her head started to turn, figuring ways to patch up the holes she made. 

“There’s nothing I need from you.” 

That couldn’t be true. Penelope looked around the room and it didn’t take her long to think of it.

“I can help you sell your art,” she tempted, gesturing to the scattered canvases. “You make all your income from this, right?” 

You didn’t want to give any fuel to her fire, but you nodded. “What if… what if you didn’t have to settle for local buyers? What if I told you that you could make way more money selling them to the whole world?”

You chortled at her idea. 

You were a local artist, through and through. Your art got put in local galleries and sold to local buyers. Nothing more, and that was fine with you. You realized it a long time ago that it was just a pipe dream to think you’d be more. 

“I’m serious! You could get a separate painting studio, and stop living in one? Huh?” She wrapped her hand around your shoulder, waving the other in the air, urging you to picture it with her. “Imagine this: a kitchen that’s separate from your living room. A bed, inside it’s own four walls, and more than twelve feet from where you cook your meals.”

Pushing aside her so blatantly insulting your apartment, if that were a possibility, you’d want nothing more. But it already sounded foolish and you hadn’t even heard how she planned to pull it off. 

“Penelope, I’m fine where I am. I make the money I need, and that’s... it’s fine.”

She gave you a pointed look. “You know, I can hack all search engine results to make sure you are what comes up first anytime someone enters the word ‘painting’, right?

An airy chuckle left your lips. Of course she could. You patted her thigh twice and stood up, prompting her to follow you to your door –– hopefully, so she can show herself to the other side of it. “Still no, Pen.” 

“Just take some time to think about it!” Her voice carried through the wood as you shut it on her.

*

There was this one bench in Kenilworth Park – the one that overlooks the crystal clear pond – that you’d always been able to rely on to fix any problem.

There was hidden magic in the bushes that sprawled out from the edges of the water, surrounded by spiky green blades of overgrown grass. A simplicity you loved in baby ducklings paddling into the tiny body of water, swimming close together so they don’t get lost in, what seems to them, a whole ocean. And clarity provided by the freshest air in the world, under the shade of the big oak trees on a late summer afternoon.

But at the present, none of that came close to being enough.

The artist’s block started off as a minor inconvenience, but without your permission, had stretched into weeks of steadily declining motivation. Each new idea felt even worse than the last, and you were acutely aware that there would come a point where you’d officially hit maximum capacity for how awful they could get.

Still, that didn’t seem to light a fire under you. You happily coexisted with the blank pages of your sketchbook. Staring down at them, laying open on your lap in their stark-white glory, you felt like you were playing a waiting game. If you stared long and hard enough, maybe they’d flinch. 

Unfortunately, you never got to find out who won, because your phone rang inside your pocket. As if the caller had interrupted an incredible genius at work (which couldn’t be farther from the truth), you hastily raised the phone to your ear, slamming your sketchbook shut.

“Hello?” Your voice wasn’t as kind as it could be for someone with nothing better to be doing. Two seconds later, you learned who was calling and came to regret it.

“Hi, This is Rebecca from District Arts, calling with a message from Andre ––”

“Oh, hi!” you tried to walk back your previous tone, straightening up in your seat and pitching your voice higher, “Yeah, I’ve been waiting to hear from him!” 

While Rebecca intimidated you, Andre happened to be your closest friend at the gallery. He worked closely with the artists to curate their collection and help them make sales. 

“Does he want to sort out what to set the opening bid prices at for my new pieces?” A handful of days ago, you sent him pictures of your new work and were waiting to hear his thoughts. You’d always been able to trust his opinion, and a vote of confidence from him might be just the thing to inspire you.

“Uhm…” There was a criminally long pause on the other side of the line, ended by Rebecca’s weary inhale. “Unfortunately, we’re calling to inform you that your pieces will not be included in the next rotation.”

For a minute, you weren’t sure what to make of what she said. You’d never heard those words before.

“What – what do you mean?” you laughed nervously. She probably misspoke. Perks of friendship aside, Andre always included you in sets. 

“Ugh, let me just get him…” her voice faded away as she put the phone down. 

That wasn’t exactly the reassuring statement you were looking for. In the time it took for the call to switch hands, your confusion finally melted in. And then quickly boiled into anger.

The District Arts gallery changed their entire collection every two months. The pieces shown accepted rolling bids throughout the full eight weeks, finally selling at the end of term to their highest offer. After that, the pieces got taken down, sent to happy new owners, and the entire gallery reset with entirely new works. 

So if you missed one rotation, that meant waiting two months to get back in.

“Andre, how am I just cut from the gallery!” you barked before he could get a word in. If he didn’t like your work, he could’ve just said so. 

“No one said that ––”

“Okay, let me rephrase.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, something you found yourself doing quite frequently lately, and took a deep breath in and out. It was seemingly just for show because it did absolutely nothing to calm you down. “Why wouldn’t you put me in the next set? I’m in all of them!”

“I know you are!” He sounded just as upset. “It’s just that… we give you the biggest space we have, because you always manage to fill it up. But this time… I’m not so sure you can.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed. “What makes you say that?” You asked that, but you knew.

“You’ve only finished three pieces… I’m worried how you’ll deliver seven more before we set up.”

“But… it’s four weeks away, I could do ––”

“And it took you four weeks to make what you have... I’m sorry. We couldn’t take that gamble.” 

He took your silence as an opportunity to turn off the work talk and speak, just friend to friend. 

“You know that I trust you and I’d hold that spot if I could. But, I also know what you’re going through right now, and… I don’t know, maybe letting yourself rest would be a good thing?” 

Your heart paused. By, “knowing what you’re going through”, you assumed he didn’t mean the little artist’s block.

“If you’re implying that I can’t do my job because of what happened with Cyrus –”

“I’m not, I’m not....” he backtracked as quickly as he could. “But take another look at the paintings you showed me and tell me if they feel like you.”

Even if he was right, you wanted to fight him. You wanted to cry. You wanted to beg that you didn’t need that big space; you were willing to downsize and just turn in the three that you had. Even if they got shoved into the corner where hardly anybody bothered to look. You just couldn’t afford to go two months without the income. 

But even with tears beading up, you realized that the gallery couldn’t afford it either. They needed to bring in money and you couldn’t do that for them this time. So they were right to go to someone who can.

“Right,” you sniffled, recollecting yourself so he can’t hear the shakiness in your voice. “I understand. It’s a big risk, like you said… It’s for the better.”

Andre tried to thank you for being understanding and spewed some sort of encouragement. The words flew over your head. You managed to toss in a few ‘mhmm’s and ‘sure’s at the right places to coast you along until the call finally ended. 

As soon as it went dead, you dropped your phone to the side and brought your hands to your face, rubbing them furiously over your cheeks. Your fingertips pressed hard into your eyelids, trying to forcibly reabsorb the tears threatening to spill. 

It almost worked, until you tried to breathe. 

A full sob escaped in that one gulp of air and you succumbed to it. But the loud crunching noise of some pedestrian walking over the falling leaves destroyed your sense of privacy, and you quickly wiped away all signs of your breakdown. The crunching stopped just short of your bench and on instinct you flicked your eyes up to see who the intruder was.

You did a double take. It was him. That fucking asshole.

He was standing there, looking dumber than you could even remember, with his hands in his coat pockets and a curious look on his face as he watched you cry. Tucking your sketchbook under your arm in haste, you made it a point to stand up with as much aggression as possible, rolling your eyes at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” you barked. “No need to yell at me this time.”

You bristled past him, barely refraining yourself from checking his shoulder as payback. You wanted to believe you were better than him, but it did sound incredibly tempting. He stood there for a moment before turning on his heel and following you.

“Wait,” he groaned.

You didn’t listen, neither stopping nor slowing down.

“I said wait,” he huffed as he caught up to you, popping up at your side and jogging along as you kept going.

“Yeah, because I need to listen to a guy who yells at strangers in bookstores.” 

Now that you’d brought up the elephant in the room, your feet started moving even faster, working double time to get you away from him.

Damn the fact that he had those long legs. He didn’t even break a sweat trying to keep up. He was inescapable.

“Well, if you waited like I asked, you would’ve gotten an apology for the ––”

“Gee, thanks!” you yelled, stopping for only a second to turn to him and give him a mocking bow of your head, hands clasped together like you were praising at his altar. “I was waiting with bated breath for that! Thank you, kind sir, for now my life can go on.”

“Look, I’m actually sorry,” he snapped. Then in realizing the irony, softened his voice, “I’m sorry for being rude. I was having a bad day… not that that’s an excuse.”

You stared at him blankly, just watching his mouth moving quickly and waiting until it finally stopped. 

“Did you need something?” 

“Did you… did you not hear what I just said?!” 

“No, sorry,” you smiled, voice sweet like sugar. “My ears filter bullshit. Wanna try again?”

He scoffed, looking away like he couldn’t believe you before stepping even closer. “What’s your problem?”

“Me!? The fuck –– what the fuck is your problem?” You turned and stormed off again, seething at his audacity. Spencer just couldn’t relent his annoying tendencies and followed yet again.

“My problem is that I’m trying to be nice, and you’re not letting me!”

You got a good, hard laugh out of that. “Okay, first of all, having to apologize for yelling at me and pushing me isn’t exactly the best starting point for the journey of becoming a nice person.”

“Like I said, I was having a bad day.” 

Under your breath, you muttered, “Well, I hope this one’s even worse.”

“Why are you such a ––” He stopped himself from finishing that thought. Even in his worst mood, he wouldn’t cross that line. 

But he didn’t need to finish it, you knew exactly where he wanted to take it. The soles of your shoes scraped against the loose gravel as you came to a grinding halt, ears ringing.

“A what?” You turned to face him, a sarcastic smile on your face growing wider as he started to shrink more and more. You got up close in his face, daring him to say what he really wanted to. So he could reinforce your belief in exactly the type of person he was. “A what?” 

Spencer pursed his lips and shook his head, refusing to say it no matter how much you challenged him. If he wasn’t going to have the balls to say it, you decided to take it upon yourself.

“Tell you what, you keep thinking about it and get back to me the next time you’re in a cunty mood.” 

The word he was thinking of was probably not as bad, but you had a habit of escalating things. Even if you took this one too far, you didn’t care. 

Before you tried to take off again, Spencer’s hand flew to your elbow. He tugged you back, forcing you to turn around and face him. He didn’t know his own strength; without any resistance, you came stumbling into his chest, at risk of falling over if it weren’t for his tight grip on your arm.

It took you a beat to push him away with both your hands on his chest, vocalizing your disgust for being so close to him. 

“Can you stop trying to disagree with me for a second? I’m trying to tell you that you’re right, I was being a… well, you know…” He avoided the word. Apparently ‘cunt’ was where he drew the line. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.” 

Your nostrils were still flared and blood hot as ever, but he made you pause. He looked sincere, if not a little tinged with guilt as well. You were suspicious of it.

“You saw me crying and felt bad, didn’t you?”

He laughed darkly. “Well, I saw you, yes. Did I feel bad? No.” 

“Oh, my God,” you growled, berating yourself for getting close to believing he might be capable of decency. 

“I’m joking! I’m joking.” He squeezed your elbow twice in earnest. “I did feel bad, but that’s not why I wanted to say it.”

“Okay.” You weren’t ready to give him a real smile, so you flattened your lips into a thin line and nodded once slowly, and left it at that. 

You still weren’t a fan, but the apology did dampen some of the resentment. Maybe he wasn’t the worst person alive. You’d settle for saying top ten most annoying, instead.

Minutes later, you came to the startling realization that he was still on the path, just two paces behind you. You flinched when you saw him out of the corner of your eye, not expecting him to still be here. 

“Uhm. Where are you… why are you still following me?” 

“I’m not. My car’s that way,” he gestured to the parking lot at the end of the long walkway. “I forgot my loaf for the ducks.” He didn’t mean to offer that information up, it just slipped out. He could practically see your smug expression coming before it even got there.

“You’re not supposed to feed bread to the ducks. It’s bad for them.”

“I don’t.” He didn’t care to explain this to you, but he couldn’t have you thinking he was any less competent than he really was. “It’s a special bread made from water and seeds that were ground into flour. It’s duck-safe.” 

“They make duck-safe bread?” Now that was something you’d never heard before. 

“No… I make duck-safe bread,” he said softly under his breath. 

You didn’t know how else you were supposed to react to that besides laughing wildly. 

“You make it?” He nodded like you were the crazy one here. As if he wasn’t the one spending his spare time grinding up seeds and baking loaves of bread for ducks, donning a frilly pink apron and oven mitts as he did so. At least that’s how you imagined it. “Why not just feed them the seeds?”

“Because, loose seeds will sink in the water and can potentially clog waterbeds and cause foreign bacteria growth in the pond.” 

“So you… hand-make the seeds into a little loaf of bread so it doesn't do that?”

He confirmed. You pondered silently for a moment, then absolutely had to ask, “You ever eaten the duck bread before?”

Spencer was caught off guard by that question. His cheeks deepened to a rosy color.

“Yeah, well, it was the house so…” he laughed nervously and stared at his sneakers. “It’s actually not too bad.”

You weren’t entirely surprised by that. You remembered what his grocery basket looked like, and given those same options, you probably would’ve tried the duck bread too. Still, you cracked the smallest of grins at knowing he makes bread for ducks. The one, sole redeeming fact you’ve learned about Spencer. 

You reached your car first, and Spencer stopped in front of it with you. 

“I’m actually sorry, you know,” he whispered once more, hand resting at the top of your car door as you opened it. He wasn’t talking about the incident at the bookstore.

“Yeah…” For a while you were so busy being angry at Spencer that you forgot about your own problems. 

He noticed your nose was still red around the edges, eyes still a little bleary. “Are you okay, by the way?” His voice was too soft, too genuine.

You shook your head no.

“Is there anything I can do?” You shook your head again. And then you had an awful thought.

You knew he was just offering to help just to say it, because that’s how people react when you say you’re not okay even if they don’t care. But there actually was something he could do for you… Something that Penelope could do.

“Uh, no but…” you fixed your hair and tucked it behind your ear, seamlessly switching to a flirtier voice. “If you still feel bad about the other day, you’re welcome to make it up to me.”

Spencer cocked his head to the side, unsure of how he could do that. 

“Hang out with me sometime.”

“H-hang out?” You could tell that it flustered him, even if he tried to play it off. He swallowed thickly, nose twitching and brows scrunched together.

“Relax, I really do just mean hang out.” You were lying through your teeth. He didn’t need to know that. 

As if he didn’t want to think about it for a second longer and just get out of this conversation as quickly as possible, he agreed without thinking it through. He didn’t even ask why an almost complete stranger would want to hang out with him. 

You stuck your hand out, expecting him to hand over his cell so you could put your contact into it. He rocked on the balls of his feet, watching as you input your contact and sent yourself a text on his phone.

“Hi, this is…” you read out your message as you typed, pausing at just the right place. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Oh-uh, I’m Spencer.” 

A devilish grin took over your face, hidden from his view while you were looking down at the screen. He was going to be easy to fool.

-

-

agh! im still not in love with how this chapter is turning out, but it came to a point where i just had to stop fiddling with it and just post it. any feedback or comments about this story is very much appreciated 💕

thank you so much for being on my taglist 💕 

if you’d like to join, the link is at the top of my masterlist

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[fazfacts]

DIALTOWN: PHONE DATING SIM SENTENCE STARTERS.

more to come, probably. i didn’t even make it through half of the screenshots i had saved with these :’)

contains very mild spoilers for chapter 3 & suggestive content!

❝ L-Love?! What on God's green earth is THAT?! ❞

❝ Is this "love" thing a type of feeling? I don't really do those, thanks. ❞

❝ I don't want to piss behind any of your rides this year. ❞

❝ You flirt like I'd imagine Mothman would. ❞

❝ Darn. I hate it when I do that. ❞

❝ Fudge. I have $0. ❞

❝ I'd stroll in there, 'n' give 'em the ol' RAZZLE-DAZZLE. ❞

❝ I'm sure I could find a way to...c o n v i n c e them... ;) ❞

❝ Hi, [____]...you look nice today ;) ❞

❝ So, [____]...you have any plans for later today? ;) ❞

❝ I demand to speak to your manager. ❞

❝ Rules, SCHMULES! I don't LIKE rules. I like ANARCHY. ❞

❝ I don't like your LIP, [____]. ❞

❝ I SEEK AN A U D I E N C E. ❞

❝ I piss, bossman. It's what I do. ❞

❝ LET ME INNNNNN! ❞

❝ I REFUSE TO LEARN ANY LESSONS. ❞

❝ Hi, never say that again. ❞

❝ Sowwy... ❞

❝ AND THAT. DON'T EVER SAY "[____]" AGAIN. YOU STOP THAT. ❞

❝ No offense, but I find you mildly upsetting to gawk at! ❞

❝ It's hip to fuck monsters. ❞

❝ I will die before I let you make an omelette with my unborn babies. ❞

❝ I'm a parent, [____]. A PARENT. ❞

❝ HHHHHHHHHHH [Acute Hemorrhaging] ❞

❝ THIS HAS BEEN A TRULY GHASTLY EXPERIENCE. ❞

❝ I fear intimacy, so I push my loved ones away from me with wanton hostility. ❞

❝ Haha, printer go BRRR. ❞

❝ We do live in a society, yes. ❞

❝ Bold of you to assume that I can count. ❞

❝ I would consider half a turnip a lot of money. ❞

❝ Enjoy spending a month in prison. ❞

❝ Okay, so...y'know how gambling is ALWAYS a wise idea? ❞

❝ That sounds fun! I like risks! ❞

❝ Ah, rats...do ALL fun things require money?! ❞

❝ C-Can you give ME therapy? ❞

❝ Oh, no, I just...HAVE to stop you- ❞

❝ You should REALLY not be alive. ❞

❝ ...Bite me. ❞

❝ I'm going to have nightmares about you tonight. ❞

❝ Just for that, I'm laying my eggs on one of your busiest rides. ❞

❝ EGGS. ❞

❝ MY BABIES. ❞

❝ [DEFENSIVE NEANDERTHAL GRUNTING] ❞

❝ They're, uhhh, beautiful? ❞

❝ [PROUD NEANDERTHAL GRUNTING] ❞

❝ FUCK, OH FUCK. ❞

❝ Never use the word [____] around me again, thanks. ❞

❝ I AM A WOUNDED FERAL ANIMAL. ❞

❝ Ya can't rot, if ya don't actually exist. :) ❞

❝ I aim to one day draw Bigfoot out in the open. ❞

❝ Alright, [____], I've got good news and bad news. ❞

❝ I am DUMBFOUNDED. ❞

❝ POPPYCOCK, IT'LL WORK. ❞

❝ Do you know what "man-hunt" means? ❞

❝ I AM A CREATURE. ❞

❝ I AM FAMOUS FOR MY SCREEEECH. ❞

❝ Oh, [____] - I have to insist you don't do this. ❞

❝ FUCK YOU, I DO WHAT I WANT. ❞

❝ If I wanna think outside the box, this is how I'll do it. ❞

❝ This won't end well. ❞

❝ This WILL end well. ❞

❝ So...how's prison? ❞

❝ PLEASE don't do this, [____]. ❞

❝ NOW I KNOW WH-WHY...PEOPLE KEPT TELLING ME NOT TO DRINK THEIR PRINTER INK... ❞

❝ I...don't want any part in this. ❞

❝ Yuck! It's always morals, morals, MORALS with you! ❞

❝ [Literal ape noise] ❞

❝ Ah, fuck, this isn't gonna work. ❞

❝ Oh, c'mon! You've been a negative-nelly all day! ❞

❝ [____], do you wanna learn how to snap necks? ❞

❝ I'll side with the ape-judgment on this one. ❞

❝ Bigfoot doesn't care. ❞

❝ ...Oh, NOW you've done it, you little shit. ❞

❝ ET TU, BIGFOOT? ❞

❝ Do you think Bigfoot can drive? ❞

❝ Best not leave it MOMENTS AFTER A PUBLIC AND GRUESOME MURDER to find out for certain. ❞

❝ Oh, I'm SURE Bigfoot can drive. ❞

❝ Okay...THIS...this, I can USE. ❞

❝ I DON'T LIKE THIS. ❞

❝ If someone irritates you or insults how you park your pick-up truck, you wrap your finger around the trigger and fire shots indiscriminately! ❞

❝ Yes, [____], a war criminal is a bad thing to be. ❞

❝ Thank you. I found it in the trash. ❞

❝ Poifect... ❞

❝ Oh, I just found him in the nearby woods, just chillin'. ❞

❝ YOU'LL GET YER 'NANA WHEN THE JOB IS DONE. ❞

❝ That, shit-child, is SAS-MOTHERFUCKING-SQUATCH. ❞

❝ PAL, IF ONE OF US GETS TO FUCK LIKE BIGFOOT, IT'LL BE ME. ❞

❝ You don't have to squat at home, but you can't squat here. ❞

❝ ARE you some kind of funky alien? ❞

❝ Just between you and me...I'm TOTALLY a human. ❞

❝ I take it full nudity might be a touch too lewd? ❞

❝ Welcome to Casa de la Meme. ❞

❝ Feel free to piss anywhere that isn't my box-bed. ❞

❝ Fib not to me, or consequences there shalt...be. ❞

❝ Oh, boo hoo, did SOMEONE GET SWEATY FROM VISUALIZING OGRE WEENUS? ❞

❝ That's a...personal question. ❞

❝ ...Are you making fun of me? ❞

❝ My life is a stain... ❞

❝ Also, nice pun. ❞

❝ Ah, shit. That's right. I can't read. ❞

❝ Well, maybe I just don't like eye contact. ❞

❝ ...It's KINDA gun-shaped. ❞

❝ Yeah, see, when you say it out loud - ❞

❝ This plan is FAR better. [Evil teeth-baring chimpanzee grin] ❞

❝ MOVE EVEN AN INCH, AND I'LL SQUIRT! ❞

❝ [THREATENING GURGLING] ❞

❝ Nope. Fuck this noise. I'mma just bounce. ❞

❝ It's egg-time. ❞

❝ If I found a used bandy-aid on the ground, I'd INSTANTLY consume it. ❞

❝ MY BROKEN FRENCH IS A METAPHOR FOR YOUR BROKEN FEMURS. ❞

❝ FUCK, I AM WOUNDED. ❞

❝ This couldn't be SIMPLER, you denim-laden BUM. ❞

❝ Ourrrghhh...I've shit meself...I've shit meself and I'm dying... ❞

❝ I'VE SHAT MESELF. I'VE SHAT MESELF AND I'M DYING. ❞

❝ I HAVE SOILED MY BRITCHES, AND I'M DYING. ❞

❝ That about summed it up, really. ❞

❝ When we are done here today...you WILL have ALL the training you need to successfully murder and DEVOUR [____]. ❞

❝ DEVOUR. ❞

❝ Gee wiz. Don't get all mushy on me, man. ❞

❝ ye, it aight ❞

❝ Maybe the allure of the dude's toilet water is just too much for the poor guy... ❞

❝ Hey, I'M feral! It's not such a bad life! ❞

❝ To be clear, I'm threatening to SHOOT you. ❞

❝ I AM THREATENING TO SHOOT YOU IN THE HEAD WITH A SHOTGUN. ❞

❝ IT'S NOT COFFEE. ❞

❝ IT'S A BULLET. I AM NOT OFFERING YOU COFFEE. ❞

❝ ...You're a pretty lousy host, then. ❞

❝ Lord, give me strength... ❞

❝ I'm a freak, just like you! ❞

❝ BABA WANTS IN. ❞

❝ Bold of you to assume I'm capable of complex thought. ❞

❝ ...Bold of you to assume I've ever been to school. ❞

❝ BOOO! ❞

❝ WHAT THE HELL, PARDNER?! ❞

❝ For... [raspy cough] for the banter... ❞

❝ Alright, I feel MUCH less sorry after hearing you speak again. ❞

❝ As a man of honor, I URGE you to change your last words to something less...THAT. ❞

❝ I'd just give ANYTHING to see the look on their face when they open the package with a dead-me inside. ❞

❝ Oh...hello, Satan... ❞

❝ If you let me in, I can suck something ELSE dry... ;) ❞

❝ Ooh! Ooh! That's why I got kicked outta town! ❞

❝ Right. Signs can't stop me because I can't read. ❞

❝ I hate every single one of them. ❞

[lin-nin]

Tribulation & Tenderness - Chapter 12

Ship: Main Technoblade x Reader, some Dream x Reader Plot: You're a princess in a Kingdom suffering a years long famine. In a     desperate attempt to help your people, you accept one simple offer: Marriage to the crown prince of a neighboring kingdom. Anything to help your people survive. Surely it can't be too bad, can it? Chapter List: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 Disclaimer:   Cross-posted on Wattpad (discontinued) and Ao3. This is based off of everyone's CHARACTERS. I do not write fanfic based off the actual people.

--

Chapter 12: Called In Favors

< | Previous Chapter The weeks had blurred together once you had properly settled into your new home. Your days were spent often either reading something you found in the library that wasn't at your castle, or training with Techno. The training had been rough on you, horribly so. Bruises were blooming all over your body, especially your back. Despite getting better on your feet and with your response time to Techno, he never failed to knock you down at least a dozen times before calling it a day. It was frustrating, but definitely served to motivate you.

The boys had taken to watching you sometimes, with Tommy and Tubbo cheering you on. Wilbur would sometimes call out advice from the sidelines, and it was something you were thankful for. Beyond the training, you often met with Eret to go over wedding plans. The two of you had grown extremely close over the weeks, swapping stories as he fussed over your dress. You appreciated his friendship like no other, extremely content to have made a proper friend.

The wedding was only a couple of days away now, and you were giddily pacing around Eret. He laughed at you, moving to grab your arm to stop you. “Relax, pacing isn’t going to make them show up any sooner,” He murmured, and you couldn’t help the impatient way you twirled.

“I know. I just miss them and want them to hurry up,” You practically whined, toying with the sleeves of your dress. Dream and George were supposed to be showing up today, and staying for about a week. Excitement coursed through you the moment you had woken up, the excitement blatantly clear in your eyes.

“You miss them, don’t you?” He gave you a soft look and smile, letting go of your arm to let you pace again. 

“Always. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be, but I still miss them. George is my brother, I naturally miss his guidance. Dream is my partner in crime, we’ve always been joined at the hip. I feel lost without him by my side.” You paused by the window, peering out at the courtyard. Tubbo and Tommy were squaring off, pointing swords at each other. It was always interesting to watch them fight, how seriously they could take it, swinging as if they had the intent to take a limb off each other. Only to turn around a few moments later and tackle the other and laugh, as if they weren’t practically at each other's throat. It was endearing in a sweet way.

“I see. I suppose your restlessness would make sense, then.” He wandered over to stand beside you, watching Tommy and Tubbo as well. The two swung their swords at one another, practically anticipating one another’s movements. You yearned to have the added danger of sharp objects in your training. While you did enjoy the hand-to-hand, it wasn’t nearly as exciting as what you were watching.

“Do you think Techno will let me fight with my dagger any time soon?” You mused, turning to look at Eret. He hummed, shrugging slightly.

“He’s probably going to try and make sure your hand-to-hand is nearly perfect before he lets you actively touch your dagger.” You pouted at that, huffing a little.

“That’s boring, it gets so repetitive. Not that it isn’t useful, of course it is. I was just hoping to learn to use a weapon much sooner.” You grumbled, moving away from the window. The ballroom had most of its decorations up, leading to it feeling like a completely different place. You ran your fingers along the table, tracing the grain on the wood.

“It’s good if you’re finding it repetitive. He might actually let you use your dagger soon. Ask him about it later,” Eret laughed, following behind you. As he did, you could hear Tommy yell obscenities at Tubbo, making you shake your head. Loud as ever.

“He better. Wonder if he’ll let me show off for Dream and George.” You gave a crooked grin. You could already imagine the frustration on their faces as you trained. Your training sessions were nearly daily anyways, and you hoped that Techno didn’t choose today of all days for a day off. You really wanted to show off and make it known that you could hold yourself in a battle. Especially with Techno.

“He’s cocky when it comes to his fighting, he’ll want to show off. You won’t even have to ask him.” You couldn’t help but grin at that, eyes alight. Good. You really wanted to be able to see how the two would react. You had a rough feeling on how Dream would react, but you really wanted to see if he would be proud after all of it was said and done. After all, learning to fight from literally nothing wasn’t a small task.

“Good! That’s all I ask for the time being. I’ll ask about my dagger later, then.” Eret only gave you an amused look, watching you return to wandering around the room. You were just incredibly eager to see your brother again. Even though it was for your wedding, a thought that had your stomach flipping. You still had trouble picturing it as your own wedding, despite the fact you had helped through every single step of it.

“It’ll probably have to wait until after your marriage. It’s already bad enough you’re all bruised up before the wedding, we don’t need any cuts showing up,” Eret teased and you huffed, acutely aware of how it would look. Neither George nor Dream would be pleased about the bruises on your forearms from blocking hits from Techno. Not that you cared too much what they thought about them. You were happy that they were there because it meant you were learning. You were improving on top of it, too. You had to be.

“I suppose I can be okay with that. After the wedding I better be using my dagger, or Techno is gonna have a few problems.” You settled your hands on your hips, puffing out your chest.

“Somehow I doubt you could give him very many problems.” Eret’s laugh was contagious, easily breaking through your initial pout.

“Maybe I could, you don’t know!” You wandered to stand beside him, peering as he messed with some of the decorations, making sure they sat as he wanted. “Do we need to do a final dress fitting?”

“No, the only thing you need to do is take it easy and prepare yourself for your wedding tomorrow.” Eret reached over, patting your shoulder. You huffed. You had been antsy the entire time, wanting to make sure everything was perfect. While it was an arranged marriage, it was still your one and only wedding. You were going to make sure things were perfect for it. As much as you could, anyways.

“That means do nothing until George and Dream get here. Who knows when that’ll be,” You whined, dramatically leaning against him. He laughed, head shaking.

“Realistically? Anytime soon. Didn’t the prince say they were planning to leave early morning?” You nodded at the question, craning your head towards the main hall. They would be arriving soon, and it caused excited butterflies to swirl around your stomach. Eret noticed, pushing you gently towards the door. “Go wait for them before you wear a path into the floor.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, grinning thankfully at your friend as you took off towards the door. The morning sun beat down on the ground outside, and you giddily went to the same spot Philza, Tommy, Tubbo, and Wilbur had stood for your arrival. You rocked back and forth on your heels, staring down the stone path expectantly. As if they would appear if you so much as blinked.

“You seem excited,” A voice mused from beside you. You yelped in surprise, jumping a little. Techno stood beside you, looking down in amusement at you. When the hell had he snuck up on you? Were you really that focused on Dream and George’s arrival?

“I am, I missed them,” you replied, turning your gaze towards the path again. A fond smile was painted on your face, eyes bright with excitement.

“They should be here soon. The carriage was seen pulling into the capital not too long ago.” The words only fuelled your excitement, and it took everything in you to not start pacing again. You really were restless with the excitement, the movement felt like the only way to expel it. Other than being able to hug George properly. You simply continued to rock on your heels, excitedly listening out for the sound of them. Under the assumption you didn’t see them first.

You heard the steady pace of horse hooves before you saw the carriage, though you stood on your tip-toes. You grasped onto Techno’s arm for balance as you craned in an attempt to see. From your peripheral you could see him look at you, that amused smile on his face. His hand covered yours on his arm, allowing you to properly look for the carriage as it pulled up.

You were practically bouncing when it came to a stop, fingers curling into Techno’s arm. You didn’t even care who came out of the damned thing first, you were going to hug them. Techno laughed as you stared, watching the door open with such eager anticipation. You launched yourself away from Techno, throwing yourself at the man who stepped out of the carriage.

Arms wrapped around you, a startled laugh ringing in your ears as you were spun around before your feet returned to the ground. “Good to see you too.” You pulled back a little, grinning at George fondly.

“I missed you so much,” You held onto him tight, not wanting too much to part.

“It’s been a rough few weeks, hasn’t it?” He reached up to ruffle your hair, much to your protest.

“Did you miss me too?” Dream’s voice called as he stepped down onto the stone. Excitement lit up your face as you untangled yourself from your brother.

“Dream!” You called excitedly as you threw yourself at him next. He picked you up as your arms wrapped around his neck, holding you tight against him. “Of course I missed you, idiot. You never replied to any of my letters.” You buried your face into his neck, relishing the familiar scent of fresh linen and roses, as well as the sharp tang of metal. It was comforting to smell it again.

“I was busy with a few things, but I promised I read each and every one of them,” He assured you, hands squeezing your waist. Techno cleared his throat from behind the two of you, and you sheepishly pulled away from your friend at that. You offered Dream a gentler smile, turning to offer it to Techno as well. The same look he had given Dream back when you set off in the carriage, except it was a little more off putting now that you could actually see his facial expression. The down tilt of his mouth, the way his eyes were narrowed. It was enough to make you take a few large steps back from Dream, closer to Techno.

“I’m glad to see you made it here safely. I take it the trip was okay?” Techno mainly addressed George as he spoke, and you wandered back to his side. Standing between George and Dream held a different feeling than it had previously. George followed when Techno moved towards the castle. His hand settled in the middle of your lower back to guide you, an action that made heat rise to your cheeks. You were used to him resting a hand on your back, but it was always between your shoulder blades.

“It was, thank you. Have things been fine here?” George upheld the conversation, and you just let the two of them talk. Between the hand on your back and the heated stare you could feel burning holes into you, you didn’t think you trusted your voice at the moment.

“I’ll let you show them around. Come to the courtyard when you’re finished,” Techno addressed you, hand finally moving away from your back. You missed the touch just the slightest, but met Techno’s pointed look evenly. For training. He meant to meet him there to train. A smile blossomed on your face as it clicked.

“Alright, I shouldn’t take too long.” You watched him leave towards the courtyard, but not before he narrowed his eyes at Dream once more. It was going to be a long week, wasn’t it? You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on showing them around.

“He’s much less intimidating without the mask,” George mused, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“He’s only intimidating when he wants to be.” You led them towards the east wing, entirely forgoing the west wing. It was mostly just servants quarters and work rooms, so truly Dream and George didn’t need to know too much about it. You informed them as much, too.

“Where’s your dagger?” Dream questioned as you lead them into the dining hall, causing you to look at your hip. You hadn’t been wearing it since you never used it yet, and taking it off during training was just an extra step you didn’t care for.

“I haven’t learned to use it yet, though I’ll probably start learning to use it after the wedding.” You grinned bright, and George made a sound of disagreement.

“I still don’t think you need to be learning to fight. Surely you won’t be in a position where Technoblade can’t protect you.” You shrugged, leading them down the wings and pointing out various rooms.

“I don’t think I will be put into the position, but it doesn’t hurt to have the knowledge should it be needed.” You led them up the stairs next, heading towards the rooms they would be staying in.

“Just don’t get yourself hurt. I don’t want to get a letter about that.” Dream gave you a pointed look and you laughed, head shaking. 

“I won’t! I take good care of myself!” You defended, watching them examine the rooms. When they were satisfied and returned to your side, excitement bubbled in your stomach. This meant you were closer to training, all you had to do was change and head to the courtyards.

“Going to come with me to the courtyard?” You asked with an excited smile, heading in the direction of your room. 

“I don’t see why not. You seem awfully excited.” George raised an eyebrow and you grinned, peering out of the windows as you passed the ones that overlooked the courtyard. You could see the training patch from here, and you could very clearly see Techno on it, across from Philza. Both had swords drawn, practically dancing around each other and calculating the others movements. They moved with a sense of clear familiarity, around both each other and their blades. It wasn’t the first time you had seen Techno train using his sword, but it always enraptured you every time.

“I am.” Your voice was soft as George and Dream also glanced out the windows to see what you were looking at. Just in time for Techno to knock Philza’s sword out of his hand, the weapon bouncing along the ground. His shoulders heaved, a cocky grin on his face when his uncle raised his hands in defeat. He sheathed the sword, hand raising to wipe sweat from his brow. He’d clearly been training from the moment he’d been out there.

As if aware you were watching his gaze tilted up, looking towards the window. More specifically, towards you. He gave a grin your way, hand raising in a small wave which you couldn’t help but return. He raised his eyebrows, almost as if a silent question on if you were almost done and you couldn’t help but nod excitedly. From beside you, Dream huffed, especially at the smug smile on Techno’s face. You didn’t care, simply moving away from the window to move to your room faster.

“I have to change, but then we can go to the courtyard.” You practically ran into your room, eager to change into your pants and boots as opposed to the dress. You eyed the exposed bruises on your forearms, knowing full and well the reaction you were about to get. You slid out of your room, grinning up at George and Dream. “Okay, so, I may be about to go train-” You slowly started, warily eyeing their reactions. George made a noise of protest, eyes going wide. Dream shot a hand out, grabbing your wrist and lifting your arm up. The dim lighting in the hall illuminated the bruises of varying shades, as well as the scowl on Dream’s face.

“This is what happens when you train? You’re covered in bruises!” Dream demanded and you flinched a little, slipping your arm from his grasp.

“It’s from blocking hits, it’s not like he’s trying to hurt me,” You grumbled, sidestepping the blonde. The look on his face had made you uneasy, and you didn’t want to look at it. You just wanted to get to the courtyard. 

“You don’t know that! There’s no telling if he wants to hurt you or not!” Dream persisted from behind you. You took a breath, pausing on the stairs and looking at him.

“Dream, I am absolutely fine. You’ll see.” You didn’t give him too much time to react, darting down the stairs. You didn’t want a lecture- you wanted to train. You wanted to have fun. You could hear the two following behind you, as well as George’s soft muttering. Presumably he was reassuring the taller, but you didn’t care to listen to what they were saying.

The warmth of the sun was definitely welcome as it hit your skin. It was a familiar feeling, and you couldn’t help the eager grin on your face as you looked to Techno. He offered you a faint smile as he messed with his hair. He tugged it back, looping it into a loose bun. You raised an eyebrow at it, coming to stand across from him. “Taking this seriously enough to pull your hair back?” You questioned, swinging your arms across your chest in a stretch.

“I have to show your brother how much you’ve improved, don’t I?” He shifted, taking up a fighting stance once more. You naturally fell in line, mimicking his stance. George awkwardly stood to one side, Dream watching with a glare and his arms across his chest. Back behind Techno stood Philza, curiosity clear in his gaze. He hadn’t particularly watched the two of you train in the past, so it seemed now was the time he picked. Tommy and Wilbur were sat on the ground at his feet, watching with varying curiosity and interest.

You rolled your shoulders, before charging at Techno as you often did. You didn’t even have to think too much anymore, feigning to one side and shooting a hand out to clip his side. He had made sure very early on you learned to use your size to your advantage. That showed here as he turned, moving to hit you. You narrowly blocked the hand with your arm, jumping back as his foot shot out. The hit would have landed on your calf had it landed, and you were kinda thankful it had missed this time.

He didn’t relent on you as you danced on your toes, exchanging hits evenly. You stumbled when his hand passed your face, making you dodge to your best ability. You swung a fist out in retaliation, and he easily caught it. He swung it, pinning the arm behind your back. One hand moved towards your neck, hovering as if he had a knife. If he did, the blade would be very near your neck. Blood rushed in your ears, the adrenaline pumping. You were effectively trapped and defeated.

"I think I win this round," He murmured against your ear, and the blood rushed to your face. You were suddenly very aware of the way your back pressed to his chest. You were also vaguely aware of Tommy making disgusted gagging noises from the side.

"It would seem so," You managed to say back, voice barely short of a squeak. He unhanded you, allowing you to slip away from him. Your heart thundered as you took up your spot once more, looking at Techno’s family. Philza had this bemused look on your face, whereas Wilbur looked almost bored and Tommy looked disgusted. Your ears flushed and you focused in Techno once more, hands raised.

"Fight me," Dream's voice interrupted as he stepped into the middle of you and Techno. You blinked up at the blonde, turning to look at George. George had simply shrugged and you looked back towards Dream. Techno had stepped around him, an almost agitated look on his face.

"I was under the impression you didn't want her fighting?" He levelled Dream with a glare, which Dream only seemed to take in stride. Your stomach twisted anxiously, eyes darting between the two men.

"I don't but clearly you're going to teach her anyways." The way venom practically dripped from Dream's voice was worrisome, a trait you had only seen in him once or twice before.

"Well her future is here, so I think it matters more what I want and what she wants." He inclined his head, looking at him down the bridge of his nose. Tommy had leaned over to whisper to Wilbur, glancing at the two uneasily. Techno's fingers had twitched towards one of his swords, and it seemed like Dream was thinking similarly.

"Hey, its fine! I'll train with him! It'll be good to fight someone I'm not familiar with!" You exclaimed as you moved forwards, slotting yourself between them. You pushed at both of their chests, hoping to diffuse the situation. Dream gave Techno a smug smirk, and Techno simply sighed with a nod.

"Fine," He relented, taking a few steps back. He stood beside Philza, looking none too pleased.  You stepped back from Dream, returning to your spot. You could, at the very least, spar with him. So long as it kept the situation from escalating. He didn't wait for you to be ready like Techno often did, instead going straight for you.

You spun on your toes, yelping and dodging out of the way from the hit aimed towards your stomach. You rebounded from the initial shock, spinning again to smack your heel against his thigh. The slight wince that crossed his face immediately brought satisfaction bubbling up, a smile on your face. You weren’t given much time to celebrate the hit, though. You had to react fast, meeting each hit with your own. You winced a little as he struck your wrist, cursing under your breath.

His hits and timing were a lot less forgivable than Techno’s, having an edge to him that you were never quite prepared for. Your eyebrows knitted together as you punched at his shoulder on his bad side, knocking him off balance. His hand shot out, grasping onto your wrist and dragging you down with him. You yelped in surprise, his back slamming into the ground. His body padded you're fall, a small thing you were thankful for.

You weren't given too much time to contemplate the next course of action, getting thrown off of his chest. He rolled the pair of you over, leaving you pinned to the ground beneath him. His hand moved, mimicking as Techno had earlier. Like if he had a knife it would be pressed to your neck.

"I win," Dream whispered and leaned down, smug smirk still on his face. You huffed beneath him, shoving slightly at his hand at your defeat.

"Alright, you win. Now get off of me," You grumbled. You pouted a little and pushed at his shoulder, ignoring the way the smugness vanished. He complied, getting off of you and allowing you to sit up.

"You still have a lot of work to do." His voice came from above you, and you rolled your shoulders. You glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. 

"I haven't been training that long, of course I still need to learn." You placed your hands up under you, moving to push yourself up. Before you could, Techno’s all too familiar hand came into sight, offering to help you. He had inserted himself between you and Dream, a frown tugging at his lips. You easily took his hand, allowing him to pull you up. You stumbled as he did so with a little more force than necessary, colliding into his chest with a squeak.

"She did fine. She's not some delicate flower who needs you to keep her thorns clipped." He hardly seemed bothered by you being pressed to his chest, only seeming focused on staring down Dream. You carefully pulled away from Techno’s chest, though you continued to linger by him.

"I never said she was,” Dream spat, causing your nervousness to rise.

“Dream-” George started, moving to grab his friend’s shoulder.

“You didn’t say it explicitly, but your actions said it well enough.” You raised a hand, gently pressing it on Techno’s upper arm.

“Techno-” You murmured softly, moving to push him away. The two glowered at each other, though Techno did allow you to move him. You ushered him towards his brothers, glancing back at Dream nervously. Whatever tension was between these two was quite dangerous, and you didn’t like it. “Dream, maybe you and George should go to your rooms for right now.” Your voice was tense, unsure if the blonde would listen.

“She’s right, Dream.” George’s voice was low as he moved the younger back. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to refuse. Dream pushed George off of him, turning and heading towards the castle. George shot you an apologetic look, chasing after him. You breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing your face.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into him,” You apologized to Techno, who finally looked to you again.

“What a dickhead,” Tommy chimed, a frown on his face as he looked towards the castle. You sighed, not even knowing how to respond. 

“Is he always like that?” Wilbur raised an eyebrow at you, drawing your attention to him.

“Not usually. He’s never done any of that before.” You turned back to Techno, watching him closely. His brows were furrowed, irritation sparkling in his eyes.

“Enough about him. We need to keep training you. Philza.” Techno turned towards his uncle. The older man walked forward, raising an eyebrow. “Go tell Ranboo I need a favor from him. Keep an eye on him,” He muttered softly, eyes cutting towards where Dream had left. Philza followed the gaze and nodded, leaving Techno’s full attention to focus on you. 

“Round two?” You questioned softly with a smile, eager for distraction. As Philza left towards the castle, Techno took up his normal stance and motioned for you. Sparring was better than dealing with whatever dramatics Dream had, and easier than wondering what this favor was that Techno called in from whoever Ranboo was.

Next Chapter | >

[jokerscrazybrilliant]

Survive - Chapter 1 - (Captain Rex)

Idk why I'm so nervous to post this lol, but I'm new here, anyhow, I've been re-watching Clone Wars and re-fawning over the incredible Captain Rex, so um, here's the maybe beginning to something? I kind of don't know how to judge my own writing so I hope this isn't totally sucky lol..

ANYHOW CHAPTER 1 !! XD

Also out now:

Chapter 2 · Chapter 3 · Chapter 4

Story on other platforms:

AO3 · Quotev

________

sur·vive /sərˈvīv/ verb Continue to live or exist, especially in spite of danger or hardship. Similar: live · continue · remain · last · persist · endure · persevere · abide · linger · exist · be • continue to live or exist in spite of (an accident or ordeal). • remain alive after the death of (a particular person). • manage to keep going in difficult circumstances.

________

Darkness. Everywhere. Not just a lack of light, but the feeling of being lost and directionless, the great darkness that spread endlessly in every direction. And I was alone in it, unable to watch my step, I stumbled over my feet as I ran. Run. Run. RUN.

“MASTER!” The shout tore itself from my throat painfully as I shot up in bed, sweating and in a panic. Breathing heavily, I put a hand to my chest, feeling my heart pounding painfully rapidly. I tried to control my breathing as I blinked away tears, making my way to the refresher, the bright lights of Coruscant’s horizon making their way into the room through the window.

The shower helped calm me down and I got dressed in my tan and brown jedi robes, making my way to the balcony to meditate until sunrise.

Today the council would be informing me of their decision on my future. When I lost my master so close to being ready to take my tests to be knighted, the council was unsure of which path would be best for me. To assign me as a Padawan to a new master or to get me to take the tests early, neither seemed an easy option. I took a deep breath and let my mind quiet as I felt the force flow through and around me. Whatever may come would be for the best, I just had to keep my mind open and accept things as they were.

***

Standing there in front of the council, most of what was said passed around me in a haze. All of the comments on how what had happened was unfortunate, but the force willed it so, the comments on how it would make me a stronger Jedi to learn patience detachment and strength from this particular trial. While this was all true, I wasn’t in a place where I wanted to hear these words. I just wanted to know what their decision was so I could carry on without thinking about what happened.

“-so we believe that it would be best if you served under another Jedi master, not necessarily as his Padawan, but just to gain some more experience before you are ready to take the tests for your knighthood. And you would also be assisting him in leading his battalion and helping him plan strategies for key missions. This is a great opportunity, so I hope that you will make the best of it, and I’m sure you will, we have faith in you Nimra.”

“Thank you Master Windu,” I bowed my head to him respectfully. “Might I ask to which Jedi Master I am being assigned?”

At my question a half smile and a nearly playful twinkle appeared in the Master’s eye. “Anakin Skywalker. He is a very skilled Jedi, and things would certainly never be dull.”

I gave a slight smile in response and bowed once more to the council. “Thank you for the opportunity masters, I will do my best to make you proud.” With that I made my exit, sagging slightly once the door closed behind me.

Master Skywalker, huh? I had met him a few times with my previous master on certain missions, and Master Windu’s comment made perfect sense to me. Things would certainly be interesting, but I was just hoping to keep my head down and get through the next few months with him until I could take my tests.

***

He was late. This was a wonderful start. He was late, and he was arriving in an old trash pile of a ship, one that looked like it was found in a junkyard on an outer-rim moon somewhere. “Nimra!” He called my name joyfully as he made his way down the ramp with a small blue astromech and a young orange skinned Togruta following him.

“Master Skywalker.” I bowed my head respectfully and gave him a small smile.

“I’m so sorry to hear about what happened to your master. He was a great Jedi Master and it’s truly a loss to the republic and the Jedi Order.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Of course. I’d like you to meet my Padawan, Ahsoka Tano, Snips this is Nimra Sayla.” I bowed my head to the padawan as well and she returned it with a smile. “Nimra will be joining us for a while, and we will be lucky to have her, I’ve fought on the battlefield with her, and she is a force to be reckoned with.”

“You’re too kind, Master.”

“You’re nearly knighted yourself Nim, stop calling me that would ya?” He laughed at my formality, and I gave a small chuckle myself.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Master – Master Diya thought highly of professionalism and formalities.” I kept the smile even though saying my old Master’s name caused a sharp stinging pain in my heart. Anakin put his hand on my shoulder and gave me an understanding smile, which I appreciated immensely.

“Well, we should get going if we’re going to make the rendezvous with the rest of the fleet.” Anakin turned to climb back up the ramp before the astromech gave a series of agitated beeps at the Jedi. “Oh, you’re right, how could I forget. This, is R2-D2.” He laughed as he introduced the droid to me, it beeping appreciatively and spinning it’s head around slightly.

“Hello R2-D2, it’s nice to meet you.” I gave the droid a grin as we all made our way into the ship, me biting my tongue as not to comment on how this junk pile would possibly make the trip through hyperspace.

***

“Home sweet home.” Anakin commented as we made our way into the hangar of his Jedi cruiser we had met up with.

“Welcome back, General.” A clone trooper with the blue paint of the 501st met us as we descended. He was holding his helmet under his left arm, and he had buzzed bleached hair, with no other specific markings unlike many clones who chose to tattoo themselves or get very unique haircuts to set them apart from their comrades. Of course, being someone with the force, I could feel the energy signatures within people rather than just seeing their outsides, and that had always helped keep track of the clones, who while they had the same DNA, each had their own very different and unique personalities. “I see we’ve picked up a new recruit?”

“Thank you, and yes, Captain Rex, meet Nimra Sayla.” Anakin introduced us, gesturing his hands between us before focusing on an information disc R2 was giving him.

“Nice to meet you General.” The Captain gave me a salute.

“Oh, no, not quite. I’m not actually a Jedi Knight yet.” I gave him a slightly sheepish smile.

“Ah, sorry about that Commander.”

“That’s quite alright.”

“You’re not a padawan but also not a knight yet?” Ahsoka inquired from beside me.

“Uh, no, not yet. My master, he died before I could take my tests, so I’m going to complete my remaining trainings here with you until I can take them.” I was acutely aware of the pity entering Ahsoka’s eyes, but thankfully the clone did not show that same emotion, rather just a slight understanding of my situation.

“Sorry to hear that Sir.” Rex said, still standing at attention.

“Yeah, I’m sorry too.” Ahsoka said sweetly.

“It’s really okay, but thank you.”

“Alright, me and Ahsoka have to go prepare a debrief, and discuss how when I say ‘let’s go’, it means ‘let’s go’, and not ‘take your time Ahsoka’.” I chuckled at Anakin’s words.

“But Master, if I hadn’t stayed as long as we needed, we would’ve never gotten the information we needed!” She retorted, pointing at the disc in his hand.

“Yeah yeah, that’s not the point, Snips. Anyway, Rex, can you show Nimra around and to her quarters please?”

“Yes, of course Sir.” The captain saluted again and then turned to me as Anakin and Ahsoka walked away, still bickering.

“Are they always like that?” I asked, small smile still on my face.

“Yes Sir, for the most part.” His response made me turn to look at him in the eyes, serious expression taking over my features.

“I will do whatever it takes, whatever it takes, to get you to stop calling me that.” The moment he recognized my joking, some of his seriousness dissolved, and a small half smile appeared on his face.

“Whatever it takes?” He inquired, arching an eyebrow.

“I will personally make the trip to the end of the galaxy and back, on THAT scrap pile, with an agitated blurrg as my copilot, just to get you to stop calling me ‘sir’.” I pointed at Anakin’s ship behind me, serious expression never cracking even as I gained a full smile from the captain, which made my heart warm slightly.

“Well in that case, Commander.”

“That’s not any better!” I exclaimed, laughing as he grinned at me.

“Shall we begin the tour?” He offered, arm outstretched in the direction we would begin with.

“Yes, Captain.” My grin remained as he began to show me around. This will be interesting indeed.

[yournameyn]

Feeling Deeply Chapter 5

Genre: Arranged Marriage Fic. Fluff turning into angst?

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Summary: The story of two deeply feeling nerds who find themselves in an arranged marriage. (Details here). Our OC is called Brishti. It’s a Bengali name meaning rain. Namjoon calls her Rim (short for her pet name, RimJhim which means the pitter-patter of rain). She calls him Joon.

Warnings: NOT THE NAMJOON OF OUR DREAMS. Argument. Fight over tiny discrepancies that turn out to be a huge problem. Domestic violence. Not a happy chapter.

A/N: Have you ever felt this, reader? When you watch something and realise exactly what you need to realise in that moment? I’ve had that so many times - seeing my feelings mirrored in a show. That’s something that I’ve tried to have Brishti feel here. Also, this is how I see the natural progression of this Namjoon, the one who obliged to duty rather than his dreams. It took me a long time to write this but I love what’s come out. Let me know what you think!

Current Chapter: London, late 1963. Love fully blooms between Namjoon and Brishti. And yet, something’s not right. A visit to the ballet and a conversation brings forth realisations. The inklings that Brishti was trying to avoid transform into writing on the wall.

Previously in Feeling Deeply: Preface Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The magic about new love isn’t really in romance or even in true intimacy. It’s in how violent new love is… and just how much time it takes us to feel it’s impact.

In the new love between Namjoon and Brishti, everything had been roses and honey, overflowing, swaying in a gentle breeze. They spent every second possible in each other’s arms. They had to tear themselves away from each other when they had to leave home. And even then, it hurt as though they were part of the same cloth.

Brishti had thought about how they had become woven, their souls an ornate tapestry. Namjoon had told her then about a Japanese tradition of weaving that was a sort of meditation and a kind of worship to a god called ‘Musubi’. The disciples say it is like being part of the cosmic tapestry. Being tied to each other.

“Just like we are… I felt a pull toward you and I followed it. I was scared… so full of doubts about who you were and how this was all going to go… I had promised myself that I would fulfil my duty… whatever happened ” Namjoon had said, petting Brishti’s hand gently, “And I… I still can’t believe it… It… you make me feel like I can… trust myself.” Brishti had looked at her genius then and wondered what a strange world it must be that made a man like Namjoon doubt himself, “Always, always trust yourself, Namjoon-ah.” and settled into the crook of his neck.

It was indeed a strange world that caused Namjoon to build an armour around himself. Because ‘London’ and ‘Lonely’ sounded just the same to him. His years alone in this strange place had been unkind, unrelenting. Brishti had been the only softness he had felt in a long long time. Armours built over years can break in an instant, though. For him, it was the moment when he and his wife had crossed the threshold to becoming lovers. High on the magic of new love, he had not realised it.

Sitting across from each other after that fateful evening, Namjoon and Brishti were both wide awake in the early hours of the next morning. Brishti buttoned up the shirt they never fully took off. Namjoon had tickled her with his toes. They propped their feet against the other’s to see just how vast the difference was (he melted seeing how small her feet were and hadn’t stopped playing with them since). Caressing each toe, he remembered something he wanted to ask -

“How did you know what Saranghae is?”

“Mm…” she stretched her arms, “I know what it means…” Brishti said.

“I know you know… from the way you… after I said it… You asked Yoongi about it?” Namjoon cautiously asked about the only other Korean Brishti knew. To his surprise, she nodded no, still denying him any information. Namjoon had to tickle her foot for the answer.

“Okay! Okay! Wait! Pleeeease!” Namjoon stopped and Brishti bent down to the bureau next to her bed and pulled out a textbook - LEARN HANGUL THROUGH ENGLISH. Namjoon looked more shocked than she had expected. “I asked Yoongi about the book-”

“You don’t need to Rim… I’m not learning Bangla, am I?” Namjoon said. He was touched but he didn’t want his love to do anything he couldn’t reciprocate.

“I would have asked you to learn it… if I wrote poetry in my mothertongue...” Brishti said. Namjoon was shocked. She went on, “You really think I didn’t know?”

Namjoon blushed and smiled and flopped over in Brishti’s lap. She brushed his hair as she explained, “You light up at the mention of lyrics and poetry, you keep a notebook by your side at all times, you’re moved by the things that people usually don’t pay attention to… I know you’re a poet, Joonie.”

Namjoon looked up at her and said, “No one has ever called me that…”

Brishti leaned down and kissed her gorgeous husband. “You are... From what I know, I bet all my books that you are a great one... And… I… I would love nothing more than to be part of your world of words, Joonie… It must be strange… to be understood but in a foreign language. If you would let me, I want to understand you in your language… Do you think that’s something maybe--”

He got up and all but jumped on Brishti, pinning her down to the bed with the cutest puppy-yell she had ever heard. “Yes! Of course, yes!”

They both understood that this was a proposal. The truest kind - a gentle request to explore Namjoon’s universe. They would later joke about how she proposed to him after a month of being married. Namjoon was completely delighted by this person with him, his person… one who really saw him.

He pulled her to him saying, “You’re the best part of my world, Rim...” and kissed her.

Each moment of love flowed through the next. When they had to be separated, they couldn’t wait for the next one, their moment again. On weekends they would visit museums and find their favourite paintings and sculpture or their favourite prehistoric relic and animal. Brishti hated the fact that Namjoon had to work overtime to compensate for these weekends and she often voiced how unfair it was.

In response Namjoon would just give her a peck and say, “As long as I have you, I’m happy.” This pricked her but she was too taken by the man before her to pay heed to it.

Namjoon was just about able to keep a straight face at work but everyone around Brishti was acutely aware of how much she loved Namjoon.

At one point, her colleague and best friend, Min Yoongi had yelled at her, “Yhaaaaa! Stop blushing?! It’s just a clock… what could be romantic about a clock?!” Sayuri-san, and she were hanging around Yoongi’s table when Brishti looked at his new flip clock and started blushing.

Brishti laughed along with everyone else but explained, “It’s involuntary… that’s what happens when you’re married to a poet.”

Sayuri-san corrected, “I know too many wives of poets to know that’s not necessarily true… It is true though, when you’re in love with a poet… Go on… tell us how exactly poet Namjoon makes you blush about a clock...”

Brishti blushed even more at that. Yoongi rubbed his arms and demanded, “Tell us because there’s some really weird things coming to my mind… like you guys have an exact time when...”

Brishti stopped his imagination, “No no no… it’s nothing like that… he loves digital clocks... because he loves to watch the time turn to 00:00… zero o’clock he calls it… and on days he feels sad, it’s like zero o’clock is always there to comfort him… like it’s a point when the whole world holds its breath and he can feel happy again… but these days… with me… he said he wants the clock to keep going after 23:59… he wishes time would stretch on… beyond 24:01…”

Yoongi sighed and sat back down, “You’re making me fall in love with Namjoon… ahhh that is beautiful. He should be published...”

“Imagine him saying this directly to you and you might know how I feel… I can’t stop talking about him...”

“Oh, we know. But honestly none of us care… your poet-librarian romance is getting us through our single-ness.” Yoongi reassured her.

The three of them continued to talk about the ways in which Brishti could repay Namjoon’s wordsmithing in graphic ways.

It was that evening, wasn’t it, when Namjoon had enveloped her back in the warmest hug as soon as he’d entered their flat. Brishti was in the kitchen when she heard him enter but hadn’t expected this. He kissed her neck while telling her the good news, “We got our first Korean client today… because of me… Mmmm… Why do you always smell so amazing?”

Brishti turned around and hugged him again, “That’s amazing! Namjoon-ssi! I’m so proud of you!”

“He’s from a wealthy family… so he can actually afford our firm… its not exactly the work I wanted to do--”

“It is a step toward that idea, right? It’s still good work, fighting for justice?” Brishti asked, stopping him from undermining his own work.

Namjoon nodded, “Yeah… He’s a dancer… Park Jimin. All the posh types know him as one of the best dancers in the Royal Ballet. They call him Jim… as if it’s too difficult to say Jimin?” Namjoon shook his head in disapproval. He began helping Brishti with the chopping and continued, “He was born in the UK and trained since he was 5... He got into the Royal Ballet but he’s been passed up to be a principal over and over even though everyone who has seen him dance apparently knows that he’s far far better… So recently he spoke to the director there... and of course the director made a racist slur and asked not to bother him with this again. He can’t even quit and work at another company because of the contract they have him on. There’s a non compete clause… meaning he won’t be able to dance with any other company. That’s all he wants… to be able to get out of that contract… I’m hoping to convince him to press charges on racial discrimination too. We’re not in the 20s anymore.”

When Brishti didn’t respond, Namjoon looked up at her. “That’s horrible… I’m so so glad you’re taking up the case. But please tell me what you ate when you were alone?” He looked down at the carrot he’d been failing to cut.

Namjoon scrunched his nose and admitted, “Canned food mostly.”

Brishti said, “I’m really really glad you’re getting to do work that you are passionate about, Joonie, you deserve it. Now, you should know how to cut a carrot.”

Namjoon pressed up against Brishti’s back. She reached back up to the nape of his neck and made him moan into her. Then… then Namjoon made her forget how to cut carrots.

He had these ways… Namjoon, with his touch, his voice, his languages both spoken and soundless. He was lighting new paths into her self. She loved learning him. Paths she didn’t know existed, that she’d been longing for.

The scars of the loneliness, emptiness that Namjoon had experienced had turned his longings into a kind of starvation. He needed to be nourished and also devoured. Brishti was just the creature to do it. He could feel her warm fingers trace rows of pleasure onto his skin. He felt them bear down and singe when the two of them had to move away from each other. He felt those ropes tug at him as the end of his workday neared. Namjoon closed his eyes each night at her touch, the feeling and fragrance of her body. He felt blooms of intimacy spring up like seedlings out of the soil of his skin. And deeper. In the earth of his soul. So he did the only thing he could. Reciprocate. Namjoon sowed his love, his desire, his need onto her, into her every night.

There were times, though, when she would feel his absence in the middle of the night and see him working in the dim light of a lamp. She knew he had to work hard to do what he wanted but she also saw he had to continually prove himself to people who weren’t even paying attention. The reason they weren’t paying attention was painfully clear to Brishti but she was yet to experience it’s full stab.

Namjoon wanted to shield her from it. He was counting on an armour that didn’t exist anymore to protect himself and his wife… the reason he liked his life again. Whenever she came out and switched on a brighter light, reprimanding him for straining his gorgeous eyes, he saw that it did prick her - this world and the unfairness he had to endure. She would say something small, an almost-complaint that alerted him… against her for some strange reason. She would say something that would be easy to ignore and yet would prick him, like - “I don’t know why they haven’t promoted you yet.” or “Why haven’t they taken up Jimin’s case yet? You’ve worked so hard on it.” Everytime she did that, he would have to pacify himself.

‘I’ve told her so much about the Jimin case… she’s just really invested’ Namjoon thought to himself. Just so he would avoid thinking, ‘I shouldn’t have told her.’

He would have to calm himself, give her a peck and try to convince her to stop worrying. “As long as I have you, I’m happy.” Namjoon would always say.

Then, Brishti smiled as she always did. While trying to understand why that sentence bothered her so much. After almost five months of exploring this wonderful man, some part of him still felt unfamiliar… like it didn’t fit in with the rest. Still, these things take time, she had heard from so many women over the years. Besides, she was blessed with a man far far above the norms. So, how could she prod? These are things Brishti had told herself - until the night she couldn’t stay silent.

The couple was coming up on their fifth month together and Park Jimin had gifted Namjoon a ticket to the final show of the season as a token of gratitude, for having heard his story.

Brishti was nervous about going to this kind of a gathering and had told her husband to meet her there.

She had enlisted the help of Sayuri-san to look appropriate for the event. Her slightly longer hair was clipped and her eyes were kohled. She wore a burgundy knee length fringe-ended dress that she had received from her gracious host, stylist and make-up artist - an inheritance of her brilliant life tucked into the black pearl beading and deco design. It was a big departure from the usual tie-die or band tees and jeans with her baggy coat. She had carried the coat but felt this strange sort of compulsion to stand in the cold air in the noodle strap dress, for him to see her.

She felt butterflies in her stomach and kept fiddling with the coat she had draped over her arm. It was electric when she saw him.

Namjoon looked gorgeous in a tux. All of Brishti’s nerves were soothed just by looking at him. He had brushed his hair back. Tall and dashing - better than any heathcliffe could ever be. And with his reading glasses, he looked like the lead of a romance novella that would make all the women swoon. Indeed she was swooning. Brishti was suddenly warm in the chilly, windy night. And when Namjoon saw her, blood rushed to her cheeks. Everything inside her was running helter skelter in a panic. Brishti felt everything drop in the few moments it took for Namjoon to reach the top of the stairs. Dolled up like this, outside of her element, she felt like an imposter. Some angel needed to be standing in her place. For the first time, feigning beauty, Brishti felt like she wasn’t worthy of her husband.

She was finally able to keep her feelings aside when he reached her.

Namjoon kissed her palm like a gentleman and whispered in her ear, “Let’s go home… I need a private kind of dance…” Brishti blushed. Namjoon put his arm around her and felt the chill that had settled on her skin. “Aren’t you cold? Why didn’t you wear the coat?” Namjoon asked. Brishti just shook her head no and the two of them walked in.

Brishti assumed that the ballet would be a welcome distraction from the storm that brewed within her. She had read up about the show, the piece they were going to perform -

Tchaikovsky’s venerated Swan Lake. The story of a young girl who falls in love with a prince who promises to save her but fails. Ofcourse there were finer nuances to the story but this was the basic plot. As the lights dimmed, Brishti felt pulled in by the music, the eerie beauty of it’s melody played in perfectly with the questions that were swirling around in Brishti’s mind -

Why do I feel wrong?

Is this what Yoongi was talking about? Anxiety…?

Why does Namjoon look so... different?

Why is he so quiet, so… distant…It’s like he’s keeping himself away from me despite being right next to me, arm in arm, like the true Namjoon is somewhere in a glass case? Deep deep beneath whatever this creature is who is next to me?

I’m thinking too much. No. What is this? Why am I feeling this way?

It’s the music… no its not just the music… something is fucking wrong because all I feel like doing is breaking that glass case that’s locked away My Namjoon and presented this fucking imposter. What the hell is going on?!

Brishti barely managed to keep it together. She kept her eyes on stage…

It was like seeing a moving painting being created by invisible hands and the music was the sound of the brushstrokes, amplified. Park Jimin was playing Rothbart, the owl-like magician who curses Odette into a swan until she finds someone who would promise to love her forever. The questions in her mind and the power of the spectacle before her forced her tears to keep flowing.

Namjoon saw Brishti cry and held on to her. But the more he tried to comfort her, the more uneasy she became, the more she coudln’t contain the tears in her eyes.

The curtain fell at the end of Act three when the prince realises he has been tricked. Brishti, somehow, mirrored his grief. The prince was cheated by Rothbart into believing that his daughter, Odile, was Odette. Rothbart relished his plan so despicably it made Brishti’s stomach turn. The prince had already declared to the ballroom full of people his vow to love and marry the maiden by his side - Odile, not Odette. Park Jimin played Rothbart so skillfully, so beautifully that despite being the villain, despite being covered from head to toe, he was the star. Rothbart giggled delightfully as he revealed to the prince that the girl in his arms wasn’t Odette at all. That Odette was waiting for her prince by the lake. The curtain fell as the prince felt the stab of betrayal and rushed to Odette.

Brishti rushed to where she did not know. She wanted to get away from Namjoon, from this feeling that she couldn’t understand, couldn’t explain. She was angry. She wanted to break something. Tears still flowing down her face, she found a corner that was hidden away in darkness. She went in. Brishti sat on the couch there, for what seemed like eternity, breathing heavily. Nothing made sense. It felt like her insides were twisting into each other. Suddenly, though, a door creaked open and out came an angel. A man, glowing, having just freshened up. He saw her, saw her fear and instead of pulling back in shock, approached with a strange kindness. He held her wrist and stayed silent for a moment.

His beauty was also a kindness to her. In that moment, Brishti could breathe a little bit better. He sat down by her knees, on the floor and when he spoke, his voice flowed like a tonic, “First time at the ballet? It’s overwhelming… I know. You’re okay. You are safe. Rothbart is not here. Talk to me… what are you feeling?”

The tears kept flowing. This man was different, she knew he understood what she was feeling like. She felt safe, but not as if she was with a saviour, rather as though she was with another victim.

“What are you feeling…” Park Jimin repeated. The pieces were falling into place in her head. This is Park Jimin, the man who danced as Rothbart. The man who should have danced the Prince. Who should have played Odette and Odile.

“I feel… rage.” Brishti trembled as she spoke. She could breathe again.

“Yes… Rothbart is… evil… I’m sorry-”

Brishti nodded her head no. “At the prince.”

Jimin was surprised. “Let it out. You can scream in here and no one would know.”

Brishti didn’t need another invitation, but her rage wasn’t a scream, it was a whisper - “I want to hit the prince. How could he not now? He couldn’t see that that girl was not Odette? Is he blind? The way she moved, the way she danced… which only means… it means that the prince knew… somewhere he felt doubt but he… He couldn’t fucking trust himself enough?! I don’t know why this is breaking my heart… Why can’t people trust in themselves?! It’s a pathetic fucking excuse and I can’t buy it… I just can’t. Why did the prince...” Her hands covered her face as she wiped her tears. She composed herself.

Jimin pulled out a kerchief. “May I?” Brishti nodded and he dabbed her face with care.

“The prince trusted his sight more than his soul. And now, Odette will die because of it. As always, the woman pays the price.”

“He dies too, you know.”

“What a waste…”

Jimin smiled, “Thank you… for watching the show, for feeling it so much.”

Brishti managed a weak smile, “Thank you.” Jimin stepped away and sat next to her, at a respectable distance. “I’m being lied to.”

Jimin nodded, “I know what that’s like. I feel that rage against the prince too. And still, we must be kind to our liars.”

Brishti clenched her teeth, “Why? Where’s the fairness in that?”

Jimin moves away, in a dejected kind of daze and pours himself a drink, “That’s the biggest lie, fairness. Cruel joke.”

Brishti walked toward the door. “I should go… Thank you.”

Jimin raised his glass to her.

Brishti wore her coat and walked toward the exit. She found Namjoon in a panic and suddenly felt like she could reach him. He looked so relieved to see her. She couldn’t help but feel awash with love as he crashed into her in the warmest hug. It was as if he was the one who was lost.

“Are you okay? Why were you crying?” Namjoon asked her as he stroked her head and held her in the hug for as long as she needed.

“I need to ask you something.” Brishti whispered as she pulled away. They began walking down the stairs of the theatre.

“Änything.” Namjoon replied.

“Your firm… they refused the Jimin case, right?”

Namjoon froze. His jaw locked up. “Let’s go home.”

The rest of the way, neither of them spoke a word. They entered their home in a cold silence. They washed the night off themselves and entered their bedroom, which was completely devoid of the heat and desire that usually filled it right up to the ceiling. What used to feel like an ocean, now felt like a vacuum.

When Namjoon walked in, Brishti reminded him, as kindly as she could,“I said I need to ask you something. You said, ‘anything’.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about it.” Namjoon was cold again. Unfeeling. Unreachable.

Brishti tried her best to be calm… “When would you want to talk about it?”

Namjoon breathed in - “Why? Am I answerable to you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we disagree. I don’t think I am answerable to you. What would you have done if I wouldn’t have told you about it in the first place?”

“I would still be feeling what I’m feeling… I would be even more furious though.”

“Fu- why would you be furious? I have to work there, I lost the account. I’m feeling hurt and disappointed in myself and instead of helping me, you’re angry?! What the hell could you be angry at?!”

“I’m being lied to. I’m being tricked.”

“What?!” the contempt on Namjoon’s face made her head throb. He was angry now.

“There are two Namjoons here. I’m being told there’s only one and--”

“That is some philosophical trash that you learned from one of your books. Real life doesn’t work that way. But how would you know?! You don’t have a real job. You have a hobby. A hobby of stacking books in order. You’re just plain lucky that someone is paying you for your hobby. That’s not a job. You of all people cannot tell me about the things I have to do to keep my job. I have tried my best to be as honest as I can be--”

“As honest as you can --”

“Listen to me!” Namjoon thundered. His loud voice might as well have been a punch. It rang through her body and rattled her bones. She had tears in her eyes but clenched them down as Namjoon continued yelling, “Enough… enough with the fucking tears. What the fuck are you so sad about?! I don’t need you to pity me. I don’t need anyone to feel sad for me. I have tried to be a good man - do you even know how much other men don’t even mention to their wives?! I told you everything. EVERYTHING. And now I’m being punished for it. Time and time again I tried to console you… even though I was the one hurting… I tried to be there for you and tell you… as long as I have --”

Brishti couldn’t take it anymore “Don’t. Say that.” She didn’t yell. Her voice was just above a whisper and yet it sent a chill down Namjoon’s spine. She wiped her tears. “I didn’t ask to be consoled. I was just… curious. If a few questions from me hurt so much maybe you should ask yourself why. I’m not lucky that someone decided to pay me for my hobby. It’s nice to know what you really think of my job. But whatever you think, I created my job. I created my life. I fought to come to london. I fought for the right to earn--”

“Oh please... spare me the feminist lecture...” scoffed Namjoon.

“Sure. Take up Jimin’s case.”

Namjoon felt the burn of white hot rage. He wanted to strangle her. He was so used to touching her… and she was his… in this bedroom, he had made her his. He wasn’t thinking. Namjoon strode toward her and held one massive palm over her mouth and the other on her neck and pinned her to the wall. “YOU WOULDN’T HAVE KNOWN ABOUT THAT IF I DIDN’T TELL YOU.”

It took him a few moments to realise what he was doing. Brishti was shocked and tried to scream but no voice came out. She was trying to get him out of his daze when he finally saw her, saw his Rim, horrified… by him. Namjoon pulled his hands back instantly. He saw a red bruise bloom where his hands were - on her face and on her neck.

“This is how you make your conscience shut up?” Brishti’s voice was hoarse. “You think this has nothing to do with your conscience? With the best part of you? The part that you made me fall in love with? Are you really telling me you don’t know that this is why you can’t write the way you used to… You’re killing my Joon and asking me to stay silent. I can’t.”

The searing anger still hadn’t died and it burst out of him, “Why are we fighting like this… over Jimin… why don’t you take up his case if you fucking love him so much?”

“What do you think I’m doing right now?”

“You… Why are you fighting for him against me?!” It was here that Namjoon realised his armour was gone. The idea of who he is... suddenly vanished. And the one thing that had made him feel safe, like his true self, was slipping away. “You’re saying… just tell me… you’re saying what I think you’re saying.”

Brishti did him the only kindness she had left in her, she explained, “Jimin wants to leave but can’t. He stays because he needs to dance. He stays because he cannot get out of his contract. You say you want to help people like Jimin, you roll your eyes at white people who can’t pronounce our names, you feel guilty for asians who have much less than we do… but then you also don’t raise an issue when your boss holds meetings in clubs where people of other races and dogs and women are not allowed. You work overtime for the privilege of weekends… You say you are trying but… as far as I know… you don’t have a non-compete clause in your contract, Namjoon.”

That hit him like an iceberg. Namjoon’s legs gave way and he just sat on the bed.

He watched as Brishti put on her coat and left, covering her bruises with a scarf.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 6 - to be posted.

[94erz]

Instead of get into a negative headspace about western collabs out performing j-hope’s solo album I’m instead going to focus that negativity into positive praise for j-hope. Because I am just very proud of him as a fan, his music, his dance, his personality, his drive and commitment, and his passion. 

It’s been made very clear that JITB was a mixtape set to be released back at the beginning of the year, but due to very last minute changes in the company it was slated to become his first solo album. But not just his, but he himself being the first member of BTS in this new era to release solo music with seemingly more support from their company than their (rap line’s) mixtapes got. That was clearly an overwhelming venture, one that came with a lot of trial and tribulation, so much so he told us he lost sleep, could barely eat, lost a lot of weight, and was just generally very anxious and nervous. But he pushed through regardless because he LOVES to perform, he loves his music, his passion as a performer shined through.

And even though I as a fan don’t feel as though he got the promotion and support he deserved, to him it was more about just doing what he wanted and saying what he needed and hoping people hear what he had to say. And to that I did, I did hear him. JITB isn’t just an album with songs I like, it’s an album with a story that further let’s me understand j-hope the artist, and Jung Hoseok the person who is behind and creates the ‘persona’ of j-hope, and trying to balance who those people are at the crazy insane level of global fame BTS has reached and what the future holds.

He didn’t set out to create summer pop hits or a #1 dance song that could go viral on tiktok, he experimented with sounds we didn’t even hear on Hope World, a sound that not even loyal ARMY like or support as shown by the stats surrounding both singles and the album as a whole. It even turned some diehard Hope World j-hope fans against him, because suddenly it wasn’t the sound they came to know and love and just wanted more of. He really did, truly, want to challenge himself as an artist, and all I can truly hope is that he feels as proud of himself now as I do after everything.

Because on top of the album Lollapalooza just can’t be ignored, nor has it within the industry (at least here in the US). It was such a resounding success, he came here and blew everyone away! Even I heard and saw general Lolla goers come and listen to him, vibe with his music, dance to his music, and just generally had good things to say about him. I saw more white dudes around me coming to check him out than I thought I would, but it just goes to show that they were interested, and what they saw impressed them enough to leave a good impression even as some of them left to go watch Green Day to later talk about it online. 

He also said that was stressful, and his vlive with Jimin made that acutely apparent. But he was, and frankly always has been, a performer to see live because he always brings his utmost passion to a stage. Not just vocally solid but of course who is j-hope if not also a dancer, who moves the way he knows best to any song, whether it be headbanging and rocking to Arson, What If..., or More, getting completely overtaken by the feelings of Blue Side or Future, P.O.P. or = (Equal Sign), to full choreo performances for Hope World, Ego, Dynamite, and CNS. Mixing his old Hope World sound and his new JITB sound to create a very unique, cool, and fun experience. 

This was not only something that only he could do, but it sets the starting line going forward into this new chapter. We have no idea who or how the next solo album will be or the rollout for that project, but we know already that it can’t nor won’t be identical to what j-hope just did, because everything about this was for him, through him. I can only pray that it’s not the last time we get to experience j-hope as a solo artist because he still has more to say, more to show, and this was just a beginning, jack is now out of the box, now where will he go? What will he do? I can only wait to see.

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Only Time Makes It Human 2

As promised, here I am with part two, hehe this is looooong and I'm really really proud of it 👉🏻👈🏻 part one here

Pairing: Levi/ Reader

Tags: college!au, angst, fluff, many smooches in this chapter I hope you enjoy

Warnings: mentions of cheating, smoking and Zeke being a little shit

Cobblestone streets and modern renovated buildings bathed in tiny multi colored Christmas lights decorated almost every side of Trost with Christmas creeping around the corner. Petra's eyes were gleaming golden as they landed on every store window, the smile on her face refused to fade. Her footing only became faster as they approached the turn to the familiar coffee shop.

Her cuffed up jeans swayed as she flickered her feet to the pedestral, expectedly catching Levi's attention, but not for the reason she'd like to. Today, Petra seemed too bright and bubbly to take notice of any puddle of water that was left behind from last evening's brief snow storm. Everytime Levi managed to open his mouth, in hopes of scolding her to prevent her from getting her feet wet she seemed to skillfully sway herself out of danger, leaving him with his mouth slightly parted while his unspoken words took a roote from the tip is his tongue back to his brain.

"Come on Levi! We're almost there!" Petra said enthusiastically.

Levi only managed to click his tongue in response. With a head that was begging to burst and hips that burned in soreness and superstitial scratches inside his sweatpants he couldn't possibly bring himself to catch up on Petra's enthusiasm. He even caught himself wondering how Petra was in such a good mood; as if she wasn't mixing any existing drink along with Hange last night.

His head was swamping him, drowning him with trillions of new questions with every passing second. It was merely impossible for him to ignore his point of view of last night's events. His mind was not even allowing him to take a breather, to enjoy a soul mending cup of hot tea before he could come up with any believable assumption as to how exactly he ended up in the position he woke up in.

As he sternly walked ahead behind his bubbly partner, his heart protested in his chest everytime he set his eyes on Petra's auburn hair. His stomach, much in a horrid condition as well threatened him to spill the alcohol poisoned insides it was welding; every aspect of his sore, hungover body deemed him unable to allow him to carry on.

Nontheless, as they took the inevitable turn the all too familiar coffee shop stood only a few meters away from him as he paced a few more steps, clutching his stomach along with each tap of his feet on the ground. Petra shot him a knowing glare before she set her hands on the vast metallic knob, a loving half smile lingered it's way across her full pinkish cheeks.

Winter time didn't suit Petra, she knew that as much as the next person. Despite the fact that the saturated rosy hue on her cheeks and nose made her look unbelievably sweet, her caramel like persona and choice of aesthetic screamed spring from miles away. It was a miracle that she could manage to get through wintertime somehow stylish and warm. With her lilac puffer jacket zipped up over her mouth and her wide leg jeans cuffed perfectly in order for her butterfly patterned socks to peak from her creamy Converse, she felt somehow confident enough that this could be a regular casual look for her.

However, with the holidays approaching in a week's time she knew she would have much more liberty to her clothing choices. She shot another warm look at Levi again, never loosing her small smile as she painted the picture of the two of them near Erwin's fireplace on Christmas day in her head.

Had it not been for his body pushing him over the edge of guilt be probably would have left his heart warm up by the small affectionate gesture.

Petra's attention seemed to deviate away from him for a few, mere seconds, with an ultimate goal to find a nice comfortable booth to sit in. Upon her eyes falling to the left she spotted one that looked decent, if not, the best booth in the cafe. Plenty of today's minimal sunlight was gathered on the spot; at the side there was a waitress, silently scrubbing the surface of the table with force, a tray with used cups and plates balancing perfectly on her other hand.

Amazing spot and recently cleaned? Levi's prayers must have been heard today.

She resended the fact that Levi would be too grumpy to let himself be bathed in light; with a grip of her hand around his wrist she pulled him towards the booth in fast movements. She couldn't have anyone take the perfect stand on her favorite cafe and plus, it would do good to both her and Levi to warm up under the nice morning light.

Petra loosened her puffer jacket off her frame, as silently as she could master; she knew by looking at Levi's face that he was in pain. It was unusual if him to get that drunk, she knew, but he had been particularly grumpy and almost too generous with his drink the previous night.

Not that Petra couldn't suspect the reason as to why Levi had managed to go to such extend. Her mind had been fast to put the pieces together when she saw you approaching their group and even faster to acknowledge that you seemed to ignore Levi and her completely. She had seen the effort and pain in your somewhat unfocused eyes every time you threw a small glance at them, she had seen the way Levi's face would fall with every passing second as your greeting to him never came and she wasn't one to judge.

When deciding to go after Levi after he had just broken up with you she knew she had to accept that maybe he wouldn't be able to recover from his past relationship that early as to get in one with her. Hange had warned her about it, her friends had warned her about it, but with her caramel sunshine personality and quick smart wits she had found her self in a promising position to Levi's future. In addition, they were having fun, joyous moments together, their linking had soon turned into what seemed like a blooming relationship.

"So." Petra beamed and shook her thoughts off her head, extending her hands patiently waiting for Levi to respond to the action by tingling his fingers through hers. "What's today's tea?"

Getting comfortable in her seat wasn't hard. The faux leathery material of the booth rubbed on her buttocks but with her jeans muffling most of the sound though she let it fall deaf in her ears. Still, her hands sat welcomingly extended on the table, her fingers occasionally motioning Levi to take a good grab at them to which he never seemed to pay attention. He seemed to distracted and anxious, too deviated of the world around him. But still Petra remained beaming, patient.

"Today." Levi sighed, burying his head between his palms, rubbing along his eyebrows with his thumbs. "Today I'll have coffee."

"Oh it's one of those days?" Despite not wanting to be too generous with her bubbliness to the point where she could irritate the man, Petra chose to simply lower her voice in understanding.

"Turkish, make it double and bitter."

Only on rare occasions did Levi drink coffee. He didn't despise the taste as much as warm lager though, what got him cringing with coffee was that he'd be moody and sad all day afterwards. But today sure had been an exception. No amount of painkillers would work for his head if he didn't get a sufficient amount of caffeine in his body. And since he already was in a shitty mood, how could coffee make it any worse.

With Petra out of sight for a few moments he was for the first time today, left alone with his thoughts. As his head throbbed memories roared their way to every corner of his brain, making his eyes squint. Anxiety would creep in and out as he thought of leaving you in his apartment confused and all alone, supposing you'd know what to do.

How could you know what to do?

In that moment leaving with Petra had seemed as the only possible thing for him to do; he couldn't expose you to her, for all that was worth you shouldn't have been there in the first place. But now? Thinking about it made him sick to the stomach. You were equally confused as lost in the moment and he had left you alone after spitting his anger for himself towards you, he made a mental note that a little self control couldn't harm him the next time he had to deal with promiscuous situation.

Most importantly though, he was facing an irrational inner conflict. He wasn't one to jump to impulsive decisions, but he wasn't one to be unfaithful either; his actions sat acute on his chest, sending dry gulps down his throat.

Petra arrived with two drinks in her hands before he had time to process his thoughts further. Sitting her self on the booth again she passed him the small white cup, the strong aroma of Turkish coffee hitting him immediately upon the action.

His chest tensed as he finally felt comfortable to shift outside of his jacket. The guilt inside him was tripping, lathering his stomach in vibrations and spending hot waves throughout his body. Suddenly, he couldn't bare to look across the table in Petra's direction.

She was sipping tenderly on her hot cup of chocolate cappuccino, her upper lip curled up in a sweetheart manner on the rim of the cup as she ogled at him with a feathery soft expression plastered across her face.

Though he loathed to be put in such position by his own self, the decision in the back of his mind seemed like the only rational one. As the time passed by and his coffee sat in the small cup, still as ever, his thoughts only roared louder. Was what he was thinking the right thing to do or was he just jumping into another heartbreak?

There was a sudden hunger eating away his insides, a need to see you and sit down to talk about whatever had happened last night. His heart was pounding at the thought of sitting across from you under a softer, humane setting, with your eyes starting into his. Maybe you could linger your hand into his, in the way Petra had prompted him to do so before and maybe he'd be able to somehow come up with particular words to solve the tention between the two of you.

But supposing that could ever be the case, that prompt left no room for Petra by his side.

"Maybe we should take a break."

The words left his mouth before he could manage to put an alt to his thoughts.

Without realizing, his eyes were now wide, starring deep into Petra's hazel ones. With shaky hands he grabbed his cup, deciding now that it was time to wet his dry mouth.

"No." Petra blinked her eyes erratically into Levi's, taken aback as she was.

It hit her like a truck.

One particular thing had struck Petra, back in the day when watching Mean Girls as a coming of age teen for the first time. The way Regina was slammed by the school bus was raw and unforgiving, perfectly fit to the nature of the scene and surprisingly it had looked realistic enough to make Petra -or anyone else- gasp. But had she ever thought she'd be in Regina's shoes?

"No?" Levi spoke as if he was right on time to answer the question in her mind. But Petra was still struck, mouth slightly agap as she stared back at him. Her mind was traveling on way too many places at once, sending anxiety to her stomach but she managed, despite all odds, to take a deep breath. Then, another.

"What's gotten into you Levi?" She asked.

"Last night was," he paused, averting his eyes with guilt.

Suddenly, Petra knew. She didn't have to try and guess what he was despairately trying to mutter. The evidence was everywhere, but she had deliberately chose to close her eyes. She should have known ever since last night when Levi left without informing no one. She squinted her eyes and furrowed her brows, by clenching her fists hard enough so that her nails were digging into her palms her knuckles turned white.

It was mostly his appearance that gave him away, more so than his behavior. When it was most likely for Levi to be unusually grumpy on many days, it wasn't like him to dress so randomly. His woolen black turtleneck didn't exactly match his sweatpants and his leather jacket. It wasn't like him to make such matches between his clothes, not even when he was in a hurry. In addition, she could see the marks behind his right ear, something he might have had no idea about, but she was going to spare him of the embarrassment.

"No, we're not breaking up."

It wasn't like her to mouth such statement; in fact, Petra would never on her right mind prevent someone from breaking up with her. She had seen it happening one too many times. Of course human relationships were made to fall apart at some point but her luck, especially when it came to romance, had never been kind.

She had been kind to everyone instead.

Whether people liked it or not that was her. Kind and considerate too much for her own good. She couldn't help that she was attracted to mysterious looking men with issues that would stand in her way of happiness; Levi was a tangible example. As much as she would like to mark her territory around him, she was aware he didn't belong to her. He had unbeknownst to him made sure to show on different occasions, whether it was by staring at you from afar for a lite too long or by finding her self being offered to wear your spare clothes that lived still in his apartment.

Maybe that was what was breaking her heart, urging her in turn to refuse his departure from her life. She didn't know why she shushed him in such way. Was it that her heart would tear in two if she heard an actual confirmation to her thoughts fall off the tip of his tongue? Most probably.

"I don't mind." She cut him off the moment she saw him opening his mouth to speak. "I'll help you get through this, I wouldn't abandon you for a slip up."

...

"(Y/n)! Where have you been we've been worried sick!"

The moment you set your collapsing feet inside the campus Sasha's eyes fell on your form, desperately shooting you simultaneous glares of terror and relief. The brunette practically run to your direction; with her feet stomping on the now discolored, moist grass that covered the majority of the campus yard she marched ambiguously. A worriedly frowned Eren who tried his best to contain his messy hair from getting in his eyes as he run, followed asuit.

"Jeez, why are you wearing the same clothes as yesterday?" Sasha inquired, her voice loud as it was rang through your throbbing head, lingering in any possible hurting crevice. "Are you alright!?"

"Sas, don't scream, my head is about to explode." You muttered with watery eyes, begging your self to ignore Sasha's and Eren's puzzled faces.

"You reek of alcohol and sweat!" Eren exclaimed. "Shit. Where did you stay the night?"

"Beats me, Eren, I could have slept at a bench for all I know," you exhaled below a tainted breath.

At the sight of Eren's hard, unforgiving gaze, you could feel your heart speeding up inside your chest, the small vital organ clenched on your lungs, preventing them from processing air normally. Your chest burned in anxiety and uncertainty, there wasn't much time for you to come up with any excuse of your nighttime where abouts, you knew that much, and Eren or Sasha weren't going to straight up digest any profound lie you could come up with on the spot.

"Where did you wake up though?" Eren inquired sternly, yet his voice wasn't exactly authoritative as he waited for your answer.

"Outside my apartment door, I really don't remember anything up to that though."

"Don't scare us like that!" Sasha playfully punched your shoulder as she spoke with worried eyes. Her expression though quickly changed comically into fright as she finally scanned you up and down. "Just! Where is your jacket? It's freezing! Are you crazy?"

"I left it at that house yesterday. And my keys were in it." You muttered, averting your gaze away from Sasha.

"Stay here, I have a spare jacket in my bag, I'll go get it from Connie."

You nodded in response ignoring the fact that Sasha was already running away on her tracks upon the words leaving her lips. Quickly, you noticed as the expression of disapproval deformed off Eren's face, his lips curling upwards into into a soft smug.

He leaned close to you, bringing his face to the crook of your neck tilting his chin upwards so that his lips were almost brushing against your earlobe.

"I sure did leave you a nice mark yesterday huh? Don't flaunt it like that people will get jealous that im with you." A chuckle escaped him as he placed a quick kiss at the side of your neck. Eren's words were slowly shivering their way through your spine raising every single hair on your body.

When you realised what he was referring to your eyes widened, the tender spot of skin on your nape he had planted a kiss on burned in spreading hot blotches. Your stomach growled in protest to your feelings, threatening to spill once again as anxiety tied the organ in a numbing knot.

You shot a puzzled look at Eren -or rather at his back- but you weren't sure for what exactly. Your head was spinning, processing his spoken words unevenly in despairate efforts to put the pieces together. Was he aknowledging that you were together or was he sassing you over hickies he hadn't been the one to make?

And as oblivious as ever he only shot you a wide ear to ear grin. The cold winter air blew his long bangs to all directions across his face, his eyes squinting in happiness as he pulled back from your neck placing his palms over your shoulders. He didn't really seem like he even knew whether the marks on your neck were made by him.

"You know, maybe we should go out next Saturday alright?" He batted his eyes on you once again "No labels, just us buying Christmas gifts. Maybe Zeke could come as well."

Ah yes, Zeke. As if your problems weren't big enough already while you had to deal with the fact that you were most probably ruining Levi's life again with yesterday's actions, you also had to tolerate Christmas shopping with Eren and Zeke. When the fact that Eren would avoid the two of you being alone together in any date-like scenario was a given it was only on rare occasions your so proud and self proclaimed wingman stuck along with you.

In the back of your head you could always think about Levi and how much he disliked that you would sometimes hang out with Zeke, especially due to the fact that the two of you shared a sculpture class.

But why exactly were you thinking about that now?

Nevertheless you needed to stop your mind from running back to Levi for only a moment. The way he had abandoned you in his apartment all alone was cruel enough and as you looked at Eren, worrying your button lip between your front teeth, you contemplated on whether you deserved it.

You had gotten up on your wobbly feet only to maniacally search for your clothes all over his floor. Your jacket, long forgotten in his car to which of course you didn't have access, held your apartment keys. You had opted to just dress up with the clothes you had and walk the short distance to the campus; what could have possibly happened in a ten minute walk? You couldn't freeze your arms off in such a short period of time.

Admittedly, you had taken numerous walks without a jacket after midnight during wintertime, but the freezing morning breeze of December in Trost was something you wished you had never underestimated.

If you could, you would have Sasha slap you for not borrowing one of Levi's jackets but in your last hungover braincell's defense, you didn't want to cause him any more trouble. Of course you'd put him in enough trouble when you'd ask him for your jacket and keys, you couldn't possibly imagine to have to give him back a piece of clothing you had burrowed without asking.

You were positive he had come to hate you enough that he could set any cloth you wore on fire. Was he going to do the same to the bed covers, you wondered.

Naturally, your thoughts were cut short as Sasha approached you with a hooded sweater in her hands. As the brunette whined, out of breath you finally awknowledged Eren again; his hand was wrapped around your shoulders, providing momentarily warmth as he worriedly stared at your shivering jaw.

"You must be so cold." Sasha mouthed as she wrapped her own arms over Eren's around you. "I'm sorry I didn't have a spare jacket snd, Connie didn't either but Reiner did, he gave me this and he said he'd search for your jacket at their frat alright?"

You simply nodded, slightly closing your eyes in acceptance of her gesture. Your own frozen arms came to wrap around her waist as you pulled her close to you. "Thank you baby."

"Don't mention it. Reiner also gave me a jersey, they're both fleece, you should be warm enough."

Eren seemed to shift uncomfortably as you ripped Reiner's black hoodie off Sasha's grip, despairately speeding up your movements to wear the warmth providing piece of clothing over your form. His lips puckered momentarily as he pinched his nose in what looked like annoyance from the corner of your eye. Quickly though you caught his face falling into a smug expression once again as he eyed you.

"I'll say thanks to Reiner for you." Eren said, clicking his tongue while pinching his nose once again.

Once Eren strolled away, Sasha widened her eyes dropping her mouth in an unbelievable manner of disbelief. She sucked the underside of her mouth, propping her lower lip even further to exaggerate the comical effect of her expression. Not that you were one to judge, you stared back at her with the same look on your face as well, puzzled much by Eren's mixed signals. The two of you continued to stare back and forth at eachother for a few silent moments as your temples throbbed, despairate to process what had just happened.

"Is Eren jealous?" Sasha finally uttered, finally putting the situation into words. "What the actual fuck?"

"You know he told me to go Christmas shopping with him? As in going out?" Sasha's mouth formed into an 'o' as she stared at you, her eyes lingering at your lips awaiting for your next sentence. "And what do you know, then he even said no strings attached and that he'd invite Zeke as well."

"And now he's jealous of Reiner giving you his clothes?" Sasha furrowed her brows at this, earning a reluctant nod in response by you.

"I need to have a smoke, or else I can't process this." You sighed, avoiding Sasha's disapproving gaze at your statement. As your eyes scanned around the campus you spotted Erwin and Mike sat on a kiosk. A mischievous grin of relief creeped onto your face as you thought of how Erwin would never run low on tobacco. "Wanna go say hi to Erwin and Mike?"

Sasha simply nodded, opting to keep her lecture about the hazardous nature of smoking to herself. This would have to wait for another time; she knew better than to go against her hungover friends. Connie especially was a pain in the ass to deal with. Everyone knew that much thus compared to him, your need to have a smoke felt almost irrelevant.

"Erwin!" You rolled your eyes, your face squinting in pain as you plopped yourself next to the blond, your head quickly coming to rest on his shoulder "Tell me you've got much needed tobacco and filters."

"Sure I... Uh.. I do."

"Great," you sighed "please roll me one."

Even if you missed the way everyone's eyes widened at your sudden presence, Sasha certainly didn't. With a quick, shy look at Erwin, she apologetically averted her gaze to everyone in the kiosk; she nervously cleared her throat next, attempting to get your attention as subtly as possible yet, you still sat with your eyes closed, leaning on Erwin's shoulder. In a way Sasha felt sorry for what she was about to do, but you'd be thanking her forever once you had gotten yourself out of the situation.

"Hi Levi, Petra."

"Oi"

"Hi Sasha!"

Your eyes shot open in terror as you heard the exchange of words. Your head almost immediately shot up from Erwin's shoulder; of course, as Sasha had warned you with her greeting, Levi and Petra stood before you, eyeing you up and down in judgemental looks. Automatically you placed your fingers at the nape of your neck, ready to mingle with the skin there in an attempt to cover up the bruised skin from Petra, not thinking about whether your nervous actions easily gave you away.

"Uh... Hey you guys!" You spoke. The need to to bite your tongue off and swallow it so you could never mouth anything as awkward ever again hit you almost instantly. Awestruck by your awkwardness Levi and Petra only nodded in response, causing a long sigh to escape your lips.

You seriously didn't know why you had to go through this. All you wanted was to actually process last night in a quiet friendly environment and then maybe you'd attempt to think about Eren's weirdly awaken jealously. But as Levi's steely orbs burned holes in your form, wide enough to indicate he could might as well be seeing someone come back from the dead, you disposed of the fantasy. Of course he had to occupy your mind I'm such way that your heart burned brighter than your hungover headache.

No one around you could possibly know what the look you shared with Levi meant. As far as everyone was concerned last night hadn't happened, not in their timeline at least, but for you and the onyx haired man it was an inescapable reality. It was almost telepathic, the way you knew what he was trying to tell you with his steely gaze, as if he was answering the questions inside your head.

We need to talk about last night.

Nervously you averted your gaze to Erwin's hands and they brought the rolled cigarette to your lips, wordlessly asking for you to sip the edge of the rolling paper with some saliva from the tip of your tongue to activate the glue. Once he handed the cigarette to you, you shot up, putting weight on your now week knees. With one hand you put the cigarette between your lips, you took a drag as you carefully lit it up with the lighter Erwin handed you. You waved everyone goodbye, rubbing your palm on Mike's back, earning a small smile from the blond.

Great, now there was no way you'd ask for your jacket back. You'd have someone unlock your door for you. So much for saving yourself from such embarrassment.

...

Saturday came before you could even have time to decide what gift you wanted to get everybody. As per usual, you'd be spending Christmas at Erwin's; it had became a tradition in your group even before you and Levi had hit it off as a couple. Erwin was living all alone in a huge, very non college student budget-y apartment. His father had bought it for him before passing away and you as his dear friend group, had made an oath to never leave him lonely on Christmas.

Except for last year you'd usually you'd have dinner at Erwin's. Levi had always been strict on spending at least half of the day with his mother, therefore Erwin had always had Christmas scheduled. You'd visit him on the 23rd, making all preparations for Christmas dinner and Levi's cake, so that you wouldn't have much work when the big day would finally come.

Naturally, you'd open gifts at Erwin's, therefore you always dropped your presents for the group at his place when you'd buy them, although today you didn't think you'd be able to do so.

While you were almost done with buying presents, Zeke and Eren were spending way too much time pestering each other for what gift they'd buy to their father; at first they had set their eyes on an expensive silver watch. You had to admit it was a beautiful accessory, the way it shone under the bright lighting of the store's window seemed magnificent and just like you had told Eren, you approved of such gift for Grisha, one hundred percent.

And right about then, Zeke has decided to stir things up. You knew he was jealous of Eren's and Grisha's father and son relationship, but you had never guessed it could go to such mischievous extend on the blond's behalf. With a sour expression and a poison dripping mouth Zeke had expresed his utter disgust over the watch, claiming that this was not the right gift for their father and that they should settle for something more 'doctor-like'.

Their bickering had went on for about an hour before you had decided to excuse yourself from the jewelry store. Now, you stood sat on one of the comfortable futuristic benches in between the stores, scrolling maniacally through Instagram. It was such a slow Saturday and if you were to say you were bored it would only be an understatement; almost nobody had posted anything interesting enough to catch your attention, no new music was announced by your favorite artists, hell you even missed people posting a bunch of stories with their Christmas trees.

You almost ignored the tall, dark frame approaching you as you were deeply lost into your phone. Destiny's Child - 8 Days to Christmas repeatedly blasted in your ears as you continued to scroll, still ignorant to the figure beside you.

Your own little Christmas bubble world was cut absurdly as a hand came to wave between you and your phone screen. Your heart skipped a beat as you jumped on your spot, taken aback by the sudden action. Wide eyed and looking to your left you finally came to identify the man who had startled you.

Now that could be a cure to your boredom. Even if it wasn't the best possible option.

"Kenny?" You exhaled enthusiastically slipping your hand between your locks of (h/c) hair, reaching for the small black ear buds. "I'm so sorry I was wearing my headphones. What are you doing here?"

"Ahh just buying Kuchel's gift. You got me thinking you were trying to ignore me runt."

"I'd never, be-" You playfully punched his shoulder as he eyed you, a smirk appearing in his face quicker than you thought it would.

"Besides I'm your favorite uncle, right?" He spoke, completing your sentence. A deep sigh escaped his mouth as he rubbed his cold hands together, hoping to create enough friction to warm up his fingertips. "How long have you been waiting for the midget runt?"

You turned your dropping face away from his direction as the words fell off his mouth. Your heart gradually started throbbing inside your chest, the tight knot of anxiety was forming and coming undone in fragments of seconds as you stared at the white granite under your feet. Kenny must had taken a while to realise the chance of aura around you, a steady chuckle came out of him as he commented on Levi's meticulous routine of picking gifts for his friends.

"And why the long face?" Finally, he turned his attention to you "Did you have a fight?"

"Not exactly, we haven't fought in a long time." You admitted.

Kenny's gray eyes worried over you before squinting in another smiling manner. His palm came to playfully slap your upper back as he left out another loud chuckle of amusement. "I'm sure you two don't have many things to fight about. Kuchel is so enamored by that, how do you even manage with this brat (y/n)?"

"I don't... Not anymore at least."

Kenny's chuckle was cut short absurdly by your soft, mumbling voice. There was no way he hadn't heard what you had just said, he was just struggling to comprehend the context of your words. You claiming you weren't dealing with him anymore meant you weren't together anymore and Levi had deliberately kept this secret from him and Kuchel.

"Wait, you're not together? When did that happen?"

"Kenny" you paused, deciding to set your eyes onto him all while still avoiding his gaze. "It's almost been a year."

"What? Wait, why?"

"Levi and I, how do I put this in the shortest way possible, Kenny..." You sighed, bringing a finger to the side of your lips and biting the inside of your cheek as you tried your best to concentrate on your summing up skills. "He became distant, too engrossed with studying and shut himself off and I guess I just, I felt excited for something else. Levi felt excited for something else too."

That could make up for a quick summary, it could be enough to make Kenny understand the quick narration of you point of view. It was unnecessary to go into further details, such as how you had came closer with Eren throughout your group, or how Zeke had tried his best to convince you that he was right on the fact that Levi was growing more distant with each passing day, every time you'd open up to him about your problems.

More over, you couldn't possibly go into the lengths as to how quickly Levi had hit it off with Petra, proving Zeke's assumptions on the fact that maybe Levi was just tired of you.

"Shit. I'm sorry, if it helps, care to gossip on Levi's new item?" Kenny shifted his hands inside the pockets of his camel colored trench coat, rubbing circles on his upper thighs through the material of the pockets. "I'm dying to to know to what he moved on."

"Kenny! I don't do that!" You bit back and lowered your gaze as you instantly second guessed your statement. You contemplated on whether talking lowly about Petra is the right thing or not to do; she hadn't done anything wrong to you, she was just dating someone she liked while you were turning into their bitter, regretful ex. You couldn't possibly have the right to be jealous of her. But as you looked at Kenny's disapproving expression, you realised that maybe, just maybe, you were. "But I guess I'll show her to you!"

With a double tap your screen came to life, the familiar unlocking page bubbling as it urged you to fill your chosen password. Your fingers ran quickly on the familiar numbers; you've typed them one too many times already. You bit your lip in newfound anxiety as you awkwardly scrolled your social media folder, your fingers found the fuchsia camera icon automatically. With another tap your white Instagram homepage popped up, accommodating a picture of Mike and Nanaba's hands, each holding a carton cup. With a quick doubly tap you liked the picture and set your self the task of on swiping through the story icon features, quickly searching for Petra's familiar profile picture.

"Ah here you go." You finally spoke, breaking the silence as you found Petra's icon. Tapping on it once her newest story popped up. You set your finger on the screen again, keeping your tap locked in place to pause the flow of the story.

The picture depicted her standing before her mirror dressed in a white turtleneck layered with a powder blue plaid dress and topped with a black flap pocket woolen jacket. You could make the creative 'outfit of the day' mention on the bottom left corner, although you were unsure if Kenny cared enough about Petra's Saturday outfit. Plus, you didn't really need him to compare her sophisticated style to you.

"You know I can't really see her face, her phone is in the way."

You simply tapped over Petra's profile name as you sighed. Petra's feed appeared before your eyes, slowly loading all her highlights and posts. You gave your phone to Kenny next, deliberately choosing to look away and stay silent as he scrolled through the girls photos, curiously ogling at her for a few seconds.

"Ah runt," he spoke after sometime, his hands extending to give your phone back, "you ain't gonna stop being my favorite child, he'll come back around you know. He'll always love you, you have his heart and all that jazz."

Kenny tried his best to cut himself some slack from the awkwardness of the situation. Keyword; tried. As he sighed, his head spinner on what he could possibly say to you, he could exactly pinpoint if you needed to be reassured or comforted, or whether he was too late to be there for you.

There was something puzzling you, that was certainly written all over your face as you studied him. Your fingers were nervously mingling with eachother as you gripped on your phone, your hips shifting uncomfortably in the spot you sat. You were nervously thrusting around in your seat, that was much obvious to someone that knew you like Kenny did.

"He already did. But I'm not convinced he loves me, it's more like he has one more reason to hate me. We uhm we... You know, pfft, TMI Kenny, I'm sorry but I need to talk about this with someone."

"Shoot it!"

"We hooked up a well ago."

Oh shit, now that was new. Kenny's eyes widened in surprise as the words left your lips. His shifted himself enough to fully face you, his gray eyes worriedly meeting yours as you opened your mouth to explain. Words that were supposed to flow effortlessly ceased to exist as another, louder voice overshadowed your own.

"Zeke I swear I'll kill you if you- oh who's that (y/n)?"

You turned your head to the owner of the voice, your heart dropping the moment you met Eren's soft turquoise gaze. He stood there, clutching the small burgundy gift bag in his grip, as victorious smug adorned his features.

"Uh, finally you guys! This is Kenny Ackerman, he's," you paused, suddenly uncertain on how you should introduce Kenny to Eren and Zeke or whether you should introduce him to them at all.

"Levi's uncle." Kenny spoke, saving you from unnecessary fidgeting of information. He eyed Eren meticulously as his face slightly dropped in annoyance.

"I'm Eren Yeager, (y/n)'s friend and that's my brother, Zeke."

Eren smiled and extended his hand for a shake at Kenny's direction. Clicking his tongue, Kenny reluctantly gave his hand to the younger man before nodding knowingly in your direction. Eren didn't have to say anything else to prove Kenny he was halfheartedly trying to assert some dominance over you and although the older man tried his best to keep his laughter to himself, he got the message Eren was trying to convey.

Taking another breather to himself, Kenny picked his lips, allowing his face to fall into his usual stern expression.

"See you around (y/n)."

..

You laid on your couch, enthusiastically reading through a Greek epic you had burrowed from Hange a while back. Your hair dripped into the towel you had folded on the arm of the couch as you rested your head against it. You had wanted to slow down your thoughts before taking a change at blow drying your hair, there was a rage of overthinking going inside you that you refused to be left alone with.

You felt overly slow after your meeting with Kenny; the bath you had taken had done nothing to soothe down the wild nature of your thoughts, despite the fact that you had taken your time soaking in hot water and lavender oils.

The strangle fatigue you felt was feeling more indifferent with every passing second as you anxiously read bout Antigone's suicide, your heart was slowly being filled with grief as you though about her significant other, Heamon and how he could possibly react to her death. You were so enamored with the fact that Heamon was son to the king who had ordered Antigone's imprisonment that your eyes were ready to spill all the unshed tears that had gathered in the small corners of tender skin.

You set the epic down, burying your face between your palms as you let out a deep sigh. The air in the room felt heavy, you thought, thus you decided to get up from your couch and stroll around the room to reach for your hairbrush. Maybe now was the time to blow dry your head, your thoughts were completely off Kenny and Levi for the moment.

The sound of your doorbell startled you, though, making you freeze on your spot. You immediately unlocked your phone, hurriedly checking through your notifications for a sign on who it could be; it was rather unusual for someone to just visit you without having informed you about it beforehand.

Nontheless you marched over to the intercom, your finger shooting to press the metallic button to let your voice ring on the other side of the front door of your apartment building.

"It's Levi. I've got your jacket."

Panic run through you in throbbing waves. You simply stood there, feeling utterly and ridiculously puzzled with what you should do. You didn't know if you wanted to run down the front door and just grab the jacket on your own or if you just wanted to call Levi in. Grasping the situation seemed only fair, even in your panicked state you could admit you knew that much.

Your fingers immediately reached for the button underneath the one you were pressing causing a buzzing sound to ring through the intercom. You nervously opened your door and as on que, a few moments later Levi's frame emerged from the elevator doors, strolling to your direction, your black leather jacket neatly folded in his arms.

You wanted to speak, to greet him decently for once after all that time but you failed to find any prompt as to how to do that. Your mind felt at haze as you stared at him while he walked up to, the light from your apartment slowly illuminated his face more with every new step he took to its direction.

"Hey, sorry I came so suddenly, I'm on my way to the movies." He greeted, probing his head upwards to accentuate the action.

'Hey' you wanted to say, to establish some normal ground in your dynamics but still the words that left your mouth before you had enough time process what you wanted to say didn't exactly disappoint.

"Wanna come in?" The subtle look in your eyes as you fixated your orbs at his was at the very least, mesmerizing. If Levi was to describe it, he'd find himself quickly running out of sophisticatedly flavored academic words.

There was definitely a different kind of tention forming between the two of you. It was in the air, but whether it was caused by his own brain as he made the all too casual car ride to your place or by the way that you casually swayed your hair over your shoulder before prompting your head closer to him to speak up, he didn't know. All that he knew was that he was feelings his heart hammering in his chest as anxiety creeped in his stomach. The bold nature of his actions was having this profound effect on him and he'd be damned if he had to question himself one more time as to why he was in your doorstep now out of all times.

Still, your words somewhat lingered in his brain, despite almost falling deaf on his ears. His inability to pay attention to words was probably caused by his heart throbbing in his chest at witnessing this side of you.

"Sure" Levi found his mouth vomiting an answer.

You stepped aside, making room for him to entered the room as you gestured him to. Once he had walked in you closed the door behind you, your chest heaving in a despairately deep breath.

...

Did all kisses feel like that?

Your lips were soft and tender and tasting like burnt tobacco while Levi's were chapped dry and thus split, tinted in purple and tasting like dried blood. It was eeree to think about it, how it came to yours lips finding his once again or why it felt the way it did and why did it momentarily comfort you.

Your whole body was paralyzed with stress and agony; you couldn't move. The inability to speak caused by the burning guilt driven feeling inside your stomach was slowly taking a toll on how the rest of your internals liked to function. The efforts you were putting to regulate your breathing out of your nostrils were tainted and faint, as if not enough courage was laying underneath them and you hated it. You hated that your lungs were paralyzed like that under Levi's mouth on yours.

Maybe if you stopped existing or disappeared for just a moment everything would be normal when the next one came. Yet, things could never work like that and reality was always unforgiving to the actions you would decide to go for.

You still couldn't process how this had happened. One minute you were sat on your couch, angrily looking at each other as you spoke about how prohibited and dirty was what you had endulged in the previous week and the next your words had ceased to exist. His gray orbs had locked into yours, his breathing had quickened, much like yours, and your faces had been so close that your noses were almost touching.

You didn't know what had pushed you to act upon the tention in the air. Maybe it was your aching heart or Levi's eyes as they had begged you to kiss him. Now your own lips, in a similar way were begging him not to stop moving against yours.

Lost in your extravagant world of misery and heartache you didn't seem to realise that Levi's hand still hadn't left your cheek when you let out a long deep sigh escaped your mouth. Instantly though, with your brain acknowledging the moment and delving deeper into the reality of this situation, you jolted away, causing Levi to jump back on his tracks, as if he'd be electrocuted.

"Levi" you trailed off, softly mumbling the next words "I'm so sorry I did this, I should have known better."

Your heart was beyond hammering inside your chest; the cold dripping swear of anxiety had started to coat your palms and upper chest as he engulfed your lips again, this time much more gently. He gently tagged on your bottom lip, worrying it between his own lips. The mellow sounds of sucking filled the air as you tried to pull back, only to be attacked by his mouth every time.

Suddenly as you had just started melting under his hot touch on your waist, you heard what sounded as the most despicable sound that ever existed. Levi's phone buzzed in his pocket as it rang angrily, causing him to pull back from your face. The phone stopped ringing though, just before he could manage to swipe the answer button to the right, sending a huff of annoyance to leave him.

Petra's caller ID burned in his screen once again as his phone started ringing for the second time. This time, he hesitated to lick up. As he started at you apologetically his fingers trembled. He knew, eventually he would pick up the phone, judging by the time his phone read he was late to the very own screening he had decided to ask Petra to. Guilt formed in the back of his throat and he clicked his tongue to try and suck it up, even for a brief moment. With his finger on the acceptance button he turned to you again fixating his eyes at your bruised lips before he spoke.

"I have to go y/n I'm so sorry." He said and finally brought the phone to his ear. "Hey, I'm on my way, I had a mishap, I'll be there in ten, save a seat for me."

This all felt too familiar, once again you were forced into the third person's perspective, although this time you were fully aware of your intentions before and after the so called mishap.

"Listen, supposing you want this to work again we have to put an end to whatever else we have going on. I can't bear being the-"

"I know" he quickly cut you off, picking up his letter jacket from the pool it had formed around him as he hurriedly got up. "I'll call you alright? Have a good night." You blinked at him, not having enough time to utter a response as you watched him run to your door.

Your heart fell to your stomach as you stood frozen in your couch witnessing him exit your small apartment, not even bothering to look back.

You knew now that if Levi chose Petra your world was going to burn.

If you suffered along with my by reading one too many paragraphs in this chapter I'm sorry, thank you though for reading this fic in its entirety, please look forward to part 3 hehe, as always here are my tags: @ackermans-freedom-inc @sasageyowrites (my baby thank you for helping me SO much with this chapter I don't have enough words to explain how much I love you) @ladyofpandemonium @nobody-knows-anymore @levisbrat25 @papinaveensbitch @alrightberries

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

A chatty writing update | novels, short fiction, etc!

Hi folks!

It’s been a while since I last wrote an update on this blog! I thought it’d be fun to go back to basics, and just talk about writing. This post chats about: new plans for Feeding Habits, my newest novel, my short story goals & growing collection, along with process reflections.

(image description: a photo of green leaves with the text “writing update” in a white font written on top. /end image description)

Post starts under the cut!

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed)

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev–writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting, @aetherwrites, @avakrahn, @maisulli

What have I been up to?

For starters, I finished my second year of my Writing undergrad last week and got two of my final grades back today (A+ baby)! For anyone who has taken online university, y’all already KNOW, but this year was so difficult. Would not recommend! Really proud of myself to have gotten through this absolute rollercoaster of a school term and am excited to get into some writing. That leads us to:

What have I been up to (writing edition)?

2021 started off so fast. By the time January hit, I was so consumed in my new semester that I did not have time to write Feeding Habits (my novel). In the first few days of the term, I managed to write between class, until I could no longer keep up! Essentially, I did not write any of that novel until exam season (last week), where I did manage to get in about 3k words in ~4 days.

Feeding Habits

I’m currently drafting what I believe will be the last chapter of this book (chapter 10: Swan Song). This chapter is so bizarre for a few reasons. It begins the book’s third part and also marks the shift back into Lonan’s head from Harrison’s. I originally thought this part would be much, much longer, with at least another five chapters to go, but quickly realized the book’s content was nearly completed. In my 4 day 3k palooza, I hit 50k in the book (the word count goal), and couldn’t see myself extending past 60k. Since then, I’ve made the loose decision to write this final chapter as a ~novella. Here are a few reasons why:

1. This chapter is structurally very strange.

I unashamedly shift from present to past to present to past past, and so much more every 12 words. I mapped out the timeline on a sheet of paper, and there were over 20 shifts in scenes (the chapter is only about 4400 words at the moment). The fictive past is incredibly important to this chapter, more important than the present, and I thought it would make more sense to not break randomly for a chapter so I could upkeep the consistent inconsistency of the chapter.

2. The chapter is very abstract

This stems from the structural changes, but there are paragraphs in this chapter of the fictive present that are loosely based in reality. They’re more poems than they are factual paragraphs, and keeping them all contained in one place (so a mega chapter/ novella) would reduce the most confusion!

3. There’s not much left to cover

Like I said above, Feeding Habits is on its last leg, lol! I know exactly where the book needs to end up, which is very, very soon from where I’m currently at on the timeline. Swan Song should cover what 2-4 chapters would cover in terms of arcs.

Feeding Habits and I have a really weird relationship, tbh! When I realized a few weeks ago that it’d been over a year since I started the book, I realized I just needed to finish it. Not that I want to rush (because I’ve taken longer than a year to write a book in the past), but that in order to move onto another project, I’d like to put this one behind first. This book has been the hardest thing I’ve ever written, and has reminded me there’s always a time to let go. This sort of scrounges up a conversation about letting this entire series go, which is certainly something I’ve been contemplating doing soon(ish). If this spinoff series gets a third book, that may or may not be the last Fostered book for a very long time (or ever)! There are many complex reasons to move on, but the main one is that I have other projects I’d like to focus on. This is not a definitive decision, but something I’ve certainly been thinking about!

Here are a few excerpts I wrote recently:

(TW: death, gore)

Dying feels like being a trout dangled out of water. Clinging to a hook. Mouth open. Scales iridescent in a final death cry. It’s like blood spurting up the knuckles, drowning out the flesh. It’s that moment on the long fall down when the clouds cup the body. Easy drifting. The sound a skull makes when it cracks is really just the afterthought.

(TW: death, gore)

Kill shot. Death blow. Coup de grace. Right in the heart. He feels it. The blood swelling, slicking his palms. He can do it. Reach into the cavity. Feel for the ribs. Part each bone. Then cup the humming heart. Stay there. Right. It’s never been easier.

Look at this PURE moment of Lonan holding a baby I CANNOT:

The grocery store was a fifteen-minute walk away. With Olivia clinging to his shoulder, Lonan was acutely aware that she could feel his heartbeat. Open valve. Close. Repeat. Hers pulsed right above his, a miniature drumming. The sky had bruised purple, misted with clouds. The evening air nipped his cheeks, so he made sure Olivia was securely fastened between him and his jacket. With wide eyes, she absorbed the drowsy suburbia, all its family cars pulling into driveways, all its couples heading back home after a sunset walk. When Lonan passed a young boy walking two golden retrievers, Olivia giggled, and didn’t stop, even after he’d spent fifty dollars on groceries and nearly the rest on a red Corolla marked with a MUST GO NOW sign outside a convenience store.

Let’s move on!

Mandy and Cora

I said I wouldn’t talk too much about this project, but I just love it so much?? I wanted to share my SUPER early thoughts on drafting a novel, especially one that is SO different from what I’ve been writing recently. I talked about this before in THIS post, but the summary about this project is that it’s a YA contemporary novel! Can’t believe I’m writing YA again, it’s been so long, but I also think it’s going so well. Everything I’ve learned as a literary fiction writer has been a fantastic primer for transferring back to the genre. Admittedly, I have not written much, but I’m having a lot of fun diving back into a lighter project. This is the summary:

Cora and Mandy are identical twins who’ve always done everything together. But when Mandy decides to go to university out of province after graduation and Cora doesn’t, Cora takes this as an opportunity to “test run” life apart from her sister for the first time by spending the summer at her aunt’s house across the country.

I have come up with a few ~things since I last talked about this project, mostly how I’d like to structure it. As of now, I’d like the book to be structured super loosely. I’m really pulling on a lot of inspo from “We Are Okay” by Nina LaCour (which is SO good), particularly how “nothing happens-y” that book is. This project (which I still need a title for!!) will be structured in short chapters that cover something Cora does on her own for the first time (without Mandy). For example, a few ideas are “Flight”, “Lunch”, and “Groceries”. “Flight” is the first “chapter” (they’re really kind of vignettes) where Cora flies to her aunt’s house. I still can’t determine if this book will take place in Canada. On one hand, I feel like there will be a wider audience if it takes place in the US (is that just an assumption??? maybe?? someone let me know!), but also: don’t really care too much about an audience at the moment! It could also take place in Canada (So Ontario and British Columbia). But if it does take place in the US, I think it may take place in NYC and San Francisco. The problem is: I really don’t like researching lol, and while I’ve been to NYC many times, I will definitely write it wrong! Does this really matter on a first draft?? absolutely not lol, but of course I am already overthinking!

But back to structure: I am looking forward to seeing what this looser structure will do. This is a story that is solely around one half of a set of twins learning to be her own person (and ultimately that she doesn’t have to completely forget her sister in order to do that), and as a twin who KNOWS this feeling, I think this structure of her doing things for the first time is SUPER relatable.

I was worried it might sound silly/worrying to others who are not twins that Cora hadn’t done things like “lunch” or “groceries” on her own, but I feel this so much as an identical twin myself! Not that she hasn’t done anything at all by herself, but as a twin, when you do something without your twin for the first few times, at least in my experience, you notice. If any twins are reading this--weigh in!

This story is the most personal thing I’ve ever written. It definitely is an OwnVoices book! Usually, I avoid details that are remotely similar to me because they make me uncomfortable haha, but with this book, it’s all me, lol! The characters are all Guyanese, which is SO fun because I’ve been planning what they eat (my fellow Caribbean peeps know: the FOOD!), which is so fun (yes they have pumpkin and shrimp, yes they have roti, yes they have pera, yes they have mithai). Every time I’ve gone to dabble at this book, or even think about it, I get incredibly emotional for this reason? I don’t exactly know why. I think this is a story I just so want to tell, with the culture I love SO much that I definitely struggled to love as a child. This is reclamation bitchessss!

Not going to lie tho: the prospect of writing ~a book~ is kind of freaky! I’m going to make the minimum word count for this book pretty short (50k) and see where it goes from there. I think I will focus on this project this summer! Originally I was going to write a literary novel this summer, but I think this one’s calling my name!

Here’s a pretty rough excerpt:

Try. I remind myself that’s what I’m doing after the flight attendant fills me a disposable cup of Coca Cola and all I can think of is Mandy and I shoving Mentos into a bottle of the stuff when we were twelve. Just me, wedged in the middle seat between an exchange student heading out for summer break and a middle-aged woman sipping a cocktail, thinking of Mandy and I bursting whole oranges in a blender when we were bored one Winter break as the plane dips through a wave of turbulence. Mandy and I dying our hair neon green with highlighters (didn’t work—our hair is too dark) as the plane lands on the tarmac. Mandy and I arguing so loud last month, we both lost our voices as I lug my carry-on out of the overhead compartment and shuffle off the plane and through the airport, searching for Aunt Vel.

Short Fiction

I’ve written so much short fiction this year! I have a goal to write a short story a month (they can range in length, as long as 1 is “complete”), so my short story brain has seriously been soaking it all up lately. Let’s chat my month to month breakdown so far:

January:

I wrote four stories in January! The first is a flash fiction piece called “Shark Swimming” that follows a young woman who attends a shark swimming class after breaking up with her girlfriend. I wrote this story for a “test” workshop for my fiction class, and it was based off the prompt “think about something you’re afraid to do and make the character do that thing”. I’m not particularly afraid of sharks, but had been wanting to use the title “Shark Swimming” for AGES (literally since 2018).

This story is one of my favourites. It’s only about 900 words, but I think there’s something profound in how mundanely specific it is. The entire story doesn’t even see the narrator swim with sharks once; it actually takes place fully in the sanctuary’s lobby. But I really love this narrator. This is the first story I’ve written in second person in a while, though I felt really connected to the unnamed narrator. She struggles with accepting that she truly is a “boring” person, and there’s something about the final image that really gets me!

I’ve been submitting this around, though it’s been rejected a handful of times. Hoping I can secure it at a magazine one day because I really love it!

The second story is “Joanne, I’ll Pray for You” which is actually a rewrite of one of my very first short stories (the first story I did not write for a class haha), “NYC in Your Apartment”. I LOVE this rewrite a lot, and also learned the original is not a very good short story! Revising this story taught me just how much I’ve learned in the 2 years I’ve been writing short fiction. Seeing the 2019 version versus the 2021 version side by side is fascinating because I essentially “gutted’ the 2019 version of its beginning and end until all that was left was the middle of the story (aka the actual story). AKA: this is the only story I’ve ever written with a hopeful ending and I cut out all the happy bits lol I am SO sorry (that arc is more for a novel or novella). That’s how this went from a 5k word story to an 1800 word story (my Submittable thanks me for this lol). A lot of details and scenes I included were more pertinent to a 3 act structure/novel, which of course short stories don’t often have because of their brevity. I love rambling about writing theory, and seeing that actually pay off is so fascinating!

(TW: trauma)

Like the original, this story follows Joanne, a woman in her early twenties, who spontaneously breaks up with her boyfriend. She claims the poltergeist haunting her drove her to this decision. The original draft focused a lot more on the traumatic events Joanne survives, but this draft really loosens them up. It focuses less so on the events themselves, and more on how Joanne’s life is affected. I found the details of these events were less important, and even sort of contradicted Joanne’s insistence she is being haunted. Instead, the poltergeist really takes more precedence in the new draft as a force Joanne doesn’t understand. That ambiguity, I think, is what the story truly needed.

I also centralized Joanne’s relationship with her boyfriend, Julian, here. Now don’t get me wrong, I really didn’t add anything to this draft. It was a matter of trimming the fat around it to leave the lean “meat” in the centre. But by removing that fat, I was able to emphasize what was most important here, and that was her relationship. Julian always played a really big role in the original draft, but I feel like his role as both a friend and partner to Joanne is much more emphasized since this draft literally is only two scenes now. Because there is less, there is more room for Joanne to reflect, which I’m happy about!

A final change I made was the setting and therefore the title. The original, which was “NYC in Your Apartment,” I couldn’t keep because I shifted the setting to Toronto (this is how I originally saw it, but in 2019 I just?? couldn’t?? write?? canlit??), and “Toronto in Your Apartment” sounded sort of gross LOL. The new title comes from a line in the story which I think is more relevant to the themes!

The next short story I wrote in January was “How to Spell Alpaca.” This one is super fun because I wrote it SO fast (in about 15 minutes or so). THIS is the writing update if you’re interested in learning more. I talked extensively about this one in that update, but some developments are that I dove into an edit a few weeks ago to really understand the core of the story. I’m still not quite there (this is just an intuitive feeling; I know not everything has “clicked), but I am really intrigued by the two mothers in the story, the narrator, and her newfound acquaintance, Violet. Both really struggle to understand their place as mothers (the narrator even declares she isn’t a mother anymore). The narrator, who is in her 50s, sees herself in Violet, who is much younger (~20s), and so she views Violet’s relationship with her daughter in a cautionary, yet mournful way, like she can see it will end up like her own relationship with her daughter, despite wanting the opposite. This is a really subtle story. I feel like if you blink, you’ll miss the message. But I think it’s compelling for that reason. It’s really a portrait of parenting and how to grapple with mistakes you may make that inevitably affect your children. Wow just unlocked the theme writing this lol.

The final story I wrote in January is “The Party,” which may be in my top 3 faves I’ve ever written. This story follows Aida, a recent divorcee in her ~40s. The day her divorce turns official, she moves into a new house and receives a party invitation addressed to the previous homeowner, yet RSVP’s anyway. At this party, she’s hoping to find some sense of noticeability, having struggled with being nondescript her whole life. Things seem quite normal at the party, until it gets bizarre.

I LOVE this story, y’all. Like “How to Spell Alpaca” it really delves into motherhood. Aida, our narrator, is incredibly hurt after her divorce. She now lives farther from her children she struggled to feel connected to in the first place, and doesn’t really know how to reignite her life. This party is a means to do that. This is the first story I’ve written that contains a “twist” which is strange because I really prefer stories that give us as much info as possible upfront, but yes, this one sort of twists.

February

I wrote one story in February, and that was “Protect the Young.” This title is SO changing when I think of a new one because it’s thematically incorrect, haha, but this story follows a woman in her late 40s whose daughter, Lindy, announces she is married the same day all their backyard chickens turn up dead. The discovery of dead chickens prompts our narrator to recall her ex-husband’s murder and the role her daughter may have played in his death.

I love this story so much! I think this would make a great closing for my short story collection. It just has that vibe! I wrote this for my second fiction workshop. I thought I had to hand in the story a week earlier than I had to, so I panicked and wrote this in one sitting! Little did I know, I did not need to do that lol but I’m very happy because this story is so fun. We get to learn more about Arnold (her ex), his relationship with Lindy, and how that translates to Lindy’s relationship with her new husband, Malcolm. I LOVE true crime (I listen to about 3-4 hours of case coverage daily), and this is my first “true crime” story. Because of that, I’m very sus of a few details that probably wouldn’t slide in actual investigatory work, so I’ll also be working on that in a revision. My professor also gave me a great suggestion that may alter the story’s structure a bit, though I look forward to toggling with it in the future.

March

In March, I was really on a Criminal Minds kick lol. I’ve been watching this show since I was seven (oops), and dove into a rewatch since it hit Disney+! This story, “Where to Run When the Lamb Roars,” is very clearly Rachel watching 5 episodes of CM a day. Oops! We follow 14-year-old Astrid as she and her older half brother kidnap a young girl to sacrifice for their yearly ritual.

I knew a few things going into this story, but the main thing was that I did NOT want to show any details of a potential murder (if one even occurs). I really wanted to keep all of those elements off the page because this story is not about those events, but about Astrid’s relationship with her brother. They are a murderous duo, with Astrid actually being the dominant partner. I wanted to explore that. I knew her brother, Fox, was more of a submissive partner in their team, even when he used to do this same thing with his father when he was much younger (chilling!), and so it was a task to explore how this young girl’s desire for violence works. The end actually comes right before the story starts, one could say, but I like it for this reason. It really made me contemplate the story by the time I finished it, and helped me examine what it really was about versus what it appeared to be about.

April

(TW: sexual content, non explicit)

I was so busy this month! Who knows if I’ll write a story last minute, but I did write one story this month called “Five Times Fast.” I wrote this during a “writing sprint” that was being hosted at a flash fiction workshop I recently took with one of my favourite writers ever, K-Ming Chang. I learned so much from this class, and am so happy I came out of it with a draft! This story is just over 300 words, so the shortest flash I’ve ever written, but I’m really happy with it. It was based off the prompt “describe the last time you or your character was naked.” In this case, the narrator has a “friends with benefits” relationship with Ricky who works at a laundromat. This story highlights a moment in this relationship (and also Ricky’s goofy personality lol). I really like it! Hopefully I’ll submit it to some magazines soon.

My short story collection

Very briefly I wanted to touch on my short story collection which I’ve titled “She is Also Dead.” I’ve been meaning to make a blog post on this, so look out for that in the coming months, but this collection is already at around 35k words (about 14 stories so far). The collection also surprisingly has a solid amount of flash fiction which is kind of fun! There’s definitely a range here, which is what I personally love in short story collections.

I feel very professional now that I have a ~collection chart. This is her:

(image description: A chart with the title “She is Also Dead.” It is broken into four columns: Story, Status, Word Count, and Published. Entry 1 - Story: Slaughter the Animal. Status: Revisions, Word Count, 3982, Published: N/A. Entry 2 - Story: Joanne, I’ll Pray for You, Status: Polished, Word Count: 1809, Published: N/A. Entry 3 - Story: Primary Organs, Status: Published, Word Count: 2342, Published: The Malahat Review. Entry 4 - Story: Faberge, Status, Polished, Word Count: 619, Published: N/A. Entry 5 - Story: The Wolf-Antelope Will Not Come for Us, Status, Polished, Word Count: 1556, Published: filling Station (forthcoming). Entry 6 - Story: How to Spell Alpaca, Status: revisions, Word Count: 1327, Published: N/A. Entry 7 - Story: Blink Twice for Final Judgement, Status: Polished, Word Count: 6572, Published: N/A. Entry 8 - Story: The Species is Dead, Status: Published, Word Count: 1208, Published: Minola Review. Entry 9 - Story: Shark Swimming, Status: Polished, Word Count: 907, Published: N/A. Entry 10 - Story: The Party, Status, Polished, Word Count 2339, Published: N/A. Entry 11 - Story: Fig, Status: Polished, Word Counter: 947, Published: N/A. Entry 12 - Story: Protect the Young, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4128, Published: N/A. Entry 13 - Story: Where to Run When the Lamb Roars, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 2174, Published: N/A. Entry 14 - Story: Phantom Limbs, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4844, Published: N/A.) /end image description.

This order is DEFINITELY not permanent (at this point whenever I write a story, I just fit it randomly into this chart lol), and some of the info is outdated (for example, Slaughter the Animal is now polished!!! thank god!!!). But just an idea of what I’m thinking of including.

This is the summary so far:

In SHE IS ALSO DEAD, characters are pushed to act on their gravest impulses. A small town turns murderous when their local invasive species, the Janices, begin dying. A child struggles to understand her mother’s suicide. A college dropout who insists she’s being haunted by a poltergeist unexpectedly breaks up with her boyfriend. A mother acknowledges her daughter’s murderous tendencies after her backyard chickens mysteriously die. A young girl caters the funeral of a girl rumored to be killed by a wolf-antelope. A newly-divorced mother RSVP’s to a bizarre party she was not invited to, and a murderous brother and sister upkeep their yearly tradition of abducting a young girl. These stories follow characters who navigate death, violent desires, womanhood, and loss, both self-imposed and otherwise.

This is also so subject to change as I may pull and add stories to the collection!

I think I’m going to leave this update here for now! I’ve written TONS of poetry too, but I honestly ~hate my poetry right now lol, so! Hope you enjoyed this chill rambly update. Hope writing has going well for you all! All the best!

--Rachel

[possessingtheproperspirit]

F for the ask game. 💙

Thanks for sending this, lovely! <3

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

I answered this yesterday with what could only generously be called a snippet from The Price We Pay 😂 today I am drawing on a snippet from Forget-Me-Not chapter 7...

“Hi,” he said, and his voice sounded so unsure. It was unfamiliar—unsettling. “How are you?”

She blinked up at him. “Oh, you know,” she replied, wishing dearly for the floor to open up and let her just disappear. “Fine. You?”

He glanced back towards the function room. “You’re here,” he said, and her heart sank. He looked so lost. “With a…sexual assault support group.”

She bit her lip, fiddling with the strap of her bag so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “Nothing gets past you, does it, James.” A non-answer, but she didn’t need to say much, anyway—they both knew what it meant. She finally looked up, finding him gazing at her. “Yes. I am.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he offered, and he looked it—sorry, and awkward, and sad above all else. “I guess—I suppose a lot of things happened in the intervening years. I’m sorry I never tried to find out about it, about what I’d missed.”

She almost laughed, then. She might have, if it didn’t all hurt quite so acutely. “Well, you were busy pretending you didn’t know me,” she replied; he had the decency to look ashamed, at that. “And it didn’t happen in the intervening years.”

He froze, a frown on his face. “…what do you mean?”

Her heart was in her throat—she didn’t know why she was saying this now. She could so easily just walk away. “I mean, the ‘worst night of your life’ was also the worst night of mine,” she told him. The words just flooded out, barbed and bitter and heavy with a decade’s worth of pain. “For different reasons, I should think, unless Rosier also—”

She had to stop, then, and not just because James looked like he’d been punched in the gut. She felt suddenly like she might cry, or break, just break clean in two. She shook her head quickly. “Tell Alana—my friend—tell her I had to go,” she said, her voice brisk, and she didn’t give him a chance to reply before she stepped around him and hurried to the exit.

I'm proud of this because I had gone back and forth so much (so much) on how I wanted James to find out about what had really happened to Lily. When I landed on the idea of the support group being relocated to the pub, I then debated whether James should be in the room, whether she would know he was there or not... In the end, I'm glad I went with this approach. It feels more true to life, because we often don't say the Big Thing in a straightforward, gentle way, do we? It comes blurting out under stress, in frustration or hurt. I like that this dialogue showed Lily at the end of her tether with it all: she's not edging around things anymore, she just lets it out, and then, of course, panics. Because that's a very cer move, too!

Send me an ask from the list, if you'd like!

[misterewrites]

Inhuman Interrogation (Welcome to the Underground!)

Hello everyone! E here hoping you are all safe and sound! Here’s the next chapter of the Underground!  A special thank you to everyone who reads my stories. I know they’re not everyone’s speed and I get wordy but I really do appreciate it! I really hope you are having some fun with it. Okay stay safe, sound, keep your loved ones safe, wash your hands, wear masks and get yourself vaccinated, push for vaccines worldwide. Here's the next chapter, enjoy! Feel free to leave likes, tell your friends, reblog and leave feedback I love it all! have a good week and I'll see you later! E is out byeeeeee!

If you want an easier way to read my story here’s the newest chapter at ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/79942294

Curious what this about? Here’s the first chapter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/68094967

Want an overview of my works, you can find me right over here! Fun fact I do, on a occasion, write stuff for fandoms! Shocking I know :D

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/pseuds/MrE42

Summary: Oliver's been caught red handed and there's only one thing to do: Claw and lie his way out of the situation. However, the bard might be a little over his head from this stranger who watches all.

-----

Oliver could feel a chill run down his spine, fear gripping him tightly as he scrambled to keep himself calm. Being found out was always a possibility he’d calculated in his plans, he just hadn’t wanted to deal with it tonight. Well you know what they say: When life gives you lemons, squirt lemon juice in life’s eyes and run like hell.

He’d been caught so the next step was to determine by who.

Oliver blew cool air onto his face as he pivoted around to see which person had been acute enough to catch onto his antics.

He had been expected to looking at an unhappy Lea with his sword drawn.

What found waiting for him was worse.

It was good looking man though Oliver couldn’t hazard a guess to his age. His hair was short wispy dark brown like the color of copper. His face was scratched by dozens of tiny whites line, healed scars that somehow did not detract away from his handsomeness. He wore a plain white tunic with black leggings, a large bronze hued cape hung over his unusually thin frame. The most striking feature were his golden eyes. Not golden in shade but actual gold, metallic shimmering and shining like metal caught in the glow of the sun.

He was a sight to behold, perfection made flesh and blessed by the gods.

And Oliver knew he was utterly and terribly inhuman. He was not a mortal being for no human could ever been so perfect.

The Stranger tilted his head quizzically, his eyes dilated into pupil-less orbs.

“You” He spoke in a raspy, low voice “You’ve been busy.”

Oliver coughed, trying to get his dry throat working again.

The Stranger took a step closer, his gaze unflinching “Yes, very busy.”

Oliver chuckled nervously “I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean increasingly creepy man. If you excuse me.”

As Oliver turned to leave, his blood turned cold when the stranger harshly whispered, his words booming in Oliver’s ears.

“How’s Death I wonder? He’s an old friend for you, right?”

Oliver whirled around, fist clenched but the Stranger hadn’t taken a step forward. In fact he had taken a step away, furthering the distance between them.

Oliver gulped nervously, trying his best to stop his racing heart.

“And you” he murmured quietly, trying to hold onto his fleeting courage “Smell of it.”

It was true: Even this far away, Oliver could smell the stench of decay, of death and blood wafting off the Stranger as if he’d come straight from a bloody battle.

The Stranger made no indication he heard Oliver’s comment, just stared with golden eyes unblinking.

Oliver let out a tense breath before closing his eyes. He centered his will, he reached out into the universe and drew in the power of his magic.

He could hear the scrawling of a pen across the scratchy surface of parchment, the squishy wet sounds of paint drying, the tuning of a lute among excited laughter and cheers.

‘I need to escape.’ Oliver spoke in his mind.

Knowledge filled his mind: Spells and their uses. The hand gestures necessary to tug at the weave to make his will, his need a reality.

An unknown force guided his hand, raising it high and surging with magical power. Oliver’s eyes snapped open with a fierce determination. He took a deep breath, his fingers at the ready as he prepared to recite the incantation.

“I…” Oliver began when the Stranger struck. There was a blink and there was the stranger in front of him, his hand wrapped tightly around Oliver’s wrist.

“So.” the Stranger spoke in an oddly smooth voice “You ready to tell me what you were doing squirreling about?”

Oliver was strained against the Stranger but his grip was as strong as iron. Unless he could complete the hand gestures and motions along with the incantation, the spell was incomplete and he was as helpless as a kitten in Stranger’s grasp.

Oliver grimaced in pain “Now you’re remembering to be human? No creepy staring or awkward conversations about death?”

“Sorry, sometimes my lady speaks through me. I am her will incarnate on this plane.” The Stranger gave a sheepish grin

Oliver smiled uneasily “Right mysterious lady sure. That’s totally normal. How about you let me go and I won’t take the psychotic act personally?”

“But it is personal.” The Stranger’s smirk widen, his teeth too sharp to be mortal “You’re up to something and I’d like to know what.”

‘Great.’ Oliver thought to himself, his eyes darting about for a sign of assistance: a cloaked figure nearby fidgeted awkwardly but ultimately did nothing, a few nobles conveniently glanced the opposite direction of their altercation. Even the guards were nowhere in sight. Whoever this person was, he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.

Oliver pursed his lips, his mind desperately grasping at ideas to escape this situation.

“Party planner” Oliver offered helpfully “My job is to keep track of everything, make sure the party is moving smoothly and ensure there is no issues. You know how Mr. Brambleoak dislikes unnecessary distractions.”

The Stranger nodded in understanding “Party planner? That’s a good one. Feasible. If were I shade dumber, I might actually believe you. However…”

Oliver winced in pain as his grip tightened. The bard had been manhandled once or twice before but never this single handedly.

“Now” The Stranger’s golden eyes narrowed threateningly “Let’s try this one more time before you really anger my lady. What were you doing?”

Oliver opened his mouth.

“There you are!”

For one nerve wracking moment Oliver thought the Stranger had backup but he seemed just as confused as he was.

Maria cut in between two men gracefully and forced the Stranger to release his grip. He backed away as she linked herself arm in arm with Oliver.

“Sweetie!” She spoke with honeyed words, patting his arm lovingly “You ran off so quickly. I was worried I’d upset you.”

“Umm.” Oliver eyed the Stranger carefully, wary at any sudden movements “Sorry honey. This person thought I was someone he knew.”

Maria peered closer, getting a good look at the man.

The Stranger smiled cheekily “Fraid I got the wrong person.”

“You should really be careful, the guards here dislike any disturbance to the festivities.”

Almost as if magically summoned by her words, the guards began to approach with hands on their blades.

“Of course. Of course. Wouldn’t want trouble.” the Stranger bowed mockingly “Besides, I don’t think he’s the one I want.”

“That’s certainly ominous.” Oliver murmured under his breath.

Maria jabbed him with her elbow though her gaze never left the Stranger’s golden eyes.

“We should go.” Oliver offered helpfully “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Maria beamed cheerfully “No worries, I was feeling a bit tired myself. Good night good sir.”

“Bye.”

“Good night miss” the Stranger tilted his head “Bard.”

Maria hurriedly dragged Oliver away.

“Thanks for the save.” Oliver said gratefully.

Maria blew a strain of hair from her face “You’re welcome.”

“Not mad about using you as a distraction?”

“Normally I would be” Maria admitted “But that little stunt you pull got the harpies off my back for the rest of night.”

Oliver chuckled “Basking in the admiration of their adoring fans?”

“You have no idea.” she replied wearily “I’m just happy for a moment of peace. So thank you for that.”

“You are welcome then.”

The two made their way outside and straight into quite the scene: a massive cheering crowd formed around a handful of people. Most of the combatants were faced down, sprawled across the cobbled streets though Oliver spotted two familiar faces standing tall and victorious over their fallen foes.

“ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED!?” Terri screamed into the roaring masses, arms flexed. Tyrell looked like he was about to pass out from exhaustion.

Oliver spotted Lea among the thundering crowd, his eyes alive with excitement and joy.

Terri caught Oliver’s eye and gave a proud smile. Oliver offered a subtle thumbs up as Maria led him away from the bank.

“I take it you can’t go far.” Maria stated simply.

“No” Oliver spoke honestly “I’m afraid my business is not yet concluded.”

“Is it alright if I stay with you for now?”

Oliver bit his lip nervously “Sure. Of course. I have a moment. Not curious about what I was up to?”

Maria gave a cheeky smirk “Naturally but I have a feeling secrecy is important here. Better to not ask than force you to lie to me."

“Thank you. I don’t like lying to you.”

The two stood side by side, arms intertwined together in a quiet comfortable near silence.

Maria smiled softly “You know my father used to warn me about my sentimentality for people. About they would use it against me.”

“People like me?”

She smirked mischievously as she puffed out her chest, speaking in a mocking tone “There will come poet whose weapon is his word. He will slay you with his tongue.”

Oliver snorted loudly, trying to hide his flushing skin “Oh lei oh lai oh lord?”

“Oh quiet you.” Maria scolded with a chuckle “Surprise you didn’t take the set up.”

“Too easy.”

“Should I be offend?”

“I mean those are pretty good lyrics” Oliver replied, hand high in surrender “Surprised they came out of your father’s bitter lips.”

“I suppose everyone has their moments. However rare.”

“I suppose so.”

Maria’s hazel eyes met Oliver’s brown, curious yet expecting “Do you remember what you said to me two months ago? At the last competition?”

“Umm…” Oliver scratched his chin thoughtfully “I say a lot of things. You need to be specific.”

“That my voice was utterly angelic?”

“Ah, I didn’t think you actually heard me.” Oliver’s cheeks blushed a bright red.

Maria giggled sweetly “Did you mean it? What you said inside?”

“Yes” Oliver answered without hesitation “You don’t need them. You would be amazing by yourself.”

Maria’s smile was sad. She sighed tiredly as she threw a glance towards the bank “My father won’t let me but you knew that, didn’t you?”

Oliver nodded in confirmation.

“I feel like I am a disappointment. A puppet controlled by a father who craves nothing but influence and status.”

“You’re not.”

“How do you know?”

Oliver shifted uneasily.

“That’s what I thought bard. Nice try though.”

Oliver caught sight of Flora and Sel making their way outside, signaling the others the mission was complete. Terri and Tyrell broke free from the fight circle and began making their way towards the rendezvous point.

Maria slipped her arm out of his “It is time I suppose.”

“Enjoy your night off.” Oliver took her hand in his own and softly kissed it. Maria flushed a pink hue but still curtsy in response.

Oliver turned to face her, his eyes gentle and understanding “You aren’t a disappointment.”

Maria rolled her eyes “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not.” Oliver firmly stated.

Maria’s eyes stared quizzically into his “Certain, are you?”

Oliver cleared his throat “You aren’t a disappointment to me.”

“That’s sweet but I’m afraid I barely know you. Besides you’ve been a thorn in my father’s plans consistently. Technically, I shouldn’t be talking to you let alone assisting.”

Oliver gave an impish grin “Yet you are.”

“You are far too charming for your own good.” Maria frowned mockingly

“Nothing compared to you.”

“Sweet words are nothing without meaning beyond them bard.”

Oliver took a deep calming breath, struggling to get the words out before he lost his nerve “The boy who used to climb your fence still loves you.”

Maria’s eyes widen with confusion before realization dawned upon her hazel eyes “How did you…?”

but Oliver ran, bravery failing. He disappeared into the crowded streets without another word. He ducked and weaved through the people in case Maria decided to chase him though he doubt she would. Perhaps those words didn’t have the same weight as they once did. Oliver really did not want to stick around to find out. He shouldn’t have said anything but he’d never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

-----

It hadn’t taken long for Oliver to meet up with the rest of the crew. Everyone managed to gather in a nearby alley, their chatter excited and cheerful.

“Boss man!” Terri boomed, arms opened wide “WE DID IT! See the pile? Do I get results or do I get results?”

Oliver gave a weak chuckle “Yes you do. Remind me not to piss you off.”

“Damn straight.” Terri flexed unnecessarily once more. Flora gave a playful wink towards her girlfriend which turned Terri a lovely bright pink.

Tyrell looked haggard and sick “I never want to do that again. Ever.”

“You did amazingly Ty! You can be First Chair in no time if you keep this up!” Terri patted his back approvingly, Tyrell nearly went sprawling to the floor below.

Oliver gave a sharp whistle, grabbing the attention of everyone “We did great team and it was an honor to work with you. If you require my assistance, I’ll be in town for a few days at the Right Hook. Ask for Ollie.”

Terri slipped her hand into Flora’s “We won’t be in town much longer. We have business up north but we wish you well! Permission to leave?”

“Granted.” Oliver waved them off “No making out until you leave our sights.”

It was impossible to know who was a redder shade: Terri or Flora.

The pair bowed respectfully before taking their leave, Flora’s head resting lovingly on Terri’s shoulder. Oliver couldn’t help chuckle at Terri’s proud “And you didn’t poison anyone! Great work sweetheart!”

Oliver turned to the remaining two “Sel, destroy the paper and report back to the local Conductor. If there’s any more trouble come get me.”

Sel gave a single nod before disappearing into the crowded streets without another word.

“And me?” Tyrell whispered anxiously “What about me?”

“You.” Oliver stretched his neck, trying to relive the tension of the night “You’re gonna tell me how to get into the Clifftop Distract.”

“E-excuse me?”

Oliver waved his question off “Don’t even. I know you’re a noble born. Your clothes are way too nice to be a simple baker or blacksmith’s son. And barely frayed means you ran away from home recently.”

Tyrell glanced away, fidgeting nervously “You noticed?”

Oliver nodded.

“And you don’t care?”

“Not in the least” Oliver admitted honestly “You got into the Choir. That means you’re good in my book.”

“Thank you.” Tyrell smiled softly “I appreciate it. May I ask why you need to get into the Clifftop Distract?”

Oliver scratched the back of his neck sheepishly “Someone I know has business up there. Figured I might as well ask you to make our lives easier.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“I’m really not.” Oliver murmured quietly, unable to stare Tyrell in the eyes.

Tyrell shook his head is disagreement but didn’t press further “Every month they change the password. This month’s is Knightly Valor.”

“Knightly Valor, thank you.”

“No, thank you for not telling the others. May I go now?”

Oliver ruffled Tyrell’s hair playfully “Go on scamp.”

Tyrell bowed and with a skip in his step, made his way out of the alleyway.

Oliver stood there alone for a moment before turning towards the shadows.

“You gonna keep follow me or we’re finally going to talk?”

The figure did not break the silence of the night as they stepped out seemingly from darkness itself.

“You knew I was following you? Impressive given not many can sense my presence” the cloaked figured spoke. unable to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

“Mhm.” Oliver grunted “Ever since West End. You were in the bar the night Abigail and I hired Archie. I heard you moving about when we camped for the night, just down the tunnel out of sight. I assume you lost us when we went down the side tunnels and decided to stake out West Haven for us to pass through. You’ve been tailing me all night since I left the Right Hook.

The figure said nothing.

“That’s what I thought.” Oliver sighed tiredly “Alright, we gonna have a problem? I've had a long night and I've been threaten one times too many today.”

“No problem.” The figure muttered.

Oliver narrowed his eyes suspiciously “Then why show yourself?”

“You need to know my presence.”

Oliver sighed “You are being very cryptic.”

“Now you know how everyone else feels.”

Oliver smirked mockingly, unable to hide the sarcasm from his voice “Thanks, I hate it!”

“Be careful bard.” the figured glanced about, worried “Something is coming.”

“Nice and vague, thanks for the tip ninja.”

The figure shifted uncomfortably but remained silent.

“Fine, go on then if you're not gonna be any more helpful.” Oliver shook his head before closing his eyes. When he opened them, the figure was gone, upped and vanished into nothingness.

Oliver ran his hand through hair tiredly as he began making his way back to the Right Hook.

“And I still have to climb two stories. Fucking hell, what a night.”

[scripts4dreamers]

Not Your Hero. chapter 5.

Prologue, Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four,��

AN: Let The Games Begin.

Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Mags Flanagan

Pairings: Finnick x reader

Spoiler(s): None

Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation, sexual harassment 

Prompt/Inspiration: Cringe - Matt Maeson

------------------------

--------------

By the time you made it back to the tribute center, you’d stopped crying and had instead gone numb. You’d taken your shoes off at some point. Your feet were cold. You sniffed, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand and remembered, too late, the make up you’d been wearing.

“Fuck,” you said, without any real emotion as you took in the black smudge-marks on your hand, “that’s annoying.”

You weren’t surprised to find Finnick in your living room when you opened the door to your suite. When your client had first started to pull you away, you’d panicked and searched for Finnick with your eyes, but you never found him. Now, some part of you was grateful for that.

He looked a mess. His blazer was flung haphazardly over one end of the couch, his bowtie was loose, the sleeves of his shirt were dirty and rolled up past his elbows and his auburn locks were sticking up in all directions, like he’d been carding his fingers through his hair. He was watching a recap of the tribute parade on television but, when the door clicked into place, he whipped around. His eyes met yours and, as soon as they did, as soon as you saw the care there, the fear and tenderness all swirling together in the eyes of someone you trusted so much, you broke.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, tears spilling over your cheeks in a rush as sobs threatened to tear themselves free from your throat. In a second Finnick had leapt over the back of the couch and was in front of you, his arms half outstretched, like he wasn’t sure whether or not he could-

You launched yourself into his arms, collapsing against his body and letting him engulf you in a firm embrace. He smelled like vanilla and bourbon, and something cool and wild, like the ocean and you clung to that like a life raft, letting it flood your senses and block out everything else. Finnick held you like you were something precious, letting you cry into his shoulder while he stroked your hair and whispered comforting words into your ear. It was so gentle, so loving and tender that it made you feel painfully fragile, like you might shatter into a million little pieces at any second. Part of you wanted to pull away and hide, to push Finnick out and never let anyone touch you ever again. The other part thought that, if Finnick ever stopped touching you, you might die.

“I’m okay,” you eventually sniffed, your voice thick with tears and muffled by Finnick’s shirt.

“No you’re not,” he replied, squeezing you tighter, “I know you’re not.”

“I am,” you insisted, pulling away slightly to look Finnick in the eye, “I mean, I’m not but, the worst is over now, right? It’s done, I don’t have to be afraid of it happening anymore because it’s already happened.”

Finnick looked concerned, like he was fighting the urge to argue, but eventually he nodded.

He reached out and brushed your hair out of your face, making you shiver, “Come on, you should get cleaned up.”

For a moment you panicked. The thought of being alone with your thoughts suddenly so overwhelming that your heart froze but, as Finnick gently took your hand and led you down the hall, you realised what he’d meant. Finnick Odair had no intention of leaving you on your own, he wanted to take care of you. Without so much as a word, he washed your face, combed out your hair and put your shoes back in your closet. He waited outside while you showered, scrubbing yourself clean more times than you needed to because you couldn’t escape the feeling that you’d missed a spot. When you were clean and wrapped in a bathrobe, he helped you pick some pyjamas, three sizes too big with long sleeves and long pants and, while you changed, picked up the dress you’d stepped out of and took it away, putting it somewhere where you’d never have to look at it again.

By the time he got back, you felt almost like yourself again, or more accurately, like someone who could be you, given time. You’d slipped into bed and were sitting up against the headboard, staring into space and trying to convince yourself that it was time to sleep. Finnick, still without speaking, clambered in on the other side and shifted so that his side was pressed against yours. You snuggled into him, resting your head on his shoulder and letting him wrap an arm around your waist. It was comforting and warm and safe with Finnick, the kind of safe you couldn’t remember feeling since the games and you thanked your lucky stars that you’d met him when you did.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Finnick asked.

You shook your head, “Not really. I think you can probably imagine what happened.”

“Thadius?”

“No, some banker’s son named Proculos. He said he liked my hair.” you explained.

Finnick nodded, “I’ve met him. He’s a prat.”

“He is a bit,” you agreed, “but at least he’s too stupid to be mean.”

Finnick chuckled, even though nothing about the situation was funny, and gave you a gentle squeeze as you lapsed into comfortable silence.

“Thank you, by the way,” you eventually said, “for being here.”

Finnick smiled to himself, “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

------------------------

From there, life took on a strange kind of normalcy. Most of your time was spent coming up with strategies for your tributes or watching past games and taking notes. You hung out with the other victors in the sponsor rooms, made connections, charmed people, did interviews. You never talked about what happened with your clients and Finnick never asked you to, but he did watch you a little more intently than before, searching for any signs of distress. On his part, Finnick felt like he was being ripped in half. Every second spent worrying about you was a second he wasn’t spending on Annie and, every second he spent with Annie was a second not looking out for you.

How had this happened? How had Finnick Odair, king of the capitol, known bachelor and playboy, become so deeply entangled in the lives of the people around him?

“Hey, you,” you greeted, breathing heavily as you took a seat next to Finnick, “why the long face?”

You looked incredible, Finnick noticed with his usual pang of annoyance, with your hair pulled off your face and tight fitting training gear on. You’d taken Gloss up on his offer to train you in your free time, building up your strength and endurance with the fiery determination that Finnick had always admired in you so much. It was working too. In the few days it’d been happening, Finnick could already see the beginnings of real improvement. It made him absurdly proud.

“Annie.” He explained, “She’s not getting the buzz she needs from sponsors.”

“There’s still time,” you assured him, “and maybe when the training scores come out-”

Finnick cut you off, shaking his head sadly, “She won’t get higher than an eight.”

“An eight is good!”

“An eight is standard,” Finnick corrected, “at least for us it is.”

“I’d pay someone to give Adam an eight,” you sighed, “right now I’m expecting a five or six.”

Finnick cursed his own insensitivity, “Sorry, Y/N. No one really cares about the training score anyway, unless it’s super high or unreasonably low. They’re not really an indication of how well he’ll do.”

You shrugged, drinking deep from the water bottle you were holding, “I know,” you replied, “I only got a five on my year and look at me now.”

“Exactly,” Finnick smiled, “but for careers…”

“You’ve got to be better than good to stand out,” you commiserated.

“Yup.”

You opened your mouth to say something but, before you could, Gloss called you over. You shot Finnick one last sympathetic look and stood to leave.

“I’ll see you tonight, yeah?” you called.

Finnick nodded, pushing down his disappointment, “Yeah, of course.”

“Good,” you smiled.

And, just like that, you were gone, leaving Finnick with his thoughts. He knew he was moping, that there were surely better ways for him to be spending his time than sitting around feeling sorry for himself but, as he watched you and Gloss training in the distance, he couldn’t muster up the energy to do any of it. Without meaning to, he let his mind drift back to that first, horrible night when you’d broken down in his arms.

Never in his life had Finnick been so filled with rage. Not when he was reaped, not when his parents had died, never. That night, for the first time, Finnick had understood the desire to cause pain and fear in another human being. He hadn’t wanted to kill the person who’d touched you, he’d wanted to destroy them, to slowly cut away little pieces of them, one by one, until nothing was left but the raw, ugly, corrupted heart of them. He wanted to make them so afraid, wanted them to feel the pain they’d caused so acutely that they begged for death. Only then did he want to kill them.

It was a terrifying feeling, knowing that that monster lay inside of him somewhere, that it could come out at any time and do something terrible to the people he loved. How could a man be capable of such thoughts, such passionate hatred and such tender care? How could a man be both, without the two sides tearing one another apart?

Despite popular belief, Finnick wasn’t actually an idiot, he knew it was because of you. He knew he cared about you more than he should and his feelings were just a reflection of that but, nevertheless, it made him deeply uncomfortable. That’s why he’d decided to keep his distance a little, put some space between the two of you, redraw those lines separating friendship from more that had become so blurry. It was harder than he’d thought it would be. You were just so...you all the time, and he wanted to be around that every single day. But he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. For both of your sakes, it would be better if he wasn’t. He had other obligations after all, other responsibilities. Annie needed him focussed.

He remembered the look on her face when she stepped on the train like it was yesterday, all wide eyes and abject terror.

“This is insane,” she muttered, “Fin, what’s going on? How is this happening?”

He shook his head, still reeling from the shock himself, and pulled her into a rough hug. His ears were ringing, his fingers were numb, everything around him felt like it was happening in slow motion. Annie? Why Annie? She’d never taken out tesserae, she wasn’t a star pupil at the academy... It didn’t make sense. Why had no one volunteered? Why had she ended up alone on that stage?

It’s because of you, the voice in his head whispered, it’s because of you. You did this, you doomed her. Because of course it had been rigged. There was no way that, in all of district four, Annie Cresta, known associate of Finnick Odair, could be picked randomly for the Hunger Games. It couldn’t happen. This had to be some sort of message from Snow.

Which meant, Finnick realised with growing horror and dread, that it was his fault. She was here, sentenced to die, because of him. Shame wasn’t a strong enough word for what he felt.

He pushed himself up and made his way back to the elevator, determined to get some work done before the event that evening. Finnick could hear your voice echoing against the walls and, for a second, he considered just staying for a little longer. He’d almost decided that he would stay when the elevator door closed behind him and Finnick was reminded, once again, that he was alone. With a sigh, he pressed the button for the fourth floor. He felt like he was making the right decision, but why did it have to be so hard?

---------------------

When the big day came you felt woefully unprepared. Ever since the victory tour you’d spent every free second trying to make sense of this moment. The start of the games. The first day. Everyone told you that the first one was the worst that, as the years went by, it would get easier. It was meant to be comforting but, to you, it had always sounded more like a threat.

You took a deep breath in, exhaling slowly through your mouth as the hands of the clock ticked on, bringing you closer and closer to the moment of truth. You were vaguely aware of the other mentors flitting around the large viewing room but they were like flies or little birds; pretty, but ultimately distant and unimportant when compared to the screen in front of you. You cracked your knuckles. It should be starting soon. Where was Adam right now? You wondered. Was he in the loading bay? Did he have his tracker in? Had his stylist helped him into his clothes already? Surely she must have. Your eyes flicked to the clock. Yes, by now he would be dressed and ready, maybe even already in the tube. What did they have in store for him?

Your heart was pounding in your ears as you swallowed hard past the lump in your throat. Arketia was explaining what to expect and you were trying to listen, you really were, but your eyes kept being pulled towards the glass ascension tube in the corner of the room. It was like a magnet, pulling you closer and closer to death with every passing second and there was nothing you could do but stare.

A rough hand under your chin pulled you back to the present.

“Focus!” Arketia insisted forcefully, “I’m trying to save your life here you silly girl.”

You winced as her grip dug into your chin, but nodded, recognising the sincerity in your stylist’s eyes.

“Sorry.”

Her gaze softened and she let go, gesturing to the outfit in front of you again, “Like I was saying; this is all cotton or some other lightweight fabric designed to breathe,” she explained, “except for the jacket. That means hot days and cold nights, you understand?”

“Yes,” you answered, looking over the beige and khaki outfit with a growing sense of dread.

“I would bet on it being some sort of desert,” she continued, “like a savannah or veld land.”

Your bottom lip trembled with the effort to stop yourself from crying, and you could feel the tube pulling your gaze, but you resisted. Arketia was trying to help. And, some part of you pointed out, this might be the last friendly interaction you would ever have.

“If it is, you have to find water, and soon,” she told you, a sort of desperation in her eyes, like she was trying to burn the information into your brain with only her gaze, “you’ll lose a lot in those high temperatures, more than you expect. And it’ll get extremely cold as soon as the sun goes down, so try to find somewhere sheltered to sleep, alright?”

You nodded, biting back a comment about how that was fairly general advice and letting her help you strip out of your fancy capitol clothes. All too soon you were dressed, and all you could do was wait together, sipping on bottles of water like they were a lifeline and letting your anxiety creep up and up and up and up.

“Jesus Christ, you’re really not listening to me, are you?” A voice questioned, snapping you out of your reverie with a jump.

Finnick collapsed onto the couch next to you, his perfectly sculpted face the picture of calm. You could see the tension he was holding in his body though, in the way he held his shoulders and fists. As you examined him further you could see the signs of sleepless nights in his face too. You smiled weakly.

“You look wrecked,” you teased, “your stylist didn’t have something to cover up those designer eye bags?” You asked, poking his cheek with your finger.

He laughed, moving his head away from your prodding, “Hey! Who asked you, kid? It’s rude to pick on me in these trying times.”

You scrunched up your nose, “Oh come on, you know you look perfect as usual. I pick on you purely out of jealousy.”

The banter was light hearted and joking but you both knew that it was nothing more than a smokescreen, a comforting exchange that kept you both from spiralling into uncontrollable panic and fear.

“Aww, Y/N/N,” he replied, the smile not quite reaching his eyes, “you’ve got nothing to be jealous of, kid.”

You flushed but, before you could answer, the anthem rang through the crowded room, silencing everyone and drawing their eyes towards the screens. You felt Finnick tense up beside you but you were frozen in place. Your heart was pounding in your ears as the cold hand of dread gripped your heart. For a moment, as the screens came to life, all you saw was the savannah, the miles and miles of brush and sand and the blistering sun, and the cornucopia; blindingly bright in the sun. And you were right back in it. Only the faint brushing of Finnick’s knee against yours pulled you back. You took another deep breath.

“I can do this,” you promised yourself, “I can do this.”

And with that, you pushed your panic deep down into the recesses of your mind and focused on the scene before you. You heard Finnick sigh with relief, and a few quiet sounds of celebration from the other mentors and you couldn’t help but agree, feeling the knot of worry in your chest loosen slightly. The arena was green, with sloping hills creating a sort of river basin and a towering wall of concrete and cement in the distance that looked like a dam. That fact, in particular, made you smile. Your district was full of dams, they were how you generated power and, even if the dam in the arena was unhelpful, you knew the sight of it would give your tributes some comfort the same way the river would for the tributes of district four. James caught your eye and gave you a brisk nod.

You heard the booming voice of Claudius Templesmith as he announced the start of the games, and the roaring cheer and excitement of the crowds of thousands of Capitol citizens who had gathered in the outside viewing areas. It made a rush of bile rise up in your throat.

The countdown began and, instinctively, you reached out and grabbed Finnick’s hand, squeezing tight as your eyes finally found Adam.

“3….2….1,” the robotic voice called.

“And so it begins,” Finnick said softly.

You nodded, “And so it begins.”

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@i-love-you-green​ , @heatherhollowayst