#and all the entries were just rushed scribbling of how much i hated my life

[sharkdays]

something sweet i realized when flipping through old journal entries: without meaning to, i've started ending off my journal entries with some variation of "i love you"

[emptysatellite]

breaking and entering according to hy + gar-bear

Ao3

one.

“This is a horrible idea.”

“No, it’s genius.”

Hyacinth was skipping ahead in the moonlit field while Gareth just mopped in amazement. It was midnight and they were at the one place they shouldn’t be; Clair House.

They were only there because of that stupid journal Hyacinth was translating. Gareth’s grandmother, Isabella, had written it throughout her entire marriage, when she moved to England with her new husband. The journal was written in Italian, a language Gareth couldn’t understand in the slightest, leaving Hyacinth to translate for him (although, as she made clear, she was not fluent). Most of the entries centered around Isabella’s daily life, but Hyacinth discovered a secret; a little while before her death, Isabella hid diamond jewelry in the house so her money hungry and gambling-obsessed son couldn’t sell them.

Once Hyacinth found this out, she rushed to Gareth’s, demanding they go to his father’s property at once. Lucky for them, Mr. St. Clair was out of town on a hunting trip, leaving the house completely empty.

“Hyacinth,” he attempted to reason with her, “we could get in trouble for this. Like real, legal trouble. Trespassing and breaking and entering are crimes.”

“Good thing my brother’s a lawyer. Anthony would defend us, no questions asked,” she retorted, hiding behind a tree to get a good look at the dark house.

“I think there would be lots of questions asked, Hyacinth. Lots of questions asked,” he leaned against a nearby tree, although completely in sight of any passerbys.

“I don’t think so. I’m Anthony’s favorite sister.”

“I don’t think that matters in the court of law… Aren’t you studying law? Shouldn’t you know this?”

“I’m studying politics and international relations, actually,” she tore herself away from the tree, strolling closer to the house. “Do you have a key to this place?”

“No.”

“What? Why not?” she froze in place.

“I don’t live here, why would I have a key?”

“I don’t know, you used to live here so I just assumed,” Hyacinth whisper-yelled, turning back to him. She gave Gareth a pointed look, “how are we supposed to break in if we don’t have a key?”

“We could break a window like they do in all those karate movies.”

“This isn’t a karate movie, Gareth! Besides, we can’t break a window; the neighbors might hear something and call the cops!”

“Like the neighbors wouldn’t call the police if they saw two suspicious individuals go through the front door when they know my dad lives alone and is out of town.”

Groaning, she said, “well, do you know anyone we could get a key from?”

“My grandmother, maybe?” he suggested, his calm exterior crumbling upon meeting her angry gaze.

“Professor D?” she demanded.

“I’m sure. She has a collection of keys from homes and apartments she doesn’t live in.”

“Perfect,” Hyacinth gave him a wide smile of pearly white teeth. “I’ll call her tomorrow morning and get the keys by lunch so that we can both come back at nightfall.”

“Aren’t we going on a date tomorrow night?” asked Gareth.

“Oh right! Well, we’ll come here after our date, then.”

There was no point arguing; when Hyacinth’s mind was made up there was no use debating it. They’d be back tomorrow, no doubt in Gareth’s mind.

two.

“God, I love your grandmother.”

“More than me, apparently.”

“Oh, knock it off,” Hyacinth gave Gareth a light shove, playing with Professor Danbury’s key to Clair House in her free hand.

“I wore the cologne you like to dinner and you still wanted to come here to find some stupid diamonds instead of back to my apartment,” he replied.

“Okay, well, three things. First, diamonds are not stupid, they’re my best friends. Second, I love the cologne you wore to dinner, it smells so Gar-bear St. Clair. And third, I still want to go back to your apartment, but when we get the diamonds,” she explained, taking a tangle of manila rope out of her bookbag, with a (seemingly) heavy rock tied to an end.

Her whole statement was questionable. Gareth barely knew how to respond. “Gar-bear?” is what he finally managed. “What is that ?”

Hyacinth laughed, covering her mouth with her hand in order not to wake the neighbors. “It’s your nickname,” she said at last. “Isn’t it cute? I think so. I came up with it last night, when I was making this!”

She pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of the pocket of her leather jacket. “Read it and weep,” she thrust it into his hands.

“ Breaking and entering according to Hy and Gar-bear? ” he demanded. “What the fuck , Hyacinth?”

“I’ve done loads of research on breaking into houses. I’m practically an expert,” Hyacinth replied, throwing the rope up onto the balcony with a huff. “I just thought I should add your name too, even though you didn’t contribute because we’re partners. Get it? We’re partners in crime .”

“Har-har,” his response was much more sarcastic than intended, “disrupting the peace is so funny.”

“We’re not disrupting the peace,” Hyacinth rolled her eyes. She added, “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you.”

“For better or worse.”

“Little early to be saying that, don’t you think, Bud?”

“Nope, your face is adorable.”

“Damn, you know flattery gets you everywhere with me.”

“I know.”

“Climb up the rope.”

“Wait, what?” he was shaken out of the blind flirtation. “You want me to climb that?”

“Of course,” said Hyacinth. “That’s why I brought it. I thought you’d be too wuss to scale the building, so I thought the rope might help.”

“Is it even secure?” Gareth asked, glancing upwards, for any sign (or omen) he should not pull himself up the rope because it was a risk to his health. “Like, will that rock support our weight?”

“Yes; I wouldn’t tell you to do something if I didn’t think it was safe. And the rock should support us… I tried like five other rocks before picking this one.”

“You’ve… already tried this?”

“Obviously.”

“How heavy is the rock?”

“Not sure.”

“Why are we climbing up to the balcony, anyway?”

“To go through the balcony door. Duh.”

“Why can’t we just go through the side door. No one would see us.”

“No one would see us go through the balcony door, either.”

“But going through the balcony door seems more complicated.”

“You know, we’re spending all this time arguing when you could just climb the damn rope and we could find the damn diamonds.”

“No.”

“Do you want me to go first?”

“Yes, that would make me feel better.”

Without another word, Hyacinth caught the rope, pulling herself up in a way that vividly reminded Gareth of secondary school physical education class. Still, she made it to the balcony.

“See, it’s totally safe!” she called down. “Now, come on.”

“I don’t know, I’m still nervous, Hy!” he replied.

“I’m holding the rope tight,” promised Hyacinth, “I won’t drop it!”

“If you drop it, we’re breaking up and I’m suing you.”

“Noted. I won’t drop you.”

And she didn’t. Gareth was able to scamper up the rope safely to see Hyacinth’s wide grin at the top.

“I told you that’d you’d be fine,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved a hand dismissively. “You wanna do the honors?”

Hyacinth nodded, taking the key out of her pocket. Carefully, she put it in the deadbolt, twisting it unlocked, then doing the same with the door lever. “Aha!” she exclaimed, opening the windowed door. “It worked!”

three.

“Old Dicky may be an arsehole, but he has good taste in books.”

“Never once in my whole childhood did I ever see Richard in the library.”

“Well, then Grandpa St. Clair had good taste in books.”

“Right-o.”

“Hm,” Hyacinth ran her fingers along the book spines. “So much Shakespeare.”

“God, I hate Shakespeare,” said Gareth, fumbling with his flashlight.

“Literally stop. We’re breaking up. Right now,” she replied, turning her nose up. She sneezed.

“Bless you.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I have dust allergies, just so you know.”

“Good to know.”

“Now, Isabella wrote that the diamonds ―or another set of clues that will lead us to the diamonds―should be in the place where the imagination can run wild,” Hyacinth said, “so I assumed it was the library. What do you think?”

“It could also be the nursery,” suggested Gareth, “because my brother and I would play there all the time; I assume Dick and Uncle Ed would have done the same.”

“That’s true,” she scribbled a note on her arm. “We’ll check the nursery after we finish here.”

“Hyacinth?”

“Yes?”

“It’s going to take us forever to go through here,” Gareth said, spreading his arms for dramatic effect.

Hyacinth seemed to think on this for a brief moment, tapping her marker against her chin. “Hm,” she finally replied, “it won’t take forever if we get started now.”

“Capital plan,” he commented, rolling his eyes.

“I know right,” she retorted. “Besides, even if we tear this room up, we can just leave it; we’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, too?”

“Of course. We’re not resting until we find these damn diamonds.”

“Dick is coming home in less than a week.”

“We’ll just have to be very thorough and efficient then,” she replied. “Now, do we want to start by ripping the books off of their shelves? Or go through all the drawers and cabinets by the desk?”

“I’ll do the desk and you do the shelves.”

“Works with me.”

They went to work, flashlights glowing in the dark library. They didn’t talk, concentration ruling their motions.

“I think I found something!” Hyacinth called, after less than an hour of searching.

“What?” Gareth replied, looking up from the stack of dust-covered papers he was flipping through.

“Hold on, I’m translating,” she paused. She looked up at him, saying, “basically, the hint is that the diamonds are in a washroom.”

“There are five washrooms in this house!” he groaned, collapsing onto the nearest chair.

and four.

“We’re literally going to jail. We’re going to spend the night ―and probably quite a few nights―in jail! ”

“It’s okay, Anthony will defend us in court. Simon will too, I’m sure; I’m his favorite sister-in-law. He got me a miniature pony for my sixteenth birthday, you know.”

“Hyacinth, I’m glad you and Simon and Anthony have good relationships, but we’re still going to jail! ”

“Lower your voice, you’ll upset the cop,” Hyacinth shushed Gareth, placing a finger on his lips.

“I think the cop is already upset,” he replied, grumpily, “because he just arrested us for breaking into my father’s mansion and we didn’t even find the diamonds.”

“Okay, to start, Richard is not your father ―” she started, waving her hand dismissively.

“Believe me, he’s made that clear―” Gareth interrupted.

“But Edward is.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Edward is your dad.”

“Edward? As in my uncle Edward ?” demanded Gareth.

“No, as in your dad Edward,” Hyacinth replied.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I am.”

“Uncle Ed was my dad?”

“Yes, didn’t you hear what I said?”

“I did,” he breathed in amazement, “I just―it’s hard to believe.”

“You can come to therapy with me, if you want,” Hyacinth suggested. “I have my weekly sessions on Wednesdays.”

“Honestly, I might have to take you up on that offer…”

“There’s no shame in it. My therapist is the best, I’ve been working with her for years.”

“Nice, nice.”

“Oh! I forgot to add,” she reached into her jacket, pulling a trinket ―no not a trinket, a necklace, bracelet, and set of earrings―out of her pocket, “we did find the diamonds.”

“Holy shit!” exclaimed Gareth.

“Shh, the cop will hear,” she mumbled, untangling the jewelry from one another.

“I just… Hy, you’re amazing!”

“I know,” she flipped her hair with her free hand, “I’m told all the time.”

“Where did you find it?”

“In Clair House. Duh.”

“No, I meant , where in Clair House?”

“Under a floorboard in the nursery washroom. When we split up and you were in the master washroom.”

“We’re here, hooligans,” the policeman peered at the couple through the rearview mirror.

Hyacinth locked eyes with Gareth, slowly putting the diamond jewelry back into her jacket. She smiled at him and he returned a favor.

Still, they spent the night in jail.

[joaquinfeed]

Love Letters (Arthur x Reader)

Prompt: You find Arthur’s journal and start exchanging notes with him. Fluff ensues. Word Count: 2,929 

— You push open the door of your Gotham city apartment building, before trudging over to the mailboxes.

“Bills, bills, bills,” you sigh, shoving the unopened letters into your bag. You turn to make your way to the elevator, but something catches your eye. A worn notebook lays on the floor at your feet, words scrawled across every inch of it. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you can’t help but reach down and grab it.

You let your fingers run over the pages, as your eyes land on what looks to be the last thing written. You almost set the journal back down, not wanting to intrude on the stranger’s personal thoughts. But something about the messy handwriting draws you in.

I just want peeple to see me. I think I would be happyer if I had someone who cared.

Your heart felt heavy for the stranger; there was no way you could pretend that you never saw this. Your hand immediately shuffled around inside your bag, pulling out a pen and getting to work on your note back.

I’m sorry you feel that way. Everyone deserves to be seen. I’m sure you have someone who cares about you, and if not, I’ll be that person.

You read over your words, nodding in approval. You drop the notebook next to the mailboxes, hoping that the man or woman who left it behind will come back for it. As you made your way to the elevator, you couldn’t help the light feeling that washed over you. For once, you felt like you actually did something worthwhile in Gotham.

—

The next day, you were practically buzzing with excitement as you rushed home from work. All you could think about was the journal you found. Had the person read your note? Did they write something back? Did they even notice that the journal was gone? So many questions were swirling through your head, but you didn’t have to dwell on them much longer.

Sitting in almost the exact same place as you left it in, the journal was open to a new page, and another messy note was scrawled across the lines.

I only have my mother. You must not have many peeple to. Why else would you be writing back to a man in a jurnal journal.

Despite yourself, you laughed at the bluntness of the stranger, who you now know is male. A few other residents of the building gave you a look as you chuckled to yourself. With your pen already in hand, you moved to draw a small smiley face on the paper.

:) It’s funny of you to say that. Very bold. It’s nice that you still have your mom. Do you see her often? P.S. My name is Y/N, what’s yours? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.

Oddly enough, you were looking forward to getting up the next morning to see if your mystery guy would write back. At first, you were sure he would, but the more you thought about it, the more you started second-guessing.

Was asking about his mother too forward? What about asking for his name? After all, this man didn’t know you whatsoever. He has no obligation to tell you anything about his life; however, he did say he was lonely in some regard. You’re just trying to be friendly, you told yourself. If he didn’t want to answer, he didn’t have to. You wouldn’t be disappointed.

—

You were right to tell yourself that you wouldn’t be disappointed. When you took a detour over the mailboxes that morning, you instantly saw a new reply sitting beneath yours from the previous day.

You think I’m funny? I do stand up comedy sometimes. I actully live with my mother here. I take good care of her. Ps I like your name. My name is Arthur. Arthur Fleck.

Your fingers traced over the man’s name.

“Arthur,” you said out loud to yourself. You liked the way his name sounded, and as strange as it seemed, you felt like his name matched his cute, scribbly handwriting.

I like your name too. Also, you’re a comedian? Now you have to tell me a joke!

You looked over the words, wondering if you should write anything else. He didn’t ask you any questions, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t tell him anything.

I think it’s great that you take care of your mom, not many people would do that.

You considered adding “you seem like a really nice guy” to the end of your note but decided against it. You’ve already been inquisitive; it’s probably best to hold back a little.

A reply was waiting for you the next morning when you checked back in. While reading it, you couldn’t help but laugh at Arthur’s response.

Why dont canibals cannibals eat clowns? Becus they taste funny.

There was a line of space between the joke he scribbled down and the rest of his note. You glanced down, hanging on to every word that was written on the page. You wondered if he felt the same way while reading what you left him.

Most peeple find it strange that I live with my mother. You said it was great. Thank you for being nice to me Y/N.

Your heart picked up at the use of your name. At the risk of sounding cliché, you can’t remember a time when the mere doodle of your name has caused such a surge of warmth to fill your body.

You felt kind of absurd for feeling like this. You haven’t even met the man. He could be any person in the building, and yet, you still felt drawn to Arthur like he was someone you’ve known forever.

You hastily wrote back to him, deciding to take a bit of a chance with your next move.

No need to thank me, Arthur. I truly think it’s admirable. Oh, and that was a hilarious joke. I’d love to hear it in person sometime.

You knew that was a bold thing to say to him. It has only been four days since you found the man’s notebook, and you’ve already given him a reason to meet with you. You’re absolutely positive you have a high chance of being the next star of a late-night murder mystery documentary. Still, at this point, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Pushing the thoughts of Arthur out of your mind, you left for work, hoping to go one day without thinking of your new pen-pal.

—

When you arrived home from work, you were nearly falling over in exhaustion. You just wanted to get back to your apartment and crash in front of the TV. As always, though, you stopped by to read any new messages that Arthur had left. You were surprised to see a rather long entry this time compared to his usual two or three sentences.

I dont understand why you want to talk to me Y/N. You know you are not forced to anser me. I know that you probly dont actully want to meet with me. Thats ok. I enjoy getting your mesages and I want to keep talking. I feel like I have somebody with you around. But I understand if you want to stop. You dont have to lie to me and tell me you want to meet. I will be fine.

For the first time, Arthur’s note didn’t make you smile. Instead, you read through it with a dull ache in your chest. You wished there was some way to prove to him how much you looked forward to this encounter every day. Honestly, it was the only thing you looked forward to these days. 

Arthur,

You doodled a little heart next to his name before scratching it out, too nervous about leaving it there.

I have never lied to you, and I never will. I would like to meet sometime, but only when you’re comfortable with that. Until then, we can talk here. I enjoy getting your messages too; they actually make me really happy. I feel like I have a friend in you. P.S. What’s your favorite color?

The notes between you both went on for another two weeks. Even though your communication was often brief and to the point, you still found yourself craving the disordered, misspelled words from Arthur. Nearly three weeks of knowing him, and you were convinced he was the kindest, funniest, and most selfless man in Gotham. With every new letter in the journal, you felt your control slip away, leaving behind a feeling that you haven’t experienced quite like this.

You liked him. It has only been three weeks, and you liked him.

You tried to reason to yourself that it wasn’t totally crazy to have a crush on Arthur. It’s normal to develop a crush on someone in such a short period; that’s how crushes work. You knew, however, that it wasn’t normal to crush on someone you’ve never even really met. Arthur was nothing but some words on a page right now, but you still couldn’t shake the thought that you knew him.

With each day that passed, you learned something new about him. From his favorite foods to his job at HaHa’s, you found yourself holding on to each fact as if your life depended on it. You briefly wondered if you should take a stop by HaHa’s on your way home from work, but ultimately decided against it. You wanted Arthur to be ready to meet you; you didn’t want to force him to.

After a particularly hard day at work, you sat by the mailboxes, writing furiously about your day.

I hate my job. I hate this apartment. I hate Gotham. The only thing I look forward to is writing with you, but I don’t even know you. Isn’t that pathetic?

You carried on for a whole page and a half about the shitty day you’ve had. You considered tearing it out so Arthur wouldn’t feel required to comfort you, but something kept you from doing so. Arthur has been somewhat open with you; it’s about time you do the same for him.

The next day, you halted to a stop by the mailboxes, seeing the journal laying in its usual location. But next to it, a single blue flower. You slowly made your way over, trying not to get your hopes up.

Y/N Im sorry you are feeling like this. Things in Gotham can be awful sometimes. I have felt like that my hole life. Im starting to feel diferently now that I have you. I hope you feel the same way. I got you this blue flower to cheer you up. Blue means comfort.

You felt your ears burn red, as you picked up Arthur’s gift. You knew how much courage it must have took him to leave something like that for you. The man has told you enough about him for you to picture his bouncing leg and racing heart as he sat the flower down next to his new entry.

This means more than you know, Arthur.

This time, you did leave a little doodle heart next to his name. You knew he would only find it endearing now.

I am incredibly lucky to have found you. You make living in Gotham worthwhile.

You took the flower up to your apartment, knowing that you were going to do whatever you could to keep it alive and well.

If you weren’t sure before, you were now. You really, really liked Arthur. And you kind of, sort of, hoped he liked you too.

—

The next night, you were off early from work. So, after grabbing something quick to eat, you walked back to your apartment in hopes of seeing a new message from Arthur.

When you got inside, you stopped in your tracks. A man with curly, brown locks towered over the journal. Your heart started thumping loudly in your chest as you took in, who you presumed to be, your month-long writing buddy.

“Arthur,” you said quietly, trying not to startle him. He still jumped slightly, almost toppling over from lack of balance. He gave you a confused look, seemingly trying to figure out if he knew you. “It’s Y/N.”

Suddenly, his eyes went wide, and he hurriedly concealed the journal behind his back.

“B-but, I only talk to you in my notebook. W-why are you here? You’ve never been here before,” he said, moving his hands from his chest to his waistline, a gesture you guessed was made to ground himself.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just, I got off work early. I didn’t know you would be here, I swear,” you told him. “If you want me to leave, I understand. I’ll just look at what you wrote later.”

“No.”

“No?”

He finally looked at you—all of you. His eyes roamed from your shoes, all the way to your face before his gaze rested on yours.

“You- you can’t read it. You can’t,” he mumbled.

“But… I’ve been reading everything in there,” you paused before quickly continuing. “Everything you’ve written to me. I haven’t read anything before that! I would never.”

He nods, staying silent.

“Were you going to stop talking to me?” you asked, a little hurt at the insinuation.

“No! I- I could never.”

“Then, why can’t I read what you wrote?”

He looks down at the floor, picking at a part of his sweatpants. “It’s embarrassing.”

“You know I’d never judge you, Arthur, but you don’t have to show me if you don’t want. I can leave, and we can continue writing like this never happened.”

“Okay,” he agrees, and you’re glad to see him meet your eyes once again. He drops the notebook onto the floor, and gives you a wave before taking off towards the elevator. You wait until he’s inside before reaching down and grabbing the book.

His writing, as usual, brings a small smile to your face. It makes your heart flutter that you have a face to put with the name and the messy scribbles.

I checked every word twice in order to get this right. I wanted to make sure I spelled and said everything perfictly perfectly.  I know we have known each other for a little bit but youre always on my mind. Just like you said… you make living in Gotham worthwhile. I have a queston question for you. I hope you still want to write after this. Will you go on a date with me to Pogos? It’s a comedy club. It’s okay to say no.

You bit your lip, nearly drawing blood. The smile threatening to take over your face grew the more times you read over the note. You couldn’t believe the man you just talked to wanted to go out with you. And poor Arthur, who was too embarrassed to tell you that, looked like he wanted to shrivel up.

You scrawled down a giant “yes” under Arthur’s last writing before aimlessly drawing a few hearts around the word. After running upstairs to grab a few things, you came back down to the mailboxes and threw a blanket down on the floor. You were confident that people were going to think you’re crazy, but you weren’t concerned about their opinions. You parked yourself on the blanket and decided to camp out until the next morning when Arthur would, no doubt, be returning.

When the sun did arise, so did your writing partner. You heard the elevator doors screech open, and before you could look, Arthur was standing in front of you gawking.

“Did- did you get evicted?”

You laughed slightly and shook your head. “I was waiting for you.”

“You were waiting for me,” he repeated, looking puzzled and a little nervous.

“Yes. I wanted to be here when you read my response,” you told him. Your heart raced as he carefully took the journal from your hands and looked at it. His brows furrowed, and he looked back at you in astonishment.

“Are you sure? I think you made a mistake,” he dropped the journal and put his hands firmly back onto his chest. “This is not real.”

Your heart sank a little as you took in the distressed man in front of you. “This is real, Arthur. I didn’t make a mistake. I like you.”

“No- no,” his hands went to his head, so you reached out cautiously and took them into yours.

“I like you,” you repeated. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

That seemed to break him out of his episode, and he looked down at your intertwined hands before he broke out into a smile.

“Really? Okay. I’ll write to you and tell you what time to meet me.”

You giggled, debating whether or not to tell him that you didn’t need to write any more now that you knew each other. However, you let him go with a smile on your face and kept your mouth shut. If he wanted to write to you, you’d gladly let him. You were looking forward to seeing what time your scribbly, disordered, writing partner would come up with in your journal. 

Your journal, you thought to yourself. You and Arthur’s journal. 

You liked the thought of that. Arthur will just have to get used to it. 

Turns out, Arthur didn’t have to get used to it. He already was.

[soyouareandrewdobson]

Alex ze Pirate Mini Review 5: Why I love One Piece and my final verdict

(Warning. Post contains initial geek out about One Piece that is meant to correlate to my opinion on Alex in general)

When I started this series of posts, one thing I asked myself was, how could I sum up my problems with the Sam story while also tackling some general issues with AzP without redundantly repeating major points of my previous posts.

… So I decided instead of giving a straight answer, I would first tell you how I came to fall in love with One Piece.

Around 14+ years ago, I began reading manga, with works such as Ranma 1/2, Pokemon and Dragon Ball being my starting point. You know, the average stuff everyone had read at some point. One Piece, already back then consisting of over 25+ volumes,  was only something a friend started to lend me and I read the first seven volumes, not really quite getting why it was that popular. I did not hate what I read, but there was nothing outright standing out to me the way the story was told that got to me. And then I hit the Arlong arc with volume 8 and onwards. While it was mostly the adventure of Luffy with his crew against Crocodile and his Baroque Corporation that totally sold me on the manga later on, the Arlong arc was what really got my attention. Seeing the character of Nami betray her friends, pieces of worldbuilding that would years later play a role and so much more, made me curious where things were going. Particularly, why Nami would betray Luffy. And when I reached chapter 77 to 81, where I got to read Nami’s backstory, how Arlong killed her adoptive mother in front of her eyes when she was just a little kid and Luffy declaring he was going to help her and her village, I was hooked. This was the first time in my life as a manga reader, I was not just entertained, I was emotionally invested. Because not only was Nami’s backstory genuinely saddening to me, but seeing Luffy determined to help her and the ensuing battles was exciting. Exciting because it truly showed to me, how awesome of a character this goofball with stretching powers really is. Not because he was physically strong, but because he was willing to do all of that for someone just “because” he considers that person a friend. Seeing Luffy not just beat up Arlong, but destroying everything this bastard had build on the suffering of the village and in doing so setting Nami free of the past that haunted her, because he cared for her as a person not in a romantic but platonic manner, was satisfying on so many levels.

 And ever since then Eiichiro Oda proved to me time and time again, even if he hits a bump in the road (seriously, fuck most of the Fishmen Island arc) he knows how to write a world that doesn’t just manage to be cartoonishly entertaining, but also filled with heartfelt moments, where true heroism is not defined just by physical strength, but the willingness of the main characters to help and care for each other and the people they meet across the journey. There are many stories out there where the power of friendship as a virtue, and the virtues it is build on are a theme. But in the world of shonen manga, One Piece for me is still the top.

 And Andrew Dobson’s Alex ze Pirate is the complete antithesis to everything Oda EVER created in One Piece.

 While One Piece has one of the most complex worlds I have ever seen in fiction, with Oda often times setting building stones for future story arcs years in advance (seriously, the thing with Brook and Laboon alone is worth mentioning) , Dobson can’t even bother to properly tell us in what part of the ocean Alex has her adventure or why there is a beaver dog thing walking around a bunch of humans.

 While One Piece has some gorgeous artwork and unique designs with an insane level of cartoonish detail, Dobson has some very generic designs and draws like a 15 year old girl that read Spirou and manga too much and now starts doing scribble artwork.

 While Oda draws chapters for over 20 years now, Dobson could not even bother to finish up the adventure of the crew getting properly together back in 2004, as only one volume was released.

 While One piece tells a story that defines the shonen genre for over a decade, Dobson tells stupid newspaper strip jokes that are not even interconnected much.

 While Oda’s Strawhats are the embodiment of the word nakama, Dobson’s characters only bring the following old saying to mind:

 With friends like this, who needs enemies?

 Bottom line, Alex ze Pirate is absolute garbage as a work of entertainment, particularly in the world of kids entertainment. It was so already long before Dobson wrote the three part story I reviewed in detail, but this story in my opinion was for anyone with a bit of brains the last nail in the coffin. Cause overall, this was likely Dobson’s last chance in his and the eyes of the readers.

 The last chance, because he was going to put all his talent as a writer and artist into this one story to prove his critics wrong; That he could tell an engaging and emotionally fulfilling story in a multi part story, longer than his 15 pagers. But like with everything else I have seen so far, he failed.

 He failed artistically, because damn does this not look even remotely professional compared to other professionally published work or even other silly webcomics like Cludscratcher or Housepets (which I highly recommend you to read).

 He failed as a storywriter, because instead of emotionally engaging and well paced, this shit is rushed, works more on “tell, don’t show” than anything else and really just magnifies the worst aspects of his characters and Dobson’s mean spirited humor in general. Cause this is not a tale where we feel like Sam genuinely has found a family and friends in Alex and her crew. It is the tale of Sam just accepting that he has nothing better going on in his life.

 He failed, because instead of actually putting care, effort and love for his characters and work into this, he likely just wanted to get it out and hope that just because he “put effort” into this more than usual, he would already get praise by default.

 And once this thing was out, all that happened was the following: Even more people realized what kind of hack he is, that this project was not going to be salvaged even if actual stories instead of strip based jokes are told and he misinterpreted the disinterest as reason to just completely give up, instead of trying harder.

 And as a result, even if Dobson still went on to do shitty redesigns and a few more pages for it, Alex ze Pirate soon after ended. Put into everlasting hiatus, where it joins such work as Pilote Candidate or Frank Millers All Star Batman and Robin.

 Dobson, if you ever read this, let me just say it how it is: You failing to make even the most basic story about people appreciating their friends, particularly when within the last decade there has been an entire fandom of manchildren out there that was build on a show with “Friendship is Magic” in the title, just shows how bad of a storyteller and creator you are. You shouldn’t have gone to college in order to become an animator, you should have joined fanfiction.net in order to get some basic understanding on how to even write. Cause your writing is so bad, it makes fanfiction look genuinely complex and thoughtful. Well that and you should perhaps go out and find genuinely friends and not just online supporters that mistake you for some persecuted innocent artist, when in reality you are just a toxic idiot who attempts to manipulate people so he can profit of them and their fleeting interest in his substandard comics based on the lowest common denominator cartoons.

 I wrap this review up. We will revisit Alex one day again, but for now, I just want to focus on something more positive. So within the next weeks, if I post something, I will try to make it focused on something NOT Dobson related. You know, stuff to genuinely enjoy. Till then, I just want to say thank you. Thank you @hypocricyofandrewdobson for reblogging my entries. Thank you to everyone who liked this, reblogged this or started to follow me because of it. I hope I managed to educate and entertain you all in a positive manner, without making myself come off too much like an assholish nerd with too many interests. Stay safe.

 And hey, if any of you has his own two cents on Sam, Alex or the others, even ideas how to make them genuinely better, I am always open.

 See ya.

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Set All Trappings Aside [3/8]

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Class Differences Word Count: 3800 (this chapter) Summary: After months of flirtation, a contract on Josephine’s life brings Adaar’s feelings for her closer to the surface than ever. It highlights, too, all of their differences, all of the reasons a relationship between them would not last. But Adaar is a hopeful woman at heart; if Josephine can set all trappings aside, then so can she. Also on AO3. Notes: While the context for this story is the Of Somewhat Fallen Fortune questline, some of the conversations within it didn’t quite fit for this Inquisitor. The resulting fic is a twist on the canon romance. This Adaar and Josephine have featured in other fics, so you may miss a little context if you haven’t read Promising or Truth-Telling, which both come before this one.

Chapter 1 | 2

"Inquisitor!"

Adaar winced. She'd been aware of someone shadowing her all the way across the keep, up several flights of stairs, but now that shadow had Leliana's voice and seemed a great deal more threatening.

She'd been expecting this ever since the last, incredulous look Leliana had cast at her over Josephine's desk, ever since Josephine had laid out her plan and Adaar had backed it. But Leliana had bided her time. A full week, watching for a moment when no ears would overhear them.

And with an hour until Josephine was set to appear for dinner, there would be no rescue.

Adaar turned. Leliana strode toward her, no thundercloud on her face, no obvious sign of anger. She didn't carry her bow, either, but Adaar was certain she was plenty capable of hiding knives on her person. Poisonous ones, even.

Surely the needs of the Inquisition would still her hand from a killing blow. Surely.

"Nightingale," Adaar replied, and added a respectful nod for good measure, hoping to stave off the worst.

Leliana's jaw tightened. "May I have a word?"

Adaar opened the door to her quarters and gestured her through. She was not about to walk up those stairs with Leliana at her back.

To her credit, at least, Leliana did not make her. She walked ahead, and Adaar followed, shutting the door behind them.

"I was certain, at first, that your support of Josephine's plan was just a ploy," she said, stopping before the empty fireplace. "But now I see that you really do mean to nurse this foolishness along."

Adaar's temper flared. She did not like all the waiting and watching and scribbling, but she did not think Josephine's plan foolish. It was elegant, if slow. 

But Leliana would probably admit as much, if pressed. She was just worried about her friend. Adaar, who had been worrying nonstop for some time now, could sympathize.

"Yes," Adaar said. "I do. The remaining du Paraquettes have agreed, and she has already found an appropriate sponsor—"

"Her life is more important than her regard for you," Leliana cut across her, turning to face Adaar. "You fear that she will be angry with you if you decide to deal with the House of Repose more directly, but better angry than dead!"

The accusation stung. "Do you really think I didn't already try to talk her out of it? Besides, if anyone has a chance of convincing her, it's you, not—"

"You do not need to talk her out of anything," Leliana snapped. "You are the Inquisitor. You have authority over us all."

"And I choose how to use it," Adaar replied. "She is carefully watched. She is not going to leave Skyhold while this goes on. No one will touch her here. We will make sure of it."

Leliana released an exasperated breath. "This could all be over in a handful of days. We do not need her permission."

"But you need mine," Adaar said. Dared to say. She hated having to do it. Usually things went best when she didn't remind her advisors that the mercenary Vashoth with pointy daggers had the final say, when she could convince them and every stray noble they trotted in front of her that the ideas all came from them, not her. That they acted of their own free will, not on her orders.

But if she had to do it, so be it.

Leliana's eyes narrowed. "If she dies, it is on your hands."

"I won't let that happen." Adaar took a step closer, the better to loom. Leliana had to crane her neck a little to meet her eyes. "Will you? Everyone swears you know every package, every person, every donkey that wanders in and out of this fortress—or is that just a pretty story?"

For a moment, Adaar thought that Leliana would continue to press; instead, she shook her head and brushed past Adaar, making for the stairs.

"It is the truth," she said. "Remember that the next time you send her some pretty bauble from your travels. My eyes are never shut."

Hard to come up with a retort for that. Leliana was already gone, down the stairs and through the door, before Adaar could come up with even half of one. Briefly, her temper sustained her—breath coming hard, muscles tensed as if to rush after Leliana—but then, legs gone watery, she collapsed to the couch.

Maybe Leliana was right. Maybe this was all much worse than Josephine thought, and Adaar was putting her life at risk. But Leliana would act on her own, if that was the case—and ask forgiveness later, rather than trouble with permission now. No, Josephine had the right of it, and Leliana was merely worried for her friend, just like Adaar.

She'd been looking forward to dinner with Josephine all day—all week, really—but some of the enthusiasm left her now. Leliana clearly saw her interest, and disapproved of it. Another tick in the column against any relationship between them: Josephine's oldest and dearest friend found her lacking. 

The flirtation was still fun. Wonderful, even. It had just been more fun, more wonderful, when she hadn't cared whether or not anything came of it.

Then again, maybe she had cared. Maybe she'd thought there was a chance.

Cassandra was right. Partially, at least. She was star-crossed. She just didn't want to be.

Some of Cook's people came along half an hour later to set the table. Adaar stayed out of their way. She did not put her daggers away, not with Leliana's warning still in her ears. She kept them hanging from her chair within easy reach, and if Josephine noticed them as she swept in and took her seat, she didn't comment.

"This is our most popular vintage," she said, lifting the bottle to pour wine into Adaar's glass. "If it can't convince you to leave your hypothetical hermitage, then nothing will."

Adaar laughed, amused despite the dour mood Leliana had delivered to her. "We'll see," she said, teasing. "It's an awfully long trip from the Free Marches."

Josephine gave an indignant scoff. "Antiva is neighboring! You wouldn't even need to cross water, though I suppose taking ship from Wycome might be faster than horseback."

"Ah, but I'll be just a poor farmer, unable to afford passage."

Josephine rolled her eyes. "Try the wine, please."

Adaar sipped. The taste bloomed in her mouth—heady, rich, complex. Far different from the watered-down drinks they served at the Herald's Rest. She didn't have the knowledge to describe it further.

"I suppose I will have to find a way," she sighed, setting the glass down. "It really is very good."

"I am glad that is settled," Josephine said with a smile. "Now, about these demands—my apologies, requests—that piled up while we were away…"

Adaar chuckled, and Josephine smiled a little wider, unfolding the first document. They ate while they worked, Adaar trying to keep her mind on problem after problem as it was passed before her. 

But there was another problem distracting her, demanding her attention. Whoever had lived in Skyhold previously hadn't worried much about things like the inherent danger of a room made entirely of windows, and with Leliana's dire words still ringing in her ears, she found herself wishing they'd met in Josephine's office instead.

She'd hardly ever noticed the windows before. It was rare for her to spend more than a handful of minutes awake in this room. Long enough for a brief wash, no more. The inside of her tent felt more familiar to her than this place. It had been decorated very pleasantly, but she'd had no hand in it.

The point being: she slept in this room, but lightly. She was unconcerned with her own self-defense, which the daggers under her pillow could take care of.

But she had never tried to protect anyone else in this room before, and it was a logistical nightmare. So many points of entry. What had the original builder had against nice, sturdy stone walls? A few arrowslits would've sufficed for the view.

"You've hardly touched your wine," Josephine said, the tone of her voice changing just enough for Adaar to take notice. "I am afraid you lied about liking it. To spare my feelings, perhaps?"

Adaar glanced at the glass—yes, still barely a sip gone—and went back to watching the windows.

"It's not that, I'd just rather keep my head clear if we’re going to get through this," she said, gesturing without looking to the piles of letters strewn across the table between them.

"Mmm-hmm." In her peripheral vision, Adaar saw Josephine’s eyes narrow. "So what do you suggest we do about Lord Baloveyer, then?"

Adaar had no idea who Lord Baloveyer was. Probably the topic of Josephine’s talk just a moment before, but Adaar, absorbed by her window observation, remembered none of it. 

"I’m sorry," she admitted. "Despite the lack of wine, my attention...wandered. Can you summarize the issue for me?"

Josephine folded her hands over the papers, raising an eyebrow at Adaar. "Assassins are not going to burst through the window if you take your eyes off of it."

"They might," Adaar grumbled, not bothering to protest this observation.

"There are soldiers stationed both in the garden and on the wall. There are even a few at the bottom of the stairs. I know you trust our people."

"You haven’t seen how keen some of them are on supplies. All an assassin has to do is wave some silverite under their noses and they’ll let him right up."

There was a look of concern in Josephine's eyes that didn’t belong there at all. Didn’t she understand that she was the one at risk, and Adaar was merely her insufficient shield for the evening? 

And what would happen when even that was gone, when she had to return to her quarters and rely only on the guards for her safety? They were good, Adaar could admit that, but not as good as Adaar. These assassins, if they came, would not play fair.

"Then you'll take care of him," Josephine said, all confidence, "whether you're watching the windows or not."

"I plan to," Adaar said. "I just wish that you would sit in a nice, windowless room while this all gets sorted out."

"There is too much work to be done for me to shut myself away for weeks on end."

"Then we should get back to it." It was clear that Josephine was not going to give up this topic until Adaar relaxed her vigilance a little. Reluctantly, she shifted to sit properly in her chair, her back now to one set of windows. Theoretically, the soldiers in the garden below could deal with that entrance. She’d watch the sheer cliffside instead.

She'd have to be careful not to get distracted by watching Josephine's face, which also happened to be in that direction. Even now, she looked at Adaar, her brow still creased with concern.

"Perhaps we should take the rest of the night off," she suggested.

"Oh? I can prepare the vault for your arrival, if that’s the case."

"No," Josephine said, laughing a little. "I only meant...you have been working very hard. You look as if you could use a break. Just for an evening."

"You have a very nice way of saying I look like shit," Adaar said dryly.

Josephine lifted her chin. "I did not say that."

"Exactly."

Josephine looked pointedly at Adaar's still-full glass of wine, and with a resigned sigh, she picked it up and drank. As good as the first sip had been. Heavy, maybe, was the word for it. Not the right word, but a word. The warmth of it settled in her stomach, loosening her muscles a little.

Well, if Josephine wanted to set work aside, who was Adaar to refuse? Trying to keep track of it all was giving her a headache, anyway.

"My calendar called this a working dinner," she said, a last token protest.

"And since I have free reign over your calendar, as you yourself said, I can strike a word or two from the record." Josephine leaned back in her chair, wine glass in hand. "The work will still be there in the morning."

"Will it ever," Adaar muttered. "Fine, then. I hope you brought more of this very good wine."

Josephine's eyes sparkled. The candlelight brought out the subtler hues in her irises: a stormy gray-blue, a dappled green. Adaar could practically hear Shokrakar's voice in her head, taunting: Working on your poetry, Adaar? 

"A few bottles, actually," Josephine said. "Different vintages. I find that you appreciate the expensive ones less after a few glasses."

Adaar's curiosity piqued. "Define expensive for me, here."

Josephine named a sum. Adaar put down her glass immediately.

"I think you should probably open one of those less expensive bottles," she said. She wished she'd set the glass further away. She was not particularly clumsy, but she imagined knocking that glass off the table, the coins that would roll away through the floorboards, lost forever. "This is wasted on me."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous—"

"No, really. Until recently, I was drinking the first watered-down swill we could find every time the Valo-kas came off a job. And it worked just fine. I don't need to guzzle the last of your family's gold."

Josephine gave her an arch look. "We are not that destitute. And even if we were…" 

She reached across the table, took Adaar's hand, and molded her fingers back to the stem of the wine glass. The way that all Adaar's insides surged against her ribs at the touch was not helpful. 

"You like it," Josephine said, her fingers still curled around Adaar's, holding them in place. "Yes? So it is not wasted on you." She looked up at Adaar, her smile soft, sweet. "Besides, I think you'll find that it works better than just fine. Perhaps it will help you relax."

Josephine released her hand, and Adaar released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The oxygen that flooded her brain left her a little lightheaded. 

"Relaxing used to be a lot easier," she said, but she took another cautious sip of the wine made of gold.

"Ah, so you used to be better at it."

Adaar shot her a dirty look. Josephine smiled innocently back, as if daring her to prove it.

"Every tavern we passed loved the Valo-kas," Adaar said. "We spent all our coin drinking all their ale, and we were nice to the barmaids." She stared into her wine and gave a dramatic, forlorn sigh, as if she longed for those simpler days.

Some part of her did, in fairness. She'd been so much clearer on where she belonged then.

"You sound like one of those gaudy stories Yvette loves," Josephine teased. "The mercenaries were hard as iron, but a serving girl with a listening ear who was quick with the ale would learn they were soft of heart. And other silliness."

"Just a listening ear, hmm?"

"It does seem a euphemism, doesn’t it?" Josephine said, not missing a beat, and gave Adaar a sly look. "Well? Is it?"

Adaar managed a laugh, though she nearly choked on it. Talking to Josephine wasn't like talking to one of the holier-than-thou nobles who passed through Skyhold, who'd handed a job to the Valo-kas as if trying not to brush fingers with them. Despite her family's eminent fortunes, she was still just...Josephine. Clever, sweet, kind, funny Josephine. 

If she could be so bold, then Adaar would not hold back. 

"Are you asking me if I ever bedded a serving girl?" she asked, putting on her most devilish grin. "Maybe after she listened to one of my very obviously embellished stories and bound up my most recent wounds?"

There was a flash of something on Josephine's face. Heat, maybe? Consternation? Jealousy? Oh, Adaar wished.

"You might consider listening to more of Skyhold's rumormongers," Josephine said. "There are a few people here who claim to have done as much with you."

Adaar, in the middle of a mouthful of wine, nearly spat it out. She swallowed hastily. "Excuse me?"

There was a wicked glint in Josephine’s eye now. Adaar should have known better than to trifle with her. Her humor had been honed by the Grand Game; Adaar felt a sickening swoop in her stomach at the sight of that intent look on her face, the feeling she’d come to associate with falling an inch or a foot or a mile deeper in love. 

"Only the gullible believe it, of course," Josephine continued, almost carelessly. "Or visiting nobles who like a bit of a story about our figurehead. There are enough eyes on you to confirm, without question, whether you’ve actually been involved with anyone."

"How reassuring," Adaar muttered, not particularly mollified. "I think I will continue my practice of ignoring rumors, thank you. It will be hard to look Cook in the face if I think she’s daydreaming. Six months ago she wouldn’t even make eye contact with me, and now she puts a little vase of flowers on the tray when she has meals sent up to me. Is that what that’s about?"

Josephine had pressed her hand over her mouth, not quite tight enough to contain the laughter spilling out; there was a gleam of tears in her eyes from the mirth. Adaar shook her head and took a gulp of the wine before remembering how expensive it was; at the look on her face, Josephine laughed all the harder.

The rumors weren't so far off base. If not for the circumstances, she'd have found someone to roll in the hay with by now. Let off a little steam. But even for a casual tryst, it seemed unfair to any takers if Josephine was in her head all night.

"What about you, then," she said, only a little grumpily—for effect. "This is all very base, this talk of unions in seedy taverns. I’m sure you’ve had more elaborate romances. You were in Orlais, after all, with Leliana for a friend."

Josephine’s laughter died off to chuckles; she dabbed at her eyes, careful not to smear any of the kohl that lined them. "With Leliana for a friend, I was lucky to occasionally sneak a kiss behind a tapestry. She can be very protective."

Adaar thought back to an hour before. "I had no idea."

Josephine shrugged, just the smallest motion of her shoulders. "There were overtures. None of it felt...natural. A great deal of poetry recited at length, bouquet after bouquet of flowers. It always felt like another part of the Game rather than any real feeling. I entertained a few, but only briefly. They were flings, nothing more."

"Pity," Adaar said, though she didn't mean it in the slightest.

"Pity?"

"In the same way that Yvette—and you, it seems—found some entertainment in the idea of a lowly merc with a soft side sharing a night with a kind stranger, I’ve always imagined there must be something unbearably romantic about being swept off your feet with all the trappings. Poetry, flowers, beautiful dress, glittering jewelry." She grinned, despite how close this came to highlighting all of their differences. "My parents were farmers, after all."

Josephine shook her head, an amused, somewhat fond smile on her face. "I’m sorry to disappoint you."

"And I, you."

"I don’t think you’ve quite managed that, yet." Josephine folded her arms in a way that—well, Adaar did not stare, she just had good peripheral vision, and the swell of Josephine's breasts in the low neckline of her dress was very nice, indeed. She had a few freckles there, barely discernible.

"Oh?" Adaar said. She sounded passably normal, luckily.

"After all, as you are quite adept at doing, you changed the subject. You managed to thoroughly avoid confirming or denying your activities with the Valo-kas."

"It's just not that interesting."

"I'll be the judge of that."

Adaar shook her head. "There were a few people. Men, women. But none of them ever patched me up, or looked me in the eyes such that they seemed to pierce through to my soul, or anything."

"Flings," Josephine said, understanding.

"Yes, though without the poetry and flowers."

"You are better off, I promise you," Josephine said, shuddering theatrically. "The things they would come up with! One wrote an entire stanza devoted to my eyebrows. Not a skilled writer among them."

"Ah, pity the poor fools. It would be near impossible to capture your beauty with words."

Josephine laughed, dismissing it as a joke, but Adaar saw her cheeks darken, too. Her fingers tightened on her wine glass. Her eyes darted to Adaar's and away again, a little wide, a little flustered.

Yes, good grief, the flirtation was still fun. Nothing compared to how Josephine reacted to a compliment, like she'd never been paid one before.

"You are ridiculous," she said.

Adaar sobered, wondering if she'd misread. "Should I stop?"

Josephine considered, her head tilted just slightly to the side. "I would miss it if you did. Even if the things you say are outrageous."

Just once, Adaar wanted Josephine to understand: it wasn't outrageous, not to her. It was true. The slight golden cast of her skin in the firelight; the sweet curve of her smile; the way she'd looked at Adaar and declared her worthy. Josephine was exceptional. Extraordinary. Capturing that in a few stanzas was not possible.

She was about to say as much, to do her best, when a knock echoed from the bottom of the stairs. "Message for you, Inquisitor!" a scout's voice called.

If she wasn't mistaken, Josephine looked a little disappointed, as if the conversation had been cut too short for her liking, too.

Once Adaar had peeled back the wax seal, though, the easy mood of the evening evaporated, and there was no getting it back. The events described in the letter were too chilling. Another settlement threatened. More lives lost.

"I'll have to set out tomorrow," she said, fingertips tucked tight against her glowing palm.

Josephine closed the gap between them again, curled her fingers around Adaar's fist. "Be careful."

Adaar looked up from the letter. "I hadn't planned to leave while this was still unresolved, but—"

"Herah. There are plenty of guards here. I will follow Leliana's instructions to the letter. You have greater concerns."

It was selfish, but Adaar wanted to retort that she didn't. That Josephine was her greatest concern. That the world would have to get in line.

But that would tip her hand. She couldn't do that, no matter how thin her resolve was wearing, all the thinner after hearing her name on Josephine's tongue, as if it was perfectly at home there.

She would just have to be quick. Fix it, and hurry back, and hope that Skyhold would hold in her absence.

Go to Chapter 4 -->

[until-theend-oftheline]

Contradictions

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: Nothing really     

Word Count: 1100ish

A/N: This is done for mine and Ida’s @sebs-potato 12 marvelous days of Christmas challenge and this is the first prompt: Baking for Christmas

This prompt for Wanda was requested by @becs-bunker and it’s an entry for my own December Special Quickie Challenge also.

Betaed by: @ireallylikemarvel-ok - thank you so much, dear.

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

December was your favorite time of year. You loved the contradictions of it. You loved how cold the world was, but how warm the houses and hearts of people around you were. The world outside the windows was getting dark, but on the other side of the windows, houses remained full of light.

Today the snow was coming down and most of the team were out assisting the NYPD with a major traffic accident. You knew they were all going to be cold and tired when they got home. You knew that even if assignments like this were a minor job for them, it always wore them down. Especially if lives were lost. You prayed that today that wasn’t the case, but regardless you wanted to give them a warm home to return too.

You had spent the entire day baking all of the team's favorite desserts fitting for the season. Christmas fudge for Sam. Peanut butter snowballs for Nat. Yule Log cake for Tony. Tiramisu pie for Clint. Chocolate peppermint cheesecake for Bucky. Pecan pie cheesecake for Steve and jelly filled donuts for Wanda.

Wanda. You smiled just thinking her name. It had been December when you had first met her a few years ago. She had walked into your small bakery looking cold and yet positively glowing. Her brown long hair had little flakes of snow lying in it. She looked soft and happy and when her eyes met yours, your heart had skipped a beat when she had smiled. Years later and after having lived with her for months, her smile and laughter still had the same effect on you.

You reminisced of your first meeting and the days that had followed. She had come into your bakery every day for a week after that until you had finally managed to gather up the courage to ask her out. Her smile when you did, would be forever in your mind and you hoped the frosting you were applying to the donut would invoke the same reaction from her.

“It smells like heaven in here!” Tony’s voice boomed through the top floor of the Avengers building where the common room was located and you quickly put down your spoon, rubbing your hands in your apron, rushing out of the kitchen just in time to stop Bucky, Sam, and Clint from coming in.

“Nope. Not until you clean yourself up,” you put your hands on Sam’s chest as he tried to peak over your shoulder.

“And if you don’t stop that I’ll save the fudge for another day,” you warned laughing as Sam lit up in a huge smile.

“You made fudge. We’ll all get fat with you living here Y/N,” Sam smiled kissing your cheek, backing up, shooting Bucky a glare when he chipped in.

“Well some of us are already getting there,” Bucky smirked, ducking out of the way as Sam tried to punch his right arm.

It took another few minutes but you finally managed to shoo all the Avengers off to their own rooms to get cleaned up and back into civilian clothes. You ordered them all but Wanda to meet you in the common room, which you had decorated for the occasion.

Wanda, you stopped, pulling her in for a kiss. She smiled at the questioning, worried look in your eyes. She knew you hated when she was on any kind of mission, but you also accepted it was part of who she was. Wanda was as strong and powerful as she was delicate and soft. The contradictions in her were your favorite thing about her, but it also made you worry about her.

“I’m fine. We’re all fine. It went well,” Wanda assured you. “Do you need help in the kitchen?” she asked, clearly trying to distract you, but you just shoved her out of the door with a small smile.

You put the finishing touches on the common area, lighting all the lights and filling the table with all the delicious treats just as the elevator dinged and Avengers started filling the room a new. You laughed and smiled as you watched them attack the table, with a stream of compliments washing your way.

Wanda was the only one who stayed back, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind and hugged herself against you. You smiled, breathing deeply as you revealed in the feel of her warm, soft body against your own. You closed your eyes, gathering up courage before turning around in her hold, pressing the small dessert box into her hands that you had been holding making her giggle.

“You wrapped mine? How come?” she asked, tilting her head studying you. You knew she could probably read your mind if she wanted too, but you also knew she never would without your consent.

“Because it’s special. You’re special,” you answered, placing your hands on each side of her face, kissing her softly before nodding towards the box in her hands. “Open it.”

Wanda looked, wiggling her nose a little as she always did when she was trying to figure out what you were up too. You laughed, giving the box a small push and all your nerves drained from your body. She was easily the strongest and most dangerous person in the room, and she was suspicious of her girlfriend's box of desserts.

“You’re so weird,” she muttered as you winked at her, but she couldn’t hide the blush in her cheeks or the smile in her eyes as she looked back down on the box. She gently and carefully removed the lit, gasping when she saw her favorite desserts inside with the words you had carefully scribbled across the top of the donut.

“Be my wife?”

You smiled as Wanda looked back up at you with teary eyes to see the matching rings you had fished out of your pocket.

“You’re serious?” she asked, neither of you noticed how Tony had caught onto what was going on and calling for the rest of the team's attention.  

“I have never been more serious in my life. I love you Wanda and I wanna share the rest of my life with you. Please be my wife?” you repeated the words on the donut. The box hit the ground and Wanda’s arms were around your neck before you could comprehend what was going on. It didn’t matter, not when she kissed you like you were her everything. You were still gasping for breath when you pulled back to push the ring onto her finger, allowing her to do the same to you. Gasps that turned into laughter as the team cheered around you and laughter that was interrupted by Wanda kissing you again. It was soft and passionate. Tender and all-consuming. It was filled with contradictions but it was perfect. Just like Wanda.     

Please reblog; help me spread my work - Leave a comment. Feedback is fuel

Wanda Maximoff Tag Team

@feelmyroarrrr @roxyspearing @scarlettsoldier @hellaqueerangelofthelord @danijimenezv @becs-bunker @blacktithe7 @avengerscompound @grace-for-sale @scarletlingeries @mizzezm @peterman-parker

[as-the-world-rotates]

“Dear diary, today I learned something about myself…” Nora mumbled to herself.

Nora HATED the daily writing assignments. It was the worst part of school. If you could call the one tiny room she and 7 other girls were shoved into a school. Nora was 16 and lived in a group home. Her parents were addicts who were never in her life longer than a month or so at a time. Nora had been in foster care as a small child, but she became more and more rebellious as the years passed, and the state deemed her “unfit for society”.

It’s not that Nora was a “bad kid” she was just misunderstood. The years of being bounced from home to home, new moms, new dads, handsy “big brothers”... anyone would crack under the situations she had been forced into as a child. Nightmares were her safe place, for reality was always way worse than her wildest dreams.

“Today, I learned that yet again... no one gives a fuxk about me.” Her mother had missed another visit- no big surprise there. Her mother had missed all but one visit in the last three years. What was really bothering her, was the note she had received at lunch a bit ago. Ivy was the “popular girl”, which wasn’t much of a title in a home of only 8 girls with no contact with other teens.

The note was from Ivy. Ivy was 17 and was considered the “popular girl”. Not that the title carries much weight in a place you only see 7 other teens and have no access to internet. Jade had dark brown hair, almost black. She had managed to obtain hair dye, which was a HUGE Nono in the group home and had a streak of teal on her hair. Her grey eyes always looked like they held a secret of yours.

Nora shied in comparison. Mousy brown hair, shit brown eyes, and glasses. She knew she was nothing special. But for some stupid reason she had jotted a note in Ivys journal asking her to meet behind the large tree at lunch. Her hands had shaken as she took the note from Ivy. She excused her self to the bathroom to read it as notes were forbidden.

The words she read burned in her head- Behind the large tree? Why so you can try and kiss me or something you dyke!

The accusation of being a dyke wasn’t what bothered Nora, she had been called that on and off for several years... since the first time she kissed a girl at 12. Was she a dyke? She wasn’t sure what or who she was. But she was upset that ivy wouldn’t even consider meeting her.

Why had she thought it was a good idea... furiously she kept scribbling in her journal as her internal monologue was beating her up inside.

“Not only does no one give a fuck about me, not my parents, not my teacher (sorry miss adams), not the other girls, but I don’t give a fuck about me. I’m not even me! I’m not Nora. I feel so wrong in this body. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t feel like me. I look in the mirror and see a stranger, I’m more than my shell. I’m more than my record, I’m more than my behavior. But does any one see the real me? No! They just see this spoiled girl, who doesn’t listen and is a burden. Fuck that. I’m tired of being everyone’s burden. I’m tired of being alive. I wish I were dead”

Chest heaving she stared at her own words that she wasn’t aware were inside her. She knew she meant them, but she wasn’t aware how deep her self hatred had run. She wasn’t aware she had been at her wits end for so long. She started to panic. Miss adams could NOT read this. They would send her away. But ripped out pages were grounds for punishment.

She looked around for something, ANYTHING she could spill on her paper. As she stood up to refill her water bottle hoping she could tip it over on her journal, Ivy snatched her journal.

“Miss Adams! Look at this! Nora is unsafe!”

Miss Adams was always two steps ahead of everyone. She grabbed the journal and begin to read the entry from the day. “Nora, will you please head to Miss Avarados office now please? Tracy, you will go with her till she is inside.”

Noras shoulders slumped, she knew that this would mean at BEST a week or two of restriction. And at worst... the trash bags of her belongings would move homes yet again...

The door opened with a creak as Nora stared at her torn off brand chucks. Miss Alvarado was in the doorway looking as foreboding as ever. With her voice that seemed to vibrate off walls she stared at Nora,”thank you Tracy, you may go”

Inside the office was only furnished by the therapists desk, and two chairs. One for the overbearing councilor, and one for which ever girls turn it was to be miserable for an hour 2x a week.

“Nora, you are normally one of the ones I don’t worry about which is surprising considering your... track record... why did I receive a call from miss Adams to check my inbox for your journal entry? Are you really that unhappy you want to take your life?”

Nora continued staring at her shoes, maybe if she pretended this wasn’t happening, she could will it into reality. THWACK. Miss Alvarado had smacked the desk with a file. Not just any file, but Noras file. “Nora, I think the best course of action would be to send you to St. Peter’s for a few days for your own safety. You may return once your bout in St. Peters is over “

Nora stayed stone silent for a few moments. Tears welling in her eyes that she would never release, she steadied her voice,” I understand miss Alvarado. I’ll pack my things”

“Nora this is a temporary stay, that won’t be necessary. Bobby will pull up the van and transport you from the office.”

The car ride seemed to go on forever. As the evening drifted into darkness, Nora realized it was much too long of a drive. They should have been there ages ago. City turned to country roads and green hills. She had never been this far from the city. In the distance she saw a small orange glow. She had ridden with Bobby in complete silence besides the flick of his bic as he light up a menthol cool. She decided it was time to finally break the silence.

“Bobby... I’m thirsty... are we almost there?”

Bobby barely acknowledged her besides a small grunt. The orange glow grew larger and she realized it was a small building. She hoped this meant she could at least empty her bladder. It definitely was not St. Peter’s, but at this point she didn’t care where they were as long as they stopped. They pulled into a gravel drive and Bobby parked the car. He got out and lit up yet another menthol.

Nora tried to open her door only to discover it was child locked. The house van never had child lock on it. She began to pound upon the window begging Bobby to let her out. He turned from her and leaned against the drivers side door, staring out into the darkness. The door of the building slowly opened with a blinding light. A figure walked out of the front briefly blocking the light. As the person walked closer Bobby stood up and shifted his gait nervously.

“This her?” The new comer asked gruffly.

“Hey Chase, yeah. She’s ready for transport.”

Transport? What did he mean transport? Wasn’t he supposed to take her to St. Peter’s? Who was this new guy. Why were they discussing her like she was an animal?

The door opened and she was pulled to her feet roughly. She began to fight to try and get away. Chase tackled her to the ground. There were suddenly 3 sets of hands pinning her to the dirt. Before she knew it she was hog tied behind her back. Sobbing and tasting blood she started to black out as she was lifted into the back of a small sedan. She woke up what must have been a few hours later. It was still pitch black and there were two people up front driving.

Chase was behind the wheel, and talking to a woman in the passengers seat. The lady noticed Nora had woken up and nudged him. Instantly the silence was deafening. Chase turned around and swore under his breath.

“Hey Emily, we’re almost to the pit stop. About another hour.”

Nora tried to speak but her mouth was so dry she could barely speak.

“Uh... Chase... I really need to use the bathroom, and could use some water.”

“You can wait.”

“Babe... the girl needs the bathroom. Come on we can grab a drink when we stop.”

Thank god for Emily. The car stopped and she cut off the zip ties on Nora that had been holding her wrists and sat her up. They had apparently stopped at a seedy bar... she couldn’t go inside, she wasn’t even 18 yet, how did these two genius’s think they were going to get her in?

Maybe she could make a run for it once she got inside? CLICK. The sound was a cold metal handcuff being slapped on her wrist. The other cuff was clapped on Emily’s wrist.

“Just incase you got any bright ideas kid.”

Do you know how awkward it is to pee handcuffed to someone else? And of course the cuff was on her dominant wrist so it was harder to wipe in a tiny ass stall. Coming out of the ladies room Chase handed Emily a beer. Nora started to ask for water but they rushed out the door with a nod and “Thanks Tim” to the bartender.

Back at the car they started arguing about if she needed to be hogtied again. Emily seemed to be more lenient. And seemed to get her way. The car ride was strange... her caretakers seemed to be messing with her head. They’d go from silent abs ignoring her to telling her that they were getting married, to telling her they were sister and brother. No matter what the situation was she didn’t care she just wanted the ride to stop.

The sun began to rise as she started drifting off to sleep. Next thing she knew the door was being opened yet again. They were in front of a HUGE old building in the middle of nowhere. The building read “Mercury Ridge”. She had no clue where in the hell they had taken her. The building gave off a energy tht made her stomach turn.

They walked up to the building in unison. A guard took down their information and ushered Nora inside. She turned around to ask Emily a question, and both her and Chase had already left. The door shut behind her with a loud SLAM. The room inside held a few old chairs that looked like they were from the 80’s. You know the old fabric ones with that awful wood arms? Yeah.. those.

There was a huge reception desk and a sign that said “ authorized people only behind this point.” The man behind the counter looked like he couldn’t be bothered to even look up. He was balding and had sunglasses on indoors as if the lights over head were assaulting his senses. The guard walked her a thick metal door. There were no handles on the door. With a swift beep from inside the door swung open.

A tall broad man with thick curly hair and a darker complexion walked through, he grabbed her by the wrist and disappeared behind the doors. Inside it smelt of sweat and urine. A faint hint of bleach wafted to her nostrils. The man introduced himself as Anjelo. But it was more formality, not for conversation.

They went down a maze of hallways and doors. Every door they encountered was locked and Anjelo opened them with a badge. He finally said, “Here we are. Your new home. Girls Unit A.” Then promptly left leaving her standing there not sure what to do. A tall redhead walked up, and finally someone seemed to be able to see her.

“Hey, I’m Tasha. This is Girls A. Welcome. First we have to take you to your room and get you changed. Follow me kid.”

As she followed, faces peered out of doorways at her. None of the bedroom doorways seemed to have doors. Abs she passed a room the size of a tiny closet with the walls and floors all carpeted. There was a door on it, with a TINY window. At the end of a hallway before another set of locking doors, Tasha stopped and motioned into a doorway.

Inside were two wooden beds with matching dressers. One bed was made perfectly, the other had a set of sheets folded on it. Nora was instructed to strip, and a full body search which included a cavity search followed. She changed into scrubs the color of milky oatmeal. She want even allowed her own underwear.

“After you make your bed just hang out till we call you for group. Oh, by the way... your roommate should be back from lunch shortly. Her names Melinda.”

Holding back tears after being violated in such a manner under the guise of a search, Nora stumbled to her bed and began to make it. Her mattress ( it was less of a mattress and more of a yoga mat) smelt of bad body odor, and cheese. Laying down she began to sob. The tears stung her cheeks and she wiped them away with the backs of her hands. She inhaled deeply as the tears touched the wounds on her wrists where she had been restrained during her journey.

No! She would not let them see her break. She would get her self together and figure out where and what the fuck she was doing there.

[deathglare]

UNFINISHED (If someone else wants to continue the story, please go ahead!)

Commander Peepers becomes the talk of the ship once his diary is discovered, and he must do everything in his power to prevent the news spreading to Lord Hater.

((Just something I wrote for fun while on a long car ride! Probably filled with errors, but it was fun to write regardless!))

Commander Peepers scribbled anxiously in his diary, his red glove clutching the pen tighter as he continued to write. Lord Hater was most definitely asleep — Along with a majority of watchdogs — but the Commander wanted to take extra precautions as to not arouse suspicion. His lights were turned off, and he lay under his blanket beside his flashlight. If any emergency were to occur that required anyone barging in to his room, all it would take was a swift motion to click the flashlight off to appear as though he was sleeping. The Commander, ever since the defeat of Lord Dominator, hasn’t been able to bring himself to sleep. It was odd, to say the least, that after defeating what kept him up for months, a new problem started gnawing at his stomach the same day. It was a feeling he couldn’t, and wouldn’t dare to try and describe. All he knew is that they were connected to Lord Hater, and if he wanted to continue to be a productive commander, he’d have to destroy whatever feelings plagued his vision.

“Dear my very manly, very evil logbook meant for only the most crucial details involving my life…”

Peepers muttered quietly under his breath, without even realizing he was doing so. “It is to my great misfortune that I must bring up my feels dealings with Lord Hater once more.” Peepers took a moment to give the word ‘feelings’ a few more hashes through it, his gut feeling like it was twisting. That was not the correct word, it was just an easy mistake brought forth by his exhaustion. Clearly. “It appears as though I can’t stop thinking about him in ways indescribable by even the smartest watchdog: Me. It’s like hatred, but not really at all. It’s miserable and…” Peepers shuddered a bit as he continued to write, the tip of his pen pressing harder in to the paper. “… Happy at the same time, which only makes it twice as more miserable. Every time I close my eye I see him conquering plants, or shouting threats, and so on. I’ve noticed that, peculiarly, I hate not being around him more. And certainly not the good kind of hate.” Peepers felt his heart beating faster, a feeling of dread laying heavy in his chest. The more he wrote, the more obvious it became, and the more denial he forced himself to feel. “Surely all second-in-commands feel fondly of their boss in the same manner. It is nothing significant or worth worrying about. Perhaps all this spawned from the pride I felt at seeing him act all tough and brave and strong when—” Peepers’ pupil shrunk in realization. There was no denying it, and absolutely no possibility of ignoring it any longer. The pen barely contained any pressure as he sloppily wrote, barely allowing himself to look down at his own writing. He couldn’t help but mutter out the words. “I appear to have a certain endearment to Lord Hater.” Peepers wailed in despair, his current thoughts outriding his goal to keep quiet. He slammed his eye repeatedly against the cover of his diary, in some hopes to knock the feelings out of him. It was ridiculous, embarrassing, and worst of all, the exact opposite of evil. Hater would be ashamed of him, but nowhere near as ashamed as Peepers was with himself. “Uh, sir?” Peepers frantically waved his arms as he panicked to switch off his flashlight and shove his diary under his pillow. Afterwards, he ripped his blanket off his eye to face whomever entered his room. “WHAT!?” Peepers shouted irritably, quickly blinking away the wetness in his eye. Several watchdogs were standing at the door of his room, peering in. Peepers blinked again, this time in confusion. “We heard you yelling and—” “NO YOU DIDN’T!” Peepers shouted before he grabbed his blaster and threw it at the door. It slammed it shut, knocking over at least two watchdogs in the process. Peepers glanced at his alarm clock. 7:00 AM. “Oh grop!” Peepers quickly scrambled out of bed, frantically reaching for his helmet as he slipped in to his shoes. “I lost track of the time!” In a matter of seconds, Commander Peepers was ready. He quickly opened his door and pushed the crowding watchdogs aside, rushing to catch up on his duties. With as much effort as he could, he left his feelings in his room and focused on his job.

“Greetings, dear viewers! Today, there has been an overwhelming request for today’s special topic involving none other than our very own: Commander Peepers!” Andy the watchdog held his microphone proudly as he spoke. “Lately, our commander has been reported to be, and I quote, ‘Not himself’. It’s got every one of us watchdogs talking and curious.” Andy began walking down a hallway, his eye not leaving the camera. The watchdog carrying it kept it as steady as possible as he followed him. “Rumors have been spreading throughout the Skullship! But today, dear viewers, I will get to the bottom of all of it, just as you requested! Dangerous? Of course! But not so much so that I would consider not satisfying my dearest, special viewers!” Andy halted in front of a door, and gestured to it with his hand. “This is the Commander’s room! It is time that we begin investigating!” Without a moment’s hesitation, the watchdog entered the room, walking lightly on his feet. “There isn’t much to search in here…” Andy stated as he glanced around the surprisingly empty room.

Andy walked towards the bed, which was left in the center of the room. It wasn’t made.

The watchdog gave a quick glance around the room, double checking to make sure he was the only one there before he began pulling at the blankets. His hands gripped something peculiar, and he quickly pulled it out for inspection.

“A flashlight! Perhaps our Commander has developed a fear of the dark?” Andy pondered a minute as he continued to examine the object.

“Nah, that can’t be it.”

He stuck his hand back in to the blankets. After just a few moments, his fingers slid under the Commander’s pillow and he felt another object. Immediately, he pulled it out. Bingo!

“Aha! All our answers might be answered in this… Diary?” Andy questioned, holding it up closer to the camera.

Without thinking of the possible consequences, the watchdog began flipping through the pages.

“Now, we don’t want to invade all of Peeper’s privacy. We’ll just skip to last night’s entry, and see what we can get.”

With book in one hand and microphone in the other, Andy stopped at the previous day’s date. He mumbled out the written words as he read, carefully searching for evidence. When his pupil reached the final sentence of the page, it shrunk before looking back up at the camera.

“Commander Peepers has a certain endearment towards Lord Hater! Could this be w—”

“ANDY!” The watchdog quickly turned, tossing the diary up in to the air in shock. Commander Peepers was standing in the door way, his eye bloodshot in anger. Though frightened at first as the commander began approaching him, the watchdog quickly tried to regain his composure for the sake of the show.

“Commander Peepers, sir! What exactly did you mean by a certain endearment?”

Peepers’ pupil shrunk as Andy held out his microphone towards him.

“I.. YOU…” Peepers stuttered in anger, shock, and embarrassment. His fists were clenched and shaking. “GET OUT OF MY ROOM AND DELETE THIS FOOTAGE BEFORE ANYONE SEES IT!! BY THE TIME I’M DONE WITH Y—”

“Oh, uh, this is actually broadcasting live across the Skullship! It is Live-Friday, after all!” Andy “winked” at the camera.

“I… Live F-Friday?” Peepers looked at the camera, his pupil even smaller.

“That’s right, sir! The Eye on The Skullship’s Live Fridays, where every Friday the show is live! We just started doing it last week!”

“So you mean to tell me that right now, who knows how many watchdogs are watching this, and saw you… Reading that?” Peepers pointed at his logbook.

“That’s right sir! All for the sake of the watchdog’s curiosity!”

“ANDY!” Peepers quickly reached for his diary, holding it close to his chest.

“Sir! One time I saw you and Hater walk in to the smooching room together! Is there a relationship budding!?”

Peepers turned around to see a crowd of watchdogs outside of his room, all either staring at him or the camera. Andy wrapped his arm around the watchdog who had spoke out before holding out his microphone once again to their commander. The watchdogs then began speaking of other instances involving Hater and Peepers.

“Wha— NO!” Peepers shouted, quieting the chattering watchdogs. “I couldn’t believe that we had six smooching rooms, Lord Hater was simply showing me that they existed! There is NOTHING going on between us!”

The watchdogs were quiet for several seconds before Andy asked another question.

“Do you wish there was?”

Before Peepers could respond, another voice shouted out above the rest.

“OF COURSE HE DOES!”

Peeper’s felt his stomach drop as Wander appeared from the middle of the crowd, a smile taking over the majority of his face.

“Oh grop, no.” Peepers squeaked out in disbelief.

“COME ON EVERYBODY, WE GOTTA TELL HATER SO WE CAN START PLANNING THE WEDDING!”

Wander yelled out a “yee-haw” before running out in to the hallways.

The watchdogs watched him run off before turning to Peepers.

The commander held out both of his hands, signaling for them to all stay in place so he could speak.

“Weddings have cake!” A watchdog shouted. Not a second afterwards, the watchdogs began running with Wander.

“NO!” Peepers quickly ran after the group, frantically trying to raise his voice over the cheering and chatter.

“Commander Peepers! I bet our viewers are just DYING to know what flavor cake you plan on having!” Andy fell back from the crowd to run beside his commander.

Wander appeared from seemingly nowhere and got in between Peepers and Andy’s microphone.

“Well, I was thinking about having a layered devil’s food cake with buttercream icing, custard filling, and some luster dust! Hater does love his glitter!”

Peepers shouted loudly over the two. “THERE WON’T BE A WEDDING! THERE WON’T BE ANYTHING!”

Wander’s smile didn’t falter. “Sure there will! When Hater finds out how you feel, he’ll realize that you two have always been close, and you two will fall in love and get MARRIED!”

Peepers came to a halt, grabbing Wander by his arm. He continued running forward a bit before he bounced back, much like a rubber band.

His immediate reaction would’ve been to threaten him, but he knew that it wouldn’t work.

“Listen! You have to use your banjo or something to stop them!”

Wander tilted his head in confusion. “Why? Don’t you want Hatey to know how much you care about him?”

Peepers blushed and screamed in fury. “I DON’T!”

“Well, why not?” Wander asked. His genuine sound of confusion was infuriating.

Peepers took a deep breath, trying to remain calm.

“You trying to pair us up is just as crazy as trying to pair him up with Dominator!”

“Aw, C. Peeps! This is way different!” Wander wrapped his arm around Peeper’s shoulders, leading him forward.

“Sylvia helped me learn that you can’t force love.. But you and Hater are already in love!”

Peepers shuddered at the “L” word. Before he could respond, Wander continued.

“Dominator and Hater barely spent any time together, it was silly of me to think that they could’ve gotten married after a music number when they weren’t  even friends yet… That’s how Sylvia explained it, any way. What you and Hater have is definitely special, it’s easy to see why the watchdogs are so supportive!”

“They’re only supportive because they want cake!” Peepers argued. “Lord Hater and I are buddies, I admit that, but we aren’t, and CAN NOT be anything more than that!”

Wander stopped walking, and Peepers shoved his arm off.

“But why?” Wander’s confused face returned. “You two already spend every day together, and you’ve got significantly closer than when I first met you two! Plus, the two of you would be ADORABLE together!”

“Why is this so hard for you to understand!?” Peepers shouted. “Hater does NOT like me in that way!”

Wander’s confused face turned to one of worry. “But how do you know that?”

“It’s obvious!” Peepers couldn’t believe that he had to explain this. “If he already did, he would have told me!”

“And what if he thinks that way, only with you? I know Hater tends to usually be more forward with who he likes… But that’s what makes you special!”

Peepers groaned.

“PEEPERS! The watchdogs won’t stop barking at me!” Lord Hater came running down the hallway, a crowd of watchdogs following close behind him. They were all yelling loudly, and nobody could really make out anything they were trying to say.

“Oh grop, I completely forgot!” Peepers quickly stood up and ran towards the crowd, quickly trying to formulate a plan in his head as he confronted them.

Hater quickly ran to Peepers before standing behind him, glaring at the watchdogs who started chasing him.

Hater, without thinking, grabbed the journal from Peeper’s arms and threw it across the hallway. “FETCH!”

The watchdogs were quiet for a moment and looked at each other. Peepers looked to Hater.

“Sir, they aren’t—”

Before Peepers could finish, the watchdogs ran after the journal. They wanted to find the page that Andy read.

“Phew!” Hater smiled at himself for his clever plan. “What do you think that was all about?”

Before Peepers could think of a response, Wander ran up.

“Hater, C. Peeps has something to tell you!”

“WANDER!” Hater turned towards him, his fingers already sparking with lightning. Peepers turned his attention to the group of watchdogs that had started running back, much louder than before.

Wander began running in circles, with a screaming (and very angry) Lord Hater following close behind him. The group of watchdogs split: One group went after Hater, and the other went after Peepers.

[vvdbvvotv]

I'll Make You Believe

Tyler Joseph Imagine

Part 3

Pairing: Tyler Joseph x Reader (as best friends and maybe a little more)

Request: The reader is suicidal and wants to commit, but doesn’t want to hurt those that care

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, suicidal actions, depression, panic attack, fluff

Word Count: 1,659

-

Reader’s Point of View

The next few actions you did were clouded over, as if you were watching them unfold from behind a fogged up window. A tweet was sent out to the boy you loved but ran away from. That tweet was soon deleted after regretting what you said. Maybe he didn’t see it. After all, he didn’t save you from yourself when you ran.

Funny how the one you love is the one who breaks you.

“He didn’t break me, it’s my fault. It’s only me and my infested brain. I don’t know what’s wrong but it’s too late to fix it.”

You remember running back towards home again. You were standing in the kitchen of your house. A pencil and a piece paper were clutched in your hand. A note was being scribbled, a note to be found by your angel, your everything. The one person who could save you but couldn’t at the same time. It was placed on the dining room table, a single decorative pebble holding it down.

You were running again. That was all you ever did now anyways. You ran from your family, pushing them away from your life. You ran from your problems, thought that only caused more issues. You always ended up veering towards them again. Most importantly you ran from the person who crossed your mind the most. You didn’t understand why, you didn’t want to run but you did and there was no going back. He didn’t know what you were going to do.

Run little rabbit, run towards the wolf.

-

Tyler’s Point of View

I ignored the questions being thrown at me as I ran out of my home. Ignored the confused stares my family shot at me as I raced through towards the front door. I ran towards her house, the only place I knew where to look. She wasn’t responding to any calls or texts from either Josh or me. I was blocked out completely from her.

The only thing I could think about was whether or not she was still alive. I tried to push away the thought that I was too late, that a gruesome site would be left for me to discover at her house. I couldn’t get rid of it.

The front door of (Y/N)’s house was unlocked but I was hesitant to open it. I was scared. There could be a variety of things waiting for me behind this door.

I pushed my fears aside and opened it. It was silent and worry consumed me again. The house was too quiet, almost in an eerie sort of way.

“(Y/N)?” I called out. Of course there was no response.

I continued walking into the kitchen. Everything seemed in place, except the reflection of something caught my eye. there was a piece of paper on the dining room table. I frowned and walked closer. It was her handwriting, scribbled all over in a rushed manner.

I’m sorry Tyler I love you I promise I do. Please don’t be sorry because this isn’t your fault, I’m broken I can’t fix myself and neither can you. I’m tired of feeling like this. I don’t want to be trapped anymore. Please remember I love you, I love you, I love you…

Find me in the lake we used to hang around. I’m sorry you have to see me like this. I’m sorry this letter is for you. Tyler please promise me you’ll get over me quickly, I’m sure I never meant much to you anyways.

-y/n

Tears spilled from my eyes. I didn’t want to forget anything. I should’ve followed her when she ran from me. I should’ve noticed the signs. I should’ve cared more, admitted that I loved her. I took the piece paper and ran out of the house towards the forest, towards the lake and to the unknown.

-

Reader’s Point of View

It was approximately 1 o'clock pm judging by the sun’s position in the sky. A bad time to do what you were going to do. Night would’ve been a better choice but of course you realized you chose to write that suicide letter to Tyler. If only you could’ve made it longer, time was ticking though. You had a matter of minutes to do what that note said. Tyler was probably discovering the letter right about now.

You didn’t understand why you wanted to do this. It didn’t feel right but at the same time it was the best decision. Like it was the only thing to do and backing out would make you look even more weak.

Quickly, now.

Drowning seemed like the easiest thing to do. It wasn’t quick, but thinking about the sight of any blood made you feel sick. You sat at the edge of the dock, looking at the water and surrounding trees. Rays of sunlight fought through the thick greenery from the forest. The water looked sparkly and glassy in the places where the sun reflected. What a beautiful place to die.

Hurry up, you’re taking too long. Don’t want him to get to you first.

“I got it, you want me gone. So you won. But the joke’s on you because you don’t get to invade my head anymore,” you said to the voice.

You took of your backpack and placed it beside you. You took your shoes and jacket off and stood up. The water looked so luring. It was crystal clear but deep and dark at the same time. You inched closer to the edge of the dock and saw your distorted reflection peering back at you. Suddenly, you were scared. Confused too. Why were you here again?

Don’t do this.

The voice was soft and quiet, unlike the one that frequently invaded your mind. It was very faint, under a whisper. You wanted to listen and back away from the water. It made you want to run away from the lake, away from the forest, and find Tyler. You wanted to run into his safe arms and never let go of him.

“No,” you whispered, “I’m gone, gone too far.”

And finally making up your mind you sat down on the edge of the dock, your feet skimming the surface of the water. Then your feet were immersed and then your ankles. You kept inching yourself down. Suddenly, you heard a loud rustle of leaves and a strangled yell. You had a visitor and a good idea on who it could be.

KEEP GOING.

You pushed yourself off of the dock and your whole body was submerged in water. The cool crisp water engulfed you.

Before you could stop yourself and truly understand what you were doing, the voice spoke one last time

Open your mouth and breath, darling.

You listened and closed your eyes. You began to inhale. Almost instantly, something grabbed your body and pulled you up and out of the lake in one swift movement.

You coughed and sputtered, desperate for air yet also wanting to stop breathing at the same time. It felt as if your lungs had been drenched in gasoline and set on fire.

“Let go of me!” you managed to get out.

You felt lightheaded and nauseous, but tried to push away the person who stopped you. They pinned your arms down and you gasped as they pressed their mouth against yours in an attempt to help you breathe. You relaxed, trying to allow them to help assist you, oxygen slowly filling your lungs again. The person’s grip on you released and their lips parted from yours. You opened your eyes carefully and Tyler’s bloodshot eyes met yours. He rescued you.

You wrapped your arms around Tyler and clung to him, your breathing still shallow and uneven.

“Oh God, please don’t ever do that again (Y/N). Please promise you’ll talk to me, don’t ever leave me. Your note is wrong, I care I really do. I want you in my life, I love you so much,” Tyler whispered. “Breathe, you’re safe here. You’re okay, I’m here and I’m not letting you do go or do anything harmful to yourself ever again.”

You wrapped your drenched arms tighter around Tyler’s middle, clinging to him and his words.

“Hey, you know what I write in this dumb book that I have with me all the time? Well it’s all me talking about you, how I’m too scared to admit that I’ve liked you for a long time. How I’m terrified that it could ruin our friendship or whatever it is we have. But right now I just want you here and it was idiotic of me to be scared because I should’ve told you. I should’ve told you I loved you sooner,” Tyler finished.

You felt him reach for something and then nudge you. You peered up at Tyler and he had a page of his notebook opened up. You scanned the pages as he flipped through. He wasn’t lying, it was about you. There was your name with words of admiration about you jotted in the various entries.

Tyler placed the book down and shifted so your head was on his lap and you were facing him. You closed your eyes and moved closer to Tyler.

He spoke again, “So now I’m going to continue what I was singing to you yesterday because uh- well, I truly put my heart into those words and I want you to believe them.”

Your breathing finally evened and you waited for Tyler’s sweet voice to engulf you.

So you laid there on Tyler’s lap. A perfect end to an imperfect day. Tyler sang and you listened. You listened for him because he truly was your guardian angel. He was your savior and your protector and he made sure you knew he was.

“Won’t you stay alive?”

“I’ll take you on a ride,”

“I will make you believe you are lovely.”

-

So there’s your conclusion! Pretty short, sorry for that. Hopefully not many people hated the ending (but with my luck possibly everyone despises me now).

-tori