#I’m ignoring things I didn’t think made sense in canon

[paraderain]

Naruto Mixed Teams AU

So the teams in Naruto are broke as fuck and seem to have no reasoning outside of Asuma with InoShikaCho which they partially threw away in Boruto anyways so… I’m changing the teams and lots of other stuff but most notably is probably the teams.

In this AU Iruka as there home room or main instructor in the academy chooses team composition and their team leaders. Iruka is given a dossier of the available team leaders and chooses the teams each one will have.

First is Team 7: Sasuke Uchiha, Neji Hyuga, Shino Aburame, and Kakashi Hatake as sensei. I think Iruka’s reasoning here is grouping all the prodigies together to challenge each other and to try and survive Kakashi’s no pass rate (and his shitty teaching, sorry not sorry). Shino is counted as a prodigy because he’s never lost a fight and I refuse to believe that kinda skill wasn’t noticed.

Next is Team 8: Ino Yamanaka, Kiba Inuzuka, Hinata Hyuga, and Kurenai Yuhi as sensei. These guys are not as well balanced but I couldn’t take Hinata from Kurenai. The reasoning here is that Ino and Hinata need the companionship and Kiba needs to learn some tact and a bit more empathy. Ino needs a non competitive gal pal again to chill out and learn teamwork. Hinata needs the confidence from both teamates and her sensei to rub off on her. Ino’s temper and Hinata’s soft spoken personality will force Kiba to learn some tact and respect in trial by fire basically.

*I know none of the kids can get much from a genjutsu specialist except Sasuke or Sakura but it was the same in the show. Also I wanted to keep all the sensei with their favorite students and I had plans for Sakura.

Next we have Team 10: Naruto Uzumaki, Shikamaru Nara, Tenten, and Asuma Sarutobi as their sensei. I think Shikamaru and Naruto work well to counter each other well. Levelheadedness and well thought out plans are all well and good but sometimes energy and spontaneity is what a situation needs. Also Naruto and Tenten can account for the human element of planning since Shika is a logic boy. Plus (although we see very little of her) Tenten seems like a good middle ground, excitable but mission focused. Plus Shika and Tenten seemed not to have their minds made up and predujiced against Naruto like some of their classmates so it’d make sense for Iruka to take that into account when deciding team dynamics. Also Asuma uses chakra infused weapons which could aid Tenten and help teach Naruto better control.

Lastly we have Team Guy: Choji Akimichi, Rock Lee, Sakura Haruno, and Might Guy as sensei. I think Iruka would see the spirit displayed when not pandering to her crush on Sasuke and throw her to Guy right away. She has the same energy without the “youth” obsession. And throw Choji in with those 3 to try and motivate him a bit more too and also give him some hype men. Guy and Lee would never call him fatso and might even indulge in eating competition with him after training since they see the “spirit of youth” in everything. Also all the guys, after getting to know each other, would definitely call Sakura out on her less than stellar motivations to be a ninja and her attitude towards Naruto and to a lesser degree everyone not Sasuke.

In this AU the original Team Guy members are still all a year older than the others but were in the academy at the same time. Lee and Tenten took the extra year to train ‘cause of there limited skill set and Neji wasn’t allowed to attend ahead of Hinata.

Also in this Naruto still has the moniker of “Knucklehead Ninja” but he’s not an idiot. It never made sense that Naruto as much as he said he wanted respect and acknowledgment couldn’t do anything at the beginning from what we could see. So my thoughts are he already learn Shadow clone and some other probably a bit common big chakra ninjutsu but things that require finer control are hard cause of just how much chakra he has to deal with. I think in this AU the moniker was mostly unjustly assigned due to prejudice and quick judgements.

Also he and Sasuke have a silent respect for each other already. I think right after the massacre Sasuke would be tired of the pitying looks or even praise over his genius so he wanders looking for a place to be alone and finds Naruto. From then on they have companionable silence together every now and then. Naruto just glad someone’s willing to be around him and Sasuke likes that at least one person just doesn’t care to worship him or walk on egg shells. Also Naruto doesn’t like Sakura here. He’s just not in a good enough headspace yet for romance when platonic love isn’t even in view yet. Sakura still likes Sasuke but mostly cause that was most of her character before so I’m using that crush for character growth on her end.

Lastly, episodes 1 and 2 basically don’t happen. I always thought 1 was like an original pilot pitch that never got adjusted in terms of how it actually fit in the show and 2 just seemed fully unnecessary. Basically everything before the Chunin Exam is getting gone or condensed and lots of training and team bonding is getting added since the exam supposedly starts 6 months from the beginning of the show.

[ellecdc]

I'm back with another request!!!

This one is remus×femreader bc we love remi in this house

Basically, remi and reader are arguing about something stupid (something to do with books) and there's a lot of flirting going on whilst arguing. Remus starts becoming a little amused while arguing and tries to hide his smile (we all know he has eyes that glitter when he's happy). Reader gets annoyed and starts going off on him and Remus kisses her to shut her up. The thing is, the reader has never been kissed before. And she REALLY likes him. So she's shocked to say the least. She stares at him in disbelieve and Remi's like "what" and she goes "you kissed me" "ik" Remus says plainly. "I've never been kissed before" reader whispers while looking down, ashamed. Remus feels bad so he takes her by her shoulders, tilts her chin up, and kisses her again. Properly.

Thanks, love! Here are some flowers for you 💐

soooo cute - hope I did your idea justice!!

Remus Lupin x fem!reader who has never been kissed

CW: fluff, narrative around consent

“I cannot believe you just said that.” You deadpanned, staring at Remus with a fiery glint in your eye as he watched you very clearly try to fight off a smile. 

“Why would I not say it?” Remus asked incredulously as you repositioned yourself on the sofa to angle your body towards him for better arguing.

“Because it’s so incredibly wrong.”

“Well now that’s ignorant.”

You scoffed disbelievingly at him. “You did not just call me ignorant.”

“Nope, wrong again.” He laughed. “I said your statement was ignorant.”

“In what sodding world did Amy and Laurie make any sense?” You asked then, slapping your hand against your knee to punctuate your question.

“Uhm, this one? Obviously, that’s why it’s canon.”

You pursed your lips as if you were restraining yourself from bodily launching yourself at Remus; he really wished you wouldn’t.

“Author’s don’t get it right all of the time.” You said instead of telling Remus to go fuck himself. 

“I don’t think that’s true; this book has become a classic for a reason. Louisa May Alcott didn’t write these things by accident, there was intention and purpose behind these characters and their choices.”

“Yes, and the purpose was to drive readers mad!” You nearly screeched.

“Or perhaps it was to illustrate to young women that they don’t need to settle for their childhood friend.” He countered. 

“It wasn’t settling! She loved him back!” 

Remus couldn’t help but smile then; between your passion, how cute you looked when you were wound up, and the fact that you were screaming about love made his own heart beat in double time. 

“You’re sodding laughing at me.” You narrated with a disbelieving head shake, clearly misinterpreting Remus’ lovesick expression for humour. “Remus Lupin! Stop laughing at me!” You shouted playfully, landing a few good whacks on his arm with the book as he pretended to shield himself from you. 

“Okay, so not only do you have horrid takes on classic literature, but you also use classic literature to assault people? What has the world come to?” Remus teased as you continued your attack. 

“You. Are. Infuriating!” You spat, punctuating each word with a whack as you moved to stand on your knees for better access to Remus.

Better access indeed he decided as he quickly grabbed your wrists, rendering your weapon utterly useless as it hung limp in your hand.

“I’m infuriating, am I?” He asked you quietly.

“Exhausting.” You agreed, matching his volume.

“Exhausting?”

“Troublesome.”

“Is that so?” 

“And completely unromantic! I mean, how could-”

But he never got to hear what your next argument was about how perfect Laurie and Jo would have been together before he quickly slotted his lips against yours.

For how energetic the conversation had been, the kiss was decidedly not; it was soft, gentle, tentative, and Remus only hoped you couldn’t read him like a book for how utterly in love he was with you. 

And entirely too soon was Remus pulling away from your face, still holding your wrists as he looked between your eyes.

“You…kissed me.” You whispered; the statement sounding nearly like a question as you looked at Remus with a mixture of shock and bemusement. 

Remus felt his stomach drop; was he not supposed to? He should have asked first; fucking arse. Had he read this all wrong; were you not into him like that? Had he been projecting his own feelings onto you, merely expecting you to reciprocate feelings he’d never properly expressed? 

“Yes…I- was that not okay?”

“I…I’ve never been kissed before…” You admitted quietly, arms falling limp in Remus’ hands as he loosened his grip. 

“Oh dove, I’m sorry. I- did…you want to be kissed?” He asked, leaving out the ‘by me?’ 

You looked surprised at his question; the corner of your mouth turning upwards as you examined Remus' face. He hoped to Godric his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. 

“Very much so.” You whispered.

Feeling hopefully brave by the way your fingers were fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve and the way your eyes were fixed on his lips, he moved his hands to your waist and encouraged you to straddle his lap. You positioned yourself immediately, as if being in his lap was the most natural thing in the world, watching as his hands trailed up to your shoulders and down your arms, guiding your hands to rest on his shoulders. 

“Yeah?” He asked under his breath. 

“Please.” You whispered back.

“Oh pretty girl,” he cooed; pushing a lock of hair behind your ear before hooking a finger under your chin to pull your lips towards his. “It’d be my absolute pleasure.”

[storiesforallfandoms]

littlest lion ~ oberyn martell;game of thrones

word count: 3182

request?: no

description: after witnessing the littlest lion sibling’s abuse at the hands of her queen sister, he decides that not all lannisters are as terrible as he once thought

pairing: oberyn martell x female!reader

warnings: swearing, verbal abuse (it’s cersei so...not surprisingly), much use of y/n, a little bit of a re-write on the canon of got to say that tywin had a second wife and another child so that it makes sense for the reader to be the youngest lannister

masterlist (one, two, three)

Everyone in all of Westeros knew the Lannister siblings to be cunning and pretentious. For the most part, those assumptions were right. Cersei and Jamie were definitely both of those things - Cersei more so than her twin brother - and Tyrion’s general distaste and apathy for everything could be misinterpreted as pretentious.

But then there was their youngest half sister, (YN).

Born to Tywin and his second wife after the death of his first, (Y/N) Lannister was the complete opposite to her older siblings. She was kind and shy, which often resulted in a verbal lashing from Cersei. Tyrion was indifferent to (Y/N), but treated her nice enough. Jamie just ignored her unless he was with Cersei. Cersei despised her sister with every fiber of her being. She never wasted a breath to inform (Y/N) that she wasn’t a real Lannister, despite her being a true born to Tywin.

She tried to pretend like Cersei’s words didn’t affect her. It would only result in more taunting if she did. But (Y/N) had spent countless nights in her chambers sobbing over whatever Cersei had said to her that day. She dreamed of the day she would be able to leave her sister’s kingdom (although technically it was her son, Joffrey’s, but everyone knew Cersei was the true leader), but it felt like that day would never come. (Y/N) was well into her adulthood with no prospects of getting married. It didn’t help that Tywin hadn’t arranged a suitor for her in her younger years, and now that Joffrey was king the task fell to him and Cersei, but Cersei would not approve of any suitors for her sister.

“She needs someone to bully,” Tyrion had told (Y/N) once. “The only way you will ever marry is if you manage to find someone who will take you away.”

(Y/N) hoped that Joffrey’s marriage would bring Cersei enough joy that she would not think to be cruel to her. (Y/N) made herself unseen to Cersei as much as possible while the wedding was happening, unless she was called upon.

Unfortunately for her, Cersei still found reason to call upon her.

(Y/N) entered the throne room where Cersei was speaking with Joffrey. She curtsied, waiting for the two to notice her. She was sure Cersei was intentionally keeping Joffrey’s attention when her legs began to shake, threatening to collapse from under her.

“You may rise, aunt,” Joffrey finally said.

(Y/N) stood straight. “Your grace, you summoned me?”

“Upon my mother’s request,” Joffrey confirmed. “She wishes to speak with you in regards to my wedding day.”

(Y/N) tried to keep her expression neutral as she turned to Cersei. “What can I do for you, sister?”

“Don’t call me that,” Cersei hissed.

“I apologize, my lady.”

“I called you here to ask what you intend to wear to the king’s wedding.”

(Y/N) blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Have you become hard of hearing? What do you intend to wear to your king’s wedding?” She enunciated each word as if (Y/N) were a child. Joffrey was smirking from his throne. He reveled in his mother’s cruelty just as he reveled in his own.

“I...I suppose a gown from my wardrobe,” (Y/N) said.

Cersei scoffed. “Please, your wardrobe is so common. It would be humiliating for you to show up like that.”

A lump began to form in (Y/N)’s throat, but she tried to swallow it down. “I have no other options, though, and the wedding is in a matter of days.”

“I’ll have to get my seamstress to work on a more appropriate gown for you then,” Cersei sighed.

(Y/N) felt a heavy pit in her stomach. It was starting to make sense why Cersei had called her here. It wasn’t truly to figure out suitable wear for the wedding. It was so Cersei could once again humiliate (Y/N). She had no doubts that her sister would have her seamstress make the most hideous dress for (Y/N) to wear to the wedding. It would be an embarrassment for (Y/N), and it would mean it would be less likely for any potential suitors to show interest in her.

Tears were welling in her eyes. She was trying to fight them back, but it was a losing battle. “May I be excused, your grace?”

Joffrey glanced at his mother. She sighed and turned away, so he waved (Y/N) off. As she began to leave, she heard Cersei tell her son, “What a pathetic woman.”

(Y/N) all but ran from the throne room. She hurried out the doors of the castle into the palace’s garden as her tears finally began to fall. Her body was wracked with sobs as she fell onto the nearest bench. She felt so struck and so helpless. She would never get out of Cersei’s clutches as long as she lived, and there was no one in the world who could save her.

“I wonder what it is that causes a lion to cry.”

(Y/N) jumped at the sound of a voice. She looked up to see a handsome man in a yellow robe stood in front of her.

“Apologies,” she said, quickly wiping the tears from her face. “I was no aware that there was anyone else here.”

“No need for apologies. This is your home, you are allowed to cry anywhere you wish.” He sat next to her, looking at her as if studying her. “But the question still stands: what makes a lion cry?”

“You know who I am.”

It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyways, “Everyone in all of Westeros knows who the Lannisters are. Even if I didn’t, your golden hair would have been a clue.”

(Y/N) had to break their eye contact because this handsome man was intimidating her. Not in a bad way. His looks were just making her feel tongue tied.

“It was nothing,” she said. “I apologize for disturbing your peace.”

“The little lion is surprising,” he commented. “She cries, she apologies. Very un-Lannister.”

“I am no Lannister. At least, not to my own siblings.”

A look of realization passed his face. “I believe I am starting to understand.”

Tears were forming in her eyes again. She couldn’t cry in front of this stranger. Not again. It was bad enough that he had already caught her once. Cersei would have her head if she found out that (Y/N) was making the family name seem weak.

“Would you like to go for a walk, little lion?” he asked.

His voice was quiet and soothing. If she didn’t know any better, (Y/N) would’ve thought he was mocking her. But one look told her he was being genuine. A walk through the garden definitely sounded like a good idea.

He offered her his arm and she took it. As they stood, he told her, “My name is Oberyn Martell, brother of Doran Martell.”

“The Prince of Doran,” (Y/N) said.

Oberyn smiled. “You know of my family too, then.”

“One must know all the families of Westeros, as not to let down their guard,” (Y/N) recited. “Or to not make a fool.”

She could see Oberyn look at her, but she wouldn't dare look back at him. Instead, she changed the subject, “You must be here for my nephew’s wedding.”

“I am. My brother was invited, but he was very busy, so I am taking his lace.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy your stay then.”

“I am already enjoying it.”

(Y/N) smiled, her face burning from the compliment.

She showed Oberyn around the garden, the two of them trading stories and getting to know each other. For a brief moment, (Y/N) was able to forget about everything. It was a brief moment of happiness and feeling like she was actually wanted.

They came to stand at a perch that overlooked the kingdom. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden he over everything. (Y/N) was acutely aware of Oberyn’s hand brushing against her own, but was trying not to focus too much on it. Oberyn’s presence was starting to make her feel dizzy, but not in a bad way. It was an intoxicating feeling. She never wanted it to end, but at the same time she was worried about making a fool of herself in front of him.

“This visit has already brought many surprises for me,” Oberyn said.

“How so?” (Y/N) asked.

“For one, I have found that not all Lannisters are as terrible as their reputation would have it. And two, I am finding myself enjoying time with a Lannister.”

He lifted her hand and brushed his lips against her knuckles. She drew in a shakey breath at the action. Oberyn’s deep brown eyes were watching her again. She hoped her legs would not give out from underneath her as she felt them growing weak.

“I have been enjoying my time with you as well, my Lord,” she said.

“Please, call me Oberyn. I am but a second son, not a Lord. Besides, I do not intend for these formalities between us to last long.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You are ambitious.”

“I am a man who knows what he wants, and it is seldom that I do not get what it is that I want.”

Her heart was beating so fast she thought she may pass out, or that Oberyn may hear it. She had never had a man tell her that he wanted her, and she realized she had never wanted someone so much either. In just a short period of time, Oberyn had managed to completely steal her heart. There was nothing in the world that could ruin this moment, or this connection.

What she didn’t realize was that her sister was watching the two of them from inside the castle.

~~~~~~

The sun was nearly completely set when Oberyn and (Y/N) finally parted ways. He had kissed her hand once more and told her he would come looking for her the next day. (Y/N) was so lightheaded that she practically floated back to her room. She was just about to enter her chambers when a voice asked, “Did you have a good evening with the Dornish prince?”

She turned quickly to see Cersei stood at the end of the long hall. Suddenly, everything came crashing back down to Earth around her.

“He is very lovely,” she responded. “I apologize that he kept me for so long. I did not intend to miss out on dinner.”

“It was lovely without you.” 

(Y/N) winced. She put her hand back on her door, intending to escape into her room and hopefully salvage whatever good feelings she could from her time with Oberyn.

“I know you are not wise, (Y/N), but I truly hope you are not stupid enough to fall for Oberyn Martell.”

(Y/N) looked at her sister in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that he is not a man who settles for one woman. Everyone knows that he will fuck anything that walks - man or woman. He was already visiting the brothel here before his arrival.”

Her breathing began to increase. “I...I didn’t...”

“Oh my word,” Cersei breathed. “You have fallen for him, haven’t you?”

The tears were forming again. (Y/N) quickly blinked them away so that Cersei wouldn’t see. “He was treated me as if I was an actual person. That is more than I can say for anyone in this castle. I apologize if it makes me stupid because I was happy to feel wanted for once in my life.”

“He only made you feel that way so he could take your maidenhood,” Cersei retorted. “He will not make you a wife, he will make you a whore. And then he will return to Dorne while you are here, weeping over his departure even though you were the fool who fell for him. It will be left to me to pick up the pieces he left behind.”

Cersei was shaking her head as she turned to leave. (Y/N) was hoping that she could finally escape her sister’s cruelty for the night, but then Cersei paused to add, “I mean, really, (Y/N). Why would a prince of all people want to marry someone like you? The last born child, from a second marriage, who has not been wed by the time she reached her maturing age? You are pathetic.”

(Y/N) didn’t wait for Cersei to leave. She shoved into her room and slammed the door shut. Her tears began to fall before the door was fully closed. She didn’t even have the strength to make it to her bed this time. She collapsed into a heap against the door, burying her head in her skirts as she began to sob.

How could she be such a fool? How could she let herself believe that she had finally found someone who wanted her? That she might just escape from Cersei once and for all? What Cersei had said may have been cruel, but (Y/N) knew there must be some truth behind the words. There was nothing remarkable about (Y/N) that would draw in the attention of someone like Oberyn, unless he just wanted to try and get into her bed. He saw her at her weakest and he preyed on that, the same way that Cersei always had.

“Stupid,” (Y/N) whispered to herself through her tears. “You are stupid.”

A knock came at the door.

“Go away!” (Y/N) called through her tears. She wasn’t in the mood for anyone to see her like this, or to have to be humiliated further.

“It is me, little lion.”

She paused. How had he found her room? Why had he come for her? Surely he wasn’t about to try to get into her bed already.

Against her better judgement, she stood and opened the door. When he saw her tearstained face, Oberyn’s expression filled with sadness. He reached for her, and she allowed him to pull her into his embrace.

“I am so sorry you are treated this way,” he said.

“Did you hear?” she asked.

He nodded. “I will admit, I followed you once we had separated. I wanted to see if you would be intercepted by either of your siblings before you reached your room. I saw the Queen Regent approaching, so I kept a distance to hear what she would say to you.”

“Then you heard what she told me about you.”

(Y/N) pulled away from Oberyn. She knew she shouldn’t listen to anything Cersei said, but she couldn’t help that her sister’s words had once against gotten to her.

“I did,” Oberyn confirmed.

“And is it true?”

“It is true that I went to a brothel before I arrived at the castle. It is true that I enjoy intimacy from anyone who is willing to give it to me, regardless of gender. But it is not true that I was only kind to you to try and take your maidenhood. What I said in the garden, I meant it.”

“Why?” (Y/N) asked. “Why would you want me? Out of all the beautiful women that I am sure you have seen, both noble and not, why is it me that you desire for?”

He cupped her face. He wiped the tears from her eyes with his thumbs as he looked down at her. “Because I believe you to be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

(Y/N) scoffed, but Oberyn said, “It is true. From the moment I saw you in the garden, weeping over what I am sure was another verbal lashing from your sister, I was taken by your beauty. You are a beautiful woman, both inside and out. I am completely taken by you, (Y/N), and it upsets me greatly that you are made to think that you do not deserve that kind of love.”

She wanted to be happy by what Oberyn was saying. She did believe him. She could see the sincerity in his eyes. But knowing that Oberyn was taken by her that much just made her heart ache more, because she knew that they would never be allowed to be together.

“Cersei will never approve,” she said. “She will not let me marry and escape this place. If you show any interest in me, or voice that you want me to be your wife, she will deny it.”

“Then I will take you away from here.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

Oberyn looked over his shoulder to be sure no one was around. (Y/N) stepped back into her room and motioned for him to follow. She closed her door, giving them some privacy to speak freely.

“She cannot stop me if I take you before she realizes you are gone,” he said. “We can leave after the king’s wedding and return to Dorne immediately. She cannot stop you once you’ve already gone, and if she tries then you will have an army of Dornish men waiting to defend you. Myself included.”

“How will we get my things out of here before she can stop us?” (Y/N) asked, glancing around her room.

“Pack what is essential,” Oberyn told her. “Just one bag of essential things. Whatever you cannot fit I will replace once we return to Dorne. We can put it in my carriage before the wedding, and once it all ends we will leave immediately. I did not intend to stay long after the ceremony anyways, so it will not seem suspicious if I take my leave so quickly.”

Tyrion’s words were playing in (Y/N)’s head. “The only way you will ever marry is if you manage to find someone who will take you away.” She had thought for so long that it was an unreachable desire to find someone who would want to take her away. She almost wanted to pinch herself to see if she was dreaming.

“You would really do that for me?” she asked.

“Of course I would, my little lion,” he said. “You do not deserve the life that you are living here. Even if you do not want me, I will still take you away and let you live a happier life.”

“I want you,” she whispered, almost worried that saying it out loud would make everything fall apart.

But Oberyn heard her, and he smiled. “When we are in Dorne, I will court you as I should, then I will make you my wife.”

(Y/N) couldn’t find the words to say how much she wanted that. She just smiled, then leaned into Oberyn’s embrace. She mentally counted the days until she could be free from her prison, but then decided not to think of how long till it would happen. Instead, she focused on what she was going to have after she had finally gotten out of there.

Oberyn.

[chvoswxtch]

hi um so this is like my first time making a request, like ever. I’m not even sure if this is where I’m supposed to put a request. So I’m really nervous but this idea has been in my head for weeks and I need it to be brought to life? Idk but can I request Matt Murdock with a sort of shy reader? Where he tells her about his abilities and daredevil and everything (established relationship) and she doesn’t really care as long as he’s safe but she has something in her mind and he notices and keeps asking and basically she has a question about his senses, specifically his taste and idk if you know but Matt can canonically know ALL of the ingredients of anything just from a taste and she basically wants to make him taste a bunch of stuff and tell her the ingredients of it so she can make them? I know this is probably WAY too specific so feel free to completely ignore this, I just wanted to get it out.

hi my darling!

so I actually read this request right before going to the grocery store, and while I was looking through produce, it made me think about how matt would absolutely know which produce was the freshest and which ones to avoid. I kinda mixed that in with your idea about being able to tell exactly what ingredients were in something, and I hope this is close to what you were looking for! <3

warnings: tooth rotting fluff and matt being a lil shit word count: 1.3k

lemons.

“Not that one.”

You hand instantly stilled over a lemon that your fingertips had already grazed over. Glancing at Matt over your shoulder, a crease formed between your brows while you looked back down at it.

“What do you mean? This one is perfect-”

“It’s not ripe enough.”

“But…it’s so yellow, like sunshine yellow.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Matt’s lips when he felt the way your own pursed into a bit of a confused pout. It was something you always did when you were intensely focused on something, and he found it endearing. Reaching his hand out, he used the pad of his thumb to smooth away the furrow that had creased in the middle of your forehead, and his soft smile curled up into a light smirk catching the flush of heat that immediately coursed through the tops of your cheeks.

“Well, I’m sure it’s a very pretty lemon, but it doesn’t taste ripe.”

Ever since Matt had told you the truth about his vigilante identity and his abilities, you’d had countless questions. You wouldn’t voice them at first, almost as if you were afraid to cross some invisible boundary that Matt might have, but he knew you, and he knew how to dismantle that shy exterior of yours. From the moment the two of you first met, you had been overly polite and accommodating about his disability, but not in a way that made him uncomfortable. You didn’t walk on eggshells around him or call any extra attention to his blindness. In fact, the way you interacted with him was so seamless, it was almost like it came second nature.

If you guys were grabbing coffee with Karen and Foggy, you would automatically place the raw sugar packets within his reach because you knew he preferred it to the artificial sweeteners. If the four of you went to check out a new lunch spot, you always called ahead to check if they had a menu in braille and made sure Matt was given one. There were so many little things you did to make him feel included and normal. It was part of why he fell so hard for you.

You never asked about the origin of his blindness, and even after he opened up and told you about his accident, you were reserved with your questions. He could tell you were curious, and he wanted you to ask. He wanted you to know things about him. You were a bit of a wallflower, and Matt could always feel you silently observing him, but he wanted you to understand him. He quickly realized he would have to flat out grant you permission to be nosey, and so he did.

Out of everyone he had revealed his Daredevil secret to, you had taken it the best. He didn’t know if he would ever get over the surprise of just how well you handled it. You didn’t get angry or yell at him. You didn’t call him a liar or a traitor, or ask him if he was faking his blindness; all reactions he expected. You just sat there in pure confusion, and you were silent for so long, Matt was panicked that he’d sent you into a state of shock. When it finally settled in that it wasn’t a joke, your brows knit together, and Matt could feel the way your face contorted into an expression of irritation when you flat out asked him if he was crazy. The memory of that night never failed to make him smile.

“Um…well, I mean…not in the traditional sense-”

“Matthew, what the hell are you thinking running around on rooftops, going after guys with guns and knives with…sticks? How do you even do that?”

“They’re batons, actually. Look it’s hard to explain, but I have heightened senses that help me-”

“Are those super senses going to keep you out of prison? Because that’s where you’re going if you get caught. What was the point of going hundreds of thousands of dollars into debt for law school if you were just going to wind up a prison cell for doing backflips off buildings in your underwear?”

“Heightened senses. And it’s not underwear. Underwear is comfortable.”

There hadn’t been a hint of anger in your voice. Annoyance, sure, but mainly concern. All you wanted was for Matt to be safe, and he did his best to assure you that he would be. Matt went into as much detail as he could to help you understand his abilities, and the more comfortable you got with asking him things, the more you learned.

Like how he could tell exactly what ingredients were in the lemon bread at the cafe down the street from your apartment that you loved so much, which was currently the reason behind your little trip to the store at the moment. All it took was one bite of the bread, and he knew exactly how to replicate it.

Apparently he could also tell when lemons were at their peak.

Reaching into the pile of lemons, Matt grasped the one that was in perfect condition to him and held it out towards you. Taking the lemon in your hand, you gave it a light squeeze, noticing that it was firm to the touch but easily gave into the gentle force of your fingers testing its density. 

“Feel the rind.”

Following Matt’s instructions, you brushed your thumb along the bright yellow rind. It was smooth to the touch, and somewhat glossy as it nearly reflected the brightness of the overhead lighting in the grocery store. 

“It’s shiny.”

Matt chuckled at your response and lightly nodded his chin in your direction.

“What else?”

“It’s smooth.”

“It’s perfectly ripe. The zest on this one is the freshest. It has the most flavor, and the right amount of juice.”

Arching one of your brows, you stared up at Matt curiously while still faintly squeezing the lemon in your hand.

“You can tell how much juice is in this just by touching it?”

A grin stretched across Matt’s lips, showcasing his dazzling teeth and causing indents to appear in his cheeks. His thick brows rose slightly above the rim of his crimson glasses.

“Are you doubting me, sweetheart?”

“No I’m just…still trying to figure out how you do…what you do.”

A bashful twinge of heat coated your cheeks once again, and Matt thought it was adorable that you diverted your attention back to the lemon shyly to avoid his gaze even though he couldn’t see your reaction. He reached out to tenderly brush his knuckles along the warmth in your cheeks while he smiled in your direction. 

“I’ll try to do better at explaining. Now c’mon, we have more ingredients to get. You know, I think this bread is gonna turn out so well, the one at the cafe might not meet your standards anymore.”

The confidence in Matt’s voice caught your attention, and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your lips. Sometimes you forgot that your boyfriend was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen that everyone was so afraid of. If only they knew that he spent his Saturdays sniffing out ingredients at the grocery store like a bloodhound to help his girlfriend recreate the recipe for her favorite lemon bread.

“You know, if you didn’t love law so much, you could’ve made out like a bandit in a baking competition.”

“Oh I would’ve won with my sob story of being a blind little Catholic orphan alone.”

“Matthew!”

Matt snickered at the disbelief in your tone, but he could also detect the way the edges of your lips twitched, like you weren’t sure if you should laugh at that or not. Snaking his arm around your waist, he pressed a light kiss to your forehead and gently nudged you in the direction towards the spice aisle.

“Come on, we need flour.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover  @avengerstower-houseplant @mars-rants-a-lot @topperthornton @hailey-murdock @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @ninejlovebot @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @vane28282 @kmc1989 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts

[maplemind]

Does anyone else think that Arthur would be at least sensitive to magic, if not actually have a tiny bit of magic himself?

I mean he was born of magic, it would make sense that something would have made its way into his DNA.

But it’s clear that he doesn’t know it on a conscious level, that he’s completely unaware (or perhaps wilfully ignorant).

I mean, we’re always being told how he’s Camelot’s greatest warrior, how he’s a genius at tactical planning and managing his knights… what if that’s the magic part?

Maybe he had “dreams” that showed him battle plans? Maybe he just knew the right things to do, and who to put where, and how things should be done?

Maybe he saw things no-one else could, or at least saw things in a different way. Maybe he was a little bit omnipresent, or could do some mild divination without realising it, or just had a feeling about certain future events that was always right.

Maybe he was connected to those around him, to people he loves, and to his knights in a different way. Maybe he could always sense them, or always knew where they were, or could somehow see them even though they were an impossible distance away. I mean, he always sensed when something was wrong with Merlin. Always. Even if he didn’t fully comprehend what kind of “something wrong” it was.

What if that’s why he never got suspicious of Merlin, no matter how many times it was obvious there was something a bit different about Merlin or something not quite explainable about a situation? Because the magic in him recognised the magic in Merlin and didn’t find it at all threatening - in fact, it found a kindred spirit.

Maybe that’s why Arthur got so strange when he eventually found out about Merlin’s magic - some subconscious part of him always knew and was sad that it could have had a companion, a sidekick, all this time? (That and the frustration that “we could have done it together”).

And, you know, it’s not really totally human and non-magic to be “The Once and Future King Who Will Rise From the Dead”, is it???

But also, what if some part of Merlin / Merlin's magic knew. What if that's part of why Merlin is so attracted, so attached, so connected to Arthur, even just at a subconscious level?

Imagine if all this had been played out in the series. Imagine if we’d found out Arthur has magic.

Well. I’m rewatching the series right now, and I can’t un-see it, so it’s canon in my head now.

[2rats1gogh]

Same anon here with more- people need to stop conflating Aegon with Joffrey Baratheon.

Aegon has done some despicable things that I won’t make excuses for but he’s not the rabid dog that Joffrey was. Cersei, Tyrion and Tywin struggled to rein him in at 13 years old and once that crown was on his head a monster was let loose. Alicent can actually reason and get through to Aegon at pivotal times. Cersei could not do that with Joffrey.

Aegon above all craves Alicent’s approval and affection, he turns into a sniveling mess at Alicent’s scolding at his big age. Alicent is not afraid to tell Aegon exactly what she’s thinking. She doesn’t placate, pacify or coddle like everyone had to do with Joffrey because he was out of control, cruel AND stupid at the same time. Helaena is the most important person in the world to Alicent and Aegon is not going to harm the most precious thing in the world to Alicent. Helaena doesn’t have to fear Aegon bashing her head in with a rock or choking her after she has just had a stillbirth….

He called her an idiot at 14, yes it wasn’t nice but it was completely normal. At 14 I called my sister a cunt right across the dinner table, but I've also fought for that same sister. They are siblings and that interaction that made them seem more human as opposed to their 2 dimensional team black counterparts who always just smile and have kind words for each other- except when Jacaerys was beating the shit out of Luke on the beach, but no one is saying how miserable Luke was despite Luke actually seeming unhappy with parts of his life. He was even vocal about these things. Whereas Heleana who is a blunt speaker, has not said anything like that.

Helaena doesn’t look afraid of Aegon, she doesn’t look afraid of anyone in her immediate family (including Criston) as much as team black would like her to be. At the most Aegon ignores her, like she said. Honestly ignoring her is preferable to what Viserys was doing to Alicent. She had 3 children before she even reached 20. Aemond and Helaena are almost Irish twins. In the show Helaena and Aegon just have the twins who are maybe 4-5 years old, so Aegon is not forcing himself on Helaena.

We don’t know much about Helaena in the show because they decide to delete certain scenes and include other stupid filler scenes when they contain fan favorites…but Helaena in the book was happy. Her input towards the war was valued. She loved her children and everyone could agree she was a wonderful mother.

Her life isn’t perfect, there is no woman in that time period whose life is. Her husband is so far from perfect but that doesn’t mean Helaena lived a life of misery.

The book even says basically that Helaena died with Jaehaerys that night and Alicent didn’t kill Jaehaerys. That was Daemon Targaryen.

And when pointing the finger at Alicent, remember that she didn’t make Helaena on her own. She had a useless father who ignored her and her siblings her entire life. Viserys withheld his love from them out of some twisted loyalty to his first wife that he killed and his oldest child by this wife. These things would have a deep emotional impact on a person, it certainly has on her brothers. Stop letting Viserys off the hook.

(the way you called Joffrey a rabid dog omg I’m cryingggg😭😭😭😭 shxjskkzkvzlclwgzjpf)

but yeah, you are so so so right.

I hate it when people, mostly TB, compare Aegon to Joffrey. Like the ONLY two things they have in common is an ambitious (?) widow mother queen and also the fact that both aren’t very nice people. But that’s about it. Aegon at his worst doesn’t even come close to how horrendous Joffrey was on a regular day. Aegon never killed people for fun, he didn’t publicly humiliate Helaena like Joffey did with Sansa. And as I say, I am ignoring the fact that he’s a rapist because it was literally added out of nowhere, makes no sense, and has no relevance to the plot whatsoever. It was added purely to make Aegon and TG look bad. Canonically he is literally just a lazy alcoholic.

And I absolutely agree with what you said about Helaena. TB often say that “aLiCeNt MaDe HeR LiFe HeLl” but she literally didn’t? She would NEVER have her marry Aegon if Aegon was like Joffrey Baratheon. You can call Aegon every insult in the book, he was neglectful, he ignored her, he wasn’t really present in the lives of their kids, but he was NOT an abusive husband or father. And as you said, unlike Viserys, he never forced himself on Helaena. He wasn’t obsessed with the idea of having as many children as possible with her. Literally not at any point his nonexistent “abusive” behavior is shown, not even in the show. During the dinner scene Helaena literally jokes about her relationship with him, she seems comfortable and chill.

Sure, as you said, her life was far from perfect. In the books she does give birth at 14, in the show, since everyone is slightly older, she most likely was 16? Not that uncommon actually. She still had her mother, and her brothers, she has sir Criston. Aegon’s behavior was controlled by Alicent, so he would NEVER hurt her. If you remember how Alicent reacted to Aegon forcing himself upon Dyana (dumb scene overall but still) you can only imagine how she would react if he treated Helaena the same way.

[svnny-days]

The First Snow

pairing: luke castellan x gn!reader

w.c: 1k (got a tad carried away, oh well)

content: fluff?, gn!reader, reader is a little… dumb(?), not in camp... or canon tbh, it snowed !, established relationship, there's like... two swear words, readers favorite color is green because that's my favorite color (duh)

warning: not edited, i was writing it literally right before i went to bed so if something doesn't make sense... ignore it <3 I also got the idea for this from a prompt generator, so 🤷🏻‍♀️

For the past couple of days you have been wanting to go to your boyfriend’s home, but it’s been snowing. And it’s been a little while since the two of you had last seen each other, since you’re too busy with school work and your jobs. So, when you finally got a proper day off, you jumped at the opportunity to visit and relax with your lover.

Now, instead of walking to the front door and being a normal person, you decided to have a little fun with all the good packing snow around you. You had made a small snowball and thought it’d be a good way to get your boyfriend’s attention if you threw it at his bedroom window. You giggle to yourself at the thought of his confused face after you throw it and it makes a loud ‘thud!’ on the glass. You take a second to compose yourself before aiming and… there’s no thud. No indication of the snowball hitting anything for that matter. You look down at your hand and find it empty before turning back to look at the window where your snow-covered boyfriend, Luke, is now staring at you with a blank face, “What… Is wrong with you?” 

“Ah! Sorry, I didn’t think your window was open! It was supposed to be this cute thing, I was gonna throw the snowball at your window and supri-” You’re cut off by him laughing. He was laughing? Your brows furrow together as you move closer to the window, to him, and notice the lack of screen. Then you notice the rest of his room, it’s cozy looking with all the decor and dark, navy blue sheets and blankets on his bed. “You… You’re not mad, right?”

“No sweetheart, I’m not mad,” He shakes his head and helps you in through the window before closing it for good. His curly, brunette hair sags and drips a bit from the now melted snow, “I just can’t believe you thought it’d be a good idea to throw that instead of tapping on the window or knocking on the front door,” there’s a hint of amusement in his voice as he takes a seat back on his bed, binders and books sprawled on the blue sheets, some wet from the snow and others untouched completely.

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW YOU HAD IT OPEN WITH NO SCREEN?” 

“You could’ve actually looked?” He responds with a cheeky grin gracing his features. 

“Oh whatever, Castellan,” You roll your eyes and plop down on his bed beside him. Your eyes scan his room, taking in your surroundings. As you look around you notice a familiar bracelet sitting on his semi-cluttered desk, “Is that the friendship bracelet I made you… when was that? 3 years ago?” You take notice of the way his cheeks flush and he hesitates to answer your question. You shake your head in response as you work to move his books and papers off his bed, “Look, I don’t care that you kept it, but gods it hurts my eyes to look at.”

“Are you calling your own handiwork an eyesore?”

“Yes! Because it is!”

“Nuh uh.”

“Did you just say nuh uh?” You shake your head at him as you set his stuff down on his desk, swiping the bracelet in the process. You move back over to his bed and reach for his hand, gently sliding the piece of crappy handmade jewelry onto his wrist, “If I wear mine 24/7, you have to wear yours all the time too.” 

His face contorts to a look of confusion as his eyes move from your face to your wrist where he sees the matching bracelet to the one you placed on him, “You… You actually wear yours?”

“Well yeah! Why wouldn’t I?” You tilt your head in confusion.

“Well I just thought that…” His voice trails off as he fails to find the right words. You look at him expectantly as your hands motion for him to ‘spit it out.’ Luke lets out a soft sigh before shaking his head, his brown curls bouncing with the motion, “I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d keep it.”

“Luke, honey, we’ve been dating for what… a year now? Do you seriously not know me that well? What’s my favorite color?”

“Isn’t it forest green?”

You smile at him and press a soft, chaste kiss to his cheek, “Okay, I guess you can have a pass this time.”

“Oh yay. How lucky of me! I looooove freebies,” Luke rolls his eyes, the sassy man apocalypse got this one too… You shake your head at him and sigh while ruffling his hair with a smile. And that’s how the two of you decide to spend the rest of the day. Bickering, throwing sass, and making the smallest things out to be bigger than they are because that’s just how you two are.

Hours later, the sun was starting to set, making the sky explode in beautiful shades of pinks and oranges. “You still never explained why your window doesn’t have a screen in it, or why it was open. I mean do you seriously need your window open when it’s 5 degrees outside?” You ask as you look up at him from your spot in his arms. The warmth of the blankets and his body wrapped around yours are enough to lull you to sleep but you fight it back, forcing your eyes open. Luke’s chest rumbles as he laughs softly in response to your question. “Let’s just say a little birdy told me you’d try to come over today,” 

“So you’re telling me you took the screen out of your window and left it open for gods know how long because a quote unquote little birdy told you I was coming?” 

“That’s what I said, yeah.”

“Sometimes I wish you could just tell me the truth!”

“I AM telling the truth,” Luke huffs and sits up, the blankets around you moving with him as he disentangles from you. You sit up too, following the warmth of his body in a desperate need for it to be wrapped around you once again. “You just don’t want to listen to me because I sassed you one too many times.” 

“You wish!”

“Oh so now you want a sass off, is that it?”

[physalian]

A Guide to Productive Filler

I was going to write this post about the wonders of fanfic and how it does not do the “forced miscommunication for cheap drama” trope, and it did not stay that post for long.

I’m sure it’s out there, but it’s not saturated in the most popular fics and I think I know why: Fanfic exists in contrast to the established canon, and the canon has forced miscommunication, thus fanfic looks at the perpetual failure of those plotlines and ignores it.

Nobody likes this trope, yet it keeps happening. In TV, at least in the old days when we had full seasons with appropriate and satisfying filler episodes and actual good stories and such (you know, before Disney +) TV shows were contracted to fill a minimum number of episodes and didn’t always have enough content to fill it, especially CW shows.

Enter filler episodes, which, when productive, still entertained the audience with off-beat side quests or gave more screen time to beloved side characters or explored more of the world and the lore. Filler plots meant that you could casually check in on your favorite show once a week, or miss an episode, and not feel completely lost because the plot wasn’t super tight and lean. Some of my favorite episodes of all my favorite TV shows are filler plots and just because they’re “filler,” as in, not a plot-heavy element to advance the narrative, doesn’t mean they were lacking in story.

That was good writing.

Bad filler elements were sh*t like forced miscommunication for cheap drama and it still exists even in the “mini series” that are really just long movies extended to keep people from canceling their subscriptions. TV shows may have one or two head writers, but they’re still written by committee and producers and production companies trying to milk as much from a profitable product as possible, which means they couldn’t write an efficient, epic romance that ended too quickly. They had to faff about for a few seasons before delivering to keep butts on couches tuning in to generate sweet, sweet ad revenue.

Forced miscommunication in TV shows have always made sense in that light. Yeah it’s a product of bad writing, but I can’t point at the head writer or even the staff writer alone and criticize their writing ability because it likely wasn’t their decision.

Forced miscommunication in books, however—that I have no excuse for. Books aren’t written by committee. In this case, I really can just blame the author for their bad choices, which, in turn, maybe came from their favorite TV shows and how they executed similar plot lines.

Fanfic does not do this, usually. It’s not written by committee and has no quota to fulfill to beef up the narrative with extra chapters.

—

So. You want your story to be longer, fanfic or otherwise, but you’re struggling because your plot is too thin and you don’t know where to go from here.

First, a disclaimer: Novellas exist and can be as short as they need to be.

“If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter,” means that  just because it’s long doesn’t mean every word serves a purpose. With enough time, the writer can trim down their thoughts for conciseness and clarity, and say the same thing with better impact with less beating around the bush.

So just because it’s short doesn’t make it bad, just because it’s long doesn’t make it good. It’s about what you do with the words you’ve written.

However, if it really is a thin story lacking substance and oomph, here’s some suggestions that are not sh*t like “forced miscommunication”. These are not meant for generalized application and should be considered heavily before implementing, because any one of them can change your book for the worse by adding in unnecessary detail that distracts from the main story.

1. Consider multiple narrators

Now. I just read a rather bad book that could have lost about ⅔ of its story for a variety of reasons and told the same story in a fraction of the page count. One of those issues was giving the villain several POVs that ruined the suspense and the tension because the reader became privy to their grand plan long before the protagonist and instead of having all our questions dying to be answered with the protagonist, we were waiting around for them to stop fooling around and figure it out already.

With that said, if you have a character of second importance to the protagonist whose perspective would benefit and enrich the story, consider giving them POVs to explore either when the protagonist couldn’t be present, or in contrast to the main narrator’s thoughts on the story and conflict.

I’ve never written anything without multiple POVs and still get carried away sometimes just trying to fill in all the missing time that didn’t add enough to the story to make it worth it. I have deleted POVs from ENNS that were better left up to audience interpretation then all laid out on the table.

This technique very much necessitates restraint, but giving your foil character, your deuteragonist, even your villain some narration “screen time” might help you beef up your word count and tell more than just one biased side of the same story. Fanfic tends to be very efficient with this because, again, one writer working for free tends to want to be efficient and not give pages upon pages of useless prose.

2. Side-quests and character studies

My all time favorite filler episode of any TV show is LOST’s “The Constant”. It focuses entirely on the side character Desmond. He’s an unwilling time-traveler and throughout season 4, struggles to control his temporal displacement and risks dying if he can’t find a “constant” to anchor him to the correct timeline.

This episode is often praised as one of, if not the show’s finest hour. Desmond spends most of the runtime flipping erratically between the past and the present as his romantic relationship spirals for other plot reasons. He ends up making his “constant” his fraught relationship and is able to revert to the past with knowledge of the future to get his then-ex girlfriend’s new phone number so he can call her at an exact date in the future to prove he won’t have given up on them. When Des finally makes that call 8 years later, it’s so emotional, so full of catharsis, so exciting to see him finally reach her after struggling since we met him.

And it has absolutely nothing to do with the plot at large, only Desmond’s arc. It explores some of the world’s lore but doesn’t answer any of the main plot questions or progress any other major character, and Des is the only time traveler so all the risk surrounding time travel is only for him. Critically, it still adheres to the themes of the show and fulfills much of the promises of this character’s role in it.

The show’s worst episode, “Stranger in a Strange Land,” is also filler about protagonist Jack’s tattoos. He makes a relationship with a woman nobody cares about and spends the entirety of the episode’s flashbacks, which is most of the episode’s runtime, dicking around in Thailand. With this quasi-wise woman’s tattoo techniques. Nobody cares what they mean, they didn’t connect with the themes of the show, didn’t tell us anything substantial about Jack or the world, lore, or story, and just felt like a massive waste of time.

If you’re going to write side quests, be more like “The Constant” and less like “Stranger in a Strange Land”. 

3. “Slice of Life” moments

A repeat of referencing this scene and this movie but I don’t care: “Doc Racing” from Cars is just one example. Adding in scenes like these won’t give you tens of thousands of words, but maybe you only need a couple hundred to feel satisfied.

Slice of life moments slow the pacing down, so place them wisely, and just let your characters be people in their world. Small things, human things. In Cars, it’s an old man letting himself enjoy life again when he thinks nobody’s watching. I have a scene in my sci-fi WIP series where two brothers, plagued by their family’s social status, take a drive and pick up greasy drive-thru food to park on a mountain overlook and just watch the city while licking salt off their fingers. I think Across the Spiderverse is about 20 minutes too long, but that scene of Miles and Gwen upside down on the roof before the plot ramps up is another quiet, human moment.

It could be a character who needs a break from the breakneck speed of the plot and the stress to listen to music, walk away from the project and enjoy the sun, anything. Do try to not get overly pretentious trying to make it super metaphorical and poetic, let the audience do it for you. These quiet scenes could end up being the audience’s favorite.

—

If you’re trying to make your book longer, don’t be like Bilbo Baggins, okay? Don’t let your characters be spread thin, like butter scraped over too much bread. Add, don’t stretch. If the romance is on track to come together sooner, let it, or figure out a more meaningful way to delay it than throwing in a dumb argument that won’t mean anything in 20 pages anyway.

This wasn’t an exhaustive list, just what I think could be the most effective with the widest applications across genres.

[eddiediazismyhusband]

hey everyone

just getting on here to have a conversation about some things that i need to clear up.

so for starters, i’m going to come right out and say that i’m taking a break from tumblr… lately i have been subjected to seeing multiple thinly veiled posts about me floating around and i cannot sit by and allow myself to be treated like that

that being said, i am taking this break to focus on my mental health; 911 used to be a comfort show to me- somewhere i could just go to and watch whenever i needed to be picked up, because even if the show was still forcing certain storylines/arcs, they at least made some sense for the characters and didn’t rely on completely rewriting and ignoring their history within the narrative.

911 is no longer that for me anymore. tim minear and the writing team have ruined any and all enjoyment i got from earlier seasons due to continuing KR’s trend of completely retconning the narrative while simultaneously blatantly dragging us along by dangling buddie canon over our heads with a stick only to immediately snatch it away at the last second.

today’s “first look” article only further confirmed my suspicions that tim had no intentions of leading to buddie canon.

i see the takes/theories about what the article could mean, but we have made theories such as this every year only for it to not go anywhere; nothing had indicated that s8 will be any different.

for starters, tim is bringing back a known problematic actor to play a problematic character that tim continues to retcon, despite the fandom being outspoken about how insane this is. instead of listening to the fandom, instead he has them continuing to develop their chemistry-less relationship saying that they are going strong.

secondarily, tim wrote out a beloved poc character in order to keep this problematic character around- something that i think the fandom has moved on from a little too quickly

thirdly, we continue to be told that eddie will be making progress each season, yet we never actually see that progress happen, and if we do, never in a way that is actually in character; on top of that, we have fans begging for his character to be ruined simply so that his character arc will be sexualized due to it involving two conventionally attractive men.

this fandom no longer feels like a safe space for me mentally and i hate that… i am devastated at the thought of no longer interacting with my mutuals, but i cannot engage with content that showcases the real-time decline of a show i used to adore before the creators decided to ruin that enjoyment.

so i am taking a bit of my break; i dont know how long nor how permanent of a break this is, but i need to put my mental health first.

until next time (whenever that may be)

[realchemistry]

About Maddie's reaction to ~the incident

One of the things I think is important to point out, because I haven't seen or read anyone talking about it, is Maddie's reaction when Buck told her the truth about the basketball incident. When Buck first arrived, she was all smiles, probably happy to have Buck there. Then she asked about how Eddie was doing and Buck said he hadn't talked to him because what happened on the basketball court was not an accident.

Buck confessed that he might have meant to hurt Eddie because he was pissed, felt left out, and he guessed he was trying to get Eddie's attention (I’m not gonna go Buddie here, but he legit literally said exactly this which !!!).

Her face started to morph, the change in her whole demeanor, the horror of it all... she was really really mad. I don't think JLH got the proper credit for it. It's truly remarkable, her face spoke volumes about everything that was going through her head at the moment. You could see Maddie thinking about her past, about Doug, about how he hurt her and the terrible ways in which he justified that behavior as she was telling Buck that you do not hurt people to get their attention and not to do it again.

The episode didn't make that connection explicit (they had her babbling about Sarahs instead, more on that in the last paragraph), and I KNOW that if roles were reversed, part of the fandom would've lost their mind, since they love to portray Eddie as violent and abusive towards Buck when there's nothing in canon to back that up, quite the opposite as of this episode actually. Since Eddie was the one who got hurt, it was no big deal, it was pretty much forgotten immediately after. I thought it was a huge deal, I thought tptb didn't really address how problematic that was. I thought the only one who reflected the gravity of the situation was Jen, maybe thanks to her character's past.

BTW, I don't think it's in character for Buck to do this, I think he does know better, and he really isn't and hasn't ever been the type to resort to violence. Having said that, that's what tptb decided to do on screen, maybe as a way to show he was struggling with his identity... But that’s kinda terrible, like, he’s confused at this point about his feelings so his first instinct is to harm his friend out of jealousy? Also, we didn't get to see anything else on the matter after. It was such an odd choice, tbh, cause yes, Buck and Eddie probably talked about it for a second and then made up offscreen, but to have a character be violent towards his friend just to push a storyline forward, a storyline about bisexuality of all things, disregarding everything about said character and then not acknowledging it... Some very bad choices were made. Once again, I think tptb prioritized moving the plot forward over making sense and that's just something I truly hate with my whole heart.

Characters cannot have their choices and actions dictated by the plot or, at least, it can't feel that way to the audience. That's just bad writing through and through. Tptb did this a lot this season, and I understand that time was pressing because of the strike and all, but they need to do better. They are professionals getting paid to do a job, the least they can do is actually make it all make sense for the fans and stay away from toxic portrayals of LGBTQ+ characters (Hen cheating, anyone?).

The whole story about the Sarahs was really kinda ridiculous, honestly, I think they just had to give Jen more to do but a follow up without it would've been much better. Of course, seeing as their intention was to completely ignore the gravity of the situation, they simply couldn't mention Doug at all cause that would've required Buck and Eddie discuss this seriously instead of completely forgetting about it.

[anime-owo-kage-san]

Mindless Kindness (Freakshow!Funnybunny)

(Pomni is still favored by Caine in this fic, but, not in a Showtime sense. He’s more on just making sure his shiny new addition, isn’t getting ruined too soon.)

Forgive me if they’re out of character, or I got something wrong. I wasn’t sure how to make this work. The characters personalities are moslty from my personal headcannons, and assumptions about them.

Also, while I think hootbon stated Caine is more lenient with both Pomni and AIngle, for this, he just likes Pomni a little bit more.

Jax x Pomni aren’t canon in the AU. I just like the ship.

Freakshow belongs to: @hootbon

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Pomni was never one to speak her mind.

Well…maybe she was. But, not anymore.

Because, apparently trying to express your human feelings, can get you killed or demented. (Or in Ragatha’s case; permanently silenced).

Although she’ll just come back, because death isn’t possible in this world (except for one type of dying…), it’s still not a pleasant thing to experience, whether it be by an accident during an adventure, or by the hands of the ringleader, or by the hands of the other trapped members.

After her first encounter with the twins, Pomni avoided Gangle like the plague. The living teary eyed porcelain mask, turned out to be just as violent and murderous as her ‘sister’; resulting in the wooden ballerina’s first ‘Game Over’.

And she never wanted to repeat the mistake she made ever again.

But at the moment; there she was, confused with her own internal debating, of whether to approach the twins once more or not.

Pomni was just planning on sleeping for the rest of the leisure hour, until Caine called them up for showtime again. She wasn’t expecting to pass by, a scene like…. this.

Right before her eyes, were the twisted twins. Gangle wasn’t really doing anything, only silently watching behind her conjoined sister, as she carried on with her sadistic joke.

AIngle was once again puppeteering the lifeless Kaufmo with her ribbons. Making him dance, smile, and wave, at an uncomfortable Jax, who was trying to be nonchalant about the cruel joke.

“Jax ol’ buddy! It’s me! Wanna joke around?” AIngle said, using her Kaufmo voice. “C’mon, let’s do something together!”

“Come on, bunny rabbit. Don’t you think it’s rude to ignore you best friend?” AIngle said using her regular voice, as she shook the clown around.

Gangle tried to intervene, “I-I don’t think you should—“

“I don’t think I asked you to speak.” AIngle cut off her timid half.

Gangle squeaked and stayed quiet.

Jax rolled his eyes to hide his discomfort. Just the thought of his dead friend, being puppeteered for shows made him sick in the stomach. And now this twisted ribbon freak, wants to fuck with his head, even off stage.

“I’m not… in the mood for this…” He tried to sound less in pain, and attempted to walk away.

But just like that, the ribbons holding the clown up, carried him over the rabbit’s head, and blocked his way.

Jax passing through the right, but Kaufmo was dragged and used to block that way as well. He tried to take a step to the left, but it resulted in the same way.

“Not until you gimme a good hug!” After saying that, the clown’s arms were spread open slightly leaning towards the rabbit, who instinctively leaned back.

“Kaufy and I don’t hug.” Jax said, a little too aggressively, when he turned back to the twisted twin.

“Well, Kaufmo back then didn’t. This one does!” AIngle said, inching Kaufmo closer to Jax, who stepped back even more. “I can make him do whatever I want. Including hugging and kissing his pathetic pet bunny.”

As she says that, she dragged the body closer to Jax. The lifeless arms almost touching his shoulders.

Jax, moved back again, unknowingly backing himself against the body of ribbons, until he was trapped in between her and the clown.

AIngle started making kissing sounds, that made Jax cringe, “Mwah mwah! Come on buddy, lemme pet behind your ears! Don’t you miss me?”

‘Kaufmo’ started getting closer, Jax gritted his teeth, and turned his head away.

Pomni continued to watch, her face scrunching in disgust, as she watched the incredibly fucked up scene. A part of her felt bad for the rabbit. Though he wasn’t, nor will ever be, Pomni’s favorite person in the circus, this was too far of a joke. Whether a jackass like Jax deserved it or not.

Nobody deserved to be taunted, with the corpse of someone they were close to.

She wouldn’t want to see this happening to Kinger with his wife, or Gangle with Ragatha, or herself with anyone she might consider close to to her.

You know what? Fuck it.

She died once, it’s bound to happen again.

May as well try and get used to it.

It might even save her of what’s left of her sanity, if she tries to adapt to the feeling.

Feeling uncharacteristically bold, she made her way to them.

Pomni admits, part of her wished she was less brazen with her words, but that spur of the moment part of her, spoke without thinking. “AIngle. Fuck off.”

Understandably caught off guard, the AI sister stopped with her taunting and turned her head to the ballerina.

Gangle and Jax, who were also equally surprised, looked at Pomni with wide eyes.

Confusing changed to irk, as she raised her eyebrow at the wooden doll. “Excuse me? I must’ve misheard you back there.”

“Then let me repeat myself. Fuck off.” Pomni said, more aggressively. No turning back now. It’d be more embarrassing to take it back.

“Puppeteering these bodies are for the show. Not for your entertainment. Put the clown back with the other bodies, and stop messing with Jax.” Pomni said, in a commanding tone.

“And why do you suddenly care about the bunny? Doesn’t everyone hate him? I say, I’m doing something nice for everyone else he messed with.” AIngle said, her lips curling up in a smirk. Though, anyone with eyes could tell, she was still pissed.

“He’s already fucked in the head as it is. There’s no need for you to make him an even bigger psycho, and an even bigger problem.” Pomni replied.

She wasn’t sure if that was her reason. Actually, she not even sure, what her reason for defending Jax could be. Sure she felt bad, but she’s not usually risking her life to defend someone. Even if she won’t be dead forever. Still, that didn’t stop her.

AIngle let go Kaufmo’s body and let it drop to the ground. “And what makes you think, you can tell me what to do?” She jabbed her ribbon hand, at the center of Pomni’s face, where her nose should be.

“You’re not abstracted yet. But, I can still take over your body, and turn you into a real ventriloquist dummy. The best part? You’d be conscious to see how I can easily control you!” She threatens the brunette doll, grinning evilly at her.

“You can….” Pomni said, her voice cracking, her nervousness showing. But quickly as it slipped, she put her brave face back on. “But, you won’t!”

“Remember? I’m Caine’s favorite. If you try to do anything to me before I even abstract, he’d be really pissed at you for ruining his prized possession.”

Pomni internally cringed at herself for that one. She doesn’t usually like playing that card. She never really cared for the favoritism. So long as she’s not on Caine’s bad side, that’s enough for her.

But at this moment, she was doing and saying the exact opposite of what she would usually do.

“Oooh~! Prima Failerina’s suddenly using her princess privileges~?” AIngle said in a mocking tone. Still, Pomni didn’t miss that eye twitch.

She brought her face closer to the doll, staring her down. “Little bitch, suddenly wants to use the ringmaster as a shield, huh.”

She moved her face away, but her eyes remained on her. And continued, “You’re only favored for your pretty face. You’re lucky to be brought into this world, in this body. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be interesting in any way to him. You mean as much to Caine, as a brand new doll means to a child. Once you get tattered and depreciated, he won’t care if you’re safe or not.”

Jax had already moved away from the mask, but was too intrigued by the scene before him to leave.

AIngle let out a dry laugh, “But, you’re right…” She said bitterly. “As Caine’s precious doll, I can’t hurt you on purpose.”

She shrugged. “But, I can ignore you. And do whatever I want with the others. Since, I won’t be in trouble for messing with the already depreciated toys.”

She turned away from Pomni, and picked Kaufmo back up. “Ohhh bunny boy~!” She called out, as her ribbons wrapped around Jax and pulled him back in for another game of dead dolls.

“Would you get off me, freak!” Jax tried to wriggle out of the ribbons.

“Why should I? I’m giving you more time with your friend.” AIngle started letting put sadistic giggles, and she continued her own self-entertainment.

“Let go of him, and put Kaufmo back.” Pomni butted in once again.

“And what are you gonna do? Little miss wooden joints?” AIngle taunted again, looking down at Pomni. “I may not be able to do whatever I want with you, without getting an earful from Caine. But, what can YOU do other than yap at me like a stubborn chihuahua?”

Pomni silently glared at her for a couple of seconds, her eyes narrowed and face infuriated. Her fist clenched and shaking.

She then moved her eyes to an object on the ground.

It was Jax’s bat. A large piece of wood with a disturbing amount of nails hammered into it. He must’ve dropped it in the middle of the trying to avoid Kaufmo’s body.

Pomni didn’t know why, but she walked towards it, and picked it up. She then made her way back to the grinning twin.

“Haha! You wouldn’t.” AIngle said with a confident voice. “Not after the last time.”

Acting without thinking, Pomni replied, “If it’ll get you to finally fuck off… then I’ll take my chances.” And she swung the bat towards the grinning piece of porcelain.

The force of the bat cracked the twin into several pieces, the nails also cutting into the ribbons restraining Jax, setting him free.

Pomni immediately pulled Jax away from Gangle and shoved him away as hard she could.

Just as she had already anticipated, Gangle started having another meltdown. Her face contorted into a horrific frown, and her ribbons lunged at Pomni, wrapping around her neck and waist.

Pomni was brutally thrashed around a few times, before the corrupted Gangle dragged her off somewhere else to slowly murder.

Jax was just there… on the ground. Staring off to where the ballerina was dragged off to.

He looked at Kaufmo, whose body was abandoned on the floor, and little bits of porcelain next to him.

The rabbit stood up and walked towards lifeless clown, picking him up and positioning him in a piggyback ride.

As he carried his friend, the image of the wooden doll’s face flashed back in his mind.

Eh….

He wasn’t good at saying ‘thank you’, nor did he like saying it. So, he won’t be thanking Pomni.

But, he’ll be sure to say something to her when she comes back.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

I’ll probably make a part two.

Tbh, it was pretty hard trying to make them in character in this AU, while still shipping them. I’m a Funnybunny shipper, but when it comes to the Freakshow AU, I lean more towards Showtime. But, I wanted to take up the challenge of trying to make them ‘shippable’ even in this AU.

So what do you guys think….?

[ktwritesstuff]

The Babysitter (a Last of Us fanfic) pt. 2

Title: The Babysitter Fandom: The Last of Us Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Joel Miller x Reader Word Count: ~3,500 Summary: Outbreak day and adventures in babysitting. Lovingly beta-read by @bs-fangirl. Additional content notes below the cut

Part 1 | Part 2 (below cut) | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Content Notes & Warnings: Man, oh, man, the Last of Us girlies are thirsty! This part follows the game/show fairly closely so there shouldn't be too many surprises. Just to forewarn you, this chapter includes a teenager fantasizing about a grown ass man (explicit, but short,) canon violence, & character death.

Austin 2003

You usually didn’t get into the school spirit, especially when it came to football.  You played in the marching band at halftime, but weren’t usually invited to the afterparties.  It was your senior year and the Bulldogs were headed to the playoffs for the first time in over a decade. So when your best friend invited you to a celebratory bonfire after the game, you figured it was probably the last chance you had to make fond memories of the place.

You drank a few beers while Cheryl and her boyfriend made out on the blanket next to you and listened to Mike Zurowski try to give an inspiring speech about how they would dominate the state championship.  But after the first string running back took off his pants and streaked across the highway you decided you’d better leave before someone called the cops.  You were just heading out when your phone rang.  It was Joel Miller.  You felt butterflies in your chest, wondering why he would call you so late.  

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sweetpea,  It’s Joel.  I didn’t wake you, did I?” he sounded tired.

“No,” you said.  “We were out celebrating the big game.  I was just heading home.  What’s up?”

“Listen, I’m sorry to call so late,” he explained.  “I’ve got to go see Tommy–is there any chance you could come keep an eye on Sarah?  She’s already in bed, I just don’t want her waking up in an empty house.”

“Yeah, of course,” you said.  Of course it was for Sarah, it was the only thing that made any sense.  

“Give me about 10 minutes. I’ll have Andy and Cheryl to drop me off.”

“You’re an angel,” Joel sighed.  

“I’ll see you soon.”

The short drive was surprisingly harrowing; you nearly got pancaked by a fleet of firetrucks and emergency vehicles.  You guessed some folks had partied a little too hard.  

Joel already had his keys in hand as Andy dropped you at the curb.  Thankfully, he seemed to be in too much of a hurry to notice you still reeked of Lone Star beer, despite the mints Andy kept stashed in his glove compartment.  

“Thanks again,” Joel said, meeting you at the door.  “Be sure to lock up behind me.  Make yourself at home; help yourself to anything in the fridge.  I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

“Sure thing, Mr. Joel,”  you said.  “Drive safe; I think the drunks are out.”  

You went to the kitchen and checked the fridge.  You contemplated helping yourself to another beer, but decided against it.  The Millers didn’t drink soda, but they always kept a few cans of Diet Coke on hand for you.  You took a seat on the couch and turned on the television.  

About half an hour into reruns of Dawson’s Creek, a car alarm started going off.  You ignored it at first, but it just kept going.  Finally you switched off the television and turned to peer through the blinds onto the street.

“What the hell is going on out there?” You murmured to yourself; finally the alarm went silent. 

You climbed the stairs in the darkened house to check on Sarah, cracking her door open just enough to find her sleeping soundly in the bed.  You closed the door softly.  Your gaze drifted down the hall, lingering on the door to Joel’s room.  A little voice in the back of your mind told you to turn around and go back downstairs, but he had told you to make yourself at home.

You tiptoed down the hall and put your hand on the knob, turning it slowly.  The door creaked on its hinges as you pushed it open.  You froze, listening intently, but all you could hear was a neighbor’s dog barking in the distance.  Your heart was pounding as you stepped into the room.  

There was an exercise bike in the corner, a full laundry basket with used towels and worn clothes spilling on the floor.  You had never been in a man’s room before.  Even at home, your mother devoted considerable effort to cleaning up after your father and brother.  You noticed a framed picture of Sarah on the cluttered dresser along with an oscillating fan and radio.  The bed was unmade, a striped quilt and dark sheets looking comfortably rumpled and inviting.  You took a seat on the bed, feeling the soft fabric under your fingertips.  Against your better judgment, you laid down.

The bed smelled faintly of sweat and old spice.  You closed your eyes and rolled over, pressing your face into one of the pillows.  You liked the idea of sharing Joel’s bed.  Not now, but in a few years.  You’d be 22 when Sarah graduated from high school, Joel would still be in his early 40s.  That wasn’t so unthinkable, was it?

A weight settled onto the bed beside you, warm and firm.  A soft whisper of a moan by your ear.  Your right hand followed the path of his as it snaked over your waist and between your legs.  You reached behind you with your left, fingers twisting in thick curls.  His breath was warm and his beard tickled the delicate skin of your neck as he kissed you.  You felt safe.  You felt peaceful.  You felt loved.

You leaned into him as his mouth traveled across your shoulder and down to the top of your breast.  You opened your legs so he could slip inside you, fingers stroking through your hot folds up and down and up and down as hips rocked into you.  You felt a knot tightening in your belly.  You wanted to feel him there.  You pressed back into him.  Your toes curled.  You were so close; you were already so full of him, but you needed more.  Just a little more.

You jolted out of sleep at the sound of the front door opening.  Your face felt hot and flushed with sleep with one hand stuffed down the front of your jeans–how embarrassing.  You pushed yourself up and glanced at the clock on the bedside table.  It was after 2 in the morning.  You had no idea what had kept Joel out so late, but you did not want him catching you in his bed with your hand down your pants.  You jumped up, re-ruffling the sheets as quickly and quietly as you could before slipping out of the bedroom.

In the hall, Sarah’s bedroom door was open and her bed was empty.  From the top of the stairs you could see the front door had been left hanging open as well.

“Shit,” you gasped, pounding down the stairs.  “Fuck!  Shit.  Sarah!  Sarah!”

You spotted her in the neighbor’s yard, dragging their dog toward the house by the collar.  It was fighting her hard, like it didn’t want to go.  

“Sarah!” you screamed.  Your heart pounded as you ran to her.  “What the hell are you doing?!”

The dog finally managed to slip its collar and took off down the street.  

“Mercy!” Sarah yelled, lunging after the dog.  “Mercy got out.”

You grabbed Sarah by the arm, harder than you intended.  As you stood there on the dark street, there was a deafening roar.  You looked up to see a plane flying low, too low.  A wave of icy dread washed over you.  

“Leave it!  Get back in the house!” you yelled, pushing her in front of you as you rushed back to the house.  “Now!”

Once you were inside and had locked the door, you took a breath.  Sarah rubbed her arm with a frown.  You felt terrible, realizing you had really scared her.

“I’m sorry,” you said.  “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to hurt you.  I didn’t mean to yell.  I just got scared.”

“What are you doing here?” Sarah asked.   “Where’s my dad?” 

“He had to see your Uncle Tommy,” you explained.  “He didn’t tell me why, but he asked me to come keep an eye on you.”

Sarah went to the living room and grabbed the remote from the coffee table to flip on the television.  The station that had been playing reruns earlier was now nothing but static.  She began to scroll through the channels, still nothing.  

You screamed at the sound of a key scraping in the lock and threw your arms around Sarah.  The front door swung open, Joel and Tommy were on the other side.

“Jesus, you girls alright?” Joel asked.

“We’re fine,” Sarah sighed in relief.  “You just startled us.”    

“What’s going on?” you asked.  

“There’s been an accident,” Joel said, breathlessly, pushing Sarah up the stairs.  “Tommy’s going to take you home.  Sarah, go get your backpack, come on.”     

You remembered the morning of September 11th–sitting in the auditorium as the kids with parents at Camp Mambry got called out of the room–all the teachers would say was there had been an accident, a plane crash.   

You watched with increasing anxiety as Joel disappeared up the stairs with Sarah.  No more discussion.

“Come on,” Tommy said, ushering you out of the house.  “We gotta go.”

You had met Tommy only a few times, but you knew him by reputation.  He had served in the Gulf War and spent over a year in Afghanistan before an honorable discharge.  Given that he was such a hothead, you sometimes wondered about the honorable part.  

“What’s really going on?” you asked, as he climbed into the cab of the truck beside you.  

“I don’t know,” he said, starting the engine and peeling out of the driveway fast enough that you grabbed on to what your mother referred to as the ‘Oh, Shit’ handle above the door.  Somehow that answer managed to scare you even more.  

“Are we going to be okay?” you asked.  

“You just get inside and lock your doors,” he instructed.  

You thought you heard a scream and turned to look out the rear windshield, straining your eyes in the darkness, but there was nothing.

“You got a basement?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah.”  You met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Get in it,” he instructed.  “You grab whatever food and water you’ve got.  Take your family down there and seal up the windows and doors, you hear me?”

You nodded.  You were shaking.  Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you wiped them away with the cuffs of your sleeves.  You felt like you were going to be sick.  Tommy’s driving didn’t help; he took the turn down your street hard enough to slam your body into the passenger side door.  

“If they don’t listen to you, you make them listen,” Tommy warned.  “Or leave them.”

You nodded.  Tommy pulled into your driveway, slamming on the breaks just shy of running into the back of Paul’s Jeep.

“Get your keys out now,” Tommy instructed, he flipped on the overhead light as you fumbled through your purse with shaking hands.  “Get inside, quick.”

You sprinted up the stone path and steps to the door.  The porch light was off and you scrambled to get the key in the lock.  After a few seconds the door finally swung open and you glanced over your shoulder to see that Tommy was still parked in the drive.

As you turned back, you realized Paul was standing in the hallway, but he didn’t look right–his head cocked to one side as he watched you.  There was something in his mouth.  He was covered in blood.  It coated his arms and dripped from his chin, staining the white and gold of his football jersey.         

You screamed.  Paul ran at you, slamming into you like a freight train.  You threw your arms in front of your face as he snapped at you like an animal, grabbing for your throat.  You screamed again, trying to fight him off–he grabbed your breasts with both hands, like he wanted to tear them from your body.  You knew you were going to die; you kept fighting anyway.   

There was a deafening bang…

The next thing you were aware of, you were in the bed of Tommy’s truck.  It was dark except for the headlight beams stretching out across a deserted cotton field.  

“She ain’t family.  Doesn’t mean she’s sick; I’m just saying we don’t know.”  

You blinked, willing your eyes to focus.  Tommy and Joel were standing at the tailgate speaking in hushed tones.  Tommy had his rifle in his hands, not aiming it, but still too close for comfort.

“I know,” Joel said.  “But she goes to school with Sarah–been with her all night.  If she’s sick…”

“Sarah,” you started to panic, trying to push yourself up.  Everything hurt; your arms felt like jello.  “Where’s Sarah?”

“Daddy,” a soft voice called from inside the cab of the truck.  

“You stay in the truck, baby,” Joel yelled.  “Don’t come out here.”

You smelled metallic, copper penny.  You were covered in blood.  Whose was it?  Your momma’s?  Daddy’s?  Paul?  Your chest hurt from where he had grabbed you.  He was so strong.  How had you gotten away?  Your eyes drifted back to Tommy’s gun.

“Do it,” you said.  

Joel and Tommy both froze, realizing for the first time that you had been listening.  That you understood they were debating what to do with you.  Paul had tried to kill you; Tommy had killed Paul.  Your parents, you realized, were almost certainly dead.  And whatever happened to them, that was making people go crazy and hurt one another, would happen to you, too.  

“Do it,” you repeated.  You didn’t want to die, but if you were going to hurt someone, maybe even Sarah.

“Please.  I’d do it myself, but I’m scared.” 

“Shit,” Joel sighed, lowering the tailgate of the truck.  “C’mere, Sweetpea.  Come here, let me take a look at you.  You’re gonna be alright.”  

You inched forward on hands and knees.  Joel ran his hands over your arms, your face, your neck, you weren’t sure what he was looking for.  He took an extra moment, adjusting the collar of your shirt to examine the bruises blooming across your chest, probing them with his fingertips.  You realized it was the first time he had touched you, not rough, but insistent, hurried.  

“Open your mouth,” Tommy instructed, shining a flashlight into your face, still holding his rifle in the other hand.

You blinked against the bright light, opening your mouth.

“If she’s got it,” Tommy concluded.  “She doesn’t look like the others.”

“You stay down and hang on,” Joel instructed, slamming the tailgate closed; he and Tommy got back in the truck.  “We’ll head north and cut across toward Barton Creek.”

The road back into town was rough, but once you were back on the main drag things got a lot worse.  Most folks were running and screaming–others had gone violent, feral, grabbing on to whoever they could reach and tearing them apart.

You were terrified that one of them might jump into the bed of the truck.  You grabbed onto the handle of the big toolbox and hunkered down as best you could, squeezing your eyes closed while Tommy struggled to navigate through the chaos.

By some stroke of luck, you were thrown clear of the wreckage when the truck turned over.  You must have had a concussion–you lost consciousness for a moment–your head was screaming but you were alive and as Tommy hauled you up by the collar of your shirt, you were able to get your feet under you and stand.

“Come on, girl,” he said with surprising tenderness.  “You got this.”

Your vision cleared; Joel was digging Sarah out of the wreckage of the truck.  Her ankle had been pinned, probably broken, and wouldn’t bear weight.  You stumbled toward them and ducked under Sarah’s arm to help support her as Tommy went around to the other side of the truck to retrieve his rifle.    

“Look out!” you screamed, watching helplessly.  Tommy dove out of the way as a police cruiser slammed into the overturned truck.  The officer inside slumped over the steering wheel, unmoving.

“Don’t look, baby,” you reached to cover Sarah’s eyes.  “Don’t look.”  You had read how seeing human remains could really mess a person up.  You didn’t have time to wonder how what you had seen tonight would affect you.

“You go!” Tommy called from the other side of the wreckage.  “I’ll find another way through.”

You and Joel started down the sidestreet supporting Sarah’s weight between you.  You turned down the adjoining alley, trying to get away from the crowds and the chaos, and nearly ran straight into more carnage.  Joel froze in place; there on the other side of the alley one of those things–you wondered when they stopped being human–was, well, you could only think to describe it as feeding.  Like a vampire.  You had never really cared for Tom Cruise.  But its victim was still alive.  He saw you, reached out for help with a low moan.

“Here,” you whispered, lifting Sarah’s weight into Joel’s arms, slowly, carefully.  “Here.” 

“Don’t,” Joel hissed back, holding Sarah in his arms like a new bride. 

“Go,” you said, taking another step into the alley.  

You didn’t know what you were going to do, but you had to do something.  If sharing air and close contact with these things is what made you sick, then you were already dead.  But Joel and Sarah still had a chance. 

Then the thing sat up.  You met its eyes and it met yours and you knew whatever it was, it wanted you.  You had fucked up.

“Go!” you called, sprinting back through the alley after Joel and Sarah.  You were just a few feet behind them with the thing closing in fast.

You did have one advantage that perhaps even Joel or Tommy did not.  Like every girl you knew, you had devoted a considerable amount of your brain power every day to planning what you would do if there were a predator after you.  

You followed Joel through the back door of an abandoned bar, pushing tables and tearing down stools into the path behind you as you went.  The thing stumbled and clawed its way through–one leg jutting out at a sickening angle, but it still kept coming impossibly fast and unfeeling.

As you followed Joel’s path through the kitchen you used the extra seconds you had bought to push the standing cooler in front of the swinging door.  It took all of your might–adrenaline flooding your body.  But as you raced from the kitchen, you could hear the thing forcing its way through your blockade.

You heard a shot, staring down the road at a humvee and a soldier, but even with the thing chasing you clearly dead, he didn’t lower his gun.       

“Take her,” Joel said, handing Sarah off to you.  “Stay behind me.”  

You lifted Sarah, she was too big to be carried like a child, but you cradled her with her legs looped around your waist, covering her head with one hand.

“What about Uncle Tommy,” Sarah said.  

“He’ll be fine,” you said.  “We’ll go back for him.”

The soldier was talking on his radio, you strained to listen, but your hearing hadn’t recovered from all the gunfire.  Then the soldier was lifting his gun.

“Run!”  Joel shouted.  “Run!”

He was turning toward you and you turned to run, but then you heard the shots.  Joel slammed into your back.  You tried to hold on to Sarah, but you fell–all the wind knocked out of you–rolling down the hillside.

You pushed yourself up from where you had landed on your belly.  You saw Sarah on the ground a few feet away, a dark stain spreading across the front of her shirt.

“No,” you chanted, scrambling toward her on hands and knees.  “No, Sarah.”  

Sarah moaned as you drew her head into your lap and pressed your hands into her belly.

“I have to,” you cried, pressing down hard.  “I’m sorry.  I have to.”

You didn’t even notice the soldier had followed you to finish the job until you heard the second shot and saw Tommy standing beside Joel with the rifle, the dead man at his feet.

Then they saw you, struggling to keep Sarah’s blood inside her.  Joel lunged at you, pushing you off her.  Sarah cried in pain as he tried to lift her.  You watched as life drained out of her and she went limp in his arms.  You felt cold.  You felt sick.  You felt numb.  

“You’re hit,” Tommy said, kneeling down beside you.  You didn’t know what he meant until he pressed his hand into your shoulder and searing pain ripped through your body.              

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

ruby

a/n: maybe because of the culture I'm from, maybe because I am a hippie, but I love this and don't find it gross or off-putting in the slightest. periods are a natural and beautiful thing. I'm also just extremely chill about blood, so the fact that it's just coming from your uterus doesn't faze me one bit. so it's a little blood, big deal. get your chauvinistic views out of here.

warnings: matt murdock x reader, established relationship, menstruation, foreplay, making out, Matt's canon ability to smell things like blood from a mile away

word count: 703

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

Sensing not only your monthly flow but also your desperate slick drip down onto the pad that was equally shielding you from feeling Matt’s intoxicating hardness, but also winding you more and more up, the cotton stimulating your overly sensitive parts, making your whole body feel fuzzy as if you were made out of cotton candy. 

After your new boyfriend had given you just the smallest bit of contact, your hormones had taken over and within seconds pushed you to the brink of bursting, melting into his lap, writhing and grinding for release. 

You were so swept up in the heated kiss, whimpering against Matt’s lips as his fingers teased your pebbly nipples poking through your thin shirt, that it was only when he began to lift the fabric up off your body that you woke up. 

“Wait,” you pushed back, holding yourself steady with a hand planted on each one of his broad shoulders. 

“What it is?” he asked, sounding just as breathless as you were, “do you not want to keep going?”

Fighting the urge to just rip his shirt off right then and there, your brows furrowed in want at the sight of his swollen lips, “of course I do, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” his large palms slid over your waist, keeping you close enough to share your breath. 

“No,” you shook your head, trying to ignore how his deep voice made your active walls clench around nothing, forcing your eyes to look somewhere less becoming, “it’s silly…” but that remark only made him cocked his brow and flash you a challenging expression. Biting down on your bottom lip, you reluctantly said, “we should just wait a bit longer before we do that…”

Nodding, he breathed out, “if that’s what you want, then sure,” although you didn’t hide your arousal very well at all, so he checked, tightening his grip slightly around your sides, “you sure?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, eyes fluttering at his touch, wrestling the desire to tickle that heavenly itch, “yeah, we shouldn’t do it right now, I want our first proper time together to be good for you,” the words flew out of your mouth before you had a chance to catch them. 

“And just why wouldn’t it be good for me right now?” Matt chuckled, not needing to bring your attention down towards the already obvious proof pressing against your centre. Finding your words caught in your throat, unable to find an explanation that would suffice, he spoke up before you had the chance, “wait,” sighing lightly as he let his body lean back against the couch, “don’t tell me this is all just because you’re on your period, sweetheart.”

“…how do you know that?”

Freezing up a moment, you watched as he ultimately opened his mouth and shared, “…I can smell it… and the air around you, it tastes like iron.”

“Oh my god…” you didn’t need a mirror to be sure of the crimson shade your face was turning, “I’m sorry,” your fingers detached from his warmth and curled up into little balls you swiftly brought into safety by your chin, “I didn’t-… I can just go.”

“Don’t you dare move an inch!” he held your body tighter just in case you truly would disappear on him, “you really think the smell of blood makes me run for the hills?” he scoffed, then leaned in a little closer, changing his tone, “sweetheart,” you felt his thumb begin to draw small patterns over your spine, “I’m not trying to pressure you. I just want you to know that I don’t have a preference. My preference is you, no matter what.”

Letting a low exhale flow timidly out past your bitten lips, “yeah?”

“As long as you’re moaning and groaning in my arms, then I’m happy,” he smirked, nuzzling his nose lightly against yours, “I just want you to feel good.” 

Chuckling shyly, “I don’t moan and groan…” 

Letting out a small laugh, he said, “sure you don’t,” then proceeded to pull your hips down even further, rocking your covered core against him and successfully causing you to let out another sound just as lewd as the ones heard only five minutes ago. 

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[twinksrepository]

You have no luck, at all

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Dante X F!Reader

CW: Kidnapping, canon typical violence, panic, fighting, swearing, thoughts about asses,

Word count: Roughly 3K 

A/N: Chapter four, where you may have gone from the frying pan right into the fire as you wake up in pain. Elsewhere Nero and Dante are having a showdown as Nero channels his anger about the events of the day into trying to beat the man he assumes killed you into submission. It's a great day for everyone. I'm still not done my course but some inspiration hit hard. So enjoy~

Rolling onto your side as you try to make sense of the vertigo that has a hold of you, all it does is make your stomach churn even harder forcing you to keep yourself from throwing up once more. The thing that had grabbed you standing by like a sentinel now after dropping you to the floor as if you had been a sack of flour.

“I see you’ve arrived, Doctor.” Coughing after you swallow down the bile that has been creeping up your throat, you look up to see the Vicar standing just outside a circle of runes. 

“I heard you died.” He doesn’t look much like a dead man so maybe the citizens you heard in the street had been wrong. 

“Indeed I did.” Well then. Strike one for you. “However I have been resurrected.” Great more craziness you didn’t need to hear today, that is not how it works. You die and you stay dead. As you watch the Vicar move you notice he stays outside of the circle of glowing runes around you, a weight dropping in your stomach as you try to sit up. It takes more effort than your body can give as your muscles scream in protest, what the hell, you had been able to roll over with no problem. 

“Tell me, Doctor.” His voice has a chill to it that you never noticed before. “How was meeting the famed son of Sparda?” 

“Dante?” What does your meeting Dante have to do with anything? Trying to get your legs under you to sit up, it doesn’t make sense almost like gravity has increased around you as a cold sweat breaks out along your skin.  

“I had hoped to use both of you to form the savior's core.” Stopping near the edge of a wall you gasp as your eyes move past him, landing on a massive figure that seems as if it was carved out of marble. “Now however it seems another pair will be used.” What the hell is he talking about? You have no idea what the old man is going on about yet as he turns your heart stops beating in your chest at the eerie glow of his eyes. “That does not mean there isn’t a use for you. If you won’t be part of the core, your healing abilities can still be utilized by the savior. Though it does make me wonder if during your brief time with the devil hunter if you didn’t make an impression.” 

“The hell are you talking about?” Hissing through your teeth as you finally get yourself into a seated position, the tremor in your arms burns as you work as hard as you can to stay in the position you had put so much effort into getting your body placed in. 

“Hell indeed. Angus?” Raising his voice just a hint and the man that reminds you of a mad scientist strides into view. “Place the Doctor inside the savior, I imagine one of the crystals of demonic power should suffice.” 

“Of course Sir.” A bow and you feel your blood boiling as you’re ignored. 

“What the fuck are both of you talking about? I’m not going inside something with demons!” Struggling as hard as you can to try and move, shuffling towards the edge of the circle with all your might panting as your body screams against the force it’s being made to exert. 

“My apologies Doctor, you never had a say in the matter. We had assumed you would be bait for Dante, however it seems that line of thinking was wrong. Either way, we still have a use for you.” If you thought you knew what fear was earlier when you thought you were about to die, you were wrong. Because nothing dulls your senses or makes your heart race like the thought of being used as a pawn and tossed away just as easily. 

All of your struggles are useless as Angus drags you towards the marble status, it’s like the runes are following you, keeping your limbs heavy. Bumps and scrapes are starting to litter your skin from the stones that make up the floor. You’re nearly level with the things chest and a blue stone larger than you are. Just being closer to it has your boil freezing and your heart beating a mile a minute in your chest from the fear. You do not want to be any closer to this thing. “Now be a g-g-g-good little Doctor, and behave.” 

All you can do is scream as he shoves you into the stone watching with morbid horror as you slowly sink into it. You aren’t afraid. No. Afraid seems to be too loose of a description for the sheer terror running rampant through your system. This is not how you wanted to die, a final thought of a certain red coat flicks in your mind, maybe Dante can save you again. It's a fleeting hope before you feel cold and all your senses fall into darkness. 

Nero can feel his frustration mounting. First the Vicar was killed, not that he cared that much about the old man but he wasn’t going to stand by after someone shoved a sword through his decrepit bones. Then the Doc was kidnapped by the same guy. That, he had cared about. 

When you had first shown up in town he thought you might have fully believed all the same crap the order was spewing, then when he went to see you for a cough he just couldn’t seem to shake his view changed dramatically. He could tell you saw the order as just your employer, that you wanted to help people.

It was hard to deny when your touch was as gentle as your voice as you got him to breathe and listened to his lungs with your stethoscope pressed to his back. The way you had laughed a little as you gave him your diagnosis and handed him a few pills to help with the bacteria infection inside his chest. Hours later, he was barely coughing anymore. All of his meetings with you after had been more of a check in, and Nero simply enjoyed having someone to vent about what to him, amounted as the stupidest things. 

For the first time in his life after growing up in the orphanage with Kyrie and Credo, he felt like he had someone else to care about. You reminded him of an older family member that didn’t mind telling him off when he needed it. Or how you just listened when he needed to get some of his frustration of his chest. 

The thought of this Dante having killed you made his blood boil. Now to top it off, Kyrie thought he had tried to kill Credo and she had been taken by that weirdo Angus somewhere. Again. Suffice it to say, he was not in a pleasant mood as he made his way through the orders’ headquarters. 

“What took you so long?” Stopping in his tracks to see the man in red just made his rage just grow in intensity. The cocky bastard. 

“You” Swallowing some of that firy temper of his down Nero glared at him. “What are you doing here?” Watching the easy saunter of the man as he put his weapon away made his eyes narrow futher. He didn’t see Nero as a threat. “Forget it, I don’t have time for this.” Nero might have wanted to slice him to bits but he needed to save Kyrie while he still had a chance. Revenge for the Doctor would have to wait for now. 

Brushing past Dante before feeling his hand land on his shoulder. “And neither do I.” Turning Nero reacted with no thought and threw a punch at the man’s face. Only to watch him dodge with ease before grabbing his first. “So I’ll cut to the chase.” Nero wasn’t expecting the force that he was thrown with, gasping as he hit the stone wall and feeling blood well up his lips from the impact. 

“I’m here for the sword.” What sword? The one he had picked up in Angus’s lab? 

“Your point being?” Drawing on that power Nero sneered, feeling the pain in his chest lessen as his anger surged through him. 

If Dante was bothered by the gust of wind laced with power he didn’t show it beyond blocking his eyes from the dust swirling in the wind that blasted his face. “It was originally my brother’s” Drawing the rebellion and letting his expression grow flat. “Return it to me, and I’ll let you go, Kid.” 

Wrong thing to say. “Kid? Well if that’s how you see me. I think you’ll blush a pretty pink when I kick your ass.” Nero swung the sword that whispered its name as being Yamato in his mind, watching as the pillar across the room broke with a flurry of cement raining down from above the perfect slice in the column. 

“Ah, helpful hint, take a tip from your elders and bow out when you’re outmatched.” That pushes Nero to the edge, lunging forward and swinging the sword at the older man. A clash of metal against metal as both give no quarter in their fight. 

An exchange of blows that has Nero feeling the reins on his temper loosen with the way Dante is still playing with him. “Tell me something.” Growling as he swung the Yamato upwards aiming for the man’s armpit. “Did you toy with the Doc like this too before you took her?” 

“Maybe.” A move more like a dance one then a fighting stance as Dante seemed to gracefully twist away and parring with his larger sword. “What’s it to you?”

His attitude has him furious. “She has nothing to do with this! She’s a good person you fucking bastard.” Another exchange of blows and Nero sees an opening. Going for Dante’s thigh before quickly changing the angle of his blow. 

“Sorry brat but the Doc needed to be removed from the equation.” Another parry and Nero can’t help but scream in rage at the answer.

“So you killed her?!” A barrage of swings at the older man, feeling his movements grow faster as Nero channeled his rage into the blows. Rage about Kyrie being kidnapped, fury about the only other person he saw as family being killed.

“Maybe. Why are you so worried about her?” There’s a flash in Dante’s eyes as he locks the guard of his sword against the one in Nero’s hold. A stalemate of sorts as they both press the other looking to see who flinches first. 

“The Doc didn’t even believe in Demons! She just wanted to help people, she didn't care who anyone was she just helped everyone regardless as to who they were. She just wanted to save people with whatever power she had. She shouldn’t have had to die for being in the wrong place at the wrong time!” Almost screaming it at him before twisting his wrist and jumping back. 

“I didn't kill her. Just made sure she was moved someplace safe.” His words might ring true but Nero doesn’t believe him. He run the vicar through with nary a thought so what reason does the youth have to believe the man in front of him? Swinging Yamato and finally breaking through Dante’s defenses and sending Rebellion flying before going in for the kill. 

Only to find the sword at his throat and back in his hands after Dante dodged with a hand to his back that sent his movements off kilter. Lying on the floor with no other means of attack, his hand pinned under the sole of Dante’s boot.. “Why don’t I believe you?” 

“Believe what you want Kid, but with an ass as fine as hers I’d rather not take something so nice out of the world.” Shrugging while taking in deeper breaths, Nero can see for the first time Dante was struggling during their fight. “Now have you cooled off yet Kid?” All Nero can do is glare, he’s been beaten but it doesn’t mean he needs to like it. Or take the comment about his friend with a grain of salt. “What’s the matter? Why the glare?” 

“You look as if you’ve just been playing me from the beginning.” Nero doesn’t stop glaring, not even when the pressure on his wrist is gone and Dante steps away. 

“That sword was used to separate our world from the demons. I can’t have something with that kind of power floating around now can I?” Striding away from Nero, Dante takes a moment before uttering a little bit more. “The Doctor, is a bit like you and me. Except she doesn’t know it, so I couldn’t let her be left floating around during this mess either.” Turning around once more to set his eyes on Nero once more. “The swords gotta stay in the family, and the Doctor can go back to whatever she wants after this situation is over.” 

For whatever reason, Nero is more willing to believe Dante. The order has been up to some shady shit and with her sudden appearance in the town maybe that creepy Angus guy had something planned for her too if what Dante said is true. Yet the thought of losing Yamato? It puts a weight in his gut. He’s only been able to come this far since he obtained it, and he still needs to save Kyrie. “I need this.” 

Nero’s tone grabs Dante's attention immediately. A single thought shoots across his head as he takes in the boy's appearance. It’s almost as if a shadow passes in front of his eyes and he can place so many of his facial features, even the stance the boy has at the moment to another he once knew as well as himself. It would explain why the boy found the Yamato, and why he seems to wield it so easily. ‘Vergil, did you really throw everything away in that quest for power?’ 

His mind made up Dante points at the boy, before dropping his hand to his side with Rebellion resting against his shoulder. “Then keep it.” Inside his head it doesn’t make sense to have come this far to just let the boy keep Vergil’s sword. His heart, on the other hand, is telling him to let what he’s certain is his nephew keep what might be the final part of his father with him. It’s technically still with the family. “Now that you’re calm and cool, get going.” Jerking his head towards the hallway that Nero had originally been heading for prior to their little battle. 

It takes a moment, as if Nero doesn’t fully believe Dante and his words before he nods passing beside him and a sense of something overtakes him. Freezing as Dante calls out to him once more. “Hey! What’s your name?” 

“Nero. You’re Dante right? Not a bad name.” Not bothering to wait as he kept heading for the door. 

“I meant what I said, Nero. The Doctor will be back on her merry way once this is over.” Internally thinking how Nero isn’t a bad name for his nephew either, kind of funny with his head of white hair to be named after the Latin word for black. Watching him walk away down the hallway before his view is interrupted by a scantily dressed tan woman. 

Dante burst into laughter before pointing at her. “That regal look suits you!” 

“I dress to impress” A flourish of her hands and Trish returns to looking like herself once more, striding towards Dante with a grin on her face. “Are you sure you want to let him go?” If she’s surprised by his decision, she doesn't show it. Then again Trish has always had the best poker face he’s ever known. 

“Yeah. I figure he can bear the burden.” The briefest hint of pride on his face as Dante keeps looking down to where Nero disappeared to. 

“I know it’s not my business, but this could get ugly.” Feeling her hand settle on his shoulder Dante smirks. 

“Well, if the kid screws up then I’ll just have to kick his ass.” Returning Rebellion to its place on his back he shrugs. 

“Speaking of asses, I hear you’ve met the Doctor.” Trish’s voice has a tilt to it that makes Dante raise an eyebrow. Is she about to shed more light on what you're really about, was he in fact tricked by an act you were putting on?

“What of it?” Narrowing his eyes curious as to what Trish could be getting at with the sideways glance she sends him as if gauging his reaction. 

“I’m just curious as to what you think of her. She is rather cute, from what I heard through the order she looked right at home tucked up in your arms.” Dante flinches backwards his shoulders ramrod straight. Did someone in the order really report back how the two of them had looked as he ran across the rooftops with her? 

“The hell is with you and Lady? Are you two trying to set me up with someone or something?” The devil hunter doesn’t blush, it’s not like it’s the first time he’s met a hot chick and carried her to safety but the fact both women are hinting at something doesn’t sit right with him. He’s a little annoyed by their comments, even if he does agree that the Doctor is pretty easy on the eyes. 

“Just pointing out the obvious. I mean you can be quite dense.” A slow blink from Trish and Dante knows the woman is trying to get a rise out of him with the comment about his intelligence. 

“Funny. Very funny.” Rolling his shoulders to brush her hand away before he starts walking away. Down along the same hallway Nero had gone wanting to watch how the rest of this played out. “She does have a nice ass though.” One that Dante is starting to realize is showing up in his thoughts more and more. Another thought goes right along with it, how if the situation had been different he might have asked the pretty little doctor on a date. After saving your life not once but twice, he has zero interest in that now when the risk of you feeling something for him might be possible. 

Chapter three

[happy-beeeps]

A Promise Kept

A Tech x reader one shot where everything is fine! We're all fine!

WC: 5.2k

CW: Canon typical violence, descriptions of injuries, drug usage, blissful ignorance of physics and canon deviation. Angst, hurt comfort, fluff, all the good stuff

Summary: What am I if not a clone lover. A fix-it fic made for my irl bestie @scoobydoobydaisy, consider this your late birthday present. Thinking of all my fellow Tech girls who want to live in the world where he’s ok. Welcome! You’ve made it! This is my first time writing for tbb and for Tech, so I’m still working out the kinks, but I’m happy with it. Also if anyone tries to say anything about the survivability of that fall I’m ignoring it let me live in delusion.

(also i live in the reality where this fanart by papanowo is how Tech’s hair looks always because I swear to god I saw this and it changed my life.)

((also I prommy I'm working on the new chapter of BCS, I accidentally got inspired to write chapter 14 so I did that instead oopsie, but if it's any consolation, we've got like 9 more chapters at least of that to go!))

The quiet was what consumed you at first, the lack of chatter and softer clinking of glasses. Then it was the smells, in a broad sense the defining scent of Mantell Mix but, in a more intimate way it was the smell of the grease after he would repair the Marauder, or the fresh, clean scent of his skin in the rare moments you would lean past him when collecting the Batch’s glassware at the bar. No, when the Batch left Cid’s it was him being gone that consumed you, that Tech, your Tech in every way but reality, had left with his team in pursuit of something better and left you behind. You wondered often if they thought of you, if he thought of you, if he regretted leaving you here to clean up their mess. I would never leave him, you thought to yourself in those weeks, sweeping up glass or dealing with one of Cid’s moods. You couldn’t really blame them, you’d been at this bar long before the Batch showed up, and evidently you’d be here long after.

It’s why you’re surprised by a ping on your personal comm, tucked dutifully in the pocket of your apron, while you’re serving a drink to a tired looking Togruta. The bar isn’t packed, it never is, and you pat the pocket of your apron before looking at Cid, “I’m going to smoke, I’ll be back.”

The Trandoshan waved you off immediately, knowing full well about your recent cigarra habit, something you had attributed to the stress of the last few weeks. You slipped out the back entrance, standing in the dimly lit back alley behind the bar, leaning closer to your comm and also fumbling with the carton of cigarras, searching equally hard for your lighter. The familiar sound of the light coaxed your caller out of his silence, breaking the quiet with a long sigh.

“I thought I had adequately warned you about the dangers and symptoms of smoking.” Tech murmurs through the line, and if you squint in your mind you can practically see the disappointment on his face.

“I thought I told you not to go too far.”

“Ah. Yes. To be fair, I had assumed we were speaking in metaphor.”

You flick the ash off the end before bringing it back to your mouth to breathe. “I waited for you, you know.”

“You didn’t have to-”

“No, I know I didn’t. I wanted to. I wanted to believe you wouldn’t leave me without saying goodbye.”

“At the time I didn’t know it was goodbye, otherwise I would’ve left so few things unsaid.” There’s a clatter in the background of his message that makes your heart jump. The sound of things being loaded onto a ship, a ramp being raised. Hunter’s voice yelling, mild panic.

“You’re going somewhere?”

He takes a beat to answer, you can hear Wrecker get Omega settled and the sound of movement. He’s walking, you gather, from the way the sound rustles through the comm. Suddenly it’s clearer, and you only hear his voice and the distant sound of waves crashing. “I am.”

“So that's why you called? To not leave things unsaid?”

“I think, if I have deciphered you correctly, you would like it here. You’d fit in, I think”

“So you think you know me now?”

“I think you and I both know that I do. Just as well as you know me.” There’s that beat again, though this one rings of uncertainty. “Unless I misinterpreted something.”

“You haven’t” your words rush out in a whisper, cigarra nearly finished. “Misinterpreted I mean. You never have.”

“I- I have some things, I want you to know-” Then it's Wrecker, you can tell by the wait of the step over the comm, and he’s calling for Tech and the engines of the Marauder are firing. “We were going to come back for you. I was going to come back for you. That has always been my plan.”

“Tech, why does this sound like goodbye?”

“I was always going to come back for you.”

The line ends with a definitive click, and a moment later the last ash is on the sidewalk and your break is over. You tuck the com and the pack back into your apron, swipe at a few stray tears you hadn’t realized had slipped down your cheek, then head back into the bar, the only remnant of your confession the butt of a cigarra melting in a puddle out back.

* * *

“They’re coming back.” Cid practically spits as she walks by you while you clean glasses. “They walk out on me and now this? They just want to come back? I don’t think so.”

There’s a pit in your stomach now, a feeling of guilt and panic. Cid knows you were close with the team, but does she know how close? Are they actually coming back, and putting themselves in danger over you? “Did they say why?”

“No. It was bandana who called. Sounded down. Someone’s gotta be hurt, no reason they’d be coming back otherwise.”

The pit grows, and you instinctively feel for where your comm is. You hadn’t missed a call, you’re sure of it. Your mind spins with the possibilities. Why was Tech not the one to call? You set the glass down as carefully as you can manage and turn to face Cid. “What are you going to do?”

She looks at the ground before rubbing the back of her neck. “Look, kid, we’ve been in a tight spot these past few months with them being here. You know this, I know this.” She moves to grab your hand, “You don’t do all that well with the empire, I know. Maybe just, go home now. Before it gets worse here, ok?”

Your eyes widen with the implication of her words and you nod before turning to walk out the door, grabbing your bag from the shelf by the bar and careful to be out of the door frame before making a sprint towards the docking bay, hoping to get to them before they land. You’re calling Tech and you’re met with nothing but static, at least reassuring you that that is why he hasn’t called to alert you. “Tech, Tech if you can hear me, it’s a trap, don’t come to Cid’s, I’m going to go to the Marauder. I’m going to see you soon, ok?”

Wrecker is the first to disembark, and he nearly runs you over at the speed he walks off the ship. “Wreck, hey, it's me, you can’t go to Cid’s.” You sputter out as fast as possible before he looks down at you, eyes wide and crazed.

Hunter hears you and bolts out, walking towards you as Wrecker backs away slowly, shaking his head. “I can’t. Hunter I can’t you have to tell her.”

You look at the tattooed clone blinking wildly, “You, you’re not listening to me. You can’t go to Cid’s something is wrong.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Clearly we need to talk Hunter because I still haven’t forgiven you all for abandoning me here, but you have to listen to me, you can’t go-”

“It’s Tech.”

The words have their desired effect of turning everything in your mind into stone as you register Echo quietly shifting to do repairs on the outside of the Marauder and Omega’s tear streaked fast as she all but flies past you to catch up with Wrecker. “What do you mean?”

“He- he’s gone, he,” he runs a hand through his hair before bringing it to the bridge of his nose and shaking his head, “Kriffing Tech said he had it figured out, and he sacrificed himself for us, for the squad.” He looks back at Echo, whose shoulders are tight as he works on Tech’s ship. “He wanted to make sure you were cared for, I know you’ve got a ship and I could’ve sent coordinates but Wrecker insisted we land. And I thought I should tell you in person.” He puts an arm on your shoulder and guides you towards the bay he knows your ship is in, away from Echo and through the winding corridors of the docks. 

You’re moving, but you really aren’t. You’re numb to it all, the situation, the words. The reality of this hasn’t even begun to set in yet. Hunter knows, he always knows, and remains quiet until you get to your ship, a small but fast freighter from your days as a runner off of Corellia. “Why did you let him?”

“He made his choice, and we have to use it to secure our future.”

“Did you… did you find him? Can I say goodbye?”

Hunter runs a hand through his hair, “we didn’t exactly have time to go back for him.”

“So you left him?” You don’t hide the anger, the bitterness in your voice that rises like bile as you look to glare at your friend. “He could be alive.”

“He fell hundreds of feet and was followed by a railcar. I figured I would spare you the image because I don’t know how I’m supposed to sleep now having seen it.” He sighs as you tense and your eyes go wide. “I’m sorry. We did everything we could.”

You nod, tears now actively spilling over as you blink and shake your head. “You have to tell me what system you were on.”

“I am not letting you do something stupid, do not make me disrespect his wish like that.”

“Hunter, I have to try.”

“There is nothing you can do.”

“Do not look at me and tell me there is nothing I can do until I am lying dead at your feet,” you nearly spit at him, tears now burning down your cheeks as he groans, “he promised me he would always come back for me, I am not going to deny him the same thing.”

He looks back at Echo working on the ship and chews on his lip, debating in his mind how many deaths he wants on his hands. “If I give you these coordinates, you need to promise to not engage with any of the imperials.”

“Unless they shoot me first.”

“Unless they shoot you first. You need to fly low, and make sure your cloaking is on at all times.” He takes the datapad out of your bag and punches in three sets of numbers. “The first is the system coordinates, the second is the crash site. You cannot stay there long, most of the imperials have probably fled after the attack-”

“Attack?”

“I’ll explain later,” he huffs. “The third is the rendezvous point. Whatever the outcome, meet us there, if you want. He’s right, we shouldn’t have left you. You’re a part of this squad.” He grabs your shoulder and gives it a squeeze before walking towards the direction of Echo. “I get why he loves you, you’re both so stubborn.”

You leave in a hurry, running onto your ship with just your bag and punching in the coordinates. You leave in such a hurry, in fact, that you don’t think until it’s too late that you’ve neglected to remind Hunter of the reason you ran to them in the first place.

* * *

It’s this supposed love that has you speaking into your comm while you travel through hyperspace. You’re greeted by nothing other than static, but you talk. You tell him stories, you tell him about your day. You talk about the regulars at Cid’s, about the first time you smoked. You tell him about your parents, about your home planet, how you got to Corellia. “I want you to know everything about me the way that you know everything about everything. And I think I was afraid to tell you everything because not everything is good. But I think that’s ok. And I promise, when I find you, I’ll give you everything, all of me. The good and the bad,” you sniff, “even if I smell like fumes and my lungs give out because I have a bad habit” you laugh into the comm. “I have more to say, but I think I’d rather tell you when I get there.”

Eriadu is bitterly cold and dotted with peaks of mountains stretching up and above the cloud line. Getting past the security team isn’t difficult, you can tell they’re scrambling to recover from the attack and both expecting support and medic ships, so it doesn’t take much to convince them that you’re a dispatched supplies shuttle. You fly low enough to stay out of their radar, and scour the mountain tops and trees for signs of the wreckage as you get closer to the coordinates Hunter provided. There’s a spot between the trees for you to tuck your ship, and you grab the warmest jacket you have onboard, your blaster, and your vibroblade before setting out on foot.

The air feels still, but when you pause you can hear the sounds of troopers in the distance and shuttles overheard. Nothing entirely threatening, but a bitter reminder of why you’re here in the first place. You’ve taken to talking to Tech again, hoping to hear the buzz of your voice back as you walk through this forest in the vague destination of his demise. “I’ve stopped crying,” you murmur into your comm, twigs crunching between your boots, grateful to past you for opting out of the heeled shoes you normally wear on a busy night at the bar. “I just have decided to believe that you’re here, and I’m going to find you. And I figured you’d say something about the waste of water and the threat of dehydration.” You push past the brush and step over some rocks as you begin to hit a more rocky terrain. “It’s really cold here, you know. I don’t really like the cold. Or rocks. You’re lucky I enjoy your company-”

“Freeze!” The sound of a modulated voice stops you in your tracks, and you turn slowly with your hands in the air, facing a singular trooper with his blaster aimed at your torso. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” He uses his blaster to gesture to the comm in your hand, “Who are you talking to?”

“I’m sorry, I’m lost, our ship wrecked and I’ve been wandering these woods since yesterday, I’m trying to find my husband.” You shake your hand, trying to indicate the comm. The body language of the trooper shifts, you can tell he’s trying to decide if he’s going to believe you, so you bring the tears you’ve been fighting back up. “Please, please I need help, we have a daughter, she’s off-world with her uncle. We need to get home to her, please I can’t find my husband.” 

He shifts again, and moves to lower his blaster and walks towards you, “Okay, ma’am, I don’t know how you crashed here, but this is imperial property, and it’s highly classified, I’ll need to take you in for questioning.” He steps close to you now, too close, and he underestimates you. 

You sigh in mock appreciation while you pull the vibroblade off your hip, pushing it into the exposed portion between the chestplate and pauldron of his shoulder. He yelps and drops the blaster, and you pull your own out from the holster, holding it up to his head. “I’m very appreciative for your help. Now, let’s not make any sudden movements, shall we?” The trooper musters a pained nod as you back away, picking up the dropped blaster and tucking it on your belt. “I need info on a crash site, and I need you to tell me where it is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re the one that crashed here.”

You’re being cruel now and you hate it, but your feelings for Tech outweigh any feeling of pity you have for this trooper as you push the blade further into his arm. This makes you feel gross, there’s a sick feeling in your stomach as you revert back to your old way of being, before the bar, before the squad. “I think you do know, and I can promise you, keeping me from my family is going to hurt you more than the empire can.”

“There’s a site, half a klick away, railcar crash.”

You push the blade in one final time and through gritted teeth ask him, “What. Direction.”

The trooper answers with the direction, and you smile before taking the back of your blaster and tapping him on the side of the head. After a pulse check to be sure you haven’t killed the now slumped man you soldier on, emboldened by the confirmation of the site, eager to get to Tech as soon as possible.

The crash site is genuinely nauseating. The remains of the railcar are smashed and split at the base of the mountain, laying against a tall cedar tree. There’s wires coming out in all directions sending blue sparks out into the orange sky, and the air has the taste of oil and metal, whether it's from the bent and ugly pieces on the ground or the blood that lingers you aren’t sure. The ground around the site is pushed up and bulging from the impact, and there’s small crates from rocks being dislodged and shot as the car hit the ground. It’s ugly, the crash has left no survivors from the car that went down, and you’re not sure you have the gut to wander in further. You lean against a tree nearby and notice the black tether cord jutting out of the bottom of the car. Your heart sinks and you think you’d pass out if you hadn’t been leaning against something sturdy. “Oh, oh Tech.” You whisper, slinking to the ground and letting yourself cry, really cry, for the first time today. You bring your knees up to your chest and drop your head down, tears stinging your cheeks as the cold burns them into your skin. You have to start moving, you aren’t really dressed for this, and as the sky turns magenta you know it isn’t long before it turns to night, not to mention that you know there are troopers nearby. 

You lift your head up, deciding you’re going to go walk back in a moment, and you rest the base of your head back on the tree and your eyes drift shut. “Hey Tech, it’s me again.” You whisper into the comm, still crying as you go on, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I failed you. I just had to try. I have so much I want to say to you, there’s so much-” your ears suddenly focus on something not too far from you. It’s the echo of your voice, reverberating off the nearby trees that has your heart pounding. “Hello? Hello!” you call, hearing the sound of your voice grow louder when suddenly, under the base of a tree, you hear it. It’s faint, but strong, and it’s your name being carried over the wind and down to you, spoken as soft as a prayer. When you look up you can see him, tangled in a mess of grapple line and tarp, armor dented and cracked, goggles missing. It’s your Tech, leaning against the trunk of this tree in a mess of his own creation, battered and bloody but breathing. “Tech!” You climb up to him as best you can, you aren’t an excellent climber by any means but the branches are sturdy and well placed, and suddenly you’ve reached him and he’s real. Your hands are everywhere, gentle and prodding, untangling him from the grapple line and running soothing strokes along the side of his face as he looks at you like you’ve got ten heads. He’s cold, he looks like he’s in pain, and you can tell by the grimace on his face when you brush his torso he’s got cracked ribs.

“Given my blood loss and my pain, this logically must be a hallucination.”

“No no no,” you’re soothing yourself now too, trying not to be hysterical as you untangle him and think of ways to get him down from the tree. “No, Tech I’m here, I’m here.”

“I, I don’t understand.”

“Tech,” you pause, placing a hand on his chest and looking into his eyes. He really is a mess, bloody and tired and his hair is flying in every which way. You’re laughing now, out of hysteria, out of irony, as you finally discard the tarp and shuffle the grapple line away from his body. “Do you remember how we met?”

“Of course,” he strains at the movement of you pulling him off of the trunk, “You were in the process of being mugged if I remember correctly?”

“I was negotiating the return of my wallet”

“And we found you on our walk through Ord Mantell. And then you took us to Cid’s.”

“Do you remember how I looked?”

He looks at you know confused, before slowly reaching up to feel his hair, the dried blood and the cuts still dripping, and despite it all, he cracks a smile. “Don’t tell me I look worse than that.”

You bite your cheek at the joke, happy he’s alive enough to even be making a joke, “Despite it all, I think you’ll live.”

Getting Tech down from the tree is awkward and clunky. He’s hurt, bad, and you’re worried with the movement he’s going to hurt himself beyond repair. You’ve got a solid medkit on your ship, and you just have to get him there. He’s fashioned himself a crutch out of a discarded branch and is using you to hold the majority of his weight, yet the walk still takes over double the time to get back to the ship. He regales you with the tale of his survival, though you admit that around the point he begins discussing “inertia” and the forces of gravity and the quick thinking of his pack, you’re more focused on him than what he’s saying. You get him back onto your ship quietly, careful to avoid the few troopers you see on the ground in order to avoid a firefight. Your ship is small, but it was designed to carry you and cargo, so you lead him to the small bed chamber off the cockpit. You press the button to open the door and lead him to your bed, tucked in the corner near a storage cubby, a mirror, and a small viewport. “Stay here.” You command as you lay him down in the bed, heading towards the cockpit to punch in the rendezvous coordinates. 

“I don’t believe I have much of a choice.”

* * *

“Hold still.”

“I would much prefer just the patches, thank you.”

“And I would much prefer you alive, thanks.” You huff as you inject Tech with one of the loose bacta shots you have in your kit. He grimaces, and you continue working on removing the shattered pieces of his armor and tossing them haphazardly on the floor.

“Why do you even have that, are they not illegal?”

“Lots of good things are illegal,” you mumble out as you rip gauze to lay over the bacta patches you’ve started to apply to his wounds. “Besides, of the two of us, who’s the one wanted by the empire right now?” You go to life up his shirt and squeeze your eyes shut at the dried, bloody mess around his ribs. 

He grimaces in response. “Fair point.”

You work in silence, his voice becoming more tired the more he’s spoken to you, and you don’t want to push him at risk of hurting him more. You’re applying the patches higher and higher before you sigh, breaking the silence. “Tech, I’m going to need to cut this undershirt off. I need to access your chest, and I don’t want you moving your arms more than you have to. He nods as you work on the rest of his body, whispering to both yourself and him, “Oh Tech.” 

He won’t meet your eyes, but in the darkened room he looks at the ceiling, “When you first arrived, I thought I was dead.”

“You have that little faith in my rescuing abilities.”

“I assumed you were an angel.” There’s a silence that fills the room, and you can practically feel the tension as it rolls off of him.

“I knew you were alive, I did.”

“Oh? Explain your logic.”

“I just think I would know if something happened to you.” You say, the end of the sentence trailing off into quiet as you continue to work, stepping back to begin working on his chest.

“I assume my clothing options are limited then,” his eyes land on the pile of clothes in the supply cubby behind you, thrown haphazardly as you searched for any jacket.

“I’ve got something for you, actually,” you murmur as you cut the shirt off, peeling the scraps of fabric off his body and exposing his torso, tanned and marred, you suck in a breath as you see the reality of it. 

He notices and grabs your hand. “If it soothes you, I did hit a very sturdy tree at a very swift impact, but clone armor is resilient. If I had done a proper examination, I would guess I’ve only cracked four ribs on my right side, where I made the most direct impact with the tree.”

“Oh good,” you snort, “only four.”

“I am… very fortunate I have a medic who is capable of helping me.” He looks at you earnestly, like he’s trying to decide what to say, and in reality, so are you. Hunter’s words are still ringing around in your skull, bouncing off your brain and worming themselves comfortably around your heart.

“Oh yeah, full service, you should see the trooper I took out.”

“I’m sorry?” He starts, and you bring a hand to his lips, shushing him quietly as you ease him back down to your bed. You stand up and walk towards the cubby, grabbing a similar black shirt to the one laying in scraps at your feet.

“Will this work?”

He squints at it, as if trying to place why it looks so familiar, when it clicks. “Is that… the undershirt I leant you when you stayed with Omega on our run to Tatooine?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you have it here?”

You don’t know what to say, and the way he’s looking at you, brown eyes boring into your soul with equal parts skepticism and hope, you decide the truth is best. “Because, sometimes, when you were gone, it was nice to sleep in. And sometimes I took myself flying because I didn’t like being in Ord Mantell alone, and so I would pack a change of clothes.”

“But you were never alone on Ord Mantell.”

You fold the shirt and place it on the edge of your bed, the confession you were so emboldened by suddenly feeling so small. As you make to walk towards the cockpit you shrug, “It felt like I was when you left.”

His grip is surprisingly strong (a perk of the illegal extra dose of bacta you assume) as he grabs your wrist, keeping you tethered to his side. He looks radiant like this somehow, patched up in your bed, hair mussed up on your pillow, shirt long discarded. He looks like your wildest dream. “Please. Stay. I have not been honest with you.” 

You sit down at the edge of the bed, hand landing on his shin. There’s enough room here that you could recline and lay with him, albeit squished, but not much. Instead, you back up and scoot so your back is flush to the wall of the ship and you’re sitting to his side, your body angled towards him.

“I, I haven’t really had a situation like that. One where I could not think of a suitable solution that had a high probability of success and survival. When I decided to remove myself from the equation so that the rest of the squad could survive, I found myself thinking of one thing.”

“Oh?” you question, your hand pausing in its small rotation of absentminded circles along his leg.

“I could not stop thinking about how much regret I had in not confessing my emotions to you, not allowing you the ability to decipher what you felt about them.”

It’s like the air is knocked out of you then, as he pushes himself up on his forearms to be closer to you and you shift towards him, backing off the wall and sitting closer to his hips now. “Tech I-”

“Please,” he starts, “I am not very good at understanding emotion. I have tried and tried and I haven’t ever felt adequate in it. I had assumed for many months now that you were simply being kind to me, that you felt nothing, and perhaps that is still right, but after Safa Toma, I began to think that you did feel something, something aside from friendship.”

Tears threaten to spill over your eyes as you beam at him, laughing quietly to yourself as you nod, both a quiet reassurance and indicator for him to go on. 

“I heard your messages, all of them. I wish to know you, all of you, as much as you chose to let me. If you would have me that is. It is very common for people to say things they don’t mean when under duress, and I would not hold it against you-”

You cut him off the only way your brain will let you as you lean closer to him, pulling his face up to yours and meeting him for a kiss. It’s everything you need from him, from this, soft and gentle and reassuring and comforting. He sighs against you for just a moment, as if reality is overwhelming him, and pulls you in deeper, shifting to the other side of your bed and allowing you to recline next to him on his left. He tastes metallic and medicinal but past all of the trauma and the medicine there’s still something (caf? chocolate?) that tastes like him, sweet and warm and him. He’s your Tech, he’s always been your Tech, and as you pull away you smile at him, running a finger along his cheek as he plants his hands firmly on the small of your back. 

“You promised me you’d always come back for me, and I want to promise you the same.” He pulls you in closer at that, placing your head on his chest. “And for the record, I fell for you much earlier than Safa Toma, but seeing you win that race really helped.”

He chuckles a bit at that, keeping you tucked in under his arm and with your head on his heart, he starts to slowly drift to sleep. You focus on that, the drum of his heart, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, and start to dream too, knowing that no dream can match reality. You will wake up in a world where Tech is still alive and he is still yours, and you already can’t wait to get there.

[angelasscribbles]

Mortal Ascension Chapter 1: Arrival

Series: Mortal Ascension

Fandom: Heaven’s Secret (Romance Club)

Word Count: 854

Rating: MA

Warnings: None

A/N: Here we go! Fair warning, I am planning to change a lot of things so don't expect everything to line up with canon. There will also be polyamory involved. If anyone wants to be added to the tag list for this, just let me know. If you missed it, there is a prologue here.

Romance Club fanfiction master list.

All of the things: Master List.

Eden McClain was sucked into a swirling vortex of light, hurtled through dimensions, and deposited out onto hard-packed dirt. She landed unceremoniously on her ass.

Picking herself up, she brushed at the dirt on her pants and gazed around, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

She was standing in a vast barren landscape; the sky was dotted with vortexes like the one she had just come through. They were constantly opening and closing, a new person falling from them onto the ground each time they did.

After all, there were, on average, two deaths every second on Earth.

She knew she was dead, but she couldn’t say how she knew it. She had no memory of her death. Her fingers flew to her temples, where a headache throbbed. What had happened?

She scanned the environment for clues.

Angels and demons walked among the newly dead, touching them on the shoulder and then pointing them in one direction or the other. Eden turned her head to see what they were being pointed to.

To her far left was a vortex, like the ones in the sky, but oriented so you could walk into it. Indeed, there was a line of souls walking toward it, stepping in and disappearing. It was bright, giving off a warm, golden glow.

To her far right was another similarly oriented vortex, but this one was pulsing with dark energy. Black sparks flew from the opening. There was also a line for it, with some people stepping through and others being pushed. She watched as one desperate soul broke free and made a run for it. A futile attempt, as it turned out. A grinning demon grabbed the man using one arm and flung him through with a bellow.

An angel with flowing white robes approached her. His hand reached toward her shoulder, then stopped as his eyes widened. He pointed not toward either vortex, but behind her. She turned to see a small white gazebo. It looked out of place sitting in the middle of the desolate, dry landscape. An oasis in the midst of chaos.

She turned and hurried to the small pavilion, casting a glance back at the human souls being sorted into the portals to heaven and hell.

She knew where she was. Umbra. The place between realms where human souls arrived after their mortal death. Her mother had explained that much to her. But Eden wasn’t strictly human, and her mother hadn’t explained, or perhaps hadn’t known, what would happen to her after her mortal death.

Of course, no one expected her to die so young. She should have had more time.

As she approached the gazebo, a figure materialized in it. Judging from his white hair, robes, and wings, he was an angel, but the scowl on his face was more reminiscent of a demon if you asked her. He glared at her as if he already hated her, though they hadn’t even met.

She gave him a hesitant, hopefully disarming smile as she climbed the gazebo’s steps. “Hi, I’m Eden Mc—”

“I know who you are.” The angel snarled. “Another abomination.”

Her steps faltered. “What?”

“Your parents should be ashamed of breaking all the laws of heaven and hell.”

“I don’t know what you—”

“Ignorant too. Wonderful. I see they didn’t bother educating you about your true nature?”

Her chin lifted definitely. “I’m not ashamed of what I am.”

“Hm.” He barked a short laugh devoid of any actual humor. “Well, you should be.”

Anger flared through her, enough to forget to be scared of her strange new circumstances. “You should be ashamed of your rudeness! It’s not very angelic. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you have no right to speak to me that way! My mother—”

The soft chuckle that escaped him was genuine this time. “Feisty. Keep that. You’ll need it where you’re going.”

Her chin lifted again as she pushed down her anxiety. She would not let this being know she was frightened. “And where am I going?”

“The Lyceum in Concordia.”

“What is the Lyceum? Where’s Concordia? Who are you and by what right—”

His smile vanished, replaced by his original scowl. “You ask too many questions.”

“I think I have a right to know where I’m going.”

“Fine.” He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “The Lyceum is an institute of learning for beings with demonic or angelic energy. Even mongrels dulled with human blood like you. You’ll be properly educated there.”

He reached for her, but she jerked away. “Who says I’m required to go anywhere with you?”

Malicious amusement slid behind his eyes. “The high council that rules by divine right on behalf of Yatsar, that’s who.”

“But who are you?” she demanded again.

His face twisted into a mask of anger. “Fencio, the archangel in charge of the Lyceum. Now stop being a truculent child! I have better things to do today than deal with the likes of you.”

He lunged for her, grabbing her by the shoulder, and they both misted out of existence.