#and also I wouldn’t post anything until I could get everything finished cause abandoning fic is tooooo tempting for me at all times ngl!!!!

[ghostbeam]

I also wanna write ten million fics based on romcoms and make it like a little series or something idk what that would be or maybe not idk dude

[spinningwebsandtales]

The Shape of You Pt. 3

Michael Myers X FemReader

Rating: M

Warnings: Mentions of nudity, angst, and mentions of  murder

Word Count: 7.1k

Part 1 / 2 

Taglist: @the-marshals-wife @msghostface​ @izumima 

(A/N:) Hello readers and followers of this series! I am so sorry it took me so long to get part 3 finished! I had over half of it written really fast and then everything that could happen happened and kept me from finishing part 3! But it’s finally here and I hope that maybe after Christmas I can actually get back to writing regularly cause this is the time of year where I can barely get anything done. So if I’m able to write part 4 during this time it will truly be a miracle. So don’t abandon this if I disappear because I still have tons of ideas and lots of things to explore. Also if you rather I am posting this as a multi-chapter fic on A03 under the same title! So if you don’t want to bounce around on tumblr you can find it there! So here you go and sorry once more! Thank you for your patience and until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Your dreamless slumber came to an abrupt end as the alarm at your bedside blared it’s annoying tune. Grumpily smacking the off button you turned over to escape the rays of sunlight peeking through your curtains and blinds of your bedroom window. Your body protested as your joints screamed for you to stay still. Exhaustion had completely taken you over last night once you laid in your bed, so it took you a little while just laying there while memories of the past two days came flooding back. Your mind felt overwhelmed and you trembled slightly as thoughts of Michael came back. Did he actually stay or were you going to be disappointed by his lack of presence?

 Carefully moving the covers back to keep from jerking your sore body, you tried to keep from panicking. He wasn’t a dog, you couldn’t make him stay or keep him like a pet. This wasn’t about taming him to you as you hated the thought of him being captured once more and locked up. He did horrible things, you could admit that but even you could tell that Michael never had the help that he needed. You can’t imagine, didn’t really want to either, all that they have done to him. You shivered, wiping at tears that slipped through your barriers. It was your turn to help, your turn to explore and learn about him. If he wanted it, you wouldn’t force him. But if he wasn’t still here with you, you couldn’t lie it would break your heart, but you would accept his decision. 

So you dressed with a determination that no matter what happens you would accept it and let Michael make his own decision. Your work attire felt stifling as you walked to the bathroom to brush your teeth before finishing your hair and makeup. You looked the worse for wear but that was why makeup was invented. The last thing that needed to happen was nosy co-workers butting in on your life. Once you were satisfied with your looks and hid enough of the exhaustion to look normal, you steeled yourself. The moment of truth to see if this was going to work out. While you wanted to run, you couldn’t bring yourself too. The nervousness was eating you inside but if Michael was still asleep you didn’t want to wake him up because you were panicking over whether he stayed or not. At the end of the hall you sucked in a deep breath holding it in your aching lungs before peeking around the corner. Before you could stop it the breath you held released in a whoosh at the sight of Michael, too big for the couch, still snoozing away under the blankets you brought him. His naturally curly hair was more tussled than usual from sleep and his soft pink mouth with lips barely parted snoring softly. 

You giggled behind your hand trying to stifle the noise to not wake him. He had seen you asleep so now the tables were turned and you felt giddy from the power it gave you. Not to mention that he was super adorable in a deep sleep. He murmured quietly before turning over and nuzzling deeper in your pillow. Though you knew you needed to finish getting around you had to watch him for a few more moments before going into the kitchen to make your coffee and some breakfast.

Michael couldn’t remember the last time that he had slept so soundly. Even though he had to sleep on a couch he couldn’t remember a comfier place that he had gotten to stay. He knew that his childhood bed had to be comfier but that had been so long ago he could barely remember what it looked like in his room. He had had a few toys but rarely played with them, he didn’t have anyone to play with him. Though the neighborhood mother’s sent their sons over to play in pity, he never wanted to play. Even at such a young age Michael knew what everyone thought of him. You were the first person to not look at him in pity or unfettered disgust. So after he had fallen asleep there was no discomfort in him so he slept so soundly in what seemed like the first time in his life. 

You were an enigma that he wanted to understand, even if it took him a lifetime to figure out. Though he slept deeply Michael was still aware of his surroundings. He could feel your eyes watching him but he was so comfortable that he went on sleeping. It wasn’t until he heard you in the kitchen, cooking and finishing up some things before leaving, did he finally peel back the covers and rise. He stretched lazily scratching his scalp causing his already ruffled hair to stick up worse. Still wearing your too small robe he made his way to the kitchen doorway on quiet bare feet to watch you. Deep brown and glassy blue watching every movement you made as you danced around your kitchen. His head cocked to the side losing himself in the progress you made.

 Unlike last night you were in your working attire with your hair up professionally and makeup marring your face. Michael knew right then he didn’t like the makeup you covered yourself with, he preferred you natural as you were the realest person he had come across. Your back was turned but you could feel something watching you. While stirring eggs in a pan you caught a glimpse of Michael out of the corner of your eye. Though it still spooked you to some extent you were getting used to his quiet and watchful presence.

  “Good morning,” you greeted, shocking him this time. “Want some eggs and toast?”

Michael true to his natural fashion didn’t speak but nodded. He was never a fan of the powdered eggs that the cooks in the mental hospital gave him, he wanted to relive what it was like having a real egg in so many years.

“I can’t stay long to eat with you,” you said around a mouthful of eggs. “I’m probably going to be late as it is. But it’s not fun eating breakfast alone. While I’m gone you can watch TV, or read some of my books in the extra room. I also have some magazines. Just make sure you don’t go outside or look out the windows. My neighbors are so nosy, they’ll spot you and call the police.”

Michael didn’t answer or acknowledge anything you said. You stared at him for a moment waiting for him to do anything to let you know he heard. He felt your stare penetrating his face before he looked up mid-scoop of eggs staying precariously balanced on the spoon. His eyes met yours before he quirked an eyebrow, he looked away unable to hold your gaze. He nodded again making it known he had heard.

“Thank you Michael,” you whispered. You felt embarrassed for staring at him so much, especially when he stared back. Before you could register what you were doing you reached out towards him. Michael, too busy paying attention to his food, didn’t realize what was going on before your hand gently cupped his scarred cheek. His silverware clattered against the plate as he looked up with a shocked look. You jerk backwards like you’d been burned by a hot iron instead of stroking his rough cheek.

  “I’m sorry,” you apologized quickly, bolting for the door. You didn’t stop running until you were in your car. Michael watched the door slam shut behind you, his chest heaving as emotions flooded his core. Your hand was so gentle and soft. Of course you had touched him before as you treated his wounds but this was different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but the way you had stroked at his skin was unlike anything he had experienced before. His skin tingled where you touched as his gut was turning flip flops inside. He was sure the eggs that he had consumed would make a reappearance until he sucked in a deep breath to calm himself.

You found it hard to concentrate on the road as your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and regrets. You shouldn’t have touched him so soon. You seemed to keep forgetting that you only had known him for two days, but for some reason it had felt like longer. Your hands quivered causing you to tighten your grip on the steering wheel to make them stop. Just because he had been nice to you and had yet to murder you like he had others, didn’t mean Michael wasn’t dangerous. Though his body seemed to be on the smaller side compared to other men you knew, he could lift others like it was nothing. He had strength unmeasurable and his mind was a place that you had yet to even scratch the surface of. You wanted nothing more than to see, to erase so many years of bad. But you couldn’t get impatient. 

You sat behind your computer once again like nothing had ever even happened but you were lost in a daze. You explained (lied) to your boss why you hadn’t come in yesterday, fortunately he bought it but now you couldn’t get your mind on work. You may have brought yourself to work but your mind was at home, wondering about Michael. Ivan steered clear for the first time in his life and no one seemed willing to get close to you at the moment. Though you didn’t realize it since you were completely lost in your own head as the never ending carousel of thoughts kept going around and around. You tapped mindlessly on the keys one at a time, barely getting anything done when a hand grabbed your shoulder. You shot up out of the office chair letting out a shriek as Julie backed away from you, hands raised in surrender.

“I’m sorry (Y/N),” she spoke quietly. “Boss wanted me to let you know that it’s your lunch break. You didn’t hear him the first few times he called.”

You shook your head trying to rid yourself of all thoughts of Michael. It’s like you couldn’t even function now without him. He had your mind in such a grip that it was beginning to become a problem. You just wished that what happened this morning hadn’t happened, cause now you’re even more worried that he’d have enough of you. Michael hadn’t been in your personal space too much so you needed to be mindful of his, no matter how much you wanted to touch that scar and look deep into his wounded eye.

“No no I’m sorry Julie,” you sighed trying to hide the blush popping up. “I’ve been out of it the last couple of days.”

“Are you alright?”

Sirens began to scream in your head. You didn’t want to lie too much as it would come back to bite you and it wasn’t just your life it would ruin. Michael deserves so much more and you were not about to be the reason that his life went back to that nightmare.

“Yeah I’m just exhausted from the last two days. Guess I didn’t get enough rest.”

Her eyes widened making your more nervous. “Me neither! That whole ordeal with Michael Myers and the fact that he is still out there has me so scared. I go straight home and don’t go out.”

Your blood ran cold as soon as she said Michael Myers. Now you really had to step lightly. Cause you couldn’t just blurt out that he’s completely harmless and living in your home to boot.

‘Oh Michael?! Nah you got it all wrong he’s actually been mistreated. Oh and he’s living in my home right now and he hasn’t killed me yet.’

Yeah definitely not going to fly very well. You breathed deeply trying to calm your nerves, Michael would just have to forgive you for painting him to be a terrible person, cause that is all everyone believes in Haddonfield.

“I know what you mean. I can’t believe he got out again,” you shivered trying your best to look fearful. “I didn’t even want to come to work.”

Okay now that last part wasn’t even a lie, though the reason you didn’t want to leave the house is because you didn’t want to leave said Michael Myers. You couldn’t explain why you wanted to be around him so much.

“Gotta pay the bills somehow,” Julie chuckled before walking away. “Enjoy your break and if you’re scared of walking to your car Ivan has offered to walk us to our cars if we’re scared.”

You rolled your eyes and snorted softly. Of course Ivan would offer to “take care” of his female coworkers, in exchange for favors that you most definitely wouldn’t like. It’s funny how Michael had more manners than a so called civilized person. What a joke.

“That’s so sweet of him,” you cooed as a nauseas feeling settled in your gut. “But I’ll be fine. Thank you again for letting me know and sorry for being so out of it. I’ll get better.”

“That’s okay,” she laughed before getting serious again. “The faster they capture Michael the happier I’ll be.”

“Me too,” you lied wanting to puke as the words left your lips. You owe Michael a big apology dinner. Though he wouldn’t know what you were apologizing for.

Stopping by the office cafeteria, you grabbed a sandwich before going to your car. You had already decided that you were going to go by the local Goodwill for clothes so you wouldn’t have one place to go after work. It wasn’t too far from the office so you could spend quite a bit of time there getting Michael some used closed that he could wear comfortably. He wasn’t going to wear those stupid overalls forever, though he probably would if you let him. You decided that you would get him some underwear and socks from the local market as the thought of used underwear was enough to make you sick again. 

The parking lot was barren as you pulled in and shut the car off. Grabbing your purse and shoving the keys in one of the pockets you made your way inside. Grabbing a basket you went straight to the men’s section to see what you could find. He definitely needed several pairs of pants and several shirts. You honestly didn’t know how hard Michael was on clothes in a normal situation, so you wanted to get him enough to last for awhile. You first decided to look for pants in the large section. Majority of the time you came here for yourself, as new clothes were too expensive for a single woman on her own. You didn’t care what people thought of you being thrifty, as you had gotten really good at telling when a piece of clothing would last awhile compared to other really used ones.

 You moved several different pairs of dress pants out of the way, Michael wouldn’t need dress pants as he couldn’t leave and go out. Maybe someday, you hoped. You picked out a couple pairs of shorts so he could have something comfortable to lounge in before you finally found the holy grail. You hurriedly shoved pants hanging off wire hangers to find a perfect pair of jeans. You could tell that they had been maybe wore twice by whoever owned them first as they were in such good condition, plus a really good brand. Your throat dried out as you thought about Michael wearing these jeans. His back end could fill out a pair of coveralls well, not that you were really looking, so there’s no telling how much these jeans would look good on him, but the tears in the knees were making your knees weak. 

You imagined the material hugging his shapely legs and strong thighs. You shook your head violently, knowing you were getting ahead of yourself. Placing the jeans into the basket you picked out one more pair before looking for some pajama pants. Two more pairs of pajamas and you headed to the shirts. Two short sleeve, one long sleeve, a couple tanks, and a plaid shirt later and you were almost ready to check out. You wanted to grab him a couple of every day wear shoes, yes you knew you were spending a lot on Michael but it all seemed worth it. You found a pair of combat boots he could wear with his jeans and sneakers that would be comfortable for every day. You also wanted to get him a pair of slippers but you would get that with the other stuff he needed at the market. 

With purchases in tow you went back to your car to deposit the bags into your trunk. The last thing you needed was Ivan poking his nose where it don’t belong and seeing that you bought a lot of men’s clothes. You couldn’t think of a good lie that would keep the gossip at a minimum, since everyone knew you didn’t date. 

Back at work you hummed thoughtfully to yourself, thoughts back on Michael and all the clothes you had gotten him. Everyone could see that you were in a much better mood while you got busy finishing the work that had piled up in your absence. Your mood couldn’t be dashed as you grew more excited as time went by until you got to go home and show Michael what you gotten him.

Michael had watched you leave from the window after you rushed out the door in embarrassment. His cheek still tingled from the contact with your hand. He couldn’t really think about you leaving or how long you were going to be gone as his thoughts were a whirlwind battering him around to and fro. He closed the curtain back before sitting on the couch. He couldn’t bring himself to go back and finish his breakfast as the look on your face when you realized what you were doing was going to haunt him. For the first time to touch him in such a familiar way, he would have never thought you would have acted. Though he was sure his reaction didn’t help you, you just took him by surprise. It’s not that he didn’t like it, as soon as the contact left his skin he wanted to grab you and bring you back. He regretted making you feel like you had done something wrong.

 So now he had to find out what he could do to pass the time until the time you came back from work. From a six year old boy to now a grown man he had had a set schedule in the sanitarium that was an every day occurrence, now that he was free with no rules (except the stay inside and don’t look outside one) he was lost on what he could possibly do. He never had the freedom to explore hobbies or activities he would enjoy. This new found freedom was a little daunting as he tried to decide how to spend the time, where he used to would just stare out a window until the doctors told him differently. He didn’t mind giving up the window as he was gaining a lot more, but there was things he was going to have to get used to. Not having anyone watch him every moment of every day, orders coming from ruthless security guards who would harm you just because you didn’t obey fast enough, doctors poking and prodding, nonstop questions of how he was feeling or is there anything new he’d like to share, medicines that kept him barely conscious. It was all so different, an intoxicating sense of liberty as Michael lurched to his feet and decided to explore your bedroom more. 

He opened the door leaving it ajar once he passed through. Your pajamas laid in a half-hazard pile from changing into work clothes as your bed remained unmade, the messed up blankets thrown to one side. Michael hadn’t seen such a bed as he was used to the hospital cots that were lumpy and draped with thin blankets. He rubbed a scarred hand across where you had slept, the soft feel of the sheets a luxury that he had never possessed. He moved carefully sitting on the bed, it groaning under his large frame before laying back his head placed on the pillow you had used last night. He pulled the blankets across him bringing the hem up to his nose where he breathed in deeply. He could smell your scent ingrained in the blankets, your body wash and laundry detergent soaked into the fibers while your pillow smelled of your natural scent with a mix of your shampoo and conditioner. He never felt such comfort as the mattress sunk down contouring to his hard muscles, relaxing him immediately. Though he slept perfectly fine in the night he begun to feel himself nod off at the comfort of the bed and being surrounded by your presence. He checked one more time to see if the door remained open before he drifted off to sleep.

Michael awoke a little groggy but well rested, more so than he had felt in so many years. He checked the clock on your bedside table to see that three hours had passed since he had fallen asleep and he still had a couple more at least until you came home. He got up and stretched before leaving your bedroom to explore your hobby room in the daylight. He also didn’t want to just sit around and wait like a pet dog waiting for it’s owner to come home from a long day away. Now that he could get away with it, he flicked the light switch and leaving the door ajar. He could see your projects much clearer and all that you had created. Piles of sketch books sat around your cluttered desk as paints and brushes littered the top. You had half finished canvases stacked on one side of the wall and another stack of finished projects against another wall. 

Michael sat down beside the finished ones flipping through to see all that you’ve done. He wondered what you thought of all these paintings you’ve done. Were you proud? Did you hate them? Was there things you both liked and hated about each piece? His mind churning questions in a raging whirlpool as he focused on the last one. A painting of your street with kids playing in the road. A few played baseball, their forms forever engraved into paint, while a couple of girls skipped rope. A few younger children played hopscotch on the sidewalk. Michael closed his eyes trying to remember such times in his childhood, but none came. He tried to forget the past after killing his sister as no wonderful memories were ever made like these children in your painting. He set it back down a little roughly and while his hands longed to destroy it he couldn’t bring himself to because of you. He thought of all the time you had had to spend with every stroke, every line, and every mix of the paint. He gave it one last warm but longing stare before going to the canvases that have yet to finish coming to life.

 Your hands were magic, he decided as he searched through everything. While his was good for taking life your’s was a miracle incarnate bringing such vivid details to life. Every stroke, every line breathed life. While Michael’s brought death yours was the exact opposite. The Persephone to his Hades as you were bringing spring to his dark depths of Hell. You inspired him, life could be more than some form of revenge. That’s all he ever wanted in life and he did not care if it took his very breath from him to achieve it. You could shoot him. Stab him. Carve out his heart and he wouldn’t stop until his goal was met. Bring misery and horrors that he had suffered and nurtured in his own personal nightmare. Fifteen years was a long time to hold something deep inside, it festered and boiled, making him into what he was now. But now he felt that melt away as he learned more and more about you. You were the sunlight to a man trapped in the darkest and dankest cell known to man. He longed for fresh oxygen and the kiss of the golden rays of your being. 

He looked at the clock again, this time ticking away above the door he had left wide open. Too long until you came back to him, he had to find something to do before he decided back to his old ways, though he knew it would take him from you. Feeling inspired and deciding to give this drawing thing that you so much enjoyed a try. He picked up a newer sketch pad and a few charcoal pencils. Surely you wouldn’t mind if he took a few pages from your sketch book and some pencils with him?

When you finally pulled up to your house you were feeling a small nagging voice of guilt for taking so long. Grocery shopping had taken a lot longer than you had planned due to running into some acquaintances you hadn’t seen in quite some time at said grocery store. So that put you behind a lot further than you anticipated and you really hoped that Michael wouldn’t be too mad at you.

 Grabbing the bags of refrigerated items first, you set them down for a second to unlock the door. You didn’t expect Michael to unlock said door as he couldn’t afford to be seen, ever. Once you had the door open you picked the bags back up and made your way inside. Michael only had a few lamps on in the living room as he sat on the couch with one of your sketch pads and several different mediums of your charcoal pencils. His brow was furrowed in concentration, so much that he had yet to notice you standing there in the doorway. The plastic bags went back down with a loud crinkle and you closed the front door so no curious neighbors could see inside until you went back outside to unload the rest of the things you bought. At the noise you made Michael finally looked up, his expression showed a flash of guilt at being caught using your supplies without permission, but that seemed to evaporate when he saw the curiosity on your face. 

You approached him with easy steps and leaned over to see what he was doing. Sketches of people, animals, and trees covered the once pristine white paper, but in all honesty you were quite impressed with the start Michael had. It was in no way professional but you saw the potential inside right there on the paper.

“That’s pretty cool Michael,” you cooed gently holding out your hand. He gently placed the pad in your hand to look over his sketches more closely. You tapped your chin and cocked your head side to side to get the full effect of his strokes.

  “Definitely some potential there,” you nodded handing it back to him. He blushed softly before taking it back from you all the while trying to hide his face behind his curls. You laughed picking the grocery bags up once again and depositing them into the kitchen.

“I got more stuff to bring in and once I’m through we’ll get you into some comfier clothes and you don’t have to wear my robe ever again.”

You could tell Michael was excited for having something new to wear, he could have worn his overalls that you had washed but it didn’t seem right anymore. He thought longingly about his mask before shaking his head of the thoughts while he watched you go back outside before hauling in more plastic bags filled with food and some were full of clothing and daily needs for him. Michael helped by taking the grocery items into the kitchen for you all the while staying out of sight. When you had everything inside you closed and locked the door for a final time before starting to put everything up and letting Michael go through all the items you had purchased for him today. He was impressed by the clothing articles you picked out for him and he immediately changed into the fresh underwear and lounge wear you had chosen for him. You were elated that he was enjoying his new clothes and he continued to look through everything while you started cooking something fast and delicious. 

Michael watched closely as you pointed and talked about different things you had bought telling him why you chose that certain item and describing the clothing. He watched your slim digits with longing, wondering what they would feel like tangled with this long thick fingers. Was your palm warm or was it cold? He could just imagine the silky softness of your skin of your hand nestled with his rough calloused one.

“Michael,” you asked regaining his attention. He shook his head quickly dashing away all thoughts that took his mind out of the present. He stared at you, eyes hazy from his rising temperature and slightly hidden by his thick hair.

“Do you like everything? If not I can go find some other things at the store?”

“He shook his head quickly.

“You don’t like them,” you deflated right before his very eyes and his heart shattered.

He nodded at your question.

“You don’t want anything else,” you tried again. It was difficult to understand him as he still had yet to be vocal in your presence.

He shook his head and immediately your mood lightened. Though he couldn’t help but feel a little frustrated, mostly at himself. He hadn’t spoke in so long and he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything just yet. They had tried for years back at the Sanitarium to forcefully make him speak so it was hard for him to want to say anything, even in a safe environment that was your home. He watched you leave to go stir dinner on the stove. Whatever you made smelled delicious it made his stomach rumble.

“I notice you didn’t eat the burger in the fridge Michael,” you spoke your back still turned from him. “Did you eat anything else today besides breakfast?”

You turned around to see him guiltily staring at the table and rubbing at the scars on his fingers. You sighed, but you couldn’t get angry at him. Michael’s whole daily life had everything surrounded by a schedule ever since he was a kid, it was going to take more than just one day for him to break that and think for himself. Though he wanted to keep the fact that he hadn’t finished his breakfast either a secret from you as well. After you had left so abruptly his appetite had vanished immediately. Then he fell asleep and slept for a while before getting distracted by other things. Eating had been the furthest thing in his mind, but now with you home and the smell of cooking filling the house, he finally realized just how hungry he really is. His stomach once again betrayed him by giving a very audible growl. You laughed just shaking your head.

“You have to take care of yourself too,” you replied hands on your hips, though no part of you was mad. You were just concerned about him taking care of himself especially if you were going to be gone for the majority of the day during the work week.

“Just promise me that you’ll eat at least a little something while I’m away,” you pleaded grasping his hands with yours. Michael sucked in a breath staring at your joined hands his brown eye widening at the sudden contact. You pretended not to notice as you didn’t want a repeat of just this morning. You wanted to be strong and brave, to show Michael you didn’t fear him, but you didn’t want to run him off by being too forward as he was still needing to learn a lot about the outside world. It took several heartbeats until he finally nodded. Him not answering annoyed you a little, but you were just glad he agreed to try better to take better care of himself while you were gone.

  “Thank you,” you whispered releasing him to go take dinner off of the stove.

You placed the spaghetti on the table before setting a couple of plates and forks and filling two glasses with water. Michael dished his own pasta out onto his plate before holding the spoon in one hand and holding out his other towards you. You were confused for just a second as he looked at you expectantly before handing your plate over. Michael shoveled pasta onto your plate before setting it back into your awaiting palms. He stifled the giggle at the amount he gave you (because you knew you couldn’t make a normal amount of spaghetti anyway) but tucked into it. While he wasn’t the best conversationalist around the dinner table you kind of enjoyed the peaceful quiet surrounding the easy atmosphere.

 Michael finished first before taking his plate to the sink. You finished next and put the food away before deciding washing dishes could wait. You were exhausted from the day and a shower sounded so heavenly you couldn’t get the thought out of your head. You explained to Michael that you were going to take a shower and then you and him could see what was playing on TV before bed. Michael nodded and you started down the hallway. You noticed that all the doors to every room was left open. You just chalked it up as Michael was used to people shutting doors behind him, he’d eventually learn that it was polite to close doors that had been left closed, you were definitely going to need the patience of a saint when it came to learning about him.

 Though you knew he was going to have to have patience when it came to you too. A relationship like this was always a two way street and you were more than willing to deal with anything Michael needed to learn, in hopes that he would feel the same way. So you gathered what you needed from your room and shut the door back. You closed the bathroom door to get ready for your hot shower.

Michael watched you closely from the living room and as soon as you disappeared he started to get nervous as his knee started to jolt up and down in agitation. His palms became clammy and his breathing started to come in rapid pants. He couldn’t take the thought of something being closed off from him, especially you. What if something happened to you and he couldn’t get to you? What if you suddenly found him useless and left him alone, abandoning him like everyone else in his life had? He couldn’t take the thought of being abandoned once more. He bolted from the couch his steps pounding against the floorboards of the hallway before bursting through the door of the bathroom. His eyes burning in rage and fear as you stood in the middle of your bathroom half undressed.

“Michael,” you covered yourself with a towel screeching at his sudden bombardment into the bathroom. “Get out!” You shoved him through the door closing the door and locking it behind him. While Michael had seen his fair share of girls in different states of undress, he found himself a little flustered. There was something about you and your soft stomach, legs, and look of bewilderment that had him shaking. But it was quickly dashed by the now closed and locked door. He felt trapped, like an animal. The walls closing in just like they did in his prison of so many years.

 His chest heaved, he was drowning in panic at the barrier between you both. The sunlight locked from his reach as it had been for so long, it was enough to bring him to his knees. Suddenly a crash sounded behind the door you were behind and that’s when the instinct inside, like a frenzied animal, he battered down the door. You shrieked rattling the windows, now completely bare to Michael’s gaze as you were knelt down picking up your shampoo bottle that fell. He stood before you shaking like the whole home was being rattled by an earthquake, his hands quivering, and the one brown eye swiveling widely showing the whites of his eyes. You could have sworn he was a spooked horse instead of a man that you had invited into your home.

 Did his dark side finally grip him enough that he was going to take you out? You couldn’t be sure as you stood back up naked as the day you were born shaking in fear. Michael came forward causing you to stumble backwards, he righted you with a strong grip on your smaller shoulders and shaking you firmly. His gaze locked with yours brown and icy blue unwavering as strongly as his grip. He completely ignored your womanly assets to stare deep down into your gaze, you knew it had to be the end. He snapped, completely tired of you and you couldn’t begin to understand why. Maybe he was the monster everyone said?

“N-no,” his low guttural voice shook you to your core. You could have melted immediately from just the sound. Not from the release of all the tension but just from the surprise that he actually spoke. And it wasn’t what you expected, though raspy from disuse his thick husky voice deeper than you ever imagined. You drowned within the sound before you could rein in your thoughts to find out what he possibly could mean.

“No?” You asked in confusion hoping that he would speak more. Explain himself to you. And selfishly you wanted to hear more, the tone of him causing you to go weak in the knees.

He shook his head, “no,” and he pointed to the door.

Realization took over and the cogs within your mind began to work. First you finally remembered just how nude you actually were and secondly the reason behind Michael’s behavior. You gently grasped his hand and removed it with no sudden movement that could cause him to explode. Covering yourself you finally were ready to speak with him.

“Are you talking about the doors,” you finally asked. He nodded again and you once more grew frustrated with the lack of communication.

“Is it because they kept you locked up and away from everything in Grove?”

More nodding.

“Michael you need to talk to me,” you huffed.

“Don’t,” he breathed trying to gain the courage within himself. “Don’t like doors.”

“But I have to have some privacy,” you put your hands on your now covered hips. “It’s not normal to watch a woman shower in her home Michael.”

“Need you,” he shook and your heart melted. You took his hand again as he looked like a kicked puppy and you lead him to the toilet. You placed the seat down and helped him to ease down. Holding his head against your chest you hugged him trying to will comfort into his body.

“You had to feel so lonely,” you spoke tears pricking at your eyes. “I can’t imagine being locked up and tortured for as long as you have been.” You sniffed trying to keep your emotions in check to continue on. “I should have figured it out sooner. I’m sorry Michael.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, voice muffled by the material of your towel.

“But y’know we’re both going to have to be patient and figure out each other a little at a time. I can’t have you seeing me naked while I shower. That’s not really something normal and I’m not mad, though I am embarrassed. Nobody has seen me naked since I was really little. Congratulations!”

He snorted while you laughed at your own joke.

“But seriously no more locked doors,” you pushed him back a little too look into his eyes to show how serious you were. “I promise not to lock you out but you have to promise to give me a little privacy when I need it okay? This isn’t just a one way street, we have to work together. Deal?”

“Deal,” he agreed.

“Okay so can I take my shower now?”

Michael nodded rising up to tower over your smaller form. He seemed to be fighting with himself for just a little while until he scooped you back into a hug and kissed the top of your head. He bolted towards the door trying to escape in case he crossed a boundary once again.

“Hey Michael.”

He whirled around ready to take anything you were going to say to him.

“You have a really nice voice. We should talk more,” you grinned warming the entire room. 

Michael’s cheeks heated and he left without saying another word. You stood for a few moments registering what just happened in your little bathroom before your mind exploded. You screamed internally sinking to your knees as the embarrassment and heat from Michael’s proximity overloaded your system. This whole arrangement was going to murder your sanity but you couldn’t help but feel excited about everything that could possibly happen between you two. Tonight was a start and as Michael tried to ease his hammering heart at the entrance of the living room from the hallway he found himself looking backwards. 

You were an enigma and he never had felt something so soft and comforting in his entire life. Your soft pale skin, the plush of your chest, and the warmth that seemed to radiate off you. It hadn’t taken you very long to figure out what was wrong and comfort him. You gave some leeway knowing what he had suffered through all those years in Grove Sanitarium and you tried to be where you could understand his plight. It was all so new to him and he was going to have to figure out how to deal with this new life he was beginning to live. But while it was a little terrifying he couldn’t help but feel excited that he was going to be able to figure it out along with you. He heard the shower turn on and now all he could do was wait until you finished and were once again in his proximity. He couldn’t wait to see what else would come about and time would only tell and show where this arrangement was going to take you both.

[salaimoi]

i wave goodbye to the end of beginning ˚. ✦.˳· ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

pairing: gojo satoru x fem reader sypnosis: he wasn’t what you desired anymore, but he couldn’t let you go. months passed since your bitter breakup, and yet, he didn’t stop loving you for a second. cw: slow burn. angst for the sake of angst. falling out of love for no reason fr. unrequited love. alcohol consumption (gojo only) no happy ending me thinks, or maybe somewhat. who knows word count: 3.1k

author's notes: i’m mourning gojo and so should you! so here’s a piece of an angsty fic that’s been rotting, unfinished, in my drafts since march 29. i was only gonna post a sneak peek of this and suddenly the holy spirit took over me and drove me to finally finish it??? IF U EVER READ ANYTHING OF MINE PLEASE LET IT BE THIS😭😭i’m so in love with the reader crying scene u don’t get it. the metaphors?! i outdid myself. i am so terrified of the deep ocean, and the fact that i find myself writing about it during angsty hours says a lot about me. i can’t emphasize how much i adore this fic. i just love angst sm idkidkidk

also, this is my first time attempting angst for the sake of angst as well as slow burn (?) so idk if i’ll ever come back to this. not beta read.

Time and again, this mahogany dining table was the scene of numerous heartwarming interactions – mementos Satoru wouldn’t be able to replicate a second time, even if he spent a thousand lifetimes trying to do so. Sure, it was more than easy to recreate the scene, but not the genuine warmth the two of you felt in that moment. He could go to great lengths, such as hand-crafting every single piece of furniture in the room that bore witness – carving and polishing wood until his palms became more splinters than skin. But even then, he wouldn’t come close to reliving any of those gratifying sentiments from so long ago.

All the shared laughter at his trivial attempts at comedy had caught up to you; your smiles were forced lately, and he could tell. He possessed that diamond-blue, six-eyed gaze which consistently made you feel as if he could undeniably read your thoughts, but that wasn’t the case. Even a blind person could discern the unforeseen shift in your comportment toward him, and due to this, Satoru questioned himself relentlessly. 

What if he’d said something to offend you? What if he left the toilet seat up one too many times for your liking? What if he began snoring in bed but you were too considerate to say anything about it? What if he forgot a special date? What if he tried to offer you something you were allergic to? 

What if he stopped being the love of your life...? 

It seemed as if, in a fraction of a second, all the enjoyment you once felt had deserted you, and with it, your love for him. Had you forgotten how happy you were by his side all in the spawn of a few hours, or was this the universe’s twisted interpretation of a joke?

Even if it was, you weren’t laughing.

You told yourself it was fine, that it was a mere wave of sadness that would soon pass, but instead the harmless tide you paid no mind to had brutally swept your body into a sea of despair. Before you could process your predicament, the shoreline was well out of sight – blurring with the deep blue expanse of the oceanic abyss that enveloped your mind.

The longer you fought to stay afloat, the clearer the path became for the briny water to replace the oxygen in your lungs, giving you no choice but to drown as everything around you became a pitch-black, bottomless pit – devoid of any sense of worry for you. 

It was rather often that you were accused of abandoning the ship when things got bad, and yet, here you were – submerging along with it.  

How ironic.

Even he couldn’t save you now. The solace his mere presence bestowed upon you when you needed it most wasn’t there anymore. There was no more capability of initiating conversations with him when you were the only other person in the room, causing the once-upbeat and soothing environment to give way to one of silence and uncertainty; it was as thick as syrup.

Syrup. The sugary taste of it from when you consumed it during breakfast was all but replaced by a repugnant, sour one in your mouth. A persistent echo of those homemade fluffy pancakes you had turned down remained, even though he had made them just for you — his precious girl. 

You insisted you would eat later – an obvious white lie to mask your despondency and lack of appetite – but he spoon-fed you, because in his own words, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I allow my girlfriend to starve? No, that won’t do. I’ll take care of you even after I've exhaled my last breath.”

“And how would you do that if you’re no longer breathing, genius?” you asked, a wilting smile on your face that you had put on display for him. 

“Well, my dear," he retorts with a smug grin. "I've always believed that love has a way of transcending the boundaries of life and death. And as luck would have it, our love transcends the mortal realm. I will always be with you, in spirit if not in flesh.” he smiles, a twinkle of amusement behind his sapphire eyes before continuing.

“Once I've moved on to the afterlife, I'll find a way to send you sweet nothings and a box of chocolates from beyond the grave. Consider it an eternal gift.”

He declares in a complacent tone as he lounges back in his chair, head resting comfortably on the back of his hands. 

"But in all seriousness," he then adds, his tone becoming more genuine, "I'll do everything in my power to ensure you're taken care of – even if it means making sure my eternal resting place has a Wi-Fi connection for you to receive my messages.” 

Your thoughts were entirely silenced in that moment; white noise overtook the black space within your mind. How had he managed to say such heartfelt words as if they were second nature? This early in the morning, nonetheless.

Would he actually…?

You knew he would.

"But let’s not dwell on my demise just yet,” his words bring you back to the present conversation. “Until the day comes, I promise to make the most of our time together. Besides, knowing me, I’d probably haunt you just to ensure you have someone annoying to keep you company."

He finally remarked, going back to stuffing your face with the soggy pancakes that had been sitting in syrup for too long. 

And you were cognizant of the fact that you alone were privy to this side of Satoru Gojo: the mushy, gentle one who tended to his companion as if it were a god-given mandate. 

To the public, he was a stoic, impervious character who had no dread of others. To you, he was far more vulnerable than he would ever confess. 

But that wasn’t nearly enough to deter you from taking the disheartening decision made later that day.

“I can’t stay here anymore.” austere words you didn’t wish to speak, but needed to, in order to provide some semblance of closure for the both of you. “I can’t love you anymore.” 

A hushed supplication could be heard flying across the room at the speed of light once your hand reached out to turn the bitterly cold door knob, hitting against the back of your head – identical to an equally-cold shower.

“Please don’t leave me,” he immediately protested weakly. 

He approached you with cautious strides, every step causing fragmentation in his all-too-frail emotional state. Even if it was ephemeral, the mutual love between the two of you had already left a blazing watermark on his soul. His feelings for you transcended the nagging rationality that bound his mind, defying all sensible objections he had on the matter of permitting you to depart from his life. Having failed to quell the ardor her felt, it persisted apodictically until he was an arm’s length from your frame. 

And that was exactly it – the same frigid sensation your hand clinged onto emulated the one you felt in your wretched heart the moment he approached you. You’d already turned your back on him and expressed every afflicting anguish that tormented your soul, so why plead now? Now – when you already made the conscious decision to leave him behind. 

Tears neither you nor he could hold back began flowing down your features. A familiar hand lifted towards your cheek soon after, wiping the salty residue off your delicate face with his thumb. 

He never ceased to remind you how gorgeous you were when you cried, frankly because the manner in which your wispy eyelashes retained the saltine tears in your eyes resembled the delicate surface of a tranquil pond.

Every tear you shed would become the gentle water that tickled his skin as his body wafted about in your iris – an eternal reservoir he’d swim in without tiring if the heavens so permitted it.

However, this occasion differed from the rest; the once gentle waters he yearned to lay in became calamitous waves, which may lure him to the ocean’s most profound recesses in the blink of an eye – your blink of an eye. He would usually stay afloat among that innocent gaze of yours, but tonight it was ruthlessly drowning him with no lifeline in sight. 

Even after he implored that your crying would come to a halt, more pungent teardrops bled onto his fingers. An eroding desperation flowed through you, aching to hold onto something, anything, in order to cease the mental decay within your subconscious.

Thus, your own hand extended to hold his against your cheek, a glacial embrace overpowering the warmth of his skin; an identical chill tickled his spine when he absorbed the crispness of your graze, but he paid it no mind.

“Not you too…anyone but you,” he pleaded in a low voice, causing more accursed tears of yours to cascade mercilessly as he embraced you in an endeavor to sway your decision. His voice was gentle and soothing, mimicking a caress you’d never experience a second time. 

“I’m sorry.” you muttered.

Being unable to bring yourself to meet the sapphire eyes that imitated a midwinter sky so perfectly, your head lay low; the only thing visible to him was the top of it. 

It was unclear what you were sorry about. Perhaps you were sorry that you had to leave him behind. Or perhaps you were apologizing to yourself that he was no longer what you thought you wanted with every fiber in your body.

You desired more in this life, and on your game board, he wasn’t a playing piece who could frolic alongside you. It wasn’t because you didn’t fancy his company, rather it was the fact that his own strategy of playing was one that did not catch your eye anymore; it had become a monotonous rehearsal. Every move came to be a discernible one to you – even before he picked up his pawn, causing you to lose interest in the entire game itself.

That realization alone shattered his entire world.

Satoru’s head lay low all throughout as he sat on a wooden stool amidst the empty bar. It was 2 a.m. and he needed to go home, but why should he?

You wouldn’t be there to greet him – or even scold him for that matter. 

Colorless, almost lifeless, marbles stared vacantly at the picture of you on his lock screen; he consistently spoke to your picture as if he were having a conversation with it. At this point in time, it had become routine. Maybe one of these days the frozen-in-time frame would speak back to him for once?

Just once.

Where had that tender smile he’d fallen in love with gone?

Where had you gone?

On a nightly basis, the same detestable conversation from that night redounded from one end of Satoru’s mind to the other incessantly – akin to a religiously recited sermon. 

It was impractical to disregard the harsh reality that sooner or later every cherished individual he held dear to his heart willingly departed from his life – Suguru, and now you. 

If it entailed becoming a regular person, he’d give his life as a sorcerer to ensure the permanent presence of at least one individual in his life. Where was the value of possessing such prowess when one’s vulnerability in the realm of love was inescapable? 

What twisted transaction was that?

He'd even willingly forsake his divinely bestowed talents for the purpose of altering the passage of time, thereby reverting to a period where your presence was far from being nothing more than a diminishing recollection. 

Ijichi had been dealing with this side of his boss for months on end. Regardless of his efforts to encourage Gojo to put an end to this melancholic act of his, he never managed to convince him to do so. Ijichi attempted the compassionate approach, but to no avail. His optimism and patience were dwindling, fearing that this would continue on for eternity – and perhaps it would’ve if he hadn’t stepped in.

This had to end sooner or later, and for everyone involved’s sake, it had to be the former. So tonight, he opted for a sterner, and perhaps more unforgiving, path.

Your car was parked out front of the bar Ijichi had sent you the address to – forehead pressed against the steering wheel as an audible, exhausted sigh escaped your mouth. It was late and you knew this was nothing short of inane behavior. You weren’t doing this for you; you had to remind yourself that you were doing it for him, with the hope that he would ultimately find someone who would be there for him in a way that you were unable to. 

Weary, almost weak, legs lead you to enter the desolate bar. A knife prods at your chest when your eyes dart over to where Gojo was. He kept his head lowered; the only part of him you could clearly see from this angle was his back.

An overwhelming sea of emotions plagued your mind when you witnessed him in such a state. You could feel the knives twist the longer you stared at the back of his fluffy white locks. 

Months had passed since your split, and you realized Satoru’s grief and distress were indeed as dire as his assistant conveyed to you during the phone conversation. 

A tap on his shoulder was accompanied by a sweet voice that had vanished into the depths of his consciousness a long time ago. Perhaps because he didn't wish to recall the agonizing memories that came with your voice, or perhaps because he needed to maintain a pristine, untouched image of you in his psyche.

As you occupy a vacant stool one seat away from him, your attention is drawn to the half empty vodka bottle in his grasp. 

“You know, I talked to your therapist. He said you were getting sober.” 

What you said held true, except you didn’t hear it from his therapist directly; Ijichi was the one who was initially informed about that, and being the caring person he was, he relayed the details to you. Mostly because he felt as if, deep down, you still wanted to know about Gojo’s well-being.

"What are you doing here drowning yourself in alcohol?" you added, seemingly concerned for your ex-boyfriend.

He looked up at you, his eyes red and bleary from the drink. His body froze. Blue pupils dilated in a mixture of shock and happiness. It really was you. Had you come back for him after all this time? 

"What does it look like I’m doing?" he muttered, his voice bitter and angry.

Satoru detested alcohol; it always interfered with his abilities, and being the strongest meant being ready whenever – no questions asked.  After your departure, though, he grew fond of the bitter, burning feeling the liquid provided. That sweet poison was the sole substance capable of muffling the eternal pessimism plaguing his mind.

You approached him cautiously, taking the bottle from his hands and setting it aside. "Come on," you said firmly, "we need to get you home."

He wasted no time to speak what was really on his mind. Even if it was for a mere second, he had felt the sensation of your touch once more. That was more than he needed to vocalize the thoughts that tormented his sanity. Either that, or it was the alcohol he had consumed speaking. 

“Why won’t you love me back?” His words slurred, being far too drunk to care, though. 

“…You’re drunk, let’s get you home.”

“What home? The one I bought for us that YOU left me all alone in?” he deadpans, the silence following being as deafening as a scream.

Ouch. 

“My room feels so empty if you’re not there. I see your precious face and I don't know what to do.” His expression dampens with anguish before he continues – somewhat unclearly, ”whatever I do, I cam’t fubking get you out of my head amd it’s ruining me.” 

“I told you to move on a million times every time you drunk dialed me, Satoru.” 

“If that’s what you wanted, why did you continue to pick up the call?” He retaliates, eyes glazed with forbidden tears on the verge of cascading against his pale skin.

You knew perfectly well why. He knew perfectly well why. Everyone Satoru vented to about you knew why, so why continue to deny it? 

Attempting to keep your temper in check, you take a deep breath, eyes darting back and forth between the door and him. It was more than easy to run away from your problems, like you always did. But not this time.

You owed it to him to at least finally stick around long enough when things got tough. You wouldn’t put up an invisible wall between the two of you anymore, not today. 

You sigh, taking the empty seat right next to him. 

“We can’t go back to how things were. We broke up, remember?” 

“I know,” he grumbles, taking a sip of his beverage. He shook his head, his drunken state making it almost impossible to focus his thoughts or his vision. “But maybe drinking will make me forget that we ever did. Maybe tonight I can pretend we’re still together,” his voice and face etched with sorrow.

His voice trailed off, followed by another long sip of his drink. 

“You need to quit drinking yourself into a stupor, Satoru. This isn’t healthy,” you responded, voice softening out of concern. 

His eyes still clouded with alcohol, he looks at you before speaking. “I don’t know how to move on.” He admitted, voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to live without you. I loved you…and I still do.”

He silently weeps once and for all, crumbling before the love of his life. You didn’t know what else to say, so you settled on simply allowing his head to rest on your shoulder; you always were his favorite shoulder to cry on, after all. Wrapping an arm around him, you pet his head as you lull him. Instinctively, he envelops you into a warm embrace, face burying itself deeper into your chest. 

As he continued to sob like a baby, the sorcerer allowed his emotions to flow freely – months of bottling them up into liquor bottles had finally caught up to him. 

He was beyond ecstatic underneath all the melancholy; not only had you allowed him to get closer to you, but even went as far as hugging him too. He couldn't believe it. Just a few moments ago, you were talking about forcing him to move on, but now – you were actually back in his arms, where you belonged.

He felt relieved for a moment, almost to the point where he wasn't thinking properly anymore. You were finally back in his arms, where you needed to be; he refused to let go.

It felt like a fever dream, but this was all he needed. Even if you’re gone, morning come, he’ll live in this moment for the rest of eternity. 

[newtonsheffield]

Hiii i absolutely loved the epilogue, sooo cute and funny and the ending 🥺 but now i have this teeny tiny question if you don't mind how do you imagine the night of the Formal if Katie had actually gone with someone else? like I just know jealous baby Anthony will be so funny, sorry i know that would be like an au of an au of an au (lol) but i just loooove fics with dances because i don't get any of those where i am from

I'm so glad you enjoyed the epilogue of A Letter That You Never Read! I really had no idea when I posted that story that people would like it quite so much but... I guess you guys did?

Anyway I would be more than happy to share with you a tiny taste of Jealous teenage Anthony, quietly brooding away in the corner. @missfairygodmother was also interested in seeing Baby Anthony get a little green eyed over Kate

In this AU of an AU of an AU

Anthony had been nervous all afternoon, well, for weeks, months actually, as he'd tried to pluck up the courage to ask Katie Sheffield if she would go to the formal with him. But every time he'd been around her, he just couldn't choke out the words. She always seemed so far above them all, distancing herself from the mundanity of teenage life, sitting in the corner of the cafeteria quietly reading a book while idiots hit each other with the dinner trays around her, her eyes rolling slightly as she walked past them. So he hadn't done it.

But he'd found himself considering what she would like, when he picked out his suit. Her backpack was green, was that her favourite colour? Would she like it if he wore a tie that colour? What flowers would she like to see on his buttonhole? Roses? or tulips or peonies or something else completely?

"Why don't you ask Katie to go with you?" His mother had said gently as they'd stood in the store and the woman taking his measurements had asked what his partner was wearing. "She doesn't want to go with me, Mum." He'd mumbled, more than a little embarrassed, deeply regretting the incidents that had caused her to become aware of his futile crush. "Did you ask her?" He shook his head "She barely says anything to me, Mum. She doesn't like me back." And his cheeks had burned with shame His mother had sighed, "I don't suppose it's occurred to you that she might also be too nervous to say anything?" And while Anthony had scoffed, he'd desperately hoped that she was right, even though he knew the very last word that would ever be used to describe Katie Sheffield was nervous.

Be'd told himself, as he got ready, that when he got there, and he saw her, he'd ask her to dance. He would, he would find the courage somehow. And he would tell her that his heart wanted to beat out of his chest whenever he saw her, that he thought she was beautiful and smart, and funny and he wanted to know her. He'd arrived and loitered nervously in the corner of the school gymnasium and then he saw her, and his heart felt like it had been ripped out of his chest.

Kate had walked in, heartbreakingly beautiful, her hair cascading down her back like a waterfall, just like always, her glasses abandoned for the night, which made Anthony frown a little, but that wasn't why his heart broke. No, she was arm in arm with someone else. She paused at the doorway, listening to something her annoyingly handsome and square jawed partner said, her face breaking into a wide smile as he finished. Anthony felt something white hot rip through his chest seething at the back of the other boy's head as they walked further into the room.

Whoever he was, Anthony had never seen him before, but he looked older, a little more mature, and Anthony hated him. Petulantly despised him, almost as much as he despised himself for not asking her. She already has a boyfriend you idiot, of course she does, because you're a fuckwit and she's incredible.

He stood stock still in the corner jealousy tearing through him for god knows how long, wincing as he saw her boyfriend smile down at her, his fingers lightly brushing the flowers at her wrist. Roses Anthony noted, despising the pink tulips currently on his buttonhole. "You could have just asked her yourself you know. She's here with him because he actually asked her." Simon's voice said gently, as he followed Anthony's line of vision as Katie's boyfriend laughed. "Fuck Off Si." Anthony spat out, hating the truth of it, unable to stand in the room another minute he swept outside ignoring her completely as he past, leaning against the side of the building his chest aching.

"Anthony? Are you okay?" Of course she was here. Standing just a few feet away from him, the green of her dress shining in the soft lighting, an Amy Shark song, Adore playing in the background he realised a little belatedly because of course it was. "Yeah, fine. Why wouldn't I be?" He said, ignoring the lump in his throat. "Are you having a good time? Your boyfriend seems nice." Her brow furrowed just a little, her lower lip caught between her teeth. "You just looked kind of upset." Her voice was so soft, her eyes so concerned that right here, in this moment, it was so easy for him to pretend that she felt the same way he did. But she didn't. "Freddie's nice, we always have a good time together." Katie and Freddie. They even had matching names, his stomach churned while his chest burned with jealousy, and he instantly felt sick because he was making this so much about himself, when he should have been glad to see her happy.

Anthony nodded. "You look really nice tonight, Katie." He couldn't help himself. Her eyes widened for a second before she smiled. "Thanks, it's amazing what happens when a girl takes off her glasses right?" "It doesn't have anything to do with that." Anthony said sharply, his eyes catching hers. Surely she knew how beautiful she was. Silence echoed between them for several moments before "Katie?" A male voice called out softly, Freddie appearing seconds later. Katie smiled at him when he arrived, and Anthony's stomach churned again. He wondered for one wild moment, what it would have been like if she never came, if he never came, then he could have gone on pretending he had a chance forever.

"Sorry, Mate, I don't think we've been introduced, Freddie." He said turning towards Anthony, his hand outstretched. Anthony stared down at it for a second and then gritted his teeth. "Freddie this is Anthony." Katie said lightly and Freddie did the oddest thing, his eyes widened, a smirk on his face as he looked between them. "Anthony, I'm so glad to meet you!" He said, suddenly overflowing with happiness. Anthony felt his brow furrow as Katie ducked her head embarrassed. "Mate, I wonder if you could do me a favour, I hurt my leg at Rugby this week." Of course he's a rugby player, Anthony thought savagely. "And I think someone ought to dance with Katie." Anthony's heart stopped. Katie looked nothing short of aghast. "Freddie!" She hissed angrily, nudging him "Anthony, you don't have to,- I'm not- Freddie I'm telling my Mum on you!" Anthony's brow furrowed again, he was missing something here, something he couldn't quite place but he wasn't going to miss the opportunity. He cut across Freddie's "Please, Auntie's not going to do-" "I want to dance with you!" Katie's head nearly shot off her shoulders as it swivelled towards him. Anthony felt his hand ruffle his hair nervously, cursing himself. "If you want to... dance with me that is." He couldn't breathe as her eyes flicked over his face, more than a little guarded until she said.

"Okay. I'd like that." Anthony felt his face break into a bright smile, his heart pounding in his chest as he tugged her back though the doors, leading her to the dance floor, his heart pounding as she wrapped her arms a little awkwardly around him, standing so lose he could count the tiny line of freckles on her nose. Content silence between them as the music swelled in the background. And then everything came slipping from his chest. She was so close he just couldn't help it.

"I really wanted to ask you to come tonight. And I'm sorry, I know it's not fair because you're with Freddie, but I've liked you for a really long time and I can't let you go away to University thinking don't care about you." He was breathing a little heavily by the end of his speech, the warring emotions that had been playing on him all night finally getting the better of him as Katie stared at him, dumbstruck. Anthony let his hands drop. "And now i've made you uncomfortable, I'm really sorry. Sorry." God he had to get out of here, tears were pushing at the back of his throat, clouding his vision, and then her hand caught his. "Freddie is my cousin!" She said, all in a rush, "Well, my step mum's second cousin's son. But I had to bring him because I didn't have anyone else and I was too nervous to come by myself but I really wanted to see you one last time and-" Anthony couldn't help himself, his heart was beating out of his chest as he leaned towards her, cutting off whatever she'd been about to say with his lips on hers.

Her lips were soft against his, unmoving for a moment, before her hands tugged him more tightly against her, her fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck. There was a small smilie on her lips when Anthony pulled back, a broad grin on his own. " I've wanted to do that for a really long time." "Was it worth the wait do you think?" "Abso-fucking-lutely." Their lips met again with a small giggle, and even though Anthony had just said the most embarrassing thing he possibly could have said after kissing a girl, he really couldn't bring himself to care.

[mikauzoran]

So I might've read every single MLB fic you have on AO3 that wasn't Adrien/Luka, and some that were... there are a few that seem abandoned (or maybe hiatus?) so I was just curious if you intend to continue any of them. Particularly The Rejects Club, it stole my heart, but I'm aware you're working on other fics and projects and probably work full time as well! Your writing style is fantastic and I hope you continue to have fun with it all! <3 <3

Thank you! I'm really glad you enjoy my work. ^.^

So, every few months I do a status update here on Tumblr with all of my current WIPs and where I'm at with them and what new projects are coming out in coming months. I tag it "status update" and "Mikau's WIP", so you can check out those tags if you're ever wondering what I'm working on.

I just did an update today which you can find here.

(The rest is a brutally honest, TMI status update on Rejects and Springtime and me that got too long, so I'm putting it under the cut. ^.^;)

Honestly, I'm in really bad shape mentally. I work full time at a law firm where the stress level is toxic. A lot of days I dread getting out of bed. Writing is kind of an escape from that.

At this point, Rejects and the Springtime in Wonderland universe stories put me in really bad headspace. They cause me stress and anxiety, and I don't feel well when working on them at the moment.

2019 was a bad mental health year for me, and I was able to use writing to sort through some of that. Back then, Rejects and Springtime were kind of cathartic, but then they turned into a sort of unhealthy rumination on my negative feelings, so I put them aside until I felt better mentally and felt like I could work on them again without causing damage to myself.

2020 was hell. I think it was hell for everyone in unique and horrible ways. I personally lost eight family members and a close family friend during that time, so I'm still grieving and processing and trying to get back to "normal". Right now, my main goal is trying to feel safe leaving my house and being around people again.

So that's where we are. I'm not in good shape, but I'm working on it, and it's getting better. I'm working really hard to manage work and my health, and in my free time I'm writing things that help me process my feelings and make sense of my world.

I know you didn't mean me harm, so I'm not angry at you at all or anything, so no worries. You're very sweet, and I'm so happy that you enjoy my work and are eager to read more. I can see that you tried very hard to ask politely and respectfully while acknowledging that I have a full life outside of sharing my work online. I really appreciate that, so thank you. You treating me like a human being means a lot to me.

What you couldn't have known is that you're unwittingly pressuring me to do something that's harmful for me at this point in my life. I know you don't mean to. You just want to know if I'm planning on continuing a story. There's nothing wrong with that in theory. You have no way of knowing the rough state of my mental health and the negative impact forcing myself to work on those stories would have on me, so I just wanted to take the time to sit down and explain it to you and other readers like you who love my work and are eager for a continuation.

I'm sorry. I can't right now. I hope to continue in the future, but I have to take care of myself first and foremost because if there is no Mikau, there are no stories.

Hopefully things will continue to get better and I'll feel stronger and capable of working on epic-novel-length works again in the coming years, but that's not where I am right now.

So please don't ask about updates to my four works on hiatus. At the moment, I have sixty-six completed works for you to enjoy, and there will be others in the coming months. Since I started writing for the Ladybug fandom in January 2019, I've updated something or other almost every week. Some weeks I missed, but there's been an update at least every other week. Sometimes I've updated daily for long stretches at a time. I devote the majority of my free time to writing and posting. There's always something new, so when people ask about my works on hiatus, I always wonder, "Am I not already doing enough? Why isn't what I'm doing enough? I already give them everything I have. What more do they want from me?" I'm updating daily right now, and I don't know what more readers could want from me. Getting messages like yours makes me feel a deep despair and inadequacy. It also makes me feel like people don't appreciate the work I'm already doing. It makes me want to stop sharing my work.

I know a lot of other writers feel similar negative feelings. I know a few people who have dropped out of the fandom because their readers didn't respect that they have lives outside of fandom and badgered the writers for updates. I know people who have deleted the works they had on hiatus and decided to discontinue them so that they wouldn't be bothered by readers anymore.

This is really tragic, and I don't want things to get this bad for me. I don't want to delete Rejects or Springtime because I'd really like to finish them when I'm feeling mentally healthy enough to safely do so.

So. Please don't ask any author about updates. You never know what's really going on in their lives and in their minds. You don't ever want to be the last straw that pushes someone over the edge.

While I appreciate the respectfulness of your inquiry, at the same time, it caused me a lot of anxiety and frustration and depression. In the future, if you want to show your support for an author and their works, leave them a comment and let them know how much you loved their story, what it meant to you. Don't mention updates. Just send them love and remind them that their story means something to someone. Maybe that will get them thinking about the story again and inspire them to write more. Mentioning updating only brings dread and anger and the desire to delete works so that they can't be used by readers to hurt us anymore.

Thanks for reading. It really does make me so happy to hear that my work is still being cherished by people. ^.^

[talistheintrovert]

Deleting my fic

Hi everyone! I just posted an explanation in my Salem Fic about why I will be taking it down in the next few days. If you like, you can go look at it HERE or you can read it under the cut, but I felt the need to explain. 

I'm posting this to let everybody know that I am taking this fic down. I will leave it up for another day or two, and then it is permanently coming down as I have no desire to associate myself with this fic or its origins anymore.

I initially received a single anon comment on this fic when I posted it way back over a year ago:

ANON: Hi if you are going to borrow ideas for fics from other people, even if it’s out there on tumblr, you should at least credit them for the original idea.

and I responded the way I thought I should at the time:

hi, i'm gonna be honest - I forgot where this idea had even come from until you brought it up.

At the time i was planning to do this idea, i considered myself friends, or at least close acquaintances with the person who threw it out there, and offered to write it. Then I became very busy and decided to abandon the idea.

Then, after a bunch of things happened, I stopped talking to that person, and I'm fairly certain they wouldn't even want to see the fic or the credit, despite the idea no longer having anything to do with them.

When I found the idea again, all I had was a word document with a bunch of plot points and ideas written down, and was suddenly struck with the inspiration to write it again.

Because I had honestly forgotten to credit the person involved I will be sure to do that when I update it.

However, i do not appreciate you coming on anon to accuse me like this. I would never intentionally fuck someone else over, not EVER, and I resent the implication that I would. I will, however, be sure to credit Alex, because despite me no longer being friends with her, and the fact that we don't really talk anymore, I respect her enough as a human being not to let her think I'm treating her with disrespect.

Thanks for the anon.

I then reached out to Alex to clarify with her that I had not - nor would I EVER - intentionally steal the idea, and that I was going to clarify that on the fic itself, and she agreed, and we discussed the dissolution of our friendship and then didn't speak again. I went ahead and linked the post with her initial idea in it, which also has our interaction where I offered to write it.  

The circumstances surrounding the whole situation were unfortunate - I perceived her support of a certain fic as potentially harmful, and sent her One Single Anonymous Ask about it. I was relatively polite (although I do understand that anything on Anon can be perceived as impolite) and I asked her specifically because there was a rift growing among halves of the fandom and Alex had always been the person I knew to be the most level-headed and I figured if she could explain why she was right and I was wrong then I would apologise and leave it alone. Unfortunately, as with everything in fandom, it blew up.

I was not the only person who had taken issue with this fic, or the attitude that accompanied it, and MANY people - some that I knew, but most that I didn't - started to also send in asks, and a lot of them were a lot more accusatory, and I'm sure some of them were trolls deliberately designed to rile up the drama even further. Alex has since expressed to me that this all blew up around the time she was having a hard time, and I apologised to her as it was NEVER my intention to launch some kind of attack on her, or anyone. I explained that the reason I went on anon was because at the time, the issue of the fic was so personal to me and I wasn't ready to talk about it with anyone I was friends with online at a limited capacity, because it was part of my life. Just as Alex's own troubles at the time were unbeknownst to me.

I have since opened up about my personal experiences with some internet friends, and in the last two years have grown and learned how to move on with my life, but at that point, the pain was very raw and I didn't want to expose myself to that kind of drama where I would be forced to relive the trauma over and over again.

As it turned out, it didn't matter.

People decided that because I was posting about these issues (without necessarily explicitly bringing up my personal experiences), that not only did I send that one ask to Alex, but that I was responsible for MULTIPLE asks, that I had organised some kind of coordinated attack, that the entire rift was my fault and that I'd done it maliciously. And I spent MONTHS getting vicious, nasty, hateful anons that didn't even all address the issues they supposedly had with me, just told me I was a waste of space, that I didn’t belong, that I shouldn’t exist. I am sure Alex received her own number of those too, and I am truly sorry for that because no-one deserves to go through anything like that.

After Alex and I talked for the last time, I thought we had moved on. I unfollowed her and a number of other creators not because I had anything against them personally but because I realised this was an issue we were never going to agree on, and rather than stoke the flames I chose to step back from them entirely, so that I no longer had to see the content I was uncomfortable with. I respect her as a person, and as a content creator, and regardless of whether I am an avid follower of her anymore, I still support her ability to create and speak freely. I have never blocked her, nor have I ever sent any kind of anon/non-anon hate to her, and I have never, NEVER plagiarised, from her or anyone else.

And yet.

Close friends of mine within the fandom, friends that I don't even consider just fandom friends anymore - friends that I would live, breathe and die for, friends who I love more than anything in the world - have been periodically, over the last six or so months, receiving various anons claiming to be someone who has "had too much to drink" and telling them that I am a bad person, that it's "well known within the fandom" that I'm a plagiarist, and that it is "tiring to see such hypocrisy" when they preach about original content and then remain friends with me.

TO BE CLEAR: I don't think that Alex would do this.

So before anyone gets it twisted, this isn't some kind of EXPOSE where I drag someone's dirty laundry into the open, because I am absolutely not that kind of person, and the one time I waded into fandom drama, it caused this mess, and it ended my friendship with someone who had basically been the cause of me getting into this fandom in the first place. So no, I am not accusing Alex, or any of her friends, of sending these anons.

I understand if they dislike me because of what transpired over a year ago, and I have my own regrets about the entire situation, and I have no desire to bring it all back up again. I'm not doing this to get anyone to go after them or anyone else, because I don't think it's anyone's fault except the anon people in my friends' askboxes. My friends have never publicly addressed the asks, except for a single post this afternoon where Abby told the person to stop, and didn't even answer the ask or explicitly talk about what was said in it.

I don't mind if you hate me. Whether you dislike me on your own time or you do it in my askbox; I've gotten pretty used to anon hate, and I genuinely don't mind people throwing some my way - this is the internet. But when you're going out of your way to harass my friends, I cannot just ignore it.

That's my family you're talking to.

Whoever this anon person/anon people are, you are deliberately taking your personal opinion of me, and you are walking up to my family and telling them that I am not worth their time. You are telling them that I am a plagiarist, despite the SINGLE instance of "plagiarism" (this fic) being an honest mistake, and one that I immediately reconciled once I realised. This fic that I haven't updated since, because I wasn't sure when it would be acceptable for me to do so without upsetting Alex further, and have now decided to delete. I considered deleting it quietly, without explanation, as I did another one of my fics earlier this year (simply because it was a WIP that I was never planning on finishing) but I realised that deleting this fic without an explanation could potentially give this anon person/people more fuel to come after me with, and I really just want this whole drama to be over. It's been a year, and I have no desire to start the debate again, nor do I wish any ill will towards anyone, especially Alex, and I do not want to cause undue drama later down the line when this anon person/people returns to my friends askboxes to accuse them of helping me "hide the truth" or some other bullshit that has nothing to do with them or anyone else.

I'm putting this out in the open to make myself very clear: I am not a plagiarist. And if you have any assumptions that you feel the need to jump on anon to yell, it should be coming to me, not to my family.

This fandom was the first real fandom experience I had on tumblr. I have been involved in fandom culture for years, but always from afar, and it was because of Alex's fics that I found my way into this place, that I met the people I now call my family, and that I rediscovered my own confidence in my writing, confidence that had been lacking for some time due to my personal life. I will always be grateful to her for that.

My writing is my writing. It is deeply personal to me, as it is to every writer, and as someone who plans to have a career in writing, it is incredibly important to me that my work is my own. I would never intentionally steal (or as that anon commenter put "borrow") anything from anybody, and the implication that I would is truly hurtful, especially when it seems to come from a place of exclusively hate, with no actual understanding of the situation. A troll.

I would like to repeat myself: I DO NOT THINK THIS IS ALEX'S PROBLEM and anyone who jumps in her asks to talk about it is not really doing it for the "truth" or for anything other than their own desire to stir up drama. I will be sending the link to this chapter to her myself, because I do not wish for this to be something she stumbles across and assumes I am trying to pin the blame on her for something I categorically do not think she would ever do.

I just want to move on, and I want my friends to be left out of whatever vendetta this anon person/people have.

I am certain I will make more mistakes as I go forward, because that is the nature of growth, but I would like to believe that I have never done anything, especially any of this, as a desire to be malicious or to hurt anyone, even those people who I fundamentally disagree with and do not interact with anymore. I'm not remotely begging for sympathy in this situation - I don't need it, I am confident enough in myself to know that I would not intentionally hurt anyone - I am simply asking for my friends, my family, to be left out of whatever this bullshit is.

I'm sorry if you were expecting a chapter, and I'm sorry this was so long, but I wanted to be clear about where I stand right now.

The 100 is coming to an end soon, and soon all we will have of this show and this fandom is memories, tumblr content, and friendships, and I do not want to spend any more of the limited time we have while this show is still on the air, spreading negativity or letting it be spread. This isn't to start drama, this is to end it.

[ephemeralstark]

Below Freezing

Summary:  Peter jumps into below freezing water to save a little girl, only to break his web shooters and damage his heater. With hypothermia settling in he decides it's a good idea to walk to Stark Tower, thankfully Karen is a snitch.

A/N: I’m in the process of cross-posting my AO3 fics on here as well, so please bear with me and excuse any technical mistakes, I’m not used to posting on tumblr yet. Thank you! 

AO3 Link to fic

Complete | 3K | main tags: peter parker can’t thermoregulate, peter parker has spider traits, protective tony stark, hurt/comfort, whump

Snowflakes swirled and danced through the air in hypnotic patterns while Peter swung through them between the buildings, feeling increasingly more and more thankful for the heater in his suit that kept his toes warm and stopped his fingers from growing stiff with the cold. He needed to remember to thank Mr. Stark next time he saw him.

Peter hated the cold.

He hadn't when he was younger, in fact, he used to build igloos and snowmen out on the street with his Uncle Ben for hours on end. He would be wrapped up in nothing more than a thick jacket and a woolly pair of gloves but he would never feel the cold and would stay out until Aunt May insisted he absolutely had to go in and have dinner.

After Uncle Ben died Peter stopped building snowmen, it wasn't as fun on his own and May always had to work late because suddenly there was only one person bringing in money and it wasn't enough. That and he was too cold. Even when he wrapped himself up in so many layers that he could barely move, he would find himself shivering and seeking out the nearest warm building.

Peter was pulled from his mindless swinging and spiralling thoughts by a shriek that cut through the air. He instantly changed directions, making his way towards the noise and hoping that he wouldn't be too late to whatever was happening.

Another shriek sounded and despite Peter’s heater he felt ice run through his veins. That had sounded almost… childlike? He hoped that it wasn't a kid in danger, but his gut feeling was telling him to move faster.

It seemed as though the scream had come from the park ahead, which was good as it meant Peter was close by, but it also meant that he was going to have to travel the rest of the way on foot. He dropped to the ground and ran through the shoe trodden snow into the park, looking frantically for someone in distress.

The park was mainly empty though. There was a small child holding onto a woman’s hands as she was taught how to ice skate on the frozen over pond, a couple sipping steaming drinks while walking hand in hand, and a dog walker rubbing their hands together for warmth between stick throws.

Peter soon located the source of the scream as the little child wobbled on her skates and let out a deafening shriek. Relief flooded through him, removing all traces of icy panic from his veins, there were no children in trouble, everything was fine. It was just the just the kid being afraid of falling on the ice, that wasn't anything to concern himself with.

“Hey, Karen, is there anything happening around here?” Peter asked, wondering if it would be alright to call it a day. May would be home in a few hours and he still had that chemistry project to finish off.

“I’m not receiving any reports of trouble at present.” Karen informed him.

Maybe it would be a good idea to head home, he’d been out a lot as Spider-Man lately despite promising Mr. Stark that he was getting plenty of rest, at least if he went home then Karen wouldn't be able to snitch on him again.

“Thea! Oh God, help me! Someone please!” A woman screamed.

The woman ice-skating with the kid. Except… Peter couldn't see a kid any more.

Instead, he saw a gap in the ice and a panicking mother. Putting two and two together, he abandoned all thoughts of going home for a relaxing evening and sprinted towards the gap in the ice.

“Thea! Thea, come back here baby, please,” the woman sobbed as she knelt on the ice and fished her arms in the water, trying to grab her child, “help me! I can’t get her, I can't swim and she never had lessons. Thea!”

“Excuse me,” Peter said, running onto the ice, and gently pulling the mother back by the shoulders. The last thing he needed was two people drowning in freezing water. “I’ll get her, I promise, just stay back.”

The mother did as he asked which made him think that she knew of Spider-Man, without her to worry about Peter took her place by the hole and peered in, it was too dark to see anything.

“Karen, does this thing have a torch?”

“Initiating Night Light function.” Karen announced.

“Night light? Really, Mr. Stark?” Peter muttered as he peered into the water.

He caught a flash of silver, possibly the girl’s skate reflecting the light back at him? He wasn't entirely sure but the clock was ticking on and he needed to get the kid out of the freezing water before it was too late.

Throwing caution to the wind, Peter dived into the water, following the silver flash.

The water was beyond cold, it was worse than he could have ever imagined, there weren't enough words and adjectives in the world to explain how brutally cold the water felt, but Peter pushed through it. He forced his muscles to move rather than freezing up, moving in the direction of the flash that he had seen which appeared to be the right move as his instinct to follow the silver was correct, and even better the girl was still conscious.

She was trying her best to swim but obviously had no idea what direction to go and no skill to power her movements.

Peter was on the clock, he had no time - or air - to offer her reassurances, instead he swam towards the girl and pulled her towards him so he could hold her close to his chest with one hand and use his other three limbs to swim back to the surface as quickly as possible. The girl panicked for a moment and kicked him, before realising that he was helping and ceasing her struggles.

“Detecting core temperature drop.” Karen informed him as though that was news.

If he wasn't at risk of inhaling water he would have snapped at her that ‘yeah his temperature was dropping, he was in freezing cold fucking water’. Thankfully Peter’s hand hit something solid, something other than water, and he realised he was at the surface.

For a split second he panicked and thought that the hole had frozen over again, leaving him and the little girl trapped in an icy grave.

Oh shit, no, no, no, not again, Peter thought frantically, I can't be trapped underwater again, Mr. Stark won’t save me this time.

Peter hit his hand against the ice in an attempt to break it, but the water stole all the strength behind the movement leaving him to claw uselessly at it. He was ready to give up hope when he saw a hand fishing around in the water less than a metre away.

Peter moved over to the gap feeling overwhelmingly grateful that the kid’s mother had decided to keep searching in the water for her daughter rather than doing as he said and staying back. He pushed the kid towards the hands and felt her being pulled up and away from him.

With the adrenaline of the save fading he realised how desperate he was for air, his lungs were burning and he wanted nothing more than to just breathe in.

He hooked his hands over the ledge and heaved himself up, gasping for air, it made him choke slightly as the air came through with a little water that had clung to the surface of the mask. He could feel multiple hands all over his body, pulling at him and helping him get out of the water completely.

Peter braced himself against the ground on his hands and knees, coughing and spluttering for a few minutes while his body shivered aggressively in an attempt to heat himself up.

“K-Karen,” he choked out. “Heater.”

“I’m afraid your heater has been severely compromised, the temperature of the water has caused it to shut down. I would recommend drying off and putting on something else.” Karen said. “Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?”

“N-n-no.” Peter said through chattering teeth, he did need Mr. Stark but he was capable of walking to the tower. He didn't need to be saved all the time, how could he be taken seriously if he was constantly needing backup?

He shrugged his way out the hands that were patting at him, afraid that they would try to pull off his mask to see if he was alright.

After clambering to his feet, he made his way unsteadily in the vague direction of Stark Tower, or was it the Avengers tower now? He should ask Mr. Stark when he saw him because it wasn't clear any more, and why hadn't Mr. Stark gone through with the sale? After Peter had saved the plane and crashed his stuff? No. Crashed his plane and saved his stuff, mostly.

Peter’s brain felt as numb as his extremities.

He realised he was staggering an awful lot and was probably rousing suspicion from civilians, so he aimed a web at the nearest building. Nothing happened.

“Kar’n?”

“Your web shooters have malfunctioned, the fluid appears to have frozen in the canister causing it to perforate.” Karen informed him. “Your speech sounds slurred, are you sure you don't want me to call Mr. Stark?”

“D-don't,” Peter said, “‘m fine. J-j-just walk.”

It turned out that walking was a great idea, one of the best ideas that had ever been idea’d… idea’red? Idea’ed? Thought of! Peter’s brain was starting to feel all warm and mushy, walking was great.

“Kar’n? Walkin’ is g-great!” Peter declared.

“You appear to experiencing some acute confusion, Peter, it seems you are suffering from hypothermia. Your core temperature is dangerously low.”

“Y’ur d-d-dang-dange-” he couldn't say it so he decided to just cut to the chase, “low!”

“Attempting to call, Mr. Stark.” Karen replied.

“N-n-no!” Peter protested. “I’m w’rm now! I feel g-g-good. I sh’ld t-t-take m’ suit ‘ff.”

“Do not take off your suit.” Karen said very quickly.

“K-K’ren, y’ur t-t-too b’ssy.” Peter slurred.

“Mr. Stark is on route, you need to keep the suit on and hold on for him.” Karen said, ignoring his insult. “He is less than a minute away.”

Peter blinked as her words set in.

“B-but ‘m Sp’der-m’n.” He protested. “I d-don't need b’ckup.”

“You definitely need backup,” Mr. Stark said landing on the slushy pavement behind Peter.

“Woah!” Peter said, his suit’s eyes widening comically, “Kar’n! That’s Ir’n Man. Hi Ir’n Man, I w’s cold but now I’m n’t. I stopp’d shakin’.”

“That’s not good, Underoos,” Mr. Stark said and Peter noticed that his voice sounded soft.

“Misser Star’,” Peter slurred, “y’ur cott’n candy ‘nd fl’ffy clouds.”

“I’m sorry?” Mr. Stark asked before shaking his head, “you know what? Never mind, we need to get you home.”

“But, I don’ have red slippers ‘n a hot air b’lloon.” Peter said, confused as to how he was going to get home.

“Alright Dorothy,” Mr. Stark said, “come on, it’s time for Spider-Baby to learn how to fly.”

Peter was scooped up by Mr. Stark and pressed against his chest, held in place by two unmovable metal arms. They shot into the air causing Peter to laugh as though he was on a rollercoaster and not suffering from severe hypothermia.

“Misser Star’, we’re flyin’,” Peter said excitedly through numb lips, “bu’, we’re flyin’ back!”

“I don’t want the wind chill to make things worse, especially at this speed. So, we’re going backwards” Mr. Stark informed him.

“Misser Star’, the ligh’s are fairies.” Peter stated seriously as he stared down at the city below. There were so many lights and they were moving in and out of focus and dancing about.

“Come on Kiddo, we’re almost there, stay with me now.” Mr. Stark said.

Peter didn't respond, he was too busy wondering why his tongue felt so heavy in his mouth, and also why were tongues so weird? It seemed like it didn’t even fit in his mouth properly...oh no… what if it wasn't his tongue? Had someone stolen his and replaced it with an imposter tongue?

He needed to tell Mr. Stark but the imposter tongue wasn't working right, more proof that it wasn't his one. Before he could worry any more about that he felt Mr. Stark slow down and turn so they were going forwards, Stark Tower loomed in front and Peter saw one of the windows opening for them to enter through.

Woah, Peter thought to himself, that building is huge and just came from nowhere!

The air inside was hot, too hot, it seemed to burn at Peter’s skin through the suit and he was struck by the very real terror that he was cooking inside the Spider-Man suit.

“No!” He screamed flailing so suddenly that Mr. Stark released him in shock, Peter’s legs were too numb to hold him up and he crumpled forward onto the plush carpet, water dripping from him onto it.

“Peter, it’s alright,” Mr. Stark said, Peter could hear the metallic whirring and grinding of the suit retracting and in moments Mr. Stark was at him side, pulling him up into a sitting position.

“Too hot,” Peter slurred, “burnin’.”

“You’re actually too cold kiddo,” Mr. Stark said gently, “come on, we need to get you into something dry.”

Peter was pulled to his feet, most of his weight being supported by Mr. Stark, but the little he could bare himself was making his legs shake as they slowly made their way to Peter’s room.

“Am I gonna shower?” Peter asked.

“No, not right now Underoos,” Mr. Stark said, “your temperature is too low for that.”

With a great deal of staggering and a few comments about Peter replicating Bambi’s first steps, they made it to his bedroom.

“We need to get you in your jimmy jams, Kid,” Mr. Stark said, “now we’ll do this quickly because I know that if that brain of yours wasn't floating in La La Land you’d find this a tad humiliating.”

“Where’s La La La La Land?” Peter asked.

“Exactly.” Mr. Stark said as he pulled off Peter’s mask.

“No!” Peter yelled. “They can’t know who I am!”

“Kid, calm down, it’s just us two here, your identity is safe.” Mr. Stark said soothingly as he pressed the spider emblem on the front of Peter’s suit causing it to go slack. “Your lips are blue and I’m too young to have grey hair so just work with me here, Pete.”

With a great deal of effort, Peter was finally sitting on the side of his bed wrapped in an abundance of fluffy towels while Mr. Stark rifled through his drawers looking for pyjamas.

“Which drawer are they in?” He asked. “A little help would be great here.”

“What if you put your hand in one drawer ‘n it came out a differen’ one?” Peter asked.

“Ok, so you’re useless right now,” Mr. Stark muttered, as he continued to search. “Got them! Right kid, without your suit on I can’t monitor your temperature and the last reading was 90.8 degrees, which means it’s your lucky day. You get to wear my watch.”

Mr. Stark helped Peter clumsily thread his arms through his pyjama top and watched as he took the watch off his own wrist, fiddled with it, then strapped it onto Peter’s .

“91.1.” Mr. Stark read, “ok, you’re improving, and don't even think of messing with that thing. I’ve disabled all the systems other than medical observations.”

“Come on, Underoos, let’s get these trousers on then we can both forget all about the last fifteen minutes.” Mr. Stark said.

“Why ‘m I putting clothes on?” Peter asked, “‘m too hot.”

“No your cold and your brain is playing tricks on you,” Mr. Stark told him. “ Now let’s get you under those covers because you need to warm up and I don't think we’d manage to walk you anywhere else. Or maybe we would, but I’m not doing that again.”

It took another ten minutes but eventually Peter was in his bed, buried under a mound of blankets and Mr. Stark was sitting on the bed beside him, helping him drink a mug of hot chocolate and monitoring his temperature.

“91.6°F,” Mr. Stark declared. “See, we can do this.”

“Why ‘m I here?” Peter asked. “Why not the hosp’tal?”

“I couldn't take you to a normal hospital thanks to that bizarre DNA you’ve got going on, and there isn't a medical team based in this tower, they’re generally only on standby when an Avengers mission is happening. Which means you got Dr. Stark.”

“Huh,” Peter murmured, seemingly satisfied with the explanation. “Someone stole my tongue earlier but I think they gave it back.”

“Did they now?” Mr. Stark asked

“Uh huh.”

Time passed with meaningless and delirious chatter, as Peter’s temperature continued to creep up.

“Mr. Star’?” Peter asked suddenly.

“Yeah Kiddo?”

“I feel cold,” Peter murmured. “I don' like the cold.”

“That’s actually a good thing, it means your body is reacting correctly again, soon the shivering will start up once more and before you know it you’ll be a toasty spider.” Mr. Stark said.

“But I don' like bein’ cold. Not since Uncle Ben died.” Peter said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“It never bothered me ‘fore,” Peter explained, “but after Ben when it got cold outsi’, I got really, really cold.”

“Hey, Pete, I don't think it’s your Uncle’s death that caused that.” Mr. Stark said gently.

“No?”

“Spiders typically can’t thermoregulate, and if you have some spider traits then this could be one of them. I was wondering about it earlier, but with the temperature of that water anyone could have ended up with hypothermia so I didn't have proof that you can't thermoregulate. Now though, with that information, it seems fairly likely.”

“So, it’s not a punishm’nt?”

“Punishment? For what?” Mr. Stark asked sounding genuinely confused.

“For letting Ben die.” Peter said quietly.

“Kid, May told me what happened, that wasn't your fault.”

“I had my powers, I didn’ do anythin’.” Peter admitted.

“You were a kid and none of that can be blamed on you whatsoever.” Mr. Stark said as he ran a hand through Peter’s hair comfortingly. “Powers or no powers, you were too young and you should never have been in that situation.”

Peter didn't reply, he was distracted by the trembling that seemed to overcome his entire body. Had Mr. Stark said that the shivering was a good sign? Because Peter was beginning to feel like it was the opposite. His teeth chattered and his muscles spasmed uncomfortably.

“M-m-misser S-s-s-star’” Peter stammered, “It-t-t’s c-c-cold.”

“I know, I know,” Mr. Stark said as he checked the watch again, “93°F. This is good, Pete, I promise. No more winter swims though.”

“N-n-never.” Peter promised.

“Good, Kid, god you did a great job saving that little girl, but I was so scared when I got the message from your AI. I didn't even realise how bad it was, and you weren't making any sense.” Mr. Stark admitted. “Just… just think of yourself as well as others in the future, alright?”

Peter nodded, his throat felt tight with tears at Mr. Stark’s honesty.

“Also, you’re telling May about this one.” Mr. Stark said, still playing with Peter’s hair in a way that made his eyes grow heavy.

Peter let out a shaky laugh.

“T-t-thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Anytime, Underoos,” Mr. Stark said softly. “Just not anytime soon, please. Now why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll stay here and keep an eye on your temperature.”

Peter yawned, sleep did sound like a good idea.

“N-night, Tony.”

“G’night, Kiddo.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and feel free to send a message/ask if you’d like! I appreciate all the time you have given my writing, thanks again!

[ladyfawkes]

Stop Calling Him ‘Horace’! - Eugene Fitzherbert Appreciation Week | Day 7: Birth Day

Sooooo.... Basically, I planned to have this pretty little fanfic finished up for today, the final day of Eugene Appreciation Week. This fanfic is extra-special, specifically it features our Eugene at ages we’ve never seen him in canon. Allow me to sum up this “plan” of mine in one word: HAAAAA!!!! Suffice it to say that although fanfic is very old-hat to me (I’ve been writing it since 1991, fgs) the world of fic-blogging is still relatively NEW to me and several of my fics and headcanons that I’ve released the past several weeks are needing to connect and soon, otherwise the whole convoluted, many-headed Medusa won’t wind up making any sense at all. I’m not exactly certain how it’ll all come together yet but I have to say that getting to spend the past week with all of you fellow Fitzy enthusiasts on Twitter and Tumblr has been some of the BEST DAYS EVER that I’ve experienced on the internet in my entire online life!!!! (And I’ve had an internet presence since 1991!!!) You’ve injected me with serious shots of Inspiration Elixir and I’ve had soooo very many ideas pass through my mind just over the past 7 days that I can’t possibly hope to catalog all of them. I haven’t felt quite this inspired in, well, YEARS.  I’ve enjoyed the heck out of sharing and exchanging headcanons, theories, ideas, essays, and even artforms. I’ve had a Tumblr account for more than ELEVEN YEARS and yet this is the first and only time I have consistently blogged and reblogged over the “heart-stopping” a time-span of 7 months **gasp** now (and counting). I’m a member of a couple dozen fandoms at least and this is the ONLY ONE that has consistently captured my interest AND managed to not scare the shit out of me so badly that I have to go and hibernate my account for the next, y’know, 3498349540 months. Until yet another worthy obsession captures my interest..... but Tangled the Series is still burning the brightest and I REALLY need it to right now, tbh. So THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU to everybody with whom I’ve interacted on this....I have health issues that cause me to transpose and forget names. But if you wish me to personally tag you, please tag THIS particular post and I shall tag you when I have actually finished this particular scene sequence featured in THIS ficlet. So now!!!!! Without further ado, I shall give you a teaser of the drabble-turned-ficlet-turned-short-story that will eventually feature the actual Birth Day of one Eugene Fitzherbert!!! Click the keep reading link below to see the remaining text. =)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Edmund knew from the beginning that Alexys did not like the name “Horace”. At the time, the king had told her that it was family tradition that the first-born son should receive a strong family name. Despite her pointed protests, he was utterly immovable on the subject.

The more Alexys’s belly grew, the more her dislike for that name swelled too. Shouldn’t she have a say in their child’s name, given that she was putting in all the work of keeping him healthy and strong, so to speak? Shouldn’t her family names count as possibilities too? Unfortunately, Edmund’s childhood largely consisted of his father and grandfather basically hazing him into believing that he had to “take command” of virtually any subject matter, in practically any situation. As a result, he thought of just about everything in militaristic terms. Over the past 4 years, Lexy had slowly and subtly molded her hot-headed young 20-something husband toward different healthier, less uptight ways of handling life and looking at various situations.

They had finally settled on a great couple synergy and got along very well -- except for the times they had an ongoing argument, that is. And this was definitely one of those times.

“I don’t understand why you won’t see reason, Edmund!”

“Because it’s more than just a name, Alexys! It’s a birthright. It connects him directly back to us and these names might very well be the most important gift we could ever give to our children!”

“You don’t think I know that?? Just as sure as I know this child is a boy, I am equally certain that he will not live a traditional royal life. And his name must reflect that!!”

Apparently, entertaining the possibility that any son of Edmund’s wouldn’t want to grow up a devoted soldier completely servile to the Moonstone wasn’t a possibility he was ready to face. Alexys watched as Edmund drew in a long breath, held it, his face turning interesting colors. Slowly his hands balled into fists and rather than saying anything, he exhaled one very pent-up breath and stomped out of the room. She had never before seen him so agitated. Although she also sensed the naming subject wasn’t at the core of his ire that day, she never brought it up again. Alexys hoped that whatever it was eating at him, Edmund would be able to solve it by the time their child came. And that would happen any day now.

Alexys wanted so much to tell Edmund about the beautiful vivid dreams she’d been having about their future child the past few nights. But he’d been increasingly preoccupied, sullen, and distant over the past month. It was most unfortunate and Alexys was as yet at a loss of how to help him. Now....while it’s true every good mother believes their child to be exceptional, Alexys knew that their son was destined to shatter tradition. For the first time in millennia, she knew without doubt that he would be the one to bring light to the Dark Kingdom. 

One of her dreams began with a small boy, age 4 or 5, who had floppy brown hair and very expressive round eyes just like Edmund. In the dream, Alexys and the boy were standing on a trail near the edge of a narrow rock crevasse....a location that somehow seemed familiar to Lexy....but she couldn’t quite place it. The little boy smiled up at her cherubically and reached out a chubby little hand toward hers.

“Play?” he questioned sweetly. He was happily bouncing on his feet, very subtly heel to toe, and even when he was in one place he barely stood still.

“Yes, of course!” Alexys replied, grinning in awe at this absolutely beautiful dream-child her mind was currently conjuring. She gathered up her long skirts and petticoats in her left hand and took the little boy’s offered hand in her right. As they walked, she noticed a small mole at the base of the boy’s neck and it matched exactly the one that Edmund had, only in miniature. So her suspicions had been confirmed; this was indeed their son.  They approached what Alexys recognized to be a very-scaled-down version of The Great Tree....and the crevasse was apparently a much-scaled-down version of the gorge which held the actual Great Tree. Even though it wasn’t the real Tree, it still possessed a very substantial and robust trunk. It was about 30 feet high and could easily withstand the weight of a couple dozen grown adults, if they ever had the inclination to climb this dream tree from within my own mind, Alexys thought wryly. As they reached the ground level of this miniature Great Tree, the little boy let go of her hand and latched onto the tree base itself. He turned back to her and said, “Play?” again while pointing upward. Bounce, bounce. Instantly, Lexy’s mothering instincts came out. “Uh, little one, I don’t think it’s safe to climb--” but it was clear the little boy wasn’t really listening to her. And even faster than a real toddler could climb, he scrambled up and out of her reach in a flash, giggling with childish abandon. She kept pleading with this child to stop and to come back down instead, that he might get injured, but he clearly had no intention of heeding her. Not only that, she didn’t even know his name. One thing was certain -- he definitely did not answer to ‘Horace’. Poor Alexys hoped this nightmare of a fearless toddler wasn’t an omen of things yet to come.  She fleetingly considered just tearing off her petticoats and skirts to climb and then realized it wouldn’t matter anyway; she was nearly nine months pregnant and thus not climbing anything that day. “Look!” She suddenly heard the little boy’s voice again. This time, he was speaking from some 30 feet overhead through the tree boughs. Alexys moved away from the Great Tree’s base to a better vantage point further out from the trunk. Shielding her eyes from the sun, the queen looked up at the tree to see that the little boy was now pointing out toward the opposite direction of the crevasse from where they originally came. In the distance, she could see what looked to be a miniature version of the impassable mountain range between the Dark Kingdom and the Great Tree. Just beyond was Black Crystal Valley and in the center of the valley, an exact copy of The Dark Palace, only much smaller. What happened next was nothing short of absolute surreality on toast. “Look!” said the little boy’s voice again, still giggling as he climbed even higher until it looked like he was physically standing on the canopy leaves of the fake Great Tree. Lexy’s breath caught in her throat as this little boy reached up and plucked a literal piece out of the sun -- yes, he plucked a PIECE out of the actual SUN -- straight out of the actual sky. The light emanating from the Sun and the Shard he had in hand didn’t seem to be affecting the little boy the way it was affecting Alexys. She was shielding her face from its overpowering brightness when suddenly, the little boy wasn’t in the tree canopy anymore. In the blink of an eye, he was standing miraculously in front of her. Alexys blinked incredulously and tried not to yell aloud in shock due to being so startled. She failed at not yelling, but at least the little boy didn’t appear to notice. Next, this little boy held out the Sun Shard toward Lexy. He must’ve done something to help it because now she could look toward its brilliance without being blinded.  “You can finally see my friend!” her boy said happily. Bounce, bounce. “We hug her!” he continued, holding the glowing object against his heart, rocking back and forth a few times. “And we kiss her,” and he gave the Shard his sweet toddler kisses. “And we be very soft,” he toddler-whispered, demonstrating deft touch through voice as well as action.“Now you!” he insisted, his pudgy hand offering the Sun Shard to her. Bouncy, bouncy, bounce. “I -- I don’t know. Won’t it burn me?” This dream had already gone so warped, she didn’t feel too weird for asking. Lexy was somewhat concerned with accepting the offerings of a toddler but he didn’t appear to be covered in slobber or any other mystery substances, thank goodness. Neither did the Shard. “Burn you?” the child echoed. He suddenly burst into giggles and said, “Silly Mama.” Lexy’s breath caught in her throat. Mama. He actually said it! How her mother’s heart fluttered. This….this interaction required something extra special. She oh-so-carefully got down on her knees (no small feat in her condition) so she could be level with her son. “Yes, your mama can be very silly sometimes,” Lexy acknowledged. Then she pointed toward the Shard in his hands and said, “Will you show me how?” Instantly, he came to her and passed the precious glowing object to Alexys. “Hold her here,” instructed her little boy, pointing toward his heart. Lexy was surprised to discover that the Shard wasn’t a shard at all -- and while it was very warm to the touch, it wasn’t burning hot. Pliable with only mild bit of give to it….rather like warmed sealing wax without the tackiness. Upon tucking the glowing object next to her bosom, Lexy looked upward at her boy and said, “and now I…” “Cradle,” followed by his rapid rocking back and forth motions. Bouncy-bounce bounce.  “Of course,” smiled Alexys, who had arranged both her arms to cradle this golden drop of sunlight. “Is that what you are now? Not a Shard -- but a Drop of Sunlight?” She was now talking to this object but again didn’t feel one bit silly for doing so. It seemed….alive, somehow. Slowly, carefully, she rocked back and forth while on her knees. “Sing, mama!” prompted her little boy, who was excitedly bouncing on his toes and clapping his chubby hands. A time-honored German lullaby sprang to mind and as she sang the words, the longer she sang, something rather remarkable happened. As Alexys looked down in her arms, she could’ve sworn she saw a ghost of an image, not more than a sparkling golden shadow really, of a completely different child in her arms. Only this child was much tinier and younger than the boy. This was an infant, a baby girl, one with remarkably long flowing golden hair. She appeared to have even more hair than her toddler son. By orders of magnitude more. Disembodied babygirl giggling and babbles filled the air around them. “You see her now!!!” Her little boy was more excited than ever! He clearly knows! Lexy could hear the rhythm of his feet in front of her. Bounce-bounce-bouncy bounce-bouncy-bounce. Alexys was afraid to look away, lest the wispy golden dust in her arms blow away before she could get her fill. “Who is she?” questioned Alexys in awe. “She is our friend. She is….Sun...shine. Yes. Sunshine,” the boy confirmed, tilting his head to one side as he spoke, as if he were listening for something only he could hear. ......to be continued!!!!......

[ladyfogg]

May I? - 5/?

May I? - 5/?

Fic Summary: Ensign Faith Diaz struggles to hide her mental illness from her fellow shipmates aboard the Enterprise until an intrigued Data goes out of his way to try to understand her behavior. At his insistence, Faith tries to figure out what she’s truly passionate about and eventually seeks the professional help she needs. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Data/Female OC

Warnings: tw: depression, tw: anxiety, fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut

Screenshot by @ geekygwen

Data and Faith spoke for some time.

Despite liking the food, she seemed to eat very little of it. Data noticed her push the plate away shortly after Counselor Troi took her leave.

"Are you no longer hungry?" he asked, motioning to her food.

Faith shook her head. "Not really."

"Is it your injury?"

"No. I just don't seem to have much of an appetite these days."

"Perhaps Dr. Crusher can help."

At the mention of the doctor, Faith's shoulders tensed and she seemed to physically shrink away. Data studied the changes, fascinated by how quickly she went from calm and open, to closed off and defensive.

"It's okay." Her tone was clipped and firm. "I'll handle it."

"Do you have a personal issue with Dr. Crusher?"

Faith sighed. "Dr. Crusher is nice enough," she said. "I've just never been comfortable with doctors."

"Why is that?"

She did not answer him. Instead, she offered a tight smile. "I think I should retire to my quarters. I'm getting tired."

As she made a move to stand, Data did the same. "I am sorry if I overstepped. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't," Faith said. "It was a reasonable question. I just don't like to talk about myself."

"It is my understanding that connections are forged through shared experiences and communication. If you do not talk about yourself, how can you connect with others?"

Faith remained silent, eyes drifting from Data's to stare at the floor. "I guess that's something I should think about. Have a good evening."

Data opened his mouth to speak but Faith was already walking away, leaving him confused. He watched her go, unsure of what he could have said to make her end their interaction so abruptly. He then concluded that his question regarding her disdain for doctors must have been too personal.

His gaze caught Deanna and Riker who clearly had witnessed the exchange. He walked over to them, still puzzled.

"Everything okay, Data?" Riker asked.

"I do not know. I am finding it difficult to navigate a conversation with Faith without her withdrawing."

"I wouldn't take it personally, Data," Deanna said. "Faith is going through a difficult personal time."

"I had suspected as much. Counselor, is there anything you would suggest I do to help?"

Deanna and Riker shared a knowing smile. "I think it is very sweet of you to want to help her," she said.

"We have had three separate interactions in the last four days. They have been fairly pleasant and I have found her quite competent in her work. This is a direct contradiction to Geordi's reports from before. I am simply trying to determine where the discrepancy lies."

Deanna looked worried. "She's having trouble with her work?"

Data nodded. "According to Geordi." He paused in thought before joining them at the table. "Counselor, Commander, you know each other fairly well."

"I'd say so," Riker smirked, earning a playful smack on the arms from Deanna.

"Was it easy to get to know each other? While I have had no trouble making friends here on the Enterprise, I understand it is not easy for everyone."

"Well, for one thing, it takes time," Deanna said. "Not everyone can share their thoughts and feelings as readily as others. This makes connecting very difficult."

Riker added, "Sometimes just spending time with a person, even if you don't talk, can help them to feel more comfortable around you. If you do speak, keep the topic light and carefree. Let them share when they are ready."

"Hmm." Data processed what Riker said. "Then perhaps that is the approach I will take with Faith. Thank you both."

He made a move to stand but Riker stopped him from leaving. "Wait, Data, are you saying you wish to get closer to Faith?" he asked.

"I would like to understand what is causing her shift in mood and activity levels. But she will not open up to me if she is uncomfortable. I cannot help her this way."

"Data," Deanna said gently. "It's not that simple. None of us know the extent of what Faith is going through. We cannot force help on her. I think the best approach is to just be her friend. Period. Don't do it just so she will tell you what you want to know."

He considered her words, understanding the logic behind them. He could see how his initial approach might cause more harm than good. Between their advice and Geordi's, he began to develop a clearer picture of how he wished to proceed.

"I understand, Counselor. I will keep that in mind."

He nodded toward them both before getting to his feet. As he left Ten Forward, he pondered how much Faith had invaded his thoughts of late. He had always found human interactions fascinating. Faith was exhibiting reactions he rarely had a chance to witness up close. 

She was not the only thing on his mind of course. The mystery in Engineering had yet to be solved. He and Geordi had not been able to find any substantial leads.

No other pieces of machinery had been found out of place. The two that were tampered with had been monitored closely and were found to be functioning correctly. He and Geordi were perplexed.

The Enterprise had also reached the next planet in the Modrore system. It too had abandoned structures like the previous planet, far older than the others. Still, there were no signs of life. Another oddity Data was intrigued to study.

"Most interesting indeed," he said to himself.

He did not see Faith the following day, nor the one after that. In fact, they did not cross paths again until three days after she was cleared for duty. Data was not required on the Bridge and instead took to Engineering.

He found Faith hunched over the center console, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"Good morning, Faith. It is good to see you back at your post."

She looked up at him with a smile. "It's good to be back, Commander," she said.

Data noticed the dark circles around her eyes remained and she did not look particularly well-rested. Yet her mood seemed light and her shoulders lacked the tension he had witnessed during their previous interaction.

"What are you working on?" Data asked, moving to stand by her side.

Faith straightened up, rubbing her forehead. "Well, I wanted a visual on where the two mysterious incidents took place, so I marked them on the schematics." She zoomed out of the plans so he could see her markings. "The first took place in the tubes which was easily hidden from view. The second was in a more centralized area, yet no one saw anything. Allegedly."

"You do not believe them?"

"It's not that, I'm just not quick to rule it out that someone is lying."

"A wise move," Data said. "Are both stations still functioning at optimal capacity?" 

"As far as I can tell," she said. 

Data stared at the visual, tapping at the screen to input his own information. "If we calculate the distance between the two locations, and factor in the length of time between their discovery and staff rotations, it is entirely feasible the same person committed both acts without being seen."

"But they would have had to leave and come back, or hide close by," Faith said. "Which increases the chances of being discovered. The fact that they weren't is amazing considering the traffic in this area."

"There is a two-point-five percent chance they would not be discovered."

Faith hummed in thought. "Small, but not impossible."

Geordi came around the corner, heading directly towards Faith. "Ensign, did you finish running those specs I asked for?"

"Yes, Commander," Faith said, standing straight and giving him her full attention. She handed him the PADD resting on the console. "I was waiting for you to finish meeting with Carver. I didn't want to interrupt."

Geordi looked impressed as he scanned over the information. "Good work, Diaz." He glanced at the schematic laid out on the console's screen. "What's this?"

"Oh. I was curious about the incidents so I mapped them," she said. "The Commander and I were trying to find a connection."

"And did you?"

Faith shook her head. "One was out of sight and the other in plan view. The only connections are they were both Engineering related and no one saw them being tampered with. Though there is a chance it was done by the same person."

"Geordi, I have a suggestion," Data said.

"Lay it on me," Geordi encouraged.

"Would you permit me to take apart each unit?"

"What for?"

"To see if any components are missing," Data explained. "If anything was taken, it would not necessarily hinder the console's performance."

"That's true," Faith said. "Whoever did this had to have had mechanical and engineering experience. They could have easily reworked the console to function without some of the minor pieces."

Geordi considered their suggestion, arms crossed in thought. "That's a leap, but right now we don't have any other ideas. Go for it, Data." He turned to Faith. "Diaz, I'm swamped with these upgrades Starfleet is requesting. Since you found the first console and seem interested in the investigation, I want you to on this. Work with Data and report to me anything you two find."

Faith's eyes widened. "Y-You want me to take-point, sir?"

Geordi gave her a smile, handing her back the PADD. "I'm sure you'll do just fine. Just watch your head this time."

"I will make sure she does not injure herself again," Data promised.

Faith scoffed, trying to hide her smile. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"Nope," Geordi teased. "Let me know if you guys find anything."

As he walked away, Faith turned to Data, fiddling with the PADD. "Guess we'll be working together," she said.

"When I'm not needed on the Bridge, of course," Data reminded her. "Which console would you like to examine first?"

"Let's do the assistant's one," she said, leading him toward the office. "Things are quiet right now so it would be the best time. Plus, I think Geordi has Carver working on the upgrades with him."

"Agreed."

They gathered several tools and got to work dismantling the console. Data noticed Faith was careful, taking her time to map the circuits with her eyes after she removed the front panel.

Data himself was able to scan it much quicker but found nothing out of place. Instead, he watched her and the way she traced her fingers over the wires, lips moving as she spoke to herself. He suddenly understood why it took her longer to do tasks than it would take others. She was meticulous, making sure everything was accounted for before turning to him.

"So far so good," she said.

Data focused on the unit. "I see no signs of tampering. All circuits, wires, and power chips are accounted for."

"At least for the main functions. Let's check the back-up ones."

It took time to maneuver through the complicated wiring and during several instances they had to pause and rethink their strategy before continuing. Data found it to be an overall pleasant experience. Her knowledge was vast and she did not seem to need to fill the silence with idle chatter.

Strangely enough, Data found he wanted to talk. "Have you been sleeping well?" he asked.

"Not really," Faith said. "It's about the same as it was before."

"Do you no longer wish to visit Ten Forward when you cannot sleep?"

"I haven't decided yet. It seemed like a good idea at the time but when I thought about it the last few nights, I just couldn't bring myself to go."

"Was there any particular reason?"

"There were several...Commander, look!" Faith drew his attention to the section where back-up power chips were stored. 

Two were missing. 

"Interesting," Data commented. "There is no reason for these chips to be missing."

"Yeah, it's against regulations not to replace back-ups. Otherwise, if we don't and we need them, we'd be out of luck."

Data scanned the rest of the components. "I see nothing else out of place."

"Neither do I. Let's do one more sweep and then check the other one."

They found nothing else had been disturbed. Just as they were closing things up, Carver came in to work. Data and Faith got out of his way.

"Do you need to take a break or do you wish to continue on?" Data asked.

"I'm good to keep going. I'm even more curious than before."

"I must admit, I am as well."

They made their way to the Jefferies tubes. Once inside, Faith asked, "Do you want to go first, Commander, or should I?"

"After you."

Faith began to climb and Data followed. "Faith, may I ask why you have returned to using my formal title?" he asked. It was something he had noted earlier but felt the need to address it when they were alone. "Do you no longer wish to call me by my name?"

"Oh, no that's not it at all," she assured him. "I just thought using your name would be too informal for a work setting. I don't mind if you call me Faith but I assumed you'd want me to stick to 'Commander' when in Engineering."

"A logical and astute observation," Data said. "I was concerned I had done something wrong."

Faith reached the landing and turned to face him as he continued to climb. "You were concerned? I thought you didn't have feelings." Her tone was light and teasing as if his words amused her.

"Perhaps concerned was not the proper word," Data amended. "Curious could be considered more accurate. If I did something to offend you, I apologize and wish to correct it."

Faith's face softened. "I'm sorry I made you think you did something wrong. Trust me, you didn't. Promise. I was just trying to be professional."

"That is good to hear."

"You and Counselor Troi have actually been very helpful since my accident. I want to thank you for that."

"You are welcome." Data reached the top and Faith led him to the tube where she found the disturbance. "Have you decided to see her regularly?"

"Not yet. Not in an official capacity at least. She did invite me on a walk through the Arboretum tomorrow."

"You should accept. It is a lovely place."

"I might. We'll see."

They continued on and reached the console that started the mystery. It did not look like it had been touched since they had fixed it. Just like with the other one, they began to take it apart carefully.

"Faith, may I ask what you do for recreation?"

"Nothing really."

Data frowned. "Nothing at all?"

"No. There never really seems to be any time."

"While it is true Starfleet does keep a full schedule, there is still downtime during most days."

"I just haven't found anything to hold my interest," she said with a shrug. "So I gave up trying."

"Maybe you could try painting. I have found it to be most enjoyable."

"I'm not much of an artist."

"Do you enjoy music? Why not learn an instrument?"

Faith sighed and stopped her work. "I appreciate the attempt," she said. "But I've tried already and nothing stuck."

"Perhaps you simply have not found the right outlet." Data paused, noting several wires had been reconfigured. "Faith, hand me the tricorder."

She did as he commanded, leaning in close to examine what he had found. "Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?" she asked.

"Yes. Several wires have been taken and those that remained were reconfigured to hide the change."

Faith leaned back, a pensive look on her face. "So two power chips and a handful of wires are gone. But why? None of this makes sense."

"No, it does not," Data agreed. "However, I think we should expand our search."

"Why do you say that?"

Data motioned to the tube ahead of them and when Faith turned, she saw a dark smudge on the doors leading to the next section.

"What the hell?" she muttered, crawling towards it. 

Data followed and as they drew closer, the smudge became more distinct: a round palm flanked by four fingers.

"It's a handprint," Faith realized.

"Indeed. Now the question is, who or what made it?"

[throwing-summers-at-the-walls]

Hello half valid anon here (i like my nickname 😂). I got through all your fics and they were all great. Right now im just reading a lot of poi fanfics and watch fanvids cause i can't accept that the series is over 😂 --- i know what you mean about fics affecting you negatively. I had this with 13rw (the Show and some fics) everything was so dark and hopeless that i had to stop watching it. I also love to seek out fics where someone is hurt so i can feel my pain through the characters (1)

But i try to read only fics with lots of comfort so it kinda feels like i get comforted as well (dont know if that makes sense). If it makes you uncomfortable or if its unhealthy for you to write about this i completely understand and i dont mean to come of as pushing you to write. I just hope whatever you do will be the right decision for you! As for you feeling suicidal im sorry to hear that. Let me know if there is ever anything i can do to help! I wish i could say sth more comforting but Im not super good with words :( i just hope you have people in your life that support you! 💛

maybe root will grow on you too? Or maybe you can skip her scenes and enjoy John, Harold and most importanly Bear! 😂 Yeah Shaw definately looks really good. She is a bit like Reese minus the caring. At first it seems she doesnt care about anything at all but thats not exactly the Case. There was an episode with Shaw and a little girl (3x5) and i really loved it (have you seen that one?).

I really think Shaw would grow on you (especially since in the beginning she does a lot with John) but then again a lot of her later scenes include Root so im not sure. Yes i love that there were never any romantic undertones with her and John!!

yeah the core four were great. I was so sad when Carter died! :(

i guess everyone sees chemistry different, i think Shoot and Rinch post have great chemistry ☺��

as for John being good with people: YES!! he is always so compassionate and such a great listener as well. I especially like him with children. John and the baby were so cute or John with the boy who offered to pay for him. John + Kids was always a great combination and i wished we would have seen it more often. Also regarding children we did we never got to see a John Taylor scene after Carters death? I needed that!

yes John the badass is also amazing! His character has so many different sides and i love him so much!!

i think Grace Harold was really cute but i dont really see a future for them, i mean he lied to her for so long! but then again they really loved each other so idk maybe they work it out. Im also not into John/Harold/Grace but like you said good for the people who like the ship :)

John and Zoe were great! i wish Zoe would have appeared more often!

I have so many things to say about John and the boring therapist but i think i better not say them :D i wish i could just erase their relationship from my mind!

of course he didnt die! i didnt see a dead body so i refuse to believe he is dead! i also just wanted them to be happy. what kind of an ending is it to let the main character die? i refuse to accept this! -- thank you for the rec i will check it out :) while i do like fluff i mostly read h/c (with the focus on the comfort) cause i just want John to get his much needed comfort :D -- i have no idea where season 1 is supposed to be boring. but idc the people can live with their wrong opinions :D

(today: tumblr user nourann3 discovers the option to indent text after almost 5 years on tumblr...)

Hiii !! It is a very valid nickname 😂 That's nice !! Hmu if you want more recs ! Lol same honestly, I can't believe it's been 4 years since the show ended ! I can give you a link to my poi/Rinch fanvids playlist if you're interested 👀

Oh boi 13rw is so cursed, can't believe I watched all of the 1st season 😬 I remember being afraid of the suicide scene making me uncomfortable but it was so cringe, unrealistic and just bad that I wasn't even that uncomfortable, I cringed when she cut her arms but that's it.

Yeah big mood I project a lot on comfort fics as well. For suicide fics, I think it also depends on how the fics adress the subject. It's something that is complicated to write. If I read a suicide fic with no recovery I'm gonna project but feel like shit. But with recovery, I can project into the recovery as well so it's better ! I read a really good ace attorney fic showing Miles recovering after a suicide attempt, it was thoughtful and didn't fall into the pitfalls of magical super fast recovery/love heals everything, and some lines stuck with me, it was really good and comforting. But yeah if it's just a suicide/suicide attempt then I don't think it's good for me (but sometimes I still read it bc I'm a Dumb Bitch).

Dw you didn't come off as pushing 💜 I'll see how I feel about continuing it or not. I have to figure out if writing about suicide is positive or negative for me 🤔 I mean I'm not portraying John's suicidal crisis as a positive thing, and he reaches out to Harold, and considers he might get better so I don't think it's bad for me ? Another problem is that I have a tendency to drop my wips to write a new shiny idea I get, and then I never finish anything gkgkffjfjf I dropped the suicide fic for the body horror fic which I dropped for the time loop fic, and there's also the hanahaki fic I started last year but I haven't touched in months, plus a bunch of random shit floating around OneDrive lmao someone stop me

What helps the most is venting, just getting that shit out is helping y'know. I appreciate your support ♥️ at least it's not as bad as it used to be

I doubt Root will grow on me, catch me watching her scenes at 1.5 speed lmao, also yes you bet I'll enjoy watching them !!

Yes I remember that ep ! Iirc the little girl tells Shaw she has feelings but the volume is lower than in other people or smth along those lines ?

I hope she'll grow on me bc she seems cool. I remember I was a bit afraid of her just becoming a sort of hollow copy of John, like "look we added another badass to the show". Seems to be more than that though ! Also I'm curious about their mayhem twins dynamic. But yeah if she has a lot of scenes with Root idk how much it'll annoy me

I feel like I wouldn't be able to get the Shoot chemistry bc I'm too biased against Root lol

Ikr the crossing hurt me so much. But thinking about it takes me back to my careese days and my first fics lol. I feel like the death of one of the core four + the abandonment of the library really alienated me from the show (did I already say that before ?). And here I'm gonna shamelessly derail from Carter to the library bc boiii do I have a lot of feelings about the library !! And you're here, talking about poi, so you're the perfect subject to throw these feelings at. This post really says what I feel about it (I'll put the link at the end as well if you wanna read it after you're done with this l o n g reply). It was in a way its own character and its forced abandonment/destruction really hit me (fucked me up when they broke that glass board). It says something that it's one of the few things I remember from S3 along with Carter's death and 4C. I loved it a lot, it was a cornerstone of the show. It was a safe place, a home for Harold and John (and Bear !). I love when they're together in there, I love this cracked glass board, this yellow stained glass in the windows !!! (at least I assume it's stained glass ?), these lights, Bear's cushion, the whole cozy/safe/isolated feelings, just absolutely everything. And yeah later they have the subway, idk when it's introduced I don't remember if it's early enough for me to have watched it. And maybe it's nice, I can't judge rn. But it's like trying to give me a new MC after a MCD, make him as nice as you want I'll be clutching the previous MC until I die. Gkfkfkff I went overboard and off topic but I just love the library ok

Ikr I love how he's badass but also gentle and understanding and nice to people ! I love him !!! Yeah wolf and cub is really good, also I love when John smiles to Darren at the end !! I use this moment as my pfp bc I love it so much. He's just so cute ! I wish he smiled more (did we ever hear him laugh in the entirety of the show ?). Baby blue is so great, Harold and him are such a married couple in this ep ! Yeah same more content with John and children would have been nice.

I never thought about how much we needed a John Taylor scene but yes !! We were robbed :((((

Speaking of John being a cool badass. Here's a badass John vid rec it's super good

Yeah they were cute in the past. I think it's good he went back to her bc it gives closure to both of them. But I don't see their relationship working again. She grieved, probably started to move on after all these years and knowing he lied all this time probably won't make her want to go back with him. I've never been in love so what do I know lol, but were I her I probably wouldn't want to go back with him and I'd just be happy knowing he's alive after all.

Same I need more Zoe (also she's hot)

Lmao let's just forget about that weird relationship shall we

Aren't we all the same, firmly believing he's alive and happy out there ! It was foreshadowed since the first ep and it made sense but do I care ? No, fuck that shit John is very much alive

You're welcome ! John needs all the comfort and the love !!! I think I have a preference for fluff bc he gets hurt enough in the show lol

Indeed they can, veryyy far away from us

Sry if this is shit I have like half a functioning braincell today

The post abt home bases I mentioned

[suitofvibraniumarmor]

Yours Truly [Part Five]

Summary: Chris’s parents visit for Layla’s birthday; his outburst during a discussion with his mother surprises everyone. Pairing: Chris Pratt x OFC, Chris Evans x OFC Word Count: 1650 Warnings: Mentions of divorce and abandonment. A/N: This fic was previously posted on my multi-fandom account; in honor of OC Appreciation Day, I figured I would queue it all up for your reading pleasure throughout the day! This was a collab with @captain-s-rogers , and I will link her chapters at the end of all of my posts! Some GIFs were difficult to find again, so if there’s no credit, they’re from Google Image Search or from the original post. 

July 1

Caroline,

So, you don’t have it bad for Chris? Then explain to me what that was after the debate! If you don’t have it bad for him, I’m going to venture to say that he has it bad for you. Drunk words and actions are sober thoughts.

As for Chris here, I don’t think he’ll be falling in love with anyone anytime soon. I think he’s still getting over his ex-wife, and I should probably figure out where I’m working next year before I start something with someone.

Layla’s birthday is today. We have invited a few of her friends, and Chris’s parents drove down from Minnesota for a long weekend. Seems like a far drive for a few-days’ stay to me, but Layla is happy to see them, and that’s all that matters. It will be a small affair, but it will be exactly what Layla asked for.

I’ve got to finish hemming my dress before the party, then bake and decorate cupcakes … summer procrastination at it’s finest over here!

Write soon and tell me more about Chris and the campaign. I can’t get enough of your letters!

Yours truly,

Sadie

The whirring of the sewing machine came to an abrupt halt when Sadie let her foot off the pedal. She snipped the thread and her dress was freed from the machine. After trimming the tails off a few more threads, she held it up in front of her; this new sundress was already one of her favorites.

Once the cupcakes were baking, she got Layla through the bath, then left it up to Kathleen, Chris’s mother, to dress the girl. Chris and his father, Daniel, had been up early to do the day’s chores before the party. There would still be the evening feeding of some of the animals, but that wouldn’t interfere with anything they had planned for the day.

“Adie! Will you put my bow on, please?” Layla pleaded, coming into the kitchen where Sadie was beginning to frost the freshly cooled cupcakes.

Sadie took the bow from her and crouched down to Layla’s level. “Your grandma made such a pretty braid in your hair!”

“Thank you,” Layla said, sitting still until the small bow was secured at the top of the braid, just above the nape of her neck. She turned and kissed Sadie on the cheek, then ran off to find her grandmother again.

Sadie got in the shower then, washing up quick so she could blow-dry and curl her hair when she got out. She donned her new dress and applied some natural makeup before slipping into a pair of sandals.

She literally bumped into Chris as she exited her room; he had been headed her direction, it seemed. Sadie chuckled at the mishap along with him and asked what she could help with.

“This tie,” he groaned. “I don’t wear one too often, but Layla said everyone has to dress their best, and I don’t want to let her down. A polo and jeans didn’t seem good enough. Can you help me?”

Sadie swallowed hard and nodded. The man wasn’t long out of the shower, and he smelled positively … well, manly. Not that she minded that smell of a hard’s day’s work, either. Today though, his smell combined with their proximity made Sadie’s heart beat even faster.

Chris lowered himself to her eye level; Sadie cleared her throat and forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand, and not the handsome blue eyes watching her face while she worked.

“I’m sure Daniel taught you how to do this,” she said, tightening up the knot at his neck. “All done.”

“He did,” Chris replied, turning to the hallway mirror to make a few minor adjustments and roll his sleeves up to his elbows, “but I don’t do it often enough, and he’s busy cleaning up himself.”

Sadie nodded and moved past him toward the front of the house. Guests would be arriving soon, and if she didn’t get her head out of the clouds, she would be no help during this birthday party.

Layla’s party was perfect. She hadn’t been allowed to see the decor on the back patio until it was party time, to allow for an element of surprise. She jumped up and down and squealed with excitement over the balloons and streamers and flowers before running off with her friends to the bouncy house Chris had rented and set up not far from the covered patio. The adults could relax in the shade where the fans were and still keep an eye on the kids.

“Chris, will you take a picture of Layla and me?” Sadie requested when the cake was brought out. “To send to Caroline.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Layla hopped up in Sadie’s lap near the cake and both girls smiled big for the camera. Sadie thanked Chris, then switched him out places so he could do the birthday song and candles with his daughter.

By the time all the guests went home, Layla had fallen asleep on the couch. Sadie offered to take her to bed; Chris smiled a thank you. He kissed his daughter on the forehead as Sadie walked by, then went out to the patio to help his mother clean up while his father worked on deflating the bouncy house.

Sadie managed to get Layla out of her party dress and into pajamas, and get the bow out of her hair, before tucking her cozy under the covers. Layla yawned and her pretty blue eyes looked up at Sadie.

“I think it’s okay Mama wasn’t here,” Layla said, “because then you wouldn’t be here. I love you, Adie.”

Sadie smoothed back Layla’s hair from her face. “I love you too, Layla.”

With a smile, she switched off the light and pulled the door almost closed. She headed out to the patio to help with the clean-up; heated voices stopped her at the back door.

“Mom, there’s still two months before Layla starts school. I’m not sending her up to Minnesota for the rest of the summer. I can’t.”

Kathleen sighed. “You can, you just won’t. You need time to heal from Emily leaving, sweetheart. Give yourself that time.”

“I’m over Emily — I’ve been over her. Things were bad for a while before she left, all right?” Sadie’s heart broke for Chris but also jumped at his confession of being over Emily. “Layla doesn’t need any more big changes.”

“Is this about Sadie? She’s a wonderful woman, but I can ready Layla for kindergarten, too.”

Sadie peered around the corner just in time to see Chris run a hand over his face and shift his weight to one foot in frustration.

“It’s about me not wanting to be away from my daughter, and — you know what, yeah, it is about Sadie. Layla loves her!” His voice raised even higher when he said, “I’m not going to let her lose another mother!”

Sadie gasped and lost her balance, causing her to slip against the doorway she had been leaning on and out onto the porch. She gained a good scrape on her elbow and up towards her wrist in the process.

“Sorry — I’m sorry,” Sadie stuttered out as she righted herself. “I’ll just — I’m gonna clean this up.”

She was rinsing off her elbow at the kitchen sink when Chris came inside. It was an awkward angle, and he offered to help her.

“Hop up on the counter there.” He wet a washcloth and cleaned the dirt from her scrape before going to the medicine cabinet for antibiotic ointment and a bandage.

The gentle way he applied the ointment and then the bandage made Sadie swoon a little more. In the weeks since she had come to the Pratt farm, the closed-off, rough man had warmed up, opened up, and began to work his way into Sadie’s heart. Between moments with Layla and early morning breakfast chats, as well as late night talks after Layla went to bed, Sadie knew she wasn’t going to have a hold on her feelings for much longer.

“Sadie, what I said about Layla not losing another mother,” Chris spoke up, breaking into her thoughts, “it may not have come out the way I intended.”

“It’s okay,” Sadie shrugged. She wanted to tell him that she would be all right if he meant it the way he said it, but she didn’t want to ruin the moment. “I’m not upset.”

“Good,” Chris smiled, helping her off the counter. “Thank you for everything today, Sadie. You made Layla’s day really special. And my birthday the other day. Means a lot.”

Sadie smiled. “It’s my pleasure, Chris. Really.”

She didn’t know it then, but that was the moment Chris realized he was falling for her. He stared at her long enough though, Sadie cleared her throat and excused herself to go outside and help with finishing the clean up from the party.

Sadie was in pajamas, reading through job opportunities on her laptop when Kathleen came to her door.

“Am I interrupting?”

Sadie closed her laptop. “Not at all. Everything okay?”

Kathleen took a seat on the edge of the bed. “I want to apologize if I offended you with what I said earlier. It’s nothing against you. Daniel and I just worry so much about Layla and Chris. Emily left them so suddenly — I won’t get into that. I appreciate what you’re doing for them, more than you know. Even the things you don’t know that you’re doing.”

“As I told Chris earlier, it’s truly my pleasure. I appreciate you clearing that up for me.” Sadie smiled and leaned over to hug the older woman. Before Kathleen could leave, she asked, “What do you mean, the things I don’t know I’m doing?”

Kathleen simply smiled and bid the younger woman good night.

Part Six

[groovyzombiellama]

Here For You

Title: Here For You Requested? No. Plot: Being there for Jax after Tara’s death, and over time, you manage to convince him to keep on living, and realizing his feelings, and finally accepting them, he wants to keep on living by your side. Word count: 1607 

---***---

You heard sobs coming from Jax’s house and instead of gently knocking on the door like you usually do, you quickly opened the door and rushed towards the source of the sobs and you froze in the kitchen doorway when you saw the scene. The kitchen was a mess, and there was blood on the floor, and the biggest shock, Jax clinging to Tara’s limp figure, crying his eyes out, and you didn’t need a long time to figure out the blood was hers. You have been in love with Jax since you saw him for the first saw him, all those years ago when you moved to Charming. You had finished college and wanted to live your own independent life, unaware that you’d meet your biological father here, and fall in love with one of his friends. Before you started college, your parents told you that you were adopted after your mother suffered complications during birth and died two weeks after you were born, and thankfully she met the woman who adopted you before she passed away, and was able to be sure that her daughter was going to be in safe hands.

She had left your father when she realized she was pregnant, because she thought his way of life would put you in danger she didn’t want you to be in. When you asked who he was, the only information that was given to you was that he was living in Charming, and they gave you a photograph of what they used to look like at the time. So maybe living an independent life was not the only reason you came here. And from the first moment you saw him, in the streets at 4th of July, you knew it was him, your biological father. You loved the family that adopted you, and you considered them your family, they raised you after all and you were grateful for everything they have done for you, you owe them the world. But you just had to meet this man, you had to see it in his eyes when you tell him you are his daughter. Will he be surprised? Will he actually care to meet you? Or will he just shrug his shoulders and walk away? You had to know how much of this man you resemble. And the photo gave you all the clues you needed really, because he hadn’t changed a whole lot, just a few wrinkles on his face time decided to add. But he looked exactly the same.

You walked up to him, and just held out the photo in your hands towards him. He looked at you with a frown, but once he saw the photo, his eyes grew wide and he asked you where you got it from. “I got it from the family that adopted me. That woman is...was my mother....and you are my father.“ You took a pause before you delivered the news, and stopped to look at him while he was trying to process the information you had given him. And you immediately knew what your mother was afraid of. The leather he was wearing showed off that he was a member of a motorcycle club. It had you wondering, if things turned out differently, would you have started speaking like him? Did your mother have a Scottish accent too? After processing everything, his brown eyes looked back up to yours, very similar ones and he introduced himself, as Filip Telford, and cautiously reached out to hug you, but you accepted it. You had nothing against him, he was never told you existed, so you couldn’t blame him for abandoning you or anything like that.

In fact, it made you happy that he wanted to get to know you. As the two of you were walking over to one picnic table where he said he was seated, pushing through the crowd, you noticed some motorcycles parked close to the table, and a bunch of men sitting around the table. One in particular caught your eye, he had long blonde hair, and as he turned around at the sound of his friend’s voice introducing you to the group, you noticed his blue eyes, and you almost got lost in them. You learned that the club’s name is SAMCRO, and that your father’s nickname is Chibs. The guys shifted slightly so that you and Chibs could sit down, and you were seated across the blonde, who’s name you found out is Jackson, or rather, Jax. And from that moment forward, the more time you spent with Jax, the more you were falling for him. But you never said anything, watching him go from woman to woman, even get married and have children with Wendy and Tara. After Tara left, you figured you would tell him, but every time you tried, something would come up and you were interrupted, so you took that as a sign that you should just keep your feelings to yourself.

And when she was back, you wanted to hate her, you wanted to just punch her in the jaw for even thinking of leaving Jax, but as he got back together with her, becoming husband and wife, all your boats sunk and your heart was so broken you didn’t even care anymore, about anything, and so you befrended Tara. You did that for Jax, not wanting to cause unnecessary tension in his already stessful life. And you couldn’t lie, Tara grew on you, and in the end, you ended up even considering her a friend outside doing it for Jax. Which was why you were now also in tears, unable to move, and it was as time dragged on, one second felt like an entire hour. Somehow you managed to come to your senses and you rushed over to Jax’s side, one hand grabbing Tara’s, and putting the other one on his shoulder. It crossed your mind that you shouldn’t even be here, and that you should let him cry it out and greave on his own, but the sheer amount if love you had for him didn’t let you leave him alone. Tara’s hand was cold, and more tears started falling down your face.

Your hands shaking, you somehow managed to call your dad and soon all of the Sons were at the scene, along with the police. As Tara was taken away to be prepared for her funeral, you turned all your attention to Jax, telling him how sorry you are that he’s going through this and that you would give anything to take the pain away from him. In response, he grabbed onto you, engulfing you in his arms as if he was holding on for dear life. The two of you sat on the floor, as you cradled him in your arms, letting him cry, telling him you were going to do what it takes to help him through this. And you did. You even moved into his house, so he wouldn’t be alone, and to help with the kids. The nights were the worst in the beginning, he would wake up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat after having a nightmare, and as soon as his eyes would open, he would begin to sob. In those moments, you would rush into his room and spend as much time as needed calming him down enough to go back to sleep. Over time, you would even occasionally sleep in the same bed with him, just so he didn’t feel alone, and that helped keep the nightmares away a little.

About a year after Tara’s death, Jax was getting better, finally smiling once again, after so long. And you were with him through it all. You had the feeling everything was going well, but Jax was having an inner battle with himself. Having you around has helped him a lot, and he thanked you for that every day, but some other feelings started to emerge inside him another year later, feelings he didn’t want to think about. When you begged him to tell you what was going on for months, he finally opened up to you. “When you’re here, I feel so happy, and when you’re not, I wish that you are. Whenever I wake up and see you next to me, for a few moments, I feel as if you fit there perfectly, by my side. And I catch myself wishing I fell asleep next to you when you aren’t in the same bed with me. I can’t be feeling like this, I just can’t.“ He put his head in his hands and you moved them and cupped his face to get him to look at you. You told him that you won’t be pushing him into anything, that you’re happy just being there for him. “We’re good Teller, okay? We’re all good. Just focus on yourself for me. Please.“

And so, two more years went by and Jax slowly started embracing those feelings he had for you, only expressing them when you he comes to visit you in the hospital after you got injured trying your best to protect the kids from being taken away, and along with thanking you for keeping them safe until the Sons got there to rescue you all, he confessed to you that the thought of losing you made him realize that he can’t hide his feelings anymore. That was the first time he kissed you, and you never forgot it. You agreed to take it slow, and over time, your relationship grew stronger than any relationship you have seen in your life.

---***---

I’m thinking of doing some short gif imagines for Charlie, Jax, Papillon etc now, because it takes way to long to write some of these fics, and texting/social media posts :)

[bthump]

What is your favorite, most dark/twisted griffguts scenario/hc/au or whatever?

dark and twisted eh? lol this is a question and a half. advance warning for a mention of consent issues.

This is a fic idea I’ve considered writing but gave up on pretty quickly bc I didn’t think I could do it justice lol. And also I never finish anything and this is a novel’s worth of material.

AU where the behelit is an ordinary apostle behelit, and also Guts’ instead of Griffith’s. It opens at pretty much the exact same time, after the rescue, when Guts sees Griffith attempt suicide and it hits him that it’s all his fault. He destroyed Griffith and there’s no way to fix this, no one to kill to make it better, he threw away the only thing he’s ever wanted.

So the Raiders followed him down to the lake, Casca and the rest of the Hawks stayed behind, and the behelit opens. Guts ends up sacrificing the Raiders for ~the power to fix his mistake~ and becomes a monster with magic healing abilities. Because I figure that if you’re not sacrificing the person you actually love most, then you need to compensate with quantity lol, and after all the Raiders were the example, alongside Griffith, of “the place [Guts] belonged,” which should count for something.

So the result of this is you got Beast of Darkness Guts who is basically fixated on Griffith. You got a Griffith who spent a year of torture thinking about Guts and realizing he’s desperately in love with him and is thus fixated on Guts. He’s also fully healed and has a super powerful monster under his command so he’s obligated to go back to pursuing his dream in some form or another.

The situation is Griffith as an unstoppable warlord leading an army that grows and grows as dissatisfied peasants join him and others see the way the wind is blowing and join him to back the right horse, and strikes fear into the hearts of nobility until he eventually takes Midland by force (which is doable bc it’s weakened by a century long war and also an insane king). He’s embracing his “cruelty” and doing whatever it takes to attain his dream which means stuff like executing nobles and whatever to send a message and strike first with fear and intimidation. He’s more distanced from the Hawks than he was pre-torture. His image is scary and ruthless and powerful.

On the flipside he’s super traumatized and emotionally vulnerable, like lbr he’s got complex ptsd and he’s devastatingly emotionally reliant on an apostle boyfriend which in no way helps, not to mention the issues he already had pre-torture like guit and self-loathing. And the whole point is that contrast. Like Griffith ordering fortresses to be burnt and razed to the ground vs Griffith being unable to sit too close to a campfire because sometimes the radiating heat gives him panic attacks. Griffith fighting effectively at the head of an army vs Griffith losing his grasp on the present in the dark and forgetting he’s not in a torture chamber. Part of why Griffith is more removed from the Hawks now is to keep these vulnerabilities hidden.

And wrt Guts and ~dark and twisted~ griffguts content, Griffith commanding a literal monster in battle vs Griffith, eg, never once saying “no” to him in bed bc he’s low key afraid Guts wouldn’t stop, both due to his own trauma and Guts being monstery, and he’d rather just never let that situation come up. Like, loving and needing Guts but being afraid of him after the apostle transformation, and denying that fear to himself. And it could vary. Sometimes being with Guts would be perfect, everything he wants, emotional and physical fulfillment, and sometimes it would pretty much be a form of self-harm. Sometimes he would crave sex and sometimes it would trigger him. Sometimes everything at once. That kind of thing.

And like lbr we’ve seen his inner darkness, Guts as an apostle would be a nightmare. He wouldn’t care about anyone except Griffith, possibly to the point of low key being a threat to the rest of the Hawks, and he’d be extremely possessive and needy. I don’t think he’d be like, completely out of control like the armour makes him, but I feel like his judgement would be shot, his impulse control would be shot, he’d have way more casual asshole tendencies a la Black Swordsman Guts (or even his imo insufferable cockiness post-vacation). He’d still have that eagerness to please wrt Griffith tho, so he wouldn’t be completely beyond Griffith’s control. He’d obey orders, at least to the same extent he did as an ordinary human lol, and he wouldn’t do anything to threaten Griffith’s image, his control and leadership over the rest of the Hawks, like insubordination or w/e. He likes the idea of Griffith being feared, and of being the only one (give or take Casca, probably) to see the vulnerable side of him. And he likes the idea of Griffith needing him to achieve his dream as well as needing him emotionally.

Like, in chapter 71 Guts basically realized that his desire to become Griffith’s equal by finding a dream of his own was stupid and doomed from the start, so I don’t think Griffith pursuing his dream again while he has no goals himself would bother him because now he knows how important he is to Griffith. And also I imagine post-torture Griffith would be willing and able to tell him that he values him over the dream. Even shares that it feels like an obligation to him. Like after that torture chamber monologue it’s easy to see him being more emotionally forthcoming with Guts, more revealing, more self-aware, at least in some ways.

They would both relish the sheer intensity of the others’ feelings for him, but Griffith would be afraid of his own feelings, how vulnerable they make him, and he’d be afraid of Guts’ literal monstrosity, both rationally because he’s a big undefeatable obsessive monster, and irrationally because apostles instill instinctive fear in humans. (That instinctive fear as symbolic of Griffith’s intense life-ruining feelings esp post-torture might be interesting tbh.) Guts would be afraid of Griffith hating him or growing indifferent, but as an apostle that would manifest in clinginess and possessiveness and a constant craving for proof of Griffith’s feelings. And for Griffith’s part he could take advantage of that in manipulative ways. Like I love the idea of an intense toxic relationship where the life-ruining feelings between them are occasionally weaponized by both.

Oh and you also got Griffith’s self loathing and guilt, and the knowledge that Guts became a monster entirely because of him, to help him, plus he rescued and healed him, and so he’d also be torn between feeling like he doesn’t deserve Guts, and feeling like he deserves Guts but in a penitent way, esp if he feels responsible for his monsterism, which he would whether that’s rational or not. Plus also feeling like Guts, as a monster who sacrificed a bunch of his friends to become one and now wreaks havoc in battle, is the only person who can understand him. “Do you think I’m cruel?” “What kind of question is that for the guy who killed a hundred men?” writ large. All the emotional dysfunctionality implied in that exchange taken to 100.

Griffith getting more ruthless and fucked up and taking comfort in a fucked up relationship with a literal monster as he pursues his dream. “You’re rough enough to share this with to the end.” Griffith in part relishing Guts’ monstrosity because it means they’re in this together. They’ll be together because who else would want them? Like a dark contrast to a happy Golden Age AU where Guts tells Griffith how he really sees him and it’s a step towards emotional healing and self love and whatever, this would be Griffith hating himself and being comforted by the thought that Guts is down in the dark with him. Dragging each other down instead of lifting each other up, yk.

(Guts tells Griffith he doesn’t regret it. This applies to both becoming a monster for Griffith’s sake, and leaving in the first place and all the destruction that caused, since it eventually led to both of them getting everything they’ve ever wanted. A kingdom, the Hawks, each other, everything worked out perfectly. Right?)

Also you have Casca and the rest of the Hawks for that excellent outsider/disturbed onlooker pov. Casca’s got her close relationship with both as well as her protectiveness of Griffith. Judeau’s got his detached perceptive observation. Corkus has his outrage and resentment. All good potential perspectives on this imo. Like eg imagine Corkus sowing discord by pointing out that they have no reason to trust Guts esp now that he’s a literal monster since he’s not even a Hawk after abandoning them, and they can’t even trust Griffith to keep him in line because lbr Griffith already fucked them all over once because of Guts.

Idk how it would end though. Something fucked up. Like say Griffith achieves the dream, settles into ruling, the realization that he only hates himself more than ever eventually creeps up on him, and he ends up goading Guts into killing him, like an impulsive and somewhat subconscious act of suicide. Guts becomes Zodd 2.0, wandering battlefields, looking for someone strong enough to take him out. Or maybe just living miserably ever after as Griff sets his sights on an empire (bc he can’t stop, bc as soon as he stops that’s akin to declaring that this end is worth all the deaths and pain and etc on the road to it, and nothing’s actually worth that, so he’s trapped and it sucks) would be a nice anticlimactic ending. Yk, something depressing.

Like overall it would be a giant trainwreck with extreme contrasts wrt power dynamics and emotions, which is basically my favourite kind of thing. Like there are definitely way more straightfoward ways to get dark and edgy griffguts lmao, like about a million post-Eclipse scenarios, but still it’s probably my favourite of the darker ideas I’ve had.

I just love the idea of post-torture Griffith + apostle Guts lol they’d be like the epitome of dysfunctional yet inseparable, and it’s a great starting point for compounding all of Griffith’s canon issues and exploring them.

[verai-marcel]

Let Go (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x Fem!Reader, 18+, DubCon)

Just posting some of my older fics to tumblr. This is the Captured Hearts series, part 3 of 4.

Summary: When Arthur promised you he wouldn’t let anyone else catch him, you believed him. But some things aren’t meant to be. Will you save him, or will you walk away?

Author’s Notes: Yeah, adding that D/s tag because that’s pretty much where their relationship has been heading in my brain. I looked up DD/lg to see if that applies here, and it’s maybe 1% applicable because of the use of the “baby girl” endearment and some caretaking, so if that freaks you out, maybe avoid this story. Anyway, enjoy!

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Some Gore, Gun Violence, Shameless Smut, D/s, no spoilers, DubCon

Word Count:  4624

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“Those O'Driscolls been around a lot lately.” 

“Yeah, they been causing trouble two towns over, and now I hear they been seen on the roads nearby.”

“Sheriff better do somethin’ about.”

“You know he ain't gonna do shit!” 

Raucous laughter followed, filling the saloon with a warmth and camaraderie you hadn’t felt in a while. You took another sip of your whiskey, letting the burn soothe your tiredness. 

You thought of the O’Driscolls. You didn't mess with that gang; they were far too big, and their leader was a bit crazy from what you heard. You had tried taking in some O'Driscolls, a long time ago with your father. You both had agreed afterwards that they weren't worth the trouble. Swarmed like flies, and just as annoying. 

You had traveled west, away from the town with the nice sheriff who wanted to deputize you, away from that abandoned cabin, away from that campsite, away from everything that reminded you of him. You ended up in a larger town, but it was nestled in the foot of the mountains and off the beaten path. People here seemed friendly, but only because they didn’t see many travelers, so you were sort of an anomaly. You quickly gained favor with some of the townsfolk, helping out here and there, and no one here thought it was strange for a woman to be doing the kind of work you did; in fact, quite a few women were doing similar things.

What a delightfully forward-thinking town, you thought, as you finished your whiskey and left the saloon. Everyone else was drinking, shit-talking the sheriff (who really was a bit useless), and having a grand old time, but you had spent most of the day helping a farmer hunt down a wolf that was preying on his sheep, and you were tired. You made your way to the small cabin you had been staying at for the past couple of weeks. The farmer you were helping let you stay in exchange for help around the farm and whatever hunting or foraging you could bring in, which was plentiful in the mountains above the town.

As you walked back, a group of rowdy looking men rounded the corner and started heading towards the saloon. You naturally avoided them, taking to the shadows and quietly staying out of their sight.

“I’m tired of guarding that son of a bitch. I can’t believe Ike made us bring him all the way out here.”

“He’ll bring in good money alive, but we gots ta wait for Willie to make the arrangements. None of us can just walk into Blackwater, ya know.”

“Yeah, yeah. This better be worth it.”

“It will! One day, everyone will know the Bollard Twins gang. We’ll take down both the O’Driscolls and the Van der Linde gang, starting with that dumbass Arthur that got himself caught.”

Your breath stopped. Slowly so it seemed natural, you walked a wide berth around them, and started heading back to the saloon. Picking a spot nearby where you wouldn’t be noticed, you catnapped, your hat over your face so people thought you were sleeping off the alcohol.

You waited for a couple of hours, until you saw them head back out again. Quietly, through the dawn, you followed them. They walked back to their horses outside of town and rode off. You quickly whistled for Trigger, who came galloping within minutes, and headed off after them.

***

Tracking them was easy for you, as they weren’t even hiding their trail. The problem came when you found their hideout. Three men were ambling around outside, and you didn’t know how many were inside. The cabin, if you could call it that, didn’t look like more than a shed, so you guessed maybe at most another two people were inside. Did they really need that many, guarding one prisoner? Even if it was Arthur, that seemed excessive. And on top of that, there wasn’t any good cover for you to snipe from. If you shot from here, they’d see you in a heartbeat. You slunk back down the hill, wondering what to do. Wait until nightfall? Arthur might be dead by then. Take a chance and snipe anyway? You didn’t particularly want to die.

But the thought of Arthur dying squeezed your heart painfully. When had he gotten such a tight hold on you? He was just an outlaw that you've had a couple encounters with. You shouldn't care this much. 

And yet you longed for his touch, you dreamed of him, and your body sung for him after just one look. 

You took a deep breath. You scanned the mountainside, hoping that you missed a good ledge or outcropping, but there was nothing. You'd have to just go from here, guns blazing. It ran through your mind that you could just leave him to his fate, but you quickly squashed that thought. It wouldn't feel right. 

Sighing at yourself, you readied your rifle, made sure your revolver was loaded, and snuck around to the back of the cabin. You purposely shot away from them so they looked at the exploding branch first, then they immediately looked in your direction as you popped one in the head. The other two men started shooting at you, and another man came out of the shed and shouted at them to kill you as he also pulled out his rifle and started taking pot shots at you. 

You started running, bullets whizzing by you. You were getting grazed like crazy, but you kept shooting, just trying to get any shots. You got one of them in the knee, another one in the elbow. They cried out and held their wounds. The man with the rifle cursed them out and kept firing on you, keeping you pinned down behind a large tree.

You counted the bullets. You knew it was a Lancaster rifle, you knew he would max out at 14 shots. When you counted 10, he paused. You came out then and shot a few rounds based on instinct and where the bullets were coming from. He yelled out in pain as you got him in the hand and the shoulder.

“Fucking asshole!” he yelled as he pulled out his revolver with his good hand and shot. One bullet tore through your hair, grazing the point where your neck and shoulder met. Another bullet grazed high on your cheek. You felt blood flow down your shirt from the wound, and you ducked back behind the tree, breathing heavily in shock. Your face stung, and the blood dripped down to your chin.

A feral yell echoed in the forest. You heard the sounds of someone being punched to hell, and after a couple of minutes, nothing. You peeked around the tree to see Arthur, half-naked and covered in blood, like a wild man. His wrists looked raw where he had been tied up. His chest and stomach were bruised, clearly beaten while he was trapped here. And he looked pissed off as he stared down at the man who had shot you.

Without thinking, your body moving on its own, you slowly started walking towards him, the blood loss making you less careful about your surroundings. He looked up at the sound you made as you stumbled towards him, his wild look making him a frightening sight to behold. But you kept walking, one step in front of the other.

“Sweetheart…” he finally said, his eyes softened when he noticed it was you and not another gang member.

He ran to you and caught you right before you collapsed.

***

You woke up in a tent. Not your tent. You tried sitting up, but pain shot through your body and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. You lifted your arms to see them bandaged in multiple places. You slowly sat up this time, gritting your teeth through the pain, and looked under the blanket. Your right leg was bandaged in a couple of places, your left leg only had one graze at your ankle, but you had plenty of bruises from hitting branches and rocks as you were dodging and diving for cover through the fight. Even your side had bandages around your belly, and you reached to your side and poked yourself, wincing. Could’ve been worse, you thought. At least you didn’t get a bullet wound. You tried to stretch, and everything stung. 

You reached up to your shoulder. Bandages were wrapped around your neck and chest to keep the wound from opening up again. That was probably the worst of your injuries. You had felt the blood just running from your neck and really thought you were done for.

You sniffed the blanket. It smelled like Arthur.

And then the tent flap opened and you hid yourself under the blanket. You were naked except for the bandages and felt shy, exposed.

“Finally awake?”

You tried to nod, but just ended up wincing. Moving your neck hurt.

“Just stay still, lemme take care of ya,” he said as he moved next to you. In his hand was a bowl of stew. Your mouth watered.

“How long did I sleep?”

“Most the day. It just got dark.”

“Oh,” you said finally, not knowing how to handle this information, nor this situation. You looked at him, really looked at him. He was bandaged up too, and the bruises that you could see were turning an unfortunate shade of blue & black. He sat down and started feeding you quietly, and you accepted his help, since your arms were like lead and honestly, you wanted to just let him take care of you like this. It had been so long since anyone had looked after you in such a kind manner that you nearly cried at the tender care. He didn’t say anything nor made any fuss about it; he just slowly fed you, one bite at a time.

After you had eaten your fill, he went back outside to kill the fire and clean up. You lay back down carefully and wrapped the blanket around you, inhaling deeply and feeling a bit embarrassed about doing so. You were exhausted; considering how long you had been up before, and how much you had exerted yourself in the past 24 hours, you quickly fell back asleep, even though you had slept for so long already.

***

Sometime during the night, you woke to find Arthur sleeping next to you, his broad back to yours, keeping you warm. You blinked, and went back to sleep again, sure it was a dream.

***

When morning finally peeked through the tent, you felt groggy, but a lot better than before. Your wounds weren’t so bad a day later, and you could move somewhat better, even though you were still sore overall. You got up, threw your clothes on, and got out of the tent.

Arthur was gone, as was his horse, but you noticed a piece of paper under his pot of coffee.

Hunting.

Short and to the point. You could rest some more and just… stay. But you felt the urge to run away, to hide, to not be here when he came back. The string around your heart felt tighter every minute you stayed. You picked up the piece of paper and scribbled with some charcoal.

Went back.

You packed your stuff, got on your horse, and rode back to the cabin on that farmer’s land.

***

A few days later, you finally felt like yourself again. You had picked up some simple labor here and there, taking it easy on your sore body. No one had questioned your wounds; you made up a tale of falling down a hill to get away from too many wolves, and they believed you. The townspeople knew that hunts went bad sometimes. Wolves were truly a problem around here, as the farmer had asked once again for your help guarding the sheep at night when you had returned. 

After a third night of no wolves, you stretched and went back to your cabin, admiring the 3AM moonlight. You were itching to leave again, go back to bounty hunting, back to traveling. You were a nomad, and this was the longest you had stayed in a place since your old man passed. You never liked staying in a place for too long; you didn't want to get attached to anything. Attachments caused… complications. And the thing you hated most was complications. 

You washed up a bit with the small water basin you kept just inside the door before you changed into your simple sleeping shift. It was the girliest thing you owned; it even had a small red ribbon bow in the middle. To be fair, you picked it mostly because it was the least garish sleepwear in the store. It was silky soft and you admit that it was a splurge buy. But you wanted something to sleep in other than your regular clothes.

In the middle of the cabin, you twirled about just to feel the dress whirl around your knees. It was short, but it wasn't like it was for public viewing. 

A strong, steady couple of knocks on the door made you jump. What the hell? The damn farmer better not be asking you to do a double shift. You pulled your coat on over yourself and grabbed your revolver. With your hand on the door handle, you grumbled loudly, “What is it?” You thought you sounded a little bitchy, but you didn't care. 

“Don't sound too happy there, sweetheart.”

You immediately flung open the door without thinking. Arthur was leaning against the door frame, looking smug, probably because you had opened the door so quickly. He looked you up and down; your coat had fallen open, and your hand was still gripping your revolver tightly. He could see part of your night dress with its stupid girly ribbon bow. 

You didn't even ask how he found you. You didn't exactly hide yourself here, and people knew you. One more reason to leave town. 

After a brief second of looking at him in disbelief, you slammed the door shut. 

Or at least you tried to. Arthur caught the door and forced his way into your space. He shut and locked the door behind him, the click sounding so final to your ears. Then he started stalking towards you. You walked back until you stumbled against the table behind you, so you sidestepped around, hit the wall, then took one step to the side. A hand slammed into the wall next to your face. 

His other hand reached down and slowly took the gun away from you. Bending on one knee, he gently placed it on the ground. Clearly a man who cared about firearms. 

But now was not the time to admire him. Or was it? He had not shaven in a few days, but otherwise he looked alright. In fact, he looked a bit scruffy but still attractive. The way he was looking at you with hungry eyes made your body tighten as he stood back up, but not before nipping at your stomach on the way back up.

“I gave you some time,” he said in a low voice. “But I can't wait any longer.” Reaching for your coat, he slowly slid it off your shoulders. It fell to the ground around your feet, revealing your dress. The fabric was thin, the neckline was a bit low, and his eye darkened with lust when he saw your nipples harden. 

“You want this too, don'tcha.” It was a statement, one you could not deny. Slowly his hands went for your dress straps. He slid them down until they were off your shoulders as he stepped closer to you. He cupped your breasts and flicked your nipples under the fabric. 

“Didn't know you owned anything like this,” he murmured. 

“It's new,” you mumbled. 

“It's… Nice.” In one quick move he jerked the dress down just enough so he could palm your breasts, his rough hands squeezing you. He bent over and took one of your nipples into his mouth. 

You gasped and wrapped your arms around his head, running your hands through his hair. He moaned around your nipple, vibrating through you and making you hotter for him. He stood up and crushed you against the wall, taking your mouth, slowly at first, then with a growing need as his hands touched you everywhere. 

Then as quickly as he began, he stopped and stepped away. You were suddenly cold without his warm body against yours, and you slid down the wall now that he wasn't supporting your weight. You watched as he took a few more steps back and started taking off his coat, suspenders, and shirt. His gun belt hit the floor with a very final thud. This was happening, whether you wanted it or not. And part of you really, really wanted it.

He noticed the need in your eyes. “You want this?” he asked, a hint of a smirk on his lips. His hands were hovering over the fly of his pants.

“Yes,” you whispered. 

He grinned, somewhat perversely. He sat in the only chair and beckoned you. “Crawl to me.” 

You started to. Then you stopped. 

“Don't think. Just do as I say.” 

Your mind warred with your body. 

“Trust me.” 

It was so hard. So hard to let go of all control. So hard to trust so unconditionally. 

“Look at me.” 

You looked up at him. 

“If you truly don't want somethin’, I won't force it. So please, trust me.”

A second passed. Then another. And then you slowly got on your hands and knees and crawled towards him. You were rewarded with a smile that made it oh so worth it.

He ran a hand through your hair and you leaned into his touch. Your body warmed; it felt so good just to be in the moment. You reached for his fly and began unbuttoning. He watched you, his breath shaky with need as you pulled out his cock on your own and began licking and sucking happily.

A grunt made you look up. He fisted your hair and pulled you off him.

“Gettin’ too close, baby girl.”

He hushed you softly when you whimpered. He let go of your hair and pulled you up until you were standing, and guided you by your hips until you were astride him. Lifting up your dress, he looked up at you as he slipped a finger into your wet channel. Your hands immediately went to his shoulders for support as he played with you, adding a second and then a third finger, readying you.

He hummed agreeably after a bit, and grasped your hips once more. 

“Guide me in,” he said in a low voice. You reached down and wrapped a hand around his thick cock, stroked him once, and let him pull you down. You gasped as he started pushing into you; even after he had worked his fingers inside you, you were still tight.

“Breathe,” Arthur whispered as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled steadily down, down until you were fully sitting in his lap, his shaft deep inside you. Grabbing your ass, he started lifting you up and down, and you held on for dear life. Your hands gripped his arms and his chest, feeling his muscles working as he pumped your body. It was like you weighed nothing at all, and the thought of the strength he possessed shot adrenaline through you, making you hotter.

“More,” you moaned, and he chuckled in response. Standing up with you still impaled on his shaft, he sat you on the table and pushed you down. Gripping your hips, he lifted you slightly off the table and drove into you with all his strength. The table rocked as he took you, his eyes possessing an almost demon glow in the lantern light.

In the privacy of this cabin, you screamed and moaned. You could feel yourself letting go of all your hang-ups. Your body loosened up, becoming Arthur’s pliable play thing.

He sensed the change in you. “That’s it girl, let go, let me take care of you,” he said as he flipped you over and entered you from behind. Without giving you a chance to breathe, he fucked you roughly, and you begged for more.

“Yes, use me!”

“Gladly, sweetheart,” he growled as he drove into you harder. “Tell me more.”

Your words were vulgar, dirty, lewd. And you couldn’t stop them from coming from your mouth. He slapped your ass and you reveled in the sting of it, pushing your hips out to meet his thrusts with pure need. You were being defiled, and you loved it.

Then you felt a finger caress your rear opening, and you froze. Your body immediately tensed up. He caressed you again, and you wouldn’t, couldn’t relax.

“No,” you said, definitively.

After a second, he stroked your hair comfortingly. “Alright,” he said softly. He slowly started stroking your clit again to get you hot once more. It didn’t take long for you to melt under his touch, and the trust you had for him grew.

Then he grabbed your waist and pulled out of you. He sat back down in the chair, taking you backwards with him. He leaned back and pulled you on top of him, your back on his chest, your legs spread around his. You leaned your head back against his shoulder and he nibbled your earlobe. You moaned as he violently shoved his cock back inside you.

“Ride me. Show me what you want,” he commanded.

It was hard to think past the soft haze of desire, but your body moved of its own accord, and your breathing hitched when one hand went to your clit and the other fondled your breasts. He caressed you everywhere, your whole body singing for his as you moved up and down on him, your heartbeat thundering in your ears as you got closer to the edge.

“Gonna shoot my spend all over your pretty face,” he whispered in your ear, and that mental image pushed you over your limits as you came hard, crying out his name as you shook with pleasure.

As the edge wore off, he pushed you down, grabbed you by the neck, and pulled you up to his still erect cock. He stroked his cock a few times and came on your face, his cum dripping down your chin to your breasts.

You felt dirty and used. You should’ve been upset, but you were feeling satisfied, almost unnaturally so. You had a blanket of contentment around your mind and it wouldn’t go away.

Arthur disappeared for a moment to grab the wash cloth next to the water basin, came back, went on one knee next to you and cleaned you up. You leaned back against his other knee and hummed happily. He tenderly walked you to bed, and you could feel him spooning you as you quickly fell asleep.

***

It was late morning when you awoke. Arthur’s arms were wrapped around you, and your legs were intertwined with his.

You immediately remembered what happened last night and burned with an inner shame. You had let loose, begged him for terrible things that only he could do to you, and at the end, he had finished on you like a dollar whore. You had done things that were so separate from who you wanted to be: an ace hunter, a great sniper, calm and collected in all things.

Quietly & slowly, you tried to get out of bed without waking Arthur. You had to leave, you had to ride on the open road and feel the wind on your face and just get out-

Arthur’s arms tightened around you. It was like being wrapped in steel; there was no getting out.

“Goin’ somewhere?”

“I… I need to go.”

He let go. “If you’re not back in 5 minutes, I’m comin’ to git you.”

You nodded, threw on a shirt and pants, and went outside to the outhouse to relieve yourself.

Walking back, you thought of just running away, but you knew he’d just chase you. There was no escape. Entering the cabin again, you were surprised to find him getting dressed.

“C’mere,” he said. You obediently walked to him, and he wrapped his arms around you.

“You feelin’ ashamed?”

You nodded in his chest.

“Don’t be. You got needs. S’okay if you fulfill them with the right person.”

“And that’s you?”

“I got needs too. We match.”

You looked up at him then. His eyes were clear like the morning sky, not like last night’s demon-possessed darkness. 

“You got to stop running from me every time we meet. You know I can give you what you need.”

You leaned your forehead against his chest again, and he kissed the top of your head. He had a point. Your desires and his worked well together. You both got something out of your couplings. 

“How?” you finally asked.

“How what?”

“How do you always know what I need?”

You felt him shrug. “I just do.”

You scoffed.

“Have I ever left you unsatisfied?” he asked, sounding slightly offended.

You were silent. No, he had always fulfilled you. You had no room to argue, not without being a liar, and you were most certainly not a liar.

He held you for a moment longer, then let go. He went to gather his things, giving you a moment to just watch him and think. You know in your exhaustion the first thing you had done was to go to him. You know that your body just moved on its own. You thought that had you been in your right mind, you would have run away from this dangerous outlaw.

Or maybe that was you running away from yourself. What were you really afraid of? He had shown you nothing but kindness and pleasure. He took care of you, made you feel fulfilled in a way no man had ever done, and had respected your boundaries when you truly drew a line. Because you knew that every time he had forced his way through, you hadn’t fought back. Not really. He’s seen you fight. He knows you would have resisted tooth and nail if you truly didn’t want something. But you knew, deep down, you wanted him to do all those debauched things to you, and you enjoyed it all.

Deep in thought, you hadn’t noticed that he had finished picking up and was ready to leave. He had been watching you for several minutes as the gears turned in your head, working out your emotions regarding him and this... situation between the two of you.

Stepping up to you once more, he cupped your chin to bring you out of your reverie.

“Next time I see you, don’t run.” He lovingly kissed your forehead and walked out the door.

You followed him to the door and watched as he got on his horse and rode away, presumably back to his gang. You realized that he had never asked you to come with him, to join his gang. You never would, of course. You wanted to live the freedom of a bounty hunter’s life, and that was non-negotiable.

Maybe he knew that. Maybe that’s why you and he had to be content with these random meetings and nothing more.

Were you afraid of wanting more? Or were you more afraid of him wanting more? Because with the hold he had on you, you weren’t sure what you would say if he asked you to stay.

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End Notes: Hope you guys enjoyed it, it’s what Arthur wanted to do in my head, so I let him (let’s be honest, I’d let Arthur do a lot of things to me *droooool*). Also I looked up 1890s clothing and endearments and dirty terms so it’s somewhat chronologically accurate; I had no idea the endearment “baby” was used as early as the 17th century, and zippers weren’t used commonly until the 1930s. So all my cowboys have button flys (which are sexy anyway, right?).

[mytrashs-blog]

Alter Ego ch. 4 “Perficiendi”

Spideychelle, Peter Parker x Reader, slow burn fic, Enhanced reader.

Word Count: 2,388

Warnings: PTSD, men being trash, terrible coping mechanisms

Summary: “When you can do the things that I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.”

A/N: Made it to the 4th chapter! Yay!! This one is a chill one, I like to say this is the calm before the storm, and you really don’t know what ya got comin’ but yeah, I gotta keep encoraging you to Reblog!! This!! Post!! because that’s how we keep ‘em comin’ and also leave the comments, they make me very happy. If you wanne be part of the taglist, shoot me an ask! :)xx

Ch. 3 “Ipsum Invenies”

It really was a simple design, kind of like the one Spider-man wore, red, blue and a few details in black. You wanted it to be like your male counterpart, a one piece with a mask covering all of your face, plus you needed to solve the eye problem, cause you’ve realized that it’s annoying at some extent to see as wide as you do, so you want to solve this to be able to concentrate in what’s more important.

The doing was the complicated part, because though you had a bit of knowledge in how to make clothes for some clubs you were in during middle and high school, you have no idea how to make a superhero suit. For starters: What kind of fabric is flexible and bulletproof, and super resistent to knives and all kind of lethal weapons? What is Spider-man’s suit made of anyway? So many unanswered questions. In the end you settled for high resistance spandex and a ton of cosplay tutorials on Pinterest and YouTube.

The first prototipe was ready in three days, but the final version, the one in which you could run, jump and everythign else took two weeks to perfect. But of course you wanted to know how to fight, so you enrolled on the gym for some boxing classes and your mother loved the idea, for it was a way for you to defend yourself if you were ever in a traumatic situation again. You really don’t wanna know how she’d react if she knew what you’re planning to do.

The spiderweb was a lot more complicated, where does Spider-man get that thing from? You know that this would be awfully easier if you had a Tony stark to pay for all your toys, but for now, all you have is Lexi: biochemistry student, roomie and very close friend. She offers her help to develpo the webs, one that’s resistent and can carry tons of weight, on the last minute you come up with the idea of infusing the web with a sedative that activates on contact, to avoid the prey from getting rif of it. That process took a lot of work and time aswell.

It took two long months for you to feel ready to go through with your revenge but even after that, you couldn’t quite find the uber driver, at some point you question if it’s even worth it, even google has its limits and it won’t present you an adress just like that. And that’s when it gets really hard. Your idea is to hack into Uber’s database to get the adress. If the police didn’t even go after him, maybe he didn’t run away.

Your college is very big, you know a lot of people, but since you went missing in the middle of exams season, everyone is very busy and it’s hard to find someone available to help you hack a likely vey protected site, but you try regardless. It takes about 15 calls and hundreds of unanswered texts, but you finally get a very nice nerd to teach you how to do the dirty job, because you really didn’t want to tell him what you were planning.

You had to begin your infiltration from a strange computer, in a place far away from your apartment and with a VPN adress, to be untraceable, hard work, but your nerd friend taught you everything you needed and it wouldn’t take more than 5 minutes to do it.

The codes you have to write in are long, the ones you have to get rid of are hard to find, but you enhanced senses can do it faster than you’d ever imagined, before the incident you would’ve never been able to do it, while your thoughts drift away, you make it inside Uber’s database, you search for the information you need. You don’t type in his name, that would have made it easier for the page to identify it’s been hacked, but once you find it you take a picture of the screen eith the phone your mom insisted on buying for you and you get out of the page they way your nerd friend tol you. You’re safe.

You get out of the place, but you leave the laptop there, you figured it’d be better of someone steals it, that way it’s impossible to trace it to you. You walk to a bus stop to get back home, you don’t even consider taxis or anything else for transport anymore.

You put on your earphones while you get on the public transport, after playing some music from your phone, you decide to take a look at the data you gathered, when you open it you realize that apart from the data of the man, there’s a picture of him, looking at it takes you back to that same face looking at you like an animal about to attack, his hands touching you, his weight over your body, the puch with the baseball bat, you remember everything he made you live in a second and suddenly you’re gripping the metal bar in front of your seat with all your strenght, you feel the metal giving in under your muscles, molding to the shape of your closed fist over it. You let go.

You have tears in your eyes and the person beside you looks at you concerned, scared even. You get off the bus the second it stops and you run, you run as fast as you can in the direction of your apartment, images attacking you like flashes in a dark room, you don’t want to see it, you speed up and everything around you is a blur, except for the images in your mind, when they stop coming you start slowing down until you stop too. You’re one block away from your apartment, but you can’t, you crumble and start ccrying again. All these new abilities and none of them can help you forget. You cry until the sun starts setting, you’re still sitting on the cold pavement of the street, people walk by and they stare at you, but frankly you couldn’t care less, after a while Lexi calls.

“Hey…”

“Where are you? Everything alright?”

“I’m one block away, I was doing some stuff but I’m almost there now.”

“Okay, I ordered pizza”

“Okay.” The conversation is flat, no feelings there, maybe Lexi sounded a bit worried, lately it seems like she’s treating you like you’re a fragile piece of china that’s about to fall off a shelf, always treating you with tenderness and waryness, it’s annoying but understandable. Paola also had to endure your dissapearance, she had to go to the police only to be ignored, no one even bothered in telling her how the search was doing and she had to be in the apartment by herself, with all your stuff as a constant reminder that you were still gone.

You get up and walk back home, you don’t notice but you’re still trembling for the emotional crisis, so much that when you try to get the key in the door you simply can’t and you get so frustrated that you end up punching the wall, you get worried you might have broken it, but it’s safe for now, it’s just a small crack on it. Lexi opens the door a few seconds after.

“Did you get the info?”

“Yeah. We have to confirm the adress, so we have to go there a couple times to check it’s the right one and we’ll go from there.”

“Alight. There’s the pizza.”

“Thanks… Would you mind coming with me to check the adress? I don’t think seeing him again by myself is a good idea just yet.” Yous ask, eyes glued to the table, avoiding any kind of eye contact.

“Sure. When do you wanna go?”

“Tomorrow.” You finish. Lexi nods and goes in her room.

After finishing your dinner you go to bed, you’d never admit it, but since you came back home, sleeping is the hardest thing to do, you always have nightmares, all the things you’d rather forget come back to you every night. And each time, you lay there, looking at the ceiling until you fall asleep and the nightmares start coming. You tell yourself they’ll stop once you get your revenge, that you won’t let anyone else go through the hell you’re still going through.

The next day Lexi and you get in Sebastian’s car, you didn’t tell him why, but he agreed to take you to the adress, when you get there you decide to park a bit far but not so much that you lose sight and then you wait. An hour goes by and then there’s a car parking in front of the house, it’s not the same car you got in that night, but the driver is the same. Your blood boils in your veins and you feel color coming to your cheeks, then you see a second person getting out of the same car, a woman, the man hugs her and kisses her on the lips, that make you even more furious.

How coud he have a partner and do such monstrosity?He might be even married to this woman and yet he did what he did. You feel Lexi’s arms coming up behind you to hug you, you don’t react, you stay staring at the house of your rapist, Sebastian looking at you worried, but he doesn’t ask.

“Let’s go.” You say and Sebastian drives back to your place. When you open the door to get down he stops you.

“Why don’t you go ahead, Lexi? I wanna talk to (Y/N)”. Lexi nods and steps off, she turns to look at you, but then she walks inside the building. “Who’s the man from that house?” he asks, serious.

“Nobody.” You answer looking in your apartment’s direction.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I just want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t open up.”

“You’d help me if you stop asking questions.” You answer and you turn to look at him in the eyes, he’s looking at you the same way Lexi does, with pity, just as if you were an abandoned puppy.

“I’m not gonna judge you. I just think it’s better for you to talk about it, you know? Did that man hurt you? Does he have anything to do with you waking up in a hospital after being missing for two weeks?” Your jaw falls a little at that. Why the hell does he know you were missing? It didn’t even make it to the news. “News travel fast on campus, of course I found out.”

“It’s none of your business Sebastian. Please drop it.” You feel you voice cracking on the last sentence, Sebastian puts his hand over yours in your lap. You look at his hand then at him and then at his lips. You kiss him. He kisses you back.

The kiss is hungry and messy, almost wild, your hands play with the hem of his shirt, one of them goes up to play with his hair, he takes you by the waist, bringing you closer, you break the kiss for a second so you can climb onto his lap with a nimble movement and you also manage to get the seat back as far as it could, you kiss him again, harder than before, his hands go to your waist once again and they make their way down until he’s firmly holding your butt, his mouth moving towards your neck. Your hands go to the waist line of his jeans, playing with the buckle of his belt for a second. And you hesitate. Should you be doing this with your exboyfriend.? And you stop in your tracks.

“I cannot do this.” You say as you go back to the passanger’s seat, Sebastian looks at you confused, but he says nothing. You get off the car and run to your apartment, you rush to the bathroom and shut the door, you get undressed as you feel the tears running down your face. Are you even able to do anything anymore without crying? You get in the shower and you let the cold water fall on your body. You stay there until you stop feeling.

You feel nothing.

…

Peter ends up deciding to improve the dron a few 20 meters more, which did require a bit of a hustle with the software of the suit, but that wasn’t nearly as hard as getting KAREN to have real time access to police centres all around the country. It took a couple weeks and him having to deactivate his AI for a few days, which made his life a lot harder. But he made it. Now he can listen and record all calls made to 911 as they are happening, which are a lot, by the way, but he was also able to come up with an algorithm to filter what matters to him and what doesn’t, not that some things don’t matter to him, just that there are some stuff that are relevant to the research and some that aren’t, you get the point, right?

So, only kidnapping, dissapearances and found bodies were coming through, and to Peter’s surprise, there were so many calls a day being stored in KAREN’s data base.

After some weeks everything became a bit tedious, none of the calls had anything to do with the case, little by little Peter started to lose interest in the research. Mr. Stark had made very little progress aswell, from what he heard, therefore he too started to focus on other important matters, but not dropping the topic completely, just in case.

MJ is going to prom with Peter, but he needs a suit, and he’s also helping ned come up with a plan o ask Betty out. It’s like, for the first time in forever he finally has time to be a normal teenager and he doesn’t have to go after bad guys in the city. He’s finally finding the balance between Spider-man and Peter.

But of course everything in his life has to change one secong to another, but this… he definetely didn’t see coming.

-

taglist

@caeruleum-in-caritate-lupus, @softstarkk, @peterparkerbabyy, @dottirose, @legit-fandom-trash, @carostar2020, @appreciating-chase-brody, @mvmakki

[youknowmymethods]

Content Creator Interview #5

Welcome back again folks! This week in our fifth interview @vermofftiss chats to @mizjoely about her love of lists, her fantasy season five finale, and reveals the truth about who really writes her stories...

Hi, @mizjoely here, chatting with @vermofftiss about my sherlolly writing and fandom experiences, and answering some questions submitted by a few other folks. I’ve been involved in fandom in one way or another since the early 1980s, which is also when I started writing fanfiction - for classic Doctor Who and Star Trek in its various incarnations.

@vermofftiss here, putting forward the aforementioned questions. I’ll also be trying to weasel some advice out of @mizjoely that I can use for my own writing, which has been a casual ongoing thing since I published my first sherlolly fic in 2014.

Vermofftiss: I think our first encounter was in the Sherlollychat in the fall of 2014, around the time I got onto AO3. Which means series 3 was five years ago. How does it feel knowing that series 4 was already two years ago? What’s changed in the time since it aired?

Mizjoely: Oh, I miss the sherlollychat, or at least I did until Channy came up with the discord version! It’s hard to fathom that so much time has passed since I joined the fandom! (I became active on tumblr in November 2013 after discovering Sherlolly earlier that same year, btw.) Series 3 was five years ago. Series 4 was two years ago. Crazy!

As for what’s changed since then, I’d have to say one positive thing is that the fandom wank has calmed way the hell down since S4…. Another change that I’ve seen is probably common to all fandoms over time - new writers and content creators have joined the fandom while (sadly) many others have moved on to other fandoms. Of course, that’s to be expected when your show is essentially over, but it’s still kind of sad to lose folks completely to other fandoms.

V: Which series was your favourite to play with as a writer? When did you really get into writing Sherlolly?

M: I would have to say Series 4 has definitely been a great series to write for - so much angst! The I love you! Mary Watson’s very sad death, Rosie Watson becoming a character, Mrs. Hudson showing us what a badass she is, and of course Eurus Holmes entering the picture. We might not have gotten as much Molly Hooper as we wanted, but the scenes we did get with her were tremendous and gave so much inspiration to me and many other writers.

I really got into Sherlolly as a ship after seeing TRF, as I’m sure is true with many folks - especially the “what do you need” scene. And it was so much fun to dive into the possibilities of life after Sherlock’s ‘death’ between Series 2 and 3, I consider that a real golden age of Sherlolly writing. My first published Sherlock/Sherlolly fic was “Conversations With A Dead Detective”, set Post Reichenbach, which according to fanfiction.net I published on 04/11/13 (so I’m nearly at my five year Sherlolly- versary, woo hoo!).

A quick look at my spreadsheet (don’t judge me, I love my lists) shows that I wrote or at least started 37 fics that year (one of which I’m still working on, yikes! - The World As We Know It, a vamp!lock fic). I’m currently sitting at almost 500 fics for Sherlolly, which still amazes me, that I could be that inspired by a pair of fictional characters! (For comparison, my second most prolific fandom is Doctor Who, for whom I wrote a total of 25 stories over a period of 20 years. And of those 25, only about a dozen were for my main ship, Five/Tegan).

V: A couple of questions from @ohaine - 

1) Based on the sheer volume of your work, I have this theory that you’re actually some sort of artistic collective rather than just one person, please tell me I’m right!

M: You have discovered my secret: I'm actually four raccoons in a trenchcoat! Seriously though, until I was bitten by the Sherlolly bug, my output was much, much lower, even though I've been writing fanfics since the early 1980s. For example, I love the Zutara ship for Avatar: Last Airbender, but I only wrote three fics for that. I wrote about 25 fics for Doctor Who, and about the same amount for the various Star Treks (not including Khanolly). Nothing set my writing muse afire like Sherlolly, and I doubt anything ever will again.

and, 2) You write a lot of AUs, and I’m wondering what inspires them?

M: Considering that I started off as a strictly Canon Universe/Canon Compliant writer in all of my other fandoms, it still seems funny to me how much I enjoy writing and reading AUs now. I started reading them after finally running out of canon compliant fics to read and discovering how much fun it was to transplant the characters into a different universe. And that, of course, made me think about what sort of AUs I could fit Molly and Sherlock into.

In fact, the very first BBC Sherlock story I started to write (never finished or posted) was an AU because I was nervous about trying to write Sherlock and figured no one would complain too much about him being OOC if it was a fantasy setting. (I ended up taking the plunge on a canon universe post Reichenbach fic and posted that and a lot of other canon universe fics before returning to AUs.)

Wait, that doesn't answer the question! What inspires them? The same things that inspire all my writing: wanting to read a specific kind of fic and not being able to find it; fics that other authors have written that make me itch to put my own spin on the idea; dreams; books I've read or movies or TV shows I've watched...inspiration is everywhere when you really, really, really love a ship. (Gawd that's cheesy but it's true - no love, no writing fanfic, period end of paragraph.)

V: This past spring I finally got the nerve to start working on my first proper AU (not CC, CU, or UA) after sitting on the idea for about 3 years. Have you ever had to wait to be “ready” to start working on a concept? How much do you need to know about a project to get going on it?

M: I have absolutely had to wait to be ready to start working on a concept. My very first attempt at a Sherlolly fic (never finished or published) was going to be an AU because I was so intimidated by the idea of writing Sherlock Holmes in the canon universe set up by Moffat & Gatiss. I was terrified I wouldn’t get his voice right, that he would be too OOC for folks, that I wouldn’t be able to make him clever enough or that I’d mess things up a dozen different ways. So I started writing the AU instead, and in doing so (over a course of several months), I finally realized that no, I wanted to start off in the canon universe. Just trying to write him at all, in any setting, made me a little less intimidated by him. But I might never have written anything if I hadn’t started that abandoned AU. (And I look forward to seeing your AU when you’re ready to post it!)

V: Does reader feedback ever impact the plots of your stories or the building of your AUs?

M: It absolutely can, especially when someone leaves a comment that makes me think about my story in a different light. I won’t go so far as to say comments have caused me to redo anything on a larger scale (such as change the ending) but certainly I’ve thrown things into the fic or expanded on ideas expressed in a comment to make the story that much richer.

That’s one of the best things about being active in fandom - the interactions between readers and writers. Of course, the reverse can also be true - I remember needing a LOT of fan-friend coddling when some folks were unhappy with the ending of my story ‘Abandoned’ (i.e., my Molly let my Sherlock get off too easily). But you have to have thick skin to be a creator, and remember that not everyone likes the same things. And you also have to be able to say yes, I could have done this better, or if I had to do it over I’d do it differently. It’s all part of the creative process.

V: Are there any scenes or aspects that were cut from a story that you regretted leaving out at the end?

M: Not really. Most things that I cut have been vetted by my betas (shout-out to ALL betas for being willing to help you make your story better!) and jettisoning those things has always made my stories better. (Plus I keep a folder of scraps that got cut and periodically review those scraps to see if I might be able to salvage them.)

V: On top of being one of the better-known Sherlolly writers in the tag, you’re also the single person behind the Sherlollbrary. As much as I love to organize my life and everything else I can get my hands on, that’s not something I think I’d ever actually want to do. So what made you decide to start cataloguing Sherlolly fics?

M: My love of lists. Seriously, that’s it. I love making lists of things - like, how many stories did I write in 2013 for Sherlolly (37, as you now know!), how many one-shots have I written vs. multi-chapters, how many were prompts...and then I started seeing people doing lists of various tropes. The one that made me decided to start my Sherlollilists side blog was one put together for Sherlolly omegaverse stories. As more and more lists were created, edited, and added (I’m currently at 140 official lists, with more than a dozen unofficial lists), I decided it would nice to organize them all (not realizing quite what I was getting into!) as one spreadsheet, with other tropes and tags and keywords for folks to help narrow down their searches. It always give me a little thrill when I open the library and see folks are browsing, so I like to think it’s a useful tool (although I am looking forward to finishing it someday!)

@writingwife-83 asked: You work tirelessly to organize all the multitude of writing this ship produces, but how do you feel that affects you as a writer? Does it make you less interested in writing your own fics? Or does it tend to help get the wheels turning and inspire you?

M: I have to admit, sometimes curating the lists can completely put me off writing, simply due to feeling oversaturated. This is especially true when I am reading or skimming over fics that are, shall we say, not the best of the bunch. Or the times when I'm just pushing myself even if I'm not really enthusiastic about doing it. Those times, I've learned to just step back, which is why sometimes the lists don't get updated very quickly.

On the other hand, rereading a favorite or a forgotten gem can really get my creative juices flowing. At times like that, I fall back in love with the ship and the fandom all over again.

V: When you’re stuck with writer’s block or just a lack of motivation, does it help you more to reread an old fave or to go back through some of your own works? Have you noticed your style has changed much?

M: It does help, absolutely. It reminds me why I love this ship so much, and helps me reconnect with others in the fandom. People think of reading as passive and writing as solitary, but to me it’s an interactive process. Reading great fics, new can old, helps feed your creativity. And nowadays the internet helps so much as well - there are awesome resources and fandom spaces to talk to other folks about their works and your own, reminding you that you’re not creating in a vacuum. (And I REALLY love the cheerleading section of the Sherlolly Discord site. That can help unstick my creativity like nobody’s business!)

As for my style changing - yeah, it definitely has. I feel like my writing has become more streamlined and less clunky since I first started. I still do a lot of semicolon abuse but at this point I’ve decided that’s just my style and will likely never change.

Thanks for the excellent questions and for letting me ramble on!

V: I’m sure we can do a lot more rambling if left on the trail. How about one last one: In the currently hypothetical series 5, how would you continue the story from where it left off?

M: Oooh, good one! If I was in charge we would see that Sherlock and Molly are continuing their relationship, culminating with a wedding at the end of the third episode. But since I’m not in charge, I’m thinking that Mofftiss would give us some subtle hints, like John casually mentioning to Sherlock that he and Rosie can’t join ‘them’ for dinner that night for whatever reason. And maybe some small changes to 221B to show hints that someone else spends time there other than Sherlock and the Watsons - a cherry patterned pillow, perhaps? A Bart’s ID card with a woman’s picture to show that no, it isn’t one Sherlock nicked to get access to a place he otherwise couldn’t get to? A woman’s coat hanging next to Sherlock’s? Something like that. And some private smiles between Sherlock and Molly, little things like that. Enough to give us hope but not enough to give us proof! They do like to tease that way!

Non-shipwise, I think Eurus would make a return because come on, how do you leave a character like that catatonic? I also think they would return to ACD canon to revise a few more cases for the modern age, and maybe (maybe!) have John start dating again (especially if they’re so married to canon that they killed Mary off - since John seems to have been married at least twice, they would probably explore that option).

I know, that last part is a bit vague but honestly? I hope they surprise the hell out of us in a good way if we ever get that fifth series!

Next Week, Friday March 22nd, @ashockinglackofsatin talks to @sunken-standard