#I did actually have a concrete well thought out(ish) plan

[jackest-jack]

I would very much like to hear about your spooky scary Sirens, pretty please 🥺

AJKSJAKISJAJAJF Ok so I almost had a heart attack when I saw you were following me because YOU’RE SO COOL so thank you

I already wrote about my spooky scary sirens over here, and they have pictures and I would be willing to write a short thing with them later but for right now I’m gonna pick a different thing and blab about it.

The most fleshed out and cohesive thing I have is the vampire band nerd slasheresque story with a police chase followup as well as a separate zombie apocalypse thing, so ig I’ll go with that. More under cut and warning for like a lot of gore and death and angst. I’m also only doing the first part of that because this is taking a long ass time

I came up with this in junior high, and I was in band, and I noticed that each instrument section had different personalities sort of, so I made characters around that and put them in a horror plot where they all die horribly, because what else are you gonna do? This is gonna be a plot rundown and it might get real long. (It is no longer a rundown. Its just unedited word vomit.)

anyways a bunch of friends, who I’m just gonna call by their instrument names, go camping in the woods for a couple weeks. They all take one car and set up in the middle of fuckin nowhere.

Clarinets a vampire pretending to be a high schooler for kicks, because she was 15 when she turned 5 years ago and got dragged away to the magic underworld (basically a series of safehouses and towns for the supernatural) and she wants a letterman goddamnit.

She gets adopted into a friendgroup despite her best efforts, and gets dragged along on the camping trip in the small car and close quarters with a buddy system and she hasn’t eaten anything substantial in like two months and its proving to be a problem when she starts thinking of her friends as snacks instead of people.

one night, percussionist gets up to go on a 3 am lake walk. But, the buddy system. So he takes Clarinet, who never seems to sleep anyways, with him.

They’re on the edge of a lake littered with huge old chunks of driftwood, looking out over the water, when Percussionist steps on something sharp. It went straight through his sandal and he pulls it out without much trouble, but “that nail looks kind of rusty and I’m Pretty Sure I’m bleeding a little bit, oh I hope I don’t need a shot-“

she falls on him like a cat on a wounded songbird. She has enough of her mind left to cover his mouth and stop the screams as he slowly loses blood.

He tries to fight back. He does. he jams the nail deep into her throat and twists away, but she catches his wrist and slams him backward, a sharp stick going through his stomach, sticking him bloody at the base of an old driftwood branch still attached to its old tree.

She stops draining just before he dies. And she waits, and waits, and waits. Finally, hours later, the corpse takes a deep gasp and its eyes fly open. It begins the excruciating process of pulling itself off the tree.

his wound is closed less than a minute later.

he comes to and sees her sobbing on the ground, bloody streaks under her eyes from where she tried to wipe away her tears with hands soaked from putting pressure on his stomach in a feeble attempt to save him.

“Vampires, huh?” He says, half joking, half looking for an explanation.

—-—

they’re sitting around a small campfire, and Clarinet tells him that he’s a vampire, he needs blood, he cant go back to camp or he will eat his friends. She leaves to find him something substantial before he loses it.

back at the original camp, its around sunrise. Flute notices a small trail of smoke not far off, realizes that Percussionist is missing, and gets French Horn to help him look for their idiot friend (and maybe put out a small fire.)

They make it about 3/4th of the way to the smoke when flute trips on a tree root and scrapes his knee. About a mile away, Percussionists head perks up.

He distantly realizes that he just left the campfire that he’s supposed to stay at, but he can‘t seem to care. The hunger doesn’t gnaw at him or hollow him out. Its not like looking for a fix either. Its an itch in his whole body, a near unavoidable function of his being. The hunt is as natural as a cough, a spasm of muscles to take away the awful itch.

He moves faster than he ever could before, and just to see if he can, he jumps up and begins running across the branches of trees. Its slower, but sneakier; his prey won’t see him coming.

Finally, he reaches them. He jumps on the smaller one, sending it crashing to the ground. It’s blood is what brought him here. He sinks his hollow teeth into its neck and begins feeding.

There is a scream and a crash as the taller one runs away. Thats ok. He only needs one.

———

French horn, for her part, is freaking the fuck out. The sun had just peaked over the horizon and orange light was streaming through the trees when everything went to shit.

The pale thing had fallen on Flute, and the noise he made… she was almost certain he was dead now.

She kept running. If she could make it back to camp, then maybe she could get help, or maybe leave before the rest of them died too.

She charges through a thicket, sharp thorns scraping and tearing every inch of her as she shoves her way through. She shuts her eyes as she goes, to avoid the thorns poking them out.

When she comes out the other side, she feels her gut sink.

She doesn’t recognize the trees or bushes around her. She doesn’t see a path.

She’s lost.

She wants to break down, to scream and cry the injustice to the heavens, to kick and punch and fight the thing that killed her friend, to sit down and rest and have a moment to breathe, to be home-

She picks a direction and runs.

———

Percussionist stops draining Flute just before he‘s dead, following the instinct that drove him to where he is.

He wants to be horrified. He does, really. But he was so hungry, and the itch is still there, waiting beneath his skin to pounce on him again. But for now, its gone, and he can think clearly. He can move without the instinct tainting his every twitch.

He turns to look at the person he drained and sees-

He sees his friend. And it hits him all at once.

He killed a person, a person he knew, a person he cared for, and he had been powerless to stop it. He didn’t even know- he didn’t realize- he would never have done it if he-

but he knew he would have. Even if he knew. He would’ve killed Flute, and he hates himself for that.

So he sits by the body of his dead friend, maybe in solace, maybe because some instinctive tick tells him to. He doesn’t want to know. He refuses to.

When Flute sat up and gasped, Percussionist could‘ve sworn he had a heart attack (even without a functioning heart.)

To Flutes credit, he made it through Percussionists halting and confused explanation before letting himself ask about the smell.

”what smell?” Percussionist asked, and lifted his nose to the air.

He got his answer. The smell of blood, salty and sweet and with a coppery tinge to it drifted through the air, leaving a hunger and odd comfort sitting in his gut. It reminded him of smelling baking cookies from the kitchen as a kid.

A leaf crunched, and he snapped out of his trance. Flute had stood up and broken into a run, faster than any human could’ve gone. After the person that had been with him.

After his friend.

Percussionist sprinted after him.

——

He had the chance to notice how fast he was really going, now that he could think through the hunger. He practically flew through the forest, leaping over a fallen log half his size that blocked his way. He ducked and dodged branches that threatened to slash his face, and if he were running for something else he may have threw his head back and laughed.

As it was, he was following the occasional red flash of a windbreaker that he could barely keep up with without being hit by a tree.

He could heal now right? Did he really even need to be worried about being hit by trees?

He let one slap his face just to test, and he felt the stinging pain all across his face as a deep cut opened across his nose and eyes. He faltered as his vision went red with blood. A second later, it was gone, and he could see again. ….And he‘d lost flute. Great.

He sniffed the air, remembering how he’d been able to smell the blood, and tried to look for his friend.

He could smell the whole forest. Sap and pine and rotting leaves, rotten flesh and mushrooms and a skunk miles and miles off, the sweet sting of honey and dew and campfire smoke, and over it all, the most lovely smell-

Well, looks like he couldn’t find him that way. He thought for a moment, and groaned. He could just follow French Horn and get to her first!

He began running again.

———

Clarinet had just made it back to the campsite, a live deer kicking around over her shoulder. She would’ve killed it, but she couldn’t quite figure out how without losing any of its blood, and since she drained and seriously injured Percussionist he would need a lot of blood-

and the campfire had a suspicious lack of vampires around it. Great. She could only hope that no one had cut themselves-

She stopped as the scent of blood hit her nose. She cursed and took off running, dropping the deer as she did.

——

French Horn thought she was going to die when she heard a bush rustle and snap behind her. She had stopped for a rest, thinking she was safe (if very lost). She was braced for her death when Percussionist crashed through the bushes.

”Oh, good, you’re still alive. We need to go like right now.”

Before she could protest, he grabbed her wrist and began pulling her away. With his very cold, very pale hand.

”Wait. Was it you?” She said, planting her feet.

”Yes.” his voice was solemn, and his eyes downcast. “But unless you want Flute to get you, we need to go”

She tore her wrist out of his grasp.

“Flutes dead. Flute’s dead and you killed him!”

And Flute hit her from the side. He sank his teeth deep into her neck, but only for a moment. Then he pulled back, looking horrified and ran away.

French Horn stands up dazedly. “That was…”

”Yeah.”

she lifts a hand to her bleeding neck where the bite is still gushing blood.

A rustle of trees comes from the side, and Clarinet skids to a stop in front of them. She takes in the situation and drops to her knees, tearing loose a piece of her shirt and holding it to the holes in French Horn’s neck.

”Wheres the third?”

French horn points to the copse of trees he disappeared into.

”I think we might actually be jinxed.” A pause, then “That was supposed to be a joke. Go after him. He’s heading towards the camp, and chances are he won’t be able to stop himself a second time.”

Percussionist nods, and then stops. “How do I get there?”

”just run straight! GO!”

and he does.

———

Clarinet gently explains to French Horn that vampires are real, and that she is one. When asked why she isn’t bloodthirsty, Clarinet answers that she has a lot of blood left in her still, and that she’s not all the way changed, and that the change will, in her words, “Stink. Its kind of the worst thing you’ll have to go through, and it’ll take way longer since you have blood, and you may not notice at first.“

French Horn pursed her lips. “Theres no way to stop it?”

Clarinet shook her head.

”Okay. Okay, shouln’t we help Percussionist?”

Clarinet swore. “You won’t be much help in the state you’re in, but I can drop you off by the camp. Pack our things and be ready to go.”

Clarinet scooped French Horn up and took off into the woods.

———

Percussionist got there just as Tuba was ripping Flute off of his neck.

Despite Flute being the smallest out of all of them, and Tuba being the strongest, he was struggling to keep the scrabbling, biting Flute away.

So, Percussionist did the only logical thing and full body tackled Flute, trying to hold him down. It worked, sort of. Long enough for Tuba to start running. Long enough for Sax and Trombone to see what the ruckus was.

Flute burst out of Percussionists grip, grabbed Trombone and ran.

Sax sprinted after them, and percussionist was left in the dust, standing dumbstruck as they all dashed off. He snapped out of it when Trumpet pressed an axe to his shoulder and told him to not move.

———

Flute knows this: he is very hungry. He also knows that blood tastes very good.

His last two meals escaped. He thinks he let the first go, but he can’t seem to remember why. The second was ripped away from him by someone like him, which was rather rude.

But this one won’t get away. He is far to hungry to let that happen.

He feeds as he runs, draining the squirming thing dry, pinning its flailing limbs against his chest. It stops wailing eventually.

He slows as he becomes able to think clearly again. He holds the body in his arms and revels in the fact he is no longer hungry. Then, he looks at the thing he drained.

And it’s his friend. He feels his stomach drop, and a hollow pit grow in his chest. His friend is dead, and it’s his fault. He tells himself there’s nothing to do but run, so he does.

Really, though, he just doesn’t want to see what she’ll become.

———

“What did you do to them.” Said Trumpet, each word slow and dangerous. She lifted the axe off his shoulder, and he felt relief before he realized she was lining up to take off his head.

He may be able to heal, but he did not want to see how far that ability stretched. Not like this, at least.

He swallowed his fear and asked, ”What makes you think I did something?“

She barked out a harsh laugh. “You go missing in the middle of the night with Clarinet, who still isn’t back. Flute and French Horn go to look for you and have mysteriously disappeared. Tuba came running from this direction, bleeding like a stuck pig. And here I find you, in the center of it all.”

Ah. He was fucked. Time to implement the worst plan ever, considering how fast Trumpet was.

”that’s- that sure is some pretty overwhelming evidence that I did something. I swear I didn’t, though but I know you won’t believe me so I’m just gonna RUN!”

He ducked under the axe she swung at his head, and took off running into the trees. He glanced behind him to see her struggling to keep up, and grinned. He was actually getting away with his head, and beating Trumpet in a footrace for once-

He turned back around just in time to see the tree that crumpled his skull.

———

He wished he could say he didn’t feel every excruciating twitch of his skull righting itself as he laid there. As it was, it was painful enough he was functionally passed out.

Which is why he was surprised to see trumpet dragging him by his feet deep into the woods.

Not half as surprised as trumpet, who dropped his feet and swore when he sat up and gasped.

”What the hell? You were dead! that killed you!” She yelled.

Percussionist was still reeling from how much growing his skull back sucked, and latched on to the first thing he noticed.

”Did you steal my shoes?”

”what are you?” She asked in a tone that was decidedly horrified.

He fiddled with a piece of grass somewhere to his left. “A vampire, as of yesterday. Really though, why do you have my shoes?”

“Not important. What do you mean as of yesterday?”

”Last night, really. Me and Clarinet-“

”Clarinet and I.” She said.

”Whatever. We went on a walk and turns out she’s always been a vampire, and then she did the vampire thing, and now I’m a vampire, and things have just been spiraling from there-”

”That explains a lot, actually. Who else is a vampire?”

Percussionist, feeling slightly more alive, realized they weren’t by the camp anymore.

”Where are we? Why do you have my shoes, and why are you so calm about this?”

”oh.” She said. “I may have made an action plan for something like this. You know, in case of murderers, or if supernatural stuff was real.”

”thats cool. Why steal my shoes?“

”I was framing you for murder.”

an awkward silence settled over them.

”We should get back to camp. Stop more people from getting vampired and all.”

”Yeah. Lets do that.“

———

Sax skidded to a stop in front of Trombones body. She was limp, and pale, and by all accounts dead. He whipped out his phone to call anyone, anyone at all, and pitched it into a tree when it read no service.

He sat, and he cried by his best friend, who always made the shittiest puns, who was the worst at sports, who thought anything with soulmates was stupid but still read all the stuff he suggested her. Who was dead.

He was still crying when she sat up and latched onto his neck, draining him dry.

———

French Horn and Clarinet ran across Tuba, who was holding gauze to his neck where he had been bit. French Horn was starting to feel slightly feverish, but otherwise okay.

”Guys! Are you okay? The weirdest thing just happened.” He said.

”We need to leave.” Said Clarinet. “Now.”

”No argument here. Have you guys seen Flute? He was with you last time I saw him.“

French Horn and Clarinet shared a look.

“I’ll go find him. You two pack. we leave before dusk.”

They watched as she disappeared into the leaves.

”Whats going on?” Asked tuba, a hint of worry in his voice.

French Horn took a deep breath in before saying “Vampires are real.”

Tuba burst out laughing.

“Oh. You’re serious.” He said as he hefted a tent into the back of the van.

”you don’t believe me.”

“How could I? I haven’t seen any proof that they exist.”

She threw a bag of trash in the van with more force than nessecary.

“What attacked you then?”

At this he paused. “I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a vampire.”

———

Percussionist and Trumpet made it to where Trombone was crying over Sax, the late afternoon sun reflecting off of their now pale skin.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. He’ll be alright.”

Trombone looked up at him and snarled, all teeth and rage, and Percussionist jumped back.

”He’ll end up like me, won’t he.”

Percussionist nodded.

”I don’t know what world you’re living in, but this isn’t fucking alright!”

Trumpet walked over and knelt in front of Trombone. She held out her hand, and Trombone scrambled away.

”I don’t believe you would hurt me. Not right now. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

”so what?” She scoffed. “I still did it. Should I just go on existing as whatever I am now? Just kill people so I can live?”

”Actually,“ Percussionist said, “we can live off of different types of blood.”

Trumpet looked back and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Shut up you twatwaffle, can’t you see this is a delicate moment?”

”just figured it would be some good information to have.“ he said.

“Are you seriously telling me my angst fest was for nothing?” She asked.

Percussionist leaned against a tree. “Oh, don‘t worry.” He said. “Theres still plenty of angst about the immortality.”

“Sax did always say he wanted to be sixteen forever.”

Trumpet rolled her eyes. “Lets go home.”

Trombone reached out to take Trumpets hand, and Sax shot up and clamped his jaws around her throat. Trombone grabbed Trumpets wrist and pulled her away as Percussionist peeled Sax away.

”Let him.“ choked out Trumpet. “I‘ll be one of you either way.”

”Absolutely not!” Said Percussionist. “Trombone, go find literally anything else with blood.” Sax kicked and snarled in his grip. “Hurry! I’m not sure how much longer I can hold him.”

———

“Flute!” Yelled Clarinet. She had been looking for him for an hour now, and still couldn’t find him.

She was walking along an old trail that went out of use years ago when she almost tripped over him. He was curled up in the shade of a tree, hiding away in a hollow.

“What do you want.”

”I want to take you home.” She said.

he laughed. “Something like me doesn’t deserve a home. I killed people, and I knew there was another way, but I did it anyway. Just leave me here to rot.”

She remembered when she’d been like this. She had forgotten to eat, had slipped up. Its not a hard thing to do. When you’re a vampire, you brain tricks you into feeling fine by your old standards until you‘re so hungry you can’t stop it.

She believed it was all her fault, though. The only way someone had gotten through to her was something they had called twisting the knife. She had always called it shitty.

She sighed. “I wanted to say sorry.”

He poked his head out a little, peering up at her. “You didn’t do anything.”

”But I did.” She said. “I drained percussionist dry last night, and then I left him to find you. I watched while you attacked your friends, and now, I’m giving you a chance to fix the harm we caused. What will you do with it?”

”You made me like this?” He asked.

”Yes.”

he lunged at her face, fingers clawing for her eyes. She turned around and ran for the campsite, making sure he was behind her, and praying that he would forgive her for the stunt she just pulled.

———

The campsite was packed, and Percussionist and Trombone had made a game of who could catch the best songbird for Sax. Sax was less murderously inclined, though it was hard to tell if it was because the blood he had consumed or trumpets growing nonhumanness.

After the third or fourth time of watching Sax suck down a bird or squirrel like a juice box, Tuba was forced to admit that maybe vampires were a little real.

(He noticed his neck wound had already scabbed over and was halfway gone. He was afraid to ask if he was becoming one.)

The sun was slipping behind the tops of the trees when Clarinet charged out of the forest, leapt over the van, And yelled “Flutes trying to kill me!”

Flute burst into the clearing and lunged at Clarinet. Percussionist stepped in the way.

”What happened?“

”She did this in purpose! She said she dropped you in the woods to kill us!”

Percussionists blinked. “No she didn’t. She told me to stay where I was while she got something for me to eat.”

he stopped yelling. Now, he just looked confused. “But she turned you.”

”Yeah? It was an accident. She obviously regretted it.”

Percussionist backed off, and Flute looked at clarinet.

”why did you say all that then?”

“You were’t gonna come with me if I didn’t. Besides, you were spiraling and this was the easiest way to stop that.”

”Sounds like the shittiest way to stop it, too.” Scoffed Tuba.

She sighed. “Yeah. It was.”

”Hey,” asked sax. “Are any of us still human? I know me, Percussionist, and Trombone aren’t-“

”Percussionist, Trombone, and I.” Said Trumpet.

”-And I saw you two jump over my van, but whats up with the rest of you?”

”Basically,” said Clarinet, “anyone who was bit is or will become a vampire, depending on how much blood they had left in them after the bite. Was there anyone who wasn’t bit?”

everyone was silent as they all glanced at each other, looking for anyone who could say yes. It quickly became awkward, and was broken by Clarinet muttering “Fuck.” quietly under her breath.

”Who all, um, died today?”

Flute, Sax, and Trombone slowly raised their hands. Clarinet squinted at Percussionist, which prompted him to say “What? I died last night.”

French Horn yelled “past twenty four hours, dingus.”

He rolled his eyes and raised his hand.

”Alright. You three,” -she made a sweeping gesture towards the three with their hands down- “Are going to have the worst couple weeks of your life. Take a few days off of everything. Don’t go to the hospital. Stay isolated. Call me when the pain’s mostly over.”

Tuba’s lips pursed. “What, exactly, is going to happen to us?”

”The way it was explained to me was that your body slowly cannibalizes itself. It sucks.”

”hm.” He said. He looked very troubled.

They got in the van and drove through the night.

For now, they rest. A short break, before they have to figure out the rest of their lives.

[bluexiao]

#where we both stand

—where you and thoma were never meant to be in the first place, and you both realized that

CHARACTERS. Thoma, GN!Reader, Kamisato Ayato

THEMES. mild fluff. mild angst. hurt with no comfort. arranged marriages. mention of social statuses.

NOTES. i based this off of this prompt that i posted way before! i did day i’ll write about it:)) it’s quite short though… i’m merely writing for practice again since i’m still on a slump-ish… anyway hope you’ll like this!! enjoy~

The sea breeze had always been something you enjoyed. That he knew. Whenever needed, he takes you down the path near the Kanjou Commissioner’s house, leaping out of the concrete to walk on the grass then down to the beach, the fall of maple leaves like a small pint of colored rainfall to spread its joy and peace.

As a part of the Kanjou Commission, of course, you were very well acquainted with the Retainer of the Yashiro Commission’s Kamisato Clan.

Gambling upon the cards of destiny, threading one’s way on the narrow path of hope, rebelling against the rules of men. That was and is what you and Thoma will always be, you realized. Actually, you already knew the moment he introduced himself to you, became your friend, and every single time he conversed with you each time you wanted, held you in his arms whenever you needed. You forced yourself not to acknowledge it, thinking it wouldn’t hurt in the long run.

Unfortunately, you were wrong.

“I know! Must I treat you to a delicious meal this afternoon? You don’t look like you have that much energy nowadays, what happened to the Y/n that I know?” speaking of which, Thoma successfully pulls your mind out of reverie only for you to fall into its depths again when you are reminded of what you’ve been thinking these past few days.

Should you tell him?

With the lack of response, his face breaks into a reassuring smile, “Come on, while the offer still stands.”

You were weak, unable to resist the temptation of being on his side despite having to lie to him over and over. Is this even called lying? It’s not like you two were together as a couple or that he even feels the same way as you do.

Without knowing, you were wrong once again.

“Do you have plans tomorrow? Lady Ayaka told me that I can have a free day today since she has something to take care of. How about we go take a stroll like we used to?”

Pursing your lips, and looking at him in the eye, you rejected him, “I apologize, but I have matters to attend to as well.”

“‘Matters to attend to’?” he repeats but stops himself from further questioning you. He knew his boundaries when it comes to that. And Thoma is sick of it.

Social statuses—Thoma knew the moment he had his feet land on Inazuma, the moment he became the Retainer of the Kamisato Clan, and the moment he met you.

Despite all of this, however, all he had to do was smile, a false assurance for the person he had adored for a long time. A secret, of course he had to. With all that’s happening in Inazuma, these traditions are still to be kept.

“Alright! Take care, alright?” he says, but before he can stop himself, he suddenly pulls your head to his chest as gently as possible.

“Promise me?” he adds, unknowing of the flustered look on your face. However, you managed to calm yourself, then nodding as a response.

“I will. You should too, Thoma.”

“Lady Ayaka, it is a pleasure to see you as well.”

The Shirasagi Himegimi only smiles before saying, “Big brother Ayato has been waiting for you, please take your time, both of you.”

You knew she only meant well, but the moment you saw Ayato’s eyes as she opened the door that lead to the room where you were invited for tea, Thoma’s face flashes on the back of your mind.

“Thoma? Why are you here?” Ayaka’s voice interrupts your thoughts as you turn, only to see the same man inside of your head, looking back at you, where you were seated in front of the very Head that he serves.

“Y/n? What…” he trails off, to which the two siblings had caught on.

“There’s no hiding now, huh?” Ayato smiles for a little, one that Thoma himself didn’t know how to decipher. Hesitance? Pity?

After all… he did know that Thoma has feelings for you.

So why?

“Thoma, Y/n will soon be a member of the family, please give them a warm welcome.”

Thoma didn’t know what to say. After all, he already did… but not this way.

TAGLIST (please send an ask to be added!). @softlybeloved @rim0na @icecappa @kiyokoshii @scaraslover @beastielevi @cursedraiden (hi curse omg is it ok to tag you??)

[marvelhero-fics]

Snowman

Series - Chapter One

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You’re a HYDRA assassin that’s worked closely with the Winter Soldier, to each of your dismay you’re reunited with Bucky after the blip. 

A/N: I haven’t posted in like 300 years, but I hope you guys enjoy this new series! This follows parts of TFATWS so expect spoilers! (Also I’m sure all the Russian is absolutely wrong, if you’d like to correct it please send me a message!)

Word Count: 1,815 (future chapters will be wayyy longer)

Snowman Masterlist || Full Masterlist

New York

2023

“So tell me about this-” the therapist looked down at her notes briefly, “(Y/N).” She finished.

Bucky paused momentarily, “No.”

“James, for these therapy sessions to be effective, you need to open up to me. I can’t help you if I don't know what’s wrong.” His therapist responded, laying her pen carefully on her small notebook.

Bucky thought for a moment, taking in the ambience of the room. What would he even say about (Y/N)? He hadn’t seen her in years. Bucky was kicking himself for accidentally bringing her up in his session last week. “I- uh-” he stammered, shifting his weight on the couch, “I met her in 2011. At least I think it was 2011. Date’s get kinda fuzzy sometimes, with all the cryo.” Bucky’s hand pressed against his head, feeling dazed as he tried to think back. “It was at the big HYDRA base outside of Moscow. We had to go on a mission together-” he was cut off,

“Did she work for HYDRA?” Dr Raynor interjected.

“Yea. She was an assassin too. She went by the alias the Viper.” Bucky pretended not to notice his therapist tense up. Anyone who knew anything about HYDRA knew who the Viper was. She was one of the most prolific assassins after the Winter Soldier.

“Tell me more about when you met her.”

“We were instructed to take out a terrorist organisation forming against SHIELD. Which was ironic because we were working for a terrorist organisation. But at this point SHIELD was being run by HYDRA and they couldn’t risk any slip ups, so they put 6 assassins on the job. HYDRA usually didn’t have their assassins working together, we were all too volatile. But we had to take out over 70 people in one night. It was (Y/N), a few assassins from the Red Room, and a few agents that HYDRA had trained personally, and me.” Bucky stopped.

“Where was (Y/N) trained?”

“At a secondary facility run by HYDRA. She was trained from a really young age. It’s all she’s known.” Bucky seemed somber. But his therapist continued,

“What happened on the mission?”

“Nothing. It went exactly to plan. The targets were taken out and we all left without a trace. But (Y/N), she- she kept trying to talk to me, or get to know me. I was the Winter Soldier. No one in their right mind ever tried to ‘get to know me’.”

“Why do you think (Y/N) did that?”

“She told me she was bored.” He replied bluntly.

Moscow

2011

The poorly lit conference room was filled with a myriad of assassins and officials. The only illumination came from old LED lights hanging from the concrete ceiling. The mossy green paint on the walls looked as if it hadn’t been patched up in years. The only new-ish part of the room was the large, oak conference table, surrounded by black, leather seating. It was difficult not to notice the red HYDRA symbol holding a spot on almost every piece of clothing in the area.

“TITAN terroristicheskaya organizatsiya, formiruyushchayasya protiv nas. (TITAN is a terrorist organisation forming against us.)” Kuznetsov spoke, “Izbrannyye budut otpravleny segodnya vecherom v Ukrainu dlya vypolneniya postavlennoy zadachi. Uberi ikh. (The chosen ones will be sent to Ukraine tonight to complete their given tasks. Take them out.)”

That was all it took. You stared at the file in front of you. You had read through it multiple times, going over every single name, every single skill set your targets had. You were more than certain you could complete this job on your own. But you had no choice on the matter.

Your eyes darted around, taking in the faces of the assassins that were to accompany you on your mission. Two youthful females, dressed in black leather sat next to each other. The older, grimacing woman behind them was Madame B., the head supervisor of the Red Room. You moved your gaze to the two agents in dark green uniforms and red, soviet berets. Neither looked particularly menacing.

You finally landed on the last assassin. His dark hair fell like curtains around his face. Gloomy blue eyes searched their way through the room. His sharp jaw seemed tense through his stubbled cheeks. He was large, extremely built. Covering his frame was an amplitude of black clothing and gear.

“Play nice.” Your mentor spoke softly over your shoulder, breaking you from your train of thought.  

“I always do.”

~

Your padded snow boots ripped through the thick snow covering the ground. The six of you had hiked your way to the set point on your GPS systems, the clouds of snowfall covering your vision held the illusion that there were absolutely no structures nearby. A large helicopter had dropped the group a few miles out from the hideout to ensure nothing was compromised. The trek was in utter silence, fighting against the harsh temperature in mid February.

The waypoint became closer on your map, a tiny building slowly appeared in your vision against the foggy downfall. It was a small, wooden cabin. Everyone hustled their way through the unlocked door. It was barren, it held no furniture, no blankets, no means of any life. There appeared to be a few doors that led to small, empty rooms. The entrance only held a small fireplace, filled with old cut down logs that had been eaten by bugs.

The group quickly dispersed, you headed to one of the rooms alone, throwing down your belongings onto the floor. The bag you carried was mainly filled with weapons and ammunition, along with a very warm sleeping bag. You knew too well you wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, but you would need the extra heat for now.

There was no chatter anywhere in the house. Your mission would begin in 6 hours. Everyone was likely putting together their artillery. You decided to cozy up in your navy sleeping bag for a moment of comfort.

Someone had lit the fire in the lounge. A warm, orange light crept through the cracks in your door. The ambiance was strangely calming for a shitty cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Snow continued to fall against the tiny glass pane of your room. You weren’t a fan of assassinating in the snow. It was low vision, harsher climates, and it lessened the ability to move. Snakes weren’t creatures of the cold. Conveniently you’d been grouped with someone who called himself ‘The Winter Soldier’. I’m sure he loves the cold, you thought.

You’d heard a lot about him. Everyone had. He was the perfect assassin. He never failed a mission, his body didn’t reject cryo, every form of enhancement HYDRA had used on him had been a success. He was what every assassin had aspired to be.

Without thought, you grabbed the glass bottle laying next to you and walked off to the room the Winter Soldier had claimed for the night.

“Privet (Hello)”. You announced, pushing his door open with a creak. His head didn’t turn towards you. He sat on the floor, the sound coming from him indicated he was sharpening knives.

“Khochesh' vypit'? (Want a drink?)” You asked, motioning the bottle towards him.

He stayed silent for a moment. Finally he turned, looking up at you from his position on the floor. “What is it?” His dark tone asked back. The amber light from the fire crashed against his features. His strong jaw was covered with a dark stubble, his brunette hair tucked behind his ears. His most obvious feature was the hauntingly blue eyes that sat in sunken sockets, he looked drained.

“It’s vodka.” You stated, honestly. You were surprised to hear he wasn’t Russian, he sounded… American?

“You’re drinking before a mission?” He queried.

You shrugged. “Alcohol doesn’t freeze.” You sat down next to him. “Plus it takes the edge off.” A faint clinking noise announced as you placed the bottle on the floor between you two. He stared at you for a moment, before quietly going back to his knives.

“Wanna play 20 questions?” You interrupted the silence.

“No.”

“What about truth or dare?”

“I’m not 14.” the soldier replied, his eyes not leaving his handy work.

“How old are you?” You shot back,

“Why are you trying to get to know me?” He dodged your question.

“I’m bored.” You shrugged, taking a deep swig of the vodka. “And by my calculations,” you peered down at your watch, “we still have 3 hours and 27 minutes until the mission starts.”

He gave a shallow sigh, “93.”

“What?”

“I’m 93. How old are you.”

“93?! You were born in 1917?”

“Mhm. How old are you.”

“25. You look great for 93.” You chuckled.

“You look old for 25.” He jabbed back. His knife sharpener still grinding across a 6 inch blade.

“You flatter me.” You replied sarcastically. “So what’s your story? How’d you make it to 93?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Why would I ask if I didn’t want to know?”

Bucky looked over at you. “I’m telling you, you don’t want to know.”

“C’mon old man,  I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” You smirked. He once again, went back to his knives. It almost seemed as if he was trying to threaten you, pulling out larger knife after larger knife.

You huffed, opening your mouth to speak, “I was born in Hungary to a drug abusing mother, and an absent father. I was kidnapped and sold to HYDRA when I was 6. I was placed under the care of the Kraken. Not sure if you’ve met him, he’s this large guy-”

“I’ve met him.” Bucky stated, interrupting your spiel.

“Right, well, he trained me for years. Eventually HYDRA got involved again and I was tested on, experimented on, messed with, ya’ know, all that fun stuff.” You explained.

“Are you enhanced?” Bucky asked, almost as if he was actually interested.

“Yea. I have this whole snake venom trick. It’s great for up close combat. The experiments really should’ve killed me though. But maybe that’s what makes us so good-” Bucky looked over at the woman next to him, her bright eyes stared back at him as she spoke “ya’ know, the best assassins are the ones living off borrowed time. Because we’ve met death before, so we’re not afraid to do it again.”

Bucky quickly grabbed the Barrett M82 rifle next to him, his metal arm making faint whirring noises. “I’m going to scope out the base.” He stated bluntly. And with that, his large black boots walked him out the bedroom, and out the door.

You let out a faint sigh, creeping back to your room to sort out your weapons. You were sure it was something you said that scared him off. I guess at 93 you have to be living off too much borrowed time, you speculated. You absentmindedly set up your pistols, your mind not being able to wander from the Winter Soldier. Maybe annoying the Red Room girls would get your mind off it.

[detective-gum-chew]

okay okay okay

i know this isnt an orginal idea by any means but roleswap!narumitsu is just so good

so youll have to indulge me because this lives in my head rent free and i want to write it down concretely somewhere (also this gets LONG so ill pop a cut in here)

alright so:

1. at least in my writing of it, this is also a no-dl6/gregory lives au. but as well at that, miles and phoenix didnt go to school together

2. this means that there was nobody to defend phoenix at the class trial (yes i know the money stolen was edgeworths but shhh lets pretend it was someone elses, kay?) this lead to phoenix becoming not only bitter, but somewhat obsessive over the idea of punishing people that do wrong

(if someone can find that quote where phoenix talks about how he could have become a prosecutor because of the trial i will give u a gentle kiss on the forehead) 

3. Edgeworth was raised by Gregory and ends up becoming a defense attorney

4. in this, Von Karma goes down and Franzy is adopted by Gregory, and she assists Miles in his cases. (she can still have a whip, as a treat.)

5. anyway with that set up, lets get into some cases

6. Larry gets accused of Cindys murder, Miles defends with Franzy

7. Lets say Mia was in the crowd of that trial and decided to contact miles, seeing as he appears to be another uncorrupt lawyer and asks him for his help in taking down Redd White

8. He agrees, and she sets a time for him to meet at her office so they can talk. Mia then calls her sister and updates her on how shes going to recruit another person (Redd White hears this)

9. Much like the original case, Mia gets murdered, but this time, Maya isnt here to be blamed. Instead, its Miles himself, as the name that White heard over the phone (so basically we’re speed running to the “defend yourself in court” part)

10. the prosecutor today is Phoenix Wright.

11. but before that lets go into some backstory actually. Phoenix had encountered Mia previously during the Terry Fawles case. He had respected her as a peer, if not for just her determination and deductive skills. (After all, he was young at the time and solely focused on punishing the wicked) After Diego’s poisoning, he had briefly reached out for condolences

12. but anyway, Phoenix had distantly respected Mia, and now that she was dead, he was going to be tough on whoever he thought murdered her.

13. Miles proves his innocence, although it takes some baiting to get Redd White out of his building and actually into court. 

14. Wright is... not pleased about this, but theres not much he can do. His displeasure for Mias murder has shifted, but theres a new displeasure for Miles, the man who could beat him in court. (”well well well, you managed to save your own skin. But you should hope you get as lucky as you did in your next case”)

15. Next case! We know Miles is a steel samurai fan, so even without Maya it takes very little convincing for him to take the case. (Fran is not as amused but trusts her brother... enough.. to follow his lead)

16. Case proceeds mostly as normal, with Phoenix requiring Dee to re-do her testimony (maybe something deep within him still itches to put the true bad guy away, even if its harder than the accused)

17. I dont think Phonix would deliver the unnecessary feelings line, although there definetely is that moment in the lobby where hes like “hm. maybe you arent a bad person, but that doesnt mean i have to like you.”

18. and now, now now now, we finally get to the part where i somehow managed to put the most thought into. (for context it is nearly 2 am when i am writing this)

19. sleep schedule aside, you couldnt have thought i would made this WITHOUT some good angst, so here we go. case four is similarly structured to the original, but with an extra side of Phoenix angst.

20. Miles wakes up to Franzy shaking him. She points to the television. the news is on, but the voices are drowned out by a distant ringing as he stares at the image on the screen.

Famed Prosecutor Phoenix Wright Arrested For Murder

21. it just doesnt make sense. So he gets out of bed and into the closest clothes he can find and out the door with his sister in tow. He sits in the cold detention room, thinking about the other side of the glass.

22. Phoenix Wright looks dull. He asks what they want. Miles says he wants an explanation. Wright sneers and asks why. For some reason, that pisses Miles off. He slams his badge to the glass and Wright looks surprised.

“Do you know what this is? It’s my attorneys badge.”

“the badge doesnt mean youre a good lawyer.”

“Well Mr Wright, its 2-0, so i dont think you have any right to say that.” Miles glares at him and Wright sits back in his seat. He watches Miles for a long time.

“If im going to defend you, you need to tell me what happened.“ Wrights eyebrows shoot up and Franziska squawks at his side

“What do you mean defend him!”

“What she said.”

Miles narrows his eyes at Wright as he ponders to himself the answer. Why is he doing it? the answer comes to him. 

“Because i dont believe you did it.”

For all his snark, Miles cant bring himself to believe that the man in front of him would kill someone. Theres something about him, either in his eyes or the way he carries himself that makes the idea itself preposterous. Wright looks at him for a long time after he says it.

“Very well.”

21. Miles doesnt seem him until court, but at least he testifies. The next person up, a red head by the name of Melissa Foster, gives a testimony that seems airtight.

22. that is, until he looks over at Phoenix, who is pale as he looks at the woman on the witness stand. Phoenix catches his eye, and very carefully, very slowly, mouths one name.

Dahlia Hawthorne

23. (I really wish i could continue with the more narrative parts of this but im honestly running out of steam and ill get to the point lol. Maybe ill finish it later.)

24. Terry Fawles dies on the stand. Diego Armando falls into a coma. Dahlia Hawthorne walks free. Even after what happened to Diego, Phoenix is convinced he can do better. He sets up a meeting with Dahlia.

25. Doug shows up, trying to persuade him away from it, saying he overheard Dahlia’s plan to kill Phoenix when she arrives. Phoenix is cocky, and the pair fight. Doug gets shoved into the powerline. Phoenix, thinking him dead, panics and runs.

26. Dahlia, having overheard, goes back and finishes him off, drops some poison into his mouth perhaps. With an accidental death with a cause so obvious, nobody bothers to run blood tests (until Miles)

27. Its years later, and Phoenix gets a note that tells him they know what really happened to Doug. Phoenix arrives to a meeting place to find a dead body. He picks up the vial of poison almost absently. 

28. After all, Dahlia had gotten rid of Diego and Mia was dead. Now all she had to do was get rid of Phoenix

29. It plays out similarly to case four, with Phoenix being absolved of the first murder, then confessing to the old one. Miles has gone through the work to save his life once, that he cant not do it again.

30. but happy endings (ish) for all, with Phoenix being freed, Dahlia imprisoned and Miles having a better understanding of both him and Phoenix.

31. maybe more happens but we’re at bullet point 31 so its time to stop for now lmao. uh but yeah! roleswap au..... brainrot really.

[p-artsypants]

The Ghost of Smokey Joe (4)

You’ve Got Me VooDoo’d

Adrien Agreste was acting bizarre. Stilted body language, plastic smile, and he seemed to have forgotten how close they were. Before she can get the truth out of him, Marinette finds herself as the sole heir to the Gabriel brand and the mansion, following the murder-suicide of both Adrien and Gabriel Agreste. The mystery continues as Tikki explains that Adrien was Chat Noir...but if Adrien is six feet under, why is Chat Noir still running around?

Ao3 | FF.net

--

“Have either of you talked to Adrien lately?” 

Nino scoffed from his place on the couch. “You mean Mr. Roboto? Yeah, he’s been a blast. What did you do, Marinette?” 

“Me?! I didn’t do anything!” 

“Well he wasn’t this weird until your failed date night.” 

“I know that! And I also know that I did nothing wrong!” She scolded. 

“Mari’s right,” said Alya. “Sunshine’s transformation is probably a side effect of his dear old dad.” 

“What did Gabriel do?” Asked Marinette. 

“Don’t you remember? He’s a great designer, and apparently a cool boss, but he’s a super shitty dad.” 

“Yeah. But ever since Adrien turned 18, he’s mellowed out. Somewhat.” 

“So? He probably cranked it back up. When was the last time you saw Adrien outside of the mansion?” 

Marinette blinked. “God, like two weeks ago, before ‘my failed date night’.” 

“Exactly. If you ask me, Sunshine is depressed. Or forbidden from showing emotion.” 

Marinette clutched at her chest, the very notion sending a throb to her heart. 

“I’m going to talk to him tomorrow. I’ll sneak up on him, so Nathalie doesn’t know. Maybe without her talking to him beforehand, he’ll feel more relaxed.” 

“That’s a good plan! And if he has a camera in his room?” 

“Um…I’ll write a note! Not an email, in case his dad is monitoring it, but an actual, physical note.” It was as good enough of a plan as it could be, though she had neglected to mention to them the tiny detail of Adrien’s document.

‘Your name is Adrien Agreste’ it said. 

Why would he be reading such a thing? Did he have amnesia and Gabriel was trying to keep it quiet? Extremely early onset Alzheimer’s? That’s the only thing that made sense.

Still, Marinette opted to not mention this. It was her clue to the mystery. Maybe later. 

Just like some magic potion

You fill me with emotion

You control my very soul

You've Got Me Voodoo'd

“You could at least respond with ‘k’.” 

The reply was immediate. “K.”

“Oh, so now you’re talking to me?” 

“K.” 

“Did I do something?” 

“K” 

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” 

“K”

“You’re really pissing me off, Agreste.” 

“K” 

Marinette put her phone down for her own health. After a morning in the office, and not getting a response from Adrien, she was beyond frustrated. 

If he had a problem with her, fine, but they had work to do! He still had a job at the company, outside of being a model, and some of her work relied on him. 

It was coming in, slowly, poorly, and mostly wrong. Besides modeling, he was an assistant in sizing, making sure that their clothes were made to be close to the market standard, and flattering for as many possible body types. They did do custom orders, of course, but for the average consumer, it was important that they ordered what they wanted, and received what they expected. 

But Adrien’s measurements were wildly wrong. Women’s extra large shirts didn’t gain inches in the bust, waist, and arms respectively, but the whole outfit scaled evenly. 

Meaning that if an average small was 16 inches long, instead of gaining one or two inches, it reached down to the knees. Shoulder seams fell halfway down the bicep, and sleeves continued a few inches over their hands. 

The models in testing looked like children wearing their parents' clothes. 

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, I have to ask you about this collection and the…interesting sizing you’ve decided to take.” One of the sales reps asked, right outside her office. 

“It’s wrong,” Marinette clarified. “It should have been caught before prototypes were made, but there’s been a hiccup in the production.” She stood, and put on her purse. There was no way to solve this problem without talking to Adrien. And goddamnit, she was going to make him talk! 

“See to it that it’s corrected immediately. With Gabriel’s nearly complete absence, this collection is way behind. Aubrey Bourgeois already has her fall collection out!” 

“Yes, I know. I’m heading over to the manor now to get some concrete answers. Hopefully by tomorrow, we’ll get our sizing corrected.” 

“I hope you do.” 

Marinette hurried down the hall, coworkers giving her concerned glances. 

It was pretty obvious, even to those who weren’t immediately in the office:

The company was a sinking ship, and Marinette was the only one who had a bucket. 

You knew the goddess Venus

Would start this love between us

You inspired me with desire

You've Got Me Voodoo'd

Marinette let herself into the manor, though it wasn’t her day to work there. Thankfully, it seemed like Nathalie was too busy to notice her arrival. 

Up at Adrien’s bedroom door, she was about to knock. Then she noticed his door was cracked open. 

Surely spying on him slightly wouldn’t be wrong?

She pushed the door open a little more for her to peek through. 

On the other side of the room, staring out the window, stood Adrien. And that’s all he did. He just stood looking out the window. The lights in the room were off, backlighting his silhouette. She watched him for a moment, waiting. Nothing. 

Then she knocked. “Adrien? Are you decent?”

“Yes, I am.” He spoke formally. 

She opened the door fully, and he turned to look at her with the most plastic smile she had ever seen. 

He didn’t have his dimples. 

“Hello Marinette, it’s nice to see you. I didn’t know you were working here today.” 

“Nice to see you too. I haven’t had the chance to talk to you properly the last few days, you’ve been so busy.” 

“I have been, I apologize.” 

“It’s not your fault. I know how your father is.” She took a seat on the couch, and pulled out her salad from her bag. “Sorry, I’d wait to eat with you, but I’m so hungry.” 

“You may eat. I understand.” Though he just stared at her, still smiling, and still standing. 

“Are you going to sit?” 

“I can.” He sat next to her, leaving a cushion of space in-between. Normally, he would practically be in her lap. 

“You don’t need to be so formal, you know. We’re alone.”  

“Oh, I’m sorry.” 

She frowned slightly. “You don’t need to apologize. Just like...relax.” 

Adrien looked at her, before exhaling loudly and sinking into the couch more. “Is this relaxed enough?” 

She shrugged. 

“What did you want to talk about?” 

“I just wanted to see how you were doing.” 

“Doing?” 

“Yeah, you’ve been acting super weird lately.” 

He tilted his head slightly. “Weird? How so?” 

“I don’t know, stiff? Formal? Just kind of...stand off-ish. And forgetful. There've been some pretty obvious mistakes in sizing for this collection, and you approved them. You haven’t been in the office the last few days, so I was worried.” 

He considered this. “I’m sorry if my absence caused you any inconveniences. I wasn’t aware I needed to be at the office.” 

She blinked a few times, incredulously. This was absolutely bizarre. “You don’t need to be there, you just usually hang around after shoots or fittings and keep me company.” 

“Oh, because we are friends, right? My good friend Marinette.”  

“Yes!” She slammed her Tupperware down. “This is what I’m talking about! It’s like you don’t know who I am!”

He frowned, the expression running lines in his face. “I’m sorry, Marinette. I’m having a hard time right now, and I’m kind of exhausted. I’m…kind of confused.”

She took a calming breath. “Okay. I get it. You’re stressed. Let’s talk this out though, okay?”

He twisted up his mouth in thought. “Okay, what would you like to talk about?” 

“What’s got you stressed? Is your dad breathing down your neck? Are deadlines too much to handle with modeling too? Do you need a vacation?” 

He stared at her, blankly. “I’m not sure. I would have to think about it.” 

“Well, you know you can talk to me about anything. I care a lot about you, Adrien.” 

“Oh…that’s nice.” He smiled and patted her hand.

It sounded incredibly patronizing. And it hurt. 

“What is up with you? You’ve been acting so strange! You’re not the boy I know!”

You knew you had the power

And even picked the hour

When the full moon was up above

I was hypnotized when I looked into your eyes

My heart was filled with love

The unbelievable plastic smile shifted then, relaxing ever so slowly, until it was gone, and it almost seemed like it was never there. 

“You should go.” Adrien said, hollowly. 

“What?” 

“You should leave now. I don’t think you should be here. Does Nathalie know you are here?”

Marinette swallowed. “No, she doesn’t. I mean—I didn’t think you’d mind. You usually like it when I come to hang out…” she looked to the floor, “at least you used to.” 

“Please give me thorough warning the next time you need to speak with me.” 

She snapped the lid back on her lunch, the second time she had done so. She only had a few bites, just like last time. 

And food just didn’t taste as good without him around. 

“Fine. You know what? I won’t bother you again. Next time, I’ll send an email, like I do with all my other co-workers.” She slid her lunch into her bag, and stood. “The sizing for this collection needs some serious work, and I’ve been the one to have to fix it, on top of all my other responsibilities. Please do better next time, Mr. Agreste.” She shouldered her bag, and walked out. 

Once the door slammed behind her, she let the tears gather in her eyes, but didn’t let them fall. 

So it was over then. Her friendship with Adrien, her best friend, was over. And she wasn’t getting an explanation. 

“Marinette,” Tikki said, sadly. “It can’t be your fault. You didn’t do anything.” 

“I know. And that’s the worst part. Because that means I can’t fix it.” 

She left the Agreste mansion that day, not knowing the next time she walked through those doors, life would be completely different.

Just like the siren Circe

You've got me at your mercy

Always to be brave and bold

Mama, You've Got Me Voodoo'd

It was late. Too late for anyone to be calling, and yet, here her phone was ringing. Marinette fumbled for it. Grabbing it and blinding herself with the screen.

It was 3am, and Adrien was calling her. 

She loved a late night confession as much as the next girl, but she had a presentation in the morning. What was he thinking? 

She hoped it was an apology. Maybe he was finally going to break down and tell her everything that was going wrong. 

Or maybe he was going to confess he didn’t actually know how clothing measurements worked and he’d been guessing the whole time.

“Hello?” She grumbled.

“Marinette.” His voice was so stern, so cold, it gave her goosebumps. “Did I wake you?” He asked, softer.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, but it’s important.” 

“Okay. What’s up?”

“I’m sorry.” He breathed. “You were right. I’m not the boy you knew.”

More awake now, she sat up in bed. This had obviously been driving him wild for a while. “We all change, Adrien. It’s okay. If you’re going through something, I’m here for you. Just be honest with me.” 

“That’s not—“ he sighed, a growl at the end. “Look, just…I don’t have much time. I don’t know what he—what I was going to tell you that night, but it probably wasn’t good.” 

Another voice was on his end of the line. “What are you doing?! Who are you talking to?!”

“Shit. Just look in the basement!”

“What?!”

“How dare you!” 

“Let go of me!”

And the line went dead. 

What. The. Hell.

She called him back, now completely wide awake. 

“Hey there, it’s Adrien, I’m not available to answer right now…”

--

All the chapter titles are songs from my spooky halloween playlist that inspired this fic (and their lyrics will be in the chapters)! You can find that playlist here. The playlist will be updated as the fic goes on.

I hope to post the last chapter on Halloween!

[mikaelsrose]

a great combination of fluff, smut, and angst: NSFW(ish) ABC

pairing: Tyril x human!MC (Selene)

word count: 4600

warnings: NSFW 

an: nsfw alphabet template by this lovely soul with the slightest change

tag list: @brycesgirl @tyrils-star @lxdy-starfury @rysdumortain ​

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)Except for being exhausted, Selene is vulnerable, on full display for Tyril (quite literally), and a bit emotional. That’s actually when Tyril and her have the most personal, heart-to-heart conversations.“I met with Deryth today.”Tyril propped his head on his hand while lying on his side and looked down at his lover, carefully covering her naked body with duvet. His hand then rested on Selene’s hip where his fingers stroked the delicate skin.

Several weeks earlier, during a family dinner, Tyril’s father pointed out that ever since Selene and Tyril came back from Whitetower, he could sense a powerful, ancient energy from her. Adrina immediately agreed and encouraged Selene to meet with Undermount’s walking encyclopaedia/prophet/generally the one with no official title but the go-to lady when there’s any kind of trouble. Although Tyril made no remarks that evening, he agreed with his family. Ever since Selene their battle with the Shadow Court, since she wielded the Blade of Light and was able to open portals, he felt that something... unlocked. Something clicked into place.

“What did she say?”

“A lot of unsettling things, actually,” Selene bit her lip gently and turned to lie on her back. With her eyes set on the dark ceiling, she continued. “But also... nothing concrete. She said she’s been expecting me since I set foot in Undermount because she could feel my magic. She also admitted the same thing your father said.”

Tyril’s hand slowly wandered up her body to eventually rest flat on the blonde’s stomach, his finger outlining a faint scar on her abdomen.

“She confirmed that a war is coming, and I’m going to play a pivotal part in it but this time I might not... make it through.”

The elf’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What ar-“

“But it’s not anything I wouldn’t know for a few weeks now,” she interrupted. “I think... she just confirmed my worries. I could still play dumb when those were just my dreams but now... I don’t know, Tyril. I don’t think I’m strong enough to go through something like this again.”

“We’ll be right by your side, Selene,” he responded immediately, his gaze burning a hole in her face.

“I know, love,” she cupped his cheek in her palm and smiled faintly. “That’s exactly what worries me the most.”

  B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Tyril’s an absolute boobies-guy. The amount of time this man has spent on one-on-one meetings with Selene’s cleavage would make him the greatest warrior in the history had he spent it on trainings. Even (or rather especially) when they’re already going to sleep, his hand finds its way under Selene’s shirt where it rests throughout the night.

As for Selene... she couldn’t have possibly picked her favourite part of him. She adores every. single. body part of this man.

Due to her constant reminders of how much she loves his body and all the differences between the two of them, Tyril’s outlook on himself changed. He didn’t exactly begin to look out for himself when there were blades involved as she asked him, but he did want to look good for her. And himself. But mostly for her, although she started working on improving his way of thinking.

However, she does have a soft spot for his muscular back covered with several very old scars. She loves giving him a proper massage after a long day and placing kisses from one shoulder blade to another. But what she loves the most is watching his back as it’s covered with long deep-blue, purple, half-noon shaped and sometimes bloody marks that her fingernails leave.

 C = Choking (basically an addition to Kink)

“I’m not sure about this, Selene,” he admitted, warring with himself whether to do what do asked and literally choke her or to simply refuse. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me. People do that, and they’re fine,” Tyril raised his brow, looking at her, all flushed, her hair a mess, a few finger-shaped bruises on her hips, and biting her kiss-swollen lips. “I’ve read that in a book.”

“Did you?”      

“Just trust me,” she chuckled, turning to lean against a drawer and swayed her hips invitingly against him, basically impaling herself with his cock for the fifth time this evening.

He still wasn’t sold on this idea but Selene was so sure this would work he was willing to give it a try. However, the second an obscene moan left her lips after a rather hard and smooth thrust, all his inhibitions were forgotten.

Selene guided his hand from her breast to her neck, forcing him to put some pressure there, and he happily obeyed. Selene was like clay in his hands, always happy to fulfil his every wish and always making sure he felt at least as good as her. That night, he wanted to fulfil one of her wishes, however strange it seemed to him.

He pinned her hips to the cold wood with his, fucking her mercilessly as his free hand worked on her bud, leaving her a moaning mess within seconds. Just as his lips busied themselves with her shoulder, guided by her reactions he put some real pressure on her throat, careful not to hurt her.

“This is the last time we are doing this,” he concluded a minute later, holding a panting and somewhat cheery Selene in his arms.

“You’re no fun.”

  D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Tyril would never admit this out loud, especially to Selene, who’s known as one of the biggest gossip in the whole Morella and an even bigger tease, but for a rather short amount of time he was very jealous of Mal (actually, scratch that, he sometime still is), his light approach to life and his relationship with Selene. The way he could joke about everything and tease the hell out of her while Tyril himself was overcome with guilt and anger. When his sole mission was destroying every single piece of the Shadow Court, Mal would still find the strength to raise the group's spirits, cheer up and motivate them. The way he would make Selene laugh.

  E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Oh, Tyril absolutely knows what he’s doing. He often leaves Selene breathless, red, and speechless because he’s that good.

Selene on the other hand... well, she knows a thing or two. She’s a great observer and a quick learner, but she doesn’t exactly have much experience. She happily takes everything Tyril’s willing to show her, though.

“So... I’ve found a book,” Selene stated, blushing a little. Tyril watched her curiously as they sat in a secluded part of the House Starfury’s garden, basking in the early afternoon sun.

“What book?”

Biting her lower lip, Selene began untying her dress, wanting her body to catch as many sun rays as she could until the sunset. She tossed the material aside and rested her head on Tyril’s lap. “Remember the one Mal was so interested in?”

“You mean the one he stole?”

“The one he borrowed,” she chuckled, raising a hand to cover her eyes from the sun. “For an indefinite amount of time.”

“I remember.”

“Well, I found a similar one.”

“Somehow I had a feeling this would happen one day,” the elf concluded, eyeing Selene’s slowly raising chest. “What about it?”

“Oh, please. You know what I mean.”

Of course, he did. But he also so happened to love teasing her.

“We need to work on your communications skills,” he commented, with a barely contained smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she chuckled. “I just thought that we could give it a try. Also, I have a feeling I am really going to enjoy watching you as you read it.”

“I already did.”

“No way,” she grinned and sat up to look at Tyril’s sun-kissed face. “When?”

“I have spent a lot of time in the library and that is all I am going to say on this matter,” Tyril admitted, smirking as his hand rested on the small of her back, his fingers gently stroking the hot skin. “If you are so eager, I believe we can start our little experiment early.”

  F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Against the window. Against the drawer. Against the door if they’re feeling risky. Honestly, even a boulder in the middle of the woods would do if it was big enough to lean Selene against it and fuck her from behind.

 G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous?)

Due to Selene being a massive tease, they usually share a laugh or two during their bedroom playtime. Though there was also that one time...

“I am not ticklish,” Selene assured, sliding her hands up and down his muscular back. Tyril smirked, a devilish plan already forming in his mind, and

“I am afraid I will have to check that.”

“I see you have a death wish, Lord Tyril,” she teased, narrowing her eyes. “And since we both know I’m a much better warrior...”

The elf chuckled and raised his head from between her legs to admire the purple chain of love bites along her stomach. Set on not begging just yet, Selene bit her lower lip and watched her lover delightedly until she realized what he had planned.

“I’m willing to take my chances.”

 H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

Honestly, I find it really hard to believe that the elves grow hair anywhere except for their heads.... I mean, they don’t even grow beards....... Therefore, elf boy is smooth as a baby. Not that Selene minds. Nothing obstructs the view, right?

 I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

Tyril knows that one way to make Selene aroused is dancing. She takes full advantage of how incredible a dancer Tyril is. She adores the fact that he’s willing to patiently teach her everything about his culture, which includes dancing.

“I actually practised this one,” Selene admitted, looking deep into the elf’s blue eyes. Tyril’s left hand slipped down just above her butt, pushing her towards him, leaving absolutely no space between their bodies.

“You have?”

“With your father,” she giggled, seeing the shadow of jealousy on her lover’s face. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Colour me surprised and impressed, then,” he smiled. The hand that’s been resting on Tyril’s back moved up to the side of his neck to pull his face closer.

“Since I’ve mastered this dance, I think we can already proceed with our activities,” she whispered against his lips. “I already got a head start.”

“I can see that,” Tyril smirked as he realized the only thing covering Selene’s body was a thin, white nightgown and definitely no underwear.

  J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

The first week without Selene by his side was tough but the second week? On the 9th day, Tyril seriously considered moving to Riverbend forever just so he wouldn’t have to wake up alone ever again. This being said, the vision of seeing her in a few months was... depressing.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you something to remember me by,” Selene smiled flirtatiously, making herself comfortable on his lap. Having freed his left hand of a book, she guided it to her waist and then higher, and higher until it reached his favourite plaything covered with a thin, lacy material.

Seeing that the strained smile fell of her face as she watched him carefully, Tyril sighed quietly. “I know.”

“No,” she protested immediately and brushed a strand of his hair behind his ear, stroking his cheek while doing so. “Quit glooming. This is supposed to be a good memory.”

He didn’t want her to leave. Not now. Not ever. But they’ve had that conversations many times now, and it wasn’t fair to try to change her mind again as she was clearly set on seeing her brother and taking a well-deserved break from Undermount. Not that he would be able to convince her to stay. She’s too damn stubborn.

“It’s our last night together for some time, love,” she whispered. “Take what you need. Remember me like this.”

Tyril’s hand slowly wandered up her thigh, trying to imprint the feeling of her soft skin in his memory. Trying to remember her taste, her scent, everything about her. Because when it came to Selene, he was greedy. He wanted to know everything about this woman, to know her every thought, every worry. He wanted to be the only who knows her taste and makes her make such sounds.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he begged in between kisses as his warm hands explored her body anew.

“I’m yours, Tyril. Always.”

Remembering how hot her skin felt under his palms, those sweet sounds she would make, and the way she called herself his over and over and over again with no hesitation, he would relieve himself to get himself through the day.

  K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Let’s be clear: Selene is the much more extreme one here. She has a choking kink which actually made Tyril consider a lifelong celibacy for a second just so he wouldn’t have to do it to her again. The fact that Tyril is much older also does the trick for her. And much taller.

 L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere. Literally. Except for Tyril’s family’s private chambers, there hasn’t been a surface the two of them hadn’t christened when they were alone.

 M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Tyril would never admit it, but he finds it extremely hot when Selene turns into a sassy/bad-ass/protective mode. He’s caught himself on that the first time after she easily took out one of Imtura’s corrupted pirates. And then when she fought like a maniac with the corrupted Captain, already using magic as easily as she’d been doing that since the day she was born and swinging her sword like it was her hand.

Selene is actually a sucker for some romanticism.

She would usually come home much earlier than Tyril, which had its pros and cons. The good side was that she had time to think, to write to Kade, and to just unwind. One of the biggest cons was the fact that she had to wait many hours into the night waiting for her man after a long day and – let’s just say – she was very excited. She categorically refused to touch herself, therefore, she was sentenced for waiting, wriggling in a chair, doing some stupid breathing exercises.

It was a quarter after midnight when she felt his familiar hands embrace her from behind and his warm lips already leaving wet kisses on her bare shoulder up to her neck.

A gasp, followed by a surprised moan left her lips when Tyril’s lips started leaving red marks on its way and his hand quickly made it inside her panties. Scratch the romanticism. After a whole long day she didn’t actually need it.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Tyril would never do anything to physically hurt her even if she asked – the choking she once asked for was the only thing he agreed to do and he swore to never do it again.

  O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill)

To Selene’s delight, Tyril loves going down on her. For his own pleasure. He’s also become quite fond of getting quick blowjobs in the middle of the day. In the middle of the city. In a fairly secluded area. Or inconspicuous handjobs under the table during parties.  

Selene’s hand was stroking Tyril under the table, as they watched most of the guests dancing around the ballroom.

“Are you sure there’s no room that we could escape to for a minute?” Selene muttered, playfully stroking his tip with her thumb and watching him clench his jaw and take deep breaths.

“If there was such option, we would be there for the last few minutes already.”

She grinned hearing the struggle in his hushed voice and put more pressure on him, motivating him for a bit quicker finale this time as the song was slowly drawing to an end. The elf swallowed hard, watching as she reached for her champagne glass with her free hand. After she’s taken a small sip, she leaned over and kissed the red-cheeked man, drinking his quiet pants off his lips. Selene grinned through their kiss, feeling some wet, sticky substance in her palm.

“It’s a bit hot in here, isn’t it?”

Adrina smiled as she sat across her brother with an elegant elf by her side. Selene smiled back at the beautiful woman and took another sip of her champagne. “It is indeed.”

  P = Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

Unless they’re short on time, they’re slow and sensual. Tyril takes his sweet time making sure not to skip any part of her body, driving her crazy at the same time. He pays special care to Selene’s scars, remembering how insecure they make her feel.

 Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often)

“We have about five minutes before Adrina comes in here,” Selene mumbled and bit her lip to muffle the moans that threatened to leave her mouth. Tyril’s lips worked tirelessly on her neck as his hips slammed into hers.

“That’s plenty of time,” he smirked, pulling her butt towards the edge of a counter he sat her on. Selene wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, making sure he stays right where he is. “Although if you’d like me to stop-“

“Don’t you dare.”

Tyril’s right hand slipped between her legs, his nimble fingers irritating her soft spot expertly, just as his lips caught hers to muffle her moans.

They froze immediately when a soft knocking on the door followed by Adrina’s sweet voice reverberated in the room. Panicked, Selene pushed Tyril and jumped off the furniture, hurriedly smoothing her hair and fixing her dress. Tyril did the same, but he couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the terrified look on her face.

“Imagine if she opened the door,” Selene whispered, helping Tyril smooth his dishevelled hair.

“We wouldn’t scare her for lifetime, if that’s what you worry about,” he chuckled.

“It’s not her I worry about, it’s me! I could never look her in the face again!”

Tyril snorted and leaned over the balcony door nonchalantly, amusedly observing Selene as she opened the door and greeted his sister.

  R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)

Not at first, no. However, the farther they are in the relationship, the more Tyril begins to succumb to Selene’s ideas of quickies in public places and trying out some positions from the notorious book.

“It feels wrong, Selene.”

Selene looked up to see his flushed face, and took him out of her mouth for a second.

“Oh, so I can just walk out right now?”

The elf’s Adam apple moved slowly up and down as he swallowed and bit his lower lip. “I’d rather you don’t.”

“Then shut up.”

Tyril’s hand involuntarily slipped down to Selene’s hair, guiding her not-so-gently, and he quickly looked around the secluded library row to make sure they’re still alone.

He gripped the bookshelf with one hand just as he was almost there and glanced down on Selene who watched him intently with her beautiful blue eyes. With his chest heaving and tensed stomach muscles, Tyril grit his teeth not to make any noise when he came.

Selene grinned as she pulled his pants back up and stood up to place a tender kiss to the elf’s under jaw. “One could think you kind of liked it.”

Tyril brushed the loose strands of hair out of her face and stroked her cheek with his knuckles.

“I wouldn’t mind repeating this in the future.”

Chuckling, Selene stood on her tiptoes and kissed her man, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“No bodily fluids exchange in my library, kids.”

  S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Tyril Starfury doesn’t go for rounds. Tyril Starfury goes for proper sessions, no matter the time of the day, although he has a soft spot for the morning shifts.

 T = Timid 

Tyril’s anything but timid. The fact that he was willing to fuck in front of the whole city of Whitetower? Yes, there we go. Over time, he doesn’t even pay much attention to hiding his feelings for Selene from his family. Or the elves of Undermount. *cough* handjobs during parties *cough*

Selene on the other hand learns to be more confident. Tyril quite quickly learned that the teasing is just... a ruse. But with time and endless assurance from her man of his love and devotion, she learns to ask for what she wants.

  U = Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

Oh, Selene is the greatest teaser. There’s nothing in this world that makes her happier than watching Tyril flush because of her dirty comments, lose his composure, and get boners in the most inappropriate moments.  

She loves to distract him as he’s reading the council’s newest proposals by sitting half naked on his desk, sneakingly squeezing his butt as he’s talking with the heads of other houses during balls, and leaving juicy love bites on his neck before they go out to the town. In this way she gets to hear him moaning before noon, and she marks her territory, letting other women know he’s taken. Two birds, one stone, right?

 V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc)

Tyril makes it his priority to get Selene as loud as humanly possible when they’re alone. Unless they’re in a public place for a stealthy quickie, then he does just enough to make her almost-as-loud-as-possible. He loves seeing her struggling to stay quiet, he loves teasing her like that, fully knowing she would rather chew off her own tongue than to let a moan escape her lips when they’re in public.

However, it cuts both ways, right? Selene is a mistress of drawing incomprehensible moans from her man, especially in the most inappropriate moments – like during dinner in a bar or in a library. Especially in the library, where they’ve earned a few warnings already.

“Selene, I swear, if we get a permanent ban from the librarian, I will send you back to Riverbend.”

“Feisty,” she chuckled, stroking his calf with her foot under the library table. “Do it more often.”

 W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

“I’m starting to think you’re letting me win,” Selene panted, smirking at Tyril whom she had pressed against a wall, with the tip of her blade an inch away from his throat. Tyril raised his hands defiantly, smirking at her.

“I would never do such thing.”

“Then I believe I have surpassed my master.”

Selene lowered the blade slowly and let it fall to the ground when Tyril’s strong arms wrapped tightly around her and picked her up to slam her against the wall. “You did indeed. Therefore, I believe I deserve a consolation prize.”

“We wouldn’t want you to go into pieces, would we?” she chuckled, pulling him close to crash her lips against his. They still had a few alone minutes left and like always they were more than willing to spend it a bit nicer than on pointing blades at each other.

Selene was also more than happy to use the fact that their trainings excited him to her advantage. “Are you certain you want to stay here? Someone will come-”

“Too bad for them, then.”

“I’m really liking this side of you,” she grinned and tangled a hand in his long hair as his lips sucked hard at the skin on her collarbone.

  X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A solid (and a bit scarred) six-pack and a thick, definitely-above-average package. If it was up the Selene, he would walk around Morella naked.

 “What about this one?” she asked, kissing a long, purplish scar under his ribcage.

“Kaya.”

“It’s been over a year,” her brows furrowed a bit. “It still hasn’t healed?”

“Magic wounds take longer to heal.”

Selene nodded, and watched his face while placing tiny, tender kisses along the scar. “You have quite the collection, I must admit.”

Tyril chuckled.

“This is the last one,” he pointed to a rather deep scar on his left hip. “No distressful story behind this one.”

“For once,” she grinned. “Is this the one Mal gave you?”

“Yes.”

“It’s my favourite one.”

“It better be, I have it because of you,” he smirked, brushing the hair out of her face.

“You have it because you love me, and you wanted to defend my honour. I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Touche.”

Placing a series of wet kisses down his abdomen, Selene wrapped her hand around him, already hard and waiting for her touch, drawing a surprised gasp from the elf. “Though I believe you deserve some acknowledgement for your courageous defence of my honour.”

 Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Tyril is a young, handsome elf, who happens to be the love interest of many, and have a gorgeous woman by his side. Of course, he’s horny as hell. As much as he’s trying to hide it, Selene knows exactly what and how often he needs, as it happens to be her.

“Not again,” Selene giggled, feeling something hard on her thigh. She slid her thumb over Tyril’s kiss-swollen lips, admiring how soft they are. “I would like to come out of this room eventually.”

“I’m afraid this is not going to happen today,” he chuckled as Selene pushed him to lie on his back and straddled him, taking him all in.

The sun was slowly descending, and they haven’t left their bed ever since they woke up this morning.

Tyril marvelled at how the orange sun kissed her pale skin, how beautiful she looked blush-glazed cheeks, and even at how eager she was to go for another round even though the tiredness was evident on her face.

“Selene, no.”

“Come on,” she sighed as he took his hand away from her neck where she guided it. “We’ve talked about this.”

“And as far as I recall I told you I am not going to do this ever again.”

“Fine.”

  Z = Zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

“I love you.”

A small smile crept up upon Tyril’s lips, and he subconsciously wrapped his arm around Selene’s body. He muttered something back, slowly drifting back to sleep. Knowing Tyril, Selene just assumed it was either “Love you too” or “I know.” A soft smile appeared on her lips as she felt his steady heartbeat on her back. Tyril would usually fall asleep first, hugging her so tight she sometimes had problems breathing.

Once she was certain Tyril had fallen asleep, she turned around to look at his peaceful face and was surprised to see a faint of a sleepy smile in the corners of his lips. “Don’t ever forget that,” she whispered, placing a featherlight kiss between his brows.

[thediamondgirl17]

Kitsune! Miya Twins x Reader: Sly Foxes (SFW-ish) Part 1

Okie dokie! So here we are! First Miya twins fic! I’m super excited! I read a fic called The Fox Witch by @haikyuufairy and it was SO FREAKING GOOD! It inspired me to write this! Now- I am NOT familiar with Kitsunes or authentic Japanese culture and things like that- so PLEASE bear with me! I’m trying my best. I’m literally going to do research for this fic because I love the concept of it so much! Kitsune Inarizaki was AMAZING and I genuinely loved it! So I hope I am doing this author justice by writing something (hopefully) as good as they wrote! 

Like I said earlier I am a Kitsune/Authentic Japanese virgin and basically have no idea what I’m doing with this but...I’m gonna try anyway! So without further ado, lets get on with the story!! As always if you would like a Part 2, feel free to suggest and I will be happy to provide! 

Warnings: PG-13 

    For as long as you could remember, you had grown up hearing stories of Kitsunes, the gods, demons, and all sorts of things that you had thought only belonged in the dreams of those older than you. You would leave offerings to the gods and the deities right outside their homes to try and keep the ‘bad’ demons away and have the good ones on their side if things were to turn bad. However, you never really believed any of it. They were myths. Fairy tales. Things adults would say to children to get them to behave. Right? 

    You had never expected any of it to be real. You had never expected that demons actually roamed the earth out of sight from human eyes. And you sure as hell did not expect to be passed out inside the temple on shrine grounds of the goddess Inari. 

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    “There...done...,” You said looking down at the pile of boxes you had just hauled into your new house. Finally you were away from your family and had just started working in the area. Your house was one floor, one bathroom, one bedroom cottage-like house that you were able to afford each month in rent. It was nice, quiet, and you had a nice big front and backyard. 

    You stretched out and sat down on a chair in the dinning room, crossing your legs and pulling out your phone to check it. You scrolled through for a while as a reward for hauling in boxes upon boxes of your stuff. However, when you had finally noticed you needed to unpack your clothes or else you would have nothing to wear, you did so. You grabbed a pair of scissors and started to cut open the boxes with your clothes, and clothing hangers in them. Silently you thanked the gods that the movers were able to already have helped you set up your bed and move heavy furniture so that you wouldn’t have to do it yourself. About a half hour had passed until you heard a knock on your front door. You placed down the clothes you were currently folding and walked over. Once you opened it, you saw an older man and woman standing there with a smile. 

    “Hello...My name is Aikio Tanjiro, and this is my husband, Eiji Tanjiro. And we came over to welcome you to the neighboorhood.” The old woman said and gave a small bow, along with her husband. 

    “Well it’s nice to meet you Tanjiro-san.” You said softly and bowed a bit as well. “Please, come in, I can make you both some tea.” You offered. The two had agreed and you gave them each a pair of guest slippers to wear. They sat down on the tatami on the floor as you boiled the water for tea. 

    “Oh please just Aikio and Eiji are fine.” Eiji said while sitting down. 

    “Oh...alright!” You smiled and once the water was ready, brought it over to the old couple. You sat down with them and started to pour the water into each of their cups. 

    “Have you been to the shrine yet since you have moved in?” Aikio said while blowing softly on her tea before taking a small sip. You smiled nervously. 

    “N-no actually, I’ve been busy unpacking.” You admitted with a small nervous chuckle. 

    “Oh well you must!” The old woman said with her eyes widening a bit. “There are Kitsune around this town that keep us protected from demons and Yako. Bringing them and the Goddess Inari an offering is an absolute must if you plan on staying here.” She warned and took another sip of her tea. You turned to her husband to see if he would say anything about her just having one or two screws loose, but all you got was a small smile. 

    “Don’t look at me...,” He trailed off. “She sounds a little crazy but she is right. There are Kitsune that have protected this area for generations. It’s best to appease them now when you first arrive so they don’t harbor bad feelings toward you.” He said and also sipped his tea. You just nodded slowly in agreement with them. 

    ‘I don’t need to...,’ You thought to yourself as the three of you sipped on your teas. ‘But if they ask again, I wouldn’t want to lie to them, or disappoint them.’ You sighed internally. ‘I’ll do it anyway, besides it will help feed the wildlife.’ You thought as you sipped on your cup. 

    “Don’t mind the foxes in the area as well.” The old woman said. “This area is known for them. Some may be Kitsune who just haven’t reached 100 yet, so treat all of them with respect.” She nodded in agreement with herself. And for the rest of the evening the three of you talked about whatever else came to mind about your moving in. 

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    After spending the rest of the evening with the Tanjiro couple, you had finished a bit more of unpacking before crashing down onto the bed you had just made and groaned. You rolled over to look at the clock on your nightstand. You didn’t have work tomorrow so you would be able to sleep in. ‘I have to go to the shrine though,’ You internally groaned to yourself. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in things like this, it was just that you thought it was childish, almost like Santa Claus or the old folk tales you heard as a kid. Oh how wrong you were. 

    The next morning rolled around, and you had only known this due to the fact that the sun was shining right in your eyes when you woke up. You groaned and rolled over to look at the clock. ‘11:30′ it read. You sighed and threw the covers off of yourself before rolling out of bed and trudging downstairs to make breakfast for yourself. ‘I’ll make breakfast, get dressed, do my hygienic rounds, unpack a little more, and then I’ll visit the shrine.’ You thought as you gently pushed around the ingredients inside the frying pan.  

    And you had followed that plan through. However when you had finished unpacking what you wanted for the day it was actually about on the verge of sunset. You sighed and shook your head. You stood up, stretched out, and went into the kitchen to whip up some food very quickly for the offering. After cooking what you wanted, you put it in two bowls. One for the goddess and the other for the Kitsune, covered them with tin foil, and then placed them in a bag to make it easier to carry up to the shrine. 

    Considering that now it was dark outside you grabbed your coat, and a flashlight. The shrine was not too far away from your house at all. It was about a half a mile away including the stairs to get to the shrine. So a trip there and back would be a full mile, which wouldn’t be bad at all. The stairs to the shrine were surrounded by wilderness, and the only thing you were really worried about were wild boars, but you knew that if you didn’t mess with them, they usually wouldn’t mess with you, so you didn’t worry. 

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    Slowly your legs carried you up the stairs to the shrine through the woods. Your flashlight pointed at the ground in front of you to insure that you wouldn’t fall. Every now and again you would hear the sound of something in the bushes beside you, but wouldn’t pay any mind to it. ‘It was probably just a bird or squirrel.’ You would think as you continued to climb. 

    You had gotten about halfway up the stairs when something had suddenly jumped out in front of your light. You jumped a bit and stared directly at it. It was a fox. The fox standing in front of your light had a basic grey body with completely black legs, a white tipped tail, and a patch of white under it’s chin. It’s tail was down but waved back and forth. The two of you stood there for a while just looking at each other. 

    “...Can you move please?” You asked softly. “I need to get to the shrine...I brought offerings...,” Your voice was quiet but to you it felt like it was echoing through the woods. Almost a moment afterwards, the fox looked away from you and jumped back into the woods where you wouldn’t be able to see it, even if you had tried. 

    However, after the fox had left, you heard a rumble in the sky and you groaned. ‘Please don’t start raining.’ You thought. And soon, almost as if the gods heard you and decided to laugh in your face, you heard the sound of light pitter patter on the steps to the shrine. At this point you were closer to the shrine than you were to your house, so you silently made a plan to go into the building once you got up there to keep dry until the rain would stop falling. 

    You didn’t think you were moving that fast along the steps to the shrine. Your legs didn’t feel like you were moving that fast. It was more like time slowed down, and you felt like you were moving slower. But no matter what the case, you felt the undeniably feeling of your foot missing a step on the rock/concrete steps. And you felt yourself fall forward a little to far for your liking. The next thing you remember was everything going black.  

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

    “Why is she here?” A stern voice asked.

    “Kita is gonna be so pissed off at you-” A playful voice teased. 

    “Watch your language! Remember where you are!” A deep voice scolded. 

    You groaned softly, from the noise, your head hurting, and being woken up. You felt yourself roll over on what felt like a futon. Your eyes opened for a moment and everything was blurry. Soon you closed them and re-opened them to asses the situation you were in. You sat up slowly and put your hand on your head. Under your fingers you felt bandages around your head. You let out a soft sigh and looked up. There were four people surrounding you. 

    The first one looked to be fairly younger than the rest of them. His black hair was pointed straight up in a spikey kind of way. He had grey eyes, and thick eyebrows that framed his face in an intimidating way. 

    The second one had greyish brownish muddies short hair and eyes that matched the color of it. He looked to be a bit older than the first one, but younger than the last one, and the same age as the third one. 

    The third one had blondish yellowish hair with an undercut that was brown. His eyes were also brown and he held this mischievous smirk on his face as he looked at you. He looked to be older than the first one, the same age as the second one, and younger than the third one. 

    Finally, the fourth one had very short brown hair, blueish greyish eyes, and darker skin than the other three. Out of all of them he looked the oldest. This was the one that kneeled down and let his eyes wander along the top of your head. 

    “How are you feeling?” He asked. You recognized his voice as the third one you heard. “Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous? Do you remember your name?” 

    “Chill with the questions Aran...She can’t answer all of them at once.” The one with the yellow hair said as if he were the smartest man in the world. 

    “Shut it Atsumu.” He scolded. Aran then looked back at you. 

    “No. No. And (F/n) (L/n)...Where am I?” You asked looking around you. “Am I in the shrine?” 

    “Wow...Good job...Someone get her a gold star.” Atsumu snickered. 

    “Leave her alone.” The second one said crossing his arms. 

    “Ginjima is right.” Aran replied. 

    “...I-is Kita gonna be mad at me Aran? I didn’t know what to do with her...I crossed her path and then there was thunder...a-and then she fell...there was so much blood...I got scared...,” The first one said pacing nervously back and forth. You sat there silently.

    “Chill Riseki...Kita won’t be mad.” Aran responded. 

    “No you didn’t.” You replied and looked up at him. “I didn’t see anybody when I came up the steps.” Riseki furrowed his eyebrows when he heard this. 

    “Yeah you did! We even made eye contact...You asked me to move...,” He said looking confused. 

    “I said that to an animal...Where you further up the steps? If so I didn’t see you.” You replied. 

    “I-,” Riseki was about to say before he heard someone walking to the room you all were in. There were two sets of footsteps that could be heard. Two people walked into the room. One of them looked like a carbon copy of the yellowish blondish haired boy. And the other had very noticeable white hair with black tips. 

    “Is she doing well?” The man with the white and black hair said to Aran. 

    “Yes...She is up and about and asking questions.” He replied and everyone looked back at you. 

    “Did she bring an offering?” He asked. 

    “W-well...Yeah she was on her way up with two when she fell.” Riseki said gently rubbing his arm, a nervous tendency for the young looking boy. 

    “I guess it can be forgiven.” The white and black haired man spoke again. “Just as long ad you bring another one....What a waste of food..,” He said softly. While his voice held no emotion, it cut through you like a blade. 

    “So...Are you like the monk that runs this place?” You asked looking up at him. Almost everyone in the room looked at you as if you were stupid. 

    “I guess you could say that.” He replied. 

    “Ya aren’t gonna scold him for bringin’ her here?! What the hell Kita!” Atsumu said in a rude tone. 

    “No..., And watch your tone Miya. Remember where you are.” Kita said and crossed his arms. “He’s young...,” He trailed off. 

    “Okay but-,” You paused. “Riseki was it? Where you stalking me on my way up?” You questioned. 

    “N-no!” He shot back at you. “I literally walked in front of you!” He said not raising his voice but just making his words more stern. 

    “The only thing that walked in front of me on my way up here was a fox.” You said. Then the room went silent. 

    “Shit!” Riseki cried. The cussing and the sudden yell earned him a wack on the back of the head by Aran. 

    “It’s okay...We all messed up our first few times...,” The boy with the silver hair that looked like Atsumu said. 

    “However that still doesn’t excuse it...I know your getting used to this but if you can’t remember what form your in, you’re staying here.” Kita said putting his food down. You were silent until you stood up off the futon on the ground. 

    “I hit my head harder than I thought...,” You mumbled. 

    “What?” Atsumu teased. “Don’t believe in Kitsune?” 

    “Never seen one...or met one...so I couldn’t tell you.” You admitted and looked around. “But I think I’m dreaming at this point so...I’m gonna head home now.” You stretched a bit, eager to get out of whatever kind of a dream this was. 

    “You aren’t dreaming.” Kita said in his usual monotoned voice that sounded cold and strong. “And you should believe what your elders tell you.” You blinked for a moment and looked around you, at everyone. 

    “...Prove it...,” You said softly.

    “We don’t have to prove anything to you.” Aran chimed in. 

    “Awe why not~!” Atsumu said playfully. “She’s already seen one of us...no point in hiding it anymore.” And soon his body had morphed. Not too much. But a tail and a pair of ears were visible. The ears were red, and that same fur had adorned the tail, however instead of red fur on the tip, it was black. You blinked then rubbed your eyes.  

    “Well since now you know. I expect offerings here tomorrow afternoon.” Kita said turning away from you. He started walking out of the room before pausing. “Inari along with all of us expect it now that we have shown you kindness.” And with that he left the room, leaving you in a confused state and looking around at the Kitsune in the room. 

    “...I don’t believe this...,” You whispered softly. 

[valiantarcher]

I finished a relisten to The Shadow of the Bear audio drama and I have a number of random thoughts. Under the cut for length and spoilers (a couple touching on later books).

Small-ish things I love, in no particular order:

The implication that Fish has kept up going to the Opera regularly and has complained multiple times about the “new tenor” to Bear.

“Don’t worry about the treasures, Father - we’ll guard them with our lives.” So lighthearted at the moment, but they take it seriously.

Blanche and Bear laughing at Rose’s styrofoam-ball dream and again on the way to the prom.

Officer Cirotti’s comment that he needs an early retirement when he has to deal with Rose after the prom; I bet the feeling escalated after having to rescue her and Fish.

Rose’s musing tone when she realises the yearbook photo of Benedict Denniston looks familiar.

The Fosters and how protective they are (essentially Mama Bear Foster and “he’s my best friend” Steven).

Rose’s “You don’t look that old to me” comment when Mr. Freet is complaining about how old people like him don’t balance very well and Blanche’s hissed “ROSE!”

Bear’s perspective while Fish is missing, and his reaction when he realises that Fish’s theory about the person behind everything is correct.

Fish’s attempt at a joke with “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” when Rose shows up in Mr. Freet’s basement.

“Sorry, sorry, I know that hurt,” right when Fish saves Rose’s life. And how calm he is with helping her breathe.

In the last scene, Rose guessing Fish is 45 and him telling her she’s correct, and how indignant she is.

The hesitancy with which Fish asks, “Is she always like this?” at the end.

Other things I appreciated or noticed (AKA the long comments):

How Fish’s loneliness and uncertainty is portrayed. Benedict “not known for his tact” Denniston actually tries to be tactful/kind a lot in this audio drama: he tells Bear he doesn’t want to go to the Opera and sends him off to ask the Briers because he can tell he really wants to go; he’s really uncertain but cautiously asks Rose if she’s a professional musician because she’s so good; despite saying he doesn’t want to get involved, he tries to actually talk to her about the issue with Blanche and tells her to give Blanche some space and time; he refrains from saying he thinks Bear’s plan of trying to flush out Freet by showing the chalice at the flea market is wrong - even when he’s goaded into making a not very politic statement (”My breath is precious, I won’t waste it”), he follows it up with telling Bear, “God go with you” - it’s only when Bear grouchily says “Okay” back that he replies with a touchy “Okay”; “There’s nothing to apologize for,” etc.

When Father Raymond gives the three pieces to the Ben and Arthur, he tells them that they’re well off and “you and your father could find a way to keep them safe“. But Mr. Denniston disinherits and kicks the boys out of their home, including freezing all their assets. SO...how do the boys get the pieces back? Were they just keeping them in their rooms and then they took them with when they were kicked out of their house? Were they keeping them in their mother’s apartment? Surely they couldn’t have gotten them out of a safety deposit box. And where did they keep them after they got kicked out? I keep picturing them keeping them in lockers in bus stations because that’s obviously What One Does.

Ben is only 20 at the start of Black as Night, and his birthday is in April. He turned 19 during The Shadow of the Bear then, meaning that, depending on the timing of the prom, he either had his birthday while Bear was a bit distracted with the Briers or when they’re hiding after leaving the Fosters; I’m not sure which is a sadder idea.

“If [Steve] doesn’t kill us for putting his mom in danger, I doubt he’ll kill me for [the tuxedo]” vs. “He trashed my tuxedo, the rat.” (With no blame on either of them for putting Mrs. Foster in danger.) I have read and listened to this so many times and I don’t remember ever picking up on this before (HOW?)! At any rate, Fish was right - and I hope Bear bought Steve a new tuxedo once everything was sorted.

I like that Bear calls his dad when he realises Ben is missing, but the “it’s not about the bail money, though I appreciate it” comment is odd. Considering that Bear hasn’t been back to their apartment in over a day, I’m wondering if Bear was held for a day on suspicion of drugs regardless, and he had to get bailed out by his dad...? Which makes no sense at all, though neither does the idea he’s referring to the bail money from the first arrest.

Instead of Blanche telling Rob he’s an evil prince like in the book, she instead refuses to give information because she recognises that the man asking for information is “the evil troll”.

I can’t quite catch the background conversation between Eileen and Lisa at the warehouse before Blanche makes a run for it, but I think they’re talking about their earrings? Lisa says something about thinking they’re a gift from her mom or something but they’re too long.

When Bear is sending Blanche home with the chalice: he tells her it’s nothing and it’s all going to be over soon and okay - but he knows at this point that the “Black Dwarf”, the one who murdered Father Raymond, has Ben and is going to be meeting him in an abandoned place, and he knows one or both of them probably aren’t going to be walking away. And then Blanche tells Bear she’s afraid, and he tells her she’ll be okay and that All will be Well. But he never tells her he will be well because he can’t.

Fish is the one with all these plans and backup plans and always making sure he knows the impact of what he’s doing legally and what the risks are and making so sure no one else is dragged into the nightmare. And then having Rose walk in and all of a sudden he’s responsible for her and trying to protect her - it’s horrifying and he’s completely lost any tiny bit of control and hope he had.

“I’m not afraid.” “I know. I am.” Because Rose knows she’s facing death but Ben has already been through some of what Freet can do and now someone else will get hurt and he can’t stop it. I think it reflects at least some of the conversation Ben and Rose have in Waking Rose, where it’s so much worse to go through something a second time because you already know what you can go through and what you can endure, and you’ve got concrete knowledge to feed your fear. (Also, it’s a nice call back to their meeting in the park - “What makes you think I’m afraid of anything?” “Oh, I know you're not afraid of anything. At least you think you’re not. That’s why I’m sending you home.”)

“Devout Catholics are so amusing - you’d be astounded at how much fun I have with them.” Given what Freet has put Benedict through in the past few years, much less the past few days, I doubt he’d even be slightly surprised.

Lastly, for a couple of minutes, the listener is left to linger in suspense about whether Mr. Freet had killed Bear with his last shot...

[nice-kill-tanaka]

May I have a my hero and ohshc matchup plz

I'm a short girl around 5'2 with long brown hair and eyes and a leo. I like anime,dragons,reptiles,drawing but I'm not good,tarantulas,sweets,video games, memes,dark humor. I am very kind but I care more about others than I do myself. I have bad anxiety. I tend to overthink about everything. I love to sing especially country music but I am tone deaf. I have trouble standing up for myself because I was bullied alot. I can be very blunt. I also love to swear. I can be very loud. I love a good mystery and cop shows. I love dad jokes and puns.I am terrified of bees and heights. I am very lazy but I can be good at doing stuff if motivated. I have a very kind heart and sad stories or ones with very happy endings make my heart happy or hurt like crazy. But even though I'm kind that doesn't mean i am nice all the time. I am extremely grumpy and have a short temper especially on no sleep or if I just woke up. I also do have adhd and some anxiety I dont like being touched randomly unless I know it will happen or if I touch someone. As for dreams I'm not sure I wanna be a voice actor but not too sure if its right for me as I don't know how to edit or even have the equipment. I want someone who can just listen to me as I ramble on about things I love. I want someone to understand that I think differently then normal people. I also want someone to be able to understand im not the most affectionate person but I can be if given time but I will help someone if they are touch starved like I am.

[🌄 @cutelittleriot requested one (1) regular My Hero Academia matchup. I have just the ingredients for that! Sit tight while I get to work.🌌]

YAYYY!! First bnha matchup!! I gotchu bud 👍 I’m thinking about trying something new for the bnha fandom in particular. So, I’ll try it out and see what you think! Also, I got a little carried away with this one, so if it doesn’t seem characteristically accurate to you, please tell me!! 😖

And, the lucky person is:

⛰Eijiro Kirishima⛰

Quirk: Dragon

Dragon is a mutation quirk. It manifests slowly over time, until the user becomes about 60% dragon-esque at around 15/16 years old.

Scales and tough skin appear on the arms, legs, and face. Sharp teeth and claws grow in. Horns protrude from the forehead. A tail grows from the spine. Finally, wings grow from the back.

Flesh becomes twice as tough in places where scales are.

Depending on the user’s body type, wing usage is limited. (Since you’re generally shorter than average, “flying” and gliding comes easier to you.)

When the user consumes pressurized carbon dioxide, their stomach converts it into flammable gasses. Which allows the user to breathe- er...burp...fire.

Fire must be carefully used however. The smoke produced can accidentally be breathed in, causing lung damage.

🌱Humble Beginnings🌱

I’ll start by saying this: Being bullied is never fun. Being bullied over something you can’t easily control or change? Rub salt in it, why don’tcha?

You weren’t sure what the select few kids in your grade thought was so hilarious about your quirk. But, they managed to find enough wrong with it to do their damage for most of your time in school

First, the patches of scales that showed up on your skin were “too weak”. Then, your awkward transition stage with growing horns, wings, and tail was suddenly “ugly”

By the time your quirk fully manifested, the jeers finally devolved to “freak-ish”

Like a river carving out the Grand Canyon, the work was slow and wore you down over time. But, the impact was a lot bigger than even you’d initially thought

While you managed to somewhat heal and learned to guard your emotions against such hurtful things, that’s all you learned to do: Guard yourself. You were a shield with no spear, since you never fought back

With the help of supportive parents and teachers, your self-esteem wasn’t so low, but you did often downplay or underestimate your abilities

Like, Bitch??? You can burp fire??? Know your power???

The people you were on good terms with seemed to see a potential that you either disregarded, or didn't know about all together

They saw the way you treated others with consideration and forethought. How, despite (or because of) your anxiety, you remained hyper-aware of the problems of others and how to accommodate. And while your anger did have its vices, people knew how hot your righteous rage could burn

It actually took a lot of convincing for you to even apply to U.A. 

Outside of your other aspirations for the future, you didn’t particularly feel worthy for the job. Of anything you could be, you weren’t a fearless, upstanding, unshakable individual, not even giving a second thought to throwing yourself into danger for the good of others. You weren’t your alleged definition of a hero, and that was enough to deter you

But, whenever you recited your polite (well-rehearsed) decline, most gave you the same weirdly optimistic retort:

“Just try, maybe you’ll do better than you’re giving yourself credit for.”

So, here you were at an entrance exam full of people you hardly knew, wondering how you even rationalized to yourself that this would go just fine

The written exam went okay. As well as you could for literally guessing what to study to pass

All you had to do was do your best on the physical exam, and you’d be done for the day

But, your issue was in the people around you, not the exam itself

You were aware of the high amount of attention the moment you walked onto campus. The way other kids measured you up from a distance, studying everything about your not-so-human body. Watching your every move, especially the way your movements were strained from soreness (A short period of intense training tends to do that to you). You assumed they also wanted to see if your disposition was as powerful as your quirk suggested

((You specifically noticed a coltish, green-haired kid muttering to himself, questioning if your wings could actually support your body weight))

Even now, as the prospective heroes-in-training warmed up, you felt the stares burning into you

Half of you wanted to lift your eyes and rhetorically ask what the hell they were looking at, only feeling more annoyed as you snorted and returned to what you were doing. The other half wanted to fold into yourself until you disappeared (If only it were that easy)

But, you had enough (Roughly, one billion) worries on your mind to put confrontation on the list. Shaking off your anxious shivers as you lowered your head and continued with your “stretches” seemed so much easier

(A.k.a. Staring off into space as you held your limbs in awkward positions)

The time to begin the physical test was drawing near, and your self-doubt hadn’t eased up. Maybe this was a mistake. You didn’t belong here. Not when so many other students could fill the space you’re wasting so much better. Maybe if you slipped through the back now, you’d save yourself the disappointment of not living up to your own standards

“Hey, brown-haired girl! With the horns!”

You heard a gruff whisper from not to far behind you, from the left. You tensed for a moment, wondering what the voice could possibly want from you. But, the sight you saw was rather unexpected

The voice definitely matched the body, bulky and slightly rough looking, a little taller than you. Matched with a sweet face, sharp teeth, and bright, spiky, red hair. The smile he showed you instantly calmed your thoughts

“…Hm?”

You gave a short response, not wanting to jump to conclusions yet

“I saw you looking kinda psyched out over here, so I thought talking to you would make you less nervous!”

You felt a warm and fuzzy sensation in the pit of your stomach. As much encouragement as you got to achieve things, you didn’t see much of it to consider how you felt. How you could feel better. You liked it, which was surprising, considering the encouragement came from a perfect stranger

“Oh, uhh…thanks then. But, I’m fine, I promise! I’m no more nervous than you are.”

“Well, that’s also why I came to talk…I’m kinda freaking out too…”

This boy’s transparency was almost scary, but on the other hand, very comforting. You didn’t catch him trying to stare at your mutated parts once as you talked. Your eyes were the thing he seemed the most focused on, and while it made you embarrassed, it was the good kind (if that makes sense)

But, soon enough, the announcement for the beginning of the exam came over the loudspeaker, and you and your acquaintance had to look out for yourselves. But, before you parted ways, the redhead turned to you

“I’m Eijiro Kirishima, by the way! See you when I see you, Shortie!”

🌳Flourishing Love🌳

The beginning of Kirishima seeing you as a romantic option happened not too long after parting ways at the physical exam

He was almost completely cornered by one of the machines students could disarm for points. And just as that was happening, you had just turned the corner after shaking off another one

You saw Kirishima, but he definitely didn’t see you, trying hard to look tough, but struggling to stand his ground

It quickly dawned on you that Kirishima didn’t have a quirk that could easily deal with the hostile device. And if he did, he was too scared to use it

You vetoed the idea of charging in head on first. You didn’t feel like getting yourself or Kirishima hurt. Especially without a plan. You needed to be smart about getting your only acquaintance out of this situation

Your heart raced and your execution was all but clean, but you ended up using your fire breath to weld the robot’s wheels to the concrete

Before you let your inhibitions get the better of you, you climbed the machine and punched out the camera on the front. From atop the beast, you hung your tail over the edge low enough for Kirishima to grab. You didn’t dare look down at the ground

“Dammit Eijiro, grab on!!”

Once you felt a weight on your tail, you used your wings to propel you both forward. Obviously, away from the robot

You were too high on adrenaline and fear to notice, but Kirishima stared at you like you were the embodiment of Heaven on Earth. The stars in his eyes almost seemed inappropriate for the situation 😅

You looked just as—if not more—afraid than he was. But, you seemed so okay with the fact that you weren’t fearless, and acted like a true hero anyway. He admired, dare I say loved that about you

And he didn’t even know your name

As soon as you found out that you and Kirishima were in the same class, you felt instant relief. At least you were familiar with someone at U.A.

You guys’ friendship developed rather fast, like and extrovert adopting an introvert

Kirishima quickly noticed how fast you opened up once you got comfortable around him, and loved you all the more for how bright and vibrant the unfiltered you was

He found himself picking up on your sense of humor, telling dad jokes you whisper under your breath to the Bakusquad (Much to Bakugou’s dismay 😅)

Don’t worry, he always gives you the credit 😉

As time went on, Kirishima learned to appreciate how blunt you were. He realized that he needed someone to tell it like it is (“It isn’t manly to sugarcoat things! 😤” he says)

And while Kirishima prefers physical activities over video games, he loves to hype you up while you play before classes

It was only natural a mutual crush would form :D

Kirishima finally worked up the guts to ask you out after the U.S.J. Incident

You and him had gotten separated (You had gotten trapped with the cold son of Endeavor. And you both took out the villains with an awe-inspiring display of fire and ice)

Kirishima was faced with the reality that either of you could lose each other at any moment. And while both of you came out alright, he realized he couldn’t be wishy-washy about his feelings for you

He told you on your way to school the next morning:

“Look. What happened yesterday really scared me. Normally, I wouldn’t say that, but I think you deserve to know. Because…you mean a lot to me!! More than I can put into words. I love when we have fun together, and I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I never got to tell you how I felt…”

“Basically…I like you!! Like…in the romantic way…”

Your early morning grumpiness dissipated almost instantly, replaced by momentary confusion and disbelief, then embarrassment and joy. Was this really happening…? The boy that took a chance on you since the beginning, confessed that he had feelings for you…? Even though you didn’t question your relationship, you always assumed the nice things Kirishima said, the way he looked at you, was all part of the pleasantries. You questioned if you were even worth all of that

‘But you are.’ The little voice Kirishima helped you develop said. ‘And he would say more if he didn’t look so embarrassed.’

And so, you accepted Kirishima’s confession. And he saw the sweetest smile you had ever given him since the first time he complimented your puns 😊❤️

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

[🌌 There you go bud! That’s one matchup for the road. Hopefully it lasts for a while, but if it doesn’t, feel free to come back! I’d be thrilled to see you again.🌄] —Reagan

[flying-nightwing]

The Three Words to Remember in Dealing with the End

I’m trying something new y’all, this is a third person POV because I want you to unveil the actions at the same pace as Jason and not MC/reader. I absolutely loved writing this, so hopefully I did it right and you will enjoy this adventure like I did!

ps: this isn’t something fun or light hearted, it might be triggering for some people. if you are in a fragile mindset right now (especially with everything that’s happening right now), maybe it would be best to save it for later. Please take care of yourselves xx

Masterlist in bio/pinned

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader (ish) 

Word count: 5060 

Warnings: death (major theme), language

Summary: Jason finds something deeply unsettling during a not so typical night in Gotham (I’m not saying more y’all, read and find out).

It had been a strange night for Jason. Things had been quiet, not too quiet to become suspicious, but enough to underwhelm him at an unsettling level. Everything from the gloomy, yellow-ish night sky above him to his tensed muscles screamed trouble--and his instincts were rarely wrong--but there was nothing big happening. He was almost tempted to pick a fight with the wrong person just for the sake of it, just to shake off this nagging feeling that serious shit was about to blow in his face. Although starting beef again with Sionis would be quite entertaining, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to deal with another tantrum from the eccentric man on the longer term. 

So instead, he kicked the door from the building’s roof on which he was hanging around and half heartedly climbed down the stairs. Plastic tarps were flapping around in his face like badly designed Halloween ghosts, and the wind in the half constructed walls were whispering unintelligible songs in his ears. That specific construction site had been abandoned as the recurrent vandalism had weighed the construction costs into the negative, making the company leaving it behind completely as a rotting proof the poorer Gotham neighborhoods were no longer a concern to city hall. Jason thought about the community center that had been bulldozed down to make room for the apartment complex, leaving dozens if not hundreds of children and teenagers without an after school hangout place, and it made him sigh. Now the cheap carcass served to shelter squatters, or well, him when he needed a hideout in between safe houses. 

The building in itself wasn’t very high like the skyscrapers one could find in the diamond district, it was rather on par with the rest of the apartment complexes around. From a distance, you couldn’t even differentiate it from the rest. Cheap, smog stained concrete looked the same whether or not it was a finished product. The aesthetics wasn’t something developers around here were aiming for, nor were the resident seeking lodging. Low income neighborhoods didn’t get to benefit from trendy landscaping. But the city didn’t really care about that, they claimed nobody really came around here anyway, like poor people weren’t people in the first place. But Jason knew, and every day he resented those officials on the city council a little bit more. 

A thud coming from the floor he had just passed made him halt his descent, his ears strained to try and catch some more noise. He waited a few seconds, and concluded it must have been a squatter tripping and falling on the floor when no other sound followed. But he hadn’t taken a full step down that a loud and clear cry for help bounced on the unfinished plaster on the walls. Without much more thinking, he turned around and climbed back up the five steps he had already taken, going straight for the origin of the sound. He was about to round the corner of a threshold when he bumped into a frantic young woman, her eyes wide and terrified.

“Please help!” She cried, gripping the sleeves of his leather jacket like it was a lifeline. She had an angry, scabbed rope mark on her neck and bruises the size of fingerprints around. “Somebody’s after me, he tried to strangle me!”

Well, that was a new one. Usually, there would be little punks making graffiti or trying to steal material from the structure, petty non-violent crimes like that, but he had never seen homicide, especially not since he started coming around. Nevertheless, he gently pushed the woman aside and pulled out his gun, ready to investigate.

“Stay close” He said, and she nodded vigorously. He carefully walked inside the room, analysing his surroundings for any thread or hostile individual. The floor creaked lightly under his boots, making the woman jump every other second. However, his search eventually came up empty, so he clicked the safety of his gun back on and slid it back in his thigh holster. He faced the girl and shrugged. “If there was anyone here, he’s long gone”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah” He replied. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m not sure” She flinched, still visibly. “To either questions, to be honest. All I remember was seeing this blurred figure grab my head and slam it on the floor, then his hands were around my neck… And I woke up, and there we are” 

“Do you have any idea who did this?”

“No really” She rubbed her temples. “I was grabbed on my way back from work and dragged in here. I know it was a man, but he was masked”

“Damn” He muttered, looking around. There wasn’t much left to do now, beside making sure that woman got home safely. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Do you have somewhere safe to go?” 

“Yeah, I have an apartment a few blocks away” She nodded timidly.

They climbed down the stairs, Jason following a pace behind her. She was recoiled on herself, her eyes darting from one place to another like she was expecting to be jumped at any time now. She was shivering from the harsh wind, clearly not dressed for one of Gotham’s cold September nights. He thought she was lucky to have fallen onto him and not someone with ill intentions. The people coming here usually left each other alone, but with the lady’s assailant on the loose, he wouldn’t be so trusting of everyone’s intentions around here. 

“Here, we’re almost out” He said as the front door came into view. She sighed in relief as she took the last step down and closed the distance with the door. She reached for the handle, pulled, but nothing moved. She then tried to push, but it didn’t move any more. 

“I-It’s like it’s locked” She stuttered in disbelief. 

“Let me try” Jason stepped forward, pushing and pulling the door like she did before. Strange, that door was never, ever locked. He then tried to pick it, even break it, to no avail. The door simply wouldn’t open. He huffed and took a step back, thinking. “Let’s try the backdoor”

The pair moved through the ground floor, passing in front of a few empty sleeping bags on the way. Jason went straight for the small door, only to be met with the same problem. 

“Alright, you wanna play this game?” He muttered harshly, pulling out his gun and aiming at the handle. He fired a shot, but the bullet bounced right back on his red helmet. “Son of a bitch!”

He muttered a few more curses before kicking the stubborn door in frustration, then turned to the woman. 

“Well, somebody doesn’t want us to leave '' He stated with bitter humour. “Maybe your wannabe killer is still around, after all”

“Oh god” She gasped, her chest suddenly heaving quickly. She was having a panic attack. “We’re trapped. We’re gonna die, aren’t we?”

“Hey, hey” He tried to reassure her, an uncertain hand on her shoulder. “I won’t let him get near you. He certainly didn’t plan on having me around, so he’ll stay away if he knows what’s good for him. We’ll find a way out”

She bent over, hands on her knees, and shut her eyes tight, focusing on her breathing until it somewhat calmed down. She then nodded slowly, standing straighter again. “O-okay”

“You sure?”

She took a deep breath and nodded again.

“Alright…” He drawled out, looking at her for a second more to be sure she was actually okay. “Let’s go around and see if there’s anyone in here tonight, and if they have seen anything”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” She eyed him with uncertainty. “...He could be out there”

“Then it’s his mistake” He shrugged. “Come on”

Like earlier, she followed closely behind him as he checked each floor in detail. He came across a few homeless people he had seen around before, none of which could ever commit murder, or attempt to for that matter. He saw it in their eyes, they were harmless. They had been on the second floor, the only one which seemed inhabited at all that night. The third floor came up empty as well, so Jason didn’t waste time there either. However, he was a little more careful on the fourth. It was where he had found the girl, so there was a slight chance the assaulter might still be hanging around there. He began with the first apartment on the left, then the one on the right he initially searched. He paid specific attention to any detail he might find; hair, cloth, blood splatter, anything. He was crouched over a suspicious stain when he heard it.

A deafening scream.

In less than a second, he was on his feet and through the threshold of an adjacent room, only to come face to face with a decaying corpse. The woman was staring with horror like she was in a trance, a hand covering her mouth to either hold back any more screams or her own vomit. Probably both, Jason thought. 

“That definitely complicates things now” He hummed. 

“How can you be so calm?” She was freaking out again. “There’s a body! A dead body!”

“Yeah, I know” He replied, unbothered, taking a step closer to observe. The nauseous smell of decomposition was starting to get through his helmet, and he genuinely wondered how she hadn’t barfed her guts up already. Her state of shock perhaps helped to keep her together, at least for now. “Looks like it’s a woman. Probably has been there for two weeks or--fuck this is nasty”

He backed up and gently pulled her out of the room, away from the corpse. She didn’t need to see anymore of it. 

“Well, there’s good news and bad news” He sighed. “Bad news is your guy and this poor woman’s killer are most likely the same person. Good news is that you, unlike her, escaped him”

“Oh god” She gagged, but dry heaved on air. “This can’t be happening”

“Okay, listen” He sighed, “I’m sure this is a lot for you, and you didn’t ask for any of this. But the killer is potentially here keeping us trapped, and I need you to hold it together a little bit longer until I figure this out, kay?”

She gave him a wild look like he was crazy. “How can you expect me to hold it together?”

“Is there anything you can focus on?” He tried, getting a bit impatient. Things weren’t adding up in his head and he needed to concentrate, but he couldn’t if his new unwilling investigation partner started freaking out every other minute. Then, he noticed her fingers fidgeting with a necklace around her neck, a small ring with a azur gem hanging from it. “What does that ring mean?”

She looked down at it, like she was surprised she had subconsciously showed it up. “Uh, it was my mother’s. Family heirloom, y’know. She gave it to me when I graduated college”

“It’s very pretty” He said. “Look at it and think about your mother, okay?”

She nodded, and he took a step away to pace around in peace. So there was a killer who managed to trap them into the building, or intended to trap only her, which was why he was hiding away now that Jason was here too. But then again, Marty on the second floor didn’t see or hear anything all night, and that guy had a sharper ear than a cat. Then came the question of why he didn’t see or smell the body on his first general scouting of the place. Surely, a decaying body would have ticked him off way sooner. Maybe the killer dragged the body from a higher floor? It would make no sense as to why he would have done that, but there was no other logical explanation. 

He went to rub the bridge of his nose, only to be met with his helmet. He let out another muffled curse and looked at the ceiling in exasperation. “This is the one time I could use one of my stupid brothers”

“Why?”

He let out a dry chuckle. “They’re idiots and annoying as fuck, but they’re better detectives than I could ever be. Solving this nonsense puzzle would be an easy game for them”

“Then what’s stopping you from calling them?”

Jason paused, staring at the woman for a moment. No, it wasn’t that simple. “Last time we spoke, I… We fought pretty bad. I don’t think they ever want to see me again”

“I’m sure--” 

“We’re on our own for this, trust me” He interrupted, his tone dry enough to make her recoil. He coughed and relaxed his tense posture, taking a deep breath. “I can solve this, I don’t need them. I’ll go check the body again, stay here”

“Wait!” She called before he could turn around. “What if he comes back?”

He blinked a few times, then began patting his side and pockets. He wouldn’t leave her a gun, or she’d hurt herself in the state she was in, or accidently shoot him for that matter. Nervous firing rarely even found their intended target anyway. A knife was also out of the question for the same reasons. Besides, she didn’t seem skilled enough to hold her own with a blade, and he had no idea what weapons the killer carried. The knife would basically be useless, if not more dangerous for her. He finally felt a small lump in his pant pocket, then fished for it. He pulled a small taser that definitely wasn’t his, remembering he had disarmed it from a goon earlier that night. He had no idea he had kept it, but it would do. 

“Here” He held it up to eye level, pressing the button. A blue-ish current was formed, crackling and fizzling. “You hold it out and press the side button to turn it on. Don’t point it at me or yourself. Got it?”

“Uh-- I guess--”

“Great” He pushed the device in her hand and turned on his heels without more ceremonies. 

He inhaled deeply and held his breath as he returned to the corpse, thinking about a thousand better ways he could have been spending his Friday night. He crouched next to it, grimacing at the decaying skin that made the victim’s identity barely recognizable. He noticed the dried out hair first, it was the same color as the poor girl on the other side of the wall. The exact same, he could have sworn. The killer must have a very specific m.o. he stuck to. There had been a couple of girls going missing in the last weeks, it must have been one of them. Nobody would think to check here, or rather nobody would bother. He turned his head to the side, coughing as he worked to catch his breath despite the putrid smell. He forced himself to return to his half assed detective work, scanning for any trace of struggle or aggression. The rope the killer used to choke her was still around her neck, but that was nothing Jason could work with as he already knew about the obvious neck fetish that was in play here. He poked the rotten skin with the end of his gun, pushing hair and clothes away to try and find something he could have missed with a first glance. No viable piece of information could be found in the teeth or under the nail since he was about two weeks too late, and he could not make the distinction between decomposition marks and actual contusion marks. Dammit. He had nothing.

He was about to give up when something shiny got his attention on the victim’s chest. There was a chain plunging into the neckline of her shirt, and with his gun he carefully pulled it up. He was certain his brain physically broke in two when he came face to face with a stained, yet recognizable ring with an azur stone. 

“What…” He trailed off softly. “... The Fuck”

Thinking about it, the victim’s clothes were awfully similar to what the lady on the other side was wearing, beside the obvious dirtiness difference. He looked over his shoulder, to where she was pacing nervously, then back to the corpse. Same hair, same clothes, same ring. Same approximate size, same bone structure, rope position coinciding with her strangling mark. Jason did not want to be thinking what he was thinking, because only crazy people were seeing ghosts. But was he totally sane? That was debatable. It would explain why they were locked in the building for no goddamn reason, or why Marty didn’t hear anything, or why he did not notice the corpse or the smell during his initial search, or why that lady did not stop once to rethink asking an armed stranger in a red mask for help, or why… 

Besides, ghosts would not even make the list of the weirdest things he’s seen. He himself came back from the dead, so the idea wasn’t actually that far fetched. But now, the question he faced was, how do you tell someone they’re dead, when they’re convinced they’re alive? Bruce’s training did not prepare him for that, and honestly neither did Ra’s. 

He slowly stood up, trying to scour his brain for a gentle way to break it to her. He couldn't just rip the bandaid off, that would be insensitive. And if she really did control who could get in and out of the building, would sending her into ghost shock--if that was even a thing--risk trapping him here forever as well? How does one even deal with a bloody ghost? Reluctantly, he returned to the other room, where the woman looked at him with hopeful eyes. Jason felt a pinch in his heart, knowing he would be the one to break the news to her.

“Anything?” She asked, her arms wrapping around herself. He gave a sad nod, and she sighed in relief. “Good, I just wanna go home”

“I…” He struggled to find the words. “What’s your name?”

“(Y/N)” She said, uncertain. 

Jason was glad his mask hid his expression. His eyes closed as his suspicions were officially confirmed; she had disappeared a little less than three weeks ago without a trace. She had been presumed dead by the GCPD, apparently rightfully so, he found out. 

“(Y/N), I have good news and bad news”

She kept staring at him to let him speak. She didn’t seem to grasp the undertone of his words, or how he somehow said it completely differently than the previous time. She really wasn’t aware of her situation. 

“Good news is that I found who the victim is” He began, his voice heavy. He wasn’t the type to just get emotional for strangers like this, but this one especially struck a chord in him. “Bad news is… You’re--you’re not going home, (Y/N)”

Her face fell. “W-What?”

“The… Body, on the other side” He half heartedly pointed behind him. “It’s you. You went missing three weeks ago, and you’re...”

“That’s crazy!” She shrieked. “That’s impossible! I’m here, I’m right here, I’m real…”

Her voice faltered at the end, like she was starting to doubt herself. Jason softly jerked his head to the other room, silently making his way back to the corpse with her carefully following behind. He stopped and crouched like he had done minutes ago, and in the same way, lifted the ring. Something clicked in her face, a newfound horror etching on her features. This time, it wasn’t because she found a corpse, but because she found out the corpse was hers. 

“No…” She stumbled back, and Jason hurried to steady her. He didn’t know if it was necessary, since she probably couldn’t even feel physical pain anymore, but it seemed like the right thing to do. He escorted her out of the room once again and waited beside her as her entire reality came crashing down. It felt surreal for him, he couldn’t even imagine what it was like for her. He let her slide down the wall and rest her head in her hands as she processed all of this.  “I can’t be… My family, they must be worried sick”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N)” He sighed, sliding down next to her.

“But I’m--” She tried to argue, then a tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m not ready to go”

He took off his mask for the first time, ruffling his hair in the process. The least he could do was to give her a human face as the last she would ever see. “Take all the time you need, I’ve got nowhere else to be”

She eyed him with confusion, at both the removal of his mask and his words. “Why?”

He smiled sadly at her. “I don’t think you should be alone right now. I’m Jason, nice to formally meet you”

“I don’t think it matters now” She mumbled, casting her glance downward. She handed him back the small taser, realizing she wouldn't need it anymore. “I’m dead. I don’t even know how I’m even still here, or where I’m even going. I don’t understand anything--”

“You don’t have to,” He interrupted softly. “It’s okay not to understand. And it’s okay to be afraid. But death is a part of life, and despite how scary it might be when it rings at your door, sometimes it’s better not to fight it”

“Easy to say for someone who is still alive” She said, making his lips subtly curl up. At least she was calming down now.

“I died years ago” He admitted, and her eyes widened comically. “No, I’m not a ghost if that’s what you’re wondering. I was resurrected through magic… But I know what it feels like”

“How did you die?” Her voice was barely a whisper. 

Jason hesitated. He wasn’t used to talking about this, but he figured he could at least vent to a ghost. It might even make her feel better about the circumstances of her death, he thought. “I died in an explosion” He finally revealed as he looked away. “I realized I was dead when the countdown reached two seconds and nobody came for me. Two seconds isn’t a long time to come to term with the end of your own existence, and everything that comes after”

“I suppose not” She sighed. “I guess I’m lucky I have time to figure it out. What’s it like, on the other side?”

“I honestly can’t really remember” He shook his head. “My memory from the moment I closed my eyes to when I reopened them is scrambled. And even if I did recall, it might be different from you”

“You think so?”

“I hope so”

He did not elaborate on that, and she did not ask. Jason wasn’t sure whether his visions of hell were from his time in the grave, or if the pit messed with his perspective, but he certainly hoped this girl wouldn’t have to go through something similar as well. They waited in silence for a moment as neither felt the need to speak up. He respected her need to have a moment to herself to absorb all this like he had wished he could have had. He had never felt as vulnerable as when he waited, helpless and unable to move, for the bomb to go off. He had been terrified, clinging to a last hope it was just a nightmare, or that help would have swept in at the last second like it always happened in the movies. He had been truly alone then. Perhaps it was why she had found him earlier, she felt his connection to death and his ability to relate. She seeked one last ray of warmth before disappearing, one last attempt not to be forgotten by reaching out to someone with the best chance to understand her. He doubted it was a coincidence he was the one she let help her.

“You didn’t have to stay with me…” She spoke up. It could have been ten minutes or more, Jason couldn’t tell. He had been in his head the whole time. “But you did, for what it’s worth. Thank you, Jason”

“You’re welcome, I guess” He half shrugged. “It’s… It’s just things I wish had been said to me in my last moments, comfort I wish had been brought to me when it was time to go. I’m glad it helped ease this transition for you”

She gave him a small smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. He could feel her unnatural cold radiating on him, see the bleakness of her skin and the absence or a steady rise and fall of her chest now that he was up close.

“Well, I’m glad you found me” She muttered, letting her hand fall back down to her side. “I… I think I’m ready to go. But before, could you do me a last favor?

“Sure” He nodded.

“Could you bring back my necklace to my mother?” She asked, staring straight into his eyes. And probably his soul, by the looks of it. “This case might never be solved, I don’t want it to be lost in an evidence bag”

He was initially surprised by the request, but it made sense. This would be the last thing her mother would have of her daughter, and it didn’t belong in a locker kept away forever. He nodded. “I can do that”

“Thank you” She gave him the first real smile he had seen on her face. Her eyes had lost the life in them, that was obvious, but there was this peacefulness that hadn’t been there before. Her resolve to accept her faith showed more and more in her expression, and it was steadily becoming clearer she did not belong to this plane of existence anymore. Two weeks trapped in between life and death without being heard or seen must have been so exhausting, and now she was ready to let go. “Just one more thing”

Jason furrowed his eyebrows at her sudden knowing expression. He could see it clearly despite her image slowly fading away. Was she even aware of it? He didn’t know, but it didn’t seem painful. He hoped it wasn’t, she deserved an undisturbed rest for what had been done to her in this life.

“A piece of unwanted advice from a dead girl?” Her tone was a bit playful. He let out a quiet chuckle, his shoulders barely raising. “Call your brothers”

She became serious, and so did he.

“The worst thing about this, is that I left this life without even being able to say proper goodbyes to my family” She explained. “I wish more than anything I could just see them one more time to tell them I love them, but I can’t. Don’t take for granted there will always be a later for it, because there might not be”

“I…” 

“Please, for me” She said, almost entirely faded now. “I hope I see you again one day, Jason. Thank you for everything”

And then she was gone. Jason stared at the empty space beside him, like there had never been anyone there. The cold spot was gone, and with it the last image of her smiling face. The smell of the corpse returned at full strength now that she wasn’t there to manipulate the surroundings, but he couldn’t be bothered by it as much as he was before. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from where she had been seconds ago, struggling to tell whether or not it had actually happened. But it must have, the entire experience had felt way too real to be a product of his imagination, and the dead body served as a material proof his head didn’t conjure it all up. Slowly, he stood up and went back to the body for one last time. He’d have to place an anonymous call to the police to tip them to the body tomorrow, after giving a heads up to the squatters to steer clear of the building until the situation died down. He bent down and only took the necklace without disturbing anything else, slipping it in a pocket for safe keeping. He’d also have to find a way to give it back to her mother without making it seem like he had killed the girl…

With one last silent goodbye to a new found yet ephemeral friend, Jason made his way down to the first floor, his step a little slower and heavier than last time. The first light of the morning peeked shyly through the sky of Gotham as the clouds appeared clear up, like it was their way of reflecting the peaceful passing of a soul on the other side. He never believed in symbolism in nature, but this once, just this once, he could make an exception. He reached the bottom of the stairs and carefully made his way to the main doors, pausing in front of it. The birds in the walls didn’t seem to mind him as they sang the arrival of the morning, and he put back his mask to face the outside once again. He gripped the door handle, pushing even so slightly.

It opened with a groan.

Sighing, he stepped outside and fished for his phone in his back pocket. He went to his contacts, scrolling down until he found the name he was looking for. Reluctantly, he pressed it and came face to face with the taunting call icon. Surely he would still be awake, his patrol would have ended not too long ago. Or he’d be asleep, and then he’d disturb him. Hesitating, his thumb hovered above the lock screen button, then over the call one, then again, the lock screen. He let out a frustrated huff, looking at the sky. There might not be a later… Or perhaps there will. But was he ready to take that chance? He looked at his phone again, taking a deep breath and making his decision.

As the first sun ray reflected his helmet, he called Dick Grayson for the first time in years.

[2018shawn]

fourth time lucky

Hi hunnieeeeeees!!!! Based on these asks, thank you all so much for requesting 🥰:

Hi! I was wondering if you could write a Shawn Mendes x reader smut where they are trying to get pregnant and they are going at it like bunnies and then they reader is exhausted from everything and then they are pregnant in the end? Thanks!

Baby-making sex with Shawn

I saw this on someone else’s blog, but can you please do it as well, it’s about Brian complaining about how loud you and Shawn were the night before, you’re all on holiday somewhere

warnings: swearing, smut, unprotected sex (duh), drinking?? a long ass ride

a/n: 6.5k-ish of my not-up-to-standard writing!!! I think I'd like to carry on some dad!Shawn concepts so come to my ask box with any requests/suggestions 🥰🥰 ALSO I think I'm really bad at smut so let me know how you guys feel lol any feedback/likes/reblogs are very much appreciated 💓💓

The sounds of the boys fooling around in the pool, that was private to your shared villa, kept you company as you paced around your room. You laughed at yourself, having no idea why you felt nervous at holding what you did, it was just a pre-test kind of situation. The green carrier bag on your bed, filled with extra goodies from the shop (because was you even on holiday if you didn’t try every foreign chocolate bar), flapped around from the soft breeze drifting into your room from the open balcony door as you placed the test box on the bedside table. You placed the stick you’d just peed on, on top of the box which contained 9 other small test strips, the instructions (which luckily came in English too) next to it.

Shawn had spoken to you many times about starting a family, but you were the one who held back, which is what surprised you most. You had your entire life planned out with Shawn, the two rings on your wedding finger backing this up. It had even gone as far as having rows over the matter – Shawn’s anxiety eating away at him that you actually didn’t want a baby because of him and how different his lifestyle is; this was the complete wrong end of the stick. He was a busy guy, sure, but after five number one albums and countless tours, you knew he was genuinely serious about taking a break in order to start the family you’d both discussed so many times before.

You’d only gone to the shop in order to get more supplies for the group of you staying in the villa. The beer levels were running low, meaning the water levels were running low as they nursed their hangovers in the day, gulping beer again come night-time. You’d found yourself down the medicine aisle of the small store down the road, thinking aspirin and more sun cream would be essential for the rest of your stay in the extremely warm country. Bending down to look furthermore at extra bits, because you always thought it would be better to have too much than not enough, your eyes gazed over the selection of pregnancy tests before you noticed one row of a slightly different test – an ovulation test. A lump in your throat formed, and you felt something you’d never felt before. A want. A need.

A small, soaked volleyball came soaring through the open balcony door, landing just at your feet with a soft thud, bringing you back from your daydreaming. You heard one of the boys shout sorry, laughing to yourself at the playful behaviour of what you thought were mature 20-something-year olds. You bent down, picking up the wet ball, walking over to the balcony to check out the situation.

Looking down, there was Brain, Connor and Naill all flailing around in the pool below you whilst Connor’s girlfriend relaxed on one of the sun loungers, topping up her golden tan. Shawn, also in the water, was resting his arms on the surface around the pool, looking up and waiting for you to appear on the balcony. And when you did, he beamed, like he hadn’t seen you in years. “Whoever threw that should definitely keep their day job,” you laughed, throwing the ball back aiming in nowhere in particular. You never imagined that what you said could spark the beginning of world war 3; if you could actually play properly and yeah well if your fat fucking head wasn’t in the way being amongst the bickering as Shawn just continued to lovingly look up at you, rolling his eyes at the antics behind him. “Can I borrow you for a sec… from the… intense game you appear to have going on?” You asked, wagging your finger at the guys who were now trying to dunk each other underwater, neither of them not really paying attention to you or Shawn as he instantly nodded. Pushing the palms of his hands against the heated, concrete ground he raised from the water in what you could only describe as a bond girl/Baywatch aesthetic. The water trailing down his body, the sun instantly soaking up the moisture on him, was a sight you though could impregnant you alone.

You worked out your pH against the chart on the instructions as Shawn made his way up to the room, screwing your face up as you tried to familiarise yourself with this new technical language. Shawn’s head appeared around the door and you smiled in return, moving the stick and instructions that were in your hand to behind your back, trying your best to mask the evidence although knowing you failed. “What you got there?” He asked, sauntering in the room, droplets of water still trickling down the lines of his abs every so often as he continued to dry off naturally.

“Well, urm, yeah… nothing” You throat suddenly went dry, as you wondered whether you’d made a stupid impulsive decision to tell Shawn you wanted to try for a baby.

“Okay, I’ve always wanted one of those?” He joked, sitting himself on the end of the bed, not caring about dampening the sheets or messing up your specific bed making skills. He noticed your foot tapping, something you always did when you felt nervous, as he glanced over your features to try and gather some idea of what was going on. “You’re worrying me now.”

“You don’t need to worry,” you laughed, shaking your head as the expression on his face didn’t change. “I just… uh… think I wanna try get… y’no… pregnant”

Then his face changed. To a big shit-eating grin and a sparkle in his eyes. “You do?” He asked, just to make sure he had full confirmation and wasn’t hearing things. You nodded, a small mhmm escaping your lips before rambling on about seeing these stupid sticks near the pregnancy tests, even though you only went in for beer but ended up peeing on this stupid stick. “So… what does the stick say?” He said, holding out his hand for you to take. You did so, happily, the instructions in your hands getting crinkled between your hold on each other.

He pulled you close, your body stood in between his now opened legs, his hands travelling up your sundress, keeping you close by stroking the skin on the back of your thighs. You brought the stick out from behind your back, finally, looking at what it displayed one last time before speaking, “I’m ovulating, but only until tomorrow, we’ve missed the main chunk.”

He took both the instructions and stick, not seeming to care you’d just peed on the thing, before tossing them towards the direction of the bin, but missing dramatically. With one swift tug, you fell on top of him as he fell back onto the dreamy mattress, a squeal escaping your lips as you crashed down onto him. “SHAWN. You’re still wet” You laughed, trying with everything you had in you to push yourself back up off him.

His hold was strong enough that you couldn’t escape and as he flipped you both, so you were now under him, his legs in between yours in an attempt to keep them open, “and you’re about to be,” he smirked, resulting in you rolling your eyes at his boyish come back.

Strong hands were now exploring every inch of your body as his head dipped down, allowing your lips to come crashing together. His hunger was evident, little time spent being detached from your lips, as he loved on you with everything he had in him. His kisses moved down to your neck, groaning into your skin as you tugged at the damp curls atop of his head. “Are you sure?” you heard him mutter against your skin as he continued to kiss your sensitive spots.

“Only if you are” you breathed, tugging his hair that little bit harder so his lips parted from your skin and he looked up at you, the same sparkle in his eye still there. He nodded, reassuring you with few words that he’d have to be bat-shit crazy to not want to start a family with you. His head dipped back down, lips working back on your neck and chest whilst his fingers toyed the hem of your now slightly damp sundress. Underneath was nothing but a tiny red bikini, which he wasn’t overly keen on you wearing in front of his friends, but you argued about wanting the best tan with minimal tan lines. He pulled the flimsy dress material up your body until it bunched up around your neck, pulling away for a few short seconds in order to lift it and remove it completely. You took your bottom lip in-between your teeth as you felt the cold air-con air blast over your body, your nipples hardening at Shawn’s soft touch.

Shawn moved so he was upright, knelt on his knees in between you. You couldn’t help yourself as your fingers reached up, brushing over the defined lines of his abs, him tensing at your contact and cock twitching beneath his stupidly tight, yet somehow still baggy, swim shorts. Because two could play the game of tight garments, apparently. They were baggy enough to portray as a normal pair of trunks, but tight enough that he knew you could see the outline of one of your favourite features of his, as he lay on the sun lounger next to you, or walked around your sun lounger to go inside even though his sun lounger was closed to the villa doors.

His fingers were toying with the ties on the side of your briefs, not necessarily tugging too hard for the knot to come undone, the long pieces of string now straggling across the bed and your bare thigh. You breathed heavily as his fingers trailed across your skin to your needy centre, fingers slipping under the dampness of your briefs. A sharp intake of breath caused you to arch your back off the bed as his fingers came into contact with your swollen lips.

A thumb traced your entrance, until it stopped at your clit where it created a light pressure. Cries of need left your lips, until Shawn stopped them by connecting his lips back with yours. “We have to be quiet, they’re right outside” He spoke in-between kisses, you only nodding in return, realising you’d zoned out of the real world as you suddenly hear the boys scream into a loud cheer from down in the pool. The torturous tease of his thumb hovering over your clit soon turned into a trace of circles on your throbbing nub, two of his fingers slowly entering you completely as you adapted around him. “Fuck… you’re… so wet” He moaned into your neck, his fingers sliding in and out of you with ease from the juices he’d created.

You wanted to come back with some sarcastic comment like that’s what you wanted isn’t it but didn’t have much time to as his lips moved down, taking what he could manage of your breast into his mouth as his fingers continued to work wonders further down. The cold, wetness of his tongue felt good against the dry skin, your back arching as you pushed up to meet his touch as much as possible.

It didn’t take long before you were whimpering in his hands, telling him how much you needed him. It was as if all he needed was the invitation for him to tug at the waistband of his restrictive trunks until his throbbing length popped free, a whimper freeing from his own lips at the relief. He lined himself up with you, one hand trying to keep you still as it grasped at your waist, keeping his eyes connected with yours at all time.

This time felt different. You knew you were probably being stupid, and it was just like any other sex you’d have, but the concept of it possibly actually leading to becoming pregnant made you feel some type of way. For years you’d looked at Shawn, unknowingly to him, and wondered if your children would inherit his talent or his crazy curls or dazzling smile. As if he sensed your mind was on overdrive, he interlocked his hand with yours, pinning it next to your head as his chest came down to meet yours, whispering “I love you.”

“I’m just saying… I think we made a baby!” He beamed, right on your heels as you both made your way through the villa to re-join the rest of the group.

“Shawn, please don’t start getting all obsessive over it. It happens straight away for some people, takes years for others, just remember that okay?” You smiled, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb. The sun hit you as you both walked out into the garden, feeling like a vampire as you squinted and groaned at the brightness.

“Oh she lives!” Connor shouted, the rest of the group turning around to look over in both of your direction.

“Did you go to the store back home, Y/N?” Niall joked, twirling the volleyball around of his pointer finger as if he was a basketball pro.

Brian couldn’t possible miss the opportunity to get involved with the jibing, “we even thought you may have run off with a sexy Spanish senor, we know Shawn can be a bit whiny sometimes.”

You rolled your eyes, a sarcastic har-har escaping your lips as you tip toed up, giving Shawn a gentle peck on the cheek. Like a group of teenagers, Shawn waltzed back over to the pool, putting his foot against Niall’s back, forcing him into the pool despite the fact he’d just completely dried off, apart from his legs which were dangling in.

Connor’s girlfriend tugged out one of her headphones as you sat on the lounger next to her, adjusting the backrest and stripping off your sundress – that you’d only just put back on – ready to take in the rest of the rays the sun had to offer. You were going about your business as normal, catching Connor’s girlfriend staring at you with a smug grin out of the corner of your eye. “Yes, Mila?” You raised your eyebrow, cocking your head as you gave her your full attention.

“You just had sex didn’t you?” She asked, spinning the wire of her headphones around her finger, only stopping when she smacked herself in the face with it for the third time.

You just laughed, “what makes you think that?”

“I dunno… you’re… glowing. Must’ve been really good though because there’s still something extra different this time” She shrugged.

The sun was still beaming as you awoke later on; you’d slept most of the day, only waking up when Shawn was applying more sun cream on your back. Fortunately so had the boys, which gave you some peace and quiet. Connor and Mila were squeezed onto one sun lounger, like big spoon/little spoon, whilst Niall and Brian were sprawled out on their own, soft snores escaping both of their lips. Your eyes began to flicker open, body stretching out of the light sleep. “So I’ve been thinking…” Shawn’s voice snapped your head round to your right, where his sun lounger was placed. He lay on his side, head resting on his hand with his elbow propped up on the bed.

“Jesus, hello to you too…” You rolled your eyes, a soft yawn escaping your lips even though you’d only just been sleeping.

“We should go upstairs, you know, while the kids are quiet” He pointed at the group the other side of you, and you watched them for a second, laughing at how Niall’s sunglasses were probably creating the world’s worst tan line right about now.

You stood up, taking him by surprise when you agreed, swaying your hips just that little bit extra as you walked inside.

Shawn was quick behind you up the stairs and you walked him backwards until he fell onto the bed as soon as you shut the door. He shuffled himself up to the head of the bed, eyeballing you as you kicked your flip flops off, not caring where in the room they ended up. You’d decided to leave your sundress down by your lounger during your swift decision, knowing it would be pointless in dressing in it again.

This time it was you straddling him, kissing down each section of his body as he writhed under you, hands firmly holding onto your hips. His hardening length was pressing into your thigh, “the sun actually does make you horny doesn’t it?” you laughed, remembering Shawn telling you once that it did, but you laughed it off as a stupid myth.

“Yup. And when that’s mixed with you… I’m a goner” He squirmed again, his hardness changing your laugh into a moan.

There was next to no foreplay; you lifted off him for a second, grabbing his member with your hand, lining your yet again aching core up with him. You both forgot about the quiet “rule”, hoping the guys would still be asleep, as you let out a loud moan simultaneously, your walls sinking down onto him and adapting to his size for the second time today. Sounds of satisfaction filled the room, hopefully not spilling over and out to the pool area, although that was the last thing on yours and Shawn’s mind. You found your rhythm, Shawn’s hands supporting your tactical ass as you hopped up and down. Flinging your head back in pleasure, Shawn helped you by thrusting, pulling your body down as his hips moved upwards, his breathing getting heavier with each plunge. “Fuck… I thought… I’m gonna…” He stringed out a set of words, all giving you the impression he was close to his climax. It spurred you on even more, your hips rocking down onto him a little more, pushing yourself closer to meet him.

His eyes were shut, lips apart, body trembling underneath you. That was all you needed to come to your own heightened senses, your body falling down, your chest meeting his own as you bit onto his shoulder to muffle your moans. You both lay there for a while, Shawn’s thumbs sketching patterns on the skin of your hips as he spoke into your hair, “okay, I think maybe that time we made one.”

You let out a large sigh, giving up all hope with your hair and dragging it back into a high pony as you observed yourself in the mirror. The heat did not agree with your hair. Neither did the chlorine. And probably neither did the fact you’d also just had sex for a third time. Something in you had clicked, wondering why it had taken you so long to want this; to need this. You weren’t sure how many times you and Shawn had been able to have sex in one day, your stamina usually quite low compared to his much higher drive.

Emerging from the bathroom, with a towel wrapped low around his hips, he sang along to some songs he’d been listening to in the shower. The energy was good throughout the villa, all six of you getting ready for a night in the local town with nothing but good drinks and good friends. “Do you think I should wear the leaf shirt…” Shawn started, looking at his two options of shirts hung on the wardrobe door, “orrrrr the stripe?”

He held both up alternatively, his lips pulled to one side and eyebrows raised as you tapped a make-up brush against your cheek, deciding on the life changing choice. “The stripe. I’m more likely to wanna get you into bed in that.” Throwing his head back, he laughed, not only at your bluntness, but the fact you actually wanted to get him into bed for the fourth time. If all holidays were like this, he’d take them more often. You noticed his smug features whilst he walked around the bed to stand behind you in the mirror, towering you due to sitting on the small stool. “You wanted a baby,” you shrugged innocently, continuing your light make up routine, knowing it would only sweat off as soon as you left the air-conned villa anyway.

“You’re cute,” he smiled, bending down and wrapping his arm around your waist, “and also incredibly horny from the heat.” You jabbed your elbow into his stomach as hard as you could, but evidently not hard enough as he just laughed off you attempt. He planted a small kiss on your cheek before returning to get ready, in the stripe shirt.

The night had gone well, the lot of you letting your hair down like you’d intended to. You couldn’t help, however, take slightly longer than normal to drink your drinks or sit quietly in the corner every so often just to see how much you’d miss this life; normal life. It made you feel content when you realised you didn’t actually mind, thus far, enjoying everyone else making fools out of themselves rather than you for once. Mila was soon bounding over, sipping the last of her drink and placing it on the table you were sat at, “you okay? You seem kinda… quiet.”

You nodded, placing your own full drink down on the table, “I just have a killer headache, I don’t think I drunk enough water today.” It wasn’t a total lie, you had a teeeeeny, tiny headache, but more so were tired from your unusually active day.

She seemed genuinely concerned, which made you feel bad for telling a little white lie, but you and Shawn were yet to discuss with anybody else your future plans, and you imagined it would stay that way. “You want me to head back to the villa with you?” You assured her you were fine, promising you’d be fine going on your own, “sooo, does that mean you’re gonna be drinking that or?” She asked when she was finally convinced you didn’t need to be walked home, pointing to your full beverage. You laughed, handing it to her before placing a small kiss on her cheek and telling her to enjoy the rest of her night and you’ll make breakfast for 10am.

You grabbed Shawn’s arm to grab his attention as he watched over Brian doing some of the weirdest ‘dancing’ you’d ever seen. He looked concerned as soon as he looked at you, instantly pulling you to the side so he could hear you a little better. “I’m gonna head back to the villa, I’m super tired and I’m just… kind of…”

He smiled warmly, “feeling maternal are we?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes for what felt like the 20thtime today. “I’ll just tell the boys and come with, 2 seconds.” And before you had chance to object, to tell him to stay and make the most of the night, he was dragging you out the door and in the direction of your holiday home, which luckily for the sake of your poor legs and slightly sore centre, wasn’t too far.

Shawn main priority was getting you to bed, and not in the suggestive way you’d think. He wanted nothing more than to make sure you were comfortable and rested, knowing you’d taken just about as much of him as you could today, or so he had thought.

He fiddled around with the air con unit, muttering to himself as he tried to figure out the electronics, happily smiling to himself when he’d set a suitable temperature. You pulled up the iPad, setting some stupid movie rolling in which you had no interest in actually watching, rather enjoying your boyfriend company. Crawling in behind you, his arm snaked around your waist and his lips peppered kisses across you shoulder, his breathe tickling you and leaving you wriggling under him. It was cute, loving, happy.

Around 30 minutes into the movie, which you and Shawn had spent the entire time talking through, you began to feel slightly more refreshed and reenergised. Your head was still perched on Shawn’s chest, and your own bare chest rested against his side, the thin and practically useless bed sheets were pulled up, covering up to your hips. “I’m just saying, I don’t think I’ve quite ever seen someone do “the worm” like that.” You laughed, your fingers mocking the name of the dance move.

“He thinks it’s his signature move, let’s just let him have his moment.” Your continuous laugh was muffled into the skin on his chest as your fingers yet again sketched the outline of his abs continuously. You noticed how he twitched every so often, tensing as you got the parts close to the top of his waistband. Taking full advantage of your touch, crossed with his weakness of being tickled, you stopped tracing the upper parts of his defined features, concentrating solely on the parts that were making him squirm.

Your manicured nails, painted with vibrant holiday colours, alternated between lines of his muscles, and the scar situated just next to them. He hummed happily into your hair, “you’re gonna have to stop doing that,” he let out a shaky laugh, his hand wrapping around your wrist to stop your delicate movements.

Looking up at him with glazed eyes, your eyelashes fluttered in an attempt to look as innocent as you could. He instantly knew what you were up to, shaking his head, “baby, I want this I do… but you’re exhausted. When was the last time you turned down a night out?” What he was saying was right, you were the party animal of the group for so long, but you were sick of being that person. You wanted this family. And maybe the sun was getting to your head, and you knew you had all the time in the world to try for a baby, but it only felt right that you made up for lost time, considering you were only ovulating for approximately another 12 hours, possibly even less. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” you smiled, moving your head back down to rest where it was previously, hand wriggling out of his grasp. He only specifically suggested you stopped doing the little ab-tickle, nothing else. So you continued, fingers toying with the waistband of his Calvin’s, letting them run underneath the slightest bit. You noticed how his chest was breathing deeper, his hand that was stroking your back coming to a halt on your waist where it grasped slightly. The changing matter was when you tugged the waistband up further than previous times, letting it snap against his skin when you let it go.

Before you could blink, he was on top of you, pinning your hand either side of your head and all you could do was smirk, successful in your not-so-secret mission. “I said stop.” Your smirk grew, welcoming back the Shawn you knew and loved oh so dearly. His Calvin’s weren’t hiding much, his length nudging into your centre, which was only covered by a pair of flimsy lace panties. His face was centimetres from yours, breath fanning onto your lips, “I’m not going to break my wife day one into baby making.” His sudden turn from demanding into caring only made your legs wrap around him, heels digging into the curve of his ass to pull him closer. You knew it wasn’t an appropriate time to argue with him, knowing his week spots would soon leave him coming undone and meeting your needy level.

He groaned as your material covered delicates touched, only spurring on the wetness between your legs, “Just…” you breathed, leaning up to place a delicate kiss on his pillowy lips, “one more…” he reciprocated the action, “please?” You knew innocently asking for permission was his weak spot and got him feeling a certain type of way and mixed with the other teasing touches you’d put into play, he was crumbling on top of you.

Lost in the moment, a large clunk snapped both your heads to look towards the direction of your bedroom door, which was still shut like it had been since you’d got home. Both of you furrowed your eyebrows, before confirming it must just be the outdated air con unit kicking in outside your room.

As if it never happened, his lips trailed kisses down your body, paying particular attention to the area where you’d previously been teasing him. You squirmed underneath him, the stupid stubble on his chin brushing against the top of your throbbing core. His breath tickled you, much like your fingers had been doing him, the kisses quite possibly the most delicate they’d ever been, like he would break you if he pressed any harder. You whimpered, not caring about the volume of your voice as you knew the others were out having a good time in a completely different way to you two. His hands were still intertwined with yours by your head, restricting you from reaching down and running your fingers through his soft bed of curls.

Heading further down, his pulled your panties in-between his teeth, letting them drag down, letting to cool air of the room hit you furthermore. “You really do want this, huh?” He asked cockily, no chance for you to answer as he begin to lap up your taste, running his tongue up your slit in the most torturous slow movement. “Shawn...” you breathed, squeezing onto his hands tighter at the new mixture of wet sensations between your legs. He hummed into your folds, the vibrations twitching your hips to push up towards him. 

It felt like heaven and pleasure, all rolled into one, Your legs wrapped around his shoulder, your heels helplessly digging into his back even though you knew he couldn’t get any closer if her tried. He continued to hum into you, forcing whimpers and moans of your own to leave your lips, taking over the volume of the movie that was now playing to itself. 

His sudden departure from your soaking focussed area left you only begging for more, him name leaving your mouth a handful of times in a plea to return. His fingers untangled from yours by the side of your head, reaching down and taking each side of your panties that were bunched up at the top of your thighs. “These... need to go” He continued rolling them down until they twanged off either of your feet, uncaring where they ended up as he tossed them behind him, “much better.”

“Shawn, I need you, please.” You begged one last time, your hands finally free and reaching up for any part of him you could touch. He seemingly agreed, crawling up on his forearms to cover your body, ensuring he didn’t crush you in the process. His fingers came up to your face in an intimate moment, brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen from your ponytail as he pressed a light kiss to the tip of your nose. Reaching in-between you both, he lined up his fully hardened length with you entrance, the reconnection of skin on skin bucking your hips upwards. He gave you no warning as he plunged into you, filling you whole with he first thrust, your fingers digging into the skin of his shoulder blades as you let out your loudest moan yet. 

“Fuck” he spat, as his hips connected with yours, filling you deeply. His head rested in the crook of your neck, placing hard, passionate kisses and nipping the skin of your collar bone when he wasn’t concentrating on breathing. Your hand came up to toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, twirling the stray curls.

“Shawn, I'm not gonna last...” You whisper, your breathing deeper than you’d felt it all day. You thought you’d last longer, but seemed to be getting weaker with each touch he gave you. Continuing to squirm underneath him, he groaned at your twitchiness. 

He pulled out of you, no time for you complain as he grabbed one of your hips, flipping you onto your front with one swift motion of his strong arms. A playful squeal left your lips, your head turning back to look over your shoulder with a glistening smile. His other hand came to your other hip, guiding your ass further up into the air, your chest still pushed against the mattress, “Fuck, you’re amazing,” he almost whispered, a contrast from how loud you’d both been throughout the last 30 minutes. 

His hand smoothed over the curves of your peachy asset, before sliding down and tapping at each of you inner thighs in a suggestion for you to move your legs wider. Happily obliging, you did so, feeling him shift his weight behind you. Entering back into you, you reached up and clenched your fingers around the fabric of the pillow as he filled you again. The headboard smashed against the wall each time his hips came into contact with your ass, thrusting you forward with each passionate movement. His rhythm remained consistent, a light tap on your ass every now and again reminding you to keep screaming his name as you drifted off into a state of pure pleasure every so often. 

“I’m gonna...” You breathed, unable to finish your sentence as you screamed in pure delight, your hair falling and covering your face. Shawn snapped your head up, pulling it back with your tempting pony, watching you as you came undone below him.  His other hand reached round your front, his finger finding your clit and rubbing circles to accompany your raging climax. You couldn’t speak, only screams leaving your mouth for the moments of pleasure.

The sight of you was enough to build up his own orgasm, the snap of his hips against your ass and the headboard against the wall slowing as he thrusted through each shooting pleasure. You couldn’t concentrate as your name left his mouth amongst his moans, until he finally came to a halt, pulling out fo you and falling back onto the mattress with nothing put a post sex glow covering his body. You remained on your front, laying your head on the pillow as you turned to face him. Through heavy breathing, Shawn finally broken the minute long silence as you both basked in your euphoria “Okay we definitely made a mini us that time.”

You looked at the large clock hung on the wall above the stove, reading 9:54, as you heard footsteps and movement start to filter from upstairs. Shawn sat at the breakfast bar, sipping from his coffee cup as you wizzed around the kitchen, steam coming from the stove and oven as you prepared your best breakfast display yet. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything?” He asked, feeling guilty you were running around like a headless chicken.

“Absolutely not, you burnt the beans last time you helped. Who even does that?” You laughed, blowing air out your mouth in an attempt to blow hair out of your vision. He shrugged, insisting it was definitely the pan’s fault because it was, like, 149 years old, not the fact he couldn’t cook.

“You know... one day it’s gonna be our kids coming running down the stairs,” he started, standing from his bar stool and placing his empty cup by the sink, “with their little school uniforms on,” your heart tugged are the thought, “and running into the kitchen because they’re fighting over who’ll be riding shotgun, but it’ll definitely be the boy because he’s such a mommy’s boy and the fact he’s the eldest.” You heart clenched. “And the girl will of course 100% be a daddy’s girl, which will leave you jealous because you’re normally the only girl who gets all my attention.”

He walked around to you, tugging at the towel in your hands until you fell into his frame. “Really been thinking about it, huh?” You smiled, reciprocating his hold, wrapping your arms over the top of his shoulders.

“After yesterday’s performance... how can I not?” He laughed as he bent down to kiss you, the butterfly feelings he gave you the first time you ever kissed still evident now.

“Jeez, don’t you guys ever stop?” You heard Brian’s voice as he entered the room, snapping you both from your loving moment before you continued to attend to breakfast duties. He was followed closely by Niall, Connor and Mila as the empty kitchen became suddenly overcrowded. You slapped Nialls hand away a few times as he tried to steal items of food from right under your nose, frowning like a little kid. Good practice, you thought to yourself, as you looked at Shawn across the room how appeared to be thinking the exact same.

“Don’t they ever stop what?” Connor asked, mid yawn as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Going at it like rabbits, you should’ve heard them last night. I think shitting myself in the club would have been more enjoyable that listening to them two all night.” Brian confirmed, slumping himself onto one of the chair surrounding the dining table.

You and Shawn froze, giving each other a confused look as he continued to explain your sex life, even giving details of approximately how many times the headboard was thrown against the wall. “But... you were out with the guys?” You asked, promptly interrupting him when he got to the noise impressions, waving your spatula toward the foursome who sat around the table waiting for their fresh breakfast.

“He must’ve ate something bad, said he was gonna shit himself in the middle of the club and had to run back here” Connor butted in, resting his head in his hands as the hangover started to hit, but also laughing at his dumb friend who nearly had a very embarrassing accident during the night out. 

“ENOUGH. We’re about to eat” Mila scoulded, hitting her boyfriend across the arm as the rest of you screwed your face up in disgust. Connor shrugged, pouting his bottom lip as his head collapsed against the table in exhaust.

“Bro... why the fuck didn’t you tell us you were home?” Shawn asked, holding in hands out as he waited for a reaction.

“You were... busy!” Brain snorted, “I ain’t gonna be the one to rain on your parade. You were putting in a good shift, bro.”

Any annoyance Shawn had, didn’t show as he thanked his best friend with a swift high five, also rather proud of his performance, even more so considering it was the fourth round. He didn’t need to disclose that, of course, unless he wanted to go home a single, divorced man.

“More action that I’ve had in a while,” Niall randomly shrugged, filling his mug with coffee as they began to bicker amongst themselves who had sex the most, as if you and Shawn weren’t there.

Coming back over to help with the dishes, Shawn whispered in your ear, “are you sure you wanna have a kid?” He laughed, nodding back to the roudy group sat around waiting for their fuel.

“Bit late now isn’t it?” You raised your eyebrow, shoving a platter of bacon and sausage in one of his hands, and a plate of toast in the other.

He gasped, a little louder than necessary, causing the rest of the group to come to a deathly silence as he let out his word vomit, that resulted in another loud discussion from the heard of friends, “you think we made a baby too?!”

[alexlabhont]

I didn’t mean to fall in love with you

Chapter nine.

Book: Queen B - Choices (Universe)

Pairing:  Poppy Min-Sinclair x Trans!Male MC (Beck Hughes)

Genre: Canon re-write (Because I can)

Rating: Anyone can read it, really

Tags: @dopeyouth @theymakemegayer @save-me-the-last-dance @poppysmc (If anyone want to be tagged in, just tell me)

This is me trying to write by and for the Trans community, specially FTM community, meaning, trans guys, but I actually took the liberty to use They/them pronouns for everyone out there who´s interested (Also, the name Beck was the most neutral one I could find, trying to use the cannon Bea Hughes)

If you have any comment, PLEASE BE RESPECTFULL and patient with me. This is also my first english fanfic and english is not my mother language, so… i’m sorry fo the grammar errors. I also installed recently Grammary, so... hope its worth it.

CHAPTERS

Chapter eight

ONE-SHOTS

Just a dance (Zoey x MC)

—————————————————————— 

"Zoey, please... Can we just talk about this?"

 Beck asked, sounding tired but worried while sitting in the common room. Their eyes glued to the other girl passing back and forth inside the kitchen, pretending to be alright as she made some tea to herself. Even Pepes knew something was off, that little ugly face looked at her with those sad cute eyes as if he was grounded because of something he didn't understand.

 "Talk about what exactly?" Zoey stopped for a second to look at them, she was pissed, the tension over her shoulders was like concrete. "About how you always manage to take my warnings and toss them in the trash? The way you keep going on and playing with fire over and over again despite my attempts to keep you safe? Whatever Beck, is your life."

 They closed their eyes for a second, breathing deep. This problem started the moment Zoey saw Poppy in the room with Beck a few moments ago, and while the Queen B left almost immediately after that because of some business back at the shelter, Beck could feel their roommate's disagreement so thick and still in the air that they could almost cut it with a knife.

 "Why are you so mad about it, anyway?" Beck asked, feeling a bit upset. "I get that you don't like her and all, but..."

 "I don't trust her, Beck." She replied sharply. "She's mean, she's selfish, she's a spoiled brat who is not up to something good and you're falling into her web. She's gonna use you the moment she has the chance and throw you aside when she's tired!"

 Something inside Beck snapped at that. Yes, they definitely did understand where that came from, for all they knew, Poppy made Zoey's life hell since day one, treating her badly constantly. Even Beck was once a victim of the blonde's anger and resentment during their first months in Belvoire, so much so that Beck thought she was naturally mean and a complete bitch. But, somehow, they had a chance that maybe nobody had before, to get to know her, and slowly they began to see that- maybe she wasn't a born-bitch, maybe she didn't know another way. Maybe she wasn't taught better. Something on their chest knew that, deep down, Poppy wasn't that bad at all.

 "How-how can you know that?!" Beck said, standing on their feet. They didn't like a bit the way Zoey was talking about the strawberry blonde. She wasn't there every single time Poppy showed them how much she cared about them, how kind and attentive she could be every time they were alone, and Beck was tired of all these misjudgments. "She can be mean and cruel sometimes, but it doesn't mean she has something planned to hurt me! I like her, a lot. And I think she likes me too. Why can't you be happy for me just this time?"

 To their surprise, Zoey scoffed sarcastically, as if she couldn't believe exactly that.

 "How can you be so naive, Beck? Do you think someone like Poppy is into someone like…"

 She stopped abruptly, realizing how bad it might sound.

 "Like me?" Beck asked suddenly, feeling hurt. All the times they heard people say shit like that, every single mockery and awful stares came back to their memory, making their chest hurt. The way Zoey looked at them broke Beck a little more.

 "Beck... I didn't mean it like that..."

 And they knew, Zoey would never say something to hurt them about being trans, but Beck couldn't help but feel a hit in the stomach. They latched their fists and looked down, clenching his jaw, waiting for her to speak before they let all their anger out.

 "What I meant to say is... " Zoey walked towards them, stopping until both were face to face. "She has been awful to you all this time and suddenly, one day to another she treats you right? You are different from her... In a good way, you're kind, talented, and down to earth. I'm just afraid you’ll fall into her claws and come to be like her, or worse... That she'd hurt you badly..."

 "I don't need your protection, Zoey" Beck said, feeling tired of being treated like some fragile being who needs to be protected. "I need you to trust me. Poppy has made some mistakes... But I know she cares about me. I know it! I can feel it every time we're together..."

 Zoey remained silent as if she was processing every word Beck said. In the meantime, Pepes jumped over their legs asking to be held, Beck took him carefully in their arms and snuggled him against them trying not to hurt their rib as they felt him curl up with a whimper.

 "I know, Pepes... Poppy's a whole different person to you too."

 Just at that moment, Zoey rested her arms around Beck, hugging them by the hips.

 "Beck, you know this goodie-Poppy better than anyone else on campus at least, so tell me... What do you think she feels about you?"

 "I think she wants me," Beck said, petting Pepes’ head softly. That wasn't even a question to think about, it only took them a minute to bring back all the moments together, every time Beck could feel Poppy's concern and protective side... Zoey had a point, but Beck decided to bet on Poppy's good side no matter what. "She really wants me, Zoey. She has proven that to me in her way."

 "Ok, next question. The real question. The one that matters." Beck could feel her taking a deep breath as if she were preparing herself to hear something she didn't want to listen to. "How do you feel about her?

 "I..." Beck thought about all those moments together, how that caramel eyes made them shiver, every time Poppy managed to take their breath away, her touch, her smile, gosh, even their fights, and that thunder-like personality she had... "I want to be with her. She really makes me feel something special, Zoey. This thing between us is challenging, thrilling, and keeps me on my toes but it can be a good thing... I truly like her."

 For a moment, Beck noticed Zoey's face fall for a second, defeated; but then, she pulled on a smile.

 "Well, if you trust her... I can trust her as well."

 Beck couldn't really believe that. Was she serious?

 "Do you really mean that?"

 "Why wouldn't I?" Zoey simply said. "I may still be skeptical of Poppy behavior, but I trust you, Beck. You're a one of a kind." Zoey sat down on the couch, slinging her feet up on the coffee table.

 Pepes barked happily as if he could understand the massive step Zoey just made, and jumped right to her legs, licking her face as excited as Beck would do it if they were a dog.

 "No, stop it! You're ruining my makeup!" Zoey laughed while Beck did the same, defiled by the scene. "You are so cute I actually forgive you for chewing on my Valentino pumps, you little monster." She scooped him up and placed him on her lap before turning her attention back to Beck. "'Kay, here's what you're gonna do about Poppy."

 "Take her on a date?" Beck asked, resulting in a giggle coming from Zoey's lips.

 "I love when we do this whole telepathy thing."

 "Really? It scares the shit out of me sometimes..." They said joking around. "Like that one time when...!"

 And because of that telepathic bound, Zoey didn't even let them finish that sentence, waving her hands in Beck's face while a red color crossed her cheeks.

 "Uh-uh-uh... We swore not to talk about it!"

 Yep, they both swore that. Sometimes, being roommates was a door to discover a lot of things about the other that may or may not be expected… at all.

 "Anyway..." Zoey continued. "You're going to take Poppy on a date. A real date. We all already know her lifestyle, but it's time to let her know about yours. To get to know you. And if you're really willing to trust her… You need to tell her about Bree." Beck looked away, biting the insides of their cheek. That actually made their heart jump with a little bit of fear. "That's the only way she'll be able to find out where her head is at and what your limits are."

 Pepes lunged for Zoey's fingers, but she snatched them back just in time.

 “Not the manicure.” She said angrily, making him off to go to break something maybe. Beck followed him with their eyes, feeling actually amused by the interactions, secretly loving that love-hate relationship Zoey and Pepes had, it was quite funny. “Quit smiling, Beck. It’s not funny.”

 “Oh, come on…!”

 “Back to Poppy.” She quickly said, avoiding Beck's jokes about how she would rather have a broken finger than a broken nail. “You have to show her what’s going to happen if she dates Beck, if she wants it or not, is up to her. Just remember one thing: you are totally worth it and priceless. No more underestimating you. Trust me, there's a ton of ladies who would gladly take her place.”

 Zoey smiled at them with a subtle hint Beck couldn’t fully place quite right, but they didn’t read too much into it, their mind was off, planning a lot of ideas for the date. There were a ton of possibilities for hot dates, but almost everything was so New York-ish that Poppy could do them with any person. Zoey was right, they needed to show her their true self, they had to open up to her…

 And frankly, that was really scary.

 So Beck took a deep breath and started typing on the phone.

Beck:

Hey. Wanna hang out?

 Ok, that was it. Beck had to admit it, it was always Poppy, the one who made the plans, he wasn’t fully interested nor ready at the time, like… really, who would ever want to date their bully? But now things had changed and so did the dynamic.

Poison Poppy:

Missing me already?

Beck snorted, but a second message came in.

Poison Poppy:

I’m not surprised, tho

I knew you were obsessed with me. Happens a lot.

Beck:

Take it easy, baby girl. It's just a walk. Don't read too much into it.

It was definitely a date, but they refused to let her win this one over; Beck could be as hard to get like her.

Poison Poppy:

Ew, don’t you ever call me like that ever again. 

Aren’t you supposed to be resting?  

Beck:

Is that a “no”?

Poppy saw the message but then went off-line. That actually scared Beck a little, because even though they knew she was busy at the shelter, their nerves kept on saying she wasn’t as thrilled as them to hang out, maybe they should’ve waited until Poppy told them she wanted a date or something, but again, where was their initiative? They were interested, so they needed it to show her what they wanted. “Relax, you were fine.” Beck said to them, even though their heart was beating fast. The Poppy Min-Sinclair effect. So they spend a little too much time reading the whole conversation, was something they said? There were no signs of anything, it was actually a normal-flirty conversation… right?

Sooner rather than later, the typing sign showed up, alarming Beck. Quickly, they tapped the menu button just to get out of the chat. They definitely did not want her to think they were waiting for her reply… even though they were.

Poison Poppy:

I just don’t want to make something to worsen your rib. I didn’t pay a doctor to go to waste.

Same old Poppy, Imma right?

Beck:

It’s going to be low-key, I promise. Does tomorrow morning works for you?

Poison Poppy:

See you then, tushi face 😉

Beck let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding, as the realization of what was happening hit them loud in their chest. Beck asked the Queen of Belvoire, their old enemy, the one and only Poppy Min-Sinclair for a date. And she said yes.

“Well… here goes nothing….”

____

Next

[funkymbtifiction]

How I Write, How I Dream: ESTP Edition

Mod: An ESTP asked permission to submit this, since she noticed I do not have an ESTP ‘How I write stories’ description in the archive to match this series. What follows is in her own words.

ESTP: How I Write, How I Dream

So this submission is like 6+ years late topically, I think, but it’s an understatement to say I get side-tracked easily. First I had to be self-aware enough to actually determine my type with confidence, and then I had to remember to write this up. Hopefully it’s an edition that’s better late than never – in any case, I thought it might be fun to contribute, given the frequent lack of Se-dom voices in things like this.

I’m aware that I might be in a comparatively small group as a regular ESTP writer, let alone one familiar with personality typology, but I wrote my first short story at nine for a 4th grade assignment, and then my first full story/intended book when I was eleven, (both of which I immediately proceeded to act out on the playground), so it’s sort of always been a part of my normal retinue of hobbies/coping mechanisms/diversions/distractions. Usually I find that I write the most when I’m bored or otherwise dissatisfied with my real life – sort of using it to spice things up with more exciting events, even if they’re regrettably fictional. I also suspect that I use writing to experience all the interesting things I find myself unable to physically do, at least for the moment – not unlike what your ISTP contributor described. I think sometimes that I use it to subconsciously work through certain concepts, too, until I understand them holistically. It’s like it gives me a way to actually engage and interact with a philosophical concept through tangible expression – through embedding it into [fictional] human behavior. Like how I understand the nuances of the concept of apostasy better for having walked through the plot of Silence (2016) with Scorsese than I would have if it was still just a definition in a theology textbook. Application helps me. (I also had a counselor a while back who told me that I used my writing to work through the emotions I hate to process in real life, but I was never wholly convinced of that or the connection of my plots to my real life events, so jury’s out, I guess.)

When I was a kid, I liked to read a fair-ish amount. Spies were oftentimes my favorite topic, but I also wanted eagerly to be one and owned probably every kid spy gadget ever manufactured for sale at the Spy Museum in D.C., to which I dragged my parents practically every weekend so I could crawl through air vents, etc. However, my favorite children’s series of all was actually the Ingo series by the late Helen Dunmore, which provided me with exciting, nature-based, and [mostly] emotionally satisfying adventures in my lifelong favorite unpredictable environment – underwater. (I also dragged my parents constantly to our local aquarium.) As I got older, the frequency of my reading dropped, and I now find myself usually pulled more towards nonfiction.

[Note – I just realized a lifelong quirk with me and books. I’m sort of ridiculously set on *seeing* the books I own. I mean, I know what I own, but I still constantly get out every book I own on a particular topic just to see them all at once. It makes the knowledge more cohesive for me to concentrate it visually, I guess. Even just the covers. Anyway.]

My writing habits are kind of awful – in that, like alluded to above, I pretty much only write when I either a) am seized by a great idea, or else b) have nothing better to do. I have little ambition to actually publish or anything like that, regardless of encouragement, and I prefer to think of my writing as just a diversion, an amusement for myself alone (though I do crave minimal approval, as I do in anything). In any case, as soon as the pressure of a schedule is attached to my writing, it drains of all joy for me. Much like your ISTP contributor described, I think I hover somewhere between plotter and pantser, depending on the story. Too much planning leads to my feeling like I have no incentive to actually write it, as I’ve already experienced it, and too little leaves me spinning aimlessly with no real direction. I write both prose and screenplays, and the rule seems to hold true for both, overall. Also, whenever I have a problem in my plotting or characters or whatever, I find that I have to step away, go be busy with something else, sometimes for a long while, and when I come back everything just falls into place. I guess unconscious Ti and/or Ni finding solutions? I’m not totally sure how/why that happens.

As my inclusion of screenplay format may suggest, I experience my stories in an incredibly visual way. I think sometimes that my narratives come across very much like movies, with all the requisite limitations and usual lack of character introspection. I feel like I pretty much focus on the observable actions of my characters – I find describing any kind of extended rumination highly unnatural, at least most of the time. Even my planning is highly visual. I have a tendency to graph, chart, draw, and plaster my options all over the walls. It’s ridiculous sometimes, but in many cases I just have to be able to see them all next to each other, even if there’s no other information provided. Like my books, mentioned earlier. It helps clarify my plot choices in my mind. It’s also a quirk/weakness of mine that I am often entirely dependent on outside images for descriptions. I need to find a real person, place, or thing to base my fictional ones on physically if I hope to have any kind of concrete knowledge to allow description. Again, it helps solidify them/it in my mind.

I have another weakness in my writing that often results in much incredulous laughter – I’m often entirely blind to any hidden meaning or symbolism in my own writing. I might get the vaguest sense of something being a good line, but be unsure why until my ISFJ friend starts praising my deep, archetypal references and crafting – and then staring at me when I clearly have no idea what she means. It’s happened several times by this point, and though it makes me laugh, I’ll just blame it on the subconscious inferior Ni. I pretty much never have any kind of goal of being symbolic or laden with deep meaning. If I were ever to try that, I think it would massively stress me out.

In terms of editors, beta readers, or whatever else we want to call those who give solicited criticism – that’s just what I need/want. Criticism. For the most part, I’m incredibly thick-skinned about my writing and would be absolutely fine if someone told me that it was utterly terrible and the whole thing needed revising down to the very concept. That may be because I think many of my concepts are lackluster to start with. But nothing frustrates me so quickly as readers unwilling to actually [and harshly] criticize. I always tell them that I want him/her to rip it to shreds. I mean, that’s the only way it’ll get better. (I’ve made mistakes before by assuming that other writers feel this way, too – my sister did not appreciate my input.)

I write almost exclusively dramas these days, I guess, though of varying subtypes. (I also maintain the availability/ready accessibility of about 10+ stories at any given time of active writing. I bounce between them sometimes based on what I’m feeling like at the moment or what I have a new thought about.) I have a sort of historical drama thing that takes place in the 1680s, a modern drama prompted by a premise of genetic engineering, a Most Dangerous Game kind of hunting/weapons thing, a detective story in the immediate aftermath of WWII, a classic deserted island story, a thing involving the phenomenon of stigmata… the list goes on and shifts constantly.

However, while I’ve typically enjoyed writing, here’s the omnipresent rub – engaging with it for any great amount of time makes me really unhealthy emotionally. I’m pretty sure that after like two or three days primarily working on a story without other overriding priorities, or like six or seven with those scattered distractions, (at best), I’m plummeting straight down to my inferior functions. My historical stories do this even more quickly, because they oftentimes seem to require more mental effort. I get super irritable, drown in self-loathing, start to think that everything real that I want is never going to happen – it’s really not good. The fact of the matter is that while writing is a fun diversion oftentimes, I go insane doing it for too long, because I need to get out and engage. (Thanks to my pesky Se-dom, daring to ask for more than just incessant fidgeting.)

When I do write, however, I’m known for my in-depth research, my character-driven plots, lines some people in my life seem to think are witty or something, and emotional depth, believe it or not. I’ve been complimented on it, as well as my tendency to accurately portray mental/emotional illness. I don’t know. I’ve never thought I was overly talented at such things, but then again, I never paid much attention. Even this write-up has been hard – analyzing my writing like this. It’s not a strength of mine to scrutinize my own habits.

After all, I’m busy – I have to go blast Maroon 5 as I jump off a 20-foot wall yelling, “Parkour!”

I am an ESTP, remember? ;-)

[captain-of-the-historicfuture]

~hello~ !! For the meta asks!: 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 24, and 25 :))

Hello!! Thank you for sending these; I was really excited to see that ask game and I was hoping somebody would send some in. It still took me a while to actually answer them though, and for that I apologise. But without further ado! Some meta answers (under the cut because they ended up being fairly long, whoops):

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (Consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway.)

I thought of a few examples, but they could basically be grouped together under a common theme: whumpy/angsty scenes that were self-indulgent as all heck. The whole self-indulgent aspect often required the characters to be just the teeniest, tiniest bit OOC and/or necessitated rather unrealistic plot circumstances. So it was simply easier to keep such scenes as maladaptive daydreams, rather than trying to think of explanations for the character/plot issues…or exposing myself to judgement for them LOL.

Receiving permission to write/share one such scene anyway is an opportunity I can’t let slip by though. It might be because I’m writing this while running on zero (0) hours of sleep—let’s hear it for insomnia, y’all!—but I suddenly couldn’t remember any of my newer ideas under this category. However, I did recall a one-shot I had started writing a couple of months ago that sort of counts? “Sort of” because I could actually be arsed to write it since I was, ya know, writing it. Only got about six hundred words down though.

…should I share those six hundred words…?

………nahhh. I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet.

But here’s the gist of it: Coulson and May (because of course it’s Philinda) were married for quite some time before the Attack on New York. But then Coulson DiedTM and then got ResurrectedTM. But gasp of horror, he had to lose his memories of his romantic relationship with May because reasons. (I actually did have some ideas for those reasons but sshhhh this is about me yeeting context and setup.)

The first half of S1 still happens as normal (except MayWard doesn’t happen because??? Vows) and it’s now post-E20 “Nothing Personal”. The morning after (or a morning soon after, whatever) the T.A.H.I.T.I. reveal! May’s mom—who doesn’t know about GH.325 and whom May fed a cover story about Coulson divorcing her or something equally as oof, IDK—shows up at the hotel and starts ripping into Coulson for breaking her daughter’s heart, then dragging her back into the field with her ex-husband (him), then accusing her of terrible things and forcing her away again.

Poor guy’s confused as heck, and so is the team, and soon enough so is Lian. The only one who understands what’s going on is May, and she’s freaking dying off to the side like why is this happening to me and eventually everybody’s like! Explain??? (Was thinking about including something from Coulson like, “Are you still keeping things from me?” Just for that extra smidge of angst, yay!)

So yeah then May gives a, like, two-sentence debriefing that elicits more questions than answers. Coulson decides to take May aside and they have a heart-to-heart. Lots of feelings and angst and hurt/comfort and at some point plenty of kissing too. Just! May hiding her feelings for Coulson’s sake but really magnified, plus some actual apologies and consideration of the grief May’s been through on Coulson’s part.

And uhh yeah that’s basically it I dunno hdsjncjshd. I warned y’all it’s OOC, plot-bendy, and very self-indulgent!

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

I don’t think I could name a single character for this. I get different things out of taking on different voices, you know? I guess recently I’ve found myself gravitating towards more taciturn and introspective points of view, like JQ from my original novel Rosewood or M. Yisbon from my…other original novel Temple.

Generally, however, I like tackling stories from an outsider’s perspective. That’s why I so rarely write my more “substantial” (serious? demanding? for lack of better words?) projects from the PoV of my “preferred” character. This usually means writing from their love interest’s perspective, but not always. With shorter fanfic, using a more removed/unconventional/niche PoV can be really fun. Like, I once wrote a canon compliant ficlet purely(-ish) about Philinda from Tony Stark’s perspective. That isn’t always sustainable with stories that demand more character development or closer character studies, however, which is why it’s a good thing I like writing drabbles!

9. Are you more of a drabble or a longfic kind of writer? Pantser or plotter? Do you wish you were the other?

My word counts tend to run long, but I usually only write one-shots for fanfic. If I’m even inspired with a novella- or novel-length story idea for a fandom, you already know I’m in deep with them. And if I actually find the motivation to plan and execute that idea? Dangg. That’s only ever happened…twice, maybe thrice, and I’m in a lot of fandoms.

At times, I wish I could go for more of a middle ground ’cause, like, you know what I love to see? An AO3 dashboard with several completed novellas for my ship/character of choice. I mean yes, I hecking love >90k fics, but sometimes I’m in the mood for quick reads…and what am I supposed to do when I burn through all the drabbles and 2k one-shots? (Besides despair and/or reread my faves desperately.) Novellas are basically always safe for me LOL, and I’d hope to be able to give as much as I take.

Ultimately though, I think I’m okay with where I am with regards to that. I wish I could write more in general, but I’d be okay with “writing more” just meaning “writing more one-shots”, ya know? More than okay, really. I have mad respect for fic writers who have, like, a hundred or more one-shots under their belt for this one ship. The fandom ecosystem would be incomplete without them (as well as every other type of writer, but sshhh that’s the type of writer I’m closest to being right now).

I’m definitely a plotter, and I definitely prefer it that way. It’s cool having such a detailed record of my process. I like feeling like a frazzled genius on the brink of a major discovery with all of my different outlines and colour coding and many drafts and various websites.

12. Do you want your writing to be famous?

Not exactly. It might be cool if my original works were recognisable in the world, but I don’t think I’d want to be recognisable. As for fanfic, I’d low-key enjoy gaining a place in that fandom’s community as a fic writer. Like someone who gave and got fic gifts from fic writer friends, who participated in challenges and GCs, who received writing prompts on Tumblr, whose name was known for doing a certain trope/genre a bunch of times… Ya know what I mean?

Unlikely to happen when I’m so hecking hesitant to publicly (i.e., outside of AO3) claim credit for my writing, but fjnskfsjhfjs. A writer can dream, right?

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

Of those three, tags are the easiest for me, for I have a reliable system for figuring out those.

Next easiest would probably be titles. For fanfiction, I like to use titles that are a quote from the source material. You should have seen all of my old Hamilton fanfic… I was really proud of some of those titles. And I don’t mean, like, whole lines—usually only two to five words. It’s a unique type of wordplay that I just love dabbling in.

And lastly, summaries. Sometimes inspiration strikes me and a snappy and intriguing synopsis just jumps out—one that I’m quietly pleased with—but most of the time I’ll spend way too long trying to think of such a synopsis and eventually just go with whatever I’d come up with so far. And live with my quiet dissatisfaction for the rest of time.

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (Plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations...?) Tell us about them!

Typically, no. If I have deleted scenes, I save and publish them separately, but that’s about it. I sometimes think of AUs for my own work and might talk about them in my author’s notes—might even talk about writing them—but I never really do anything with them.

Although…

It’s not uncommon for me to decide a plotline isn’t working for a certain story or to think of an interesting but undoable arc for a certain character, but what I’ll do is make a whole new story for those ideas. Once I’m done developing the original idea and the branched-off one, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell they grew from the same roots. Does that count?

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well as (film, webcomic, animated series, etc.)?

That depends on the story. I’ve actually written stories in other mediums—movie screenplay, musical stageplay, poetry, TV show scripts, play scripts, roleplay—but the novel does tend to be my comfort zone. Sometimes, if I have an idea that I think could work, or would even work better, as another medium, I’ll label it as such in my folder of ideas and decide not to write it as a novel.

Most of the time, my non-book projects are collaborations. I’m working with five different people on six different story ideas: two webcomics, one stage musical, one anime, and two animated TV shows. Little concrete progress has been made in any of those, mind you, but they’re still fun to discuss!

24. Would you say your writing has changed over time?

Absolutely. But I’ve been writing stories since I was five years old, so we would hope so, huh?

I wouldn’t say my writing’s changed completely, though maybe that’s just my insider’s perspective.

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

Oh gosh, I can’t believe you’d make me choose. Writing is just such a wonderful experience for me; I love just about everything to do with it. Admittedly, not all the time, but. Since that barely qualifies as an answer, however, I’ll give you this—

The endings. Not only that intense feeling of rightness when you wrap up that last sentence, but also the moments before. The adrenaline of knowing you’re almost there but you gotta push just a bit more to actually get there. And also the part right after—the real wrap-up, honestly: the revision and the editing. Heavens, I love revising and editing my work.

Which is not to say I don’t like writing it out for the first time, too—there’s nothing quite like seeing your cursor scroll to the next page, like going from a blank expanse to a Oh man, how many more lines are even going to fit on this page?, like watching that page counter tick up another number. However, there’s something cathartic about finally ironing out those problems I had to force myself to stop worrying about earlier because “just finish the first draft dangit”.

I guess that’s not really the end of the writing process, but whatever. Close enough (as fic writers are wont to say).

Another thank-you for these asks, and feel free to come back with more at any time! ;P

Send in fun meta asks for your friendly neighbourhood writer!

[that-winged-rat]

You Ruined My Life

Pairing: Claire Novak x reader!Platonic

Summary: After years apart, you run into your childhood best friend, and you have some things you want to get off your chest.

Characters: Claire Novak, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Reader

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of physical and emotional abuse, mentions of death, crappy childhood, mentions of violence, some fluff if you squint your eyes hard enough, and shitty writing.

You sighed and threw your head back, annoyed that you couldn’t figure out where this damn nest of blood suckers were hiding. You had been reading through articles of the deaths for a good few hours.

You glanced at the red digits displayed on the clock resting on the nightstand. Up until now, you hadn’t realised how late it actually was. Exhausted, you decided to call it a night. Maybe you’d be able to find something once you had got some rest. You took your gun out from the back of your waistband and tucked it under your pillow, where you would rest your hand upon it once you got in bed. You didn’t bother changing out of your clothes as you laid on top of the bed sheets and allowed yourself to drift off to sleep.

You woke up and instantly knew where you were. The cold, wet, concrete floor and damp, musty smell were all too familiar to you by now. You were back in the hole.

You screamed until you had no voice left. There were people walking past, completely ignoring your suffering. You could hear them talking and laughing, going on with their lives while they destroyed yours.

You tried to climb up the walls, ripping off your nails in the process, but you didn’t pay attention to that. You didn’t know how far down the hole was from ground level, but it was deep. It probably used to be a well at some point.

After what felt like hours of trying to escape, you gave up and sunk to the floor, sobs racking your body. You tried to call for help but it only came out as a whisper, your voice raw from screaming, when you passed out from exhaustion.

You bolted up from the bed, sweat and tears made their appearance known on your face. You attempted to get your breathing back as you unclenched the hand that wasn’t on your gun, revealing four moon-shaped marks on your palms, from your nails. Your eyes darted around the room, making sure it was actually a nightmare. And it was.

You looked the thin curtains and the only light you could see was from streetlights, meaning it was still night. You figured that you wouldn’t get anymore sleep, so you decided to take another crack at the case.

After the sun had finally decided to grace you with its presence, you left the dingy room to go and get yourself some food from a nearby diner or something. You got the food-to-go and made your way back to the safety of your room.

About an hour of research later and you had finally figured out where the vamps were hiding. You grabbed your machete and some other things and threw them into your duffel and headed out the door.

You were sat against a wall in the main room of the house, watching kids either chasing each other or fighting over the remote. You were the awkward age of thirteen; too old to play with the younger kids running around and too young to be watching TV with the older kids. So you sat on your own.

“You’re new.” You looked up to see a blonde girl, around your age, standing in front of you. She slid down the wall, so she was sitting next to you.

“Yeah, I just got moved here,” you answered, looking back down to the floor, fiddling with your sleeve.

“You look kinda lonely over here. Want a friend? I’m Claire,” she said hopefully. You brought your head, her bright blue eyes holding your gaze, intense but gentle.

“You seem really nice, but I don’t do friends,” you urged as you pushed yourself up heading to your room, surprised to see that she was following.

She jogged to catch up with you, stopping in front of you, forcing you to stop. “Give me a chance? If you don’t like me then you can get rid of me,” Claire offered, insistent on befriending you.

You thought about it for a minute. Would it be so bad to have a friend? “Okay, fine,” you answered. She smiled triumphantly.

“So, you have a name?”

“Y/N,” you replied quietly, before you kept walking to your room, with Claire. After that you became best friends, practically sisters. You were inseparable. Well, that’s what you thought.

“Y/N?” You heard as you made your way to your truck, on your way to finish this job once and for all. You turned to seek out the source of the voice, your heart stopping when you did.

“Claire?” You said, although it came out as more of a whisper. She hastily walked over to you, a smile on her face, although your expression made it drop off her face.

“God, I haven’t seen you in ages,” she exclaimed when she reached you.

“Yeah, and who’s fault is that?” You returned coldly, not forgetting how the last time you saw each other went down.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I thought you were right behind me,” she explained, recalling back to the night you both planned to escape, only you got caught and she left you, not looking back.

“Sorry doesn’t fix everything, Claire,” you said, your voice calm, even though you yourself were anything but calm.

“What happened?” Claire asked.

You looked down at the ground, and took a deep breath, not wanting to remember. “You really don’t wanna know,” you mumbled, looking back to her.

“Hey, Claire, you ready to go?” A tall, green-eyed man asked, walking over to the two of you. “What’s going on?”

“You two friends?” You asked, the man nodding in return. “Well, be careful. She doesn’t like sticking around for too long.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry--” she started, not able to finish before you interrupted her.

“No. You left me. You left me to rot in that hell hole. And because of that? I got sent to...” You trailed off, blinking away the tears before continuing. “I got sent to Hillview. For years.” You hadn’t realised, but at some point, two other men had joined; one was even taller than the green-eyed man and had long-ish hair. The other was the smallest of the three and was wearing a trench coat with a suit underneath.

“Is everything okay here?” The trenchcoated man asked Claire.

“Yeah, just, uh, give me a minute. I’ll meet you guys at the car,” she assured as they each nodded and walked to and got in a slick, black muscle car.

“Who are they?” You asked, nodding your head in their direction.

“Um... that’s Castiel and the Winchesters,” she said, looking to the ground, not wanting to see how your expression changed from not caring to hurt.

But to her surprise, you laughed, causing her to look up. “Wow. Well, that’s just great, isn’t it? We spent years planning to escape and track them down. And what happens? You leave without me... and now you’re friends?” You said, your voice getting louder.

“No, you don’t get it. I did try to get revenge when I first met them, but then I got to know them and they’re good people, Y/N,” she defended.

“Oh and that’s just supposed to erase every bad thing they’ve ever done?”

“Of course not. Just... maybe you could give them a chance,” she offered.

“I’m done giving people chances. Last time I did, didn’t end too well,” you argued, referring to your and Claire’s first meeting. She sighed.

“What actually happened? After that night?” Claire asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“When you left, I started lashing out again. But worse than before I got to the home,” you started. Claire knew that you had behavioural issues and before you got transferred to the same home as her, you hurt someone from lashing out, but that’s all you told her. “It got pretty ugly. They sent me to Hillview because I was a danger to myself and others, so they thought that pl... that place would straighten me out.” At this point, tears were freely running down your cheeks, but you didn’t care. “I became a human punching bag and an ash tray there. If I ever did something they didn’t like, which was a lot, they would throw me in ‘the hole’, for sometimes days at a time. No food. No water.” 

You hadn’t ever told anyone what they did to you there and you didn’t plan to, but it felt as if a massive weight had been lifted from you. 

Claire stood there, staring at you, tears pricking her own eyes. She knew it was going to be bad but she didn’t expect that.

“But, hey. You’re all right. You’ve made some friends,” you changed the subject as you quickly wiped away your tears. “Now if you’ll excuse me; I have a nest of vamps to gank. Have a nice life, Claire.” You turned to leave but a hand on your arm stopped. You glared between her and her hold on you, making her drop her hand.

“Come with me,” she blurted out. “I know you won’t ever forgive me, and I don’t blame you. But let me try and make it up to you. You went through all of that crap because of me, and I can’t even begin to imagine what it must have been like. Just please, let me make it up to you.”

“Claire, I... I don’t know. I don’t know about coming with you but... fancy offing some vamps?” You offered reluctantly, realising that it wasn’t Claire you were mad at, so maybe things could work out. 

“Yeah, sure,” she agreed, trying to hide her excitement. “I just need to go and tell the boys.”

What are you doing, Y/N? Your inner thoughts asked you. She’s just going to leave you again. She doesn’t want you. She just wants to get rid of the guilt. That’s all.

Of course you didn’t trust her. Not that you trust anyone anymore. She was the only person you trusted, and she left. Even if you did go with her, you don’t think you’d ever be able to trust her again.

After Claire got back, you headed over to the vamps nest and it all went well. The two of you got all the blood-suckers and only got a few scratches in the process, nothing serious.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” She asked back at your motel room after you had both gotten leaned up.

You nodded slightly. “I’m better off on my own, Claire,” you said.

“Well if you ever change your mind, just give me a call,” she said, handing you a card with a number on it. “There’s also a sheriff in Sioux Falls who helped me through some rough times. Her name’s Jody Mills. She’d be there to help you too if you ever want. And I know that you think you’re better off by yourself, but everyone needs someone. So if you ever need that, you have my number.”

“Damn. When did you get so... touchy-feely,” you chuckled, causing her to do the same. It had been years since you had heard your laugh, and even longer since Claire had.

“And Y/N?” She called after you as you started to walk to your car, causing you to turn back around. “I am so sorry about what you went through because of me–”

“You don’t have to apologise. I mean, sure I was pissed at you for a long time. But then I realised that I didn’t–I was just jealous that you got out and I didn’t. And I don’t blame you either. So, you’re good.”

“You sure? ‘Cause you seemed pretty pissed in the parking lot earlier,” she said with a small smile.

“I just didn’t expect to see you. And with the people we both used to despise. It was just a shock. And again, I think I was just jealous that you were able to make a good life for yourself and actually get people to stick around.” You said, looking to the ground.

“You gonna be okay? On your own?”

“I’ll survive. But I’ll still call,” you said, and for the third time today, you turned to leave but this time Claire didn’t stop you. You chucked your bag into the back seat and drove off, watching Claire shrink in the rear-view mirror.

[allisondraste]

on writing kiddos

Hi, hello there, it’s me again back with the first bit of meta in a really long time. I’ve been incredibly distracted with school as well as my longfic, which was actually the inspiration for this post.  Just to provide some context, I write a story that spans the lives of my two protagonists from the time they are young children, all the way to their mid twenties, highlighting pivotal moments in their childhood that have had some lasting impact on their present day selves, and as such, I have spent quite a lot of time writing from the perspective of precocious kids and moody teens.  

Fortunately, I love kids, and I’ve had years of experience in both being a big sister and working professionally with kids as both a childcare worker and a therapist.  I’ve gotten to spend a lot of time around kiddos and learn the inner workings of their amazing, rapidly developing brains, and so I’m here to share some of the things I’ve learned AND how it can be applied in a writing situation.  I know that lots of people have apprehensions when writing kids, and so I hope that my anecdotal tips will be helpful to someone out there.

I’ll drop the rest behind a handy dandy read more to spare your all’s feeds. ;D

Age and Cognitive Development

When we write adult characters, part of getting their characterization pinned down is understanding how they think, and the same thing applies to kiddos! Cognitive and socio-emotional development are long-researched topics, so there are a multitude of varying theories, and it can be quite complex to break down into neat categories that apply to all kids.  In fact, all kids develop at different rates, despite following the same general trajectory.

Generally speaking, children start out understanding the world primarily through their senses, reflexes, and movements (interactions with the environment), and end with a fairly complex system of abstraction and understanding of hypotheticals.  (Note that these development ranges are based upon those who are neurotypical and neurodiverse characters would not necessarily have the same markers, so if anyone has any specific tips for writing neurodiverse kids and would like to chime in, please feel free to do so!)

0-2 years - highly sensory/motor based, lots of reflexes; learn the difference between self and environment and differences between objects.  Emotions develop more rapidly, beginning with anger, disgust, fear, surprise, happiness, and gradually developing more and more complicated feelings.  Even at 2 years old, they are likely to not have a solid grasp on labeling the ways they are feeling, and things are mostly behavioral and reflexive. 

2-7 years - children begin to understand symbols and develop language, beginning with the basics and progressing to fairly complex thoughts.  Children between these ages think in a very concrete fashion and are highly reliant upon objects, but they do begin to pretend and roleplay. Children around these ages are egocentric and usually struggle to take the perspective of others. However, they begin to develop the ability to identify and express their feelings and thoughts simply, but struggle to understand the thoughts and feelings of others. 

Mommy had a scrunched up face when she looked a the mess in the house. Billy didn’t really know why her face did that sometimes. (approx 4ish)

7 - 11(ish) - Development of perspective-taking and concrete problem-solving. Thoughts gradually become more complex and holistic, though children at this stage of development take things literally, and at face-value. They typically can understand their own feelings and infer the feelings of others from facial expressions, body language, etc., although they may be inaccurate in their assumptions. 

Mommy’s face scrunched up when she looked at the mess Billy made in the floor.  It was the same face she made when Daddy didn’t take his shoes off before stepping on the carpet.  It usually meant mommy was annoyed  (Approx. 7-8)

Mom’s face wrinkled when she looked at the mess Billy had left in the floor.  He began to pick his things up so she wouldn’t fuss at him. (Approx 10 or 11)

11+ - The ability to think in the abstract and understand hypotheticals begins to develop around age 11, however, it’s different for everyone.  Children and teens usually start to have rather complex thoughts and make inferences based on subtle cues.  They’re able to manipulate information mentally and come to develop their own opinions and conclusions. 

Billy’s mother wasn’t even home yet, and he could already see the look on her face she would have when she saw the mess on the floor.  He hurredly began to scrub the stain from the rug.  He was going to be in so much trouble. He knew it.  

Teenagerdom - Most teens have all the complex thoughts and emotions that adults have, but often have less experience and/or ability to cope with and regulate those thoughts and feelings. Many teens are stuck in this place of being expected to behave in an adult way, while still being treated as a child.  It’s a rough time.  Not to mention, teenagers experience a re-emergence of  egocentrism that takes the form of “Everyone is watching and judging me all the time,” and also “Nobody has ever experienced what I am experiencing and if they have experienced it, then they haven’t experienced it to this degree.”  That all settles down with cognitive maturation and experiences; however, the experiences of teenagers often extend well into the 20s. 

Examining the mess on the floor, Billy knew that his mother was going to kill him.  Murder.  She’d chew him up and spit him back out, never to see the light of day again.  It was the end.  Unless of course he could scrub the stubborn stain from the rug.  This had to be the worst thing that could have possibly happened. 

Personal Experience and Intelligence

As I mentioned above, those age ranges are broad, general “this is sort of what should be happening when,” but they’re more guidelines rather than hard and fast rules.  When writing children, it is helpful to consider the personal experiences a child has had in their lives up to that point as well as their intelligence.  Those are not the measure of a person (even a little one), but they make a huge difference in the rate at which a child matures and interacts with the world.  Generally kids who have more difficult upbringings and those who end up parenting themselves and/or caring for siblings, often seem older than they really are, particularly in regard to their behavior. 

Just to provide some examples for reference, the children that I write in my story are mostly nobles who have relatively comfortable, safe, and happy childhoods.  My Cousland, Liss, is generally a carefree, impulsive, emotional, messy, privileged child, and so I modeled her development more closely in line with the “guidelines.”  Nathaniel is also a noble, but he’s more thoughtful, and has kind of been placed into a parental role in that his dad is emotionally abusive at the very least, and after his mother dies, he is the rock that his siblings stand on, and at that point in time, he is only 10.  He has to grow up a lot faster than he may have had to otherwise. As a very strong counterpoint, there are other characters who do not have any environmental privileges during their childhood.  A very good portrayal of this sort of thing is this comparison of Isabela and Hawke’s respective upbringings.

Both intelligence and life experiences can lead to a quicker rate of cognitive development and maturation in some cases, that does not mean that they are “grown up” or in anyway done developing.  Even the brightest kids, even the kids who have faced unbelievable adversity are still kids and they often still experience impulsivity, emotion dysregulation, and other things that one might not see in adults with the same experiences.  Furthermore, some kids may not even experience advanced development, instead regressing from the lack of social support and modeling from attachment figures. 

Basically, nothing is hard and fast. 

Personality

The next thing I wanted to touch upon is personality.  I think there is a tendency to portray all kids as Standard Kids (which I have endearingly coined Standard Kid Syndrome).  It is all well and good if the intention is just to show a Standard Kid; however, if you really want to dig deep into a character, into who that child is, it’s so important to consider personality traits.  From birth, children have dispositions, and as they grow and learn more about themselves and the world, those dispositions become personality.  Personality traits should shine through very early on!  Kids can be open to experience or rigid and anxious, they can be introverted or extroverted, they can be impulsive or restrained, they can be aggressive, meek, funny, serious, meticulous, silly, cool, gruff, grumpy, snarky, sassy, nerdy, quirky, shy, friendly, withdrawn, and so on and so forth.  Children are new humans; they are not incomplete humans. 

The Kid Voice

When writing from the point of view of a child, all of the things discussed above factor into word choice.  Just like writing adult characters, the way a kid talks in dialogue, or narrates even, is influenced by a blend of so many different things.  Young kids’ descriptions are going to have simpler sentence structures and words.  They may introspect less and observe more.  They may express themselves through their bodies and actions more.  They may have trouble describing what they’re feeling, or understanding what they’re seeing.  Teens may describe things more dramatically and intensely than similar adults would.  They may not.  What is important is considering the mix of traits and experiences they have in relation to cognitive development.  It’s really no different from writing any other character.  It just takes research and planning to get in The Zone.

TL;DR

- Understanding how kids think is a good starting point to writing kids

- Personal experiences, intelligence, and the interaction of qualities can influence how a child thinks in a multitude of ways

- Kids have personalities!  They’re not blank slates that have yet to be filled.  They are whole people, and it’s good to give proper care to show those unique, wonderful little minds that they have

- It’s not so much different than writing adults! It just takes some time spent looking through a different lens!

- This is not a comprehensive reference by any means, so please feel free to chime in!