#I surprisingly don’t have too many fandom dreams—WISH I DID MORE OFTEN

[saltpepperbeard]

i consider myself to be extremely stede coded, but now rhys came to me in my dream last night and i no longer know what to believe ✌️😔

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

How Longingly I Look Upon You

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Collection/Series: Western AU- Putting Down Roots

Pairing: Sheriff Din Djarin x Female Teacher Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: G

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Valentine’s Day is a holiday you love, for it’s celebration of tenderness and appreciation. It matters very little that you never have a partner to share it with. This Valentine’s Day the Sheriff offers an opportunity, a potential, something you never thought he’d do. 

Notes: This took me way too long to finish thanks to work, but I hope it was worth the nearly 2 month wait! 

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Mando’a Translations:

Ba’vodu - Aunt/uncle Cyar’ika - darling/sweetheart (with Paz, i’m using this informally in a way you’d call your friends babe or love as a term of endearment but non-romantic) Ne shab’rud’ni - don’t fuck with me Cyare - beloved, loved Mesh’la - beautiful Cabur’ika - Lit. Little Guardian, but Din’s term of endearment for reader after ‘Never Mess With a School Teacher’ because she is a true guardian of her kids. Mandokarla - having the ‘right stuff’ basically being truly mandalorian in spirit.

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

Valentine’s day was a holiday you actually quite enjoyed. It was a day to celebrate love, whether Eros, romantic love, Agape, unconditional love, Philia, affectionate love, or even Philautia, self-love. For you it had always been a day to celebrate the people in your life and while certainly you’d never had a suitor or a courtship during Valentine’s day, that hadn’t mattered so much. You filled your life with love for your family, even if they were now gone, love for your friends, and love for your students. It mattered very little in the end, Valentine’s day was a day for love in all its forms and for you, it was a joy. A joy to teach your students about the day, about the significance, to watch them create cards for their families, and see the red faces and giggling laughter when one of your students braved the walk across the classroom to hand a gift to another. Rather than dwell on what was missing, you chose to focus on all the joy that the day brought. 

Today was no different, you had gone into your school house the day before. Spent your Sunday afternoon hanging red and pink bunting, crafty paper hearts and cupids. You wanted every holiday for your children to be worthwhile, to feel like a special day and part of that was decoration. The school house looked like a Valentine’s dream and the lessons for the day were to centre around the same theme. You would cover the history of Valentine’s day and St Valentine, work on mathematical problems in a Valentine’s context, create Valentine’s cards and write stories about great romances and read some of the best love poems that great poets had produced. 

You had even gone with a colour scheme of red and pink for your outfit that day, despite your mother often saying you shouldn’t mix the two. Your dress was neatly ironed, almost gaudy in its Valentine’s nature, but fun. Your mother would have no doubt said that the lace and frills, the large puff sleeves, were all a bit much. Much too gaudy for you, a simple school teacher to wear. You wore it anyway because that was how you wanted it. Gaudy, happy, joyful, and overly extravagant for a day teaching. It was flattering, following your silhouette and grazing the ground gently. You had placed little delicate pink flower pins in your hair, surrounding your high updo. You had even rouged your cheeks, something which you rarely did anymore, usually much too busy. 

You’re at the schoolhouse door smoothing down your skirts when you see the first of your childrens making their way down the main street. Lunch pails are flying behind them, skirts and ribbons whistling in the wind as they run. You greet each of your children with a bright smile and a ‘Happy Valentine’s day!’, like clockwork, as part of their routine they hang their coats, scarves and hats on the coat hooks by the door and settle into their seats, pulling out slates, books, pencils and chalk. They begin to chat amongst themselves as they wait for you and the lesson to begin. You had them well trained and so allowed them the time to chat knowing they’d listen up the moment you called for it. 

Little Grogu is the last to arrive, running on little legs beside Din who always walks him to school in the morning before beginning his day as Sheriff. The little boy wraps his arms around your legs in greeting before wandering in with a wave to his father. While he can speak and you’ve witnessed it more and more, he is generally mute, preferring to use other forms of communication. You’ve noticed this little quirk of his, but don’t mind. If he would rather not speak that’s fine, so long as he’s progressing in his school work then you have little to worry about. 

“Happy Valentine’s day, Din.” You tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ears, a little nervous to wish him a happy Valentine’s Day, oddly enough. All these months of knowing him and he still makes you nervous, not in a bad way. It had gotten worse since that kiss in the school house, the nerves of wanting him but not being sure if that kiss had truly meant more to him causing you to become shy when near him. You feel completely and utterly safe with Din, yet at the same time feel that bubble of excitement and nerves in your stomach, that roiling sensation you’ve not felt since you were a child with a crush. You wanted him to see you as more than just Grogu’s teacher but as a woman, an unmarried woman, a woman he could potentially see himself with. A future wife. While he’d expressed interest in courting you that day, nothing had happened since whether he’d changed his mind or the busyness of life had taken over, you weren't sure. You had never thought much on the prospect of marriage, despite your mother’s many warnings, you had simply not cared all that much. You had decided to live your life on your terms, as much as possible, but Din...Din was a man you could see yourself marrying. 

It had grown over the months of knowing him from an objective enjoyment of his features, an acceptance that he was an incredibly handsome man and kind as well, into what you could only describe as longing. The beginnings of something greater, something akin to love. Din was everything you could ever want in a prospective husband, prospective father of your future children. He was handsome, so much so that you were ashamed of the thoughts that on occasion, usually in the quiet of the night, ran through your mind. He was kind and caring, a surprisingly gentle man despite his broad shoulders, large hands, and more violent profession. Ex-bounty hunters weren’t known for their softness and yet that was the only way to describe how he treated you and the children. He was gentle in voice, never raising it around you, never shouting or yelling, he chose his words carefully. He was soft in the way that he allowed the children to sit in his lap as he told stories or helped them down from trees when they got stuck. He was kind in that he was always caring for you, whether making sure you were given adult company during the school day or ensuring you ate after a long day without stopping. He was protective, but not overbearing. Kind and soft, but not weak. He would make a wonderful husband, that is something you were utterly sure of and you knew that you were not the only unmarried woman in town who’d turned their gaze to him. 

So it made you nervous to wish him a happy Valentine’s day because on a day of love, he was someone you wanted to celebrate and yet found yourself too nervous to do so. It wasn’t becoming, it wasn’t ladylike to take that first step, that first plunge into the unknown world that was love. Despite that spontaneous and daring kiss you found yourself thinking of your mother and shying away from making another attempt. Your mother, God rest her soul, had always made it a notable detail, a finer point in the plan of your life. You would be approached by a man, not the other way around, and you would ultimately make the decision as to whether you wished to be courted by him with the intent to marry or whether you did not. Despite breaking tradition in the way you taught your children, this was something you didn’t have the courage for. Not again. While Din had expressed interest in you all those months back, the time between had seen nothing but his usual friendly behaviour. It made you conscious of your behaviour and the risk of getting hurt. If Din had an interest in you as a potential spouse, a riddur as he told you once, then he would have to make the next move. 

Now standing before you with one hand behind his back and the other holding his hat by his stomach he looked infinitely more nervous than you expected for simply dropping off Grogu to school. There was a hint of red to his cheeks, the tips of his ears, his deep brown eyes darted around, from the floor to your own, before looking over your shoulder. You hadn’t truly seen him like this, this nervousness was unusual for him and you could have sworn he’d combed his hair with some pomade, an attempt to neaten the unruly dark curls that you thought were quite dashing on him. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Miss Y/N,” You frown at the formality, confused as to why he isn’t calling you cabur’ika like he usually does. The formality of calling you miss had dissolved almost the moment you met him and it was strange coming from his lips after so much familiarity between you. He has only ever called you miss when talking to the children about you.

For Din, he has never felt quite as nervous as in this moment. Perhaps it’s the time that’s elapsed that does it. When he kissed you he meant it, he meant his intent to court you, but his job had become busier over the months after...and in truth, he had doubts about his worth. He was unsure if he was truly enough for you. He felt ungentlemanly, improper, too rough. For months he’d been struggling with whether or not he was good enough for you, he knew you wanted to be courted by him, but was it the right thing for you? After months of soul searching, a healthy dose of want and longing every time he saw you with the children or whenever you smiled at him, he’d decided that it was your choice to make. He wanted to be with you and maybe he wasn’t damn good enough, maybe he wasn’t the man that should get to be with you, but if you wanted him then he wasn’t strong enough or selfless enough to or cold enough to do anything but love you. 

“I...I have something for you, it ain’t much but I…well…” The flush to his cheeks grows deeper, a bright beaming red that screams against his bronzed skin. From behind his back he pulls his arm, hand outstretched towards you. He knows there’s a subtle shake to his arm, nerves at bearing his heart open, however, subtly, racing through his blood. More adrenaline than he’s felt anywhere but in a gunfight.

There, clutched tight between the fingers of his left hand is a beautifully bound book, green leather cover and gilded words, tucked between the pages you can see an envelope just peeking out at the top. You gently take it from his hands with your left, the meaning of that burned into your memory from lessons with your mother. To give and receive a gift with the left hand is to recognise and accept an active interest in oneself. The weight of it has your heart pounding in your chest, almost violently so against your ribs. You read the cover, ‘The Complete Poetical Works of Walt Whitman’, the tears gather in your eyes before you have any time or thought to stop them. There’s a blind panic that fills Din’s chest, like the blaring of a ship’s foghorn in his mind, at the sight of tears collecting in your eyes. There’s a moment of genuine fear, that he’s somehow messed up, that he’s caused you to become upset. 

Walt Whitman was the poet you used to read with your father every evening after he finished a long day of work, his works are some of your favourite, some of the most important to you, but you’ve never been one to spend money on yourself. You often spend your wage, what little of it you have, on items for the school, books for the children, a globe, an anatomical skeleton. You have a small copy of his works, old and worn, some pages missing. This book means more to you than you think Din knows. Afterall, Walt Whiteman is a well known poet and books are one of the few perfectly acceptable gifts to give to a woman that you are not married or engaged to. It was presumptuous to assume that the gift had any added meaning behind it. Foolish your late mother might have even said in her damning indictment of romance. 

“How did you know?” You clutch the book tight to your chest, heart aching with happiness and longing, that this man had given this to you, on Valentine’s of all days. It brings burning heat to your cheeks, a stutter to your heart, a dryness to your mouth. This is a step that you had dreamed, hoped of, that move towards something more. This was confirmation that he meant it all those months back, that he intended to court you and hadn’t had a change of heart. 

“You...he’s the poet you mention the most when you’re teaching the little ones, cabur’ika” You realise what this is, what this all means. He isn’t just a kind sheriff or your friend, he’s an unmarried eligible man showing you that he’s paid attention to you, that he’s interested. There’s a shift, a shift from the easy friendship to a new undercurrent of tension at the unspoken understanding between the two of you, at the prospect of courtship that he’s extending towards you. It’s not a marriage proposal, it’s not marriage, but it’s an offer to begin on the road towards that. It is confirmation that the kiss you’d shared hadn’t been a mistake, a whim, something fleeting and insubstantial.

It makes your heart flutter in your chest at the prospect that Din Djarin is putting his foot forward, extending a possibility, an opportunity, a potential future. That out of all the unmarried women in town Din was actively showing interest in you. He could have picked any number of beautiful, intelligent, eligible women to show interest in, to potentially court, but he’d chosen you. The weight is added at the prospect that he’s not just offering you a marriage, but a family, because little Grogu is part of his world, part of his life and you would never want anything less. 

“Thank you, Din...I...Thank you.” You feel a little lost for words, they’re stuck in your throat, knowing that there are so many things you wish to say but so many things you can’t say.

“I should leave you to your teaching, Miss Y/N. I…” There’s a pause as he thinks over the words in his mind, and stops himself. Din is a fool for you, that he is certain, but the last thing he wants at that moment is to make a larger fool out of himself. So he places his hat back atop his head and says, “Happy Valentine’s Day.” 

You watch as he says a sweet goodbye to Grogu, kneeling briefly on the ground to touch his forehead to the boy’s before reminding him to ‘be good’ for you.

The envelope is a temptation, sticking out from the top of the book, it calls for you to open it in that instant. But, you don’t, smiling at Din as he walks down the street towards the sheriff’s office, you turn back to head inside, Grogu walking with you to his seat, ready for you to teach the class. Despite the nagging desire to see what letter, what words lie in that envelope, you place the book atop of your desk and begin your day of teaching. You attempt to put the letter to the back of your mind, to keep the thoughts of being courted by Din at bay so that you can effectively teach, but you know you are distracted. 

The children are just as unfocused as you, the day goes both fast and slow with dramatics abound. Jonah receives at least 5 love letters, Grogu catches a frog for little Mary-Beth and your entire class takes time to gift you with a drawing by themselves of you and the entire class. 

Despite a whole class to distract you, you find it hard to teach, your eyes drifting back to your desk. That unassuming little envelope poking out from beneath the pages of a little poetry book that means more to your soul than you can possibly put into any sort of words. You find yourself thinking ahead, of the future, of Din. If he did indeed wish to court you, to go down that path of potential and intended marriage, then he was truly to be part of your future, he and Grogu. 

There was no doubt in your mind that you’d accept such a proposition, that you wanted him in your future. Din was your friend, something that had taken very little time in truth. From the moment you’d met him and his son, he’d managed easily to worm his way into your affections without even a thought to do so. He was kind, competent, caring. He was good with children. Respected you, your intelligence and your authority in your classroom. While he happily joined you to tell stories to the children he would always defer to you and respect your right to dictate what happened inside your school house. He helped when you needed it, but never jumped so eagerly to help that he took over when you did not need it. While he was certainly quiet, had a temper hidden beneath it all and a danger to him that you’d seen on the few occasions he felt the town or it’s occupants were in danger, he had never made you feel anything but safe and secure. He had proven himself competent the moment he stepped into town, arranging your school house to be built and demanding the respect of every inhabitant. He had done more for you in the months you’d known him than anyone else had done in years. 

He, in truth, captured your attention unlike any other person you’d ever met. You had always had an abstract desire for love, marriage, a family. But, no one had ever caught your attention, no man had ever been thought of as a potential father to your children or life companion. Din from the start had you take notice, you couldn’t quite comprehend the idea that he wanted to potentially marry you of all people. 

He had his fair share of admirers, in a small town like your own, he was the man that stood out the most and one of the most handsome. He had a lot of eyes on him at all times and you assumed that he knew it, some were less subtle and ladylike than others. You knew he’d received a few propositions, something your mother would have been horrified at, but he’d yet to accept a single offer. To receive one from him, meant that out of all the people lined up outside the sheriff’s office begging for his attention, he’d chosen you. Something which excited you. 

It’s on your lunch break, the children running around outside, that you finally have time to pull the envelope from its resting place between pages of inked words and sit with it. When you retrieved it from between pages of poetry, you had found yourself faced with little dried and pressed flowers between the pages of Walt Whitman’s works. A little additional that made a smile crawl across your lips. You’re sitting on the front steps, watching the kids play, one eye on them, the other on the unassuming letter in your hands. Grogu has come to join you, toddling up the steps on little legs before plonking himself down next to you, leaning his chubby cheek into your arm. 

“Shall we see what your buir has written, mm?” You ask the little boy, he grins up at you at the mention of his father, he’s missing a couple of his baby teeth right at the front and the gap adds to the sheer adorable nature of the boy. You don’t know how much he knows, but Grogu has always seemed to know more than he let on, to understand the world around him better than most. There was always an intelligence behind those big eyes that made you think he knew more than either you or Din. 

The envelope is unassuming, just a cream coloured piece of paper, neat cursive writing along the front spelling out your name. You’ve never seen Din’s handwriting before and it speaks of someone who received a decent education, hours of being drilled on the correct way to hold a dip pen, how to form each letter. There’s a hesitation to the writing that speaks of someone who hasn’t had reason to write in a while, a little judder to the letters. You trace a fingertip over your name, how it looks in his hand, black ink stark against cream paper. It looks pretty when he’s writing it, you think. 

You turn over the envelope and slide a finger underneath the lip of it, careful to open it and not tear the paper in your haste. You glance up briefly at the sound of a yell, seeing that Jerome is fine and just laughing with the others, red in the face from receiving a kiss to the cheek, you turn your gaze to the folded letter that you pull from it’s confines. 

It takes everything within you to keep your composure as you read the letter. There is a girlish part of you that wishes to giddily squeal, throw the page into the air and run around in circles to express the sudden burst of energy that fills you. Instead, you sit there calmly, fingers and hands shaking as your eyes dart across the page following each line, hungry for the next. 

Dearest cabur’ika, Y/N, 

In truth I do not know how to write this letter to you, but it felt less forward and presumptuous to put my thoughts onto paper than to speak them to you clearly and in the open where the town gossip would get involved. I do not want you to feel forced to return my affections or embarrassed by them. While we’ve shared a kiss and i’ve expressed my intent towards you in the past, it has always been private, quiet and anything but bold. It has always left room for doubt, uncertainty and movement. You deserve surety. 

I have never been nor will I ever be a poet or a writer. I am a former bounty hunter, a sheriff, a mandalorian. I was raised to fight, to defend, not to write poetry or put down my thoughts and feelings into prose. I apologise if this letter is less than you dreamed of. If it fails to live up to lofty expectations or childhood dreams. 

I wish to make it plain and clear to you that I find you to be beautiful. Not just in form, or face, but in soul. You are a protector, a guardian, a caregiver and teacher. From the moment I met you you treated myself and my son with a kindness that I doubt I will ever forget. You have enchanted me in body, soul and mind. When I kissed you in the schoolhouse it was not on a whim, nor was it a false promise. I had and have every intent to court you, to one day marry you. I apologise that I have been distant or allowed room for doubt to grow.

I am eager to see but a glimpse of you in the day, to make you smile or offer you some respite. I am eager to hear your voice even as you talk about topics I have no interest in. I am eager to be in your presence, to see the kindness with which you treat each of your children and the sweetness of your smile, the fierceness of your nature when called upon to protect your class. In the words of Walt Whitman, ‘you do not know how longingly I look upon you’.You are mandokarla, built with the soul of a warrior, the kindness of a mother, and the mind of a teacher. Perhaps my words are too strong or forward, perhaps you do not share my feelings, but I wish to lay my intentions at your feet. I do not wish to presume you return these feelings, perhaps that kiss was a moment of weakness, perhaps your feelings have changed. But I cannot in good conscience go on as we have. 

I wish to step out with you, I wish to court you for the town to see, to one day marry you. If you ever allowed me such an opportunity I think I might be the luckiest of men, to have you join me in equal partnership as my riddur. To wake each morning to your smile, to raise our children and Grogu with you. To help you at your weakest and stand and watch you at your strongest. I long to build a life with you. 

I ask, will you allow me the great honour of courting you?

If you do not feel the same then I shall end my pursuit, I shall respect your feelings or lack thereof and we shall be friends, as we have been. But, please, consider my words. I would be blessed if you ever saw me worthy of you, you would not just be an excellent riddur, but a loving buir to Grogu. If I did not feel seriously about you I would not make this offer. But, the choice is yours and I shall respect it no matter what your decisions may be. 

Yours with love and affection, 

Din Djarin

The shake to your breath comes from a good dose of shock and giddiness that collide together inside of your chest like two wagons that haven’t been watching where they were going. It’s not a proposal, but it is a proposal at the same time. There is a giddiness that fills you knowing that Din wishes to step out with you, that he wishes to show the town his intention to one day marry you, that he has affection past that of friendship for you. It’s the giddiness that comes from returned affections, shared interest, you no longer feel as if you are the only one gazing at the other, that your feelings are unrequited. It feels as if all that worry, all that doubt had been for naught, simply a foolish girlish thing to do. How had you ever doubted his intentions towards you? 

“Miss, it’s time for history…” It’s Annie standing in front of you, hands on her hips to remind you that you need to call the children in, that has you hastily folding the letter and pocketing it, picking Grogu up and resting him on your hip as you rise. You, as most teachers, do not have the time to be giddy or dwell on love confessions during the school day. 

The day drags on in its last moments. Your desire to return home, to write a carefully crafted response, to find some sort of gift in addition, has you counting the seconds, minutes, and hours as they slowly tick by. Your children can tell you are unfocused and they become incredibly distracted as a result, but despite this you can’t find it in yourself to be frustrated or irritated, not today of all days when your patience with them has been extended by your supernaturally good mood. 

When Din collects Grogu at the end of the day you give him your sweetest smile and thank him earnestly for the letter. He isn’t sure what it means. It’s not an outright rejection or acceptance and despite the burning desire in his chest to receive an answer, he knows how to be patient, tipping his hat at you and offering to walk you home as a gentleman does. 

It isn’t unusual for Din to walk you home after the school day ends, even on nights where you stay late at school he often comes back with Grogu to walk you as the dark sets in. He has never been anything but a gentleman when it comes to making sure you get home safe even in a small town where very little happens and you know everyone. Still, you’ve always appreciated the gesture and you do now, even if wrapping your arm through his and walking side by side takes on a new tension, a new feeling.  

There’s a little thought in the back of your mind, niggling, that you can’t quite get rid of. The thought that this is what your little family could look like if all goes well. That you, with your arm wrapped through Din’s, hands in the crook of his elbow, and him, with Grogu on his hip, little arms wrapped around his neck, could easily be a future image of a family. Not just the Sheriff, a single father, walking the school teacher home because he’s polite and gentlemanly. 

“Thank you again, for the letter and the poetry book. I...you don’t understand how much it all means to me, Din. I...I want to respond properly, take my time….I.” The air is cold, as it always is in early February, but your entire body feels warm as you try to explain that you’re not rejecting his offer. You don’t want him to doubt for a second that you intend to say yes, but it doesn’t feel right to say it. There’s a desire to take your time, to write a heartfelt reply, to ensure that the time he took for you, you take in return. 

“You ain’t gotta tell me right away. It’s okay to take your time, mesh’la.” The reassurance has your shoulders dropping, a sense of relief, the removal of pressure. Any fear you had that Din would grow impatient dissipates and you're reminded once more of how safe you feel with him. Both physically and emotionally. He is a calming, solid presence. There is nothing fickle or finicky about Din and that is a relief when so much of your social world is confusing to navigate. 

“Thank you.” You tell him earnestly, drawing closer to him as you walk. Your side pressed fully into his, hip to hip, arm to arm. You cannot truly comprehend Din Djarin, the many elements that make him a better man than most, but you don’t think you have to fully comprehend him to enjoy being around him, to find comfort in him. Perhaps it will take years for you to fully understand who he is, but you like to believe you’ll get the time to do so. To learn him just as well as he seems to have learnt you. 

Your home isn’t particularly large. When you first came to town the Mayor had informed you that the post of teacher came with a small lodging. It was small; a separate bedroom off of the main living area, a water closet out in the back garden, enough room in the kitchen and living area for your tub to be placed in front of the fire when you need to wash. It was, however, homey, something Din had admired from the first. 

You ensured that blankets and pillows, knick knacks and trinkets covered the space. That it felt like a lived space, a place filled with love and warmth. 

He’s reluctant to leave you when he reaches the top step to your door. There’s a part of him that rarely wants to part from you, that enjoys your company even if it’s silent. You are comforting and familiar, he feels like he can be himself around you. There’s an implicit trust between the two of you. He trusts you with his son, he trusts you with his safety and protection, he trusts you with himself and even his heart, something he has protected ever since the death of his parents at the hands of bandits and thieves. He would be happy so long as he is in your presence and it is that fact that makes him certain about his decision to propose courtship, there is no one he would rather spend the rest of his days with. Terrifying, overwhelming, massive, but he can sense how entirely worth it it will be. 

“Goo-”

“Hav-”

The two of you go to say goodnight at the same time, stopping short and laughing under your breath. You tug at the fabric of your skirt and shift, feeling a wave of embarrassment at talking over each other, an odd feeling when neither have done anything to be embarrassed of. 

Grogu shifts on his father’s hip, leaning forward a hand reaching out to wave at you. You begin to smile, waving back at the little boy, your smile only grows wider when the usually mute boy giggles out “Goodnigh’!” at you with a large smile on his face. 

The boy manages to break the tension with a simple word and smile, once again you wonder if he knows more than he lets on. That this six year old is, perhaps, wise beyond his years.

“Goodnight, Grogu. Goodnight, Din.”

“Goodnight, cabur’ika” There is a pause from Din as if he wishes to say something, before stopping himself, turning and walking down your stairs. You wait there at your door, watching him leave until your eyes can no longer follow his figure as he disappears around a corner and out of sight. 

Your home feels empty, unusually so, with their presence gone, but you decide to put your energy and longing into a response. The first part is your famous spiced cookies. You know that Mandalorians prize spiced foods highly, a cultural aspect that your teacher Atin’a Caivass had shared with you as a child. 

The recipe was hers, one thing she gifted you, shared with you, and entrusted to you. So you get to work, mixing together flour, butter, sugar, egg. Adding spices that are one of the little luxuries you deign to spend a little extra on. They’re the sort of cookies that have a lovely mixture of sweetness and kick, they hit you in the back of the throat just enough to make your mouth tingle. The coco powder in them balances out the heat nicely,

Once the cookies are on the side cooling you hunt out your letter writing items. You haven’t had reason to write a letter since the passing of your parents many years ago. But, you know, in your organised way, where your things are. You collect your writing paper, envelopes, dip pen, ink. You find out your sealing wax, the stamps you haven’t used in years. You lay out each item on your kitchen table with care, feel a thrill go through you that you haven’t felt in years. You always enjoyed writing letters, taking your time to put thoughts and feelings into words onto paper. 

You take up your pen, dip the metal nib into black ink and bring the tip to cream, clean, fresh paper and begin to write. 

Dearest Sheriff Djarin, Din. 

There are few words in the expanse of the dictionary that could truly describe how I felt upon reading your letter. Ever since the kiss we shared I had worried, doubted. I was scared that perhaps you had changed your mind, decided that I was not worth your time, that I was not of interest anymore. When to me you had only become further ingrained in my dreams and wants. I was scared that I had made a terrible fool of myself.

To know that those feelings are returned, that you can see a life and a future with me means the world, it means everything. Grogu and you have become an inextricable part of my life, a part I would never wish to do without. You and that sweet boy make my soul sing and as Walt Whitman once aptly put ‘I am to see to it that I do not lose you’. 

You enchant me and thrill me to no end and perhaps that is not ladylike to say, perhaps I should write a quick acceptance of your offer and leave it at that, but I feel that such honest and open words should be returned in kind. I adore you. 

I adore the crinkle in your brow, the blinding smile when you drop your guard. I adore the kind, gentle nature you have around children, the ease with which you cause them to smile and laugh. I adore the respect you have for me, the respect you have for my authority in the classroom. I adore the curls of your hair, the hook of your nose, the patchy beard that grows on your jaw. I find there is very little I do not adore about you, Din Djarin and that is both a terrifying concept and one that I too adore. 

There was a time I thought little on marriage. I was told I should marry, but what of it? Why would I? You have, for the first time, made me truly desire marriage, a husband, children, a life of pure domesticity and family. 

To put it plainly, and I hope my feelings are not off putting or too forward, I would be glad, happy, ecstatic to one day call myself your wife and to call you my husband, my riddur. 

You asked if I would allow you to court me and my answer is yes, a hundred, a thousand times yes. I would love nothing more than to step out with you, to hang on your arm and begin to take steps towards a life together. 

I wish to make it equally as clear that Grogu matters to me. That I understand that he is part of this, part of you, and that I would never wish for you to part from each other. If you one day saw me as worthy of becoming his mother then I would take that responsibility on with pride and with love. He is a little angel, he captured my heart from the very first day I met him, even with his mischief and I would never wish to part with the two of you or come between your aliit, only to join it. I understand that he is as much your son, your child, as any child born of your own blood. 

I accept your offer of courtship and I knowingly enter into it, and all that it entails. 

All my love and affection,

Y/N Y/L/N

You wait for the ink to dry, in the meantime you take some muslin and begin to wrap the cookies carefully in the fabric. The twine you wrap around you knot into a bow. Redoing it multiple times until you're happy with its shape. There’s no real need for a knot of twine to be perfect, but you want it to look perfect, to be perfect, for him. 

The ink of your letter is dry and you’re careful as you go through the motions of folding the pages, slipping them into a crisp envelope and weighing down the lip. You’re selective in your choice of wax and seal, careful as you melt the wax, pour it and stamp it. There’s a quiet calm about it all, sealing your words behind wax and paper. Knowing that the next time they’re revealed the one person they’re meant for will be reading them.

You place the times together on the side with care, ready to be collected in the morning as you leave for the school house. You take a few moments to think about when it would be best to deliver them, deciding that as much as it pains you to wait, the evening, after school, is better than the morning. It would simply distract you more, you have little time to do it, and the evening gives you that time to talk, to enjoy the change in your relationship. 

You go to sleep that night with thoughts of Din’s smile, the one he gives whenever he tells a story to your class, soft, gentle, filled with contentment. Thoughts of the way his hair curls over his ears and his neck moves as he swallows. Thoughts of how he had come into your little mining town of Navarro and shaken everything up in the best sort of way, put to right all the wrongs, solved problems and brought forth solutions.

When you wake the next morning you’re extra particular about what you choose to wear, how your pins look in your hair and how much rouge is on your cheeks. You know, deep down, that Din could care less about the way your hair is pinned or how much rouge is on your cheeks, but it’s something to occupy your hands and mind in the morning before you get to the school house. Once you’re teaching you know you’ll have little time to worry or think about the response you intend to pass on to Din at the Sheriff’s office that evening, but in the meantime you busy yourself with your daily routine. 

The day seems to drag, your smile and good morning to Din as he drops Grogu off for school is filled with tension and unspoken words. Your lessons seem to take forever to teach and where you’d normally be enthused you find yourself more eager for the day to end than anything else. 

Paz is the one to come by and collect Grogu at the end of the day. The large man had settled into town as the deputy not a month into Din’s stint as sheriff. You knew that Paz and Din were close, practically brothers, having grown up together in the covert and that had been the main reason for you warming to him so quickly. Without Din’s presence you would have likely shied away from Paz. He was large, if you’d thought Din was broad shouldered, then he had nothing on Paz, who was a veritable giant. His size and his resting scowl made him intimidating, but his interactions with the children and women of town showed his character instantly. Like another Mandalorian you knew he’d been gentle and sweet, respectful, despite his size and intimidating demeanor. You liked Paz, even if he seemed to enjoy embarrassing you around his brother. 

“Hey there, Little One!” You watch Paz crouch down, arms open as the little boy barrels towards him as fast as his little legs can go. Grogu absolutely adored Paz, he was his uncle, his ba’vodu, and the little boy loved being swung about, hefted to and fro by the giant man. It was the tenderness with which Paz always encompassed Grogu in his arms, lifting him gently to his shoulders, that reminded you of the soul inside Paz. The cover of his book was intimidating, scary, tough, the face of a mercenary and bounty hunter, but his inner pages, his soul was just as soft as Din, just as caring. You were happy to call Paz a friend. 

“Hello, Paz”, You smile up at the man, Grogu now sat about his shoulders, arms wrapped around the top of his head with a little smile. The man in question smiles down at you, “Good evenin’, cyar’ika”, You smile wider at the familiar endearment, happy to see your friend even if the nerves from your impending visit to Din buzz in your stomach and chest. 

“Is Din working late?” 

“Yeah, the kid’ll be at mine for the night, Din’s working the graveyard shift so to speak.” You’re, in truth, glad that Paz is watching Grogu for the night, that Din is working late. It gives you the privacy to give your response, without either the watchful eyes of a child or any other sort of audience. 

“Well, have a good night, Paz” 

“Not as good as yours i’m sure” It’s said with that teasing glint that Paz often gets in his eye and a smirk that twists the shape of his beard. It causes a sort of panic to fill you, at the thought that Paz knows, that he knows what’s going on even if it’s completely believable and acceptable that Din would tell his brother about his intentions towards you. Your body feels warm all of a sudden and you're sure there’s a look of panic in your eyes because Paz’s glint softens down to something kind and gentle as he nods a goodnight to you and walks away. 

You force yourself to go about your normal routine, spending a few hours at the school house marking books, organising the next day’s lessons, tidying up and generally making sure you were ready for all your children the following morning. You may spend a little too much time rearranging the items on your desk and sharpening pencils that don’t really need to be sharpened. 

It’s as the sun begins to dip low in the February sky, and people begin to light lamps in their houses or, for those with enough money, turn on their electric lights that you finally decide enough is enough and grab the parcel and letter from your desk. You march with a strange sort of determination, that hides the mess of emotions you are inside, across the street and to the Sheriff’s Office. It doesn’t matter that Din had already shared his feelings with you, you were still nervous of his reaction, had you responded well enough? Was it romantic enough? Would something in your letter be off putting for him? Was it too forward? Not clear enough?

He is leaning back in his chair, legs crossed on top of his desk, heels of his boots digging into the wood of the table. The warm light from various gas lamps bounces across Din’s features, accentuates the sharpness of his cheek bones, the curve of his hawkish nose, the shadow from the brim of his hat. 

His chair makes a sharp screech across the floorboards as he rushes to stand at the sight of you, feet falling to the floor as he bounces to them. The hat is swept off his head, politely removed to show the curls of his hair as he, dare you say nervously, tugs at his waistcoat and checks his attire. It’s somewhat relaxing, the endearing nerves with which he greets you, the quick attempt to perfect himself, to show you the best of him, even if you would have happily been greeted by him even if he were covered head to toe in mud. 

“Cabur’ika…” He’s a little breathless and it causes a flush to reach his cheeks. He’s embarrassed that he sounds like a school aged kid, that he isn’t standing before you behaving like a man, an adult. But, you take the breath out of him. You’re frazzled looking after a long day teaching, the hair of your up-do frizzy and falling out in places, chalk across your cheeks and skirt, wrinkles in your clothes that he was sure weren’t there that morning, but you still looking breathtaking, you still make his heart jump a beat. 

“Din…” You’re breathless yourself, it feels like your nerves have a hand around your throat, a tight grip keeping the breath from leaving your lungs. You fumble a little as you step towards him, tripping on a loose floorboard but catching yourself. Your hands nearly drop the precious cargo they’re carrying and you clutch tighter in response. 

“I...uh...Here.” You had the parcel and letter to him, as he reaches for the envelope first you panickedly say, “The parcel! Open...open the parcel first?” He can see the nerves in you, the way you twist your fingers and bite at your bottom lip, in an effort to ease them he nods with a smile and puts the envelope on his desk, focusing on the package of muslin and string. 

He’s careful as he opens it on his desk, pulling apart the perfect bow you’d tied and unravelling the package with careful hands. His fingers are too delicate in that moment for such large hands, for hands that have choked men unconscious and lassoed bounties, that have held guns. It’s odd for him, how easily he has fitted into the domesticity of town, odd, but not unwelcome. 

The wrappings fall away and he’s greeted by the sight of warm brown cookies, irregularly shaped, although somewhat circular. They’re delicious looking, but what gets him the most is the smell, it reminds him of winter nights in the covert, of his adopted parents and warm cookies and milk, spices that he’s almost forgotten about. He should really ask before grabbing one and tucking in, but he can’t resist the urge to find out if the spices are the ones he remembers from his childhood. 

The cookie is moist and soft as it crumbles away easily onto his tongue, he can’t resist closing his eyes at the taste. He recognises the spices, the taste taking him back to fond memories and warmth, a familial bond between him and those who had taken him in, protected him, given him a purpose, a life. He finishes the whole thing without really realising it. 

You watch on, anxious to see if he likes them. It had been a risk, spicing the cookies, you hoped the significance to his culture was a good thing and not bad. You found yourself second guessing your decision as his brow furrowed, eyes closing, but then he took the next bite, and the next, until the cookie was no more and Din’s chocolate coloured eyes opened and blinked over at you with the lightest sheen of tears. 

“How did you know?”

“I...I had a mandalorian teacher, remember? She...she always liked spiced cookies, I…are they okay? Was...should I not have?” You feel the worry bounce through you, at the thought that you’d crossed some invisible line, some sort of boundary not meant to be crossed. 

“No, no! They’re lovely, thank you. They...they remind me of home, Mesh’la.” He’s quick to reassure you, a warm hand reaching out to give one of your own a quick squeeze, just long enough to comfort you, but no longer than appropriate.

You watch him turn back to the envelope, picking it up with care before glancing between the seal and you, eyes darting back and forth as if he is unsure if he is allowed to open it, to read it. “Open it.” You force the words from your throat, nervous for him to read your words, your thoughts and feelings put to paper, but knowing that the relief once he has done so will outweigh your current anxiety. 

You stand and watch, a lump in your throat, your hands twisting into your skirt as he opens the envelope. A careful finger pulling the seal free and gently easing the pages of your letter from it’s confines. You wait and you watch, eyes intent on his features as his own carefully trace across the curvature of your words. 

He can feel his heart pounding in his ears, feel the tears well in his eyes as he reads further throughout your letter. It is not just your open acceptance of his offer that has his emotions rising within his chest, but the clear admiration of him and the openness with which you accept his son. Grogu was his child, you were right, as much as any child of his own blood would be, and he had, in truth, stupidly worried that you might not accept the boy as your own. Your excitement at the prospect of one day being a mother to him causes his heart to ache in the best sort of way. 

Din was purposeful as he placed the letter down and strode up to you, the toes of his boots touching the hem of your skirt. He invades your personal space in a way that sets your skin aflame, yet it is not uncomfortable. You welcome his presence as much as it causes your heart to beat rapidly and your throat to swallow. 

“May I kiss you?” He asks, his voice soft and gentle, the southern twang just under the surface. He’s so close you can feel the warmth from his skin. You nod, letting out a shaky breath as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. So large they enclose you so well, make you feel secure even as your heart tries to stutter out of your chest. It matters little that you’ve kissed before, that was quick, this was slow, your attention undivided, your thoughts completely encapsulated by him and his entire being. His hands are warm against your cheeks, thumbs brushing back and forth in gentle strokes as he gages your reaction, eyes focused on your own. He’s slow as he moves forward, as if giving you time to back out, to pull away, but you don’t. 

He tastes like spices and sugar, the cookie lingering on his tongue long after it had melted away. He is soft, but not so gentle, the gentle, delicate nature of your last kiss is replaced by depth of emotion, passion and fire. His lips firm against yours, a large hand cupping the back of your neck to pull you closer, while the other falls to your waist. His beard scratches against your skin pleasantly and you think you could happily grow used to this. You think little of propriety, of politeness, when you open your lips to his and meld yourselves closer together, think little of it as you clutch at his shoulders and breathe him in, as your fingers come up to tangle in those chocolate curls and tug incessantly, as his tongue tangles with your own. There is no fear of it going too far, of Din pushing you for more, of demanding more because you both know the lines that must not be crossed, because you trust him implicitly and because you know he respects you enough to not risk your reputation or livelihood for something carnal or baser, even if he desires it. Even if you desire it.

The lack of fear is what allows you to get swept up in the kiss, in the feeling of his hands and lips on you, the warmth of his skin, the smell of his soap. It allows you to forget that the world outside exists, that you are not in your own private world, but in the easily accessible space that is the Sheriff’s Office. 

The spell is broken by the sound of the door slamming open and heavy, booted footfalls on the floorboards. You pull apart with a gasp and Din is quick to stand in front of you, as if to protect you from view, scowling at his deputy in the doorway. Not even the little boy on Paz’s shoulder can take the frustration from Din, he is frustrated at the interruption, embarrassed for you, that you were caught in a compromising position, and irritated by the smirk that’s heavy on Vizsla’s lips. 

Paz hadn’t meant to interrupt, in truth he hadn’t expected to find you there, lips locked to his brother, but Grogu was being fussy. Refusing to eat his dinner and then outright refusing to be put to bed. Paz had decided the kid just needed to see his buir, he hadn’t expected Din to be...in the middle of something. 

“Am I interrupting something, Djarin?” He’s teasing and he feels a little sorry when he sees how embarrassed you look, but it’s worth it for the glare he gets from Din. His smirk widens as Din practically growls at him, teeth clenched tight. 

“Vizsla, don’t make me shove my boot where the sun don’t shine. Ne shab’rud’ni.” He softens a little at Grogu grinning at the two of you, but he still wishes the interruption had never come. He knows it was inevitable, he has a young son, the chances of romance going uninterrupted are slim, still… 

“We’ll be outside, Vod. Don’t take too long” Paz says it, still with that smirk attached to his face. He’s gracious enough to give Din a little more time with you, before demanding the man take his son home and tuck him in bed. 

The door closes softly behind him, the moment he’s out of sight Din turns back to you, sighing out an apology, “I’m sorry, cyare…”

He presses his forehead to your own, hands smoothing across your waist and back in gentle motions. As if trying to soothe the embarrassment from you, bring you back to a sense of peace that had since been disrupted. 

You push your forehead back into his and nudge his nose with your own, “Don’t be. He’s your son.” You mean it. As embarrassing as being interrupted is, as frustrating as it may be, you understand. His son is massively important, and he’s young, there are bound to be interruptions. It’s okay. 

“So, we’re really doin’ this, huh? Haven’t changed your mind yet, Mesh’la?”

“Not at all…” You press forward, a soft, sweet little kiss to lips before pulling back, “You should go...Grogu needs you. Wish him a goodnight for me?” You pull away slowly, untangling yourself from his arms despite your own reluctance. You want to stay there, warm and safe forever, but Grogu needs his father and you do not have the heart to deprive him. 

“Always.” 

Din doesn’t want to leave you, but you make the decision for him, grabbing his hat and carefully plopping in atop his head before ushering him out the door. You watch as he takes Grogu from Paz, putting the boy onto his shoulders and walking with the man down the street. 

He can’t help but look back.

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

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[animeyanderelover]

Can I get promp 32 to Shuu tsukiyama? Thank you.

You can because I always appreciate requests for fandoms I didn’t get that many requests for.

Warnings: Yandere themes, gore, mentions of killing, mentions of torture, blood, blackmailing, threatening, delusional behavior, clingyness, sadistic behavior, separated body parts, mentions of torture, panic attack

Prompt 32: “Babe! I brought you a gift. You don’t know what that is? Let me tell you. These are the eyes of the person who kept looking at you today.”

Saying that you felt on edge was an understatement right now, you felt like you were on fire, hands sweaty and stomach churning in a way that made you fear that you might just throw up all the food you had managed to choke down so far. It wasn’t like you didn’t appreciate Shuu’s gesture of kindness, inviting you over to a date in a really expensive restaurant which you had always wanted to visit, but had simply never had the money to pay for it. But Shuu had money and was ready to spill it all for you as long as you behaved. And you had behaved, choosing to not make him mad or angry and trigger him to hurt you. That was just a one way ticket to hell. Your hand went unconsciously to your shoulder, tracing the now scared place where he had bitten you as a punishment for insulting and yelling at him. It had been the first time he had hurt you and you had decided that your heart wouldn’t handle a second time. And it wasn’t because of the excruciating pain. It was rather because you feared seeing his personality switch once again, seeing this huge and disturbingly adoring grin on his face, hearing his cooing and judging honey dripping voice again and having him wiping and licking all the tears away whilst praising you for looking even pretty with tears on your face. You had already made once the mistake of underestimating him for just a lovesick fool. And you would never make this mistake again.

But right now you didn’t fear for yourself, trusting Shuu enough that he wouldn’t do anything to you because of this. You hoped so at least. But you felt right now terrified for the person who hadn’t stopped looking at you since quite some time now. A quite pretty looking lady in a fine dress, looking quite seducing. It was hard to believe that she was sitting alone there without a partner. The moment she had sat down there and her eyes had caught you, she had kept throwing glances at you. You had actually expected someone who looked like her to look more at Shuu who was attractive, you couldn’t deny that. But instead she kept looking at you. And not out of jealousy because she wished to be in your place, but with this certain interest in her eyes. An interest that could and would cost her her life if she wouldn’t stop very soon. Shuu wasn’t someone who had a very good amount of patience. He was in fact a total attention seeker and hated it when you acknowledged or even looked at someone else. Shuu was a jealous man and that was all the reason he needed to devour someone, make them a toy for his shoes or do other inhuman things to them. You had witnessed it so often before, countless times having been forced to watch those games of his, staring in horror how the persons who had made him jealous died like an animal. It had been such gruesome scenes that never stopped haunting you in your dreams.

And by the look on his face you knew that this woman there was damn close to ending as a short entertainment for his fellow gourmet friends as well. He had a look of irritation on his face, his eyebrow constantly twitching and a deep frown on his face. He honestly looked like he wanted to pierce someone’s gut now, his fist grabbing the fabric of the tablecloth tightly that you feared he would rip it at any moment, his knuckles having turned a ghostly white by now. There was an extreme tension in the air, you feeling like any rushed movement would set sparks on you. He was still trying his hardest to keep his composure, you knew that he didn’t like losing his control in public, but he was also damn close to snapping. The fact that you felt the gaze of the woman lingering on you didn’t help and you couldn’t even describe how tempted you felt to glance back at her, more out of fear to give her a sign that she should stop looking at you if she loved her life. But you also didn’t want to risk angering Shuu even more than he was already. It took surprisingly much of your willpower to not glance back at her, the temptation feeling like a magnet, pulling you with an invisible force to just look shortly at her. And all it took was one short moment of hesitation for you, your eyes instantly wandering to hers and staring right at her. And she seemed to like it, giving you a small smile, triumphant that she finally managed to get your attention and winked at you.

“Wham!“ You flinched the moment you heard the loud noise coming from Shuu, slamming his fist on the table and hearing a few shocked and startled gasps from the people around you, one of them choking on his glass of water and starting coughing badly. And the moment you felt all the eyes on you and Shuu, you felt your face heating up out of embarrassment, sinking a bit deeper into your chair. Embarrassing. But you weren’t half as embarrassed as you were terrified right now. He had just snapped and from previous experiences you knew that this meant no good for anyone who had made him snap. He currently seemed to try to gain his self-control, his purple hair covering his eyes and due to you sitting so closely to him you were also able to hear his uneven breathing, the way he tried to breathe deeply in and out to calm down. Could you eventually help him somehow calming down? Or would that anger him even more? For a while you thought panicked whether you wanted to risk getting on his bad side or not before deciding to give it a try. “Sh-Shuu?” Your voice didn’t manage to spit out anything more than just a soft mutter of his name, breaking the moment this word had flown over your lips. But it seemed to have a great affect on Shuu, and to your huge relief also a good one. His shoulders slumped down and he slowly let himself fall back into his chair, the fist which had slammed the table grabbing your hand to search for some comfort, squeezing it tightly to finally come back to his senses.

A few more agonizing seconds passed by, you stiffing painfully up, not knowing what would happen next since his head was still hanging low, preventing you from seeing his face and judging. But his tight grip seemed to loosen up shortly after and with one last deep breath Tsukiyama looked up again, looking perfectly under control and giving you one of his charming smiles. “Oui chéri?” You yourself couldn’t help, but sigh relieved when hearing him speaking to you in French again, this meant most of the time that he was in a good mood. “A-are you fine?” You sounded very nervous, Tsukiyama noticing it from the way your lips pressed into a thin line. “No need to feel nervous. I’m sorry if I should have scared you with my sudden outburst before. Can you forgive me?” You nodded quickly, not wanting him to get upset again. “However...”, he suddenly stood up, looking around and waving at one of the waiters,”Let’s go back home again, alright? I’m so sorry for having ruined this date. We’ll dine later this evening again, okay?” What other choice did you have? You just gave him a slight nod, feeling disappointed that you had to already go back, but not protesting, just taking the hand he offered you and quickly walking behind him whilst he dragged you out of the restaurant. On your way out you couldn’t help, but look shortly back at the woman who seemed almost disappointed that you were already leaving. It was probably due to that, that you didn’t notice Tsukiyama glaring at her as well.

“Can I do anything else for you, master (y/n)?” You scratched your head, feeling uncomfortable to be constantly referred to as master. “No, Kanae. You did already enough. Thank you a lot for your help.” The boy bowed respectfully. “You don’t need to thank me. It’s my job to take care of you.”, he said with his thick accent, making you smile half-heartedly. You really didn’t like how you were treated, not appreciating that you couldn’t even bathe without one of the servants in this house constantly being near you and bringing you all kind of soaps and shampoo. You remembered that when you had been young, you had always wished to be treated like a royalty. But now that you had grown up and had the wish to be independent you didn’t like all of this one bit. Due to being Shuu’s beloved, you had been welcomed quite warmly in his family despite being a human. And living in a manor full of ghouls never failed to give you often a heart attack since many of them often glances at you with those hungry eyes, your scent intriguing them. It wasn’t like any of them would dare to touch you, the only one who was allowed to feast from you and touch you at all was their master. And to your huge surprise Tsukiyama had made it clear to all of his servants that he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable by all their stares, this was after all your new home and it should feel like one to you. Besides, those servants were pretty much the only people who you were allowed to have contact with without having to worry about Shuu getting jealous too much. And so you had at one point striked becoming friends with them so you had at least some company when Shuu was, like right now, not here with you. Kanae for example was something you would call your friend since he was often the one who served and fulfilled your wishes.

“Wait. There’s one thing I would like to ask you.” Kanae instantly turned around. “Whatever you wish for. What do you need?” “Do you know when Shuu is coming back? He’s been gone for a while now.”, you asked awkwardly, not believing that you asked when your kidnapper would come back. On Kanae’s face appeared for a short moment a look of happiness, obviously glad that you had asked when Shuu would come back. At the beginning it hadn’t been all that pretty between you two, often ending with you yelling and crying and him weeping and crying together with you. It had been exhausting times and all the servants had felt terrible for their master who had looked so heartbroken because you had kept rejecting him. But after you had stopped fighting back, Shuu had started looking so happy, every morning basically beaming when greeting others and even skipping around the manor out of happiness. And to say that his family adored you for making their treasured son and master so happy was an understatement. They helped him with whatever they could, being that watching over you, making sure you were spoiled or helping him murdering everyone who was a thorn in his eyes. They stood behind him, following his lead and making your hopes of escaping vanishing into thin air. “Master Shuu will be back very soon. Don’t worry, I’ll inform you as soon as I see him again. He’s currently busy with something.” Something, hmm? You had a bad feeling about this, remembering too well the woman from earlier this day.

“Babe! I brought you a gift.” Shuu’s happy and cheerful voice roused you from your sleep, not remembering how long exactly you had been in your dreamland. It was dark outside and if you remembered right the last time you had been awake the sun had still stood. That also meant Shuu had been for hours out, making you wonder what exactly he had been doing so long. Kanae had actually wanted to wake you up, but you guessed he had decided against it when seeing that you had fallen asleep. You had been told from many people in here before that no one had the heart to wake you really up since you looked absolutely precious when being asleep. And Shuu himself absolutely adored it when you were asleep, even better when you fell asleep whilst he was holding you. “Oh, I’m sorry for waking you up, mon amour. I didn’t know you were already asleep.” You felt the mattress next to you shifting a bit, Shuu crawling next to you, his face moving itself in front of you and staring with those magnificent and lovingly eyes down at you. You were barely awake, blinking tiredly up at him. “Shuu? Where have you been so long?”, you managed to mumble out, rubbing your eyes in an attempt to wake fully up. “Has my darling missed me? I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. But I was only away because I prepared something for you.”, Shuu cooed with a sweet voice at you, bending down to your face to press a kiss against your nose.

“A...gift? Shuu, you know that you don’t have to keep buying me things all the time.” Upon hearing this, Shuu chuckled a bit. “But I want to. I want to spoil the rotten out of my sweet, little baby. But if it soothes you, I didn’t waste any money this time even though I can do that whenever you ask me. But this gift is self-made.” Self-made? You pushed him lightly away so you would be able to sit up, looking still drowsily at him. Shuu smiled gently at you while pulling a small box out from behind his back, wrapped up in blue paper and wrapped up with a purple ribbon. You hesitantly took it, observing it, trying to figure out what was inside. “What are you waiting for? Open it.”, Shuu encouraged you, looking a bit too excited about all of this, giving you a nasty and bad feeling. On the other hand you also didn’t want to disappoint him, slowly and carefully pulling the ribbon open and fumbling with the wrapping paper, not wanting to make too much of a mess. Inside of the paper was a casket, made out of wood with fine patters engraved on it. And you could basically feel the bad aura radiating from it, giving you the feeling that you should prepare your nerves for whatever would come. “Come ooon. Just Open it.”, Shuu whined, shifting back and forth next to you, clearly excited about all of this. You gulped the lump in your throat back, taking one last deep breath before finally opening the box.

Only to slam it the very next second close again with an incredible force, the sudden noise echoing in the room. You felt all the color leaving your face, your blood running cold and causing you to shiver. “S-Sh-Shuu,” Your voice was shaking terribly, feeling like it couldn’t keep up for too much words,”W-what is this?” Shuu tilted his head confused, taking the box gently out of your hands and opening it. “You don’t know what that is? Let me tell you.” Without a real care in the world he grabbed the content of it, turning the small spherical and rubbery thing around, squeezing it a bit. And only watching him touching that thing caused nausea to rise up inside of you. “These are the eyes of the person who kept looking at you today.” You stared paralyzed at the eyeball he was holding in his eye, staring inside the pupil, the color looking way too familiar. You remembered those eyes, only a few hours ago these eyeballs had still belonged to a person, to a young woman. “(y/n), don’t you like it? I put in quite the effort to get those. I actually planned to bring you the whole body, but that would have made quite the mess so I decided to bring you only the eyeballs.” How could he ask you such a question?! Didn’t he have any sort of sympathy?! How could he?! How could he?! And why were you even surprised?!

You suddenly felt like an invisible chain was tightening it’s grip on your chest, making breathing suddenly incredibly difficult for you, nearly choking on the air. Your whole body starting trembling violently, being shaken up deep inside your core. Tears started to blur your vision and with a numbing realization you suddenly knew what was happening. You had a panic attack, your heart feeling like it could burst at any moment inside of your chest. And Shuu noticed it as well, through your tears, which had by now started to stream down your face, you saw his facial expression changing into on of frantic panic. “Darling? What’s wrong?!” You couldn’t manage to breathe, your breath stuttering in your throat in a desperate attempt to get enough oxygen. “(y/n)!! You need to breathe!! Stop doing this!! You won’t get enough air!!” By now he sounded like he could cry and you were sure he would start at any minute, but it wasn’t like you could care right now, your own panic attack keeping you busy. By now you had starting to cough heavily, choking constantly due to the gasping for air on your spit which didn’t really help the situation. You heard Shuu cursing in French before suddenly storming to the door, ripping it open and yelling something, his voice dripping with desperation. The rest was for you only a fuzzy memory, everything around you seemingly fading away, the only thing being taken notice of from you was your own achingly loud heartbeat, hurting every time it hit your rib cage and your own uneven and shaking breathing, the salty tears spilling out of your eyes and your own misery washing over you. The picture of the woman was ghosting in front of your eyes and you had only enough energy for one thought, repeating itself in your mind. “Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.”

“Take a deep breath in...Hold your breath for a few seconds...And breathe out as long as possible. Very good (y/n). And another time. Take a deep breath in...Hold your breath for a few second...And breathe out as long as possible.” You felt beyond exhausted, mentally and physically. But at least you had now calmed down enough, your body having stopped stifling up and trembling like a leaf in a storm and with Mirumo’s help and guidance you had managed to get control over your breathing as well, the older man showing great patience and understanding with you. You questioned yourself if he had firsthand experienced such things often before, having handled this challenge so professionally and calm as if having done it countless times before. But at the moment you were too exhausted to think too deeply about it, your whole body being worn out from the constant shaking and you felt like the slightest movement was too much, leading you to not wanting to move a single muscle, just laying motionless in the bed. Mirumo had explained the situation to you after you had slowly started focusing back on the real world what had happened, that one of the servants had panicked interrupted his tea time, telling him what had happened and that he had instantly rushed to Shuu’s room who had cried and hissed at everyone to do something. Mirumo had sent everyone, including his son who had needed time to calm down, away, needing silence, peace and space to be able to help you at all.

“How are you feeling?”, the man asked you, a look of slight concern and sympathy visible on his face. Your eyes darted to him, giving him a thankful look. “I’m exhausted.”, you mumbled out. He nodded understandingly. “No wonder. It’s been nearly fifty minutes after all. Most panic attacks last usually 5 to 20 minutes, but it isn’t unheard of cases like yours where it nearly took an hour. I would advice for you to drink something and then try to sleep a bit. You’ve been drained of all your energy.” He stood up, planning to walk outside before remembering something and turning one last time around. “Before I go let me ask you this question. Are you fine with sleeping tonight with Shuu? I completely understand if you aren’t and will let the servants prepare the guest room for him. I heard what happened and will scold him later on for this properly. You need your deserved break now and it would be unfortunate if you have another attack because of my son’s overbearing behavior.” You smiled a bit, feeling grateful that at least Shuu’s father was reliable. “It’s fine.”, you whispered softly, not wanting to be left alone tonight and giving him a small nod of affirmation when he gave you a surprised look. “If you say so. But give me a moment. I need to explain to him how to not act around you right now.” With these words he left you, giving you a feeling of unease. For a short moment you were able to catch a glimpse of alll the worried servants who were waiting nervously outside. You guessed that Shuu was in a completely other room right now or else he would have burst in the room to see if you were starting to feel better.

You were nearly asleep when you heard the door creaking slightly, telling you that Shuu had come back. You didn’t want to know what exactly had his father told him, but you were pretty sure that Shuu had been in for quite the ruthless lecture from his father since the old man truly cared for you and had accepted you as a full member of this family the moment he had seen how much joy you brought his son. And you guessed Shuu had really heard someone from his father, not wailing and annoying you with questions like he usually did whenever you hurt yourself or cried. Instead he just crawled quietly inside the bed with you, doing his best to not wake you up. The only noises he made were sniffling sounds, you only being able to imagine how much tears he had spilled this last hour. But you were thankful for the quietness, the last thing you needed right now was another headache. But you did tense up for a short moment when he suddenly wrapped his arms around you and placed his head on your shoulder, damping the fabric of your pajamas instantly with tears he tried to cry as silently as possible, his grip tightening around you as if scared that you would fade away if he wouldn’t hold you tightly. “I-I am so sorry for this, darling.”, he stuttered out, voice quiet, heartbroken and ashamed of himself.

[levis-hazelnut]

Summary: when you and your best friend, Hanji, were younger, you had made up stories about your dream guys - what they would look like and how you would meet. What happens when the one you had made up appears to be real?

Warning(s): I don’t think there are any in this chapter. But, please do tell me if there are any.

Taglist (closed!): @castellandiangelo @fandom-addict19​ @20coldhearts​

Status: completed!

part 4 > part 5 > part 6

series masterlist

It's been exactly five days since that time I yelled at Jean and Levi. What did I do during these days? Well, first of all, both males had sat down with me at lunch the next day, making Hanji, Connie, Sasha and Armin leave the table. Surprisingly, they apologised for things they weren't at fault for, so I shut them up, telling them they did nothing wrong. After that, they told me they won't stick their noses in my business and would let me tell them what was on my mind if I wanted to. We sorted everything out and ended up spending the rest of lunch being stupid, including Levi who tried covering up a couple of chuckles behind coughs. Since our table looked fun, those who left came back, along with Petra, Isabel and Farlan.

After uni ended that day, Jean and I stopped by at the cafe Eren worked at. I spoke to him about how I think he should forget about me because the relationship we had was in the past and he should move on. He did seem upset (obviously) but he understood what I was saying. Of course, however, he continued flirting with me. But that made sense since he can't just get over me like that and it's a habit of his to flirt with the first girl in sight. He claimed he was glad that I wasn't avoiding him or acting awkward around him. Soon, we parted ways and headed home. And the rest of the four days, I got over the fact that Petra and Levi were now in a relationship and I can't do anything about it. So, I was back to my usual, crazy, energetic and friendly self which Hanji, Eren, Jean and Levi were happy about. Though, one of those people had no way of showing me that (Levi). Now, it's Saturday (one week after the raven and strawberry-blonde went on their first date). Once again, me and Levi were sitting at the table with our laptops in front of us. Instead of hot drinks, we had iced drinks with all the windows open, seeing as how the weather was smouldering. This time I didn't have a gloomy expression, more like a smile which would often widen as Levi and I messed around. And there wasn't the depressing sound of Lo-Fi, we took turns in playing summery songs that only made our moods better. "Oi, stop singing. You sound like a cow and sheep fucking." I laughed and chucked a pen at him since it was the only projectile near me and he swiftly dodged it. Unfortunately, for the brunette with glasses, who happened to walk behind Levi at that moment, she got hit by the pen. I quickly apologised before locking eyes with Levi. "As if you sing any better," I retorted, about to take a bite of my sandwich, but it soon disappeared from my grip because of Hanji who took a bite before passing it back to me. "Hey, by the way, Erwin's coming over soon, but then we're going to go out," Hanji announced as she chewed on the food, causing both me and the raven to scrunch our noses up in disgust. "Wait. Erwin?" he repeated and shot me a questioning glance. "Yeah, our professor," I confirmed his vague query. "They're in a relationship." What the hell?" he murmured which I snorted at. "Anyway, that's fine." "You aren't going to be distracted?" "Uh, we're barely even concentrating because of the heat and this assignment isn't exactly fun," I said, standing up and stretching before taking Levi's glass and going into the kitchen to refill our glasses with mojito that I made. "You don't mind, right, Ackerman?" I questioned and placed the glass in front of him. "Yeah, whatever. It's not my apartment," he stated, looking down at his phone. I flicked his forehead, causing him to scowl once he glanced up at me. "What was that for, brat?" "I'd appreciate it if you give me your full attention when I'm talking to you," I smirked. "Sure, your majesty." He rolled his eyes but put his phone away, nevertheless. "What do you want?" "Nothing, really. Just wanted to make you look up." "To see your repulsive face? You're torturing me too much," he teased and I snorted before taking a sip of my drink. "Hm. You're really thirsty, aren't you?" If I hadn't swallowed the minty beverage a second before his remark, it would have spewed onto his face. My face grew red and I chucked a pencil at him. He dodged it once again as a smug smirk rested on his lips. "I hate you, you know," I muttered. I was so grateful that Hanji went back to her room because she would irritate the hell out of me about it, with Levi's presence here or not. "Yeah, right. Just as much as you hate that Eren kid?" "I have no romantic feelings for him. He's my best friend, other than Hanji, and he's a hell of a lot better at keeping me company than you." "Well, I obviously can't give you the attention he does since I'll be cheating." "Ugh, why did I even invite you?" "Because you don't hate me and I'm amazing at keeping you company." "Say whatever you want, Ackerman." "... Oi." "What?" "I'd appreciate it if you had your attention on me while I'm talking." "Yeah, give me one second," I told him as I continued typing away on my phone and I heard a sigh, which made me look up at him. "Is your pitiful ass upset because I'm not noticing you?" I mocked in an innocent voice. "Tch." He crossed his arms over his chest and faced away from me. "Why would I be upset, darlin'?" "Because you love me so much. And I'm your bestest friend in the whole, wide world." "You're such a child," he chuckled lightly. which made me smile. "Thank y--" I was cut off by the sound of the buzzer, so I stood up and approached the front door before getting pushed by Hanji who sprinted down the corridor to answer the door for her boyfriend. I clicked my tongue before going back to the table where Levi and I sat. "Someone's horny," I mumbled. "Hey, I'm not bothered to carry on with this. Let's just chill." "Sure. What do you want to do?" "I don't know. You should never ask me what I want; I'm the most indecisive person." "Fine. Seeing as how the weather is nice, let's go out somewhere." "Stop, stop!" a hushed voice giggled, catching mine and Levi's attention. "(Y/N) and Levi are here." I rolled my eyes and I could see that Levi was holding back a laugh. "Forget about them. So, where should we go?" I inquired, which Levi shrugged to before both of our heads turned towards two figures entering the room. "Hey, Erwin," I greeted with a smile. "Ah, hi, (Y/N). I didn't expect to see you here, Levi." "Likewise, Smith." The blonde male didn't regard the way in which Levi spoke and simply smiled at both of us. I'm going to be completely honest and say that Hanji is lucky to have a man like him. He's handsome, caring, polite and basically the embodiment of charming. And Hanji mentioned how great he is in bed. I never wished to know that, but whatever, it's Hanji so no one can stop her from saying her shit. Nevertheless, I love her. And I would never think about moving onto her boyfriend, well, it's not like I actually developed feelings for him. I kind of see him as an older brother or something of the sort. "Hey, Hanji, what's something fun to do outside today?" I questioned. "Um... Picnic in the park, go to the beach, cycle, visit a zoo--" "Okay, thanks," I cut her off before there would be too many decisions to choose from. "Why are you asking?" she asked before gasping in excitement. "Are you going on a date?!" "I don't see why you would be so surprised if I had a date, but no, I don't," I said, arching a single brow. "Me and Levi gave up on this shitty assignment, and since we shouldn't be inside when it's so sunny outside, we decided to do something," I told her before realising that the work we were doing was for the professor standing beside her. "I mean, we've finished it and we deserve a reward for doing so well," I joked and the male with cerulean eyes chuckled softly. "I appreciate your choice of words for describing the task I gave you. I'll be sure to remember that when I grade it," he teased, with an undertone of warning. "You know, you're the best professor in our uni." He shook his head and smiled. "Go out. I don't want to ruin your fun because of 'this shitty assignment'." "Haha, you know I was only joking about that. Anyway, let's go, Mr Moody," I said and got up from my seat, stretching. "You're going to out in your pyjamas?" "Oh, right. Wait here, I'm going to quickly change." "Okay." I rushed into my bedroom and sifted through my clothes, finding a white, lace singlet, along with baby blue, jean shorts. I slipped both pieces of clothing on before styling my hair into a half-up, half-down ponytail and put on sunglasses to rest on my head for now. I grabbed whatever I needed and stuffed it into a small bag, hooking it onto my shoulder before leaving my room. Hanji and Erwin were on the sofa as I spotted Levi leaning against the table, we previously sat at, with his backpack slung over his shoulder. I gestured for him to come and he came to my side as we both waved at the couple before proceeding to leave. We both slipped on our shoes and left, taking the stairs to go down. As soon as I opened the main door of the building, the heat slapped us and the sun blazed in our faces so I positioned my sunglasses to protect me from the light that threatened to blind me. "So where are we going?" the male beside me asked. "Pick from the things Hanji suggested. Maybe not a picnic since we didn't prepare any food for that unless you want to be lazy and just buy things. Also, not the beach because it'll take a while to get there and then there'll be no point since we'll only be there for a short while." "So picnic, cycling, and the zoo?" he listed and I nodded as he thought about it. "... Picnic in the park - let's be lazy and buy things." "Okay. Shall we head to the shops first?" "Yeah." ~/~ The grass tickled my bare skin as I laid on my back, with my eyes closed, one leg was arched as the other was stretched across the ground. My head leaned on one of my arms as my other arm rested over my stomach. Music rang in my ears, which I softly hummed to, from Levi's phone that rested in between us. Said male laid on his side, propped up by one of his elbows. He had his head in his palm and held a book in his other hand. Before we were relaxing like this, we had eaten the snacks and food we bought, though, some remained since we may have gotten too much stuff. Then, we decided to take over the playground, and apparently, we seemed to have intimidated some kids. Pfft, they're such scaredy cats. Why couldn't an eighteen (me) and nineteen-year-old (Levi since he's a few months older than me *eye roll*) mess around as well? Once we laughed at the children's faces, we came back to this spot and decided to just relax. Barely any words were spoken. A sigh left my lips when I felt my phone vibrate in the back pocket of my shorts. I fished it out before bringing it to my ear. "Hello?" "Hey, (Y/N)!" "Hi, Petra," I smiled and rolled over, onto my stomach. "What's up?" "I was wondering if Levi is still with you." "Yeah. We're in the park. Is something wrong?" "No, no. I was just trying to call Levi, but he wasn't answering his phone." "Oh, here you can talk to him.” "Thank you," she said before I passed my phone to Levi, so he could talk to Petra. He put his book down before taking my phone. I took his book and read the blurb before turning to the first page, trying not to listen in into their conversation. I'd say I've improved - there's barely any jealousy in me (okay, maybe a little), I don't turn bitchy when I see them two, and I don't have to fake smile anymore. The tone in which he spoke in was hardly any different to how he talks to anyone else, but I could hear a hint of something gentle. A soft smile touched my lips when I listened to his voice (not his words, mind you) and I wished I could listen to it on repeat. It was his usual nonchalant voice, mixed with a soft timbre, which was a sign he cared about Petra. He spoke in a hushed tone that almost sounded like a purr. I wasn't even concentrating on the book in front of me anymore. I kept on reading the same sentence over and over but I still wasn't able to understand the printed words since I was stuck in a daze because of Levi's voice. "What are you smiling about?" "Your voice is nice," I blurted out without thinking what I was saying. Once I realised what I said, my eyes slightly widened as I averted them from the book to him to see he was smirking. "I mean--" "Whatever, you weirdo," he cut me off, the smirk still present. He gave my phone back and stole the book from my hands and flipped the pages over until he reached the one he stopped on before his phone call. "And what are you smirking about?" "It's amusing to see you get nervous," he replied with a shrug, his eyes absorbing the information on the page. With a roll of my eyes, I returned to my original position but rested my head on Levi's lap this time since he was sitting with his legs outstretched. He flicked my forehead, which I ignored, as I took my phone in my hands when I got a few messages from Eren after taking a sip of the iced tea I bought. 'Hey (Y/N)' 'I got off work early today' 'Wanna go out somewhere since the sun's out?' I wasn't bothered to type so I decided to call him. He picked up after about five seconds and spoke a small 'hello'. "Hi, Eren." "Hey." "Basically, the thing is... I'm in the park with Levi right now." "Oh." "But," I began before glancing up at the raven whose eyes were still on the book. "Hey, Ackerman?" "What?" "Would you mind if Eren came?" "He's your boyfriend, do whatever." I rolled my eyes. "Sorry about that. But, you could come and join us, or we can go out somewhere later?" "I don't mind. What did Levi say?" "He doesn't care. We aren't really doing anything, though." "What park are you at?" "The one near my apartment." "... Do you mind if I come since I'm around there?" "Of course, I don't, you doofus. And, we can still do something later." "Okay. I'll be there in a few minutes. See you later, angel." "Bye, love," I went along with the joke. "And you say he isn't your boyfriend," Levi muttered. "He isn't. I already told you we're just stupid kind of friends that act like a couple by calling each other names. Don't think anything more of it." "Well, why are you so defensive? Also, you've never mentioned that you have an interest in someone." Yeah, well, that's because the person I have interest in is you and you're taken, I thought. "Just because I haven't mentioned it, doesn't mean I don't." "Well, do share, darlin'." "I thought you weren't going to get involved in my business." "But you don't seem upset about it." "Look, you asshole, I have no obligation to tell you, so--" "Hi," a voice cut me off and I flitted my eyes over to the figure that was protecting me from the sun. "Eren!" I beamed and tugged on his wrist which caused him to fall. I hugged him as he struggled to get off of me. "Where are you going? I haven't seen you for the entire week." "I'm probably crushing you right now. Let go of me, (Y/N)." "Hmph. Fine." I released him from my grip and he rolled off of me, sitting up next to me as I still laid on my back. "This is a park, you two might want to keep it PG," the male that I rested my head on commented. "Shut up and read your book." I scowled at him before facing Eren. "There are snacks and drinks, help yourself." "Okay, thanks," he grinned and laid down next to me, resting his head on Levi's leg as well. "Oi, I'm not a fucking pillow." "You are now," I told him bluntly. "So, how was work?" "It was all right. Horseface came in and decided to annoy me. However, he did look kind of upset about something. When I asked him what's up, he just scoffed and told me that it's none of my business. Typical of him, but I think if you ask him, he'll tell you." "I'll ask him later. Right now, I just want to relax without having to deal with anything," I sighed and turned to look at the sky. Eren glanced at Levi to see that he was still engrossed in whatever book he was reading and he slightly nudged me. I gave him a questioning glance and he motioned for me to come closer, so I did. "What's wrong?" I questioned the teal-eyed male. "How come you aren't depressed anymore?" "I got myself together. I realised there's no point in getting upset over something I can't change and just pushed everything to the back of my mind. Are you proud of me for doing that?" I asked like a little child, wanting praise. "Yeah," he smiled, tousling my hair. I shifted my head to rest on Eren's shoulder and closed my eyes, breathing in his entrancing scent and feeling content next to him. "Ackerman?" "Hm?" "Are you okay?" "Yeah, why?" "You're unusually quiet." "Maybe because I'm reading. Are you okay? You're being unusually kind." "Excuse me? I'm always nice." "As if," he scoffed. If my eyes were open, I would have rolled them. "If you're so nice, why don't you have a boyfriend?" "Seriously? You're still asking about that?" I didn't even bother to look at him since I was comfortable with my position. "Forget about it. Forget I said anything about liking someone since I have no intention in telling you, or anyone, right now." "... Is it Eren?" "No," I huffed. No matter how much Eren and I acted like a couple, we would never develop feelings for each other. I always have and always will see him as a brother, but not one that annoys the hell out of me. The one that cares for me and gets angry if someone would hurt me. The love we feel for each other is not romantic. ~/~ "Ah, it feels so nice to have a shower after sweating all day," I sighed in delight and plopped down onto the sofa in between Eren and Levi, who were talking about something before they both fell silent. I only cocked an eyebrow but didn't say anything, brushing it off. "Eren?" "Sure," he already replied without hearing my request. I grinned and passed him my hairbrush as he proceeded to brush my hair when I slightly turned my back towards him, now facing Levi who had his gaze on the floor. "Do you two want something to eat? We haven't had dinner and it's already nine o'clock," I suggested. "Yeah. But, do you have things to cook?" Eren pointed out. "Yep. What do you guys want?" I asked them, and Levi only shrugged, leaning back against the sofa. "What do you have?" "I'm not sure. I'll have to check, but I know we have ingredients to make a simple meal." "I kind of just feel like pasta," Eren spoke. "But like really saucy and cheesy." "What, like me?" I chuckled at my own stupid joke and I could imagine he rolled his eyes. I witnessed Levi's lips curl upwards slightly as he shook his head at my stupidity. "Anyway, I'm sure we've got pasta, and stuff to make the sauce, and cheese. Thanks, by the way," I smiled at Eren when he passed me back the hairbrush. I got up and quickly placed it back in my room before going back to the living room. "Both of you can have a shower while I cook something if you want," I told them as Eren nodded, leaving the room. "Darlin', there's one bathroom, so you better not be suggesting anything." I rolled my eyes. "There's actually two. Hanji has an ensuite and she won't mind if you use it. I'm sure you don't want to sit around after sweating, especially with you being a clean-freak, so go ahead. You can borrow Eren's clothes since I'm pretty sure he's left some here." "And you still claim you aren't in a relationship with the boy?" "Yes. Also, if we were dating, why would we hide it? And don't you think that I would've just given up and told you by now?" "Maybe you hide it because you're ashamed of something. And you're a stubborn brat, I doubt you would break." "Just shut up and go have a shower," I snapped with a playful tone, showing him I wasn't actually annoyed. "I'll get you some clothes and leave them on Hanji's bed; there should already be a towel in there." "Okay, thanks." I went to look for some of Eren's clothes. After a bit of hunting, I found a t-shirt and joggers, neatly folded, and I left it on Hanji's bed. When I went to the kitchen, I noticed Eren already fishing through the cupboards and had previously already found the pasta. "Hey," I spoke, catching his attention. He turned around and gave me a grin before looking for ingredients again. "You can sit down, I don't need help." "Are you sure your clumsy ass doesn't need help? I do remember when you nearly sliced your finger off like an idiot. And when you tripped over your own feet and dropped a plate. And--" "Okay, okay. Fine, you can help," I pouted. "I'm not that clumsy, though," I muttered to which Eren only chuckled softly. "Whatever you say, princess. Boil water in this pot," he told me and I nodded, doing as he said. I then helped him look for everything else as we set everything out on the counters and began preparing our dinner. It was silent until the teenage male spoke up. "... (Y/N)?" "Hm?" "What are you going to do about Levi and Petra?" he asked quietly, causing me to look up at him as he came by my side. "I don't know... There isn't anything I can do. I guess I'll just have to wait and see what happens. I mean, me and Hanji did say that there would be so many girls chasing after him, yet he still chooses me," I described another detail in the stupid story thing we created. "Hey, don't look so down. It's been five months, not a few years, so you still have time to see what the future holds," Eren grinned, noticing the gloomy expression that cast over my visage. I gave him a small smile and looped my arms around him, feeling him embrace me tighter as my cheek pressed against his chest. I wish I could live in Eren's hug, there's nothing I love more than his hugs since he always comforts me and cares for me, and he smells so damn good, especially after coming out of the shower. "Oi, lovebirds." I huffed inaudibly before parting from the hug. "... What?" I spat, not meaning for it to sound so harsh, as I turned around to look at the raven. "Hm, so you are dating?" he smirked and went to sit down at the dining table, crossing his leg over the other. "What do you mean?" I inquired, folding my arms over my chest as Eren continued cooking. "If you weren't dating, you would have responded to 'lovebirds' or at least retorted with something. However, you didn't." "Or maybe I just got tired of correcting you." I arched an eyebrow, approaching him to flick his forehead. But, he grabbed my wrist, preventing me from doing that. I wiggled out of his grip and just frowned at him. "What will it take to prove that we aren't in a relationship?" "I just want to point something else out: Eren doesn't deny it whenever I say you two are dating." "Because he thinks you're an idiot. Now, tell me what it'll take." "Not a legitimate answer, but whatever. Anyway, you know I'm just messing with you when I say all this. I know you two aren't boyfriend and girlfriend." "Tch. Why do you have to be so annoying?" I muttered, plopping down in a chair next to him and he ruffled my hair. "I only annoy you, darlin'. You should be happy that you're special." "Whatever. I'm going to go help Eren with dinner." "Do you need help?" "Two people are enough. Thank you, though." "You just want to be alone with your boyfriend, don't you?" Levi stated when I turned my back to him, but he never knew I was holding a knife in my hands. So, to let him know, I faced him. "You better shut your mouth before this accidentally pierces you, Ackerman," I growled and he only laughed under his breath. God, what being on Earth is able to make that sound? Why is he so gorgeous in so many ways? Why can he make me feel like this, yet, I have no effect on him? Why can't I just jump onto him, and hug him, and kiss him, and love him, and marry him?

[riacte]

Unnecessary Hermit MCC Team Speculation

So according to Scott, teams are in the works, applications likely closed a few days ago, MCC 14 date is known to participants, MCC Twitter says they’re gonna steal CPK’s spotlight after wishing him a happy birthday. So we’re getting MCC 14 relatively soon. Hence I’m making my 284927391 hermit MCC team speculation.

Hermit duos:

Actually I think we’ll be seeing more duos in MCC S2.

1) Hermits and Scott have probably realized hermit duos perform way better than trios/ quartet (the only hermit duo team that didn’t get to DB is the first time False and Ren played)

2) They wanna meet new people, but they also want to play with friends. So 2+2 will be a good combo. You can meet new people while having a buddy you a stick to.

False + Cub

I don’t think any of the hermits are confirmed to join (Doc has shown interest) but I feel these two would most likely be in MCC 14?

1) False has been in every MCC since debut

2) Cub plays every other MCC, and he skipped MCC 13

3) Most important of all, they’ve both been polishing their skills through parkour and speedrunning etc. I think they’re currently the most competitive of the hermits, so I won’t be surprised at all if they pair up for a competitive team.

False + Grian

A surprisingly popular duo in post-MCC 13 team predictions. I like them as a duo, and I used to think we’ll have a bigger chance of getting False + Cub/Ren, but now I think about, the team predictions may be right.

1) False has been with Ren and Cub for their first victory, so according to ✨meta✨ she’ll be with Grian for his first victory and her third. The Hermit Winner enabler.

2) Grian is the only hermit regular who hasn’t won yet, and really really wants to win (he said he was gonna cry himself to sleep after he lost MCC 13 lol)

3) False is seen as the most competitive

So if Grian wants to win and go full competitive, and I feel Scott will likely pair him with False. Also Reddit loves this duo apparently. Another incentive.

False + Ren

Ah yes, the hermit team staple. Ex base-buddies my beloved. The duo that’s always been together. I miss them lmfao

I feel they’re gonna continue pairing up because False said she’s gonna collect all ranks with Ren? Also I feel Ren likely asks for False every time (Scott said someone asked for False back in MCC 9, we thought it was H, but apparently neither H or Fruit specified a person, so I guess it’s Ren. Makes sense because Ren’s with False literally every single time).

There’s not much to say except if they team up again, everyone saw it coming.

But also exactly because they’ve teamed up for so many times that they may decided to split for a MCC or two? That doesn’t seem to be what they’re doing though.

Ren + Cub

Honestly every time I think of this potential duo, I just see False sandwiched between them lmao. Because this a hermit trio. These two are probably False’s most frequent collaborators?? (Although there’s not much False and Ren collab this season)

Basically I somehow can’t see this happening without False. I’m sorry lmao

Grian + Cub

To a lot of people’s surprise, they haven’t teamed before. They’re probably the duo that collabs the least often on Hermitcraft so I kinda get why. Still wanna see this duo.

Grian + Ren

They’re close enough that they apparently visit each other irl. Which is very sweet. I can honestly see them as a duo, just chilling and having fun.

Hermit trios:

False + Ren + Grian/Cub. With the FRG trio happening more often in recent MCCs, FRC trio happening more often in the early, chill days. Hermit trio + S tier (aka. Lime Liches) is the most powerful version of hermit trios, and may even rival the strength of hermit duo + S tier teams.

FRG:

Honestly this seems like a feasible trio, especially when Cub skips a MCC/ plays with non hermits (MCC 7, 11, 12). There’s also the Lime Liches bias with this trio, so Scott might be more inclined to put them together?

Also if Cub skips, it means Scott will either have to make a hermit duo + solo hermit OR make a hermit trio. And Scott will probably put the solo hermit with hermit adjacent (eg. Grian with Pearl). Also pretty sure for this case, it’s gonna be False + Ren duo, Grian with hermit adjacent people just like MCC 9. That being said, MCC 9 was special because I think False and Ren specifically said they were gonna go competitive, while Grian not, so it makes sense for the split. For the current meta of competitive hermits, it might be easier for Scott to stuff the hermits together in a trio (eg. Lime Liches)??

FRC:

The last time this trio appeared was MCC 8. From that moment onwards, Cub has been in competitive teams either in a duo or solo, and had gotten to Dodgebolt in all his post-MCC 8 tourneys. So I honestly don’t know if we’ll see them together again. Maybe we’ll get something like Lime Liches.

New hermits:

I can see False-Ren-Doc as a trio for Doc’s first MCC.

1) This team appeared in CotC

2) To use Ren and Doc’s words: #ShipRendoc

3) Putting False here because I feel non hermits will be very ?!!???? at the Rendoc flirting

I can also see Iskall in a hermit trio. In particular Iskall-Grian-Ren

1) We got Team FRIC in MCC 5, so maybe something new?

2) Renskall. That’s it.

3) Everyone wants Grian-Iskall interaction, especially because they don’t collab that much this season compared to the last

But really I can see Iskall with every hermit regular. The reason I feel newcomers will be in trios not duos is that having two veterans to coach the newbie(s) is better than having one.

Hermit quartet

Genuinely don’t think this will happen if the hermits go competitive. Maybe we’ll get this for a chill MCC. Maybe not.

The hermit quartet in MCC 5 did pretty good though, but team standards have changed a lot since then. I kinda wanna see Iskall in another hermit quartet.

Others:

The famous Grian-False-Techno-Wilbur team, if you ignore the swearing thing and opposite Dodgebolt strategies. This team will have a fuckton of clout, probably comparable to MCC 13 Pink.

I actually feel this might happen because it’s highly popular and highly requested

But also 1) the swearing thing 2) Scott tends to put people who have similar attitudes (eg. hermits play with people who advocate arrow splitting) 3) they’re a powerful team. So maybe not.

Lime Liches. I seriously believe this might happen because of the very high demand and the Blue Bats bias. They got screwed over bc of parkour, many people think they deserve a redemption. They’re not too strong as a team either. It’ll be like MCC 8/9 Green.

Also the Fruit+Grian duo. I’m pretty sure this duo will happen at least once in S2. Grian famously commented he wants to team with Fruit, Fruit replied, even had an alt Twitch called “grianstanaccount”. Won’t be surprised at ALL if they ask for each other. Maybe this will happen along with LL redemption.

Hermits and H? This is to pacify the Blue Bats fandom. Also if we have hermit trio + Fruit, why not H lmao. But H said he wants to play with new people, and I think he said he wants to team with Puffy, sooo.... imagine we get sth like False Cub H Puffy. Lmao.

Hermits and Dream? I said I can’t see this happening, esp with Ren, but maybe Scott will do it for the Dreamslayer memes

Hermits and Quig? After Pete and Fruit, Quig is probably the most hermit friendly S tier. I think people said he would vibe well with the hermits. Quig is also involved in the X Life circle, which overlaps with the hermits’ circle.

Anyways. I’ve liked all Hermit teams so far, I’m sure Scott will make them fantastic as always. If you’ve reached this point, thank you for reading my pointless speculation. See you when MCC 14 teams are revealed :)

[lesbianlotties]

five times Deena and Sam met in secret (and one time they didn’t) - Chapter 2

Chapters: 2/6 Fandom: Fear Street Trilogy (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Deena Johnson Characters: Deena Johnson, Samantha "Sam" Fraser (Fear Street) Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Canon, High School, Cheerleaders, Band, Teenagers, Teen Romance, First Meetings, First Love, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Fluff, Happy Ending

Secrets.

Deena and Sam met by accident. They fell in love in secret.

But how long can they last together like that?

Chapter 2:

Sam walked out of her classroom with full confidence, chin up, and a straight face. As she walked the empty hallways of the school though, her courage started to waver. Her shoulders tensed, her hands tightened into fists, and she was looking around nervously. All the doors were closed, all the students and teachers were in class. She just had to round one more corner. Why did she have a faint feeling of being observed? Followed? What if…

“Sam!”

The blonde let out a small shriek and jumped in place when someone called her name and wrapped a pair of arms around her. Her moment of panic was instantly over though. She knew that voice, those arms, that smell, and that tickle of a wild mane of hair. 

“Deena! What the hell?! You scared me!” Sam whispered-yelled, clutching the arms still holding on to her.

“I’m sorry!” Deena defended herself, though she was still laughing. She rested her chin on Sam’s shoulder and added, “I couldn’t help it. You looked terrified, babe.”

The accidental term of endearment, not for the first time, left Sam speechless. That moment of silence was more than enough to make both girls keenly aware of their positions. Which, in turn, paralyzed them even more. It was just a few seconds, but it was more than enough for their minds to run. Images of the past few weeks flashing through. Passing looks in the hallways,  staring at each other from across classrooms, secret smiles. Clandestine meetings under the bleachers, where they grew closer and closer, where they got to know each other. Separately, long nights in each of their beds, unable to sleep, unable to put together the clues, unwilling to think of anything but each other. If it was too late to turn back the moment their eyes met, now that they actually knew each other, it would be impossible to go back to the way things were, to the way they used to be. Because now Deena knew the exact soft texture of Sam’s sweaters. Sam knew the smell of the cologne Deena stole from her dad. Even worse, they just found out that Sam fitted perfectly in Deena’s arms.

“Sorry,” Deena blurted out nervously when both of them simultaneously snapped from their thoughts and hastily stepped away from each other. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, but felt compelled to add, “for scaring you.”

“It’s okay,” Sam replied. She tried to stand taller, even if she was blushing and nervously pushing her hair behind her ear. “So, um, where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Deena answered, her expression lighting up with a smile that was just mischievous enough to make the other girl feel like she could faint.

Deena gathered all her courage and reached out to lightly grab Sam’s hand and lead her along the way. Before she had a chance to overthink her move, fear if her hands were sweaty, or even take more than two steps, her boldness backfired on her. As it often did, whenever Sam was involved. Because then it was Sam who fixed her grip on Deena’s hand so their fingers interlocked. Deena could only hope Sam didn’t hear the small gasp she let out upon realizing how perfectly their hands fit together.

Despite the underlying bravery of Sam’s actions, she hadn’t yet overcome some very important barriers. Her fear, at the time, still rose to the surface. “Deena! Where are we going? What if someone sees us?” She asked in whispers that were sounding exponentially more alarmed.

“Relax,” Deena chuckled, looking over her shoulder at Sam. “As if this wasn’t your idea in the first place.”

“Um, excuse me,” Sam hurried up so she could look the brunette in the eyes when she frowned at her. “I only said I… uh…”

“Missed me?”

“I said I wish we could see each other more,” Sam tried to speak with a nonchalant tone. “I didn’t mean we should skip class and risk getting detention and- Where did you get that?!”

“I have very resourceful friends,” Deena smirked.

She had pulled out from the back pocket of her pants a key to a janitor’s closet. The place may or may not have had a secret spot where a box filled with drugs was kept for a certain friend’s business. It wasn’t the most perfect location, but at least nobody would bother them there. Deena was just desperate for a moment of privacy with Sam. If she could have just one moment… She just needed to know… Anyway, with all the classrooms in use, and Sam’s fears too heavy to carry too far, they had few options. They still hadn’t even talked about meeting outside of school yet, and it wouldn’t be easy, they already knew. They had a still unofficial secret that was already too big to easily sneak into public places or either of their homes. So, a janitor’s closet it was. Not perfect. But perfectly worth it, if only for the way Sam instantly relaxed when they stepped inside and leaned her back against the locked door as if it was enough to keep any monsters out and away from them.

“You’re crazy,” Sam shook her head fondly at Deena. They couldn’t tear their eyes away from each other. Although there was a solitary lightbulb hanging above them, Sam’s slightly playful smile could have illuminated the small room perfectly fine. In fact, in Deena’s mind, that smile alone could light up all of Shadyside. “Alright, rockstar, you got me here. Now what?”

First, Deena rolled her eyes. She played drums, begrudgingly at most, but Sam had latched on to the nickname. And she looked so blissfully proud to tease Deena, that Deena had to keep pretending to be annoyed and hide how much she’d come to love that little detail. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Deena chuckled, carefully taking one step closer, “Do you want to leave?”

“No,” Sam slowly shook her head.

She was biting her bottom lip to hold back a smile, making the girl in front of her wonder if she could possibly suspect the effect that small action had on her. Sam could feel her entire body buzzing with energy, and nerves, but surprisingly, she wasn’t afraid in the slightest. She knew she should be afraid, but she was just eager to ride to the top of the rollercoaster and see what the view was like up there, regardless of how far she could fall down next. She liked that feeling, and she couldn’t ignore the fact that it happened only when she was alone with Deena.

“Then what do you want?”

When Deena asked that question, she took another step closer. Closer than they had ever stood with each other. She noticed Sam make a sharp intake of breath, and shift in place so she was standing straight, pressed against the door, seeing Deena eye to eye.

“I won’t say it,” Sam replied. Her words were barely a sigh. The ghost of a smirk was still hanging to her lips. But she couldn’t keep her eyes from glancing at Deena’s lips.

Upon noticing this, Deena licked her lips. In the back of her mind, she was faintly worried Sam could hear how hard her heart was beating. She could confidently say this was the most nerve-wracking moment of her life. But no matter how scared she could be, the feelings she had developed for Sam would always overshadow those fears. They might have been so close already, but then Deena raised her arm and rested her palm on the door beside Sam’s head. She leaned in closer.

“Say it,” Deena said, willing her voice to stay steady. 

“I can’t,” Sam sighed.

An instant later, Sam was kissing Deena. 

She had just instinctively pushed away from the door, crashed her lips against Deena’s, and changed both their lives forever. The kiss wasn’t perfect, but it was sweet. It carried as much desperation as it did trust. It was weeks of yearning. In every look, in every fleeting touch, in every thought. So much wondering. So much wanting. So much wishing. If they had waited any longer it would have suffocated them. But that aggression was swiftly vanished by the tenderness of it. Of course they were both nervous, but they trusted each other. Whatever the outcome of the kiss, regardless of how each of them felt afterward, that kiss became an official secret. And secrets can be weaponized. Not if you kiss the right person though. By kissing Deena, Sam was telling her ‘I don’t know what will happen next, but I trust you’ll never use this to hurt me’. It was an act of trust. The instant Deena started kissing her back, she was replying ‘This secret is now ours. We’re in this together.” The kiss, however, was barely long enough for Deena to reciprocate.

Sam pulled back hastily, knocking her back against the door, looking down and breathing heavily.

“Sam,” Deena gasped. She looked incredibly surprised for someone that had pretty much orchestrated every detail so this moment could happen. But living in Shadyside, and being who she was, Deena had learned to keep her dreams on a short leash, keep low expectations and the bar close to the ground to avoid disappointments. No matter how badly she’d wanted Sam, she knew she shouldn’t have expected anything to happen, really. Let alone Sam being the one to kiss her. Even if Sam couldn’t look at her now. “Sam?” Deena repeated, in a much softer tone, so cautious that not many people would’ve believed that was still Deena Johnson.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said.

Then she wasn’t just looking away, she closed her eyes tightly to hold back tears. Was that kiss the best thing she had ever experienced? Yes, without a doubt. But it also confirmed a long series of complicated feelings and realizations about herself that she had trouble accepting. Things that she knew would make her life very difficult as soon as she stepped out of that small room. However, she was still there, with Deena, and now Deena was very carefully placing her hand on her jaw. Deena’s fingers were barely grazing Sam’s skin with how delicate she was trying to be. But just the smallest push and Sam was looking up at her again. Unshed tears and unmeasurable fear shining in those pretty blue eyes. Deena’s heart ached and swelled. In one heavy hit, she had to accept her feelings for Sam were larger than she even imagined.

“Sam, it’s okay. I…” Deena whispered, but she felt at a loss for words. Her other hand also came up to gently cradle Sam’s face, her thumb soothingly caressing her rosy cheek. “Are you okay?”

A second before, Sam had felt on the edge of breaking down. But with Deena’s gentle hands holding her, wasn’t she unbreakable? Invincible? Didn’t she trust her wholeheartedly? Sam gave a shaky exhale, staring into loving brown eyes, and tentatively put her hands on Deena’s waist. Before speaking, she took one deep and encouraging breath.

“Deena,” Sam asked, “Can you kiss me again?”

It was nearly magical, the way all worries faded from Deena’s face as soon as she heard those words. She tilted her head and started smiling. That very smile that stole Sam’s heart from the very first day. 

“Technically, Sam,” Deena started saying as she leaned in closer, “You were the one who kissed me.”

That earned a small laugh from Sam. Suddenly, the weight of the world was gone. The heaviness of their secret was put down for a moment. Everything turned light and lively like the feeling of butterflies fluttering in their stomachs. Sam started smiling brightly again, if only for one second, before Deena kissed her. Again, and again, and again.

[soft-glitch]

Through Thick And Thin

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog

Type: hurt/comfort, platonic fluff

Word count: about 2700 words

Author’s notes: this year was a mess. But I’m grateful for a few things that happened to me in 2020. One of these things is getting into the Sonic fandom, which helped me find joy in being creative again. Another is a budding friendship with someone really cool, that I can only hope will last for a long time.

This fic is kind of a gift to that person for New Year’s Day. To everyone, but especially to you O, I wish a happy new year and many good things to come.

- - - - -

It was not an easy morning.

Shadow had always been an early bird. He never needed much sleep compared to other mobians, thanks to his bio-engineered origins. This was both a blessing and a curse, depending on the days.

Being able to stay up most of the night during missions proved useful more than once. On the other hand, when ugly thoughts would assail him and sleeping them away was not an option, well… It was suddenly much less interesting.

On this last day of December, the hedgehog could not shake uneasy feelings. Between Eggman’s plotting and his own personal issues Shadow always had rough times, but this year had been… a lot.

Walking silently in the empty corridor, careful not to wake up anyone in the household, the dark mobian reached the kitchen and started preparing hot chocolate. Since most of his friends knew about his sweet tooth he didn’t bother hiding it anymore, and Rouge always made sure they were stocked up on cocoa.

While waiting for the milk to warm, he glanced at the clock on the wall. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The eerie calm of early hours often made Shadow slightly uncomfortable. Despite his introvert side enjoying the peaceful solitude, it was also a moment where his thoughts would simmer in his mind, either awoken by confuse dreams or simply emerging as the day started. He would often put some music or read a book to avoid thinking too hard about it.

Didn’t always work, though.

Taking a deep breath the hedgehog felt some relief at the sweet scent of chocolate. He took a small sip before moving to roll himself in blankets on the large couch. With a long and noisy yawn he reached for the remote and pointed it at the large TV screen in front of him. Maybe there was something nice to watch while waiting for his roommates to get up.

- - - - -

When Shadow opened his eyes again, sunlight was gently glowing through the translucent curtains of the living room. Which meant it was probably kind of late already. It seemed he fell back asleep at some point.

With a frown, he rubbed his dishevelled quills and took a look at his phone. Almost 11am, and no sign of Rouge or Omega... This was odd, especially since they planned on spending the New Year’s Eve together.

That’s when he noticed an envelope lying on the small coffee table, next to his now empty mug. It was plain kraft, with a small card inside that only offered an address and the words “At noon, don’t be late hun”.

Obviously from Rouge. She loved putting mystery and drama in everything she did. Shadow huffed and shook his head.

Irredeemable.

Did that mean his friends got up without waking him and prepared some kind of surprise? However silly it was, this simple envelope brought some warmth to the hedgehog’s heart. He got up to take a quick shower and prepare for the day, a small smile peeking at the corner of his lips.

- - - - -

The location was one Shadow didn’t particularly recognise, a small intersection in a popular part of the town. Since Team Dark lived in a suburban area and their job at G.U.N was usually all over the world, his knowledge of the city was lacklustre. Right as his phone displayed 12pm a text popped up on the screen.

Rouge Right behind the shoes store, a cafe.

The striped mobian rolled his eyes with a hint of amusement. Even for something as simple as a New Year between friends, the bat couldn’t help making some kind of fun game to play. Shadow would gladly proclaim it futile and childish, but he actually enjoyed these quirky adventures his best friend always peppered in his life.

What he saw next filled him with pure joy. Of course Rouge wouldn’t choose a random cafe to meet. She had to make it extra one way or another, and she just knew how to please him.

The Gentle Garden Chao Café & Flower Shop

Almost giddy at the idea of having some sweets surrounded by chao, the ultimate lifeform stepped into the small establishment. A quick glance around made him happy beyond words: soft muted lights and warm colours complemented vintage furniture, large potted plants adorned all sides of the place, and —most importantly— chao of every kind were all over the place, either walking, being cuddled by clients or sleeping on small pillows.

In the back of the room was a large counter, behind which a massive chalkboard displayed both the cafe menu and prices of various flower arrangements.

Before Shadow could go and talk to the barista, a familiar face caught his attention. Rouge was there, sitting nonchalantly and sipping some drink in the most ostentatious way possible.

The hedgehog smirked and sat in front of her.

“So...?” he started with a raised brow. “So what? Did you think I’d let you stay home for this special day?” Rouge huffed between two exaggerated sips. “It’s just New Year’s Eve, not an anniversary or something...” Shadow said, glancing at the table.

He realised an order of white chocolate cappuccino —his very favourite drink— and forêt noire —one of his favourite sweets— were set in front of him. For a second he felt something rise in his chest. A mix of gratitude and that odd yet pleasing vulnerability he could only feel with his closest friends.

“I know it’s just the new year.” the bat leaned on the table, her eyes both tender and serious. “I also know you haven’t been doing great lately. It’s been a difficult time, and of course it won’t magically be over as midnight comes, but...”

She looked in the distance, her eyes piercing through the windows and their cold winter lighting. Shadow could very clearly feel the bittersweet essence of her expression. This year had also been hard on her.

“We’re in this together, y’know.” she resumed, turning a gentle smile towards him. “And while I can’t resolve every problem we have, I can at least invite my emo bestie to enjoy some chao and indulge in sugary treats!”

The hedgehog chuckled at this, then raised his cappuccino mug. “Let’s have a good time, then. To us bitches.” he said with a knowing grin. “To us bitches!” she exclaimed happily. ”Now drink that ‘ccino, we have chao to cuddle.”

Some laughs and friendly banter later, two chao had found their way on Shadow. One was sleepily nested on his legs while the other was playing on his head, brushing his quills curiously.

“You really have your way with them, just like Omega...” Rouge remarked. She loved the little creatures very much, but she never seemed to attract them as easily as her two partners. No one really knew why and she honestly didn’t mind. It was fun enough to observe them from a distance: no risks of ruined haircut or having one mess with her wings.

“This is the best.” the hedgehog whispered, his voice full of emotion. His friend chuckled. Shadow was endearing in many ways, but his love for plants and creatures was unparalleled in an extremely wholesome way.

“Did you ever consider adopting one?” she asked before biting into her remaining pastry. Shadow’s expression became slightly somber as he looked at her. “I…” he sighed and scratched the sleeping one’s head. “I always wanted to, I guess. Even on the Ark, once we learned about them with Maria, we used to pretend having one. There was a plush, I don’t remember its name. We would play parents, bring it along for walks across the Ark, this kind of things.”

Rouge nodded sympathetically. Maria was less and less a sensitive subject as years went by, but Shadow was still defensive about these memories. Sharing them was one of the most intimate things he would do, and she felt honoured every time it happened.

“Maybe one day.” the hedgehog shrugged with a tired smile. ”Right now our lives are too dangerous. I can’t raise one properly as long as we keep fighting and going on missions Chaos knows where. – Let’s hope we get Eggman and his clique once and for all, then!” Rouge said with a grin. “Can’t wait to have you pester us with photos of your ugly little baby.”

The genuine laugh that followed made the bat beam with happiness.

- - - - -

The very specific atmosphere of New Year’s Eve was not lost to the two mobians as they strolled in the city. Streets were bustling with activity, but in a way that felt distinct from other winter holidays. The ambient anticipation was less frantic, almost… solemn. Instead of rushing for gifts and food, people seemed determined to enjoy the final hours of this year.

Shadow found it interesting, not without its charm. He was more used to strolls in mountains, lonely forests and small paths undulating through fields. The buzzing activity of the city was something else —very nice, though. Plus Rouge knew every neighbourhood surprisingly well, and offered him little fun facts and stories about all sorts of buildings and places.

“It’s a real shame we don’t get more free time between G.U.N and Eggman.” the bat lamented. “There are so many nice spots I’d love to visit with Omega and you. – We do have vacations once in a while.” Shadow replied. “Yeah, but they’re either ruined by some apocalyptic event or by an intense need for rest.” she sighed. “We can’t enjoy the Museum of Arts if we’re falling asleep every two paintings.”

The dark mobian nodded. Technically Omega and him didn’t need a lot of sleep, but being world-saving heroes brought its own kind of mental fatigue. Moments of calm and respite were too few and far between.

“Well. Next time we have some days off we’ll organise a Team Dark afternoon.” Shadow offered. “An exhibit or two, some games at the arcade. Maybe a small concert at a cafe. – Oh my. Hun, I’m impressed to see you take this kind of initiatives.” the bat replied.

The hedgehog gave her a friendly nudge. “Shut up, can’t let you make all the decisions. – I don’t see why not.” Rouge shrugged with a knowing smile.

They suddenly stopped. Without really realising it, the duo had reached the large avenue leading back to their house. As they exchanged a glance, Rouge winked. “Omega must be waiting for us. Let’s move!” she said cheerfully.

- - - - -

An immediate wave of relief filled Shadow as soon as they passed the front door. “Finally some warmth.” he sighed, removing his large coat and thick scarf. “I was expecting your lowered body temperatures.” Omega’s robotic voice answered from the kitchen. “Hot tea and biscuits are ready for immediate consumption. Made with love.”

Rouge snickered and Shadow repressed a chuckle.  Both knew Omega was absolutely unable to cook anything without setting fire to it, so the biscuits were probably store-bought. They still appreciated the gesture greatly.

Everyone gathered around the table, remembering stories about the now-ending year and its numerous developments. Adrenaline-filled fights, obscure investigations and exhausting assignments went alongside hilarious mistakes, glorious teamwork… and even celebratory moments with all the other heroes of Mobius.

“Okay, but the award for the best party of the year still goes to Knuckles’ surprise birthday.” Rouge said confidently while helping Omega put on a colourful crochet beanie. “Ughh please. Let’s not talk about it.” Shadow groaned, knowing exactly where this was going. “It was extremely fun. The fireworks accident made it over 200% better than any other celebration.” the robot insisted. “Oh right, I almost forgot about that!” the bat laughed. “Poor Knuckie, having to deal with a fire hazard on his cherished island…”

Memories of the furious echidna shouting frantically brought a grin to Shadow’s face. “But!” Rouge added, ”I mostly remember someone having a few drinks too much and— – NOPE!” the hedgehog exclaimed as he brandished his hands. “No talk of this specific event shall happen in this house. Ever.”

Omega tapped his fingers on the table as he eyed his smaller friend. “It is a shame I did not record it for ulterior viewing.” Shadow’s glare was so intense the former badnik recoiled slightly.

“Oh well, it’s all in the past now.” Rouge mused teasingly. ”Good times, good times...”

- - - - -

The closet was absurdly full of useless trinkets and Shadow was very, very close to “fix” it with a Chaos blast.

Of course he wouldn’t, knowing how preciously Rouge kept all those odd items from her past. Jewels, foreign souvenirs, postcards, old plushies, photographs… All her memorabilia was kept there, in a mismatched mess mixed up with cleaning supplies, spare beddings and various tools.

“They should be somewhere near the bottom!” the bat shouted from across the flat. The hedgehog growled, his eyes desperately scanning the clutter in front of him. Finally he found what he came for.

Fairy lights. The essential accessory to any LRCS —Living Room Camping Session.

Shadow walked back to the main room, where a drying rack and several chairs formed a structure covered by sheets and blankets. Omega was evaluating whether the improvised tent was big enough for him. “It is perfect, Rouge. We will be able to fit within the designated comfy area.” he said before crawling underneath the colourful construction.

The hedgehog carefully hung the string of lights around and inside the tent before plugging it. Rouge grabbed some snacks and scuttled against the large robot, who fiddled with the remote until a title screen showed on the TV.

“Are we really watching this?” Shadow asked hesitantly. “Shadow. We all know your inclination for romance between organic beings. Please come cuddle so we can start the movie.” Omega said. “Don’t tell me you suddenly decided to hate cheesy fiction, sweetie.” Rouge added. “I would rather perish than lose your snarky remarks and teary-eyed spee— – Alright, I get it, I’m coming.” the hedgehog replied with a frown. “This better be good, though.”

It was everything but good. Outbursts of laughter and incredulous stares followed one another as the movie —a romantic parody of the famous blockbuster Attack On Mobius— kept getting more and more absurd. Omega threatened to turn himself off as he struggled to find any reasoning behind what was happening, and Rouge almost choked on her pop-corn near the end of the second part.

When the credits started rolling, the three buddies snuggled together. The winter night cold was no match for a group hug and thick quilts. Shadow eyed his phone and hummed.

“It’s almost midnight. – Does that mean we have to prepare a wish?” Rouge asked in a sleepy voice. “We don’t have to.” the hedgehog replied, glancing at his two friends.

Has to be an odd sight, he thought. A haphazard team with so many differences, united by pure luck in a challenging world. Chilling together in a makeshift tent in the middle of a flat like nothing else mattered. He closed his eyes and took a moment to appreciate the warm feelings. Being surrounded by such amazing souls for whom he really mattered. Knowing all the affection and dedication hidden behind that seemingly cold name, “Team Dark”.

“I wished for a pony.” Both Omega and Shadow looked at their bat friend with tilted heads. “What? They’re cute, I dunno.” she shrugged with a shit-eating grin. “What would you guys wish for? – Dual plasma swords.” the robot replied. “Maybe I should ask Miles when we cross paths again.”

Rouge rolled her eyes, then shouted curse words as she realised midnight was mere seconds away. Omega startled, making the whole tent fall on the team. The striped hedgehog quickly covered his muzzle with his hands, trying to suppress an irresistible laugh. No matter how hard life was, no matter the obstacles in his way, one thing was certain as the year came to an end.

Friendship was all he could wish for.

[johaerys-writes]

Fandom: The Song of Achilles Pairing: Achilles/Patroclus

Chapter 12: Still Waters of High-Flying Birds is up! This the second of the chapters that follow Achilles during his time in Skyros. Some light angst and pining, and Achilles getting to know Deidameia and the other girls a little bit better.

Read here or on AO3 | Read from the beginning

The unwrought wool was coarse and rough as Achilles rubbed it between forefinger and thumb. Deidameia had shown him how to spin it, thread it, coil it in loose skeins. He had been at this all morning, and now they were amassing in neat rows by his side.

Pagona, one of the maidens, was sitting beside him, working on her embroidery. She liked to sing as she worked, and sometimes the other girls joined her, but the hall was mostly quiet now. It was a lazy afternoon, and most of the girls had gone to rest, while Deidameia and her closest companions had stayed in the dancers’ hall. 

The princess had swiftly taken a liking to him, keeping him close by her side wherever she went. Why that was, he could not tell, but he had soon found out that being on her good side was preferable. She was a noisy, demanding thing; her temper tantrums were known and feared the palace over, and not a few girls had received the sharp edge of her tongue in the short while Achilles had been there. Yet, with those in her favour, she was witty and affectionate, and surprisingly generous with her gifts and praise. Of Achilles she was particularly fond; she would often sit beside him and watch him work, or ask to braid his hair, or listen with avid interest when he played the lyre. Achilles quite liked her, actually, most of the time.

Achilles lifted his eyes from his work to gaze outside the lone window of the hall. The sun was hanging in the middle of the sky now, golden rays that made the sand and the sea far below glow iridescent in the light. If he listened carefully, he could hear the waves that rolled rhythmically against the shore, the wind that stirred the branches of the short pine trees close to the beach. Sea birds were flying high, gliding smoothly over water and land alike.

He sighed, the balls of wool forgotten in his lap. He longed to leave the stuffy room, to run down to the beach and dive under the waves. He wanted to stretch his muscles, to race and swim, to practice his spears. No matter how many hours he danced with the maidens, his limbs still felt heavy and stiff, and however long he spent spinning wool and plaiting flowers in garlands and wreaths his mind would just keep drifting from his tasks. Back in Phthia, he could walk to any corner of the palace and the lands beyond completely undisturbed. Here, in this windowless place, where guards stood at every entrance, he could only gaze outside the window, and dream. Almost he wished for another celebration or banquet, just so he could escape this confinement and walk out into the world.

How very dull, a woman’s life was.

“What is the matter, Pyrrha?” Pagona asked him, stirring him out of his thoughts. She had left her embroidery aside, and was now peering at him with tilted hazel eyes. She was from the north, from the mountains west of Vergina, and her accent was thick, her vowels flat and drawn out. “You are very quiet today.”

“I am well,” he told her with his woman’s voice. He suppressed another sigh as he tore his gaze away from the window and went back to spinning his wool.

Pagona watched him as he worked. “You often get this look in your eyes,” she said softly.

“What look?”

“One moment we’re all dancing and laughing, and then you’ll look away and sigh. As if the weight of the world is on your shoulders.”

“I do?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “It’s almost as if you’re in love. Are you?” Her eyes flashed with interest as she moved closer to him, lowering her voice so the other girls wouldn’t hear. “Did you have a... suitor, back in Phthia?”

Achilles frowned. “A suitor?”

“Yes. Or a special friend, if you will.”

Achilles swallowed thickly as Patroclus’ countenance flashed before his eyes. It had almost been two weeks since Achilles had seen him last. At times, he could feel his absence as sharply as an open wound; others it was a dull and ghost-like throb, like a missing limb. The ache was always there, even when he slept, even when he was busy with work or deep in thought. It still seemed impossible to him, right then, that they had spent so long apart. He felt dazed, as if the past several days, ever since he’d woken up on Skyros’ beach, were nothing but a dream. As if his eyes were closed, and when he opened them again he would see Patroclus there, smiling at him.

His throat constricted painfully. He pressed his lips together tightly and looked away.

“There it is again.” There was sympathy in Pagona’s features when she said, “You must really love him.”

“Who?”

Deidameia’s silvery voice pierced the relative quiet of the room. She had been practicing her dancing while one of the girls, Phrasikleia, was playing the flute for her. The music stopped abruptly as both girls stood still now, staring at them.

A mischievous smile widened Deidameia’s lips as she abandoned her dancing form and hopped to his side. “Well? Who is it?”

“Who’s who?”

“Oh, now you’re acting coy! I just heard you say you have a lover ,” she said in a lowered voice, her eyes flashing with enthusiasm. She folded her arms atop his shoulder and batted her eyelashes at him, waiting expectantly for his answer.

“Pagona said that, not I,” Achilles corrected her matter-of-factly, but Deidameia would have none of it.

“I know what I heard. And you, my dear Pyrrha, are blushing. So.” She brought her face even closer to his, until he could smell the faint scent of cloves on her breath when she spoke. “Who is this mysterious friend of yours? I want to know everything about him. Every little thing.”

“I…” Achilles started slowly, but Phrasikleia, who had also drifted closer, spoke up before he could.

“I bet he’s tall like a fir tree and strong like an ox,” she grinned, sitting on a plush cushion on the floor before him, her tight dark ringlets bouncing as she moved. “I bet he has a mighty beard like Ares, and a hairy chest like Heracles, and eats a whole roast pig everyday, all by himself. I bet he tosses you over his shoulder and carries you off to his hall whenever he pleases!”

“Oh, no, I don’t think he’s like that at all,” Pagona said with a chuckle, while Achilles stared at Phrasikleia in utter horror. “I think he’s fair like Phoebus Apollo, with delicate hands and a beautiful smile. I bet he’s very gentle and kind, to have won our sweet Pyrrha’s heart.”

“Nonsense!” Deidameia cut them both off with a dismissive wave. “Neither of you know what you’re talking about. I think Pyrrha has taken a satyr for a lover, short and stubby and ugly like a toad. That’s why she does not tell us of him.”

“What?” Achilles gaped at her. “He is not like that at all!”

She grinned wickedly, holding her tongue behind her teeth. “Ha! So there really is someone,” she said triumphantly. “I knew it!”

Achilles opened his mouth to speak, then closed it once more. The girls were all looking at him with gleeful smiles and bright eyes. Deidameia had laid out her trap, and he had walked right into it. He let out a soft sigh.

“Alright. There is someone,” he finally admitted. The girls leaned closer still, so they wouldn’t miss a word.

“Well?” Deidameia asked. “What does he look like?”

Achilles licked his lips and took a breath. “He… he is not too tall. Same height as me… perhaps a little shorter. His hair is dark, thick with curls. It quite never stays where it’s supposed to. And it’s always so tangled when he wakes, falling over his eyes, standing up in peaks… he tosses and turns in his sleep. I always tease him about it.”

Phrasikleia tilted her head to the side. “He is handsome, then?”

“He is.” He smiled sadly, “He doesn’t believe me when I tell him. He thinks himself quite plain. Yet he is anything but. He is unlike anyone I’ve ever seen.”

His lips quirked in a fond smile, just as his throat tightened once more. He hadn’t spoken about Patroclus to anyone for so long, and now he could do nothing to stop the words that tumbled out of him in waves. It was as if by speaking of him, he could summon his image in his mind, crystal clear. He could almost see his curls bouncing as he ran ahead of him, ducking under the low hanging branches of the maple trees in Pelion, the warm chestnut highlights in his hair catching the light of the early morning sun. His smile, now bright, then soft, then slipping sideways in that way Achilles knew so well. His eyes, watching him with warmth and adoration, with that tenderness that was reserved just for him. It made his heart ache with longing.

“Is he kind?” Pagona asked softly, urging him on. “Is he gentle with you?”

Achilles started to speak, but it was then that he realised that his eyes were stinging with tears. Gods, how he’d missed him. He hadn’t even realised how devastatingly hollow his days had been without him, until Achilles had found himself talking about him. It was too much to bear.

He swallowed thickly and nodded, looking away. He was sure that even if he tried to speak, he wouldn’t have been able to get the words out.

“Oh, dear. Please don’t start weeping, it would be quite the sight,” Deidameia said, but her tone wasn’t quite as abrasive as it usually was. She sighed as she leaned against him, stroking his hair. “I bet you’re pretty even when you cry, anyway.”

The other girls were quiet now, and Achilles could sense the sympathy in their silence. Pagona took his hand in hers, and her large, round eyes were filled with earnest compassion. “You’ll see him again one day,” she said in her soothing voice. “I know you will.”

“Yes, she probably will,” Phrasikleia said, gathering her legs up to her chest and perching her chin on her knees, “but her parents probably don’t want her to marry him. Why else would they send her here?”

Deidameia perked up, her lips widening in that mischievous smile of hers. “Then she’ll have to elope with him! Won’t you, Pyrrha?”

“Oh, stop it, Deidameia,” Pagona laughed. “She won’t elope with anyone. That will only bring shame upon her family.”

“There’s more shame in leaving the poor fellow pining after her! What if she leaves him for good, and he dies of a broken heart?” The princess swooned theatrically, falling into Achilles’ lap. “You couldn’t do that to him, could you, Pyrrha? It would be positively cruel.”

Achilles held her securely before she toppled on the marble floor at his feet. The other girls were chuckling with Deidameia’s antics, but he was as serious as ever. “I will never leave him,” he said solemnly, looking into Deidameia’s dark brown eyes. “I’ve given him my word. This is only temporary. Soon, we will be together again.”

She blinked up at him, taken aback by his earnestness. Her surprise lasted only for a moment before it melted away into a cunning smile. She reached up, tugging a lock of hair free from his scarf, as she often did, and curling it around her finger. “Our beautiful Pyrrha is quite the romantic, it seems,” she said softly, and in her eyes Achilles could see a flicker of understanding before it disappeared under the guise of a jest once more. “Who would have thought, hm?”

~

The moon was hanging high over the Aegean sea, casting its silver glow on its dark, glassy waters. It had been a long day and Achilles wanted nothing more but to retreat to his room, in his solitude, and finally take that dress off him and let his hair fall free around his shoulders. When his candle was out, and if he tried hard enough, he could almost forget that he was in a dark, windowless room. He could almost pretend that Patroclus was there, talking in hushed whispers with him until they both fell asleep.

He let out a soft sigh, untying the scarf from his hair, when the door of his room swung open. He spun around in surprise, more so because he hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps. Either his senses had grown dull, or…

His mother stood at the doorway, tall and imposing, her dark eyes flecked with gold glowing in the half dark. She was one of the few people whose footsteps he couldn’t hear, unless she wanted him to. Her presence now filled the room, absorbing the feeble, trembling glow of the candle. Behind her stood Deidameia. She was quiet and reserved, like a mouse, nothing like her usual talkative self. Achilles didn’t bother to hide the surprise and confusion that must have been plain on his features.

“Mother,” he said in his girl’s voice.

“Achilles.” His mother’s gaze was intent, piercing him to the bone. “Son of my womb. Blood of my blood.”

Achilles’ breath caught. He stood perfectly still, not moving a single muscle. He glanced instinctively at Deidameia, whose eyes had gone wide as saucers, her face as pale as the moon. Her gaze flicked from his mother to him and back, but Thetis didn’t deign to spare her a single glance as she spoke on.

“This,” she told the girl, her words sharp and steady like a freshly whetted blade, “is the prince Achilles. You are to tell no one that it is him. Do you understand?”

Deidameia’s expression was one of shock and confusion. She simply stared, dumb and stricken, until Thetis turned her head slowly to look at her.

“Answer, girl.”

The princess sucked in a breath and nodded quickly. “I- Yes. I do. My lady.”

“You are to be married to him. He is to be your husband.”

“What?” Achilles stepped forward. Surely, he must have misheard. “Mother, what is the meaning of this?”

Thetis’ features were hard when she turned to him. She let the silence stretch between them before she said, “You and Deidameia are to be married. Tonight.”

Each word was like a stone, pelting him mercilessly. “Married?” he breathed. For a brief moment the world spun around him, closing in on him. “You can’t mean it.”

“I do.”

“But—” He started, then stopped. His mother’s expression hadn’t shifted, nor had it softened. She truly meant what she was saying. Every single word.

His temper rose like riptide, rushing past his numbing disbelief. He straightened his spine, meeting his mother’s gaze levelly. “I will not do it,” he said, voice steady and firm. “This goes too far.”

“You must.”

“No.” His hands were balled into fists at his sides, his jaw clenched. Deidameia was staring at him now, the flickering light of the candle reflecting in her eyes. Whatever she saw in his face had her taking a step back, cowering in the shadows that clung to the corner of the room. No matter. She didn’t matter, no one did. There was a flame inside him, one that turned hotter and wilder with every second that passed. His mother could not do this to him. He would not let her.

“I am not marrying this woman,” he told her, tilting his chin up in defiance. “I am not marrying any woman. I already have a husband, and he is waiting for me in Phthia.”

Thetis’ eyes widened in what Achilles could only understand as genuine shock, and her nostrils flared. “No.”

“Patroclus is my husband,” he insisted, taking a step forward, “and I wish to go back to him, right now. You cannot keep me here any longer.”

In a blink of an eye, Thetis was standing before him, blocking his path. She was light and nimble despite her height, faster than he was. Achilles craned his neck to look up at her, but the blaze in her eyes did not stir any fear within him. “Mother, this is enough. Take me back.”

“If you go back to Phthia, you will both go to war. He might get injured, you might lose him, you might lose yourself.”

“Better to go to war with him, than stay in this place without him,” he spat, unable to keep his temper in check any longer. Anger was roiling within him, hot like molten steel, eating away the last of his control. Better far that they should go to war. It would be dangerous, but Achilles would keep Patroclus safe, no matter what it took, and they would be together. He and Patroclus were sworn to each other. He could not break that sacred bond. He would not. If going to war was what it took, spilling his blood and others’, then he would do it without hesitation.

For several long moments they simply glared at each other, neither saying a word. His mother's countenance was cold and expressionless, not a ripple disturbing the still waters. Deidameia was quiet as a shadow by the door, watching the entire scene with hungry, morbid curiosity.

Thetis let the silence linger between them. When she spoke again, her voice was low and controlled, but he thought he could hear a tone of regret in it. “I cannot let you go to this war, Achilles. You have to stay here, whether you like it or not. Marry Deidameia,” she said, speaking each word slowly and deliberately, “and I will tell Patroclus where you are. He will come here, and you will stay in Skyros until the war passes. You will be safe, both of you. But if you don’t…” She paused meaningfully.

“If I don’t?”

“He will never hear of you again. I’ll make sure of it.”

No.

The raging fires of his anger stilled, went silent. There was not a sound to be heard, no wind blowing outside the walls, no voice. The flame of the candle had ceased its endless flickering, as if it, too, was holding its breath. The world was caught in a stand still; a frozen, empty wasteland it seemed to him right then. A world where Patroclus was not there for him. For a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, he tried to picture his life without him: never touching him, never holding him, never gazing upon his face again. Never waking up next to him again, never hearing the sound of laugh again, never breathing the same air, ever again. A long life, steeped in misery without him.

His shoulders sagged, the breath he had been holding leaving him, the fight bleeding out of him. His mother knew him well enough to know that this was all the agreement she would get from him. She took Deidameia by the hand, somewhat forcefully, as if she was afraid he would change his mind, and bid her stand beside him. She placed Deidameia’s hand upon Achilles’ upturned palm. The words she spoke to bind them were not hurried, but spoken with low and quiet determination into the half dark of his chamber.

Deidameia glanced at him, and in her eyes he could see numbness and shock that must have mirrored his own. When his mother let their hands fall, it felt like he had just jumped off a high cliff, only to crash against the sharp stones far below.

And so was Achilles married to Deidameia.

[muddy-t-wheels]

(Please ignore me) So I had this dream a few weeks ago, and it’s been stuck in my head since then...

Very quick summary: Our world combines with MHA Universe, I become an Art/English teacher at UA (more of an assistant teacher for Present Mic), and I was reminded of how stubborn people can be. Also soulmates exist in this world for some reason...

So in the dream, both worlds were collided, and faster than you can blink, anything MHA related was whipped from the face of the earth, and while it took a while- everyone silently agreed to not speak of the fandom/content for a very long time. Which of course was very sad, but it is what it is. One of the more common trends that happened was that anyone from our world was as “Qurikless as it gets”. It also came to the attention of everyone in both worlds that while soulmate marks don’t exist in our world, apparently they did in the MHA world.

A few years later, I had become an established teacher, specifically due to the fact that many students seemed to be drawn to me, even if I hadn’t taught them at all. One day, I had gotten an email from someone in Japan, asking if I would be interested in a teaching for the future heroes of Japan at “U.A. High school”. While I was surprised, and thought it was BS (for obvious reason), I decided to respond for the fuck of it, YOLO.

But low and fucking behold, the email turned out to be legit. Principal Nezu and I started exchanging emails back and forth until plans were formed. I had become fluent in Japanese, got a house to call home where I could move in with my mom and sister (we are all very close). Eventually it was agreed that I would assist Hizashi Yamada with teaching English (grammar wise) but I was also going to be the art teachers. I the day came up when I went and met with Nezu and I vividly remember the ending question of the meeting. 

Incase you can see the image: (Nezu: Alright, so all the paperwork is filled out, I do need to ask this, since you’re quirkless and all... How will you defend your students?)

(Me: Ah yes, I thought a good bit about this and I came up with some ideas!)

(Me: I went ahead and got a permit to carry a specialized gun! The gun can shoot tranquilizer darts. The darts can stun most people for roughly one hour. Of course, I can understand if you or others dislike this idea so I also started taking Wing Chun class-)

Yes, I know conceal carry permits don’t really exist like they do in America but it was a dream ^^”

(Nezu: Oh no, you’re fine, just make sure the students don’t see it!

Me: Wha- I mean, of course, but will the guardians of students be okay with this?

Nezu: Ignorance is bliss now have you thought about what your “quirk” should be? From what your references told me, I think “Mom” could be a good one!)

We had spoken about me faking a quirk to see how long it would take anyone (outside of the faculty of course) to notice that I was indeed quirkless.

(Me: ...

Nezu: ... Do you not like “Mom”?)

This then led to us discussing what my “quirk” would be. We had agreed on calling it “Mom” and essentially allowed me to release a caring/nurturing aura that made most people feel drawn to me in the sense of seeing me as a “mother figure”. With it, the “quirk” it allowed me to be in tune with certain individuals that I grow close with and could vaguely sense if they were in great distress.

After this I was brought to the teacher’s lounge and introduced to all the other staff members. When the principal left, I sat and talked with the teachers of 1A, who eventually asked who came up with the fake “quirk” idea, and when I told them the reactions were defiantly mixed...

(Aizawa: You... You’ve got to be kidding me!

Me: I wish I was... 

Hizashi: OMFG! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! HAHAHAHAH-

Me: That makes three of us-

Toshinori : ...

Me: Four of us... ow my ears)

Not too long afterwards, I became an official member of the U.A. staff. Nothing too major happened for a few years had passed, and one winter morning I was getting ready for work when my sister came into my room to do something (idk what) but then asked when I got a tattoo on my back. Confused, I questioned what she was talking about, she took a picture and showed me the image. Sure enough; there was a blue flame on my left shoulder, a purple heart in on my spine, and a red wing on my right shoulder... defiantly looked like a tattoo! 

We did some quick research we learned that at the age of 16, people from the world of quirks would get their soulmate marks. However, all soulmates must reach the age of 16 before the other soulmates get their marks. Another thing we learned was that once the marks appeared, soulmates would be able to talk with each other via their minds. We also learned that it was becoming more and more common for people in our world to get soulmate marks!

With all this information, it started to get me worried. I was 22 (going based off the year), and if one of my soulmates just turned 16 then there was a bit of an age gap. Don’t get me wrong, it could’ve been bigger but it irked me a little. I also realized that the marks were sensitive to certain fabrics, so I had to quickly change the shirt I was wearing.

Soon enough I began to hear my soulmates’ voices, I had two, and they would “talk” often. Apparently they knew each other and already had an established relationship, so I kept quiet for a bit... until one of them made a bad joke that caused me to snort and respond to the terrible joke. Yeah, it freaked them out at first, but it got us talking, and we learned things about each other!

Eventually years flew by, I was an established teacher at UA and I had fallen into a routine. I knew who my soulmates were (Hawks and Dabi (incase it wasn’t painfully obvious)), they didn’t hide their identities very well, and I had somehow managed to keep my identity mostly under wraps (idk how (I’m very talkative) but they always asked questions about me). They would constantly pester me so that they could know more about me, and I would just... keep quiet.

At one point, I had stated that it would probably be better if the two forget about me, saying that I was shoe horned into their relationship because of the worlds colliding. If it hadn’t my mark wouldn’t be on their backs, so I got some medication that would help remove myself from their relationship. It started working, after roughly a year or so (at least going based on the calendars nearby) their marks and voices were starting to fade.

During the year of me teaching class 1A (and protecting my students from various villian attacks) I eventually met them in person (begrudgingly). Thankfully they didn’t seem to recognize my voice, however I did get the idea that could sense something was off cause I noticed they would be nearby. So I got in contact with a close friend of my and called in a favor. We went to school together and were constantly mistaken for couples because I was very affectionate while he would throw hands with someone if they got too close for his liking. So I asked if he would join me for a “date” so that some people would potentially get a hint and leave me alone.

He agreed and came to Japan and we went to the U.A.’s school festival together, we even went the extra mile and got matching fake tattoos so they would act as our “soulmate marks”. Surprisingly it worked- when the students asked who he was I stated he was my date (which wasn’t a lie). Eventually, I had stepped away to go get us something to drink, but when I had returned I saw he was being confronted by two people.

I sighed trying to think of what I could do before getting and idea. I had begun to shake the two soda cans before walking up to the two individuals and getting their attention, once they turned to me, I opened the cans and sprayed it in their faces. They stumbled back in response, obviously caught off guard, I stated that they need to cool down and began to walk away with my friend in tow. I got us something else to drink, and we continued on with the festival.

We enjoyed the rest of the festival and waited to see Eri and Aizawa off, before we left, we were approached by some of my students who wanted to know my relationship with my friends. We looked around, making sure that we were in the clear before confessing that we were just friends. That this was all just a ploy to get some people of my back and to hopefully stop pestering me. We even showed that the tattoos we were wearing were fake, everyone seemed to understand and agreed to keep it under wraps.

Thankfully things seemed to flow smoothly from there on, nothing to crazy happened. However, one day I was doing some training and decided to take a break. I was wearing a simple tanktop and sweats, which wasn’t too bad, since the soulmate mark was almost completely faded at this point, it would take a keen eye to see the remains of the “tattoo”. I was lost in my own world when two soda cans were dropped into my lap, two voice stated that I looked like I needed to cool down.

I had frozen up and slowly looked up to see that both Hawks and Dabi were standing behind me, I gave a weak smile with an equally nervously chuckle. I quickly got up to get away from them, but I was grabbed just as quickly, and thrown to the grown with them still standing over me. I sighed and chuckled once again and held my hands up by head.

The last thing I remember was me saying, “Alright, alright, you caught me, but the mark is almost gone so if you two just waited a little bit longer, you wouldn’t have me as a soulmate anymore. So why on Earth are you two still chasing me?”

Dabi smirked, “Probably cause we wanted you to be our soulmate! Fucking idiot- If you thought we were just going to leave you alone after you stated that we would be better off without you then we have some serious problems.”

Hawks chuckled, “Yeah, but don’t worry, we figured out a way to fix this, it just requires a lot of lovin from us! We gotta get that mark bright and vivid again!”

AND THEN I WOKE UP!

[fanfic-scribbles]

Lunch Buddy: Chapter Ten

Masterlist

<<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>>

Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend. A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they’ll both take what they can get.

Quick Facts: Friendship (/Eventual Romance) – Steve Rogers & Reader (leading to Steve Rogers/Reader) – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 10: Familiar Things

Chapter Summary: Maybe the real coffee shops were the ones we found along the way. Or…not.

Chapter Word Count: 3469

    My new job was fine. The people were nice without being distracting, my boss gave guidance without being overbearing, and I did what I was supposed to do and got paid for it. So work was work in a satisfactory way.

Finding a new place to spend a lunch break was slightly more frustrating.

Steve: Don’t laugh at the name Steve: But the menu for this place looks good.

With only slight hesitation, I clicked on the link. And stared at the logo. And…stared some more.

Steve: You’re laughing, aren’t you Me: No Me: I’m

I couldn’t figure out how to finish that.

Me: Are you sure that’s a coffee shop and not a daycare? Steve: It says ‘coffee’ and has a menu!

I read it over, and yeah, it did, and yeah, the menu looked okay. But still.

Steve: Are you worried about your reputation?

I rolled my eyes.

Me: I’m some schlub that nobody cares about Me: The real question: would YOU be okay with someone recognizing you Me: And saying you must endorse ‘Whoa Doggy Coffee?’

His silence spoke volumes.

Me: Also Me: Who the fuck does a themed coffee shop named ‘Whoa Doggy’ Me: And DOESN’T make it western?! Steve: Why do I feel like Steve: if it was Steve: you would show up in a cowboy hat Me: *We Me: I know a shitty tourist stall that sells them Steve: Then this was a blessing in disguise Steve: But that mascot’s going to haunt my dreams Me: Same

I checked the clock. There wasn’t a whole lot of time before I took my break.

Me: There’s a crummy Starbucks a few blocks away Me: Drinks are meh but it’s surprisingly quiet Steve: That’ll work Steve: Give me cross streets and I’ll meet you there

~

The Starbucks That Corporate Forgot was fine for an ‘in the meantime,’ but I was really hoping for another place with nice people behind the counter and good stuff to drink and eat that also wasn’t far from my work. I had thought of coffee shops in New York as a dime a dozen, but I was pretty wrong, apparently. On some recommendations Steve had gotten we went to actual lunch a few times and it was nice. The food, at least, was fine, but all of it was a little pricey for me to want to make it a habit. And if we could find the right coffee shop, we could keep up a habit that I liked without hurting my wallet. I hoped.

The first place I picked out was a very generic coffee shop with a forgettable name. The drinks, though, were so bad that Steve and I took our respective sips and then spent the rest of our time together using my phone to find anywhere else but there.

Steve found a place that seemed fine but the guys behind the counter recognized him and were such assholes about it, it was like Steve had personally trampled their dicks in effort to destroy their oh-so-sturdy manhood. He kept it together pretty well while I felt like a static-charged cat, but when they started to turn their attention towards me I felt Steve stiffen up and I yanked him out of there before we could end up as a Jerry Springer special.

“It’s not that good,” Steve muttered into his cup after we had appropriated a table at a random food place.

“Tastes like bitter projection and manly, manly tears,” I said and sipped slowly. It made him laugh, at least, and his shoulders stopped looking so much like a straight line.

“I hear that much salt is bad for you though,” he said and winked at me.

I choked so hard he had to pat my back to help me breathe again.

~

I picked out a place I thought looked great. Unfortunately, the rest of the city apparently thought the same. The place was so busy Steve was easily lost in the crowd which, on one hand, great, good, wonderful, fantastic. On the other hand, the shop was small and hot and conversations dipped in and out, bleeding and merging into a cacophony that felt as oppressive as the bodies surrounding me.

I held out long enough to order and then, despite how fast the drinks were being made, looked outside for somewhere else to stand. I found it in a spot right near the window and gave Steve some excuse about how I would just be a second, and then made my escape.

I was catching my breath a few steps away from the glass, in some shade, when someone tapped my shoulder and I looked up just as Steve slid a cup into my hands. “Oh, I’m–” I closed my grip. “I’m sorry Steve.”

“It’s all right.” His hand was large and warm on my back, but I didn’t want to shrink away. “Let’s take a walk.”

It was better than scrounging for a broken table in a place I couldn’t even look at comfortably, so I nodded and we started walking. Steve acted as a buffer between me and the street and I waited to level out. The drink was really good. Too bad.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Fine.” I checked the time. We had plenty of it. “I’m sorry; I wasn’t trying to skip out, I just needed some air.”

“Was it someone in there?” he asked in a tone that suggested he would be doing an about-face if I said anything resembling ‘yes.’

“No, just…the amount of people. I couldn’t handle it,” I said.

He lost the ‘choose your fighter’ stance. “Really?”

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t go to clubs that often,” I said. “Sometimes I can handle ridiculous crowds and sometimes I can’t. I tend to avoid them in general; I don’t really like people that close if I can help it.”

“Oh,” he said and I knew what he was about to do, so I tugged his shirt just as he tried to step to the side.

“Don’t,” I said. “It’s strangers I don’t like; you’re fine.”

“Oh,” he said, and he sounded so pleased that I had to look.

His smile matched his tone and was so sweet that I smiled too. “What?” I asked him.

“Nothing,” he said. But he couldn’t help himself for long. “People say I’m imposing.”

“People who don’t know you’re just a giant dork.”

“Most people.”

“So only…” I did a quick estimate, “…Maybe ten people know what a dork you are?” Because there weren't that many Avengers, right?

“More like you, Sam, and Natasha.”

Okay, there were definitely more Avengers than that. “What about your other friends?” Or maybe that was the problem. “Co-workers?” Did Avengers get paid? “…Teammates?”

Steve flashed me a bemused smile. “Do your co-workers know what a dork you are?”

“More than I like,” I admitted. “But it’s always only ever a matter of time.”

“Well, we don’t…” He shrugged. “They’re all busy; they have jobs, partners; lives. We train sometimes, and Coulson wrangles us in sometimes for a group dinner.”

“So they’ve met you more than once and still don’t know you’re a dweeb?”

He shifted. “What time is it?”

“We’re already heading back.” I wrapped both of my arms around one of his. “You can walk me.”

“Are you trying to make sure you can charge me for the full hour?” he asked dryly but didn’t try to shake me off.

“There’s not enough money in the world to make me your therapist.” I gave his arm one good squeeze and let go. “We’re just two friends, shooting the shit. Or I guess we can talk shit, if you want, but I’ll have no idea who you’re talking about.”

He laughed a little. “No, I don’t– they’re all good people, and I wish I knew them better,” he admitted and we came to a stop. “But we’re different people, so it’s slow. But it’s fine.”

“Hm.”

He smiled at me and then nodded forward. At my building. “Have a nice day at work.”

I snorted. “Thanks, honey.” But that sounded so weird we both cracked up.

“How is the job, though? Is it good?” he asked.

“I do my job, I get paid.” I shrugged. “That’s all I really care about. So in that sense, yeah. It’s good.”

“Good. I’m glad it’s working out,” he said. There was a slight buzzing and I felt over my pocket, just in case, but he pulled out his phone and I caught a brief look at a vaguely familiar logo lit up on the screen. Steve sighed and looked at me like he was already tired. “This is probably something.”

I nodded and stepped back to give him some space. “Be safe. I’ll check out some places while you’re gone.”

“I can’t wait to try them out,” he said, saluted, and ran off.

Dork. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day, and eventually gave in and texted him.

Me: If you come back hurt I’m dragging you to that stupid doggy coffee shop. In a cowboy hat. Steve: Consider me bulletproof Steve: Going dark. See you soon

He had better, I thought, and went back to work with what little focus I could manage to scrounge up.

~

I tried a couple of places but neither of them were all that great and I had to admit to myself that my heart wasn’t in it. I checked the news but didn’t see anything Steve might have been involved with, and that just made me more anxious, so I did everything I could think of to distract myself. Steve was a loser but he had a good reputation for a reason, so I had to trust that Captain America would handle his shit so that my friend could come home.

About a week after he had run off, I was stretching at my desk in the mid-morning when I got a text.

Steve: Hi Steve: Back home

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Me: Good Me: Hale and hearty and healthy? Steve: Perfectly fine Steve: :) Steve: Find a new lunch place yet?

I sighed for an entirely different reason.

Me: Knocked some places out Me: There was a tea/coffee place that had promise Me: But I can never snag a fucking table Me: Also it’s so fluorescent it hurts my eyes. Steve: Okay Morticia

I smiled and sent him a line of thumbs up emojis. I looked nothing like, but as far as my overall personality and aesthetic, that felt like a nice compliment that required some thanks.

Steve: I have an idea

He then sent me an address, which I looked up, and…okay?

Me: A bookstore?

Not that I was complaining, but it looked like a small second-hand shop and showed no sign of having anything but books.

(I made a note to myself to check it out on the weekend, though.)

Steve: Trust me Me: Okay Me: Is 11 okay? Got meetings this afternoon Steve: Okay Steve: I’ll meet you there Me:  :) Steve: ?! Steve: A smile?! Me: Shut up Me: B O O K S Steve: Okay Belle

I laughed. Jerk.

~

I got there about five minutes early and he still managed to be waiting. Despite being his usual self, he also managed to blend in well enough that when I first scanned the street I almost missed him. He was slouched against the wall, and when I did a double-take he pushed off the brick and walked towards me.

I couldn’t help but look him over. He looked good. Satisfied. “Do I pass inspection?” he asked jokingly.

“Meh,” I decided and looked around. The shop itself even blended into that same wall, a true hidden gem I couldn’t wait to get my sticky fingers all over.

“You still have to go back to work,” Steve reminded me as he opened the door.

“And I can’t buy books if I have no money,” I said and sighed. In the shop, though, small and crowded with books, inhaling brought in that familiar thick and slightly musty scent, but it wasn’t overwhelming, and was that a hint of new I smelled? Ah; there was a bargain bin of unsold Barnes and Noble refugees. Also…there was, in fact, coffee. Somewhere. I scanned what I could see but saw no sign of anything coffee-related, not even a cup at the cash register. I turned to Steve to ask, but he was covering the lower half of his face with both hands as his shoulders shook and his eyes gliste– was he crying?

Not quite, but close enough, and I put my hands on my hips while he calmed down, but even calmed down his smile was big and wide and made him look like a complete doofus. It was my new favorite expression. Not that I’d ever tell him. “What?”

“You, treating a bookstore like a sommelier treats wine,” he said, chuckling.

Oh. I had said that…out loud. I ducked my head, but it didn’t feel like he was making fun of me; he sounded fond, and that made it better when nudged me. “It was cute,” he said and started moving. “Come on.”

I followed behind, past piles of books and through shelves that almost reached the ceiling. We popped out of the aisle into a little corner pocket that hosted some arm chairs and side tables and the smallest coffee cart I had ever seen. It stuck out next to a wall and a curtain-covered opening, behind which there was a sound of clanking dishes. The people populating the seats were almost all elderly, aside from one balding businessman, and I smirked at Steve.

He rolled his eyes like I didn’t have to say it. Good, because it was quieter than a library and we piped down accordingly. He pointed to an empty set of cozy chairs and I followed the gesture to claim the seats while he went to the tiny counter. Nearby a couple of people argued in low voices. When I heard “writes like shit” I tried to eavesdrop, but Steve came back with two mismatched ceramic mugs filled with steaming hot coffee and sat down in the other chair, blocking them.

“Thanks.” The smell was great and I just sat with cup in hand, inhaling, for several seconds. Until I caught sight of Steve, staring at me and smiling like the Mona Lisa. I hid my mouth with the cup and took a sip. It was really good. I set it on the small table between us and said softly, “You look pretty pleased with yourself.”

“Do I?” he asked just as softly, his smile unwavering.

I looked around the room where all conversation had died in favor of reading. I held up my phone to Steve in warning and then started to text.

Me: Maybe not an everyday place Me: But a good option if we don’t feel chatty

He smiled wider at me. And stayed that way. I tilted my head in a silent ‘what?’ and he shook his head, but he texted back.

Steve: I like that it’s an option Steve: That we’re comfortable enough to sit quietly together Steve: It’s nice

It wasn’t like this was the first time we had ever sat in silence together, but he seemed to be having a good moment so I refrained from pointing that out.

Me: It is nice Me: But I think you just like getting me to shut up Steve: That’s just a bonus

And an angel emoji. The bastard.

Me: There has never been a more poorly matched emoji to person than that to you

He responded by sending three lines of them and I had to suffocate myself to keep from disturbing the peace.

Me: I hate you

He flashed me a brilliant smile. It had a dorky undertone though, so I knew it was genuine.

Steve: No you don’t

No, I didn’t. And shame on me for ever letting him know that. Still, he had done good with his find, and the coffee was excellent, so I let him be a self-satisfied little shit. For the moment.

~

I was running late.

Granted, it was my own lunch break and it wasn’t like I had to cut it short, but it was annoying. I was meeting Steve at the crummy Starbucks and he had mentioned having things to do that afternoon, and I hated being held up on my breaks. Especially by stupid people.

As soon as I stepped in I scanned the place for Steve. I didn’t see him at first but when I checked again I saw him in our usual corner. Talking to somebody else.

It didn’t look like when he was talking to a fan; it looked like he was having a meeting, with a woman in a nice suit, whose strawberry blonde hair was so perfectly brushed I ran my hand over my own head in reflex.

Steve lifted his head, saw me, smiled, and waved for me to come over. The woman turned her head to watch me approach, which I did. Slowly.

“Hi,” I said to him, trying not to glance at her and failing. “Should I…go somewhere else for now?”

“No, we’re just–” Steve stood up so fast he hit the table and made it jump. He caught it with both hands and set it down gently so his coffee didn’t spill. He smiled sheepishly at his tablemate. “Sorry Pepper.”

“It’s all right,” she replied with some amusement, travel container in hand. She set it back down and then extended her hand to me. “Pepper Potts.”

I introduced myself and shook her hand. Hopefully that was a good amount of pressure– I never knew if I was doing it right. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you too,” she said and let go. “Steve says good things.”

Steve talked about me? I shorted out for a second, wondering what he could possibly have to say, and he shifted. “We’re just finishing up,” he said. “I’ll tell you about it after.”

“Okay, I–” I stopped when I saw the raised eyebrow Pepper was aiming at Steve. “Not okay?”

“No, it’s okay.” Steve smiled reassuringly at Pepper. “She’s the one I told. First.”

“Oh.” Then Pepper aimed her look at me, both eyebrows raised.

I had no idea what to make of that. “I’ll just…go get something to drink?”

“Good luck,” Steve said and I rolled my eyes but I left them alone. I got a simple iced coffee, since the staff couldn’t be bothered to figure out how to properly use a fucking blender. At least this time my ice chunks would be expected.

When I got back, she was gone. I felt a little bad for how much that relaxed me. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I said as I sat down.

“You weren't. Pepper and I were going to meet later but apparently something came up, so she tracked me down,” Steve said, fidgeting with his cup.

I looked around. No one. I turned back to Steve and scooted closer. “So you’re…gonna go for it?”

He bobbed his head. “We’re planning it now.” He sat back and tried to smile, but it was a nervous expression. “Whether I like it or not, it’s going to be a…thing. So we’re trying to make it less daunting.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you’ve got help,” I said.

“Yeah.” His smile grew more solid. “I’ve got good people around.”

“Good. That’s good,” I said. Steve kept staring at me though, with that smile. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You're making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“No I’m not.” He took a swig of his plain hot coffee– about the only drink we were absolutely certain they could manage here– and nodded at my drink. “How was your roll of the dice today?”

I took a sip. It was actually perfect. That wasn’t too terribly surprising since I had added the cream myself, but pleasant all the same. “Nat 20.”

He frowned. I grinned. “Are you ready for the next reference you can drop to make your friend Tony’s head explode?”

Steve leaned in, eager and ready to learn.

~

The next time we got together, Steve proudly played me his new ringtone, which consisted of a man screeching “Where did you learn that?!” and a burst of laughter, loud but cut short by the end of the recording.

I held my face in my hands. I was still laughing. “You are such a jerk.”

“Thanks, your Highness.” I could hear the smile in his voice. I didn’t know whether to be proud of my creation, or terrified. Maybe both.

“…Play it again.”

He did so, happily.

<<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>>

[androidsfighting]

The Adventure Zone fic rec masterlist!

surprising no one, I read WAY TOO MUCH FIC so here’s an incomplete list of some of my fav fics in this fandom! mostly Taakitz and Taagnus, of course. Not in any particular order - adding most recent additions to the top. i made an effort to provide commentary but as you can see i gave up quickly

UPDATE (7/24/19) - added a bunch more fics i’ve read recently, and a couple amnesty fics at the bottom :)

Taakitz

The Winter Prince by tactfulGnostalgic

Taako is nobody’s saboteur. He’s just an ordinary assassin just trying to make ends meet, staying out of trouble (mostly) and keeping his nose clean (sometimes). But when a mysterious buyer makes him an offer he can’t refuse in exchange for the head of the neighboring prince, he ends up falling headfirst into the tangle of a foreign court — and the arms of its ruler, Prince Kravitz.

Blood and Bones and Photos by Evitcani

Kravitz has always dreamed of cities: wrapped in vines, streets peaceful and empty. He never knew the world before the end. Still, life goes on and on and on. The homes he's known are in compounds of chain-link fences patrolled by armed guards, feral zombies creeping around the edges who sing to him in the unsettled night.

There is no cure. There is no hope. There is only what little the survivors scraped together.

Then there's Taako.

And the new world that Kravitz was born into ends too.

Wrong Number by argentoswan

Taako texts a wrong number. Kravitz responds. Everyone else is confused, but they're going with it.

(6:32) so we have moved from strangling to murder (6:39) This is… still the wrong number. (6:41) i know i’m crowdsourcing ideas. quick, best way to hide an extremely tiny body?

A Bit Alarming by argentoswan

Taako gives up his freedom in exchange for the safety of his friends, and ends up locked in an enchanted castle with a surprisingly polite skeleton. Beauty and the Beast AU.

"'I’m afraid your friends were trespassing on my property. It was exceedingly impolite.' 'Yeah, and it’s super polite to lock them in the fucking dungeons.'"

study in light by weatheredlaw

He tells you things, things you don’t know what to do with. They fall out of his mouth and into your open hands, and you fumble them.

Deflection Toward The Relative Major by AuthorGod

He means to say all of this, but all that comes out is, “Why? Why choose me?” Instead of someone better suited he means; a warrior, a wizard, a priest.

I come back to this fic constantly. I love Kravitz-centric fic (surprise surprise) and this is one of the best there is I think

of aspen crowns and catskin down by mildlydiscouraging

The streets of London are slick and dark, and not just literally, although they are so often that too. Here there is not only murder, mystery, and mayhem, but magick as well. Here people go through their everyday tragedies and refuse to see the depths behind their troubles. Here two (and a half) detectives search for the truth.

In the dusk of autumn, with wind slicing down alleys, the good people of London are disappearing. It's up to Kravitz and Taako and, honestly, mostly Angus to solve the case, and maybe a couple other mysteries along the way.

SPOOKY VICTORIAN AU aka MY ENTIRE SHIT

those afternoons and evenings and does he project, does he have ideas? by mildlydiscouraging

The moments and years in between, in which feelings take root despite the constantly changing landscape. Alternatively: The world has been ending for forty years and Taako and Kravitz can't stop falling in love.

tazswap with Kravitz on the Starblaster, absolutely gorgeous prose

Reverie by Itdominic

There was a time Taako really could have taken or left it - life, and the world and whatever. Things aren't like that anymore, he tells himself, luckily, because this whole situation might get to be a real fucking drag otherwise.

heartbreaking but absolutely gorgeous

finale by teacuptaako

After everything, the distinction between alive and dead fades to a confusing grey.

In the wake of ‘The Day of Story and Song,’ Taako and Kravitz start to build their futures together: a labour of love, compromise, trust, and a slowly unravelling web of secrecy.

While the two of them grow closer and closer together, they and the rest of the world get further and further apart.

kravitz centric again, this is such a WEIRD fic and i literally haven’t stopped thinking about it since I read it

Drag Your Cities to the Sea (No Light, No Light) by  Desiree_Harding

"The months in Her retinue are long, and the work is hard. Her standards are high, and to satisfy them, Kravitz must be ruthless. But his conviction never falters. She is omnipotent. She is the avenging force of Justice, and Kravitz Her hand. She will keep the kingdom free, and for Kravitz to do her bidding is the greatest honor on this earth."

"Taako’s fingers curl tightly around the ropes of the Starblaster’s rigging as the ship cuts smoothly through the waves of the Sea of Souls below, his heart pounding in his chest and his eyes on the horizon...In these moments, it’s freedom that hangs sweet on his tongue and settles in his lungs, and Taako loves nothing better."

It's a pirate AU! You know the rest!

i live for AUs

All the Things You Prayed For by @anonymousalchemist​ and @marywhal​

Taako's been dead for two years. Taako's been dead for seven decades. Depends how you count it.

Her brother is dead and Lup’s a whole lifetime into the future. It’s a brave new world out there and she’s trying not to think about it too hard. She gets the feeling that if she starts thinking, she won’t ever stop, and she can’t afford to be out of commission. She's the only Captain America the new century’s got.

Lup is Cap, Taako fell from a train, and eventually all ghosts come in from the cold. You guessed it—it's a TAZ/Marvel shakeup baby. We're bringing the party to you.

THIS FIC OWNS MY ENTIRE ASS

The Shape of Our Days Neverending by anonymousalchemist and marywhal

After the epilogue, Taako and Kravitz have a really good day. 

just some heckin good fluff amidst all this angst

Other Lives by marywhal

When Kravitz signed up for the job in Phandalin, he didn’t expect adventuring to become his life. He was bored playing for the well-to-do of Neverwinter, sure, but not this bored. He was supposed to make some quick cash, pay off his gambling debts, and go back to his comfortable existence as a bard. He wasn't supposed to join a secret organization trying to save the world.

But here he is, paralyzed on the floor of a crystallized laboratory, and he has yet to keep a suit intact through a single adventure

more tazswap! this is unfinished rn but it’s real good so read it anyway

Bury the Lead by marywhal

Taako’s senior year at Neverwinter High could be going better. Faced with a choice between joining the school’s floundering newspaper or being expelled, he opts for a career in journalism.

Lucretia, the paper’s editor, kind of wishes he'd gone the other way.

if you haven’t read this yet what are you doing with your life

These Unfinished Creatures by marywhal

Someone in Neverwinter is stealing souls from the astral plane. The Raven Queen’s favourite reaper is undercover and on the case.

Relearning how to be human is entirely incidental.

MORE spooky Victorian AU what did i do to deserve this fandom honestly

(you should read everything by marywhal but these are my favs)

our get-along suit by anonymousalchemist

"So, let me get this straight," the reaper says, scythe held flush against Kravitz's neck. A trickle of blood drips down toward his collar. Kravitz swallows shallowly. "You picked up a suit, and the suit happened to be a lich, and the lich wouldn’t let you go, so you just rolled with it?"

"His name is Keats," Kravitz says. "And. Er. Sort of?"

Our own, soft hearts by Wildgoosery (series)

Stories involving a Moon Wedding, its attendees, and its aftermath, written in wildly different formats.

you should read everything Goose has posted but this is one of the first Taakitz fics I read so I have a real soft spot for it

The Body Eclectic by SpaceJackalope

In which Kravitz has many feelings about being dead, having a body, and liking people and things.

A Quiet Refrain by @inkedinserendipity​

It starts with some of the most mediocre eggs Taako's ever clapped eyes on. Seven out of ten for taste. Zero out of ten for plating. Somehow, they're still the best damn eggs he's ever eaten.

(Or: Taako realizes he loves Kravitz back.)

it was your heart on the line by @inkedinserendipity​ and it’s sequels (links here)

one of many fics that inadvertently inspired synecdoche

Istus must be laughing. by writersstareoutwindows

"Whenever people talk about tattoos, Taako rolls down his sleeve. They’re sitting in a circle, usually drinking, laughing and elbowing and sometimes kissing. Whenever they realize Taako hasn’t said anything, he sips his drink, arranges his hair artfully over his shoulder, and says, 'Nah, nah, nah, my dudes, I don’t hold to that,' wiggling his fingers, 'mumbo jumbo tattoo fate-or-whatever bullshit. Chaboi Taako’s a free agent.'"

The present going forward. Memories in a jumble. Not a very neat story, but it's theirs.

another fic that inadvertently inspired synecdoche which i forgot until now!!

things left in the stars by mechanicalclock

You don’t collect things from places that you will never visit again, that’s foolish. It's about learning to let go in all the new ways, adapting quicker and quicker, having fun and forgetting.

Taako and Lup learn to remember.

a moment to bathe in our victory by AnonymousPuzzler

The apocalypse comes and goes. In the aftermath, Taako takes a bath, Kravitz worries too much, and some new feelings are reflected upon.

Taagnus

The end of the word does come and go, Page of Cups, Reversed, and Taking the dogs home by anonymous

About how the world is still here, and how going on can be done.

yellow by weatheredlaw

Washing the dishes, their fingers brushed in the soapy water of the sink and Taako felt a jolt.

Magnus turned and gave him a smile.

Strange Bedfellows by treshornybros (IamJohnLocked4life)

It quickly becomes a habit, and then routine. Magnus is oddly good natured about it. But then Magnus is good natured about everything, so maybe it's not that odd. No one else seems to notice.

They always sleep back to back.

Taako should find that comforting, and he does, at first. It's just like sleeping with Lup.

Sort of.

unremembering by  bluebatwings (series)

Their lives divided up into three parts: before, unremembering, and after. Love stories.

At the Interval by AuthorGod

Time grows stagnant. Taako watches as world become fractured and consumed, cultures and civilizations wiped out. All the potential a single person is capable of in a lifetime, just ripped away in a moment.

It doesn't get to him, and it doesn't get to him, and it doesn't until it does.

breaking the same old heart by tardigradeschool

Taako and Magnus in triptych: before, during, and after the Bureau.

The Blue Hours of Morning by daisybrien

Refuge takes its toll. Magnus and Taako talk it out, drunk on the living room floor.

Taagnitz

the only life you could save by @epersonae​ and hops (series)

this could also go in the Other category bc it’s All The Ships (including magcretia which isn’t even my thing but they write is so so so well that now it is my thing!) but I’m digging through my ao3 history and not finding much taagnitz that’s not  pwp/mine (a travesty) so it’s going in here. it’s also about taako and lucretia working their whole Thing out and it’s VERY VERY GOOD

no blinding light by provocation

Elves live much, much longer than humans. By the time most humans die, elves are just reaching adulthood.

Kravitz, on the other hand, is going to live forever.

the fic that made me ship taagnitz

in the focus by weatheredlaw

The sky was clear and the arms of the galaxy that surrounded them arched overhead as they lay in their sleeping bags, staring at the stars.

or: Kravitz knows there's room in all this for something between him and Magnus — he's just not sure what that looks like.

Dust by levelone

It was supposed to be simple: Taako was on TV, and Kravitz is a writer here for some pull quotes. Instead, when they meet in an empty diner in the middle of a desert, Taako says something impossible—and Kravitz believes him.

Oak and Mahogany by hideki16seiyuu

“Don’t try to pull one over on me, handsome. He’s going gray already.”

“He’s in his fifties now, Taako.”

“How much longer is left?”

“Longer than you’d think.”

---

Human lives can never match that of elves in length.

Take Up a Place Beside Me by goodnicepeople

"It's gonna be hard," Taako says, when they're alone again. "You can't... do that. Every time."

Or: Taako and Kravitz move in. Others move on. Some get dogs.

you are the life i needed all along by iwillbeyourgoal

along with the other memories he's gained from the stolen century, taako starts remembering his relationship with magnus on the starblaster.

these small hours by  ShowMeAHero

Taako and Magnus get their memories back, and now they need to negotiate some emotions, because they're having a hell of a lot of them all at once.

Other ships/Gen

I Have Seen the Fields Aflame by Desiree_Harding

She hadn’t meant to disappear. Had she known what was going to happen, that one weekend was going to lead to seven entire years without her brother, she never would have gone. But that was all it took.

A modern au in which Lup goes missing, and discovers that the coming home is maybe the hardest part of all of it.

i cried for like an hour after reading this

a thousand points of no return by anonymousAlchemist

Since wizard's daemons often settle as birds and urban legend says that elves are separated from their daemons, no one looks too closely at the fact that Taako and Lup are both single entities, missing the other halves of their hearts. They walk like people, they talk like people, and if they're hard to read because their daemons aren't fluffing up their feathers or swatting playfully with their paws, well, elves are notoriously enigmatic anyway.

This lasts until their first death.

All deaths on the Starblaster are strange. When Magnus first died on the animal planet, I'morko followed right after, both of their bodies dissipating into golden sparks, a strange inversion of the natural order. The pattern holds. Year after year, person and daemon alike dissipate into a fine mist of dust, knit together by the bond engine in the new plane.

During their fifteenth year, Taako is shot through the heart with a well-aimed magic missile. Lup screams and casts one last firebolt, spell-sculpting around their bodies, before unspooling into a fine golden sand.

snake eyed, with a sly smile by faehunting

The circus is a mystery that sets itself up for people who track its movements, for people who are desperate to find it, to find anything. The circus is a mystery that sets itself up for people to stumble upon.

In the morning, the circus is nothing but negative space and the revellers it left behind. They sit up. They try to wet the dust in their mouths. They start the journey anew.

creepy fae weirdness!!!! yes!!!!!

I’m With The Band by redqueentheory, Wildgoosery, and Woven_Gulch (series)

A series of connected stories, equal parts sentimental and horny, about how Brad and Taako and Kravitz fall in love.

wacky BDSM crack ship becomes Greatest Romance Novel I’ve Ever Read, has made me cry multiple times

these strange creatures by anonymousalchemist

Taako sweeps himself into the common area of the Starblaster with all the drama and panache that he reserves for alternate Tuesday afternoons. Barry ignores him with all the practice he has from a decade of alternate Tuesday afternoons.

“I’m exhausted,” Taako whines, draping himself across Barry’s shoulders, the sharp point of his chin poking into Barry’s collarbone. “I’ve been up since for-ev-er, working on this dumb transmutation thing for Lulu.”

“Go meditate, then,” Barry says, absently reaching up to pat Taako’s head.

“Meditate?”

“You know, meditation? Isn’t that, uh, one of your elf things??” Barry finally looks up from his book, barest hint of a wrinkle in his forehead. Taako shakes his head.

“Never heard of it, homeslice. Musta skipped that day at elf practice.”

Barry laughs.

“Elf practice, sure.”

you know... elf practice

all your saints and saviors by anonymousalchemist

It’s not so much that she wants to die per se, as much as it is that she’s done living. The female human life expectancy is seventy-two years on this plane (it was seventy-four years on her home plane) and she’s lost count of her birthdays. But the math is easy. She was twenty when she boarded the Starblaster. A hundred-twenty when they landed in Faerun. A hundred-thirty when the Hunger was defeated. She’s fifty six years overdue.

She’s done her job, is the thing. She saved the world, in exchange for youth, friendship, family. She gave up everything but determination. She considers it fair trade. But now Lucretia is a single-use tool whose purpose no longer exists.

In Her Bones by epersonae

She lives through the destruction of her home, but still they're separated, until Julia sees the green light, and the blue light, and has to figure out what to do next.

better give that heart a listen by tardigradeschool

Barry needs a fake husband if he wants to stay undercover. Magnus is more than willing to help him out. Davenport needs a vacation.

herald of a new dawn by inkedinserendipity

When Lucretia is five years old, she meets her familiar. At seven, she remakes it; at eight, she remakes it again.

Seventy years later it saves her from an unkind world. And a Century after that, it fixes a family that had started to break.

from me to you, with love by inkedinserendipity

Magnus shuts the drawer and says, almost absently, “Tell her I love her, okay?”

Kravitz pauses, debating. He takes a deep breath. “Magnus,” he says, and Magnus, detecting the shift in his tone, looks up immediately. “You know that she already knows, right? She knows that you love her,” Kravitz says gently. “You do tell her every time.”

Magnus chuckles, rubbing a sheepish hand along the back of his neck. “I know,” he says, turning a bit pink. “I just - I love her, you know? I really do. And I guess, when you love someone, you want to tell them that every chance you get.”

your stitches are all out (but your scars are healing wrong) by tardigradeschool

When it’s over, and she can barely feel what makes her herself anymore, the umbrella is tattered beyond repair. With her last traces of energy, Lup grasps for shelter, reaching out for somewhere to store her torn soul until she can be helpful again. At the edge of her awareness, she feels a familiar shape, a familiar warmth -- in her exhaustion she could almost mistake it for her own body. She reaches for it and pulls herself clumsily inside.

Safe and contained, she lets consciousness go.

Voidfish (Reprise) by inkedinserendipity

Angus McDonald is many things — the boy detective, for one. The youngest member of the Bureau of Balance. The unofficial little brother of the THB, however Taako insists he's actually their mascot. He’s a researcher, and a scholar. He's not a fighter. He’s not a hero.

But he can save the world all the same.

Patterns of Migration by goodnicepeople

Magnus builds a house. Angus finds a home. Migration brings things back, in turn.

Hard to Starboard  by BlueColoredDreams (series)

In the best world, it ends like this:

By starting over.

and the warmth will never die by Junkyard_Rose

Taako's been gone for maybe two years when Lup thinks she sees him shoplifting from a Hot Topic.

you ever read something that makes you astral project and you can't think about anything else for the rest of the day? me too

(in this category because it's mainly about the twins but it's also taakitz and blupcretia aka the ideal fic)

and at a certain age the child is grown by bimaukery

There are people in his grandpa's house.

AU where the IPRE family all moves in together and find the place less empty than they've been led to believe.

Amnesty

i left a light beside the bed for you by SyllableFromSound

"If she stares at the ceiling without blinking long enough, it starts to look fuzzy. Like there's a grainy film of static over the surface of the plaster. It makes her think of mist outside a window, of the big old tube TV that had sat in the living room of her house for her first few years of life and that had tingled warmly when she pressed her hand to the screen. Everything feels a bit fuzzy now, maybe because it's 3AM. Everything feels warm and a bit familiar.

Finally, Dani says, quietly, 'This is what I imagined it would be like if...if things had gone differently.'"

In which a couple of outcasts have some late-night chats and Aubrey ingests a foreign object to prove a point.

older than the trees by lamphouse

Summer is returning to Kepler, bringing with it humid late nights, not as many tourists as there used to be, and a certain moth man. Unfortunately, they're not the only ones.

Duck talks some shit out. Aubrey chills. Ned gets grifted. Indrid learns to see.

[creideamhgradochas]

Thanks to the lovely @abovethesmokestacks for taking the time to answer these! Get to know more about lovely Pia, go give her a follow and then show her some love!

These questions are from this list. You should check it out, there’s 50 questions all together and they’d be great to ask your favorite fic writer!

1) How old were you when you first starting writing fan-fiction?

I started back in 2008 when I was 21 years old.

2) Do you prefer writing OC’s or reader inserts? Explain your answer.

I do enjoy both, but lately it's been more reader inserts. It's challenge to write a good reader insert, to make them a natural part of the setting, to make them relatable to your audience and find a way to make them click with the other characters. Because they are meant to be a character you should be able to see yourself in, it tests your ability to make the character both approachable to a wide range of readers, yet specific enough to mesh with the story. 

3) What is your favorite genre to write for?

Well, I have been called the angst queen on numerous occasions. Apparently I am a sucker for making myself and others hurt. 

4) If you had to delete one of your stories and never speak of it again, which would it be and why?

Oh Jesus, probably one of the Twilight fics I wrote during the dark days of my ff.net run. I got swept up in the hype and with a few exceptions, I have no qualms about tossing those fics into a volcano. 

5) When is your preferred time to write?

When I have both inspiration, motivation and time. Sadly, sometimes that happens at night and let's just say I have sometimes sacrificed sleep in favour of a story. Generally, though, I don't have a preferred time of day.

6) Where do you take your inspiration from?

From anything and everything. Something I've seen or heard or experienced, videos I've seen, songs I've listened to.

7) In your Sweet Dreams - Assorted Flavors fic, what’s your favorite scene that you wrote?

The final scenes of Assorted Flavours is close to my heart. Same with the scene in the Easy As Pie-chapter where they discuss Bucky's metal arm.

8) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it?

I haven't made major amendments. Someone may have pointed out typos or missing words which I have edited, but nothing storyline-wise. 

9) Who is your favorite character to write for? Why?

I am a sucker for a lot of Seb's characters, especially Bucky and Hal. And Chris Beck. They are fun to write and there is so much that can be done and explored with them. 

10) Who is your least favorite character to write for? Why?

I wanna preface this by saying it's not so much I dislike them as I find them hard to write well. Tony and Thor hard for me to write because I can't seem to connect as easily with them as I can with other characters, and I'd hate to do these guys wrong.

11) How did you come up with the title for the Sweet Dreams - Assorted Flavors?

This is the eternal struggle with me, to come up with a good title. I knew I wanted something that alluded to reader being a baker and one my Spotify playlist shuffled to Emily Browning's rendition of Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This). For the sequel series, I wanted to continue on the same theme, and my friend Loup helped me land on Sweet Dreams - Assorted Flavours. 

12) How did you come up with the idea for Sweet Dreams - Assorted Flavours?

I am not entirely sure anymore, but it may have included a conversation about Bucky Barnes (or Seb, or both) and cupcakes, and evolved into an idea about Bucky finding a nightopen bakery during one of his nightly walks through Brooklyn (because obviously). 

13) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

I have two. One is a Twilight fic that I abandoned and deleted when I left behind my ff.net account for good. It was never going to get finished and I didn't want any WIPs on the account. I didn't delete the account, it's basically there as an archive, but yeah. Deleted that story because I was never going to finish it. The second fic is a Gilmore Girls collab fic I started YEARS ago with a friend from Australia. It was put on hiatus when my friend started writing original fiction. That one I would love to finish, but I don't know how likely that is.

14) Are there any stories that you’ve written that you’d really love to do a sequel to?

None that I am really aching to do a sequel for. That being said, with the right inspiration, I could possibly nake a third fic in the little verse I created with Hal in Cling To Me and Cling To You.

15) Are there any stories that you wished you’d ended differently?

Surprisingly, no. I've been happy with the endings to all of my fics.

16) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

Are we talking other fanfic writers or other fiction writers? For fanfic writers, just go into my fic rec tag. All of them are immensely talented in their own way. I will give special props to the writers of Not Easily Conquered because what they did with that series has fucked me up for life and I have the tattoo to prove it. For fiction writers, I do love Rowling for what she created with Harry Potter. I remember reading the books as they were published and just... I was mezmerized! I also love everything Neil Gaiman writes, it's dark and quirky and has that little something that takes hold of you. I can reread Pullman's His Dark Materials over and over just for the amazing world and mythology he created for that series. 

17) Do you have a story that you look back on and cringe when you reread it?

I usually don't reread stories I haven't clicked with, so not really.

18) Do you prefer listening to music when you’re writing or do you need silence?

Both. I have a Bucky playlist on Spotify that I usually crank whenever I am writing a fic that features him. But I can just as well write in silence.

19) Have you ever cried whilst writing a story?

Yes. I cried while writing With Him I Will Stay and Goodbye for example.

20) Which part of your Sweet Dreams fic was the hardest to write?

There wasn't one part that was specifically harder to write than others. I do sometimes get stuck on transitions, how to move from one scene to the next as smoothly as possible. If anything, writing Sweet Dreams has taught me that sometimes it's totally okay to just shift scenes and not make a big deal out of it. Not everything has to be complex.

21) Do you make a general outline for your stories or do you just go with the flow?

Often I have a rough idea of how I want things to play out, focus points that I want to include that function as pit stops for me as I write. The only time I haven't made a clear outline was for Kintsugi. I let the prompt guide me and hopes like hell it made sense.

22) What is something you wished you’d known before you started posting fanfiction?

That it's a process and you learn. I was so worried about writing perfectly. When I started out in the Gilmore Girls fandom and posting at ff.net, it was really common to have a beta reader. I was new, I had no one to beta read and I kept obsessing over getting things right until I realized that I didn't HAVE to have a beta reader and that yeah, I made mistakes but I could learn from them and from reading other what other people wrote.

23) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

Maybe Snapshots. Or my T.J fic. I love them both dearly.

24) In contrast to 23 is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at?

Not to the point where it's an eye roll because I do like the attention my fics get. I was very surprised though by the amount of notes that flooded in for a drabble called Fight Night.

25) Are any of your characters based on real people?

I haven't really made use of a lot of OC's. Aiden from Make Me Feel Like I'm Real is the only one that qualifies and with him it's all in how he looks. When I came up with him, I had a very vivid image of a man that looked like a mix of Donald Glover and Daveed Diggs. His personality came quite naturally as he started interacting more with T.J.

26) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten?

There are so many that have made me blush so hard. One that I remember very vividly was when @lostinthoughtsandfeelings-blog commented on Soft Devotion that it made them feel the same kind of empowerment that the Wonder Woman soundtrack evoked!

27) What’s the harshest criticism you’ve gotten?

I have been very lucky so far in the criticism that I've gotten. Mostly it's just been typos or something similar that's been pointed out. When I started out on ff.net there were a few who commented that they didn't understand where I was going with a certain story. I think for one fic I got a comment about having dragged it out for too long, but that's about it.

28) Do you share your story ideas with anyone else or do you keep them close to your chest?

I do share some of them, simply because I get excited about them or because it's an idea that comes from a conversation that ends with "I need to fic this!!"

29) Do people know you write fan-fiction?

My husband knows, but he doesn't really know what it is (despite my attempts to explain). A few of my old school mates know I write, but otherwise no. I don't really talk about writing fan-fiction with people outside the fandoms I write for.

30) What’s you favorite minor character you’ve written?

I love Steve's parts in Sweet Dreams, and anything that involves Sam.

31) What spurs you on during the writing process?

If I'm writing a series, the feedback from previous chapters do so much to encourage me. Feedback in general motivates me. I often ask friends to give me feedback on certain scenes or passages while I write and seeing their excitement does a lot to help me push through and finish.

32) What’s your favorite trope to write?

AUs and A/B/O for sure.

33) Can you remember the first fic you read? What was it about?

I can't remember exactly which one, but it was a Gilmore Girls fic.

34) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

I'd love to say fluff, but angst just hurts so good, and getting screamed at in caps-lock is kinda fun.

[snowbellewells]

“Start of the Dance”

Here we go again, with another Captain Swan fic! This one takes place post-Season 3 finale, but parts of it have been in my mind ever since David’s dream sequence at the beginning of "The Tower" episode. I just had to find a way to fit the vision I had into a whole story framework. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Please leave your feedback; it really does help and encourage so much! I still don't own them, just celebrating how much I love them!! Also, as I continue digging back through my previous fics for the #ouat fandom crescendo, I’ll try to have so man in one season, I just really loved Season 3 A LOT (clearly!)

(There’s a fair bit of David/Charming in this one as well, because it’s Captain Charming Friday, and I love Daddy!Charming… ;)

"Start of the Dance"

By: @snowbellewells (TutorGirlml on ff.net)

"Emma, it's okay. Don't get frustrated," David's gentle chiding, his light, guiding hand at her waist, and the humored light in his paternally adoring eyes put Emma Swan somewhere between wanting to laugh along with him at her own expense or growl at him in frustration. "Don't be so hard on yourself," he continued. "You're doing fine."

Emma squared her shoulders once more and blew out a breath, concentrating and preparing to start over again. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes and call him out on his blatant lie. She was not catching onto this easily at all – didn't know how many times she had already stepped on her dad's feet, kicked him in the shins, or gotten their legs tangled together and almost pulled him down with her. She might be a princess by birthright, but attempting a traditional dance for her first ball (of sorts) was proving that royal graces had not been born into her naturally.

She put her hands back out, rested them lightly where her father had showed her and tried to relax into the starting hold position, to let herself be led. At that, David's eyes took on a sort of lost, misty quality, and Emma pulled back, concerned, studying his expression. "What's wrong?" she asked.

The prince shook his head and blinked rapidly, as if clearing the dismal thoughts from his consciousness. He didn't quite seem able to meet her clear-eyed gaze, and when he did, the sadness and guilt within his gentle eyes caught Emma off guard. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "Lost track of where I was for a second…forget it…"

She wasn't buying that excuse for a minute, so when he glanced away, trying through a choked-sounding voice to begin counting time and leading her through the box step once more, she resisted and didn't budge. "Oh no," she said firmly, staring at him until he met her gaze, "out with it."

Her father's shoulders slumped, and his hand took hers, leading her over to the couch, which they had pushed out against the wall, clearing space in the living room of he, Snow, and baby Neal's loft apartment for their dance lesson. When they were seated next to each other, he squeezed her hand gently before releasing it and then running his own over his face and beginning to speak hesitantly. "Sometimes I just can't help mourning how much time with you we lost, Emma. At moments like this, my vision of how our lives would have been if you were always with us physically hurts. You went through so much pain. I put you in that wardrobe to save you…but in doing so, I sent my baby girl away to face a world alone. I failed you… Teaching you to dance now seems so ridiculously little to do in return…"

He trailed off, refusing to break down, but not able to keep speaking either. It went without saying that letting someone else lead and relinquishing control – which would make dancing so much easier for her – was difficult because of the life she'd had to live. Still that knowledge was there in the following silence, and they both knew it. That it was even harder for her to trust, to open herself, in relationships and in love was even clearer and more troublesome.

What Emma did offer at length, breaking the pained quiet between them with the best comfort she could give, seemed to bring a shaky smile back to his face. She grabbed his hand again, lacing their fingers together impulsively and holding on tight. There was steely strength in her eyes, but vulnerability too, allowing him to see a grown child's tentative hope. "What's done is done," she whispered hoarsely, holding his gaze with determination. "And I'm done dwelling on the past and being angry. I understand now the kind of impossible dilemma you were facing…and about loving your child enough to give a best chance. Henry taught me that." She swallowed convulsively and buried her face in the crook of his neck for a moment, then offered him a tremulous smile, trying for playful when she continued. "Besides, Dad, what did you tell me about living the moments? This is a good moment here. Despite my complete lack of skill, we're getting back one of those times we lost."

David nodded, hugging her with a hand cradling the back of her head in that way he had which made her feel like the cherished and protected child she should have been. "You're absolutely right," he agreed. Brushing a quick peck to her forehead, he stood and pulled Emma to her feet after him. "So what do you say, Daughter? Want to give this another try?"

She nodded with an almost shy grin. "I'm definitely not ready to dance in public yet, so we'd better keep at it."

Both of them were laughing as they began to move together once more, slowly but surely finding their way, both in the stately, measured steps of the waltz, and as father and daughter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night of their Storybrooke ball was as gorgeous as any enchanted tale could have spun. Though they were still in a small town in Maine in the modern age, having now been there, Emma could honestly say that the combined efforts of Snow, Ruby, Belle, and Blue had rendered the simple town park and pavilion into what looked for all intents and purposes just like the grounds of some fairytale palace. The wooden planks of the stage for outdoor concerts were freshly painted a pristine white and surrounded all along the sides, up the support columns and across the ceiling by strings of white twinkle lights and trailing ivy. Handmade luminaries lined all the walks with a welcoming glow. Ruby had even cajoled Viktor into producing a dj booth he'd acquired from somewhere and spinning music for the town's celebration.

Rumplestiltskin and Belle had married nearly alone in the woods, but when the others had learned of their news, the townspeople had wanted to at least have a reception. It seemed there was much to celebrate – not only the wedding, but the Wicked Witch's defeat, the young prince's birth, and in general, the town's survival of yet another catastrophe. These folks were, after all, from a magical kingdom which knew how to lavishly make merry and enjoyed traditional pomp and circumstance. The seemingly reformed Dark One and his beloved had graciously accepted their congratulations and recognition without too much argument, and Emma couldn't help being somewhat softened toward Henry's other grandpa as she watched him swaying gently with Belle in his arms on the dance floor, their foreheads touching, with eyes only for each other. Though she wasn't sure she would ever completely understand how, Emma was glad that Belle could see the good in her "beast", and that the other woman could encourage a dangerous and bitter man to find the true and honorable heart beneath his dark façade. She knew, deep down, that there were surely people in the town who thought she and Belle had much in common, who were unable to see what she had found in a vengeful, broken pirate either.

Her thought of Killian Jones caused her to look away from the happy couple opening the festivities with their dance and scan the gathered faces for her Captain. Just the thought of him as "hers" warmed her insides and caused the corners of her mouth to quirk up in a tiny, satisfied smile. She didn't see him anywhere and a small bit of worry touched her brow. Obviously, it wasn't easy for him to see his "Crocodile" so happy, the truce the two of them had managed notwithstanding, nor did she expect him to desire to toast the Dark One's good fortune, but she had hoped he would focus on the aspect of town revelry and her parents' joy at her younger sibling's arrival. She knew that David and Snow had personally made him welcome, and she herself had teased him with the opportunity to see her in regal finery for only the second time ever. There was no way she could slip off unnoticed just yet, so for the moment she could only hope he wasn't somewhere drowning old wounds with rum in stalwart silence – at least until she could go find him. He had certainly come after her and pulled her from grief and self-pity often enough… Still, this night was supposed to be for happiness and the future, things she had in large part due to his efforts. Killian deserved to be part of it.

She hadn't realized that the first dance had ended, a new song had begun, and that other couples were taking to the open floor, until her father appeared at her elbow. "May I have this dance?" he asked formally, a playful twinkle in his eye as he extended his arm.

Emma flushed, knowing that the moment had come, but also that they had a rather large audience and that over David's shoulder, her mother was watching them with tears in her eyes and a camera at the ready. She nodded, nerves evident, but took his offered arm tightly and let him lead the way, just as they had practiced.

Surprisingly, Emma found the rhythm more easily than she sometimes had in the past; her father's hand reassuringly steady at her back. The look on his face was priceless: loving, proud, and happy as they circled the floor, as agile as any of the other misplaced fairytale dancers around them. "I knew you could do it, Emma," he complimented her, the praising father who would recognize her talents and efforts clear in his voice – just as she had always wished for years ago. "You've mastered anything I have ever seen you put your mind to."

She couldn't help the single tear that escaped her eye and slipped down her cheek, but she shook her head slightly when concern crossed David's features. "No, don't worry," she managed. "I'm just happy – really, actually, happy." She let herself enjoy the moment, even leaning her head on his shoulder before whispering, "This is how it would have always been, isn't it?"

He nodded against the top of her head, and Emma felt her father swallow hard with his own emotion before he responded. "It is. I can't bring back what vanished in between, but…I can promise you that this is how it will be from now on."

She nodded, and they danced on in silence, the moment peaceful between them, all the words needed having already been said. Emma was oblivious to the reverent and intrigued gazes they were drawing – the Crown Prince and his Princess daughter sharing their first public dance at her first official ball. Charming and Snow's loyal subjects – now more friends – had welcomed and loved their only daughter as if she had always been with them, respecting her as if she had grown up a ruler in their world. This dance only cemented it, even if Emma was unaware.

The music swelled around them, Emma's joy bubbling within her and continuing to edge out the pain of her life before, the hurt she had finally begun to let go. True, she and her family were robbed of so many of the previous moments they should have been able to share, but this one, as her father spun her out once more and twirled her back into his arms, would always be theirs. She glanced up at him, perplexed, however when he pulled away to press a kiss to her forehead, then stepped back to place her hand within the grasp of someone standing behind him whom she hadn't even seen.

When David moved away, Emma found herself face to face with Killian at last. If her heart had not already been near to bursting, her pirate's presence was the final piece to complete her bliss. His leather had been exchanged for a fancier tail coat in deep forest green, a white dress shirt (still dangerously, seductively half-unbuttoned), and tan breeches – and Emma found herself melting at the sight of him. The effort he had obviously put in to blend with the other celebrants and belong was almost as overwhelming as his handsome appearance. She gave him a knowing look, realizing that someone, mostly likely her mother or Henry, must have told him the color of dress she would be wearing so that he could match.

Killian's gaze swept her up as though he intended to devour her in a glance, blue darkening from sky to cobalt at the jewel tone green covered with black lace sumptuously contrasting her fair, flawless skin and golden curls. "You are a bloody marvel, Swan," he murmured, even as he stepped easily into the place her father had relinquished, forming a perfect frame and twirling her effortlessly back into the dance as if he had been waltzing properly at formal balls all his life.

She was practically gaping at him, and she knew it, her breath short with stunned attraction. Sure, they had managed a simple dance to maintain their cover on their adventure in the past, but now they were themselves, he was holding her close, and they were moving as one with certain things having been spoken between them at last. This was altogether different… so much more. Killian chuckled lightly, touching a finger beneath her chin to close her open mouth. "I was not always a pirate, remember, Love? Naval officers do attend palace functions rather often."

Looking up at him mischievously from under lowered lashes, Emma finally regained enough of her composure to banter back. She smirked, speaking softly for his ears alone. "You must have been quite the charmer in your day, Lieutenant Jones," she almost purred.

"Must have been?" he questioned in mock offense. "Oh Lass, you can't fool me. It would seem you still find me quite charming in the here and now."

He dipped his head, breath warm on her face, mouth hovering just over her lips, making Emma's heart beat flutter erratically like a trapped butterfly attempting to escape her chest while he made her wait for his kiss. His grin was so smug that she wanted to wipe it off his face, but instead found herself having all she could do not to trip on her own feet and handle the shivers he sent skittering irresistibly down her spine.

With her True Love beside her, silently promising in every look and every touch to hold her, to match her step for step in every dance, for the rest of their lives, Emma no longer had to doubt that she would find her way. He eased her into a graceful dip, and she mutedly registered slight applause as the dance ended. Killian bowed to her, then pulled her even closer in his embrace as the next song began. She might be just learning to let someone else lead, but the feeling it gave filled her opening heart with hope.

Tagging a few who may enjoy... @kmomof4 @celestial-fire-writer @jennjenn615 @gingerchangeling @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @winterbaby89 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @spartanguard @laschatzi @love-with-you-i-have-everything @kiwistreetswan @branlovesouat @capswantrue @pirateherokillian @flslp87 @lessawildmoon @rere105 @revanmeetra87 @ps1473-4

[theinsatiables]

10 Years Later, Why the Wachowskis’ Flop ‘Speed Racer’ Is Actually a Masterpiece

The ability to roll with punches and follow a movie into different emotional realms, especially goofy ones within serious narratives, is the ability to not take yourself too seriously. It is the ability to be adult and roll into all kinds of states of emotion, not just the ones we think we want to be in. To that point, Speed Racer basically requires you to roll with the punches on a pretty extreme level. Yes, the silliness feels silly. But if you accept that, then the danger is dangerous, too. And yes, the epic race across the desert goes on “too long,” but in doing so, it genuinely feels epic.The film is always itself. Especially as it slides back and forth between dramatic and comic emphasis with the blistering assuredness of pure operatic glee, all while living and breathing every moment sincerely. And what else would an 11-year-old’s fever dream about weaponized race cars, ninja fights and family togetherness be but achingly sincere?Speed Racer came out 10 years ago today, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t shut up about it since. But for good reason. I think it remains one of the most criminally overlooked films in recent memory and also one of the most oddly inspiring. While I know there are fellow fans who would wholly agree with this superlative, the notion runs contrary to the conventional wisdom surrounding the film’s release.

Coming off of the unparalleled success of the The Matrix films (even with the under-baked reaction to Matrix: Revolutions), fans were so excited for the Wachowski siblings’ next cinematic foray into something new. And it was going to be Speed Racer! An update of the beloved ’60s anime that many had grown up with! It implied there would electrifying, matrix-esque car chases! Frenetic action! All from the two filmmakers who had come to define the new serious-cool-ass cyberpunk! Hooray!  

But for those who loved the leather-clad adult fare of their previous work, they had no idea what to do with this fluffy, neon-soaked bit of confection that was being sold to them. And neither did the general audience. Speed Racer bombed, and it bombed hard. And as a result, many came to dismiss the film without ever seeing it. Or worse, those who saw it simply had no idea what to do with it.

Which is unfortunate.

But to really get on board with Speed Racer, you have to accept its varied intentions. Starting with the fact that yes, this is indeed a true-blue PG kids film. Because of that, it will be unapologetically goofy, over the top and prominently feature monkey gags. Moreover, you have to accept that it is going to devote itself to the notion of being “a live-action cartoon,” one that constantly eschews realism in favor of a hyper-stylized, bright aesthetic as far removed from The Matrix as I can think of.

A lot of people argued that the film’s aesthetic existed in the uncanny valley (which suggests “humanoid objects that appear almost, but not exactly, like real human beings, and which elicit uncanny or strangely familiar feelings of eeriness and revulsion in observers”). But, to me, it works precisely because it’s not even trying for the in-between. Instead, it’s trying to something closer to the humans-in-toon-space of Who Framed Roger Rabbit.

Simultaneously, you have to accept that this PG kids film will also be, at times, incredibly serious: a two-hour-and-fifteen-minute epic that delves into convoluted plot-lines of mystery identities, corporate white-collar intrigue, nonsensical plot fake-outs, a surprising amount of gun violence and even a weird climactic rant about stock price manipulation. And all the while, you have to accept that within this, the emotional backbone of the film will be a surprisingly wholesome exhibition of family love, understanding and togetherness.

Yes, all of this exists within Speed Racer. And, tonally-speaking, I mean it when I say it is one of the weirdest movies I have ever seen in my entire life. (It’s also a testament to the trouble that a lot of anime and non-naturalistic Japanese storytelling has in terms of adaptation.) And so I get why that is hard for people to swallow, I really do.

But what we’re really talking about is the push-pull of tone-changing filmmaking, wherein I will argue until I’m blue in the face that singular tones are dead-ends to adventurous storytelling. For instance, I love the work of Christopher Nolan, but if you just layer an entire movie in a singular tone you are, in a way, just lying to the audience. From start to finish, Nolan’s films feel propulsive, adult and entirely serious—even if when they, you know, aren’t on the deeper textual level of a moment. But that’s all part of the emotional coding for the audience and in service of the end goal: it makes them feel serious, too. All because it validates their interests as being equally serious.

This is why so many of those inclined to like singular tones have trouble with the work of someone like Sam Raimi. I hear people commenting that his films are “too corny” all the time; that word choice is both telling and bizarre. Because, while Raimi’s movies can be goofy and over the top, they are also achingly dark, sincere, and full of emotion. So really “too corny” is just code for: “this was often goofy and I don’t like movies that make me feel like my interests are goofy.” Which, ironically, I find to be an incredibly juvenile attitude—one that is not trying to be an adult. It’s trying to dress up kid-interests to seem adult, when really adulthood is just rolling with the punches and embracing things for whatever they really are.

The ability to roll with punches and follow a movie into different emotional realms, especially goofy ones within serious narratives, is the ability to not take yourself too seriously. It is the ability to be adult and roll into all kinds of states of emotion, not just the ones we think we want to be in. To that point, Speed Racer basically requires you to roll with the punches on a pretty extreme level. Yes, the silliness feels silly. But if you accept that, then the danger is dangerous, too. And yes, the epic race across the desert goes on “too long,” but in doing so, it genuinely feels epic.

The film is always itself. Especially as it slides back and forth between dramatic and comic emphasis with the blistering assuredness of pure operatic glee, all while living and breathing every moment sincerely. And what else would an 11-year-old’s fever dream about weaponized race cars, ninja fights and family togetherness be but achingly sincere?

Even the much ballyhooed stock price rant is inspired: that’s the point of the film’s laser targeted messaging. While so many kids’ films depict the ethics of villainy as some mustache twirling vehicle for evil and evil alone, Speed Racer has the guts to tell you that evils of the world are far more mundane (and lucrative). But as one-note as the stock market speech feels (as Roger Allam gives a deliciously unhinged performance), the message itself is not some reductive estimation of art and commercialism. Given literally everything else about Speed and his family’s business, Speed Racer is arguing there is nothing wrong with success, fandom, and connection between the two. It is simply pointing out that any system that puts the tiniest bit of money and “the perpetual machine of capitalism” over the sanctity of that connection, will only ever manage to sever that same connection.

That may seem “too adult” for a kids film, but I think it’s inspired, especially as kids are a lot smarter than you think (especially when you don’t talk down to them and trust them to handle things). So, if you buy this notion, and if you buy the family drama that has brought Speed to the final race, then it all comes together thematically into one of the most electric, abstract and emotional endings I can think of—one that wholly reaffirms that we are so much more than any single moment, but the product of everyone who helped get us there along the way. I cry every damn time I watch it.

And nestled within that ending is the larger meta-narrative of the Wachowskis’ entire career, their core theme if you will: the notion of intrinsic identity and becoming your best self. I’ll admit, I often have a lot of trouble with the idea of “destiny” in modern storytelling, precisely because I see a lot of irresponsibility associated with it. What used to be a giant metaphor for hubris has sadly become short-hand wish-fulfillment to believing you are the specialist hero in the universe, an attitude that often reeks of a lot of unintentional uber-mensch vibes.

But within Speed Racer, the metaphor of “race car driver” doubles with artist, or any other childhood dream—the kinds of dreams that must be stuck to, and chased after, with gleeful joy in order to bring said dreams to life. More than that, the metaphor gains so much within the context of the Wachowskis’ personal lives, as we now can look at so much of their work within the landscape of trans messaging—to the point that a lot of their work now has slid into “full text” metaphors of trans identity shifting, such as with Cloud Atlas and Sense 8. In that, I find their work to be the most powerful. By reclaiming destiny and the hero’s journey, they take it all away from “you are destined to be better than everyone else” and make it instead “you are becoming who you always really were, while discovering empathy in all those around you.” This is precisely the sort of loving, hallmark messaging that many too-cool-for-school folks would eye-roll at, but there is no doubting that the Wachowskis’ arrival at this earnestness is both hard-fought and hard-won.

This is all not to say that I’m unaware of the contradictions within their work, most specifically within the catch 22 of violent glorification against anti-violence. But within the “hyper language” of cinema, their violence just becomes part of the operatic aching sincerity.

But I understand that a lot of people aren’t sure what to do with the aching sincerity of it all. I remember how many people saw Jupiter Ascending and made fun of Eddie Radmayne’s truly gonzo performance, but I feel like he was the only one who really knew what movie he was in. He wasn’t pushing it too far; everyone else’s plasticity was weirdly holding it back. I genuinely love him in that film. Sure, the performance might be “too corny” and make you feel “weird,” but it’s precisely the kind of weird that opens the world up and imbues it with life and verve.

Maybe weird and jarring is exactly what we need. For, in a cinematic world full of carefully structured disaffection, the Wachowskis are still the most passionate, jarring and unworried filmmakers we have. And in that journey of self-discovery, it’s the odd mix of gee-golly sincerity of Speed Racer that is both exemplary of (and marks the transitional point of) their entire career.

Which only leaves me with one question: why, in a career full of identity questions, systematic oppression and selfhood, is their most exemplary film about the message of family perseverance and togetherness? In truth, I don’t know what their relationship is like with their larger nuclear family, nor does it matter. What we do know, and have always known, is who Lana and Lilly Wachowski are to each other: friends, collaborators, sisters. They are as loving a literal family as we have ever seen in cinema. And within their art, they’ve been telling us of their specific, powerful experience in the most universal and commercial of cinematic ways.

For well past 10 years now, they’ve telling us by shooting, chopping, rocking out, screaming, singing, dressing up, joking, lecturing, goofing, laughing and anything and everything in between. Many often roll their eyes at such naked, heartfelt audacity. “Too corny,” they say out of the side of their mouths. But such disdain is all part of the pains of being pure at heart.

And really, they are the joys.

< 3 HULK

[robininthelabyrinth]

Countless Roads - Chapter 17

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 17 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

———————————————————————————

“It’s this stupid bitch,” Nicolas says, not for the first time. He's rambling; Len blames the drugs. He hates drugs. He hates the Family. He's starting to really hate Nicolas, pathetic waste of space that he is. “Some punk rocker whore, came back to the hotel and started making a fuss when we got down to business, you know? So we killed her. No harm, no foul, right? Body never found. But that wasn’t how it happened.”

Typically wasn’t, with ghosts.

“And now she’s back, that fucking bitch,” Nicolas continues. Len really wishes he's use another word. There are so many, but Nicolas' vocabulary is clearly not capable of fitting in more than four words at a time. If Lewis wouldn't break his jaw for it, Len might've suggested some alternatives. “She’s fucking haunting me all the fucking time, makes it so I can’t sleep, playing her goddamn music at me, threatening to kill me – throwing things at me – says it’s my fault she never made it big –”

Len freezes, that little hope from earlier flaring up to full force.

No.

It can’t be.

He can’t be this lucky.

It can't be her - can it?

“What hotel?” Len asks, all causal. “Something fancy, I guess – the Hilton?”

“No!” Nicolas shouts. “That stupid fucking bed and breakfast old man Alfonso used to run in his spare time, the one where all the Santini guys took their hook-ups. He’d clean up after if there was ever any problem, but he had to shut it down after a bunch of accidents or whatever.”

It is her.

Deena Nicholls.

Rocker chick with a guitar, as Lisa fondly called her; savage haunting that killed eight people over five years in some bed and breakfast somewhere, Len can't even remember where, before coming home with Len after he'd had to stop her. Len had calmed her down, explained the purpose of that particular bed and breakfast as a Santini Family hot-spot; that it wasn’t a serial killer luring people back to that hotel, that it was some Santini asshole who’d raped and killed her before she got her big break. He'd broken into the police headquarters for her, showed her the police reports, and she'd gone off with a smile and a renewed sense of purpose to hunt down and haunt her murderer.

Looks like she found him.

Friendly Deena.

Powerful Deena.

She might be able to get a message to Mick. Barry certainly didn't seem to be getting the hint.

“I mean, I'm pretty sure I can banish her for you,” Len offers. “If you’d like.” He cuts his eyes towards his dad. “If Dad thinks that’s wise, of course.”

“Don Tomio won’t be happy with this,” Lewis warns. He's scowling: he's not happy with this, either. He's not quite gotten to the point where he thinks Len is manipulating him - Len would be on the ground with a broken nose by now if he did - but he's not happy.

“I need the ghost gone,” Nicolas says. “Right away.”

Len looks between the two. Nicolas isn’t particularly strong willed, for all that he's got a gun, and Lewis is clearly contemplating just overruling him. Time to seem helpful but actually not be.

“Dad’s right,” he says. “Maybe we should ask Don Tomio first.”

They both pale at that, just like he'd hoped. He remembered Don Tomio's so-called 'management style', consisting primarily of terrified underlings who hated him. “No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Lewis says hastily.

“Cabrera says he can’t bring him in that often,” Nicolas adds, equally hasty.

Len shrugs. "Up to you," he says. "Sending her away shouldn't be that much time. But we don't want to mess up the diamond heist."

"My son has a point," Lewis says.

Nicolas's hands are shaking around the gun, and his finger is on the trigger. That's just terrible trigger discipline, and also a sign of how on edge he is. God, but Len hates drugs, and he hates drugged up mobsters with guns even more. "You saying can't do it?"

"After all, the heist tomorrow – " Len says innocently.

"Tomorrow! You can get rid of that bitch today, and still get your diamonds tomorrow, and Don Tomio'll never know," Nicolas exclaims.

Lewis is frowning, angry, but Len is looking down at the ground, avoiding his eyes and hopefully his notices. He doesn't want to tip off his dad that he has something in mind. Better to let him think that Len is still his obedient son – a role Len has played for so long whenever he's around Lewis that it's become almost second nature, no matter how he hates to admit it.

Len knows Lewis won't want to take him off the leash for too long, but even a small chance is worth it. Lewis almost certainly doesn't know exactly what powers Len has, as seen by his request for ingredients for a ritual; Lewis never bothers to learn anything but the surface details for any plan. That's why they always fail.

Len can't afford for this plan to fail. Not with Lisa at stake.

He shudders, the images playing in his mind again, Jacobsen screaming, his head - no. Not Lisa. Not – not like that, not his fault. If she dies, he doesn't know what he'll do.

If it were natural causes or some accident, where she died whole and without regret, where she passed on – he would never disturb her happiness for himself. He would mourn, he would grieve, but Lisa has always had first priority over everything and all ghosts want to pass on, so he'd accept it.

He likes to believe he would, anyway.

But if she died, was murdered, and it was his fault –

He’s not sure he could handle that with anywhere near as much grace.

"Fine," Lewis says abruptly, stepping forward so he's behind Len, the two of them facing Nicolas. A united front, or so it appears. "We'll help you with your ghost problem, Don Nicolas."

Len shudders again. His plan is working so far, but does he dare risk it? If he summons Deena and she reveals that it's a plan, his dad will be even more angry - and that could mean risk to Lisa -

He has to try. He can't just give in now. He has to try.

He wonders for a moment how his dad plans to get the glass out.

That moment stretches out for an eternity.

When Len wakes up – and he never remembered falling asleep – he does so full of anxious dreams and nausea and the blessed cacophony of a hundred thousand chittering ghosts, the background beat of his life – so familiar, so accustomed, that he'd never realized it was there. It's muted, still, but it's there.

Len can feel the tears fill his eyes, entirely involuntarily. He never knew how much he missed it, missed the ghosts, missed all of it, until it was very nearly gone.

Ice cold water splashes on his face.

Len gasps awake, his eyes flying open.

"Time to join us, son," Lewis says from the driver's seat of the car. His hand's in his pocket.

The detonator.

No!

Len can't let that happen.

“What?” he croaks.

“You didn’t need to be awake,” Lewis says with a shrug.

Len nods, accepting that. It’s hardly the first time Lewis has controlled his sleep patterns – he used to enjoy waking Len up randomly at night, until Len was so tired during the day that everything seemed to go wrong, until he was reduced to begging his dad for the privilege of sleeping uninterrupted, all the while apologizing for his failures to accomplish basic tasks for sheer exhaustion. This isn't new.

His skull still hurts, a sharp pinching feeling, now, rather than the ache it had faded to before.

And he can’t stop the surge of joy in his heart, because he can hear them. He can hear the ghosts.

Muted, but there. It's there.

"The ghosts – it’s dulled," he says, looking at his dad, who looks satisfied.

"You said it was easy," Lewis says. "So you won't need full power for it."

Len bows his head. He won't disagree that it would be easier if he did have full power, but his plan – as much of a plan as he could cobble together in those few desperate moments – doesn't require full power.

All it requires is a ghost, a smart ghost, a savage haunting with power of her own, and a sweet and helpful nature to boot, and him having access to her for just long enough to pass on a message.

"Where can I find your ghost?" Len asks Nicolas, who is drumming his fingers anxiously on the window of the passenger side of the car.

"Can't you just summon her?”

"Do you know her name? If I had her name..."

"I never learned the stupid bitch's name!"

"Then take me to where I can find her."

Nicolas drives them to –

"Your ghost haunts the same bed and breakfast where you want to resurrect Don Tomio," Len says flatly. He’d forgotten that.

"That doesn't seem like the wisest course, Don Nicolas," Lewis adds in the same tone.

It makes Len's skin crawl to agree with his dad about anything, but – seriously?

If Cabrera is around, that will make Len's job all the harder. He'll, if Tomio is around, even purely in ghost form, that's not better; Len might not be able to stop him from figuring out what's up.

You don’t get to be head of the Santini mob because you’re an idiot.

"Let me see if anybody's in," Lewis says, getting out of the car. "If that's good with you, Don Nicolas," he adds off-handedly. He doesn't wait for an answer.

"Why didn't you have Cabrera do the banishment?" Len asks, in part to distract Nicolas from Lewis' act of rudeness. But only in part.

Nicolas' face twists in rage. "That’s why I went and got the stupid fucker," he says. "But he says he only does possessions and shit."

"Worked out for Don Tomio's plans but not yours, huh?" Len says, aiming for that vaguely sympathetic but mostly indifferent tone that felons use with each other. Actual sympathy is greeted with suspicion, but Len's found that poisonous words slipped into statements that seem off-hand and impromptu work much better.

Nicolas says nothing, but his lips grow tighter.

"Must suck," Len adds airily, looking out the window. "Always being back of the line."

That sets something off.

"Not today," Nicolas says, more to himself than Len. "Not fucking today. Today I'm gonna get what I want. Get rid of that fucking bitch once and for all, and then I'm gonna celebrate with a shit ton of blow and hookers, and then the great Don Tomio gets what he wants. He can wait in line for once in his fucking life. Afterlife, whatever. And once he's back, he'll get back to the top, with me at his side and I'll never have to be back-of-the-line-Nico ever again."

Len says nothing. Nicolas is as primed as he's going to get – he will literally kill Lewis if he tries to stop them now, which Lewis will undoubtedly recognize. Len's going to get his chance to talk to Deena.

Of course, he thinks Nicolas' dreams are about as realistic as unicorns that reproduce via spontaneous rainbow explosions, but he's not going to be the one to point out that the odds of a ruthless shark like Don Tomio keeping dead weight like Nicolas by his side just because he helped him in a tight spot wouldn't be accepted by any sane bookie. Hell, it's far more likely that Nicolas will be the first casualty of Tomio's return – Tomio wouldn't want too many people alive who know his secret. Nicolas'll probably get a bullet to the back of the head, or maybe some poison that'll put him to sleep first - the privilege of being family.

Lewis might last longer, as the one holding Len's leash, but Len suspects that a few months of living high will loosen Lewis' tongue, and then Tomio will know what strings to pull to make Len jump and then Lewis, too, will be unnecessary.

Len will live, assuming he survives the resurrection process – which he doesn't know, since he's never done it or seen it done or even heard of it getting done. But even if he survives, it won't be a life worth living. That much he knows for sure.

Lewis returns. "Cabrera's out at a bar, helping himself to some of your wealth, Don Nicolas," he says, not without some disgust. Len knows Lewis’ own history, so he knows how hypocritical that statement is. Not that he’d ever say so aloud. "He won't be able to assist."

He means interfere - and he's more worried about Tomio than Cabrera.

"Will Don Tomio be disturbed by the banishing?" Nicolas asks Lewis, assuming for some reason that he’s the expert simply because he holds the leash.

"Son, why don't you answer that one?" Lewis says, as if he'd know what to say.

"I doubt it," Len says. "Ghosts want –" life "—more attention, not less. If I was summoning, even if I wasn't summoning them, that'd get their attention. But banishing? They don't like banishing."

It's not true, of course. Insofar as Len does actual ‘workings’, which is to say really trying hard to do something ghost-related, anything Len does, ghosts are attracted to him. They don’t care whether he’s pulling or pushing. It’s his life they want and they want it in any way that they can get it, especially the unquiet dead like Tomio.

But Len's not planning on doing any workings – summoning, banishing, whatever. Not that he knows how to do those anyway.

No, Len just wants to talk.

They all troop inside, and Lewis' hand is on the detonator. Len can't help but glance over every few minutes, even though he knows it only makes his dad smirk at him. Even though he knows it’s useless. Even if Len could get the detonator away from Lewis, Lewis will have a back-up plan, and that back-up plan is guaranteed to be bloodier than the original plan.

It always is.

Nicolas leads them to a room. Not the same one as Tomio was in earlier; this is one of the bedrooms upstairs, with no real furniture but the bed.

Lewis gets Len to haul in two chairs for him and Nicolas. Len, of course, gets to stand or sit on the bed.

Len has a long-standing rule about not sitting on beds next to Family men. The rule's long since lost its actual utility, now that Len's gotten himself a reputation and proven that he's more valuable as an asset than a plaything, but it's a rule. Len needs all the structure he can get right now. His self-control is shakier than he’d like.

"This is the room?" he asks Nicolas.

"This is it," Nicolas says. His eyes are shifting from side to side rapidly, and he's sweating like a pig. He knows that the ghost – that Deena – is coming for him.

Fucker never even bothered to learn her name. Not when he raped and killed her and left her body for the hotel maids to clean up. Not after she started killing people in search of him. Not even when she started haunting him.

Len hates him, raw and visceral. Asshole'd better hope he doesn't stick around a ghost after Tomio knocks him off.

"How long ago did she die?" Len asks, even though he knows.

"Fuck. Something like – five years ago? Yeah. Five years ago."

"Do your thing, son," Lewis says. "But don't even think of summoning that dead partner of yours, or anyone else, either. You go outside what’s been agreed, and, well…” He smiles. His hand is in his pocket. He doesn't need to say anything more.

Len nods, compliant. His heart cries out for Mick, but his brain knows better. His brain is as cold and calculating as Lewis could possibly want him to be.

“I need the diamonds,” he says, and Nicholas gives them to him.

Len putters around, putting them in the four corners of the room and mumbling nonsense over them for a minute or so. When he sees his dad starting to look restless, he straightens up again. “They’re primed to go,” he announces.

That seems to assuage his dad’s suspicion for a little longer.

If Len’s going to convince his dad that they need the big diamond for Tomio’s resurrection, he’s really got to sell this.

Good thing Len's always been a drama queen.

He puts the diamonds in the center of the room and kneels in front of them, then he uses a knife – produced by Nicholas – to prick the base of his hand (not his finger or palm, he’s not an idiot) and get a bit of blood he can rub the diamonds in before putting them back down.

“My life calls to yours,” Len says, as ominiously as he can, and that part’s even the truth.

He can see his dad straighten a little. He looks almost impressed.

He holds his hands over the diamonds, and thinks, Please let this work.

"I want to see the ghost who died here five years ago, and none other," Len says, taking care to enunciate clearly, and thinks as hard as he can: Deena. Deena Nicholls. Come here.

He's not sure if it's the words or the thoughts, but there's a shiver of air and slowly – far too slowly – Deena begins to coalesce before him.

The first ghost he's seen since the start of this whole nightmare.

He nearly sobs with relief.

But he can’t. He needs to be cold if he’s going to pull off a trick like this under Lewis’ nose.

She's speaking, but she's not yet audible. It's irrelevant – Lewis might've taught Len to read lips, but Lewis' eyes have gotten old, and he doesn't bother with it anymore, considers it a waste of time, and Len would bet money Nicolas never bothered to learn it in the first place.

"Where the fuck have you been?" she's saying, voiceless. "Mick has been on, like, a rage bender –"

"Silence, restless spirit!" Len says, as loudly as he can.

Deena's eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, but she falls quiet as she slowly becomes more and more visible.

Next part of the plan: there's no way for Len to tell her to tip Mick off, not without Lewis figuring it out. Deena's a smart one; she'll know to tell Mick anyway. So what he tells Deena has to be the message, while also sounding something like a proper banishment.

The important question, which Len had been pondering the whole way here, is what the message should be.

He thinks he's got an idea.

“I call upon you, spirit,” he says, lifting his hands. No particular reason beyond the recommendation of a street magician he met once, that people focus on what you do with your hands if you move them around. “I call upon your name.”

Her eyes widen a little.

"Your name," he says, pretending to concentrate. "Your name is – your name is Deena Nicholls. Speak if this is true, but say no more."

"It is true," she says, and says nothing else. Well, aloud, anyway. Her eyebrows are doing a hell of a lot of talking. Most of that talking is insulting and/or questioning Len’s sanity.

"I have your name," he says. "Your name is mine. You will listen to me, and obey me, and – " all that crap he never went in for because he is not a goddamn necromancer "- do as I say."

Len can see the intense amounts of sarcasm on her face, but it's starting to war with increasing amounts of worry. This is, after all, incredibly out of character for him.

"You know who I am," he says, catching her eyes with his own. "You know what I can do."

"I do," she says. "I hear and will obey." Her voice is monotonous and her eyes stare dully at him; he would worry that he's accidentally done something to her, except her hands are slightly raised before her, arms straight ahead.

Zombie pose.

Yesssss, master.

Not the first time Deena's made that joke.

Goddamn haunted houses, bane of Len's life; Len's never been so happy that they exist.

"I order you, Deena Nicholls," he says, eyes still fixed on hers, hoping against hope that she'll understand what he means. "To leave this place. I order you to leave this man. I order you to go away as fast as you can, to the place where knowledge lies and peace may be had."

Clunky as all hell, but hopefully it'll do.

Deena's eyes narrow just the tiniest little bit in thought, then widen in understanding.

Please let that have worked, Len begs in his thoughts.

"I will go," she says. "I’ll go away as fast as I can."

"As it was said, let it be done," Len says, figuring that's as good an ending as any. Sounds nice and traditional.

(Traditionally, Len banishes particularly irritating ghosts by saying 'shoo!' at them until they leave. Sometimes he tries to wave a broom at or through them. Nine out of ten ghosts agree that this is incredibly annoying and will flounce off in a huff.)

And then she's gone.

Len can only hope that the message made it through without tipping off Lewis.

"She's gone?" Nicolas breathes. "She's gone?"

Len feels something prick his shoulder. A sedative, undoubtedly; he doubts he'll be awake much longer. But that's good; that means Lewis wants him back under control. Lewis thinks he's finished the job. Lewis doesn't realize what the message was.

Mick – go to Barry. He'll know what you need to know to help me. And please – please, help me.

The world goes black.

[xbooksandtea]

92 Question Tag

Tagged by @thespiritualmultinerd​ - thank you! :)

 THE LAST: 1. Drink: Water (boring, I know) 2. Phone call: I talked to my aunt about a job I'm applying for 3. Text message: "as far as faces can be considered hot", answering the question whether I thought a picture of Harley Quinn from the PS4 game was hot 4. Song you listened to: Carry on Wayward Son by Kansas - the Comic Con Version 5. Time you cried: I cry pretty often, but last time was probably while reading Magnus Chase Hammer of Thor. That's my new favourite book. Words cannot describe how much I love it.

HAVE YOU: 6. Dated someone twice: Yes, very big mistake if this is referring to dating the same person twice 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: Hmm... it depends on my mood actually whether I regret it or would do it again. Currently, I'm regretting it, but that could change within a few hours so it's not that big of a deal 8. Been cheated on: Several times 9. Lost someone special: My grandpa died last year. I also lost some close friends, they aren't dead but they kinda cut me off. 10. Been depressed: I am diagnosed with depression, so yeah 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: I only throw up after eating paprika. Funny is, I once ate paprika then drank and threw up. So basically yes, but I never threw up from drinking only alkohol.

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS: 12. Black 13. Purple 14. Orange

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU: 15. Made new friends: I guess :) I'm also back in touch with a few old friends, which feels pretty amazing! 16. Fallen out of love: No 17. Laughed until you cried: Yes! :) 18. Found out someone was talking about you: Yeah but she always does that so *shrugs* I don't care anymore. 19. Met someone who changed you: I cut someone off who changed me in a negative way, does that count, too? 20. Found out who your friends are: No but they confirmed it (sorry for having to steal your answer here @thespiritualmultinerd) 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: Yes

GENERAL: 22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: I have like 5 and I know every one of them 23. Do you have any pets: I had three guinea pigs once. Loved them. They passed away some time ago though. 24. Do you want to change your name: I never really thought about that, so no I guess?  25. What did you do for your last Birthday: Had a party with a few friends. I now have pink handcuffs and Draco's wand 26. What time did you wake up: around 9:50 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: Reading the Percy Jackson / Kane Chronicles Crossover 28. Name something you can’t wait for: Sophie and I going to London!! Also the next Magnus Chase book 29. When was the last time you saw your mom: Yesterday evening before I went upstairs 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: Get rid of my depression and/or make myself more motivated to do stuff somehow 31. What are you listening to right now: Nothing because Youtube won't load... *cries* 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Surprisingly, no 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: An old classmate of mine I keep seeing when I go to the city 34. Most visited Website: tumblr

LAST QUESTIONS

35. Mole/s: I have many, but one is directly underneath my navel and kinda looks like a piercing

36. Mark/s: A burn scar on my left thumb where I was almost-fainting while straightening a cosplay with a hot iron, some up my tighs

37. Childhood dream: I always wanted to be an author, a dream that stayed with me until today

38. Haircolor: brownish black because I'm too lazy to re-dye it - my natural colour is a weird shade of brown

39. Long or short hair: short

40. Do you have a crush on someone: ALEX FIERRO FROM MAGNUS CHASE

41. What do you like about yourself: That I've grown to accept my appearance and became more positive about myself during the last few months

42. Piercings: One in each earlobe

43. Bloodtype: I don’t know

44. Nickname: Some people online call me Nico but most people just go by my real name

45. Relationship status: CRUSHING ON ALEX FIERRO but single.

46. Zodiac: Cancer

47. Pronouns: Hmmm... I'm okay with any pronouns, but I prefer she or he. I don't really care, just use what you feel most comfortable with

48. Favorite TV Show: Supernatural probably, but Merlin was amazing as well

49. Tattoos: I kinda want a small quote or something on my wrist or ankle

50. Right or left hand: Right

51. Surgery: Had one for hernia when I was younger, but I will have another one on Wednesday - for getting a tooth that doesn't seem to want to come out of the flesh into the right place. I'll be fully conscious while they cut my fucking jaw open. I'm scared for my life.

52. Hair dyed in different color: Black ^^

53. Sport: Riding but I generally don't like sports (I'm a couch potato)

55. Vacation (this year): London in a few weeks - I haven't been on vacation for years and I am pretty excited!

56. Pair of trainers: black fake Chucks

MORE GENERAL:

57. Eating: Pancakes and chocolate 58. Drinking: water, lemon soda, grapefruit-flavoured beer, vodka 59. I’m about to: Start writing a thing for a contest that is due this week... oops 61. Waiting for: Magnus Chase Ship of the Dead 62. Want: For Magnus Chase and Alex Fierro to hook the fuck up 63. Get married: Maybe... 64. Career: Author, hopefully

WHICH IS BETTER 65. Hugs or kisses: Both! Can I have both please? 66. Lips or eyes: Eyes :) 67. Shorter or taller: Shorter 68. Older or younger: Younger 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: Arms 71. Sensitive or loud: Depends on the situation and my mood! :) 72. Hook up or relationship: Hmm, that depends on my mood as well 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: Hesitant because I like to stay out of trouble

HAVE YOU EVER: 74. Kissed a stranger: No but wanted to, especially when I'm drunk 75. Drank hard liquor: Yup yup 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: I only use contact lenses for cosplay and I don't have glasses, so no 77. Turned someone down: No because nobody is ever into me 78. Sex in the first date: Nope, only made out (we've known each other for a few years though so that's fine) 79. Broken someone’s heart: I don't think so...? 80. Had your heart broken: Yeah 81. Been arrested: Nope 82. Cried when someone died: I cry everytime someone close to me dies 83. Fallen for a friend: Questioning

DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 84. Yourself: Sometimes 85. Miracles: Tough one... I sometimes hope for miracles, but I don't think I really believe in them 86. Love at first sight: I believe in attraction at first sight or bond at first meeting, but love is something that needs to grow over time for me 87. Santa Claus: ... *cries* 88. Kiss on the first date: Sure why not 89. Angels: No, but I wouldn't mind if the Supernatural angels existed

OTHER:

90. Current best friends name: "Current" sounds so harsh... Sophie, she's been by my side for many years and I hope she stays there for many more 91. Eyecolor: Brown, sometimes green depending on the light, sometimes honey-coloured. I like them. 92. Favorite movie: HARRY POTTER

tagging: @many-fandoms-many-tears, @jdragon122, @kreativ-phase, @meetmeatgrimmauldplace, @magicalmischel, @sammy-spirit-winchester