#but it just saved it very low down on the draft list because its an old ask

[emptymasks]

Can you recommend any musicals that are online that have a a lot of lgbt rep but also a happy ending. I don’t really like sad endings and much prefer happy endings. I know a lot of musicals are dark and have gloomy endings so this might be a difficult answer sorry🙏🏻

Sorry this has take ages to get to answering, I've been trying to think of and find ones that fit because the ones I think of first don't have happy endings for the LGBT+ characters because the whole tone of the musical is kinda dark.

What I'm assuming you mean by sad ending is any really dark musicals or the LGBT+ character/s dying. There are some musicals out there that aren't dark, and have happy and brighter parts, but still have the LGBT+ character die at the end. So all of these musicals have no LGBT+ deaths in them.

I'm just going to list all musicals with LGBT+ characters and no LGBT+ characters die and/or don’t have very consistent dark tones, and link to any videos of them I know of, if there are any. 

List is under the cut with names, summaries and links! It's just under the cut so this post doesn't take up loads of room on everyone's dashboard.  There’s for sure more, these are just the ones I know about.

Any videos labelled ‘proshot’ are professional/official recordings. Any videos without that are bootlegs, as in filmed by an audience member.

Avenue Q

"The laugh-out-loud musical tells the timeless story of a recent college grad named Princeton, who moves into a shabby New York apartment all the way out on Avenue Q. He soon discovers that, although the residents seem nice, it's clear that this is not your ordinary neighborhood. Together, Princeton and his new-found friends struggle to find jobs, dates and their ever-elusive purpose in life."

Main gay character

Video | Audio Audio 2

Bathhouse: The Musical!

"The show follows the story of Billy, a wide-eyed youth venturing into a bathhouse for the very first time. He is looking for love, but soon realizes that the other patrons are looking for something "a little more temporary". With some guidance, Billy soon learns the ins and outs of bathhouse etiquette."

Various mlm characters

Boy Meets Boy

"The show is a fast-paced, light-hearted musical-comedy, featuring a 1930s style Astaire/Rogers romance between two men, and a same-sex marriage. The world of the play posits that in 1936, same-sex relationships are considered as normal as heterosexual ones. The play begins against the background of the abdication of Edward VIII and ends with the Duke of Windsor's (and the protagonists') June 1937 weddings. This is appropriate, as one of the major themes is "Giving it Up for Love". The action occurs in the Savoy Hotel, a few elegant nightspots in London, a bar in Spain, and a black-sheep aunt's disreputable establishment in Paris."

Lead gay romance

Video | Audio

The Break Up Notebook: The Lesbian Musical

"The Break Up Notebook tells the story of Helen Hill, a thirty-three-year-old lesbian from Los Angeles. Having just been dumped, she begins dating again with the support of her gay friend Bob and her butch and femme gal pals Monica and Joanie."

Lead lesbian character, supporting lgbt+ characters

La Cage aux Folles

"Based on the 1973 French play of the same name by Jean Poiret, it tells the story of a gay couple, Georges, the manager of a Saint-Tropez nightclub featuring drag entertainment, and Albin, his romantic partner and star attraction, and the farcical adventures that ensue when Georges's son, Jean-Michel, brings home his fiancée's ultra-conservative parents to meet them. La cage aux folles literally means "the cage of crazy women". However, folles is also a slang term for effeminate homosexuals (queens). Opening on Broadway in 1983, La Cage broke barriers for gay representation by becoming the first hit Broadway musical centered on a homosexual relationship. The show's Act One finale, "I Am What I Am", received praise as a "gay anthem" and has been widely recorded. The original production ran for more than four years (1,761 performances), and won six Tony Awards, including Best Musical, Best Score and Best Book."

Lead gay drag queen character, lead gay romance

Video | Audio Audio 2 Audio 3

Everybody's Talking About Jamie

"The musical is inspired by the 2011 television documentary Jamie: Drag Queen at 16 directed by Jenny Popplewell. The musical follows a 16-year-old teenager as he overcomes prejudice, beats the bullies and steps out of the darkness to become a drag queen." A film version of the musical is set to be released in September 2021.

Lead gay drag queen character

Video (Proshot) 2021 Film Trailer | Audio

Firebringer (one of the few on this list I’ve actually seen and would 100% recommend if you want something fun to watch)

"At the dawn of humanity, one tribe of cave-people survives the many trials of prehistoric life under the wise leadership of Jemilla, The Peacemaker. Jemilla taught her people to express themselves, rather than bashing each others' heads with rocks and eating each others' babies. But one member of the tribe doesn't seem to fit in: Zazzalil. She's always trying to invent things to make life easier… for herself. While out hatching her latest scheme, Zazzalil stumbles upon the most important discovery in history. One that will pit her tribe against wooly mammoths, saber-toothed tigers, and change the world forever. She'll travel from omega to alpha, and become… the Firebringer!"

Two lead bisexual women characters

Video (Proshot) | Audio

Hair

"Hair tells the story of the "tribe", a group of politically active, long-haired hippies of the "Age of Aquarius" living a bohemian life in New York City and fighting against conscription into the Vietnam War. Claude, his good friend Berger, their roommate Sheila and their friends struggle to balance their young lives, loves, and the sexual revolution with their rebellion against the war and their conservative parents and society. Ultimately, Claude must decide whether to resist the draft as his friends have done, or to succumb to the pressures of his parents (and conservative America) to serve in Vietnam, compromising his pacifist principles and risking his life." There was a film adaption in 1976.

Everyone's sexuality is basically up for debate

Video (Proshot) Act 1 Act 2 (Austrian production but sung in English and spoken in a mix of English and German) Video 2 (Broadway 2009 Revival) | Audio Audio 2 

Head over Heels

"A jukebox musical featuring the songs of The Go-Go’s and based on Philip Sidney’s The Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia, Head Over Heels is the story of what happens when the royal court of Arcadia is threatened by the mystical Oracle of Delphi with the loss of its “Beat,” the divine power that ensures the kingdom’s prosperity. King Basilius, whose own title is at stake, forces the members of the royal family and court on a journey to the woods in an attempt to escape the Oracle’s seemingly unavoidable prophecies. Through a plot containing usurped kingship, unlikely lovers, and gender-fluid disguises, Head Over Heels preaches unconditional love and acceptance of yourself and everyone you know, no matter their gender or sexual identity, and uses some of the greatest pop rock hits of the late 20th century."

Main non-binary character, a genderfluid character, bisexuals (A lgbt+ character does die but is brought back to life soon after)

Video | Audio

Hedwig and the Angry Inch

"The musical follows Hedwig Robinson, a genderqueer East German singer of a fictional rock and roll band. The story draws on Mitchell's life as the child of a U.S. Army Major General who once commanded the U.S. sector of occupied West Berlin. The character of Hedwig was inspired by a German divorced U.S. Army wife who was Mitchell's family babysitter and moonlighted as a prostitute at her trailer park home in Junction City, Kansas. The music is steeped in the androgynous 1970s glam rock style of David Bowie (who co-produced the Los Angeles production of the show), as well as the work of John Lennon and early punk performers Lou Reed and Iggy Pop." A film version was made in 2001.

Lead genderqueer character (TW and spoiler but I think I should give a heads up for the mention of a botched gender-reassignment surgery in the song 'Angry Inch')

Video (2015 Broadway Revival) Video 2 (1998 Off-Broadway) | Audio Audio 2 Audio 3

It Shoulda Been You

"The bride is Jewish. The groom is Catholic. Her mother is a force of nature. His mother is a tempest in a cocktail shaker. And, when the bride's ex-boyfriend crashes the party, the perfect wedding starts to unravel faster than you can whistle "Here Comes the Bride!"  It's up to the sister of the bride to turn a tangled mess into happily ever after in this musical comedy for anyone who ever had parents."

Main lesbian and gay character

Video | Audio

The Kid

"The protagonist, Dan, is a sex advice columnist who decides to adopt a child with his partner Terry. Throughout the musical the couple encounter difficulties including making the decision to adopt, finding a birth mother, and overcoming apprehension about the adoption process."

Lead gay romance

Kinky Boots

"Based on the 2005 British film Kinky Boots, written by Geoff Deane and Tim Firth and mostly inspired by true events, the musical tells the story of Charlie Price. Having inherited a shoe factory from his father, Charlie forms an unlikely partnership with cabaret performer and drag queen Lola to produce a line of high-heeled boots and save the business. In the process, Charlie and Lola discover that they are not so different after all."

Lead drag queen character

Video (Proshot) | Audio Audio 2

A New Brain

"A New Brain is a show about making the most out of life in the face of tragedy. When a neurotic, frustrated composer is confronted with a terminal illness, he finds comfort in the healing power of art. The show is in fact the William Finn’s autobiographical account of his own battle for life when he was afflicted with a seemingly terminal illness. As the central character, Gordon Michael Schwinn struggles to survive, he finds salvation in the healing power of art."

Lead gay character

Priscilla, Queen of the Desert

"Adapted from Elliott's 1994 film The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, the musical tells the story of two drag queens and a trans woman, who contract to perform a drag show at a resort in Alice Springs, a resort town in the remote Australian desert. As they head west from Sydney aboard their lavender bus, Priscilla, the three friends come to the forefront of a comedy of errors, encountering a number of strange characters, as well as incidents of homophobia, while widening comfort zones and finding new horizons."

A lead trans-woman character and two lead drag queens

The Prom

"The musical follows four Broadway actors lamenting their days of fame, as they travel to the conservative town of Edgewater, Indiana, to help a lesbian student banned from bringing her girlfriend to high school prom. A film adaptation, produced and directed by Ryan Murphy, was released on Netflix on December 11, 2020."

Lead lesbian character

Video | Audio

Soho Cinders

"A modern adaptation of the Cinderella story, Soho Cinders transfers the action to the heart of London's Soho. The eponymous heroine is replaced by a young rent boy called Robbie who gets wrapped up in an illicit affair with an aspiring politician called James Prince. The story intertwines elements of Cinderella with contemporary political scandal and an urban setting."

Lead gay romance (I don't know 100% that no LGBT+ character's die in this, I couldn't find full summaries)

Audio

A Strange Loop

"The musical is about Usher, coincidentally named the same as his day-job as an usher for The Lion King on Broadway, a fat, Black, gay writer who tries to navigate the heteronormative white world. He is backed by a six-person all-black-queer ensemble who voice his inner thoughts as he begrudgingly ghost writes a new Tyler Perry stage play."

Lead gay character

Audio

Tanz der Vampire

Professor Ambronsius and his young assistant Alfred are on the hunt for vampires and stumble upon a small village. They suspect that the villagers know more about vampires than they let on, and soon discover there is a castle in the woods where the vampire Graf von Krolock and his son Herbert live. While staying at the inn, Alfred meets Sarah, the innkeeper’s daughter, her father being so overprotective that he keeps her locked in her room every day and every night. Sarah longs to escape her life and has been secretly conversing with Krolock for some time. She’s no damsel in distress, she’s attracted to him and what he offers and so she sneaks out of her home and goes to his castle. Alfred is convinced she has been kidnapped and he and the Professor go to the castle to rescue her.

Main bisexual character, supporting gay character

Video (German with English subtitles) | Audio

Victor/Victoria

"Based on the 1982 film of the same name, which was a remake of the German film comedy Viktor und Viktoria shot by Reinhold Schünzel in 1933 from his own script. When refined British soprano Victoria Grant finds herself down on her luck in Paris, she discovers to her dismay that producers and nightclub owners are looking for a sound that is much less “legitimate” than hers. On the brink of starvation, she is rescued by Toddy, a warm, generous, and flamboyant nightclub singer, who gets a brilliant idea: dress Victoria as a man, and pass her off as a female impersonator, where she will delight the whole of Gay Paree with her eerie gender-bending and astonishing vocal range. No sooner does Victoria find success in her new role, then she falls in love with King Marchan, a tough Chicago nightclub owner and possible gangster who oozes masculine appeal. King, in turn, is terrified to find himself falling for a man, and refuses to be believe that “Victor” is truly “Victor”. With hired detectives creeping through her hotel room, King’s showgirl lady friend Norma Cassidy out for some jealous revenge, and King’s sweet bodyguard, Squash Bernstein, revealing his homosexuality to smitten Toddy, Victoria’s life is a whirlwind of complications. Can she really go through life being Victor/Victoria? Victoria must decide which is more important: a thrilling new career, or a sweet and sudden love. With a jazzy, sophisticated score by Henry Mancini and Frank Wildhorn, and a clever book by Blake Edwards, Victor / Victoria is a wise, warm, and moving story about self-discovery, tolerance, and second chances, as well as a sparkling ode to the city of Paris, and giddy, flamboyant, creative nightlife of the 1930s."

Main gay and bisexual characters

[softluci]

hello yes can i just say i l o v e d your gen z hcs and may i acquire more

for starters, i am not religious, but i am PRAYING you don’t think i was ignoring your ask. i’ve been thinking about it since i got it, it’s just that i’m a college student with worms for brains, so hopefully you understand. this is something that i’ve had on my mind for a long time [i’ve been at this on and off for months], and it most definitely can be associated with/attributed to gen z. 

for a fleeting, wonderful period of time, there was a trend on tiktok that went, “buss it, buss it…” are you familiar? 

that should be enough of a summary, right? ah—for future reference, “o7” is like a saluting emote, for anyone who might not know. reader is g/n as usual, enjoy!

[a/n: so because this is so long, this part is going to be, like, the lore, and then the actual headcanons will be right here]

trendy 

the two things most corrosive to the human spirit are easily named—capitalism and boredom. while it would be easier and less taxing to explain the former, the latter was the problem at hand. it’s not that there was nothing to do in the devildom—quite the opposite, actually—it was just that you wanted some time to yourself every now and again. the trouble with trying to take time for yourself in a completely new location, the residents of which are always enamored with you in one way or another, is that there isn’t anything to do. the house was full of adventures for you to take—the trap door under the rug in the library, the other trap door under the dining room table, the small door behind the couch in the living room, and whatever other poorly hidden doors your seven roommates thought you didn’t know about. 

trouble was, you didn’t want to leave your room. you, intelligent creature that you are, knew that the chances of you running into mammon or satan or beel or asmo were all too high, and even higher were the chances of you agreeing to spend time with them if they asked, and you knew they would. what were you to do? 

you stared at your ceiling from your bed, d.d.d. resting on your stomach as you let your mind wander. your d.d.d. was full of things for you to do, the devildom’s ethernet at your fingertips, but you weren’t interested in finding new things right now. you wanted something familiar, like—like your phone. 

what was the point of lucifer taking your phone, anyway? it’s not like you could use it—being here rendered it a useless brick of glass and metal, so it wouldn’t have been a big deal if you still had it. it was funny, though, that you couldn’t use your actual phone when it was still possible to access the human internet from down here. 

at least, you assumed so. 

how else would levi be able to keep up with his human idols, get tickets for their shows—the works, you know? luckily, you were fully capable of asking. 

d.d.d. now in your hand, you rolled onto your stomach and found your messages with levi, nails clacking against the glass as you tried to reach him.

hey, you texted, can you help me with something?

his reply came faster than you expected: ?? what do you need 

how do i access human websites and apps, you asked, rolling onto your side. you know how to, right?

lololol, it’s not possible :p

a grunt, more aggravated than you’d care to admit, escaped from the back of your throat.

don’t lie. 

a few minutes passed with no response, and you wondered if you were too harsh. 

“he’s a sensitive guy,” you mumbled, inhaling deeply. “i probably came on too strong or something.” 

just as you started typing out an apology and a, “forget i ever said anything,” you got a response. 

a vpn and a proxy site. 

a smile crept onto your face as air came out of your nose, the closest thing to a laugh you could muster. 

can you set it up for me? 

after another few minutes of no response, you sit up, wondering how you could’ve possibly fucked up a second time, your d.d.d. buzzed. 

levi sent you a file and a link, with a host of instructions. 

click on the file and it’ll take you to the vpn you need to download. don’t worry about bugs or anything, i made it myself. 

you let out a low whistle, flopping onto your back once more. 

“this guy gets up to more than i thought,” you said, eyebrows raised. “someone get this man some physical affection.” 

you continued to read, growing more fond of him with each sentence.

once you install it, pick the country whose network you want access to. from there, you’ll have a list of that country’s most used applications available for you. again, don’t worry about bugs. 

what’s the link for? you asked, excitement getting the better of you. 

for when you download internet applications. it’s added security, paste the link in before you search anything or you’ll trigger the firewall alarm. 

you blinked. 

you’ll trigger the what? 

i’ll trigger the fucking What? 

levi’s response was the fastest one yet: the Fucking Firewall Alarm. barbatos’ design. he has no idea i know how to bypass it. just do what i said. don’t try to solve any potential issues on your own, come to me for everything.

roger that o7, you replied, thanks levi ^_^

yeah, yeah. come to my room for a hxh binge tomorrow night.

you snorted. what a fucking nerd—in the greatest way possible. 

of course bestie :] ily

ily2 normie -_- 

in his room, unbeknownst to you, levi felt like he made a mistake of some kind. it’s not that he didn’t trust you, it’s just that you had a tendency to end up in undesirable situations, even if it wasn’t always on purpose. he was probably just worried over nothing, or so he tried to tell himself, but whatever. this isn’t even about him.

you sat up once more, this time leaning against your pillows as you started setting everything up. everything went so quickly that you barely wondered if all of this—subverting hell’s firewall, personally designed by a man eerily similar to a 2D crush from when you were in middle school—was worth accessing a few silly apps from the human world. 

a few minutes later, your d.d.d. now a much, much cooler copy of your phone, any and all thoughts of regret and hesitation were absent from your mind. 

your first order of business on your upgraded d.d.d. was logging into your tiktok account, however surprising it was that you even remembered the password. you put your headphones in and adjusted your volume, going back into the dumpster fire that is your for-you page with open arms. 

after around half an hour of stifled laughter and small, offended gasps from being targeted by the algorithm, you came across a rare dancing video. the person on your screen was in casual clothes, making minor, silly dance movements as the music dwindled, only for them to drop into a squat in time with the music, suddenly dolled up. you shot forward, taken aback by their transformation and by their dancing post beat drop. did you watch it on a loop for a few minutes? well, that’s nobody’s business but yours. you clicked on the sound in hopes of finding similar videos, and much to your relief, there were plenty. about ten videos in, a smile still on your face, you got an idea. 

you slipped your headphones out, arbitrarily looking around your room, before whispering to yourself, “i could—i could do that. i could totally do that.” 

and you were right. you had nice clothes and makeup from various shopping occasions with asmo. your room had led strips, courtesy of levi ordering the wrong ones and being so kind as to give them to you. you could do it. 

levi was the only person you’d spoken to since you retreated to your room a few hours ago, and the lights have been off the entire time, which meant that if you worked quietly enough, everyone else had reason enough to assume you were asleep. good! how could you possibly explain what you were doing getting all dolled up at, like, 11:00 on a wednesday night? you couldn’t, even a little bit—not in a way that convinced anyone, anyway. 

come midnight, you were sitting cross legged on your bed, watching your final product. not to be vain or anything, but you were looking very respectfully at yourself. since when could you move like that, anyway? the wonders of being alone, you supposed. 

you didn’t post it publicly, electing to save it as a draft just so it would save to your d.d.d. maybe you’d post it once you were back in the human world, when your friends wouldn’t swarm your comments asking where the fuck you were. 

yeah, lucifer told you, “everything was taken care of,” but regardless of whether or not you believed him, you knew it wasn’t a good idea to risk finding out if he missed something. 

boredom creeping up on you again, you elected to go through the messages on your d.d.d. it would be better to make yourself laugh before you were fully bored again, right? you stood up and stretched, opening the group text with the adults. luke doesn’t know about it; he thinks the one with everyone is the main one, and everyone lets him think that so he feels included. 

walking around your room in small circles, you scrolled up to the older conversations and read through them, rolling your eyes and chuckling to yourself. very rarely did they talk about anything of importance. it was mostly diavolo, barbatos, and simeon making quips and jokes at lucifer’s expense for everyone to see. it was gold in its purest form. 

you contemplated sending one of the many cursed things sitting in your camera roll, just to keep them on their toes, but just after opening your gallery, you resigned not to, figuring it would be best to leave him alone. 

you stretched again, the hold on your d.d.d. a bit looser this time. it nearly slipped out of your hands, but you caught it, tossing it onto your bed. as soon as you resigned to start getting ready for bed, you turned back around and picked it up. 

there was no rhyme or reason to your actions; if someone in that moment were to ask you why you did it, you would’ve said, “just ‘cause.”

human intuition is a wonderful thing.

your d.d.d. was still on, still open to the group chat. you’d sent something, evidently a second ago, as indicated by the time stamp. the thumbnail was of you, in casual clothing—the casual clothing you were wearing before you got dolled up, actually. huh. 

huh. 

the weight of your mistake came crashing down on you in full force, a chill sinking into your skin and running up your spine.

you were suddenly acutely aware of the concept of time, how it was of the essence and you had absolutely none to waste.

what were you to do? it wouldn’t be long before your favorite person saw it. you had to do something. 

you could say nothing. you could tell the truth and say it was an accident and that you were embarrassed, but that was even worse than saying nothing because it meant you were set to be the target of teasing you didn’t even wanna try to imagine. you could say it was an accident and be confident about it, telling them, “enjoy!” but that was a dangerous game to play, and you knew it. 

well, i do admire you for taking time to think, but, unfortunately, there was a checkmark next to your message. oh, a number as well—eleven. you just can’t catch a break. what were they all doing up at this time, anyway? it was a school night🤨. 

[wroteclassicaly]

Waves of Blue (Andy Dolan x Reader)

Warnings: Language, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, rough sex, hair pulling, face slapping, slight choking, mentions of drug usage, & angst.

A/N : AAAAAAHHHHH! I have found the post that teaches you how to add a read more on mobile! Shoutout to the person who told me about that! You know who you are! ^_^ Anyways, I am so gonna be posting more, even if it’s harder because I have to write the fics on my phone, versus my laptop, lol. I stumbled across the song Waves of Blue by Majid Jordan, and my ass was emotional af (I have included some of the lyrics here in blue!) I obviously don’t own the song/lyrics!

The song was the kick one of my drafts needed for extra inspiration! And so, I bring you the start of this mini fic! It won’t be very many chapters. And I will probably re-visit for a prequel, to write out how the reader and Andy first hooked up. But I wanted to try something different and start my fic with their relationship already ongoing. Hopefully it doesn’t suck, haha.?

I haven’t felt this inspired for a Cody character since Michael Langdon! I adore Andy’s traumatic, cocky, angsty, hot mess ass! And I really wanna explore the creativity he’s bringing me! Lemme know what y’all think? And give the song a listen - I’m in in love with it!

Forgive me if there’s some mistakes, loves! I’m nervous about how I’ve written Andy, and how the smut is. Hope y’all enjoy anyways!

:)

~*~

The rain is a glittering array of shimmering moisture as its presence is pouring down on the roof of your apartment. Your knees are knocked tightly together, jean fabric digging into flesh. Your phone is perched face down atop your legs, vibrating messages you don’t care to read. They’re not the ones that you want to see. You tilt your head back, the tears redirecting themselves down the sides of your cheeks. You turn your gazing direction to that silk robe atop your bed - a reminder.

“It’s just a fling, love.”

But it can’t be, can it?

You have to laugh at yourself. Isn’t this what every girl asks themselves when they’re dumped? Rare is an exception who steals the other person’s heart and changes that exterior they carry. Your phone vibrates again and that raging anger to match the ruby red color on his robe that rests on your bedroom sheets - it charges your energy like a violent strike of lightening! Your hand launches your phone into the hallway outside your bedroom door before you can stop yourself.

“There’s your fucking fling, dumbass Andy Dolan!”

You try to hum to fight off the incoming intrusive thoughts, to ignore your ringing phone in the distance, but it’s to no avail. You’re getting more overwhelmed with the pain by every agonizing second. Your fists clench into the leather armrests below. It’s too much, you can’t bear another second of this shit. It doesn’t matter that it’s raining, it doesn’t matter that you have over fifteen unanswered recent calls from Andy since you threw your phone - unbeknownst to you.

You snatch the stupid silk robe from its place and begin your knowing journey with the excruciatingly expensive item, having already made up your mind. A quick removal of your keys from the hooks beside your front room door and your bare feet seem to lead you - heart first - into the downpour. Your clothing is soaked the instant you step outside. Mumbling all the way to your SUV and clutching Andy’s silk garment becomes your saving grace to help anchor your focus. If one can be focused in bare feet during a thunderstorm, erratically throwing her car into reverse.

The drive to his place of privacy - his sanctuary - the cold place you once used to help him warm. It doesn’t take you long. With your tires grinding against soaking asphalt, country beach roads whipping past you, and your angry windshield wipers struggling to keep up with your car’s pace - Andy’s gates come into your sights. You’re trembling, too upset and geared to go for a turn around now. Andy didn’t change the security, so you let yourself in, abandoning your car just inside, doors open and interior carelessly being soaked.

It doesn’t matter. I just have to tell him this.

That’s your mantra for continuous approach. You round the long expanse of beautiful greenery, waves crashing violently in the distance, a love affair to collide with this storm. Your simple outfit of blue jeans and a baby blue tank top are beyond recognition, weighted down by the sopping wet summer. The shivering begins to thrum along to an invisible, but very present humming inside you. It’s that feeling, the one you know all too well.

Andy Dolan.

Like when you first met, you begin to tremble, letting your limbs move you accordingly. Making sense is last on the priority list. Normally, you would have a thousand conversational scenarios laid out, but that’s not the case. Rushed on purely raw need to tell him - no - inform him, that is what is in charge here. The soft grass is squishy between your toes, a tickle from each freshly mowed blade, water in the distance smelling like salt and flowing freedom.

Every sense is heightened for you right now. Your limbs are heavy, yet your footfalls are light, carrying you with a quick grace. You don’t bother with the front door, opting for his usual back door hang out. It’s a few more minutes before your destination is reached. That’s when you hear him screaming, his voice in high distress, hard and rough against the accent. Your chest heaves to cage hammering heartbeats that you can’t keep up with.

“Motherfucking ANSWER ME!” He shouts, ripping the phone from his ear to redial.

You rolls your eyes, assuming it’s a dealer, or whomever he would rather be with than you. After all, he’s the one who said he just needed an ideal situation, not a relationship.

“Y/N... come on, don’t be a fucking cunt! I need to tell you something, please!”

Almost on cue the song drops loud on his fancy speakers in the house, freezing you to your spot.

I wanna hold you close

Don't wanna let you go

Be with you night and day

'Cause I've been feeling so low

Don't have to ask me twice

You really take me there

I wanna touch your light

I wanna breathe in your air

Andy angrily taps at his phone again, almost growling, reminding you of a wild animal. That’s when you’re snapped into your remaining senses, moving up and onto his deck, standing just feet from him. It takes him a few seconds to look up and see you through the rain. You can’t bring yourself to go any closer, afraid to let go right away. That’s how it is with Andy, you always give in.

You cut him off before he even gets a chance.

“Fuck you, Andy.”

Damn, was that really what you worked up the courage to dangerously drive yourself here to confess?

His lips purse a popping a noise, eyes widening in surprise at your word choices.

“I really fucking hate you.” Is what you give him, finding it easier to take steps now.

He still doesn’t speak as you approach, almost as if he’s recoiling. That wild animal within Andy Dolan. He’s not used to this. You can barely see through the rain, feeling like a moron. The movies make it look so dramatic, but you feel like you’re a wet dog on the verge of catching a cold.

It does good at numbing you though, almost shielding you from those haunting blue eyes. You swipe a hand across your face to clear your vision, and take that final step onto the deck with him, now just on the other side of where he stands in the doorway. That’s when he decides to speak, his voice softer than you’ve heard. It echoes his exhaustion, his surprise.

“You’re not the only one that feels that way, Y/N.”

You shake your head in disbelief, both of you not daring to make that closing gap. You would douse his body with yours; wet and cold. You’d be lying if you denied the shiver that attacked you, drawing your body in like a magnet - helpless to its every move.

“Don’t give me this kicked puppy front. We’re all human beings, Andy. And I didn’t fucking deserve you cutting your baggage open and just... dumping out whatever you felt like on me and then letting me go.”

Fuck.

He inhales sharply, head tilting in this sadness you seem to understand within the moment. It steals your breath, a pain punching your ribcage, causing your heartbeat to skip a few. Your jaw twitches as you turn away to gather your bearings, starting back down into the yard.

Why the fuck did I come here?

I'll be holding you tight

When the night is through

Andy takes a deep inhalation behind you and that catches you, dragging you right back. Before you know which end is up you’re turning back around and striding across the pool deck and right into your former lover. Andy meets you in the harsh rains, his hands cupping your neck so possessively, that you can’t remember a time where this hot mess of a man wasn’t bull dozing your life apart. You grasp his face in your palms, that unshaven stubble prickling your flesh. Your mouth meets his, his phone becoming ruined and forgotten as he lets it fall to the ground beside him.

His strong arms path down to encircle your waist, pulling you in from the weather, bunching your t-shirt up until it’s pooling around your tattered bra. You raise your arms to help him discard it, the heavy wet noise it makes when it collides with a nearby pool chair is enough to make Andy gain his surroundings.

“Stop, stop. Are you fucking high?” He asks you, a cautious pause.

You shake your head. “Aren’t you?”

This is when he scares you with a solemn silence you weren’t aware he could possess.

“Andy...” You push your fingers through his damp curls.

“No, I’m not. I was just about to... when you didn’t answer.”

Almost as if he can’t take revealing that bit of truth, he thumbs a bra strap down your shoulder - deliberately slow. Your skin stings with the line of goosebumps that it brings, your own hands struggling to push that stupid ass identical robe off his broad chest.

“I should fucking rip this.” You say, causing a smile to come from him.

“Rip it and I’ll put you on your knees.”

“Has that ever stopped you before?” A challenging look presses your features, but Andy intercepts, wrapping your hair around his fist and pulling your hair back. You feel the ache crack from the tips of your toes, hot wired into your cunt - direct express.

“You need more marks from me.” His mouth caresses your jawline, stubble catching the underside when his lips find your neck, a stimulation that you have become accustomed to craving.

His teeth bite down, a few seconds more where you feel him cleaning his evidence with a light set of kisses.

“There we go.” He scrapes his milky white teeth across your ear with a whisper so hot that you bow into him; knees weak.

Your bra is the next thing to fall somewhere, your jeans following. Andy doesn’t wait for you to even kick them off, his fingers sliding into your lace panties to see how much you still need him. He licks his lips, eyes closing in pleasure, a familiar stroking rhythm unraveling from the tips of his fingers.

“Shit, that’s a good girl. Even when you hate me you still need me, don’t you?”

The cockiness makes your wrist snap and palm collide with his cheek. You’re riled up, he’s riled up. Something you know he likes. “Like you fucking needed that?” Is your retort.

He groans out, a honey wet dip in his tone. “Only you can fucking touch me like that, Y/N.”

Lightening flashes through the darkened midnight skies, rain pounding across the surface of the pool to create a special beat. Andy finds your mouth in desperation once more, working your underwear down in a frustrated jerk. His fingers part your slick folds and ease into you without any warning. You look down to watch his strong forearm flex in its working marathon, back and forth between your thighs.

We'll be riding the tide in the sky so alive

On waves of blue (waves of blue)

I'm in love with the thought of being in love

In love with you (love with you)

You can bring me along for the rest of your life

If you wanted to (wanted to)

You let go and give into him, not daring to question why you came here in the first place. You know why. Andy has stopped his touches, watching you with that lowered stare he gives. His body is glowing from the neon lighting his home harbors, his creamy skin glistening with rain water. He’s hard through those silk pants, nothing left to the imagination.

“Take them off. Now.” You command him.

He can’t hide the greedy smirk that appears on his lips, not taking his eyes off you as his pants and boxers disappear in one go. He is gloriously hard and thick. You almost want to laugh at your cliche salivating tongue. Andy brushes your wet hair off your temple, his hands moving down your body in a tapping massage - reaching their target to hook behind your thighs.

He lifts you with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist. He’s panting rapidly, nosing your neck. He grips himself, teasingly stroking your cunt to gather your arousal. You stutter on an exhale, unable to breathe out properly. It’s jagged and broken, much like your rationality.

You stop him when he attempts to press inside you. “Tell me again,” You plead. He looks at you in confusion. “Say I’m just a fling.” You finish.

“Y/N...” He struggles.

“Before you fuck me, I want you to tell me what I mean to you, Andy.”

It’s hard not to just fucking forget this and let go, let him take you, both of you get what you want and not have to deal with anything else. But you need to hear it. You want to know how much you’re not worth anything to him. You need to hear it more than you need to find out how much you mean to him. That’s what you came here for...

His enriching ocean eyes are glossy with desire, with something else you can’t place. They pin you into a set of shakes. You grip the hair at his neck’s nape.

“Everything.” He says it all at once, bringing your hand down atop his to help him line up, as he fucks himself into your cunt, stretching you with that delicious drowning burn.

You're no good for me

You got what I need

I just wanna be with you

You cry out, vision sprinkled with an array of floating shapes. Andy drives you against the door, hips slamming so hard you know you’ll be bruised before the night is through. You keep one arm around his neck, lowering the other to encourage him to hurt you deeper, nails clawing at his lower back, shredding the skin. His face stays buried in your neck, stubble adding to each motion he makes inside. You cling tight, using all your strength.

It’s slippery, it’s unstable, you can barely hold onto one another, but you manage. And that moment when you finally can’t keep yourself up, Andy lets you slide down, bringing you into the floor of the doorway, lifting your legs onto his shoulders, pressing in so hard you can’t contain the tears that roll from the corner of your eyes, coasting. He’s familiarized himself with how you come undone, even before you knew.

“You’re drenching my cock, baby. You need to let it go?”

You don’t answer, causing him to grip your throat.

“When I ask you something I expect an answer. You remember how this works, don’t you?”

“Fuck, yes! Please, Andy!” You don’t pride yourself now.

He guides a hand across you, as if he’s tuning a fine instrument. Your stomach quivers with a passing of his fingertips, engaging in a butterfly filled stomach clench. You’re tensing up, anticipating. Desiring.

“Fucking do it! Show me how much you still need this...” He trails off, dropping to rest his chest against your breasts.

“Even if you don’t need me.” It’s a counter thought to your need to hear him say he doesn’t want you.

“I’ll always need you.” You push him onto his back with newfound strength, and pin his hands above his head, your hips bouncing so hard that you can feel his firm structure beneath. That’s right, this is exactly what you have to have.

He’s damn near whining now, squeezing your fingers tightly. “Y/N.”

It’s a warning you don’t need. You lean down to steal a kiss, leaving him further winded, nudging his nose with your own, breasts smashed to between you two. Andy gives a silent agreement, dropping a hand down to quickly rub your clit. Your heartbeat is so out of control that you can’t hear anything but your own cries as you cum all over Andy’s cock. He follows with you, holding himself, keeping you there.

He’s shaking when it’s over. You can’t find coherent speech capabilities.

I'll be holding you tight

I'll wait this through

You stay resting on top of him, still keeping him inside. You don’t know what’s going to happen, but you know that there’s no going back now.

This is just another beginning...

~*~

Tagging: @dark-mei-rose @confettucini @lovelylangdonx

Lemme know if y’all wanna be added to the tag list?!!!!

[nincompoopydoo]

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— PALM TO PALM IS HOLY PALMER’S KISS ; PART 3 / ?

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 1846

SUMMARY: You’re back to teaching at Gotham High and you end up overlooking rehearsals for the GHS drama club’s upcoming annual play: Romeo and Juliet that no one ever attends. In the spirit of keeping your students’ hopes up, you decide to take it upon yourself to draft out a plan to drive more people to come to the play. The key is the man you’re in love with.

WARNINGS: Vague description of a nightmare, death and an annoying teenager.

A/N: This is really going slowly like a true slow burn. I hope yall like this one. Enjoy!

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

In the light of your unemployment as a teacher, Gotham High miraculously offered your old job back after Mrs Wilson, one of the senior English Literature teachers, died of a heart attack unannounced. In all seriousness, apologies were made, admitting they had a mistake with firing you because well, you were clearly a passionate teacher. To your surprise, you were told your students even missed you. Hence, you accepted a job from GHS once again because you would do anything to avoid the smell of burgers and the sounds of hungry crying children. After the whole burglary incident, the Big Belly Burger at midtown was forever doomed as customers gradually decreased over time. It was Gotham after all, people should be used to these kinds of things by now. Including witnessing Batman saving you, the whole experience felt like a fever dream. As excited you were and weirdly unbothered by the whole near-death experience, you realized that if you were to talk about it, no one would genuinely believe you anyway. He was a myth to most citizens of Gotham, but you’re an exception because you’re well acquainted with the knowledge that Bruce definitely knows Batman.

And oh boy, do they talk.

It’s your secret to keep and so is the Batarang you stole. You’re also dying to tell Bruce.

So, you find yourself back in the hallways, crowded with sweaty teenagers, but you would choose this over anything else in a heartbeat. Apart from returning to teaching uninterested students about the works of Shakespeare and Harper Lee and forcing reading lists onto them, you are also replacing Mrs Wilson as the GHS Drama Club’s advisor. Stage performance may be personally foreign to you but plays were practically your forte. That was how you ended up spending your Tuesday afternoons, preparing the members for the club’s annual play. This time, they decided to perform the classic: Romeo and Juliet.

As an English teacher, you were frankly sick of the play, forbidden love was a tad overrated to you. Yet the kids were genuinely trying their best. Shaniqua and Oscar were currently rehearsing their lines as the two infamous star-crossed lovers; You watched them with pride. The two were quiet in your classes but they truly shone on the stage of the school theatre.

“And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss—teach, what does this whole scene even mean?” Shaniqua exclaims and you chuckle, “This scene is simply a metaphor where Romeo is a pilgrim wanting to erase his sins and Juliet is a saint. So, he is basically trying to convince her to kiss him so that he can truly be free of sin,” your explanation echoes through the room, and you notice Oscar turning red when you mention the word ‘kiss’. It was clear as day that the poor boy really liked the girl he’s currently hand in hand with but you don’t want him to feel nervous and uncomfortable about the thought of kissing her. “Now Oscar, you can kiss her on the cheek and that’s fine. Shaniqua, say it with more emotion, okay? Everyone got it?” The response you received was a sputter of hums and nods. Before you could continue, Josh, who plays Lord Capulet and is sitting lazily on the handmade throne, speaks up much to your dismay, “Why is it so important that we put so much effort into this. It’s not like anyone is going to come.” The kids around him began agreeing with his statement, and it was honestly completely expected of him but it was the truth. No one attends the drama club’s annual play. As you're trying to calm everyone down, your phone buzzes on the table in front of you. It’s a text from Bruce, asking if you could come over tonight, phrasing it like he’s a schoolboy sneaking from his parents to meet with a girl late at night. Then, like an epiphany you have an idea although there’s an eighty percent chance it wouldn’t go through. Nevertheless, you turn to the rest of the students with a hint of a smile on your lips. “I might have just the idea to solve that.”

-

A brief span seemed like an eternity when sleep doesn’t come easy to you. Tonight was a different case; thoughts were completely clear and concise. In much need of sleep, you steal the chance to savour in this clarity and serenity for as long as you could. To feel his warmth, arm gently resting on your abdomen and the occasional whiff of his deodorant from his ebony shirt you’re dressed in. If this was what bliss feels like, you never want it to go away. Your eyes grow heavy, flickering into darkness due to exhaustion from a long day of rehearsals. At once, you’re struck with the reminder of the idea you had this afternoon. It is more of a favour, involving none other than Bruce. There’s a tinge of guilt whenever favours are involved because you never liked asking for help. You were furiously independent and responsible, relying on others was out of the question. Yet, Bruce has always seemed to find a way to weave himself in your mistakes and problems, constantly there to help out. You have to remind yourself this isn’t about you. It’s for the kids. Special guest, Bruce Wayne, playboy and billionaire. Sounds awesome.

As your consciousness begins ebbing away, you feel Bruce shift from beside you, grasp tightening upon your waist. Before your dazed mind could even fully process that he was in the midst of a nightmare, his eyes are wide open, heart-pounding and it seizes him up instantly. With deep breaths, he closed his eyes once more, unable to shake the feeling of dread that rattles in him. Then, a sudden cold touch to his arm—he jumps and snaps his head to look over his shoulder.

It’s you, still laid in bed with a prominent frown upon your brows. Your hand squeezes his forearm and all he feels is instant relief. His heart still pounds, not in fear but with affection. “Are you okay?” you drawled as you watch his lingering hand, fingers weaved between the strands of hair. The silver ones glint under the low light, contrasting the deep brown ones. You notice how his hair had grown along with his five o’clock shadow becomes more evident by the days. His face away from you, finally nodding in response to your question. “Yeah, just... a bad dream. His voice is subdued as he shifts under the sheets, head leaning against the headboard. Despite your weakened state, you bring yourself to sit up, twisting your body to face him properly. "You wanna talk about it?” you say, patting his shoulder lightly in a comforting manner. You watch him rub his eyes, exhale tightly and shake his head. “No. Anything but that.”

His response comes out almost harsh but Bruce doesn’t mean for it to be perceived in that way. His dream was the usual, the normal ones he’s used to by now but in times of stress overwork, they have started to become more intense and violent. This time it involved you, for the first time, and he watched you vividly get shot in the forehead—trails of his memory as Batman when he encountered you at the burger restaurant with the muzzle of a gun inches away from you. It haunts him to think that if the circumstances were different if you hadn’t texted him those dreaded four words, you might be dead.

He certainly is not telling you about the dream. Never in a million years.

Bruce turns to you and you’re still staring at him, worry carved deep in your furrowed brows. Change of topic was merely necessary at this point. “So, how has school been? The kids still mean to you?” Classic Bruce, always sweeping his problems under the antique Persian rug. You don’t blame him because you wouldn’t know better.

It was your turn to sigh at the mention of school but since tonight’s pillow talk is heading towards your job as an English teacher at GHS, you might as well use the opportunity to pitch in your plan. “Still mean, but the drama club kids are really great,” You thumb the edge of the blanket, unable to hide your growing smile. “Speaking of which, the annual play is next Friday and they have been rehearsing all week but,” you paused as you watched his right brow gradually lift. “No one comes for it. Like, no one and I hate to see all their efforts just thrown out the window like that—”

“So, you want me to go for it.”

You blinked, wondering if your explanations were too obvious of its underlying intent or Bruce could just read you like an open book. You won’t be surprised if it’s the latter.

“If it’s no biggie. You don’t have to because I know you’re very busy but I don’t want the special guest to end up being the Big Belly Burger mascot.” Your smile widens and Bruce chuckles. Hell, it’s probably past midnight and you’re still able to find ways to be terribly funny. Literally terrible. After a beat of silence, he clears his throat. “I’ll clear my schedule.” It didn’t need much anticipation or thought because despite everything going on in his life, he knows he’ll do just about anything for you. You’re practically beaming at him and he finally sees it’s all worth it in the end. “Thank you, Bruce.” Your voice is sweet, and it makes his heart swell ever so slightly.

He sometimes wishes the two of you weren’t trapped in this loophole of unsaid confessions and hidden strong emotions for the other.

It almost comes naturally when he leans to you and presses a swift kiss to your forehead. Instead, it’s contradicting everything the two of you consider normal. He isn’t thinking straight and now your smile has disappeared, mouth agape and eyes very wide. Your brain stops.

Uh, what the hell just happened?

It hits him like a punch to the gut and the growing awkward silence is deafening. Yet, he doesn’t apologise because if he does, it doesn’t mean anything when in reality, it means so much more than just an accidental gesture. You don’t mention anything because you don’t objectify his actions. Kissing Bruce was fine when there are no strings attached but a peck to the forehead is way too affectionate for the man.

Before the both of you begin to overthink the events of a few moments ago, Bruce’s rational conscience kicks in and he clears his throat. “Get some sleep. You had a long day today.” He pats you on the shoulder awkwardly and you hum, shifting your head to lay back on the pillow. “Yesterday.” you correct him as it’s well past midnight. He chuckles, now laying flat on his back as he stares at the ceiling. Silently, the two of you agree to forget whatever happened a minute ago and to just...sleep it off.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

[tlbodine]

Reverse-Outlining Revision Method with Plottr

So in my editing guide, I give a step-by-step method for structural editing that I find really useful, and I wanted to do a visual follow-up to kind of show what that process looks like. I’m using Plottr for this, because I was gifted a copy of the software in exchange for them using my horror-writing beat-sheet as one of the templates, but you could just as easily do this with Scrivener, scrap paper, or any other organizational system you like. 

Whether you’re a fellow pantser who struggles with story structure (hi!) or you’re an outliner who needs to make sure your draft matches up to your vision (or the second draft has a good structure), this will work for you! 

Step One: Write a one-sentence log-line of the story + jot down the major themes 

There’s space for this in Plottr. I’m doing Neverest.

Premise: A woman’s search for her missing husband’s body on Mount Everest sends her into the grip of ancient forces that don’t want her to leave. 

Themes: Putting your name on something doesn't make it yours; colonialism and the urge to conquer and codify; relationships as a form of control and change vs understanding

You’ll also want to write a one-page overview summary of the story, similar to what you’d put in a query letter. Here’s mine: 

One year ago, Sean Miller -- journalist and mountain climbing enthusiast -- reached the summit of Mt. Everest, and was never seen again. Unable to move on without knowing the truth of what happened, his wife Carrie flies to Nepal to meet with Sean’s best friend and former climbing partner, Tom. They assemble a small crew and begin an expedition up the peak in search of Sean’s body and a better understanding of what might have happened in his final days.

Guided by a travel journal left behind from her husband's expedition, Carrie ventures into the frozen, open-air graveyard of the world's tallest peak. But as Sean’s diary and Carrie’s experiences reveal, climbing the mountain is more than a test of endurance; it’s a battle of wills with an ancient and hostile force protecting the mountain — and the dead do not rest easy at the summit.

Doing this helps you to identify the core elements of your story -- the characters, the conflict, and the stakes. You should be able to answer the questions: who is the main character, what do they want, what’s stopping them, what happens if they succeed/fail. 

In this case: 

The main character is Carrie, the wife of a journalist who disappeared while summiting Mt. Everest (character) 

She wants to find his body and get closure about his death/understand how and why he died (what does she want)

But there are supernatural forces at work that led to his death and now have the same in store for her (conflict/stakes) 

Step Two: List out every scene in the book 

Plottr is an outlining software, so it makes this step really easy (and conveniently color-codes things for me at the same time!). There are multiple views this can take, but this one screenshots well so I used this one for the example. 

Basically what you want to do is write down everything that happens, scene by scene. You can color-code them however you want -- in my case, I have three narrative threads, so I made a timeline for each one. Then I just mapped out all the scenes -- across 24 chapters, each dot is a scene, and you can see that some chapters have multiple scenes and also that the primary and secondary plot alternate chapters. 

When you look at it this way, you can tell really clearly that the tertiary plot needs some work -- it’s only there for four scenes in the first third of the story. I either need to cut it completely and incorporate any essential information into the other plots, or I need to expand it. 

In this particular case, I decided to expand because 1.) my word count is low, and I’d like to fill in more story and 2.) a big theme I want to explore in the story is what it’s like to love someone who’s deeply passionate about something you don’t understand -- so this tertiary plot is a great place to explore that and fill in more characterization that should add some depth to the primary and secondary stories. 

I can also see at a glance that I have a variable number of scenes in each chapter. Sometimes that makes sense (the green ones are diary entries, so it’s logical that one chapter = one entry) but sometimes it hints that those chapters could be a little thin and need more content. If I’m looking to add additional conflict, I should do it in those blue chapters that only have one dot as opposed to the ones with multiple dots! 

Step Three: Look at the overall shape and adjust for pacing and genre

Plottr has a bunch of templates pre-loaded into it that make this easy, but you can also just google various different story structures and beat sheets such as Save the Cat or the 3 Act Structure etc. But just look at the overall map of story beats and see how they line up with the outline you’ve made: 

This is just a small snapshot view, but you get the idea -- when you look at the scenes side-by-side with the beat sheet, you can see some things. For example, it sure would make more sense if the flashback scene where Carrie decides to embark on this journey got its own chapter and lined up better with the “putting the players in action” plot point rather than being smooshed into the first chapter with the introduction to the world! The fact that I’ve got it smashed into that first chapter is probably a sign that my opening scenes/chapter itself is a bit thin and needs to be fleshed out a little more. 

Step Four: Figure out what you need to adjust and make the changes accordingly 

So after looking at everything mapped out this way, I’ve got a little list of things I need to do: 

Come up with more scenes for that red plotline

Rearrange some things a little bit to better fit the structure I want

Figure out some more blue scenes to fill in the gaps caused by rearranging things and smooth over the pacing/amp up the conflict/alleviate some areas where critique partners hae expressed confusion

I also moved around the categories in Plottr (you can drag-and-drop storylines and chapters) to make it a bit easier to see everything all at once. Basically you can edit the story’s outline first, to save you the confusion of manually moving around whole paragraphs/chapters in your actual story document. 

Now, I haven’t finished that step yet for this particular project (there’s a lot of brainstorming to do re: filling in those gaps!) BUT I did want to skip ahead to show you the next step (let’s pretend this is a TV cooking show where the finished pie is pulled right out of the oven). 

Step Five: Re-Type everything based on your new scene list

This is a really neat thing about Plottr. If you swap from the “Timeline” view to the “Outline” view, you get these editable text windows where you can type whatever you want, and it’ll keep it organized into chapters and scenes. 

So, just pull up your original in one window, and the Plottr screen (or other outlining/drafting device) in another. Dual monitors are great for this but we make due. Now, retype the original document into the new document, making changes as you go to fit the new outline and also cleaning up language and so forth as you go. For example, this time around I’ll be changing Carrie’s blue timeline scenes to present-tense instead of past, so I’ll rewrite them in present tense in the new window. 

Once all that is said and done, in Plottr you can export the file directly into Scrivener or Word. (If you’re not using Plottr, you’ll have to figure out for your own self how to transfer the final product into a final document -- I trust you can sort through that). From there you’ve got a fresh clean copy of a second draft all ready to go for the final copy-edit/proofread/polish/formatting and then you’re off to the races! 

I hope this was helpful for you! I talk more about editing in my Gumroad guide here: https://tlbodine.gumroad.com/l/jkLpr

If you’d like to receive all of my existing + future guides and support me in making more content like this, consider subscribing to my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/tlbodine

And you can pick up a copy of Plottr here: https://plottr.com/

This post isn’t sponsored or anything, but I did get a free copy of the software from the developer and I think it’s pretty neat. It’s still in beta so new features keep getting added, and the team that makes it are very nice and responsive to feedback. 

[saiilorstars]

The Serpent

Fandom: MCU // Pairing: T’Challa x woc!OFC

Chapter Summary: **One shot. Agent Citlalli Del Rio struggles to keep her professionalism in check whenever she visits Wakanda and its King. If she paid attention, she would notice that T'Challa has the same issues with her. Only he will know how to eventually get through to the woman who was once known as the warrior Serpent to her own people.

A/N: This is just a one-shot of an OC I'm currently drafting. I always like sampling a new OC with a few one-shots before I post an actual story and since I already did an OC/Steve and OC/Bucky one-shot series for each, we're going for the last OC I had in mind for now! A little context, she's a descendant from the Aztecs and, thus, from Mexico! The pronunciation of the OC's name is 'Seet-la-lee'!

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog​ @maaaaarveeeeel​ @stareyedplanet​ @perfectlystiles​

Citlalli’s Masterlist // Masterlist to my other OCs

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message!]

"You certainly look as sharp as ever," Okoye remarked in her rigid stance when T'Challa walked up beside her. She didn't even look at him completely, she had enough sight from the corner of her eyes.

"As King of Wakanda, I have an obligation to look my best," was the very King's response. Had they not been surrounded by the Dora Milaje, awaiting for a scheduled visitor, perhaps Okoye would've snorted at the weak excuse. She may also be holding that snort out of sheer pity. She knew well enough why he was taking extra care in his appearance today.

As agreed upon, their visitor arrived a short moment later. Okoye could see T'Challa straightening himself up when the jet landed a safe distance from them. It was frankly bemusing.

The jet opened up and in a few seconds, a tall woman dressed in a traditional black pant suit with a white buttoned up blouse stepped down. Her caramel brown eyes met the awaiting group across from her. She walked towards them in a purposeful stride. It wasn't the first time she was lucky enough to visit the King in Wakanda itself.

"Your majesty," she said. Even the slight Spanish accent in her tone wasn't enough to hide the overwhelming sarcasm.

If Okoye hadn't already met her plenty of times before, she would've been outright offended with the sarcasm.

"Don't you dare bow," T'Challa warned the woman as soon as he caught one of her legs already bending.

The woman chuckled and straightened up that leg. "Caught me," she put a hand over her chest. "One of these days, you won't."

"I will keep my eyes sharp and open when you are around," T'Challa promised her. Beside him, he could see the tight-lipped smile Okoye was battling on her face. He had half a mind to send her away but that would out him in a second. Instead, he put all of his attention on the woman standing in front of him.

She was waiting for him with a polite smile on her face. Her curly brown hair was neatly laid on the left side of her neck but the light breeze in the air would occasionally pull loose strands.

"Agent Del Rio, welcome to Wakanda," he said, making her smile widen.

"It is beautiful as always and, just as always, my name is Citlalli. I beg you to use it," she glanced at Okoye with a polite smile. "Nice to see you as well."

Okoye gave a dutiful nod. "Likewise."

Citlalli put her hands together in front of her. "I am ready to start whenever you are," she said to T'Challa. "But I need to return to Virginia by the end of the day."

"Of course," T'challa gave her a nod. She was always on a schedule given her work in the C.I.A. but he always managed to stretch out her visits a bit more than what she always scheduled for them.

Citlalli motioned him to lead the way back to the palace. She assumed their meeting room was already waiting for them.

"Actually, I thought we could do something different," T'Challa said, much to her surprise. "It's just you and I this time so I thought we would have more time, you know?"

"Ah," Citlalli slowly nodded, "O-okay. Where would you like to have the meeting?" T'Challa set his eyes on the city beside them. Citlalli didn't quite understand until she followed his gaze. "Oh." She blinked.

T'Challa smirked. "Shall we?" he motioned her to walk first. Slowly, she did. T'Challa followed behind her but he met Okoye's smirk on his turn.

"Hardly a place for a meeting," she mumbled as they began to walk.

"Shh," he promptly told her.

~ 0 ~

"This is hardly a place for a meeting," Citlalli would unknowingly repeat Okoye's words later on in the day. She and T'Challa walked side by side down the bustling city. "I am not wearing the right clothes, either." She fanned herself with her hand every now and then. It was a warm day today.

"Nothing wrong with a change of air," T'Challa shrugged his shoulders. He enjoyed watching her curious eyes gaze over the many stalls lining their sides. Despite being one of the people allowed in Wakanda-the only agent allowed for that matter-she'd never gone out of the palace during her visits.

"Of course not," Citlalli agreed, "But, as I said, I am here to talk business." She glanced over her shoulder and saw the Dora Milaje walking a good distance from them. Privacy reasons and whatnot. "And besides, we could save the Dora the walk, couldn't we?"

"They are fine. Trust me, Citlalli," T'Challa insisted. "What are we supposed to be talking about?"

Citlalli sent him a flattened-expressed glance. "Did you not read the file I sent you prior to this meeting?"

"Of course I did, I just wanted to make sure you read them. Have you?"

Citlalli couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. For a King, he was rather funny sometimes. She tucked a curl behind her ear and sighed. "Alright," she conceded with him. They could discuss their potential plans outside. It was actually rather beautiful outside anyways. "It's regarding the center you recently opened in Oakland. Stark is interested in aiding with the funding."

"I am very thankful for it but Wakanda is more than capable of taking care of the finances of the program," T'Challa said, purposely stopping in front of a stall.

Citlalli was forced to do the same without noticing what the stall was offering. She was focused on the conversation. "Of course, nobody doubts that. I certainly don't but the idea is-"

"Would you like some?" He offered her a small piece of bread.

"What?" She blinked at it, having been thrown in the middle of her conversation. "Are you listening to me?"

"Of course, what kind of person do you think I am?" He offered the bread again.

Citlalli sighed. "I didn't exactly bring money to go shopping."

T'Challa smiled at her. "My treat."

Citlalli raised an eyebrow at him. "Does that mean you will pay?"

Before T'Challa could explain to her how it usually went, the seller herself told her that it was really her treat. How could the King pay and much less a friend of the King?

With that, Citlalli had no choice but to accept the bread, or whatever it was. She took it from T'Challa and dropped it into her mouth. As soon as she started chewing, sweet flavors of honey and nuts flooded her mouth. "Oh, that is good," she covered her mouth as she went through the several stages of divine tasting.

T'Challa chuckled at her. "I thought you would like it. I remember you mentioning your like for honey."

"Mhm," she nodded. "You remembered that?" It'd been an off-handed remark in a conversation she could barely remember.

"Of course," he said in a matter-of-fact way that made her pause for a moment. She studied him.

"What is it?" T'Challa asked her when the studying lasted minutes.

"I am just trying to figure you out,"Citlalli shrugged. She began to move again, prompting him to do the same. "I never considered you to be the type of King who walks through his own city."

"Is that bad in your eyes?"

"No," Citlalli smiled at him. "It's humble."

"I am glad you think so. Can I show you something else? I think you might like it." T'Challa picked up his pace to reach another stall.

Citlalli had to sprint a bit to catch up. They ultimately stopped by a stall full of flashy jewelry. She was delighted at the sight-he knew that she loved accessories. Her favorite, though, were the...

"I thought you might like this one," T'Challa took one golden snake-head bracelet. She was always drawn to the serpents because of her background.

Citlalli's smile faltered at the sight of it. "Um..." she swallowed hard. "That's very beautiful but...I don't wear that stuff anymore, you know that."

T'Challa nodded. "Because you haven't found your people yet, but I have no doubt that you will."

Citlalli never knew whether or not she regretted telling him the story of her lost village. She trusted him to keep the secret to himself but she wasn't sure if she was alright with the fact that someone else knew about her personal mission, a personal mission that she was failing miserably at. "You are kind with your faith but my personal agendas should not be any of your concern," she offered him a polite smile. "You are King. You have enough on your to-do list."

"I will always make time for a friend." T'Challa suspected that if Okoye could hear the conversation, she would've scoffed for sure. He was guilty of wanting to offer Citlalli a lot more than friendship.

Citlalli lowered his hand with the bracelet to the stall. "Please," she whispered, eyes falling low with distinctive pain. "Can we go back to the meeting?"

T'Challa was alarmed with the hurt in her eyes. That was never what he intended and the fact that Citlalli even showed that type of feeling meant she was truly hurt about something. No doubt it pertained to that personal agenda she had. Ever since he met Citlalli, which had been under the worst circumstances due to his own pain with the death of his father, she always gave the aura of strength. She hadn't been nicknamed the Serpent in her village for nothing. She was strong, brave and best of all, a mediator. She liked solving problems and providing the justice that most people didn't get. But it appeared that her solitude was slowly getting the best of her.

Anyone would if they were separated from their people for as long as she'd been.

"Citlalli—" He tried to mend is mistake but she simply asked him if they could talk about the meeting again. He didn't want to make her feel any worse so he had to agree.

The rest of the day was, lamentably, all about the kinks of the outreach program and a few other potential programs they could start. At the end of the day, they returned to where they started. The jet was already waiting for Citlalli.

"Before I go," she said, "This was from Stark." She produced an envelope from her pocket.

"Do we have any idea what it is?" T'Challa raised the envelope to the sky to see a few words through the paper.

"I might," Citlalli rocked back and forth on her feet. T'Challa gave her an odd look until she answered, "I may have gotten one myself."

"Gotten what?"

"It's an invitation. Stark is throwing a birthday party for Miss Potts. Very nice place, very sunny place, so if you go, you should take that in mind for clothing preferences."

"Will you be attending?" T'Challa curiously asked her. He had no idea where that act of bravery came from but he thanked Bast that it came.

Citlalli sheepishly shrugged. "My relationship with Tony Stark is terse at times but I do appreciate what he is trying to do for people after, uh, what transpired with the Accords. Plus, Pepper is a good friend."

T'Challa had all the information he needed. "I will see you there."

Citlalli half smiled at him. He always spoke so easily, she envied it. For all her experiences with people, royalty, he always made her feel like she wasn't doing enough. He simply made her forget things she knew how to do, like talking. Why he kept such an open friendship with her, she had no idea. Surely there were other agents he could speak with.

You're the only agent allowed in Wakanda. What's that about? She ignored the warmth in her chest each time she remembered that detail. He'd chosen her to do Wakanda's business with whenever it came to speaking with the C.I.A. Why? It was an answer she never got an answer to and truth be told, she was a little afraid of what the answer was anyways.

"It was lovely visiting, as always," she spoke up after realizing she spent a lot of time thinking silently. "Your city..." she glanced at the city's landscape on their side, "It really is magnificent."

"Hopefully next time I will be able to show you much more of it," T'Challa said, really having faith that the next time she visited, he would get it right and be able to show her everything.

Citlalli nodded. She held a hand out to shake with him. T'Challa took her hand and shook it but just as Citlalli would pull her hand from his, he gripped it. She raised an eyebrow at him, curious. Had they forgotten to talk about something?

T'Challa would then raise her hand in his hand to press his lips over it for a kiss. Citlalli felt a deep warmth over her face. T'Challa looked at her from under his lashes, smiling at her in a way that spread the warmth down to her stomach. Butterflies would even arise.

"I hope to see you at that celebration," T'Challa lowered her hand between them but without letting it go.

Citlalli had to catch her breath before even thinking about speaking. "See you..." She swallowed hard, immediately feeling the cold when T'Challa let her hand go.

Very unprofessional! The voice in her head scolded. She turned to leave as soon as her feet responded. She couldn't trust herself if she stayed another minute.

T'Challa was left to watch the jet disappear in the sky. In a matter of seconds, Okoye had stepped up beside him. "Well, will you really be attending that celebration?" she curiously asked, eyes wondering over the invitation T'Challa held tightly in his hand.

"If it is my only chance, why not?" He countered, smiling to himself. He wasn't all that into the idea of being surrounded by unknown people but if Citlalli was there then it wouldn't be that bad.

~ 0 ~

Stark's choice of scene for the party was, as usual, a grand site. Even Okoye would admit to it, but everything else was irritating.

"This dress is far too uncomfortable," she grumbled to T'Challa as they walked in through the entrance. He wanted no Dora Milaje around today and the only way that would happen is if Okoye accompanied him.

"You could go back..." He said far too innocently for anybody to believe him.

She threw him a sharp look. "What for? Agent Del Rio has no quarrel having me around. Do you?" T'Challa purposely kept his gaze ahead of them. Okoye's smirk wasn't something he wanted to face.

They eventually came to the backyard, a large place for the party. There were far too many people around, none that really concerned T'Challa. He saw a few familiar faces amongst the crowd eventually, like Rhodey and Pepper. As politeness went, T'Challa moved towards the latter to wish her a happy birthday.

"Thank you for coming," Pepper smiled wide, especially when Okoye handed her their gift. "You really shouldn't have."

"I hope you like it," T'Challa sincerely said. His eyes swept over Pepper to see if he could finally spot Citlalli. Maybe she wasn't here yet.

"Tony!" Pepper called, motioning him to come over from wherever he was.

"The King!" They soon heard Tony's exclaim.

Okoye rolled her eyes as the man headed their way. To T'Challa's surprise, however, he was not alone. Citlalli was walking beside him, looking like she'd just entertained something no doubt Stark "funny".

"Nice of you to make it," Tony greeted the pair of visitors. "A change of sights doesn't hit bad, does it?"

"No," agreed T'Challa. He met Citlalli's gaze, brain racking to say something good to her as a greeting. The way she looked, though, would prevent much of that from happening.

Her curly hair had been tamed to one side again, braided to the tip. She wore a spaghetti-strapped white maxi dress with a bright turquoise flower pattern. There was a beaded necklace of browns and turquoise sitting around her neck with a large shiny brown stone in the center. With little makeup, she boasted her natural beauty, whether she realized it or not.

"Your majesty," she beat him to the greeting, just like she typically did.

T'Challa wondered when he would be able to say the first word to her. Probably when you stop staring at her. Perhaps then...or perhaps not. He tended to lose air when he was around. "Citlalli," he managed to say her first name this time around. Baby steps.

"Okoye," Citlalli flashed a smile at the woman. "I love the dress today. Red is your color."

"Thank you," Okoye pressed a hand down her side. "But I can't keep wearing this all day. How do you do it?"

Citlalli and Pepper laughed together. The former then admitted that she wasn't all that used to wearing dresses anymore. "When you're a C.I.A. agent, you don't really get a down time for leisure. But Miss Potts over knows her way around pencil skirts." Okoye's face might as well have said there'd been a murder.

"We are not going to stand here and discuss skirts, are we?" Tony pretended to be oh-so-tired already. "There's music, there's dancing, food, amazing drinks. Please enjoy."

"Please do," Pepper said in a much kinder manner. "And thank you for coming." She headed off with Tony.

"I must admit I thought you would not come," Citlalli said to the pair when the others had gone.

"Why?" T'Challa curiously asked her.

"I don't know..." she shrugged, suddenly looking shy which was one thing Citlalli Del Rio was not. "I didn't think you and Stark were that close, that's all."

"We are not, but it is a good idea to be on a amicable terms for both sides."

Citlalli nodded with an understanding that only they would understand. After the Accords, everyone knew that the ties between Stark and most of the Avengers had been thoroughly severed. "I am glad that you can do that," she said. "And I am also happy that you came."

Now that brought a good smile from T'Challa. "Really?"

Citlalli's eyes flickered to the side, hoping to calm that warmth in her face again. "Yes, I...I need to speak with you, actually."

Surprising given the location they were in, but T'Challa would take it. He glanced at Okoye, not needing to say it out loud. She could barely hold the struggle to not roll her eyes.

"I will be over there..." she excused herself and walked away.

"You look beautiful today, agent," T'Challa said as soon as they were alone for fear that he would lose his courage. It was all worth it when she smiled bashfully. Did he make her shy?

"Thank you," Citlalli found her voice a few seconds later. She couldn't help look him over—ignoring how utterly unprofessional it was—and concluded that he was as handsome as ever in his casual dark suit. If he moved, she would get a flicker of purple. "You look good," she returned when she was sure that she would be able to say it in one go.

"Would you like to dance?" T'Challa made a gesture to the ongoing dancing behind them. It wasn't quite his style but he could only dream of being that close to Citlalli and today he might just get the chance.

Citlalli's eyes flickered past him towards the dancing. "I was just dancing with Stark..." she started, already sounding weary as she began to remember it.

T'Challa chuckled at her expression. "I will not be like Stark."

"I doubt you could be," Citlalli said. "But I wanted to talk to you."

"Does it pertain to business?"

"No, not really."

"Then can we dance first? After that, I promise I am all ears."

Citlalli bit on her bottom lip as she considered the implications of a dance with him. It wasn't a slow dance but it did require for arms to be around each other's. Could she handle that? Whether or not she could, did she want to? Absolutely, she answered herself on the spot.

She finally gave him a nod. "Okay."

T'Challa reached for her hand, raising it first and foremost to kiss the back of it. She awarded him a soft smile in return. "Beautiful bracelet," he remarked as he led her towards the dance by the hand. Citlalli could feel his thumb grazing over the feathered jade-colored bracelet he mentioned as well as her skin. A ploy she wasn't really against.

"Thank you," she said once they stopped together. He turned to face her, picking up her hand against to hold on their side. "Hand made," she would say as she moved her free hand over his shoulder. She swallowed hard when his free hand slid behind her back. He had the gentlest touch.

"You don't say?" T'Challa sarcastically asked, making her chuckle.

"My aunt made it for me a while ago. She tried to get the most precious stones to make it," Citlalli explained as they started swaying to the music. "She tried to make it like home," she added in a quieter tone. Her gaze fell for a moment. Home was a raw subject even years after everything had occurred.

"That was very kind of her," T'Challa's voice would pull her out of her moment. He didn't know how he did it but he was glad he did. Citlalli met his eyes. "I have heard terrible stories of adoptive parents and their respective families. You have no idea the relief it brings me to know that it was not your case."

Citlalli half-smiled at him. "You shouldn't feel anything," she told him. "You've only known me for a year. Everything that happened to me was a long time ago."

"If it pertains to your well being, I will," he clarified.

"You simply care too much but I suppose that's what will inevitably make you a good king," she shrugged. "And a good friend."

Friend. It stung even though she used it so kindly on him.

T'Challa surprised her with a twirl. It had her laughing when she came back to him, leaning on him. He was smug when he grinned. "I can be many things, Citlalli."

She had to agree there. She peeled herself off him and continued to sway kindly to the music. "A good dancer, amongst those. Did Shuri teach you some of those moves?"

"The fact that you think I could only be a good dancer is if my baby sister taught me is quite offensive," T'Challa bobbed head as if he was doing his own little dance to the song. Citlalli giggled. She hardly did that too so when she did, T'Challa relished it. He may replay it in his head a couple times too.

"I would never offend you, your majesty," she drummed her fingers over his shoulder. "...but did she?"

T'Challa's face fell flat. When Citlalli started laughing again, he surprised her with another twirl. This time when she came back to him, he made it so that they were closer than before. Their foreheads would nearly press with their inch gap. She smelled sweet and floral, intoxicating and addicting. How dare she walk around like that and expect him not to fall for her? Because that's exactly what happened to him. He craved her presence whenever she wasn't around, and it was unfortunately like that most of the time. Her visits to Wakanda were sporadic just as his were to America.

Citlalli was very aware of their closeness and as much as she told herself to step away, her feet were only responding to the rhythm of their dance. If she were to move just an inch, maybe half an inch, something would happen that should not...but it was something that she really wouldn't mind either. "Uuh...can we talk now?" she thought to ask. Her question, though asked in a whisper, was still enough to break their moment.

T'Challa stepped back from her and nodded at her. She took his hand, an act that made things a little better for T'Challa, and led him away from the dance. She found a nice place on one of the garden sitting walls.

"What is troubling you, Citlalli?" T'Challa asked as soon as they were comfortable.

"I was thinking about the last time we saw each other and...T'Challa, I am so sorry for the way I behaved what that jewelry stall."

"What—"

"You were being kind and no matter what, I should have appreciated it. I know I have a hard attitude and sometimes I don't realize it then but I'm really sorry."

"Citlalli," T'Challa touched her cheek, an act that left her frozen while he spoke, "There was no problem there. My plan simply didn't result, but it wasn't your fault."

"Plan?" Her face scrunched. "What plan?"

"My plan to show you the city, of course, and see your smiles."

Citlalli's eyes flickered to the side in thought. "I...do not understand. I thought I was apologizing, it's been gnawing at my head since it happened."

"Please let it go, I hold no resentment. As if I could ever do that with you," T'Challa flashed her a smirk. "You do not see it, do you?"

"See what?" Citlalli watched him carefully. Her nerves were rising and she wasn't even sure why. Nothing was happening.

T'Challa's smirk faltered and soon it turned into a sad smile. "Nothing. This conversation did steer us towards something I wasn't sure how to best introduce."

"What do you mean?" T'Challa motioned her to give him a second. He shifted to better face her then reached for something in his inside pocket. Citlalli watched him pull out a small box. She was startled when he held it out for her. "For me?" she pointed at herself with wide eyes.

"Yes, I chose it with great care. Open it."

Citlalli was hesitant at first but who could say no to him? She couldn't. She took the box from him and pulled it open. Her eyes widened even more when she saw a coil, double wrapped, snake bracelet tucked inside. It was golden with the stones of the snake head in her traditional color of turquoise. "This is beyond beautiful!" she gawked. "Where did you get this from?" It was hard finding those two colors together, she would know.

"I had this made for you," T'Challa explained, earning her fully stunned face. "I know that you always have a hard time finding things that are close to your home. Wakanda may be a place far away from where the Aztecs lived but I hope that this makes home feel a little closer."

Citlalli didn't know what she felt except for the stinging of tears in her eyes. "Oh...this is...T'Challa, you really didn't have to do this. I-I can't take this." She closed the box quickly and tried handing it back to him but he wouldn't take it.

"It's yours, Citlalli. The Serpent," he reminded her of her old name.

"I used to be," she corrected him.

"No, not 'used' to be. You were a warrior for your people and you're still a warrior today. You're just a little lost."

"A 'little'," Citlalli said bitterly, more to herself than anyone else.

"There is nothing wrong with being lost so long as you try to get back on the right path." T'Challa reached a hand over to her cheek and cleared off her tears. "I would like to help in any way that I can."

Citlalli sniffed. "Why?"

T'Challa tilted his head at her. "Because I want you to be happy. It could be selfish of me but...I would like to be the reason you're happy. Whatever it is, I'd like to be it." Citlalli softly smiled at him. That smile counted for millions. "May I?" He motioned to the box. She nodded and opened the box for him. He pulled out the bracelet and took her wrist, gingerly sliding the bracelet down her skin. His hand caressed her skin as he secured the bracelet around her wrist. Citlalli felt the shudders from his touch and wished time would slow so that his fingers could stay over her like that.

"Thank you," she said meaningfully. She could thank him for everything and it would still feel like it wasn't enough.

T'Challa was on the same page as her. "Thank you." He would never have the right words to express his gratitude for everything she'd done for him since the moment they met.

Citlalli shyly met his gaze, lips quirking into a small smile. Words weren't enough, but actions were. T'Challa's fingers came to her chin, gently pulling her forwards a bit. He leaned the rest of the way and pressed his lips against hers. Citlalli's eyes fell shut with the contact. Time did stop for them in the end. Her lips easily moved with his, discovering how truly soft he was. Everything about him was, even when those same lips were used to make sarcastic little comments every now and then. Little did she know that he thought the same thing of her. She was always professional, never saying the wrong thing. Sometimes, he wished he could get her to do loosen up and that was coming from him. Either way, however she was, he wanted her to stay just like that.

T'Challa pulled away first. He lowered his hand from her chin to her hand. He found her fingers to interlace with his and to his delight, she gripped his hand in return.

"You know, in my village, our stones were so beautiful and valued that we would use them in our conversations to refer to anything that we found precious." Citlalli's lips stretched into a wide smile. "To me, you're as precious as any one of those stones, even more." She touched his cheek, her fingers stroking a few gentle circles over his skin. "It's just hard to admit it with my hard attitude and all..."

T'Challa chuckled lightly. "You keep that hard attitude. I don't want to change anything about you." Citlalli chewed on her bottom lip while her insides desperately fought off the intense heat when T'Challa wrapped an arm around her waist. "My Serpent," he whispered fondly.

Citlalli brought her hands to her shoulders. "We're at a party—" Her laugh was muffled by another of his kisses. "Hardly the way a King would act, no?"

"I think I'm doing exactly what I should be doing," T'Challa said proudly. Citlalli playfully rolled her eyes at him. "Would you like to dance again?"

"I...guess..." The party did seem a more cheerful suddenly. Citlalli ended up nodding.

T'Challa let her go to stand up then offered her his hand. This time there was no hesitation when she reached out to take it. He pulled her up to her feet then kissed her hand.

She smirked. He saw her knees bending but this time, he couldn't stop her. She bowed. "Your majesty!"

"You did not—Citlalli!" He exclaimed. "Stop that!"

She giggled as she straightened herself up. "I told you that you wouldn't be able to catch me one day."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow at her. She nodded proudly. "Oh..." He pretended to accept his defeat only to snatch her body and pull her up to him. She yelped with the sudden yank. "Look at that, I just caught you," he said innocently.

Citlalli took in a deep breath and rested her hands on his shoulders again. "Game on, your majesty."

"Game on..." T'Challa laughed. He cupped her face and planted another kiss on her, a longer one that would leave them both in need of air.

[salandition]

Dizzy

Leon/Male!Reader

Summary: When you stop making the room spin, an unsettling whistle leaves your lips and Leon slowly backs away from you as you keep stalking toward him- and all of a sudden he’s aware of the feeling you’ve been giving him the entire night. Something intoxicating that makes him feel like prey.

Warnings: Rated T. Consumption of alcohol, making out while inebriated, and sexual themes, but no smut. Just a lot of tension and dancing.

A/N:My first Leon fic! Hoo hoo! I wasn’t sure how I felt about making my first fic a male insert, and I juggled with the idea of making it gender neutral instead, but the narrative of a male reader fit better. Plus. I am... very gay for Leon, and I wanted to indulge. SO i hope you all don’t mind the assigned gender in this fic! 

--- --- --- 

Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the atmosphere- the dancing, the bodies pressing against each other, the neon lighting flashing in the dark room, painting everyone's skin with its fantastical colors. Maybe it was the music that Leon could feel in his core as he was tossed around the crowd, from person to person, his hair sticking to his sweaty neck that glowed pink and blue. 

But something was happening. There was a certain energy in the air, buzzing around the entire bar, and it lit Leon aflame, stumbling and falling as he tried to keep up with it. Keep up with you. 

You felt untouchable. You looked ethereal- your body and your voice that swayed with the lyrics you sang on stage, guitar in your arms strumming chords that Leon felt vibrate through his spine. Your eyes that trailed him up and down- 

Everything about you was so intoxicating that it might be dangerous . 

Raihan was the one that suggested they go out tonight. ‘To loosen up,’ his friend had said. Leon didn’t think he needed to loosen up, he felt just fine, but spending a night out drinking and relaxing with friends didn’t sound like a bad idea. And Nessa had insisted that she ‘knew a place’. The perfect place, apparently. 

That’s what led Leon underground in Spikemuth, to a bar he had no idea even existed; and at first, it was fine. The group sat at their private little booth in the corner because Leon had a reputation of being seen and ruining the vibe with his fans, not that anyone would admit that out loud (besides maybe Raihan). But this place was special. It was dark in the bar, the only light provided was from the neon lamps placed on bar tables, the rings that people wore, and the poles and stands that were on the stage in the back. 

When Leon asked what the stage was for, Raihan said they liked to play music. It wasn’t much later after that when things started to turn.

The drinks the bar served were full of flavor. Citrusy and sweet, lulling you into a false sense of security that you weren’t really drinking that much alcohol. They seemed to glow as well, leaving your teeth a sticky color, which Leon had laughed at when he first saw it. 

It didn’t seem as funny when it was used against him. 

The champion had gone to the bar alone, ordering the next round of drinks for his table. He was feeling confident with the dark atmosphere and the fact that no one had noticed or pulled him aside yet. The confidence seemed to falter when the bartender asked him what he wanted, and he realized he didn’t know the names of their glowy-type sweet drinks, and it was too dark to read a menu. If a menu even existed.

That’s when someone had slipped behind him. He could feel someone’s chest lightly touching his back as they leaned over, placing a hand on the bar counter beside him. The champion bristled but didn’t say anything as he turned around, expecting it to be Raihan messing with him- 

Instead, he met your eyes, and that’s when the fire in his belly started. 

You didn’t meet his gaze. Your teeth were glowing, like his, and your lips were stained and smeared with purple as you listed several words he wasn’t familiar with to the bartender, and suddenly the man was working, his hands busy as he whipped up several drinks. 

That’s when you looked down at Leon, and he felt like his throat was suddenly drier than it should be. 

“Are you new?” You asked him quietly, only for Leon to hear, and Leon felt the need to suddenly shiver. 

“Ah- I suppose it’s obvious, isn’t it?” He laughs lightly, joking at his clear inexperience with the bar, and your teeth disappear when you smile at him. 

“Just a tad. I don’t mind lending you a hand, though. You should have a good time, this place can get overwhelming,” you lean a little closer, making Leon feel the heat radiating off your body, and it’s making him sweat, “if you don’t know what you’re doing.” 

Leon opens his mouth, but no words come out. Thankfully, he’s saved by the bartender, who places several different drinks on a tray and puts it on the counter. You smile again and push the tray toward him, and Leon looks at you in confusion before reaching back for his wallet. 

You’re already close enough that you easily stop him by placing a warm hand on his arm. “It’s on me. Bring the drinks to your friends.” You lead his hand to the tray, and you finally take a step away from Leon, giving him room to breathe. Leon  really shivers then by the sudden shift in temperature- he was suddenly much colder than before. “Have a good time, new boy,” you told him with a wink, and suddenly you disappeared as if you were never there at all. 

Like a figment of his imagination. 

Leon tried his best to shake it off. If you were real, you were certainly strange. The aura you carried and the way you talked to him- 

No one ever talked to him like that. 

But, again, he shakes it off. He brings the tray of drinks to his friends, all who holler and cheer when he returns. When Sonia asks what took him so long, he doesn’t know what to say, so he just hands her a drink instead. 

Raihan gives him a look, and Leon ignores it. 

Things start to fall back like they were before. Leon laughs, he jokes, he wrestles with Raihan. Ordinary things for a night out. And then, finally, people start to set up on the stage. Somehow it gets even darker in the club, but the light stands that surround the borders of the stage glow brighter. 

You step onto the platform, electric bass in your hand, and you go right for the microphone in the center. Leon once again feels his throat dry up when he sees you, for reasons that he really can’t find the right words to explain. 

Music starts to play, slow and sweet and alluring. Leon can’t help but ask because he can’t seem to tear his eyes away- “who is that?” 

“Him? That’s ___,” Nessa replies, resting her head in her hand as she looks at the stage. Her body naturally sways to the beat. “Him and his band play here a lot. Not sure about the name of the band because they never really announce themselves. They don’t really have a schedule either. They just come up and play, and no one says anything. They’re really good, though.” 

Hm. 

The slow beat only lasts for so long. The bass players behind you and the drummer all start to amp up, and eventually, your voice comes through the speakers of the club. “It’s about time we livened things up, don’t you think?” The patrons of the clubs all woot and cheer, making you laugh. “Mm, I thought so. Alright. I want to see some of you pulling your best moves, then.” 

You strum your guitar, and the mood changes. 

Here I am, tied and bound, 

Every night, feeling low,

Bad days come back whatever,

Raihan chuckles from beside Leon as his head starts to bob to the beat, and Sonia wiggles out of her seat. “We should get up and dance!” She suggests, and Nessa seems to agree as she leaves the booth. 

Leon doesn’t want to dance, not really, but he’s basically torn from his seat and pulled into the crowd by his friends as they all begin to move with the beat. The lights on the stage begin to glow and change color, reflecting on the sea of people in waves, bouncing and sinking into sweaty skin as Leon keeps his eyes on you. 

In the sun I bathe, in everyday light, 

You draft me down for a split second tomorrow, 

What am I supposed to do?

Somehow, your eyes find his. They stay on him, bore into him as you sing, even as Nessa twirls him around and laughs at how distracted he is. 

I know you would make me happy, 

Girl, I found my way out,

I found it at last now I’m sober

Oh-oo-oooo-

Your eyes practically shine as your head raises high, 

Let’s go!

The bass guitars thrum loudly and everyone enjoys the rift, and Leon’s forced to tear his eyes away as he dances and laughs when Sonia nearly trips, falling into Raihan instead, and then he twirls her across the floor until she falls into Nessa’s arms and the two start to dance in sync together. 

 Leon distracts himself with the music. He tries to ignore the feeling of your eyes burning into him as the music continues, gets louder, vibrates through him just like your voice had done to him earlier. He lets himself enjoy the sweat and exhaustion that comes from dancing so much, the ache in his feet- he thrives in it.

You had told him to enjoy himself, hadn’t you?

His cheeks hurt from how much he was laughing and smiling, and he starts to forget about your purple-stained lips, but then you did something unexpected. 

 The songs you and your band made, easy to dance to, come to a quiet, and Leon had noticed how you removed your guitar and set it to the side. Music comes again as you walk up to the mic with a whistle, but the intense beat had him stopping in his steps to stare up at you. Slowly your hands went around the mic as you sing, 

Woke up in the morning feelin’ cynical, typical,

Tryin’a rub the sleep out of my bloodshot eyes, 

Did I just die? Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, 

You smile as you take the mic away from the stand, but your eyes remain somewhat neutral and cold as you look out to the crowd. 

I’ve been feelin’ self-destructive, but I love it, 

I can’t help myself- your taste is so seductive, 

Leon’s surprised when you hop off the stage, the line of the microphone following behind you as you twirl the wire between your fingers, but no one else seems to think it’s strange. Maybe you do it often. Naturally, people move out of your way as you continue to sing, but Leon finds himself frozen in place. 

I’m feelin’...

Dizzy dizzy dizzy dizzy- on my mind, can’t rewind, 

Dizzy dizzy dizzy dizzy- all the time, that’s my life, 

And you’re headed right for him. 

Somehow, he felt like he should have predicted it from how your eyes bore into him as he swayed and danced to your voice. But now? Again he realizes he doesn’t feel like dancing, but you reach for his arm just like before and pull him toward you anyway, making him twirl with you, everyone’s eyes on the two of you.

He doesn’t see them, and neither do you. The two of you are too busy twirling, twirling, twirling. 

Dizzy dizzy dizzy dizzy- on my mind, can’t rewind, you sing, 

Dizzy dizzy dizzy dizzy- all the time, that’s my life, 

When you stop making the room spin, an unsettling whistle leaves your lips and Leon slowly backs away from you as you keep stalking toward him- and all of a sudden he’s aware of the feeling you’ve been giving him the entire night.

Something intoxicating that makes him feel like prey. 

Frontin’ about my day, I’m feelin’ criminal, habitual,

I try to hide my pain behind a broken smile, so out of style, 

Leon keeps backing up until his heel meets a surface- the stage. He backs up as far as he can against it, and you reach for him again, your hand smoothly running against his stubbled jaw as you move in close. Close enough that he can feel that same heat from before, the kind that makes him want to shiver. 

Your hand holds his jaw, keeps him in place as your chest's touch and the microphone is the only thing keeping you away from his lips as you stare deep into his golden eyes. 

I’ve been feelin’ self destructive, but I love it, 

I can’t help myself, your taste is so seductive,

The tension is left unresolved as you pull on him again, away from the stage, and once again, you spin with him. 

I’m feelin,

Dizzy dizzy dizzy dizzy- on my mind, can’t rewind,

Dizzy dizzy dizzy dizzy- all the time, that’s my life, 

Dizzy dizzy dizzy dizzy- on my mind, can’t rewind, 

Dizzy dizzy dizzy dizzy- all the time, that’s my life, 

At the end of your chorus, you wink at him again and send him flying, twirling toward the crowd and right into Raihan’s lean, firm chest. You meander around the crowd some more as you sing, but after that, you eventually hop back on the stage to finish your song. 

Leon, to put it simply, is out of breath, but you don’t look affected in the slightest. Maybe because it’s your job. Maybe because you're from another planet?

“Holy shit, man,” Raihan laughs from behind Leon as he grabs the Champion’s arms, twirling him once again, and Leon thinks he might just vomit if someone makes him spin like that one more time. “What the hell was that?” 

The song isn’t over, but he can’t even hear it anymore as he’s swarmed by his friends. Nessa looks blown away. “We can’t take you anywhere, can we?” She laughs.

“Apparently not!” 

“Har har,” Leon groans, a hand moving to clasp his sweaty forehead. “I think that’ll be enough dancing for me.” Behind him, he’s mildly aware of someone messing with his hair, and suddenly it feels a bit cooler as his hair is tied up into a ponytail, away from his neck and shoulders. Half his mind still intact, he reaches behind him, clasps a hand that feels like Raihan’s and squeezes it as a form of thanks- and then he’s stumbling away, back to his booth where he can catch his breath. 

 Time swirls in his head unsteadily, his head throbbing with the beat of drums and electronic noise. Leon still feels so hot- a heat in his belly that’s swirling and twirling and making him woozy. Resting in the booth he undoes a few buttons on his dress shirt, just wanting to cool down, but his tight pants keep him constricted and sweating. 

Cool down. Leon just wants to cool down. 

Blurry visions of purple lips and teeth cloud up his mind, and his pants are so tight,  and a painfully unfamiliar and alluring voice still bounces in his skull. He hardly even notices when imaginary becomes reality as you eventually sit next to him in the booth, your hand on his thigh, and your chest pressed against his arms as you flash those bright teeth at him again. Weren’t you singing on stage? When did you leave? Where were his friends?

Are you really real?

He wants you to prove it to him. 

Your laughter rings out, and suddenly you’re closer than before, and his disoriented mind hardly cares when your hands wander around his form. Purple lips press softly against his own, probably stained another hideously lovely color, but Leon’s so hot that it feels like a fever as his body moves to straddle you and he kisses you again. Again. 

Something pulls on the loose strands of hair spilling out of his ponytail, and he moans, and then his hair is pulled once more- harder- and there’s a tongue in his mouth that tastes like razzberries. 

Are you real?

Your lips trail against his jaw, hands holding his hips firmly- when did you get under his shirt? Leon can feel warm breaths on his ear, and there’s a whisper that rings through his hazy, clouded mind. 

“I’ll prove it to you.” 

It sounds like music. 

---

Waking up wasn’t pleasant when it felt like you were only waking up to a nightmare. 

His dreams- he had barely dreamt- but his dreams were fuzzy and warm, pleasant. Nothing like the painful throb that he woke up to, thrumming through his whole body and his skull. The Champion doesn’t even have the pleasure of waking up in his own home. 

When he opens his eyes, he sees that he’s in a living room of some sort, but he’s never been to this place before. 

 Which begs the question of how he got here at all. He has a feeling it’s not because of his horrible sense of direction- especially when he moves up from where he was sleeping on the couch and the blanket draped over him pools in his lap, letting him see the various marks that scatter across his body. 

Hickies, love marks, predatory bites. Call them what you will. 

There’s a lot of them. 

 “I see the Champion is finally awake,” a voice that’s only vaguely familiar cuts through his thoughts. Leon looks up, finding a blurry form of a body in a doorway. He can’t make out who it is, but when they step closer, his mind quickly catches up and does the math for him.

It’s you- that singer from last night. No longer bathed in neon lights, you look dramatically different- especially because you’re wearing a loose shirt and no pants, and Leon can easily see the bright marks scattered on you just like they’re on him. 

He must have done that. To you. 

“You know,” you speak up again, breaking Leon out of his thoughts. You move to sit carefully on the coffee table placed in front of the couch he’s on. You keep your distance, and the gesture is appreciated in the back of Leon’s mind. “I was surprised when I woke up this morning. I had no idea it was you.” 

“You didn’t?” His voice is croaky and dry, and that’s when you hand him the glass of water that he hadn’t noticed you were carrying, along with two white pills that are probably aspirin. 

“To be fair, the club is really dark. And I had already had a few drinks in me when I went up on stage.” You watch as Leon chugs the water you gave him. “But I was miles more sober than you were. I should have noticed.”

The information doesn’t make him feel better. There’s an uncomfortable feeling spreading through him from his gut, making his shoulders tense- 

“We didn’t do anything,” you say. “Besides making out and all that. You were certainly tempting with how eager you acted,” you smile impishly at him, chuckling, “but I knew you were also out of your mind. Nothing happened besides some innocent grinding. You passed out on my couch, too, after a while. Woke up again and threw up all over yourself, but I cleaned that up. Should probably shower when you get home, though.” 

 Leon blinks once, twice, three times as he processes the information you gave him. There’s a chance you could be lying. The Champion hardly remembered anything from last night, just flashes. But when he looks at you, sitting half-naked as you twiddle nervously with your hands in your lap, he feels like he can believe you. 

Especially the throwing up part. His stomach feels unsteady enough that he can certainly believe that part. 

“...Thank you for doing that for me,” Leon murmurs eventually. “Do you… have any idea where my clothes are?” 

“Ah,” you nod and stand up, hands on your thighs. “Yes, I had put them in the dryer earlier. Since you threw up on your clothes and all that. I’ll go see if they’re done.” 

 You leave for a separate room, leaving Leon alone in your living room. His head is still throbbing, but the aspirin is slowly kicking in. 

As he slowly starts to assess the situation he’s in, the only words he can find to describe it is… odd. Very odd.

Getting drunk and making out with strangers isn’t like him. Especially male strangers. Especially coming home with said male strangers. 

So what happened that made him so drawn to you, anyway? Leon honestly doesn’t know. You were attractive, that’s for sure. 

Maybe he was lonely. Desperate. 

He doesn’t get to think more about it because soon you walk into the room again- wearing some shorts this time- his clothes in your hand as you smile at him. 

Your teeth aren’t glowing purple anymore, but there’s still a tint to them that makes him huff out a chuckle as he takes his clothes from your hand, murmuring a thank you as he does. You also hand him his phone, which he hadn’t even thought about until he saw it. 

 Turning the screen on, he sees a headache of messages waiting for him, so he turns it off for now. 

 “So where, uh… Am I, exactly?” He asks you as he puts his shirt back on, fumbling with the buttons. You sit back down on the coffee table. 

“My apartment in Spikemuth, not that far from the bar. I know you’re pants with directions, so I can help you head back to Wyndon if you’d like. But I,” you look away from him again, and Leon notices how you twirl your hands in your lap again, “uh, I understand if you probably would like to head home by yourself, too.” 

It clicks in Leon’s head then. For someone who acted so confidently last night, the confidence that lured Leon in to begin with- you were oddly cute once you were pulled into the light. It’s almost endearing. 

Leon doesn’t reply in favor for shuffling on his pants instead- you glance away and hide your eyes with your hand as you do, which Leon audibly chuckles at since there’s not much for him to hide that you haven’t seen already, but he appreciates it none the less. 

Instead of replying to your request, he asks a question. “What’s your name?” Your eyes meet his, and he smiles in a fluster. “I never really caught it last night. If I did- well- I forgot.” 

“Right,” you nod and you don’t look like you mind. “The name’s ___.”

“___,” He tests the name on his lips. It sounds a bit familiar- so perhaps he did learn your name last night. “Well, ___. To be quite honest, last night was very unlike me. I’m a bit out of my comfort zone,” he says, and now his own hands are twirling around. “But I’d appreciate the invitation to get to know who I was smooching on last night if you’re willing to chat as we head to Wyndon.” 

Your eyes light up in surprise- perhaps you weren’t expecting that. Again, the word ‘cute’ crosses his mind, especially when you smile at him. That was the most familiar thing- your smile and how you managed to still send anxious twirls in his stomach. It was odd…

“Yeah- that’d be nice. I’ll get changed and- well- you probably want to use my hairbrush. And maybe we can slap some make-up on your neck, too,” you laugh as you stand, Leon following close behind as you lead him to your bathroom. 

Yes, the feeling you made him feel was odd… But not bad. 

Not bad at all, really.

[hoeassproductions]

Break A Leg: Chapter 11

Masterlist

***Author’s Note: Hey everyone, I am so sorry that you’ve waiting this long for this story to finish out. I happened to come on here after I haven’t been on Tumblr for almost two years. I honestly thought I had posted the last chapter but realized it’s been sitting in my drafts this whole time! How freaking lame!! Anyways, this got an updated edit and without further ado, the last chapter to Break A Leg! I hope you like it!***

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own, possess, or have any links to Chris Evans, nor do I profit off of this work. Any claims otherwise are grossly misleading. This work is not to be posted anywhere else without my explicit permission.

If you would like to be added to any future tag list, reply here or send me an ask. I’d be happy to add you! Happy reading!

Word Count: ~2,500

The Beginning

“Sooooo. . .you've been talking to your mom about me?”

Chris begins to turn crimson as he tries to explain away anything Lisa may have overshared.

“Oh god, what did she say? I only told her the good stuff, I promise. I will talk to her about being nosy. She’s a sweet woman. I love her to death and tell her everything.” he says with a shrug of his shoulder.

“I could tell that, yeah.” I say, not being able to hide the smile that beams from my face in listening to him talk about his mom.

“You have no idea.” He chuckles, and I can visibly see the tension leave his body as he realizes I'm not mad.

"Don't worry Evans, I think it's sweet and I don't mind. Just a little taken aback I guess. I don't know, she seemed really excited to meet me. I want to meet her too, don't get me wrong! It's just…" I take a small breathe as I meet Chris eyes as he waits for me to find the words. "… Is she that excited to meet all of your friends?"

"Well, I mean. C'mon Y/N, you're not just anybody! You're…you're you."

Before I can push him further on what he means, he presses on.

"Y/N, about in the hallway before Sandra came out…"

"Yeah… I think that maybe we should talk…" Now its my turn to be nervous as it's not clear where he's taking this.

In the middle of Chris beginning to speak, my phone goes off. We both laugh uncomfortably, the nerves of the new subject getting more frazzled at the second interruption since being alone. Saved by the bell again!

I pull my phone out of my back pocket and I see that it's ringing for a reminder with my date with Jessie. My face drops. How could I forget about… Shit!

When Chris sees the change in expression, he can tell there's a problem. "What's wrong?"

"It's um…it's a reminder. I have to go, I'm sorry." I get up and walk away back to my cabin with conviction in my step. To my surprise, Chris doesn't follow me, but the separation is good. I need time to think.

How the hell did I not remember I told Jessie we could go on a date tonight? It completely slipped my mind. If I never set my alarm, I would not have even batted an eye staying at the dock longer with Chris. Confusion continues running through my mind as I check the clock on my phone again as I reach my porch. Had it already gotten that late? We couldn't have been out there that long already could we? And I rush back here to go on a date?!

I can only think of one thing do at a time like this. With a little under an hour before Jessie shows, I dial Hannah's number. On the second ring, She picks up.

"Hey love, love!"

"Oh Hannah, thank god. I need to talk to you, and I don’t have too much time." I explain to her everything that's happened since I got here and the current predicament. She's listens patiently, and understands my dilemma.

"Hannah, what do I do? With Jessie, and all the old feelings… It's just so easy to fall back into it but Chris…he's something else entirely. I can't get him out of my head or heart. I see small glimmers here and there that maybe he fees the same but I don't know what he wants. It's a risk to lay it all out there not knowing. What do I do? Jessie will be here any minute and I'm so confused."    

Hannah is quiet while she thinks everything over for a few moments.

"Y/N, your heart knows what you want. I know it's scary, but that's why you should go for it. Lean into the fear and trust that it would work out. Given everything you've told me, I would be hard pressed to think Chris doesn't have feelings for you. You know what you need to do. I know you gotta get ready or whatever, but I love you. Call me later if you need to talk, okay?"

"Ugh, okay. I hate it when you're right sometimes. I love you, too. We'll talk soon."

Thinking to myself as I get ready with 8pm quickly approaching, I'm finding butterflies beginning in my stomach. The nervousness of what's ahead sinking in more. Before long, I hear a knock on my door, and open it to see Jessie standing there with a bouquet of wildflowers. I welcome him in while I place them in a vase with some water.

"You look great Y/N! I have some fun stuff planned for tonight…" he trails off as he realizes something is off as I don't make eye contact with him or say anything. "Y/N, is everything ok?"

I take a deep breathe as I sit him down next to me.

'Jessie, look. Given our history, I think that it's very important that I be as open and honest with you as I can right now. All day, I've been completely distracted… and you weren't on my mind even once. I forgot about our date until my alarm went off to remind me to get ready. And then, once that happened I began to get butterflies and so nervous, but - " Before I could finish, Jessie speaks up.

“Listen, I know we've never gotten the timing right with this, but I can’t help but feel like fate has brought us together this time. Like….things have finally matched up and we can, I don’t know, give us a try? Before you say anything, can we agree to take some time this week to feel each other out. No expectations, just getting to know each other better again. It’s been awhile, and I know some things must have changed….I know they have for me.”

Giving thought to his words, my mind can’t help but wander to Chris.

Chris said it himself. TWICE. You guys are just friends. What if I go for it and he still feels that way? But Hannah was right, there is something there…something that feels beyond what I can even put into words. The almost kiss, the comfortability on the dock, him being so trusting and open with me? Why not lean in to it? And this, with Jessie? This is just…..safe. Hannah said I need to lean into the fear if that's what my heart wants…

Gathering my resolve, I think to myself for a moment, trying to figure out what the hell to say. Looking at Jessie, I can feel the right choice planting itself even further in my heart as my nerves continue to grow until the words reach my lips.

“You know what? Under normal circumstances, I would probably say yes to that but…I don't feel like I can right now. I did get butterflies before you came because I know what my heart wants. Falling back into this would be easy and low-maintenance…safe. But I don't want that, I want fireworks and passion. I want to feel electricity from a knowing stare across the room or my heart pounding from an almost kiss. I-I just…we don't have that chemistry anymore, Jessie. I have it with someone else, and I don't know what's going to happen but I know I have to at least try, or I'd never forgive myself. I'm sorry. You're a great guy and you deserve to find someone who feels this way about you, but that's not me anymore. It just wouldn't be fair to you if my heart isn't in it. I hope you understand.”

After some time of silence, the tension releases from my shoulders, and I can see him process my words.

"I guess that settles it then, Y/N. I appreciate your honesty, and to be honest, I could see the chemistry between you and Chris as soon as you guys arrived. I always told myself that if I ever saw you again, that I would try again but I understand now that I just got wrapped up in the past and I'm sorry for that."

At the mention of Chris, my eyes shoot up to meet Jessie's. "But I didn't say who it was..."

"You didn't have to. It's obvious and there's been a lot of talk since you guys got here. I shouldn't have even tried to get you back, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity for us to actually have a shot at what we kept failing at for years. Listen, he's a great guy, and if he's the one for you, I'm happy for you. Truly. You could do worse than him. Just be careful. His lifestyle and career… it's no joke."

We both fall silent for a moment at him verbalizing something I hadn't even considered yet, the fame that Chris has to bear. Where would that leave me if this goes any further?

Seeing the gears turning in my head, Jessie interrupts my thoughts thrown into overdrive. "Have you talked to him about your feelings yet?"

"No, I've been trying to deny them for many reasons…I don't know what he wants. He says we're friends, but I feel like there's more there. I know I want more, but it's scary to approach it without knowing."

"Only one way to find out kid. Follow your heart, and your gut. He'd be crazy not to go for it with you. You're a catch, Y/N."

I walk him to the door, and give him a hug on the porch.

"Thanks Jessie, and thank you for being so understanding"

Pulling away, I see that Chris has walked back, and is just getting to his porch. He waits until Jessie leaves to say anything.

"That's what all the rush was about? Him?" I can hear slight frustration in his voice as he says this to me while crossing the distance to his door. Is Chris…jealous?

"I-I, Yes it was, but I made it very clear to him that it wasn't going to work. My heart isn't in it…it's with someone else."

At hearing this, Chris comes to a halt, key at the ready.

"I had to be honest with him. I Couldn't…not when…" my words trail off as Chris' eyes meet mine and I can feel all of the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"Not when what, Y/N?" he says, walking towards me on his porch, and I can see uncertainty dance in his expression.

I feel my anxiety and fear build up inside of me. Tears begin to well in my eyes and I know what I need to say but getting the words to come out is proving difficult.

I take in a shaky breath to gather myself. Y/N, you can do this. Tell him you're worth it. That you both deserve to give this a real shot.

My pulse quickens as my breathing begins to saw in and out of me, but I hold my ground "Not when...my heart is with you. I want you."

I look at Chris and in a matter of seconds, I see confusion and frustration fade from his face to be replaced by the biggest smile I have seen of his to date.

In seeing the change in his demeanor at my admission, the tears begin to spill over, clouding my eyes to point of blurring my vision so when I begin to feel steps on my porch, I was a little startled.

I wipe my eyes and see Chris standing before me. He reaches for me and pulls me into his arms with no words, knowing that I need a minute to compose myself.

I take in a deep breath, his scent settling around me, and I feel myself starting to relax.

"Chris, I'm.....let me explain....I-"

"No Y/N, it's okay. I'm just happy you're less of a chicken shit than I am."

I feel his laughter vibrate our bodies as he lifts his head, and pulls back to see my confused expression.

"Wait-"

"I feel the same way, and clearly you're scared but Y/N, you're one of the most kind and caring people I have ever met. I would be crazy to NOT to be interested in you! Ever since I dumped my coffee all over you and you threw your panties at me, I knew I had to keep you around by any means necessary." I slap his chest as we recall the haphazard way we met a couple months ago.

"Hey, HEY…" he says, as he shields himself from any more of my attack and we continue to chuckle. "What I'm trying to say is that you're amazing and I have feelings for you too. I don't know when it happened but you burrowed your way into my heart and I…I love having you there "

Listening to this, I am overjoyed. I grab Chris and I pull him in close, resting our foreheads together.

"Oh Chris, that makes me so happy to hear. I was so scared that I would ruin this if I said something and you didn't feel the same way but I couldn't ignore it anymore. You're in my heart too, and there's so much we need to talk about and discuss… a lot to figure out but I want to face all of that with you."

"I know Y/N. I know being with me has it's own challenges that a normal relationship doesn’t have to endure but I will do everything in my power to protect you while giving you the world because you deserve it…WE deserve it. You feel that too, right?"

"Yes, I do. I really do. There's a lot a stake when you lead with your heart."

"There always is but you're worth it, what we will build together will be worth it." He holds me to his chest again as I begin to full out cry, the emotions of it all overtaking me. After a few moments, I can feel his tears beginning to mingle with mine, and the realization hits me that this is real. This is my life and he's not going anywhere.

After we both compose ourselves and have calmed down, I embolden myself and look up into his eyes. "I guess there's only one thing to worry about right now then…to finish this."

The question forming behind his eyes before it reaches his lips, "Finish what?"

"The beginning of us."

Recognition falls over Chris face as I pull him in so our lips to finally meet for the first time, and I can feel in my soul; this is the moment I realize he's the only one that could capture my heart.

As we share our first kiss, I feel the world settle around me. This feels right, here in each other's arms without a care in sight. There's no place I'd rather be and to think it all started with a chance encounter.

                                                     ~The End~

Previous 

A/N: Again, so sorry I’m an ass and have kept this ending in my drafts. If you see this and have followed this story this entire time, thank you sooo much! Appreciate all of your likes, reblogs, and words of encouragement to make my first full fic a great experience! Writing is hard and scary, but I really enjoy it and am excited to get back to it! I have some fresh ideas that may just make it on here, so stay tuned!

Tags: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan  @avenger-nerd-mom @mycapt-ohcapt-writes @mad-for-marvel @vanillabeanlattes @captain-ariel-barnes @emilyevanston @thewife101cevans @loricameback  @plussizeappreciationfics @a-tale-of-two-comics  @melodramaticfanatic @writingcreatingstorytelling  @mywritingsblog @disney-fire-fox @harrinoodles  @lookwhatyoumademequeue @janeyboo @aglarelen @purelyfictionallife  @cevansgirl @mrs-captain-evans @randomcevans  @nomadicpixel @elivanah-writes @katiew1973 @tchitchou26@mackevanstanfan80 @unicornpurplelife

[chimaerakitten]

(via https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2eF2BW8QhNO2UesloUNkuk?si=SfOWQO6CTQy28MPE0ndjMA)

so, now that I am officially free of both finals and my work on the TQT title sequence animation, I thought it would be a good time to turn to my other bit project for this fandom, Chi’s crazy-long chronological playlist. I started this. One week after ROTT came out. ONE WEEK. I thought I’d get it done and written up in two or three days. It is now. December the 15th. Two months. TWO MONTHS, THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS

Bellow the cut: A writeup explaining the position of each song + a little bit more commentary on it from me (spoilers. everything is spoilers all the way through ROTT below the cut):

This is a mix of some pretty typical fanplaylist fare (there is. A lot of Bastille on here) some Queen’s Thief must-haves (can you really have a Queen of Attolia playlist without Achilles Come Down?) and my own really weird music taste (Filk like Tin Soldier and Courage Knows No Bounds)

Some of the ones I’m most proud of are Monster by Starset for the Mede camp scenes in ROTT (I mean, it starts with “Under the knife I surrendered” It’s kinda perfect) Laughter Lines for Relius and Teleus (I have it on good authority that that caused a lot of heart pain for other fans) and Soft to be Strong for Irene and Relius.

without further ado, the song list:

“Eddis”—Warriors

“Thief!”—Second Child, Restless Child

The Thief

Whatever it takes—“I can steal anything”

Tin Soldier—“Nobody would mistake you for anything but a tool, Gen.”

Centuries—“His name would be carved in stone on a stele outside the basilica, and mine would be written in the dust.”

Everybody Wants To Rule the World—“He doesn’t want the queen…He just wants the pass through the mountains so that he can invade Attolia.”

Patron Saint o’ Thieves—Eugenides and the Sky God’s Thunderbolts (I will be honest. This one was chosen based on title and Vibes, tm, not lyrics)

The Only Exception—“But if there hadn’t been one that I loved, I wouldn’t have landed myself in the king’s prison.”

Thief—Before braving the temple of the Aracthus.

Come Wayward Souls—Inside the temple.

History Has Its Eyes On You—The answered prayer for silence.

The Queen and the Soldier—“You are more beautiful, Your majesty... But she is more kind.”

I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)—Walking to Eddis.

Stand By Me—“Oh, It’s you, Eugenides.”

Family—Helen, Eugenides, and the Minister of War.

“Destruction”—Dread Sovereign

The Queen of Attolia

Run Boy Run—The chase through the palace.

Icarus—Eugenides, caught.

When the Chips are Down—“I still think tradition might hold the best solution to my problems with you.”

Achilles Come Down—Eugenides, after returning to Eddis.

Heroes—The Secret War and the expectation that Eugenides will die soon.

Burn It Down—Burning Sounis’s navy.

Sit Still Look Pretty—“It was her fiancé who gave her the name shadow princess.”

Heroes and Thieves— “She pulled the bedclothes up as far as they would go and suppressed a perverse wish to have her old nurse come to chase away the darkness, perverse because she didn’t know if she wanted the shadows to be empty or not.”

Thousand Eyes—The plan to take Ephrata.

We Remain—“There’s an easier way for a man to become king,”

Black Water—“She reached up to push the wet hair out of her face, wondering when she had sunk so low that she had begun torturing boys.”

Simple Song—"I watched you walking between the rows of cabbages and then dancing under the orange trees. I was above you, in one of the trees.”

She’s Always a Woman—"Eugenides had accepted gladly and read carefully, trying to see whether Attolia could be the monster in human guise she was accused of being, or only a woman who ruled without the support of her barons.”

Queen of Peace—“Just asleep,” Eddis reassured her.”

I’m Not Calling You A Liar—“I sometimes believe his lies are the truth, but I have never mistaken his truth for a lie.”

Losing My Religion—“You made a mistake,” Attolia agreed. “You trusted your gods. That was your mistake.”

Pompeii—The vision of the volcano.

All I’ve Ever Known—“Love I am not familiar with.”

Love Love Love—"Who am I, that you should love me?

A Healing In This Night—“And she believed him.”

The King of Attolia

Bow to the Crown— “He dropped to his knees before his queen and lowered his head almost to the floor.”

Shut up and Dance—"Her queen danced like a flame in the wind”

Carry Your Throne— It was not a kiss between strangers, not even a kiss between a bride and a groom. It was a kiss between a man and his wife.”

It’s Alright—"If it was embarrassing to wake like a child screaming from a nightmare, how much more embarrassing to be the reason your husband woke screaming.”

Believer—“like a god revealed” and the fall of the house of Erondites.

I CHOOSE YOU— “He was very likable—Eddis would have married him.”

Hunger— “I did not say that I am afraid. He is, though, I think. Afraid of his own desire for power.”

Soft to Be Strong—"I have learned that there is a flaw in your philosophy. If we truly trust no one, we cannot survive.”

Gold—Eugenides on the crenellations.

True & Destined Prince—“He is an Annux, a king of kings.”

“Knife Dance”—Human

A Conspiracy of Kings

Things We Lost In The Fire—The raid on the villa.

Constellations—Sophos and Moira in the dream library.

Welcome Home, Son—“I didn’t want a choice; I wanted to stay right where I was and build walls and share poetry with an avid audience and enjoy a swim with friends, but I didn’t want it to be my choice.”

Words as Weapons— “Eugenides looked me in the eye as if I were a complete stranger and said, “The simplest way to end a war is to admit you have lost it.”

Share Your Address— “You made a proposal in your previous letter. Perhaps it was only hypothetical?” “It was not.”

I Love You—“When I was working in the fields, I knew how unfounded my hopes were,” he said. “I was a poor excuse for an heir of Sounis when I made the proposal and then became even less than that.”

Iron—“I will go to Melenze. And hope to delay the Medes long enough to find some other solution to their imperial expansion. Of course, that assumes the king and queen of Attolia intend to honor the laws of hospitality and allow me to travel safely to the border.”

Young Volcanoes—“Just what makes you think you can get away with that?” he asked the young man standing over him with a butter-won’t-melt-in-my-mouth expression incongruous on his scarred face.”

The Fates—Sophos’s naïve speech before the first vote.

Handmade Heaven—Shooting Hanaktos and Akretenesh, lifting a hand to the sky for a lightning bolt that will not come.

I Bet My Life—"There is no reason I can see that I would not be honored to join Eddis to you.”

Flaws—“Eddis stared at him for a long time, knowing that forgiving someone because you have to is not forgiving him at all.”

For The Dancing And The Dreaming—“Are you certain that you want to be my wife?” “Absolutely,” said Eddis, quietly. “Eternally certain.”

Blood Brothers—"He had been saved by the men Eugenides sent, though he did not yet know the ferocity with which the king of Attolia had stripped those men from other posts, the capital he had expended, the secrets that had been revealed in order to send help to Sounis.”

Thick as Thieves

I’ll Believe In Anything—"If there had been any alternative, I would have taken it, but I could see none, and there was no time for hesitation.”

You’ve Got A Friend In Me—“Head wounds bleed, but we can stitch it up, I’ve done it before, don’t be afraid. Kamet, I wouldn’t tell you this if it weren’t true. I swear to you, I am not going to leave your dead body beside the road to Perf. I didn’t come all the way to this godsforsaken cesspit so that I could go home and tell my king I failed him.”

Desert Song—Costis and Kamet crossing the empire, eating caggi.

Empire—"It would be possible, I supposed, for an outsider to see disruption and think the empire might collapse, but it was too all encompassing, too well sewn together to come apart. As each smaller nation was absorbed, it was integrated into the whole, enjoying all the benefits of being in the empire.”

Fell In Love With A Girl—Kamet’s story of Marin the dancing girl.

Foreigner’s God—Kamet’s encounter with Ennikar while Costis is in the well.

The Hell If I Go Home—Kamet trying to leave in Sukir.

Stray Italian Greyhound—“If you had told me in Sukir, I would have let you go.” / “Costis,” I said, using his name for the first time since he had told it to me, on board the riverboat at the start of our journey. “Costis, I’m sorry.”

Poet—"I began this narrative in the palace of Attolia but have only recently neared its completion. I will eventually send it to Relius, when I am sure it can be delivered without interception, and I hope he will be satisfied with my account, as I would be honored to have it added to his library.”

All This And Heaven Too—“Immakuk and Ennikar,” he said. “Where?” I snapped my head around to scan the dock, and he nudged me with his elbow. “Idiot. Us,” he said.”

Return of the Thief

How Far We’ve Come—Exordium.

The Great Escape—Pheris finding a place for himself.

The Heart Is a Muscle—“Someone loves me very much, even with all my faults”

I Will Wait—“His heart is unlikely to be in his work.”

Laughter Lines—Relius and Teleus saying goodbye.

Stole You Away—“Attolia says she leaves with you”

Poison & Wine—“I think they have to show their worst selves sometimes”

United at War—“Sounis will not run…nor Eddis.”

This is War—Arrival at Leonyla.

No Light, No Light—“All wars make men monsters, all wars and all men.”

Survivor’s Song—The Etisian winds came early.

Daniel in the Den—The ambush and the Mede Camp.

Monster—“Nahuseresh tells me I am not king. We’ll see if he really prefers the Thief.”

Natural—“Once, when I said he had saved me, you said I had saved him. From what?”

Tomorrow I Leave For Battle—Before the Naupent.

March of Cambreadth—The Naupent.

Courage Knows No Bounds—A pyre that burned for three days.

Bad Blood—The pardon of Sejanus.

Call the Names—The naming of Hector and Eugenia.

Here’s To Us—Dancing on the Roof.

I lived—Pheris, and the gods were pleased.

“Alyta’s Missing Earring”—Falling and Empire

final note: I did my best to have songs have at least one meaning in the pace they were put, plus more meaning when considering the series as a whole—for example, “Tin Soldier” appears early on in the context of the king of Sounis and the Magus using Gen as a tool, but if you loop back around to it after Return of the Thief, Gen being “weapon more than child” gains a whole new meaning. "She’s always a woman” is an Irene song in the context of QOA, but the more we learn about Helen, the more it applies to her, etc. etc. Not every song is like that, but I wanted to give the playlist at least a bit of re-listen value, in the spirit of the books’ reread value.

[national-nobody-writes]

2020 Creator Wrap

2020 Creator Wrap: Favorite Works

I was tagged by the oh so talented @irolltwenties!

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

I’m not a particularly prolific writer (WIPs for days, but completed projects? Not so much). Somehow in this hell year though, I did manage to complete more fics than in any previous year for a total of seven new works (~49k words, all on ao3), plus a chunky chap of a long running WIP (~20k words) so I’m actually pretty damn proud of myself! I also made some new fandom friends in 2020 which has easily been one of the biggest delights of the year & has definitely helped my creative momentum, so ty all for that. <3

Counting down from 5, here are my favs:

5. Downtime

I have endless love for JayRoy and it felt so good to finally finish something for them for once this year! All of my past WIPs primarily focused on them ended up firmly in my graveyard folder, including the fic that this one shot was originally meant to be connected to. I liked the way this turned out well enough to clean it up and post it on its own though, so at least now I can say that I have something published for them at last.

(Also it got me back into the JayRoy headspace enough to outline a whole YJ/Earth16 JayRoy fic that I’m excited to start drafting in 2021, so we’ll see where that goes...)

2.3k NSFW; A mix of playful sweet and roughness, just like them.

4. Mirror Image

Bluepulse Week really saved me this year in terms of forcing me to just write, damn it! Did I finish all the prompts this year? Nope. Did it get me to complete a handful of fics that I ended up really loving? Yes. This was one of them.

This fic zoomed into existence entirely out of necessity as an alt idea to a prompt that I had a much longer idea for, but didn’t have time to complete. It then got a positive enough reception that I decided to turn it from a crack-adjacent, passable one-shot to a slightly more developed two-shot by request of one of my commenters. Really, it was writing that second chapter that ended up endearing the fic to me.

6.3k Humor, time travel shenanigans & accidental dating. This fic is the sweetness of teenage crushes, the confusing mess of discovering your sexuality, & laughter with your best friend.

3. Soft Wesper One Shots

Would you look at that, another nsfw piece. Could it be that I’m starting to get to the point where I can look back at completed nsfw fics without cringing terribly? Love that for me.

This fic took me by surprise, tbh. I wouldn’t consider myself a part of the grisaverse fandom (I’m utterly ambivalent toward the OG trilogy & have no plans to read them), but I did fall deeply in love with the whole Six of Crows gang earlier this year to the point of having quite the book hangover afterward, unable to pick up anything else except related fanfic for a couple weeks straight. These fluffy, nsfw scenes were born out of that, and I was pleasantly surprised to see such a positive response to them in the comments. The whole SoC gang has my heart, but the dynamic between Jesper and Wylan in particular got my writing fingers itching.

3.7k Domestic, post-canon fluff & tender sex with flirty Jesper & blushing Wylan abound.

2. Stick With Me

Ohh, I still get warm fuzzies thinking about this fic! If I’m only low-key proud of the first three on this list, this is one I’m legitimately very proud of. I had this idea on the docket already from a convo with @ivyxwrites early this year (or maybe last year? who knows, time means nothing anymore) but used Bluepulse Week as the excuse to finally get started, and I ended up adoring the process of writing it far more than I anticipated.

As much as I love planning out meticulously crafted, plotty stories, sometimes all you want to do is pick some well-loved tropes out of a hat instead and run with them (in this case: stuck in a cabin, only one bed, & heated argument leading to confession). It was freeing to just mess around and have fun with this fic, knowing pretty much right from the get-go how I wanted it to unfold and seeing it so vividly in my mind. It also probably helped that I was writing it for Ivy; it’s much easier for me to stay motivated when creating directly for my friends.

Finishing this was also such a serotonin-filled burst of pure victory for me since, as previously stated, I’m terrible at finishing projects--particularly multi-chap fics, particularly within a decent timeframe.

25.5k A showcase of the essence of what I love about the best friends-to-lovers dynamic. Part character study, part wires getting crossed & uncrossed, and whole idiots to lovers. This fic is the warmth in the pit of your stomach from a yearning made real & the sudden clarity of realizing what you were looking for had already been there all along.

1. The Rest Pt 1: Delicate (Remember Me Chap 4)

Oh, Remember Me. Of everything I’ve ever written, this story remains the one I’m most proud of and certainly the closest to my heart (not to mention the longest running, whoops). The first iteration of the beginning of this story was actually drafted back in 2017, but I walked away from it for a couple of years before deciding to dust it off and try again. It has spiraled into something far bigger in scope than I originally planned for, but I’ve come to love the path it’s led me down so far, and finishing this whopping 20k chunkster of a chapter was like breathing a huge (if temporary) sigh of relief.

This chap was particularly cathartic to write because it allowed for a number of convos between the boys that had really needed to happen, and was finally the ‘getting together’ moment the fic had been building toward for a while. It’s also so sappy I could die, but I will not be apologizing for that, lol. I was really hoping to get Chap 5 up this year as well, but y’know. Sometimes things just don’t work out like you plan for and that’s okay. 

Chap 5 does have 17k done already (with prob another 5-8k still to go) & I’m itching to share it, but no sense in rushing if the end result would suffer for it. Luckily, everyone in comments has been kind enough to beat me over the head with ‘take your time, we don’t mind/we’ll still be here!!!’ which I’m immensely grateful for. So, at least the pressure to hurry up and get it done is purely self-inflicted.

Of all my works, this fic has not only gotten the most passionate responses, but has also been the main gateway for me to interact with other bluepulse creators, which has been a real joy. Nothing brightens my day like the essays people leave me over there from time to time after discovering the fic. That kind of engagement is the highest praise, & responding is very self indulgent fun for me (bc, clearly, I could go on and on about this fic & YJ in general forever).

54.8k total so far (WIP). Bart & Jaime’s relationship journey from beginning to ‘current day’ (aka the moment the fic begins), using amnesia/memory restoration as a framing device. The high highs and low lows of first love, navigating a 3 yr age difference, and the long, winding road from best friends to lovers as the years roll on. Slow-burn-adjacent (in terms of both the boys’ relationship to each other and reader’s relationship to the fic bc of how long I take between goddamn updates).

Tagging @ivyxwrites, @incorrectbatfam, @paintingwithdarkness, @bluepulsebluepulse

[missingartist]

The Witcher’s Mate- Chapter 20

In his 350 years, he had thought he had seen it all. Vesemir the unofficial head Witcher had spent years traipsing up, and down the country, he knew every path and detail of any town worth knowing to a Witcher. However, in his lifetime he did not foresee having to deal with a Witcher’s mate. Barmin, his master had glossed over it in training, dismissing the idea of it being any use. In his training, he and other fledgeling Witchers had become intrigued with the concept, but the master had been dismissive enough to toss them a copy of The Witcher- A History. With a whole chapter dedicated to the Witcher’s Mate. Being privileged enough to witness the building of the Witcher home he knew every book placed in the library and this battered copy preserved the only mentions of soulbonds in the entire Witcher section of the library. Barmin had mentioned that it was a Witcher’s Curse to be bound to another who would wither and die or who would face dying of a broken heart as the life of a Witcher was a dangerous one before placing the book back on the shelf where it gathered dust for the past 300 years. Till now that was.

Making his way up the gritty staircase, books wedged underneath his arms, he let the soft glow of the candlestick light his way from the archive and through the winding halls. Mermaid literature held little room in the main library; Witchers had no dealing with Merfolk for 400 years, he himself only met two. The first was a stunning female, long green hair and pale olive skin, a tail of metallic blue scales, pulling the fresh Witcher from a stormy sea when drowners pinned him down in the murky depth. She had all the makings of the predator, savage and vicious yet in the cave which she dragged him, she had all the tenderness of a maiden. She was inquisitive and powerful, and to the newly made Witcher, she was direct in her wants, spending the night and day making very extensive use of his body. A smile stretched across his feature, and he remembers the dalliance of his youth. The other had been a Trition, the male of the species, while not a beautiful as the female he had been majestic in his airs. He had been just as predatory as the female but seemed to lack in power of the female, it did not have the sharp barbs of teeth, or the ability to walk on earth demanded help to free a water sprite from a tree curse. If indeed the Adva girl was a mermaid it would cause a lot of difficulties. Mermaids where predators plain and simple, with very complex social structures and even more complicated mating rituals, one that they kept closely guarded. This was going to be near impossible. Witcher bonding was going to be difficult enough to get their heads around it didn’t really need the extra stress of figuring how a mermaid bonded.  He envisaged many nights slaving over a manuscript.

The library fire is dying. The low flame dominated the dwindling wood giving the room a soft light. He had, on being regaled with all the details excused himself to the archives, Barmin having moved all the Merfolk down there to add a room to the main collection. It had taken the best part of the afternoon to weedle through the mass of papers and books that had chaotically thrown into to achieve with no accord. Dropping the various scrolls and manuscripts, he settled himself into his leather-bound seat and placed the candlestick back in its holder—the soft flare of flame illuminating a slim figure perched on the window ledge.

‘Dove, I thought you would be in bed.’

‘Not sleepy…been an eventful day.’ Ciri rolled her shoulder, standing.

Moving from her perch, she fed the fire three thick blocks of wood, watching as the room was lit up with the roaring orange flame. The food she had gathered of dried meat, cheese and wine still sat untouched, Jaskier had tried to tempt Adva with the cheese and wine to no avail. Picking up the jug, she poured two generous helpings into the spare goblets and sat opposite the master Witcher.

‘I don’t think I would be able to sleep if I had seen Geralt finally put it to Yennefer. I would have properly celebrated so hard I would be drunk for a fortnight.’ The older man laughed picking up his goblet and throw back his contents, red droplets staining his white beard pink. ‘It would be Geralt that got mixed up with a soulmate who had to be a mermaid. He can’t live simply, even as…Has someone fixed the wall.’ Vesemir gawped at the wall by the window. The peeling stone wall had been replastered and the drafted that has previously whistled through the library on a cold night was no more. He had meant to repair it for the last fortnight, but the north-west staircase was in need of refurbishing, the barn needed to be mended, three chimneys needed sweeping and renovating and the long list of other restorations.

‘Adva and she reputtied the windows.’ the answer was tense and dry as she brought her cup to her lips and took a sip of the strong liquid.

‘She’s been her ten hours, and she replastered a wall and fixed a window? At least Geralt has the brains to pick a useful mate; I wonder if she does roofing.’ Vesemir gruffed, filling his goblet and downing it once again.

Ciri could feel annoyance rise within her, Vesemir was always dismissive and so distant from his emotions he couldn’t understand her concern. Since arriving, Adva had used the plaster in the hallway, despite their protest she spent most of the day fixing the wall and cleaning, Jaskier had tried to pull her away, but she looked near tears and battered their concerns away. Both Jaskier and Ciri sank back and watched Adva flit around the room, dusting, mopping and polishing. Ciri had never seen the library look so clean. In the space of ten hours, she had fixed the library and cleaned three full rooms before her eyelids began to droop, and Jaskier scooped her away before she could protest and tucked her tightly into a bed in one of the many rooms while Ciri searched through many garments that had cluttered up closets and chests from long forgot herbalists and Witchers that had come and gone to replace her outfit.

‘Vesemir! I am worried about Adva; a person doesn't start repairing buildings when they learn that they are a Mermaid and a Soulmate.’

‘And you know the extensive guide on how someone needs to react when they discover they are a Mermaid or a soulmate, was hardly worth me spending all day in the archives with such an expert already here.’ Vesemire scoffed, his eyes glancing against the bundle he had gathered with some concern. The few books that he found would have little in them to help with their… unique situation.

‘That not what I meant.’ the young woman sulked, pushing her bottom lip out as far as it could go.

‘Do you remember when you discovered your bloodline? It took us three weeks to stop you hacking the dummy to bits. People cope with things differently. If I had to meet Yennefer again, I probably devote myself to fixing the whole castle. You care a lot about Adva, don’t ya? Empathy is the downfall of a Witcher.’ Vesemire scolded. He didn’t know how many time he had tried to drum that into her and Geralt.

‘I…I do I see a lot of myself in her. Alone and confused, betrayed and powerful but scared about it.’ Ciri sighed.

It hurt to admit; it was traumatic. The early years of her life had been so lovely, but the last decade, wave after wave of people had tried to claim her for themselves. Kings seeking power, Witches seeking power, Cults seeking power. They were all the same, trying to imprisoner, impregnate or kill her. It left her feeling insecure and uncertain; she had been betrayed so many time she had lost count. That unlimited power made her a target for every crazed group that emerged from the shadows, but it also made her scared, the power within her had a fine line between chaos and control, and with that enormous pressure to remain in control. Her deepest fear was herself, and what she could do or become, she sensed that same fear in Adva.

‘You have only just met her, don’t get too attached. Yennefer will find a way to get rid of her if not that she’ll turn into a she-daemon knowing Geralt's taste in women.’ Vesemir scoffed dryly.

Geralt was the son he had never had, but his taste in a woman was shocking, there had been that redhead succubus who tried to eat him. The doomed princess in the tower, Renfri. Three herbalists, Triss and Yennefer. He should just stick to a whore like everyone else, it would save a lot of time and effort, and the damage Kaer Morhan would be minimal, the amount of time Yennefer had destroyed something because of a petty argument was unbelievable. Ciri stood abruptly and started to pace.

‘Dove, what troubles you?’

‘I…Yennefer has been….I dunno. She has been difficult…’

‘Yennefer difficult? Never?’ The laughedffff trickled from the witcher lips.

‘Before they…parted. Yennefer did something….horrid and tried to get Geralt to finish it… he refused, and Yennefer was vicious, and then the spell broke and….’

‘Went batshit?’

‘Batshit is an understatement…. I thought Geralt was wrong… that he should have but I dunno; I was so angry I was blinded.’ Ciri winced at her confession.

For the most part, she never admitted when she was wrong; she was too stubborn for that; her pride would not allow her the humiliation of accepting it. But there were times, time like these when things became a cluster fuck that she could admit it. Her love for her mother figure, her nurturer and teacher had blinded her to the sheer despicable nature of Yennefer plan, so much so it had made her hate Geralt. But with every passing day, she realised how stupid she had been.  Looking back made her wince with shame as she recalled all the unpleasant thoughts that went through her mind and the things she said. Ciri felt ashamed of herself, more so now she was in the Witcher’s Fortress where the memories of their relationship[ resurfaced, all the times Geralt had protected her from the violent tongue lashing of Vesemir for wondering off and training on her own. The times when he gave her a silent hug because he knew what she needed.

‘Don’t blame yourself, Yennefer has a knack for playing on one's emotions.’ The master witcher soothed in his gruff voice.

Looking up, she felt herself smiling. For all his stubborn grumpiness Vesemir was the kindly grandfather figure she needed. The bias spectator, guiding her through Geralt and Yennefer many, many arguments with a scoff and an eye roll.

‘I worry about what she will do to Adva. She already seems resigned to being cast aside, and Yennefer will play on that.’

The confession was not something she needed to say out loud; all of them were worried about what Yennefer would do; even Adva could sense it. Yennefer was capable of being truly malicious especial again those who had wronged her,

‘Maybe that is for the best. A Witcher’s life is one fought with danger having a soul mate would be even more so.’

‘You should have seen the way Geralt was with her Vesemir. The way he looked at her was…’ Ciri paused for a moment in thought ‘it was worshipping…I don’t even know how to describe it and when she flinched away from him, I thought he could break down. When she went through the portal, I thought he was going to roar in after her. I love Yennefer, I always will, nothing and no one will change that, but at the minute I don’t even what to be near her.’  

A dull pain began to throb in the corner of his left eye; there was not enough ale and wine in the whole of the castle to get him through the next couple of weeks. Damn Geralt. First, he had brought Yennefer, who destroyed every room she stayed in and threw furniture carved by their Witcher founders out the window. The elder had lost count of how many times in the past decade, Geralt had found himself at the end of a difficult situation. And this situation was the worse; soulmates were messy, and for Witcher, mates were rare and unpredictable. Geralt would be a muscle-bound mess of raging hormones, worse than when he first mutated and with Yennefer roaming around, lurking in every corner, he could feel the annoyance and irritation begin to build.

‘It will work out, for better or worse. But from what I know about soul bond, they are very powerful, and it would take more then Yennefer to do that….besides if she is that good at repairs, we need to keep her around.’

If he survived this, it would be a miracle.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Kaer Mohen was beyond anything that she had ever believed. Nestled in the middle of a vast valley, built into a mighty mountain, the almighty structure was awe-inspiring. Surrounded in greenery and limpid pools as far as the eyes could see, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life. Inside did not disappoint; it was elegant, chequered marble flooring, latticed woodwork, majestically carved furniture, and rugs that while worn and dusty were exquisite. However, it was sure that the castle had seen better days, gaping holes in the roof leaked into the rooms letting in the local wildlife. Plaster was coming off the wall in large chunks, and a sharp draft came whistling through the castle. Still, it the most amazing place that she had ever seen. The library included. The vast collection of books held in sturdy mahogany shelved held behind thick sheets of glass, it was an extensive collection, most in languish she had never seen before, and the desire to pull each one out and read was overwhelming. The library seemed sadly empty just one large table and one comfy chair perched in the middle, books and quills surrounding the work area.

Vesemir seemed to be making the most of her, giving her a list of chores in the morning and then after their midday meal they would group together and spend the rest of the afternoon and evening in the library. In all honestly, that was fine with her, she didn’t want to think about soulbond or Geralt. A sickness bubbled in the pit of her stomach. Waking up in the bed in a musty room brought back that only the day before she woke in the warmth of the Witcher. At least the chore distracted her from the churn of emotion that built inside of her and the anxiety that came with letting her mind wander.

‘How can you read this.’ Ciri slipped down next to the women who was engrossed in a book that contained mostly scribbled lines and dots. Just looking at the page was enough to give the former princess a headache.

‘Lunch’ Vesemir called slamming what could only be loosely described as a strew on the table. Four clay bowl slide into the various place, as they stared down at the brown slop. ‘That is my famous stew.’

The elder Witcher glared at the bard who grimaced at the pot in front of him. The mixture was brown and gritty, whatever meat was unrecognisable, the smell of a mixture of fermented broth and fried meat, it was not unpleasant, but it was not particularly appetising especially with strange unknown bits floating on the top. Jaskier twisted his face in disgust as he poked at it with his wooden spoon.

‘Famous because it kills anyone who eats it?’ Jaskier question letting the food slide off his spoon with a spatter.

Vesemir stared daggers at the bard as he is inhaling another spoonful of stew, most of it coating his beard.

‘Don’t you have any more books on Merfolk Vesemir?’ Ciri asked, leafing through the pile of red books scattered over the bench.

‘Mermaid isn’t the sort of thing Witchers deal with.’

‘But aren’t they supernatural creature.’ Jaskier retorted his right eyebrow inching up his forehead.

‘Aye, bard they are but never given us cause. Merfolk sticks to deep water and out the way of humans and creature alike. Humans have tried to wage war on them in the early days, but it futile. You aren’t ever gonna win against a creature that can sink whole fleets of ships in one go.’ Another heaping spoonful of stew smeared across his mouth. ‘Time from the time they appear near land but never bother anyone; it does not like they would abandon one of their pod on land…especially a child. I will have enough look in the archive but the literature of the Merfolk in rare. Not many have ever got close enough. I know a while back Geralt helped some duke marry Sh'eenaz, a mermaid, but she became sad, and the couple went back to the sea kingdom.’

‘So we have no idea about anything.’ Ciri spoke, slowly eyes resting on the deflated other woman.

‘You are more than welcome to search down in the archive,  but most merfolk literature is hoarded by private collectors.’

‘So we don’t know anything.’ Ciri bite out and throw a thick book across the room, pages fluttering across the marble floor.

Jaskier reached a hand across and took Adva’s giving her a reassuring squeeze. The brown-haired woman closed the book, shoulder sagging.

‘Adva If you promise to cook from now on I will go in the archives myself and battle the army of spiders in search of anything else.’

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Vesemir brought down the axe forcefully as he broke down the log and tossed it into the giant pile of firewood. From his place on the verge, he watched Adva.

Though, not the most skilful and hone in her technique Adva was accomplished. For a simple kitchen, she had a strong stance which made it hard for Ciri to break through her defence. There was no obvious contest between the two, Ciri was the more skilled and her magic more adaptive, there had been several points in which his young ward had the upper hand, but Adva managed to put on the defence, which she played well. The master Witcher didn’t see that predatory creature that he had met in his experience, just a determined young woman, strong and sweet. He found it hard to believe that she could be a mermaid. Her ability with water being the only real characteristic that they shared. There was no killer insisted, no savage passion within her, no flailing tail or hissing fangs, just a scared little girl that he now had to keep safe.

Slamming the axe down Vesemir took himself to the side to watch the pair closely. Ciri seemed to tire of being pushed back, stepped up her attack by using her blink power, teleporting her way around her. The gruff Witcher couldn’t help but smile, the little girl who would sneak off to practice on her own was no a skilled warrior. Adva’s movement became panicked and jilted as she dodged the attack, frustration ebbing in her every movement. Collecting his roofing tools, he made his way across the stall and once against back to the field to collect the ladder. This time Ciri seemed to be on the back foot. Adva’s attacks were precise and direct, one after the other. A water blast threw the young Witcher off her footing, causing her to stumble back, and whip of water then appeared out of nowhere lashing itself across her side and wrapped itself around her wrist slamming her into the dirt.

Vesemir stilled, his body is tensed his eye trained on the pair, grabbing for the axe he embedded in the tree stump. He saw it, the killer instancing, the way her eyes shone that little bit brighter. Ciri recovered well, shifting her body to the left in a blur of blue light escape the confines of the water vines before rolling up on her feet and brushing the dust off.

Adva blinked, several times swallowing heavily as she took a step back as she felt the adrenaline still racing through her vein.

‘Good attack. Never really seen anything like that.’ Ciri smiled, standing to her full height. ‘Next time I won't go so easy on you. I better go see how Jaskier is doing. The spiders have properly cornered him in archives. We will pick this up again tomorrow…but you are going down’ Ciri smirked, nodding at Vesesir before ascending the step of the balcony.

‘I see Ciri found you some clothing, more practical for doing maintenance. You can help me patch up the roof, get the tar and meet m by the ladder.’

Looking down, she pulled at the outfit she had been given from a large box of items left by the various people that passed through. The bottoms were a pair of duelling trousers made from a shammy leather material, making them soft and stretchy, that held her tight across the arse and allowed for free movement. They were at least 50 years old but kept pristine by the mothballs packed in the trunk of clothing. The deep red material suited her and at least didn’t show the dirt from the unkept castle. The top was an oversized tunic that fell to mid-thigh; it was thick enough to keep the chill that had started to cling in the air. A cracked old belt clinched tightly around her waist to keep the oversized garments from slipping off her body completely.

Pushing her way up the steep bank to the courtyard, Adva pulled the bubbling tar from its fire. The courtyard held the shed and the stables it was up at the top of a sharp incline; it leads all the way round to the training grounds which Ciri had been handing her ass to her for the best part of the day, a sense of pride swelled within her as she laid the foul-smelling tar into a bucket. She had managed to keep upright and had a few good hits, she was improving, and her powers had developed in the passing weeks with Triss. Training with Ciri proved that.

When the bucket was full, tentatively she pulled it up the ladder on top of what she thought was a storage shed beside the kitchen. Vesemir was already hard at work, hammering in think sleet slate into the missing patches. Wordlessly, the master witcher tossed her a tarring brush, a thin stick with a rag attached to it and nodded toward the slates. Between the old tiles was a thick layer of tar, filling any minute gaps in which the water to seep through and flood the room beneath. Adva swilled the brush into the thick liquid and plastered around the edges of the shingles.

The height was not her favourite, the mere thought of going any higher made her head spin. They worked in silence for the best part of an hour, as soon as he finished one, she would swoop in and slather the thick goop on the slabs. It was clear to see where Geralt got his mannerisms, the way they both puckered their brow when they were concentrating. The way their eyes shifted as they worked, head shifting at every noise. These features were not different that Geralt could not pass for his son, but Adva had made a deep study of Geralt, his features where sharper, more defined. Both men had strong physic, after years of training and monster hunting, but Geralt's frame seemed bulkier, shoulders broader and arms solid with muscle.

A deep wave of shame consumed her. She had promised herself she wouldn’t think of him, but he crept into her mind. A melancholy fell over her, it was a numbness, at gnawed at her core.

‘Next is the west staircase, I will teach you how to tack and shave down the boards.’ Vesemir grunted as he threw the hammer into the dirt as he made his way down the ladder. Holding out his hand to help Adva down, grabbing the bucket and brush and tossing it to the side.

Adva nodded, thankful for something to do.

‘Never thought a little girl would be much good a roofing you are a strange little thing.’

Adva laughed awkwardly, wiping her hands on her piny. ‘You know what brothel is like, all hand on deck. I cooked, cleaned, mediated, fix roofs, walls, beds.’

‘Not much of a life for a little girl.’ Vesemir stared down at her; it was an uncomfortable gaze, that pierced through her.

The master witcher looked at her, his medallion didn’t vibrate, but there was a warmth to it, just enough to heat the skin beneath the wolfs head. He wasn’t sure that she was a Mermaid, but there was something. Something strange. Something different that he could put his finger on. But now she looked like a scared little girl, a girl being dragged from one bad situation to the next. Tough and hard-working but most of all, frighten of that power within her. It bubbled under the surface, threatening to rear its head.

‘Last time I check I was a woman…well, Mermaid.’ Adva shot him a steely determined look. He wasn’t sure what she was determined about, but it made him give out a snort, it reminded him of Ciri when she first stumbled into his home.

‘Well, Mermaid…we better get back. I think Jaskier is dying for more of my cooking.’ The older man gave her a small smile as he guided them through the courtyard.

For once, he was as near as excited as a Witcher could be to see Yennefer again, as he could tell that sweet little maid was going to give her a run for her money. A deep smirk set into his features, if he had anything to do with it, Yennefer would definitely have a run for her money.

This was supposed to be out last weekend, but drama has got real. I work in a school, and it’s a mess. I have been trying to sort out all my evidence for a qualification I have been doing, which is draining, and family are having health issues. But I am happy to announce that smut is insight. I have been planning out future chapters, and they are looking good.

For those of you who are confused about Adva’s coping strategy, I sort of based it on me. When I get stressed or anxious I turn into a clean freak.  Recently, I got so stressed I actually put up several shelves, despite not having anything to put on them. I thought it would make her a little more realist. 

I am also having flashes of inspiration for a GeraltxOCxEskel story if anyone is interested. I love Eskel he is like a giant cuddly teddy bear! It properly won't be out till I finish The Witchers Mate, but I am also playing with a squeal which is just a series of one-shots.

Please let me know what you think!

@threepupsinapuddle @broco8 @introvertedmouse @luxyash @vikingsbifrost @pastelblogsposts @wastingmypotential @whitespring21 @ayamenimthiriel @wonderlandfandomkingdom @shesthelastjedi @fandom-lover-4 @sageandberries-png 

[archariio]

“Five Years in Hell”

This is a first draft of a potential chapter one. Subject to change. I am looking for any and all feed back if anyone feels so inclined. I’ve never really put my writing out for people to read. Please be honest about your thoughts good, bad or both. And please forgive me for it being messy, it is a first draft after all. I have written up to about chapter 6, so if anyone would like to see more after this I’d love to get some feedback on it :) 

Chapter 1

            Arramiir spent her last three years of life wanting nothing more than to join the Wyvern Riders. And after three years of training off of a swordsman in her home town she felt she was ready to apply.

           “Here,” her teacher handed her a tightly sealed box. “You’ll need a few things.” She placed the heavy bread loaf sized box into her satchel of holding. “When they ask for your admission fee, you give them that box.”

           “Admission fee? How much is it?” She had no intention of putting her mentor out this way.

           He laughed in the deep hardy voice she had come to love hearing. It reminded her of her dad back home. “It’s nothing compared to the amazing woman you are going to become.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled soft and sad. “The road you’re about to go down is paved with difficult choices and even more difficult obstacles.” While he spoke the young woman clad in cheap chain shirt armor looked around the town she had come to love so much. As small as Dorandale was, it had become her home. “when you return…” He trailed off a moment. “If you return here, you won’t be the same person who left. Not by a long shot.” His voice grew a bit louder as he failed to hide the pride he had for his student. “But don’t let that stop you from becoming the greatest adventurer, warrior and protector you can become. I assure you, whoever and whatever you are five years from now, pass or fail, you will have a home here when you return.” Water welled up in his eyes before a few stray tears escaped. He pulled her into a tight hug. “I love you Arra.” He squeezed her tighter. “Please come back safe.”

           She embraced him back just as fervently. This was a big step, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for it. “I love you to Jaryan.”

           After a another half an hour of filling her enchanted satchel that could hold roughly a storerooms worth of things, also a gift and beloved treasure of Jaryan’s family, with enough food to last weeks, her sword, a dagger, some basic survival and climbing gear, a healing draught for emergencies, she didn’t bother asking how much he had spent on the potion, she was sure he’d shrug it off. But she knew they cost almost twenty gold! That was two months of pay for most people. After a few more hugs, she was off.

           The carriage ride to the academy was going to take a couple days, it’s fairly remote. And on the way their she couldn’t believe all the things her mentor had prepared. All of it together must have cost over a hundred gold pieces. He must have been saving to send her to the academy for two years and then some to have that kind of money. Suddenly the extra orders at the forge and all his late nights began to make sense. She felt determined to be worthy of all that work.

           The young sword wielder clutched the bag and her sword, now in its scabbard on her side, tight to herself. “I won’t let all the time and money my teacher spent be a waste.” She squared her shoulders, for herself as the carriage was empty. “I’m going to be a Rider.”

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           When she finally arrived almost two days later, the place was rather underwhelming. It looked to be a notably large manor house inside a fairly wide clearing in the woods. Two beautiful fountains out front, a couple flower beds and a paved walkway. But as nice as it was Arra felt a bit disenchanted. The legends about this place are monumental in scope. She hopped out of the carriage and grabbed her bag.

           “What’s the matter?” A girl who looked to be a couple years younger than Arra, maybe nineteen or so, made her way over to the new arrival. She wore finely made studded leather armor and had a number or beautiful and ornate daggers adorning her person. “You look confused.”

           Arra ripped her eyes away from the lavish weapons and armor, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about her old hard-leather shirt. “I don’t know, I guess I just thought it would be bigger.” She gestured to the small mansion in front of her. She looked back to the girl. “I’m Arramiir by the way, but you can call me Arra if you like.”

           The girl brushed a long strand of jet-black hair behind her ear which was hidden by her cowl and gave Arra the most welcoming smile she’d ever seen. “My names Kyla. It’s nice to meet you.”

           Kyla reached a hand out, and without thinking Arra shook it and smiled. Something in the back of her mind was trying to tell her something, but she couldn’t hear it well enough for it to matter. Before Arra could get her wits about her, Kyla began again. “I’m a third year. I’m here to vet people for enrollment. Me and my party that is.” The unerringly attractive girl looked around a moment, even going as far as to walk over to the carriage and peek inside. “By the way, where is the rest of your party?”

           “Party?” A rush of anxiety slammed into Arras chest. “Um… I…” She couldn’t form words, especially not when she looked into Kyla’s eyes. The same brown as rich chocolate with little green flecks. Stop looking at her like that! Arra chided herself.

           Luckily Kyla interrupted before she had to answer further. “Oh, okay.” She smiled a wicked grin. “So you plan on being a solo adventurer.” The roguish girl’s gaze changed a bit, now examining Arra much closer. Studying her up and down. Her eyes seemed to linger on the chain shirt and the odd handled sword on Arra’s hip. “Very few solo adventures ever make it in. I’m excited to see what you’re made of.” Kyla winked as she walked off to greet other new arrivals. Leaving Arra with her cheeks flushed and her head spinning a bit.

           Arramiir found a shady spot away from all the commotion under a cherry blossom tree. She had a passing thought that cherry blossoms didn’t grow here. And also they shouldn’t be in full bloom. She scratched at the tree. “It’s real.” She murmured to herself in amazement.

            The sun was low in the sky, night would be falling in a couple of hours but Arramiir was far to tired to consider rest. Propping her sword against the tree she sat down and tried to take in some information about her hopefully future classmates. Her teachers words rang in her ears like a calming melody.        No task looks surmountable in the beginning. But information is the most powerful tool to cut it down to size.

           With that in mind, Arra steeled herself and breathed through the anxiety that threatened to turn into a full blown panic attack. She needed to cut this down to size. So she looked out over the crowd of roughly fifty other hopeful applicants.

           Sadly, this proved to be unhelpful. Because all she was learning, was that she was astronomically outmatched.

           Someone eventually came over to ask for her admission fee, and she pulled the box out of her bag and handed it over. The woman collecting the entry fees opened the box, her eyes glowed a moment and began to move incredibly quick as she dug around in the box. “Excellent.” She smiled as she shut the container. “All five thousand gold accounted for. Welcome to the initiate program.” By the time she finished her welcome she had already taken a coin pouch from another student and began the process over again.

           Five thousand gold pieces… Arra slumped back against the tree. Where did my master get that? What did he do to… no. He obviously put a lot more on the line for me then I thought. If I get caught up in that now, his sacrifice won’t be worth it. And having regained her composure Arra pulled out a small black book and made a note to pay the entry fee back as soon as possible. It was listed next to over two dozen other debts she would pay back in the future. One day.

           After a few more hours the remainder of the hopefuls arrived. Some by carriage, two by flying mounts that Arra didn’t recognize and the majority by teleportation circle. The more people who arrived the more self-conscious Arra became about her weapon and gear. 

           Luckily the growing dread got a thousand times worse when the head of the guild arrived. He didn’t arrive to the sound of trumpets or the winds gailing around him. Honestly the young woman wouldn’t have noticed had she not been watching the manor house like a hawk since they arrived. He was a remarkably unremarkable man to the casual observer. Human, mildly handsome features, brown hair and eyes, the picture of average. As he strode out into the middle of the gathering crowd, everyone keeping a respectful distance while he walked, it became clear he wasn’t carrying any obvious weapons or gear. Just a black shirt with polished buttons and the guild insignia. And a black ring on his right hand.

           When he spoke his voice was loud enough to be heard by every student present. Arra suspected it to be a spell. “Welcome everyone!” He sounded so chipper. “As those of you who have been spying on the guild already know,” When he said this a number of faces in the crowd, mostly clad in leather armor hung their heads. “my name is Archariio.” He gave a polite bow. “And I will be your headmaster during your time here.”

           Everyone stood in silence now. The moment they had been training for arrived. Arra felt like a child standing among soldiers and assassins and wizards in this clearing in the middle of nowhere. What was I thinking?

           “So allow me to explain how this is going to go.” The headmaster continued. “There are roughly a thousand of you here today. That many? This is a problem we face every year. Because our facility only accepts thirty potential future guild members per year.” The crowd erupted in shouts and protests.

           “What you mean thirty!” followed by more, “I paid my fee! I’m supposed to be here!” Was the most common complaint. Arra simply kept her back to her tree and tried to process this new information. She would have to be in the top three percent to be admitted. The only thing keeping her from taking this opportunity to leave was the question of how to explain to her master, friends and family why she was back so early.

           Before she was able to give running away to live out her days in the forest to much thought, the headmaster shushed the crowd with a wave, a winning smile and then continued. “So we have devised a very simple method of seeing who among you are the best candidates as quickly as possible. A little mock exam pre-test if you will.” He seemed far to pleased with himself and that made Arra nervous.

           “The rules are simple. I’m going to teleport you all into random places in the forest within a few miles of here at designated starting spots. You will be stuck in place until everyone is in position. As soon as you are freely able to walk off of the starting circle, the game has begun. You have one objective. Get inside the manor before thirty other students do.” He gestured to the building behind him. “Most of you have already arrived with a proper three person party. I will remind you that if a member of your party doesn’t make it in, and place in the first thirty, they will not be admitted with you.” This seemed to unsettle almost everyone present.

           “So it’s a race?” A girl about Arra’s age spoke up. Judging by the robes and wand belt she was a caster. And one look at her slim red tail that matched her crimson skin confirmed she was a teifling. Her horns seemed awfully small though.

           “Exactly!” The headmaster clapped his hands together. Seeming pleased that everyone understood. He turned to leave so the magic teachers and students could begin the teleporting process. But he stopped before entering the door of the manor to turn around and address them once more. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to mention something. My third year students will be hunting you. I asked them to not kill any of you if they can avoid it. But things happen.” He shrugged and turned back around. “I mean, you all know what you signed up for.”

           Arra slung her bag over her shoulder and strapped her sword to the small of her back.

           No. I most certainly didn’t know. She took a breath to bring her senses back to the here and now. But I’ll be getting in there. I didn’t train for three years to be stopped before I’ve even begun.

           A teacher who the young woman hadn’t noticed until now touched her forehead and the smell of magic filled Arra’s nose. The world flashed. Suddenly the silence of the forest and the weight of being alone were the only things keeping Arra company.

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           The young sword fighter took a few deep breaths. The sun was all but down. She guessed they did this on purpose. Third years? We’re being hunted by other students? Why? What was he talking about the possibility of them killing us for? Who is going to tell my master if I die here in the middle of the forest?

Stop! She shouted in her mind. Now wasn’t the time for those questions. She was taught better than this. She reached a hand forward off of the stone cirlcle she was standing on. It looked like a teleportation circle, same as she had seen a thousand times. But something wasn’t right about it. Her hand hit a wall made of nothing. A shield meant to keep them trapped.

           Arra knelt down to examine the rune work. She was no mage, not by a long shot, but she knew draconic, and some of the symbols were pretty close. She ran her finger over the carved stone. The symbol for moon. Or sun? She wasn’t sure. “This is useless.” She mumbled to herself looking through her bag for some other means of escape. The explanation was a bit of a blur. All she really remembered was get to the building before thirty others do. The rest of it she just heard the blood rushing in her ears. “First test is probably escaping this damn thing.” There! She found what she was looking for. She pulled a climbing spike and hammer out of the climbing gear in her kit.

           The spike lined up on the rune just right, she brought the hammer down. There was a crack almost like lightning when the stone cracked. Arcane energy exploded from the plate as the enchantment broke apart. The pulse of energy sent the unsuspecting girl hurtling through the air. In the half a second before she smacked into a tree Arra did what she could to brace for the impact.

           Crack!

           Her head smacked into the wood. Light danced in her eyes, and a loud ringing dug into her mind, preventing her from thinking clearly. The world slowly began to go dark. No… She could physically feel the consciousness leaving her body. The weight of her limbs increasing with each passing moment.

           She was able to process one last thought before the last of the world faded away.

           At least unconscious I’m not enough of a threat to warrant killing.

           Mildly comforted by this thought, she had no choice but to let go, finally allowing her eyes to shut…

[yourmandevine]

Some stuff that made me happy in 2020, in no particular order

God send you no greater loss. It’s something my grandmother said a lot — a bit of highly Irish Catholic wisdom intended to remind you, warmly but sharply, that whatever you’re currently suffering through isn’t all that bad compared to what lots of other people are dealing with. That it probably isn’t too much to complain about, in the grand scheme of things. That you should, instead, be grateful for what you’ve got, big and small and everything in between.

God sent a great many people a great many unfathomable losses this year, and as hard as it felt at times, our family wasn’t among them; we’re lucky, in the big picture. In the past, people have recommended I try writing those reasons down, to give myself a list of stuff to be thankful for, for the times it’s tough to summon up the gratitude. I figured the end of the year was as good a time as any to make that list, to highlight the stuff that helped me get through this year — the reasons big, small, and in between.

So: here goes.

Peanut butter and jelly

I haven’t counted how many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I’ve eaten since March 11, which is good, because that would be an absurd thing to do, and a sure sign that I have succumbed to a very specific kind of madness. It’s also good, though, because I would undoubtedly be ashamed by the number; the figure would be titanic, like the unsinkable ship of same name, or the iceberg that sunk it.

Or, at least, I would be ashamed under normal circumstances. This fuckin’ year required whatever flotation device you could find, and you know what I found in the fridge and cupboard? A couple of slices of bread, some strawberry jam, and some goddamn Skippy.

Need a weird mid-morning “brunch” after not having breakfast because you went right from waking up to remote school with the 6-year-old? Crank up a PB&J with that third cup of coffee. Need to pack something in the diaper bag to feed everyone while you’re out at the playground for the afternoon? Stack ‘em up, son. Need a late snack after working the overnight shift filing weird bubble playoff columns? Three letters, one ampersand, one love.

I need to eat better in 2021. But I kind of needed to eat sort of like shit to get through 2020, and time and again, when your man needed it most, PB&J was there.

Sunday night Zoom sessions with college friends

I know that most of us started something like this back in March; I’m not sure how many have stuck with it. I hope the answer is “a lot,” because honestly, knowing that I’m going to end the week by seeing a few friends — some here in Brooklyn but mostly beyond our reach for safety’s sake, some who’ve moved away — has felt like a stabilizing agent on more than a few occasions. It’s important, and no small blessing, to have people in your life who really know you, weird messy ugly bits and all, and in front of whom you can let everything go.

That gallery view’s provided a place to vent, to seethe, to laugh, to cry, and to try to find some semblance of center before heading back into another week. I’m grateful for it, and for the people in those little boxes. Except for the time they reminded me that, when I was 18, I was pretty sure I was a Pacey, and they were all extremely confident I was a Dawson. They were right, but still: a bitter pill to swallow, then and now.

Olivia calling herself “Dr. Bloody”

She took out her little toy doctor kit and just turned into a cackling villain.

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Deeply disconcerting, yes, but also adorable.

All Fantasy Everything

What got me in the door was the conceit: three very funny stand-up comedians (Ian Karmel, David Gborie, Sean Jordan), often with a very funny guest but sometimes without, pick some topic or another and engage in a fantasy draft of their favorite aspects or representations of that topic. (It is, crucially, a serpentine draft. Now what is that? That’s a great question.) Some favorite examples: Mikes; Words That You Think Make You Sound Smart, vols. 1 and 2; Things You Yell After You Dunk on Someone; Fictional Athletes; Crimes We’d Like to Commit. Yeah. It’s that kind of podcast.

What kept me around was the friendship. Listen to an episode and it becomes really clear really quickly just how much the three hosts love each other, how much fun they have being around each other and making one another laugh. The warmth radiates, just pours out of the speakers; in a year where I sorely needed some good vibes, I appreciated my regular check-ins with the Good Vibes Gang to just ... unclench for an hour and a half or so. 

Drinking beer

OK, I’ll admit: This doesn’t sound great for me. It’s true, though. I really like beer. (We brewed one in our kitchen, which I realize is something of a “bearded guy in Brooklyn” cliche, but here we are. It was exciting to complete a project, and it tasted OK-ish.) At some points this year, it didn’t feel like there wasn’t much to look forward to, and sometimes drinking some High Lifes or Narragansett tall boys — with my wife in our living room, with friends on the computer, whatever — helped take the edge off a shitty day/week/month/year. I look forward to being able to do that outside with people again.

The Good Place

I am sure some very smart cultural critics and political thinkers and social revolutionaries have forwarded compelling arguments for why this show is Bad, Actually, because that seems to be more or less true about most things, whether because said thing is Actually Bad or because the economics of the attention economy on the internet functionally necessitate the composition and publication of pretty much every position on pretty much every issue, and especially ones that present a counterargument for why you shouldn’t like the thing you like, and might be kind of a piece of shit for liking it. But I liked this half-hour comedy about the way the universe might be put together, why we should try to take better care of each other, and how doing so might be a pretty great way to take better care of ourselves.

Andrew let me write about it a little bit for a big project we did before the series finale aired, which was really nice of him. I found myself thinking about this part a lot this year:

I also thought a lot about Peeps Chili, but that happens every year.

Taking pictures of my dog

Check out this flumpy goddamn champion:

“Lugar is a good boy” is the main takeaway here. They don’t all have to be complicated.

Schitt’s Creek

I know we’re not alone in this, but we inhaled this show this year. A half-hour comedy about people being laid low, learning how to deal with who they actually are, and finding some grace and community and opportunities for growth kind of hit the spot, I guess.

One of the most wholesale enjoyable ensemble comedy casts I can remember; Catherine O’Hara was already in Cooperstown, but what she made with Moira Rose only polishes her plaque. I’ll never be able to describe with any specificity the thing Chris Elliott does, but I know it has made me laugh since I was a child too young to understand the Letterman bits or see Cabin Boy in the theater, and it’s probably going to make me laugh until I am dead.

I love that people who, for years, never got to see themselves or people like them on screen got to see David Rose on screen and maybe recognize themselves a little bit. The idea that seeing the David/Patrick relationship might make them maybe feel a little more at home, a little safer and more whole, makes me happy. Sad, about the before, but happy, about the now and the what comes next.

Past that, I just love how what was ostensibly a family-and-friends production for a Canadian channel just got absolutely everything right—the tone, the look, the sound, the theme song, the cast, the jokes, my goodness, the jokes—and before long, the rest of the world just got it. Like catching a fastball square on the barrel. Something the show clearly knew a little bit about.

Finding new outdoor places it was safe to go

Necessity is the mother of invention, and the need to give the kids a place to be that wasn’t unnecessarily dangerous but also wasn’t inside our two-bedroom apartment led us to do more exploring than we had before. Shirley Chisholm State Park is great. Canarsie Pier was a fun place to spend a Sunday morning; so’s Canarsie Playground. If we got there early enough or made our peace with some rain, the beaches at Jacob Riis Park and Fort Tilden were pretty rad this summer. I lived in Staten Island from ages 8 through 18, and during breaks throughout college, and don’t think I ever hiked in High Rock Park — that’s dumb, because it was nice!

Even if all those little excursions did was kill a little time and reduce the overall stress level of the four humans stuck in our four walls, that’s not nothing. Some days this year, it was everything.

Cobra Kai

I know I’m late here; I didn’t rush to seek it out because I don’t consider myself a huge fan of The Karate Kid, or at least not a big enough fan to sign up for YouTube’s premium service. I checked it out when it came to Netflix, though, and I honestly can’t believe how much I enjoyed this show. Give me “dumb, but with heart” every day of the week.

I believe in Miguel Diaz; I believe in Johnny Lawrence; I believe I will be firing up Season 3 next month, and perhaps drinking some Coors Banquets in its honor. (I cannot, however, believe how the “get him a body bag” thing came back around, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Closing unread tabs

I’m a serial hoarder of links, and I am bad at finishing all of them. I’ve tried to get into Pocket and Instapaper, but I’ve never been able to turn that sort of workflow — open link, save to third-party service, go back to third-party service later to read, then delete from there — into something that felt instinctual, natural, or habitual. So: lots of tabs. Like, lots of tabs.

This was a dicier proposition than usual in 2020, because cutting my work week in half to be able to more effectively coparent two kids who didn’t have school or day care for most of the year meant less time to read things.

I tried to do my best to keep up with the important stuff for work, and to read at least some stuff about how other parents were dealing with their anxiety/anger/depression/frustration at having to be on 24/7 and work, and to stay abreast of (at least some of) what was happening in the world. Sometimes, though, I would wake up and realize I’d been holding onto blog posts about Really Interesting Rotation Decisions on the 11th-Seeded Team in the East or whatever for literally nine months, and I would go against my nature and just hit the eject button on a 25-deep window, and something amazing would happen: I wouldn’t get fired for being shitty at my job. I would move on with my day, and I would feel about 10 pounds lighter.

I still keep too much stuff open. (As we speak, I’ve got three different Chrome windows open on two different laptops. I choose not to count the total tabs.) But I do so knowing that, if it gets too heavy, I can experience the momentary joy of surrendering to the inevitability that I can’t catch everything. In that moment, I feel OK with my decay.

Reading writers I wasn’t familiar with before

Two in particular stand out in my mind: Nekias Duncan, now of BasketballNews.com, who does excellent film breakdowns and statistical analysis, and Katie Heindl, who writes basketball stuff of all types all over the place, and strings sentences together in a way that scratches an itch inside my brain. I’m grateful I got more chances to read them this year, I look forward to bigger and better things for both of them, and I’m hopeful that, if things calm down and our schedules go back to something approximating normalcy, I’ll have more bandwidth to hunt out more new voices in the year ahead.

The time I ambushed my wife as she was trying to break down and put away the girls’ space tent

Pretty good.

Siobhan learning to ride a bicycle (with training wheels, but still)

The moment passed pretty quickly; Not Exactly A Mechanic over here can’t get the training wheels to reliably work right without either loosening them too much or tightening them so much that she can’t pedal it. In that first moment, though, and for as long as it lasted, it was really great to see her get excited about doing something new, big kid shit, for the first time.

She was proud. I was proud of her. And then we went to a playground for a few hours. Pretty good day.

Tyler Tynes roasting me

Tyler did some incredible work this year — The Cam Chronicles is getting deserved praise as one of 2020′s best podcasts, and his reporting on the Movement for Black Lives was exemplary. It’s hard to top this, though:

You know what the messed up part is? I was excited to tell him what I was doing, just because I knew the reaction would be so violent. Like a body rejecting a transplant. So lucky to have such a dear, dear friend.

PUP

I’m late on everything, so I didn’t start listening to PUP until the spring of 2019, but I haven’t really stopped since. This year has been too sedentary too often; this band is too kinetic to allow me to stay there.

“Bloody Mary Kate and Ashley Kate” is never more than about 20 minutes away from returning to the front of my mind. I would fucking love for it to be safe enough to watch these guys live at some point, and I am absolutely going to take Steve up on his offer.

Someone sending me a shirt based on a joke I tweeted

First:

Then:

Then:

I’m not sure you should be rewarding my behavior, SnoCoPrintShop, but I appreciate it all the same.

Which reminds me:

Family dinner/family movie night

My wife works in Manhattan and commutes back on the train, and we've tried to prioritize getting the girls to bed early since they were little, so that doesn’t leave much of a window between when she gets home and they go in the tub for us all to connect; before everything shut down, we almost never really ate together. We’re still not great about it, but for a while now we’ve carved out Saturday as family dinner night, where we sit down to eat and talk about our “up” from the day — something that happened that made us feel good or happy, or something we’re looking forward to. (We used to talk about our “down,” too, but that kind of seemed like overkill. Why try to focus on more bad shit right now, you know?)

Then we settle in for a movie, with who gets to pick rotating each week. It’s mostly been Pixar, which has been great but also has its drawbacks; after she caught me crying during one of them (maybe the Bing-Bong scene in Inside Out? or Miguel singing to Grandma Coco?), Siobhan straight up told me, “You need to get yourself together, man.” We just watched My Neighbor Totoro, too, which they loved, so we’re probably going to try some more Miyazaki soon. It’s a really simple thing, but it’s one we rarely made time for before, and it’s been really nice to manufacture something positive that we can share and look forward to together.

Sometimes looking like a shiftless drifter

No shade to anyone who felt strongly about getting a lineup or whatever, but I haven’t really felt like going to the barbershop was worth the risk, and I continue to refuse to believe that my wife can actually pull off the fade she’s long wanted to give me. (It is also possible that she just means she’s intending to run my fade, and that I will before long wind up cold-cocked and slumped by my bride of nine years.) So I’ve just kind of been growing out my hair like it was when I was single, and sometimes been letting my beard get kind of out of control too, and, well, I sort of like looking a little bit like a Wildling, it turns out.

I have since trimmed things up a little. It didn’t go over well with my youngest. Oh, well. I’ll try to do better next time.

My wife and daughter singing the Pixies

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We don’t know all the words to too many lullabies, so we sing the ones we do know the words to. This will probably come back to bite us in the years ahead. For now, though: Pretty good.

Doughboys’ Tournament of Chompions: Munch Madness: Mac Attack

I can’t believe how invested I became in Nick Wiger and Mike Mitchell’s quest to determine the best menu item at McDonald’s in a 64-seed tournament that spawned hours and hours of delightfully funny audio featuring all-time home-run guests like Jon Gabrus and Nicole Byer, who gleefully feed into the often warm, sometimes antagonistic, always entertaining chemistry between the two hosts. I have also never found myself wanting to go to McDonald’s more in my entire life. I have hit the drive-thru a couple of times since, and the boys are right: The McDonald’s fountain Coke does just hit different.

Sound Only

I’ve lost track of whether or not a 38-year-old is considered a millennial, but I’m quite confident that I’m not exactly plugged into “the millennial lifestyle” as my teammates Justin Charity and Micah Peters discuss it on their podcast, which relaunched this summer. Doesn’t matter, though, because I love hearing Charity and Micah talk to each other even if I don’t know what they’re talking about.

Their conversation about Dave Chappelle was great. After listening to their Travis Scott episode, I felt like I kind of understood who he is and why he occupies the space he does in pop culture now. I had no idea how they were going to get me to give a shit about set photos from The Batman, but this they not only got me there, but wended their way toward blaming 50 Cent for needing to know who Groot is to have a conversation on the internet, which is something for which Abraham Lincoln did not die. The show is good, it's getting better, it’s fun to hear them talk their shit, and Charity’s regular bellowing of “I, TOO, AM AMERICA” has made me smile for four straight months. 

Siobhan’s letters and notes

She’s in first grade now, and she’s taken to communicating her feelings through the written word. A lot.

I won’t pretend that I loved all of these in the moment. I can only get so upset, though, when she’s already writing with such a clear voice. (And trying to use proper punctuation. (And drawing little cartoons to drive the point home.)

Palm Springs

I’m having a hard time remembering too many specifics about it right now, which probably means it’d be a good thing to rewatch over the holidays. But, as I’m sure many people noted many months before we got around to watching it, a comedy about living the same day over and over again, and about trying to figure out how to make your life mean something when everything seems meaningless, scratched a pretty particular, and particularly important, itch this year. It could’ve been twice as long, and I would’ve eaten up every second of Andy Samberg and Cristin Miloti together.

I’m pretty sure I cried, although this year, that doesn’t necessarily mean much.  Also, put Conner O’Malley in more things.

Joining our union’s bargaining committee

I won’t say too much about this, but I will say that becoming an active participant in the process of a labor union negotiating its first contract with management has been an extremely educational experience. It’s pushed me to have conversations, sometimes difficult ones, about our priorities as a staff and a company. It's helped me get closer with the other past and present members of the BC, and has led me to start developing relationships with members of our staff that I otherwise might not have had much of an opportunity to get to know.

The organizing work takes time, effort, and energy, but trying to do what I can to help take better care of my colleagues has been well worth all of that. Here’s hoping that in 2021 we can reach a deal that helps make our workplace even better, stronger, and more equitable for all of us.

Publishing a story about Stevie Nicks’ Fajita Roundup

I swear this is true: After I accepted my offer to work at The Ringer, but before I started, I told a friend that one thing I was excited about was that you had the chance to work on offbeat stuff here, in both the “kind of weird” and “not about the NBA” senses. That, I thought, might maybe open the door to me getting to write a story about a Saturday Night Live sketch I saw when I was a teenager about Stevie Nicks from Fleetwod Mac running a cheap Tex-Mex restaurant in Sedona, Arizona — a sketch that I wasn’t sure anyone else remembered, but that was stuck in my head forever.

That story ran on May 26.

A lot of people seemed to like it.

Accomplishing this goal was, as dumb as this might sound, a highlight of my year, and, honestly, a highlight of my career. I’d like to do some more stuff like this next year, time permitting; we’ll see. Whether or not I do, I got to do this. I’ll always have that.

[thecardsimagine]

The Tale of the Fog Village

Summary: Venturing out of your foggy village, all you wanted  was to save everyone from the looming threat that cowered in the forest.  No one could have known what you would encounter in your quest to  achieve that, how much you’d gain, and what you would lose. Not you. Not  him.

Pairing: Lucio x Reader (Nonbinary) Rating: Mature because of swearing and suggestive content Warning: Blood, Death Genre: Romance, Drama, Fantasy, Action, Alternate Universe

Back to the Prologue /  [Read on Ao3] / Next Chapter

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a/n: Not gonna lie, it’s a little disappointing to see just how little interaction there is with this story. But I will see it to the end, it can only get better I am sure. So if you are reading it, thanks! If you want, leave me a comment or share for others to find it!

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Chapter 6 - The Deal

“Oh,” you whispered, fractures of the tales you had heard in your life falling together and in place. “That makes so much sense actually,” you thought out loud, letting yourself be urged forward by the wind, not minding it all too much, suddenly. “So that’s what you are.”

“Yes, yes. Done monologuing? We have something to burn…” it mumbled, seemingly dissatisfied with your reaction or the whole situation - you could not make it out from the tone of voice alone. “No, wait, let that sink in. You are the Keeper. You. Keeper. The voice in my head is an undying entity. I really am going nuts.”

The long sigh it let out almost sounded desperate. As if it was rubbing its temples in complete exasperation. “Okay, okay, I only have one question,” you tried to soothe the situation, both of you seemingly losing your mind over it. “Yes, Human?” it complied, words being spoken through gritted teeth of unwillingness. “Why. Why did you do what you did?”

Coming to another halt, you stood your presence against the wind pushing you forward until, on one point, it just dispersed. “I don’t have to answer that,” Lucio replied, and you shook your head immediately. “No! I need to know! This is like the core of the beliefs in the village! You got to tell me!”

Another frustrated grunt echoed in the back of your mind as it decided what to do. The longer you listened to it, the more you could understand how this might not be… a nice topic for it. But you had to know. All this talk, the stories, your trust issues - everything would benefit from it. At least, you’d have something to go home with, if not a complete victory. Gripping the strap from your bag, you kneaded it nervously in your hands, hoping that the voice would comply. But with every second of silence, your hope sunk until it hit rock-bottom. You needed a new strategy, quickly!

“Look, I’m walking,” you pointed out, taking some steps forward. “We’re in this together, right? Those were your words. But we-” you interrupted yourself for a second, biting your lips. As diplomatic as you wanted to be, you felt nothing short of a liar, and it wormed you. “-we got to be honest with each other. And I really need to know this.”

“And how will you benefit from that information?” it asked. It was a justified question, you had to admit. 

“I can trust you better.”

“Have you not trusted me until now? Following my orders through the forest made it seem like you did.” Rolling your eyes, you shrugged lightly. “You win,” you admitted, and you could hear a pleased chuckle from it. “I still really, REALLY want to know. Pretty please?” you asked, as lovely as you could. The reality was, you might be dying in this forest, so even if you had to sink low, you wanted to know as much as you could. Understand as much as there was until… until maybe it was over. 

“I mean- That is…” A groan followed, and it took another moment to collect itself before it sighed.” Fine, I can’t exactly say no if you ask for it so nicely, do I,” it huffed, and you let out an inward cheer of victory, glad to have finally won it over. “Ask your questions, Kid.”

Taking a deep breath, you collected what you wanted to say in your mind, hundreds of ways to ask things from the voice falling in and out of your brain. You took a little too long to sort out how to approach this in the best way possible but urged by it clearing its throat, you came into a stumble, the first, rough draft of a good question just popping out of your mouth. “Why kidnap a village and hold it hostage?”

Damn it, you thought. That was not how you wanted to approach the situation. But now that the cat was out of the bag, there was no way to get yourself out of it anymore. You could hear a few bewildered gasped before it hissed it’s answer - or well, facts - right into your mind. “I did not kidnap or hold anyone hostage!”

“Lucio,” you said very sternly, furrowing your brows. With the call of its name, you felt like it shivered, but you ignored the growing uncomfortableness of the voice. “This forest is so dense, I’ve been walking in it for two days, and I know I will not get out here without guidance. And the people must have come here on some point and build my village. You did admit to being the Keeper.”

“I admitted to nothing, little Human. I didn’t do anything!”

“Well, how else did this all happen?!” You heard it grumble loudly before sighing, finally letting down some guard to reveal some truth. It was a struggle to believe in what it was saying, but you kept calm, reminding yourself to let it be a possibility. 

“They wanted me to bring them here! They insisted I bring them somewhere safe and far away from the dangers of… that world out there. They chose to stay in that little settlement of yours!”

“And now you are keeping them there by raising fog and not letting them get through this forest?!”

“I- Well, I couldn’t have known that forests grow so fast… It’s been a long time, okay?” 

Taking a deep breath, you nodded, taking in the information. The voice… didn’t seem regretful of what it did. Maybe even a little confused itself. So was it really your place to judge, you wondered? “They… the people, right? What is out there that they wanted to be lead away and kept in hiding?” It was a reasonable thing to ask, and you crossed your fingers that its answer wouldn’t be something you would regret hearing.

“There was constant war where they were from. Illness, people starving. I guess they wanted to flee from that.”

“I see,” you confirmed, remembering the few books you had read. Books that had been stored away on the attic of you and your friend’s houses. Books you weren’t supposed to find, but now, they made sense. They had spoken about all of the things the voice listed. Described how hard life had been. Maybe they had been diaries from long-gone ancestors of yours, you weren’t sure. But all the more, you felt like your company spoke the truth.

“Why you? Why did they ask you to help them?” It sighed, and you knew it was getting weary of your questions. Again you heard some mutters that were harder to decipher than the mumbling of some of the oldest people in town. Words you weren’t really sure you even knew what they meant. 

“Because I am-”

“-you’re not human,” you finished its sentence as it dawned on you. “Oh you’re getting so clever all of a sudden. I almost lost hope this would happen,” it snarked, and you had to admit that you may have been too obsessed with The Keeper being a human being - at least, initially. “Right… so not a human that led those people in the village.”

“Never been, never will be.”

“Then what-” you wanted to start, but a cold wind brushed against your face, and you felt like it was your time to shut up. “Don’t test your luck now.”

Maybe you didn’t want to know, you decided. At least, for now.

“Wait, am I-?” 

“One guess. You’ve got. One. Guess.” 

Closing your mouth, you nodded. Of course, you were human, who were you kidding. After all, you couldn’t do that cool mind-talking stuff. Or the raising of the wind and fog. Slowly, you pieced together that it also was the voice’s doing when the plants moved out of your way, and you had to admit, you might not have given it the proper credit for its help yet. 

Lost in thought, you were torn out as it sighed. The voice changed from its somewhat defensive tone to a bit softer, less denying. “It’s not my fault your village is stuck in the middle of this forest. That was the deal…”

“Deal?” you perked up, leaning your head to the side questioningly. A soft push made you change directions, the soil beneath your feet getting rougher as you closed in on another steep track up a hill. “Yeah, deal. You know like two people mak-”

“Lucio, I know what a deal is. I may not know much about the outside, but my home is not illiterate.”

“Right…” it mumbled. “I may have offered them my guidance and knowledge, in return for…” 

Leaning forward, you felt your body tensing, waiting for it to finish the sentence. But the voice only trailed off, leaving you without an answer. “Do you not remember, or do you not want to talk about it?” you sighed helplessly as you knew it would not answer if it really truly didn’t want to. “Maybe… a bit of both.” Nodding, you admitted defeat to its stubbornness, letting down the topic in favor of not arguing for a while.

“Been a long time, huh?” you asked, and you heard it hum thoughtfully. “Yes, a long-” a deep sigh went of its lips, “-LONG time.” 

Curiously, you thought hard if you should ask the question burning on your tongue. Maybe it would be too insensitive to ask, but you wondered how many people had tried to get through the thicket before you in this long time. Maybe your father had never actually tried to wander away from the village - may that be a good or a bad thing to know. Nevertheless, you deemed that information as too important to not risk pulling the voice’s frustration on you again.

“Have there been… other people coming through here?”

“Do you mean humans or not-humans?”

Stuttering, you shrugged, meekly choosing both options. “Either?”

“Well, aside from the few absolutely not human, co-existing presences in this forest… one. There has been one more human.”

“Did he make it?” you immediately snapped, not thinking through your words before they were out. “Oh- I, I mean. They. The human.” You tried to save yourself, but to no avail. Suspicion grew in the voice as it questioned you while still staying unfathomable. “Well, he- or was it? I think it was. Okay, listen, it’s been awhile, I don’t remember what kind of human it was or if that person made it. But how would you know?”

Biting yourself on the tongue, you scolded your brain for sharing too much information. So far, you had wonderfully dodged most questions, evaded the voice’s desire to pull out things you did not want, but no longer. Not with what all you knew now. “Okay… I will tell you. But first I want to-... No, we must do something else.”

By the time you two had reached this point in your conversation, it had long begun to darken. Little, yellow fireflies pooled around areas in the forest, coming up from the thicket you had previously marched through. Paired with the moonlight above, it was a pretty sight, and - if you had learned something from the books you read in your childhood - it was the perfect, ominous feeling to propose your idea.

“I want to make a deal with you.”

There was a halt in its breath, before it answered, shattering you down into the small being you were. “No.”

“Please?” you tried, hoping it would work like last time. “I said no. I will not make a deal with you. What kind of deal would you even be able to make with a being like ME.”

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your coat, nervously kneading it in your hands. It was right. You did not have much to offer, in fact, nothing. It was on you to think sharp about your next words, the burden heavy on your shoulder. It would be all or nothing, if you messed up, the voice probably would never again want to agree to your terms. The curiosity it was showing now was your last straw to hold on. 

“I know that these factories must really bother you.” Pausing, you listened to the wind picking up, rattling through the leaves of the trees. It was your way to evaluate the situation on how careful you had to be, the forest giving you signs. “And I will help you destroy them, and take care of them.”

“Yes?” it asked unimpressed. “What’s in this deal for you?”

“I want you to…” gulping, you pulled up all the courage you could muster, slowly nodding to yourself in encouragement. “If I do that - helping you - I want you to open up a trade route.”

“A what,” it spouted, disbelieving your proposal. “A trade route,” you squeaked softly, and you felt the wind pick up, lashing out all around you. “That will NOT happen,” Lucio instantly refused, unwilling to hear you out any further.

“But, it’s just one route, it’s not like the village will disappear, this all here will remain!”

“No!”

“But then I could-”

“I said no! There is no deal! You want to destroy these factories as much as I do, I don’t need to deal with your ideas!”

“IT’S FOR MY DAD, OKAY!” you yelled, as loud as you could. 

The flapping of the wings from the bird that flew away quickly was the only thing breaking the silence as you struggled to remain your composure. “Okay, I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I- I just really want to find my dad... They say he ran away from the village and you said someone passed through here. If you’d just… let some of us out we could grow as a culture and trade with others, and I could go and search for him.”

For a moment, you thought your words were falling on deaf ears. Stomping your foot in frustration, you felt the headache of the very morning returning. It was no surprise, the day had been long, your patience had been tested over and over. You still felt cold, lost, exhausted, and it was wearing you down. 

“I cannot make this deal with you,” the voice eventually mumbled in the back of your aching head, and you sighed, shoulders hanging. “It’s okay…” you whispered, acknowledging your defeat in the matter. There was nothing more that you wanted to do as to lay down and rock back and forth. Just forget all of this happened and wake up the next morning in your bed. Yes, you wished the Keeper would have actually done his job and kept you out of this damn forest. Even the first encampment would have had trouble to even reach the village, you’d have been save for the next few years. All that you had brought upon you was pain and despair, and you knew you were not going to last much longer as it was.

But instead of breaking down, you moved onwards, just kept walking. Maybe you’d keep walking until your legs would give out, perhaps that’s how it would end. “Hey!” you heard, having completely ignored the voice in your head calling out. It was a skill that only seemed to work when you felt yourself slip into a bad place, but it worked nonetheless. “Will you listen?” it hissed at you, and this wasn’t a real question. “Got no other choice,” you sighed, shoulders still hanging and gaze fixed on the ground.

“I cannot make this deal with you because this isn’t my doing.”

Your steps halted as you looked up again, blinking a few times. “Bu-But you just explained you are The Keeper… You do all of this…”

“Yes, urgh, damn it!” it cursed, some more unknown words slipping out of its mouth. “I was the Keeper. But I don’t control the fog anymore!” It sighed some more, seemingly struggling with what it had to confess to you. But with every word it spoke, you felt a new-found energy rushing into you, the gleam in your eyes returning as you stared ahead, the red flicker of light in the distance. “Here is my deal:” the voice revealed. 

You listened intently as it proposed it’s idea. Slowly, you felt how the weight got pulled off your shoulder, replaced by the sparks of hope and relief. Some part of you still couldn’t trust the idea, but you were too happy to hear about it, you spoke before thinking twice. “Deal!”

“So be it,” the voice chuckled. “It’s a deal, little Human.”