#eventually eventually. I just want to do chapter fics or long fics and then lose steam or find someone else that wrote it way better

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 01. IN DREAMS WE REST

a/n: i've been stressed about this fic probably more than any other i've ever written. not because it's logan per se, but because wade wilson makes me want to rip my hair out. i love that bastard, but writing him feels like pulling teeth. i'm in love with this concept solely for the angst, so if you see more throughout and wonder if they will ever get a happy ending, please know i'm dead inside. enjoy!

summary: stuck in another universe and unsure of where he stands, logan expects things to even out as they always did. but when you cross his path and you have no idea who he is, he's in for a rude awakening.

word count: 5.9k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, wade wilson breaking the fourth wall, angst, cussing so much cussing, alcohol consumption, grief, pain, a broken man pretending he's not broken, chance encounters, awkward conversations, hope.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

He can hear it when he sleeps.

Their screams.

The constant ring of agony that chimes out like a bell, an alarm he never set for himself. A joke once told to him in the midst of World War II, as bullets flew by him and soldiers lost their lives each second of each day. There's no escape from hell. No running from the devil that nipped at his heels the faster he went, the longer he tried to navigate a way free.

There's no escape from the memories that ate away in his mind. Multitudes of them, of the faces he once called family, the people he used to love. They were his punishment. The boulder he continued to roll up the hill, day after day after day. Until eventually...he was crushed by his own self-hatred.

"Logan." The voice whispered long enough for him to grasp who it might be, yet never louder than a mere breath of air.

He clung to it some days. Sunk his claws into what little of his past remained good and allowed it to fill him with some amount of peace. At least then he'd be able to bear this weight, this grief he could never quite name.

Something light brushed across his cheek. Tickling the skin enough to send a flare of irritation down his spine, but the dreams held him in their grasp. What came next never surprised him. He expected it at this point—longed for it. The distant pain of losing what once made him whole; the entirety of his life now defined by one single moment he could never change.

"He sleeps so sweetly. I just want to curl up in his arms and have him read me bedtime stories."

"He's not gonna like that when he wakes up."

"Zip it Al. If I wanted an opinion, I'd go see a Hollywood therapist."

A scoff echoed in the background. "No therapist wants you on their couch."

"Not true. I hear Ryan Reynolds has a great one."

"Who?"

"Not the point." The feather dusted across Logan's face again, soft enough to keep him asleep yet annoying enough to bring a smile to Wade's face. "I wonder if he's dreaming about killing bad guys. They say it's good for the soul."

"Who the fuck is they?"

Wade laughed. "Oh you know. Them. The readers. And boy howdy do they love their blood."

Every day he was forced to listen to Wade's voice became another day Logan dragged his claw through a tally mark of his sanity. "Do you ever shut the fuck up," he growled, gripping Wade's wrist until he heard the satisfying crack of bones.

"Only when I swallow."

"I'll tear your fuckin' arm off."

The smile on Wade’s face only added another tally. "Nice kitty. No need for the claws."

Anger washed across his skin in a familiar wave as he released Wade's arm, watching it go limp. Trying to kill the unkillable walking irritation was like trying to swat a fly that never quite died. It still buzzed incessantly. Until eventually madness was the only viable option of dealing with it. In his case, he seemed to be driving head on with no brakes.

Logan wasn't sure he possessed enough sanity left within him to keep dealing with this. Sleeping on the couch didn't help the way his body never rested; always stuck in that permanent fighting mode. He'd give anything to find some peace. A small sliver of it carved off the past that continued to call him—that begged him to come back and try again.

Swinging his legs off the couch, he planted a swift kick to Wade's chest that sent him across the floor. The lack of caffeine in his system left everything hazy and half coherent. If he focused he might have caught the keys thrown at him, but being exhausted and sober didn't make for a good combination with him. An empty whiskey bottle lay discarded on the floor from last night; the memories of how he passed out barely tinged on the edge of his mind.

He could recall stabbing Wade in the leg.

Nothing beyond that.

Dried blood—now an ugly brown—stained his white shirt. He nearly stripped himself of it, prepared to throw it in with whoever was washing next, but his flannel being chucked at his head caught him off guard.

"Fuck off," he snapped, stumbling to the kitchen.

Wade sighed, following him. "Get dressed, peanut. We have to go do human things today."

"Human–”

"Food," Al retorted. "We're out."

Even in a new universe, he couldn't see himself acting normal. For so long he did what had to in order to survive. Yet now...he wasn't so sure. Accompanying Wade Wilson in order to complete household chores left a bad taste in his mouth. But the thought of fresh coffee and an unopened bottle of whiskey sounded like sweet silver bells in his head.

With reluctance, he buttoned up half of the flannel before he became annoyed with the small size of the holes punched into the fabric. There was only so much he could do with the life he had now. And sometimes shit really sucked.

"Don't scratch my fucking car," Al pointed her words towards Wade, thankfully ignoring Logan's existence for a brief moment.

"Is it safe for her to own a car?"

The door shut behind him with a bang, echoing down the vacant hallway. He was surprised people actually lived here given Wade's antics. They could hear the loud mouthed fucker across the street—if the angry notes in the mail were anything to go by. He didn't bother asking if he should be concerned with any of it. Not when he had no say in how the house was run. And choosing to insert himself where he wasn’t needed, rarely went well for him.

"God no. But I give her the benefit of the doubt. She hasn't killed anyone. Yet."

He yanked the keys out of Wade's hand. "Yeah well I don't trust you either Bub."

The car didn't leave room for his legs as he squeezed into the driver's side. His body practically folded in half as he turned it over—the rumble of the engine rattling against metal. How Blind Al managed to pay for this vehicle went beyond even Wade's knowledge, and in all honesty…he was too fucking scared to ask.

Too much seemed to be happening for him to ever catch up. While this Earth felt similar to his, small things were different. And when they began to add up...he began to wonder if he was drowning.

"Turn left to merge onto the asscrack of traffic."

He barely heard the directions as he drove, his mind drifting the further they went. Part of him sensed the grief from earlier begin to claw up the back of his throat. It begged him to fall, to be swallowed whole by the darkness he'd been stuck in before. And he nearly gave in; could feel his body shift into its constant mode of fight or flight.

The steering wheel cracked under his white knuckled grip as Wade's voice became an afterthought to the war he fought in his mind. Terror trapped itself in his throat and he slammed his foot on the brakes a foot away from a parking spot in retaliation. The car lurched forward, his claws descended. A snarl rumbled in his chest the longer he sat there thinking.

"Woah..." For the first time in days, Wade fell silent. "You alright?"

Logan ripped himself free, shoving his body out of the car before he even threw it in park. He gulped in breath after breath and did his best to wait for this fucking feeling to leave his system. The nightmares only came as he slept. A constant familiar horror show after two centuries.

Yet now he was left like this. Leaned up against a car, his eyes closed shut, and heart racing.

All because he couldn't do his fucking job.

"Logan–"

He snapped, shoving past Wade and his pity that choked him with a vengeance. He didn't deserve anyone's pity. He didn't want it. But people couldn't help but hand it over unconsciously. As if they could see the layers of broken pieces beneath his false expression of strength. Logan never pretended to be okay. Why bother with something people could see right through?

He merely wanted others to ignore he was there. Walk past him, look through him, do whatever it took to pretend that him and all his tragedies weren't standing before them. Because one day he would die and fuck how he couldn't wait for that time to come.

A small hole in the wall dive bar sat in the corner of the shopping center. He barely caught sight of it. But the unmistakable scent of alcohol poured out the door as someone stumbled out—their eyes squeezed shut against the harsh brightness of the sun. He could understand them in a way.

His world didn't have sunlight this bright. Or perhaps he never noticed it ‘til now.

Maybe his body wasn't acclimated yet; unsure of what the fuck was still happening. Everything seemed to be turned up to eleven for him, yet no off switch existed.

The dark hazy glow of the interior sent a wave of calm through him as the door swung shut with a soft thud. Four people sat scattered around the place and a bartender with white and graying hair stood cleaning a glass so foggy it was probably better to throw it out. He found himself letting out a breath that'd been trapped in his chest since that morning. Finally some peace before he had to listen to Wade yap about bullshit he didn't in fact give a shit about.

"What'll you have?" the old man asked, his face screwing up in a wince as he limped towards Logan's spot at the end of the bar.

A quick glance down let him see the brace wrapped around the man's knee. "Whiskey on the rocks."

He nodded, slowly heading towards the center of the wall—a lonesome half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter. Logan shifted, taking the center seat directly behind the man.

"I can't say I've seen you around before son."

He grinned, his finger tracing a random carving that'd been placed in the wood. "I just moved here. Living with a coworker."

"Coworker huh?"

The word didn't sound right to Logan, but he couldn't exactly call Wade his friend. Although they were more than people who fought together, more than men who shared blood during the same battle. That was the thing about Logan though. He'd never be able to put a label on something like that. To him...things weren't one or the other as much as he wanted to pretend they were. There was nuance to his life.

Complications which made living that much harder.

The man turned, surprised to see Logan so close, but didn't make note of it. Logan could see the gratitude in the way his drink was slid carefully to him. The small silent thank you in the bowl of pretzels placed beside it.

"You look lost."

Logan grunted, biting into the salty and dry snack. "Do I?"

"More than some of the others that come around here."

"And who comes around here?"

The man laughed. "No one as of late. You're the first young man I've seen in a while walk through those doors."

He bit back his laugh at the word young. The stories he could tell would leave the man baffled. About wars that no living person had witnessed. About when the world was far different than today—when mutants were freaks of nature and humans were far less forgiving. He could list it all and then some.

But whether or not someone would listen was another thing entirely.

"This place that old?" he inquired, sipping on the amber liquid with a contented sigh.

"Oh you bet." A weary laugh filled the space. "I bought this place in the sixties. When my wife was still my girlfriend. She almost left me because of it."

Logan huffed, his lips curling slightly. "She wasn't a fan?"

The man shook his head, tossing a cloth over his shoulder. "Still isn't. Well she...wasn't." He pressed his thumb to the worn gold band on his left hand. "When she was alive she used to host a book night. Helped bring in the men's wives. Kept them outta trouble."

"Book night huh?"

"She loved to read."

Before he could down the final sips of his drink it was topped off. Logan nodded his head in thanks, his thumb digging into the thumbprint shape of the glass. If he thought about it hard enough, he could almost see himself coming here every night. He pictured a life far different than his own, a past where he might have been happy. With someone who might have even made him smile.

"I'm not much of a reader," he replied, his voice hoarse and eyes fixed on the ice that floated to the surface.

"Ah me too," the man laughed. "I just liked seeing her smile."

A soft remark was on the tip of his tongue before an entirely new image began to take shape. The face of someone lost. Of a smile he'd known better than his own. Hands that once held his face with the tenderness of a lover—a voice that sent the hair rising on the back of his neck. He could see it as clear as he did the man.

You in all your beauty. Lost to a past he could no longer rectify.

He swallowed thickly, beating back every emotion that crawled under his skin. "What's your name?"

"Travis."

Raising his glass, he tipped it towards the man with a tight grin. "Logan." The alcohol went down with a quick and biting burn. A feeling he'd grown familiar with. One he counted on.

"Nice to meet you Logan."

"Yeah you too."

He dug out some cash and tossed it on the bar as he stood with a slight grunt. He may heal quickly but the ache in his bones still existed. As if something resisted against how his body moved with each slow shift.

Fighting meant he could ignore it.

Existing is what made it worse.

The sun practically burned his eyes when he stepped out, the heat of the day encompassing his whole body quicker than he would have liked. For some unknown fucking reason, summer here felt worse than on his Earth. Then again the alcohol didn't help. He stood in the shade of the building next to the bar, searching the parking lot for any sign of Wade.

Going into the store wasn't an option and as much as he wanted to leave the annoyance behind, he didn't want to feel like a piece of shit. That is...even more than he already did.

"Fuck," he hissed, leaning against the brick wall. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

One option would be taking a walk to work off the energy that ran through his veins. At least then he'd be able to sleep at night. And the temptation almost worked. If it weren't for the shop doors that opened to his left, effectively distracting him from the chance of leaving. He could have ignored the person, probably should have given everything he'd been through.

But then his heart dropped to his stomach as you walked out. He'd never seen you in such a soft sundress before, the off white fabric draped off your curves in a way that floored him. As if you were an angel floating by without a care in the world. You were busy shoving a small piece of paper in your purse, your face furrowed in frustration, and Logan smiled. Because he'd traced each line of that face before, he'd kissed those cheeks, your eyelids as you slept.

He'd loved you in ways that would scare a normal human.

And there you were.

"Honey?" he called, unconsciously following you quicker than he intended to. "Honey."

You glanced to the side, completely unaware of the giant lumbering man trailing after you with a soft look on his face and hope in his hands.

That alone tore him in two more than the memories from before.

"Baby, it's me."

The breeze finally went through the air, pushing the skirt of your dress a bit higher on your thighs. Except that's not what he latched onto. Your scent was different. Unlike any he'd encountered before. Honey still sweetly caressed his senses, but flowers overlayed that—peonies if he guessed. Delicious enough to have his mouth watering; his body already aching for you to be closer. To look at him in the way you used to.

He wanted to call out to you—gain your attention properly—but your name wouldn't leave his tongue. Because you were there and you finally caught sight of him and you were looking at him as if nothing bad ever happened between the two of you.

You saw him as a man.

Not a disappointment.

He willed himself to stop and breathe. Take in his surroundings; realize that you weren't who he once knew. You weren't even the same fucking person.

But before he could think straight, he'd already followed you halfway to your car. His eyes were dazed, heart nearly throttling him alive as he stood there dumbly. Waiting for you to finally speak.

"Oh..." Your heart rate spiked quicker than he expected. He couldn't find it in himself to feel bad though. "Hello?"

"Honey," he sighed, the weight on his shoulders lifting ever so slightly.

He caught the way your fingers tightened around your keys, the defense mechanism an instinct by now. And Logan realized what he looked like. A strange man standing too close for your liking. So he took a step back and gave you some space. In the hopes that you wouldn't see him as a threat. That maybe...you'd listen to what he had to say.

"Can I help you?" you asked, eyes darting around the parking lot in case you needed help.

What he wouldn't give for the opportunity to reassure you. To explain that he wasn't here to hurt you. That he'd kill himself before even laying a hand on you. Yet the correct words were lost and all he seemed to get out was an incoherent babble that had him wanting to dig his own claws into his chest.

"You smell different."

You straightened your spine, eyes narrowed into a glare he felt burn across his skin. "Look, I don't know who you are. But fuck off."

Something akin to pride flared in his chest at your tone, your words. But he couldn't show it externally. How would he explain that your fight—your fire—is what drew him to you in the first place? How could he tell you about a version of yourself you'd never know? A person he thought would be with him until his last breath exhaled into the world.

"I'm not here to hurt you." He raised his hands in an attempt to prove his point, but like your variant counterpart you were willing to bite first and ask questions later.

"Yeah. Sure asshole." The shopping bag in your other hand was lifted up, until you had a tighter grip on it in case something happened. You didn't know him. You probably never would.

But Logan had to try. He owed it to you to give it all he had this time around.

Otherwise...what was the point of living?

"My name's–" He made the wrong move stepping forward and knew it the second his boot hit the gravel. With a wince, he watched you stumble back against your car, your arm coming up to protect yourself. "No. Look I'm not gonna do anything–"

"Get the fuck away from me," you spit.

He moved back as if approaching a wounded animal—his body finally on edge in a new way. The fact that you didn't know him wasn't what broke off another chunk of his heart. He could handle that. He'd been through that.

You were afraid of him.

That realization dug in too deep for his body to heal.

That...he couldn't live with.

"WOAH hey!" He'd never appreciated Wade's irritating ass more than in this moment. He jumped between the two of you, the cart of groceries forgotten as he blocked Logan from your sight. "Step away from the nice lady wolf boy." Wade regarded you with a smile. "Hi! Sorry. This is my uncle and well as you can probably tell he's lost eight of his lives. So we're going on little old nine. And well the mind just goes to shit first."

Seconds passed by like minutes and Logan watched you visibly deflate. "Wade," you greeted him, visibly calmer than before. Logan felt his stomach twist violently at the thought. "It's good to see you. How's the job?"

"Oh yup you know. Left that. But I'm really pushing through. I've got an Etsy store where I sell miniature paintings of Michael Angelo's David's penis. So there's that."

Your laughter sent a hole through his chest and Logan bit back the growl that rose up the back of his throat. What the fuck was Wade doing making friends with you? Why were you laughing at his humor?

He couldn't count how many days he'd spent longing to hear your laugh again, the shine in your eyes that always came around when joy flooded your bloodstream. He could smell the honey off your skin, the warmth of what no doubt lay beneath your thin dress. And he wanted to rip Wade to pieces knowing that he was the one making it happen. That you were comfortable with a man who's mouth ran at a mile a minute.

"Did your sister have the baby yet?"

You brightened and Logan felt his heart stutter. "She did! A boy."

"Named Wade I hope."

Another peal of laughter had Logan's claws itching to descend as you ignored he was there. "Theo actually. A cutie."

"Aww." Wade moved closer, head bent to see the small polaroid you pulled out of your wallet. "Wow, he looks like you'd find him in a Gerber's advertisement."

Your eyes drifted up, past Wade's shoulder, until you finally caught Logan's gaze. And he felt like he could breathe. Every ounce of fear was wiped from your face; interest now creeping in as you dragged your eyes down his form. Past the slight peek of chest hair and down to how his jeans hugged his hips. Logan stood taller for your benefit, as if he needed to make a good impression.

He wanted to linger in your mind for days. Until the curiosity ate you alive.

"We're gonna go," Wade announced, after grabbing your bag and placing it in your trunk for you. "Someone has to feed the blind woman in my apartment. She tends to root through everything looking for food." He gripped Logan's arm, shoving him back a good few feet. Even as your eyes still remained glued to his face. "Glad to see the Hyundai is still working. You know you could take the fattest fucking nap in the back of that puppy. Makes you feel like an Egyptian mummy."

"Bye," you said, a dazed look in your eyes as Logan smiled in your direction. At ease with the knowledge that even in a different universe, he could still fluster you with a look.

Dragging himself away from you was hell, but Wade's grip remained unbreakable as they clambered to the car. The groceries stacked in the small backseat.

He could glimpse you driving off and suddenly the nightmare from earlier was the last thing on his mind.

Wade's back hit the wall with a crack before the door could shut properly. The groceries in their hands toppled to the floor. He barely had time to duck before Logan's claws were aiming for his head—a snarl ripping from his throat.

"What the fuck?" Wade shouted, grabbing the paper bag and gently setting it on the table. "Next time just say you need to stay home and find some joy in an empty room and your hand."

"How do you know her?"

Wade smiled, assessing the furious state of chaos Logan was now left in. The tatters of his stability falling to the floor around him. For as much as he held himself together, it certainly remained easy enough to tear him a part.

"Got an eye on someone, do we honey badger?"

Logan grimaced, running a hand down his face. "Would you just fucking tell me?"

"Let me bask in this Logan. I'm about to watch a romcom come to life and need some popcorn." He rummaged through the bag, yanking out some chips. "Salty and sweet. That'll do."

"Wade," he bit out.

"Stick with us girls, we're about to get to the good stuff."

"WADE!"

He tossed the bag to the table, eyeing the way Logan never quite settled. "I'm gonna take a guess and say we know her more than just friendly hellos."

Logan couldn't answer because his grief did it for him. He did what he could to catch his breath, to stop seeing his version of you. The disappointment on your face, the pain in your voice. You'd been so angry with him. To watch the person he loved be reduced to a screaming crying mess wasn't something he wanted to relive, but Wade's question seemed to send an avalanche toppling to the ground.

"She's..." He sucked in a breath. "On my world. I...knew her."

"Knew her? Or knew her."

He reached for the bottle of whiskey Wade threw in with the rest of the groceries and popped it open before he spoke again. "It didn't end well between us. None of it did."

Wade fell silent and Logan found himself loathing the quiet more than the sound of his voice. If he was joking Logan could ignore it. He could pretend nothing happened. That you weren't here, you couldn't be hurt by him again.

You were safe from his destructive tendencies as long as you were in another universe.

"She lives across the street." Logan's head rose and whipped to see the window that faced the building across from them. "The old uncultured shit whistles that keep complaining about WHAM! the greatest thing to happen to music. They're her neighbors. Live right next door."

"Neighbors."

Wade nodded, offering him a chip. "She found their note and angel that she is, she very sweetly threatened to get them evicted. I offered to let her borrow my katanas but was rejected like younger me on prom night. You've really got yourself a catch there buddy."

Logan didn't need Wade to tell him how fucking lucky he was. He knew that the second you walked out of that store. You were everything good in his life at one point, everything he couldn't save. There wasn't much keeping him going on his old Earth, but having you made all the suffering he went through—all the pain he endured—worth it.

If you were waiting for him at the end, he'd do it all over again.

"So you want to take a dip in that honey huh? Taste that rainbow?"

His claws would have sunk into Wade's throat if a knock hadn't sounded at the door. With a huff, he stepped into the kitchen, the bottle clutched tightly in his hand. Whoever decided to give Wade some luck was of no concern to him.

Or so he believed.

"I didn't mean to accidentally take your groceries," you laughed, handing over a overpacked paper bag.

Stuffing the bottle under the sink, he met you halfway to the living room, his eyes drinking in the sight of you still in that dress. Still delicate enough for him to rip if he tugged it right. Heat curled along the base of his spine when your eyes met his, wide and glimmering with your laughter. He felt himself crumple at the sight of your lips parting, the surprise at his size still enough to make you speechless.

"Good to see you again," he greeted you, voice low and soft.

You didn't mean to grow flustered in his presence, but something about the way his gaze devoured you within seconds left you breathless. The swooping sensation in your stomach became too much to handle. Desire and attraction weren't unknown concepts to you. But this felt like more. You could sense him right down to your bones and it scared the shit out of you.

"Oh right!" Wade scooched past you to swing an arm around Logan's shoulders. He did what he could to not stab him in the stomach. "This is Logan. My hunky new roommate."

Logan groaned. "Alright–"

"No, no it's good. You remember when I was declared basically the savior of the universe?"

Your face screwed up in confusion. Logan had never wanted to kiss someone more.

"Marvel...Jesus right?"

"I prefer MJ. Since I've got a Peter." Wade's head whipped to the side. "Suck it Tom Holland." His grip on Logan tightened. "This walking People's Sexiest Magazine helped. We're talking big claws, abs you just want to lick whipped cream off of–"

Logan's elbow slammed into Wade's stomach—crimson slowly tinting the tips of his ears. "That's enough."

"AND the Wolverine."

Surprised etched itself onto your face even further. Until you finally regarded Logan with a look he'd seen once before. Awe. When you first met one another in the halls of the mansion, you stared at him that exact way. As if you couldn't quite believe that iconic figure the X-Men made him out to be actually existed.

He couldn't tell if he liked it. Or if he'd rather you view him as a stranger.

"Logan," he said, offering his hand to you politely. Your skin remained as soft as he remembered.

Warmth bloomed in your body at the feeling of his calloused palm overwhelming yours, the scars across his knuckles old and ancient. Yet you found yourself wanting to trace them over and over, until the sight of them seared in your mind. You fought the urge to press your lips to them, etch your own mark into his skin. Something told you he wouldn’t mind.

Logan could see the intrigue on your face—the distracted gaze he wanted to keep in place. You were still curious. Still willing to learn about him. To pick him a part with soft words and even softer touches.

"Logan," you murmured under your breath, your eyes catching his. He felt his stomach leap at the sound of your voice whispering his name. Memories flooding his mind quicker than he expected. Of mornings spent in bed, your skin pressed against his. Of nights alone in his cabin—your stories lulling him to sleep.

Everything he willed himself to forget, yet could never truly let go of.

"I've got to head back." Disappointment filled your heart at the thought of not getting a chance to talk to him more. He had yet to let go of your hand and you found you liked his touch on your skin. "I'll see you soon Wade."

"Logan will be more than happy to walk you back," Wade replied, waving drastically behind your back. "Can't have you getting hurt now can we? Right peanut?"

You smiled. "I'm just across the street."

"I don't mind," Logan cut in, glaring at Wade to shut the fuck up.

"Okay," your voice was soft. Happy.

Logan would have done anything to keep it that way.

The walk back wasn't long enough for him to explain his actions from earlier, but you seemed to be just as smart as your variant self. Shutting the building's door, you turned to him—your dress fluttering in the breeze. Logan choked on his spit at the slight peek of your ass before you pushed the skirt back down around you.

"Did you know me?" You lead him to the corner, waiting for the traffic to die down. "On your Earth."

He paused, his eyebrows pulling together, and for a moment you wondered if you asked the wrong question. Wade told you bits and pieces of what happened since you last saw him, but Logan's background wasn't a discussion you tried to seek out. All you knew was that Wade acquired a new roommate. Not even a name.

Certainly not that he was Wolverine.

"Yes," Logan muttered, glancing at the change in lights.

You started to walk. "In what way?"

His hands curled into fists—echoes of his past rising to the surface. "We were...friends. You're a professor."

"A professor?" you exclaimed, a smile tugging on your lips. "Am I a mutant?"

He nodded. "You're able to bend time. Or control it." He snorted, following your lead towards your building. "I could never understand it. But Charles did."

The walk up to your apartment was silent, your thoughts filled with the new information he'd given you. And no matter how hard you tried to picture it, you couldn't see yourself as a mutant. A powerful being that held the ability to manipulate time who just so happened to be a professor. Somehow even thinking about it made you wonder why Logan was bothering to entertain this version of you. When the better one existed on his Earth.

"You said were."

Stopping at your door, he nearly knocked into you. "Hm?"

"Were friends. What happened?"

The answer he couldn't give you. The words he wouldn't even admit out loud to himself.

He felt his heart twist as if a knife slowly carved through his spleen. "We uh..." He coughed. "You..."

"I don't have to know." Grasping gently onto his arm, you offered a warm smile he felt down to his toes. A look he hadn't seen in quite some time. Logan could picture the last day you were happy in his head. Laughing with Charles in his office as you shared dinner, working on theories of your powers late into the night.

A week before they came.

"It's good to see you like this," he breathed, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek before stopping midair. "Happy."

Your eyebrows knit together. "I wasn't happy?"

"No." What he wouldn't give to take that information back, but it was out in the open, and as always—he remained too late.

"Why?" you asked, your hand sliding down to his much to his delight.

"I made you a promise." He sucked in a breath, his body begging him to start running. You'd be better off if you never knew. If you never remembered him in the first place. "I couldn't keep it."

I'll always keep you safe.

Words he refused to say again.

How could he promise this version of you that? How could he look you in the eyes and lie again? Breaking his Earth's you would haunt him for the rest of his life. He couldn't fathom doing it all over. It would kill him.

Except you weren't the person in his mind. You weren't the mutant who hated him with every fiber of your being. You were you. A continuous surprise that left his heart stuttering in his chest each time you looked his way. An enigma he found himself wanting to unravel.

"Maybe this time around you can," you said softly, letting him go with a smile as you entered your apartment, effectively opening the wound in his heart so wide there was no saving him.

Although he now knew something he didn’t know before.

He didn’t want to be saved.

[moonshynecybin]

i thinkkkkk this one is gonna be part of something larger but here's the first part of a fic (2.8k so far) where the first chapter is literally just rosquez having a conversation in an airport set around jerez 2024… i also wanted to add some good ole marquez brother goof arounds:

“Look, if you’re just gonna make fun of me—”

“No, please! I wanna hear the rest of this,” Alex says, leaning into Marc’s space and raising his eyebrows, goofy. It makes Marc let out a big laugh— full and loud. He stretches against the plastic of the airport gate seating, the movement pulling at overtired muscles. It feels like they’ve been here forever.

It’s been a long journey back to Spain— storm delays and rerouting stranding them in the airport for hours. They’re still here waiting for a connecting flight, puttering away next to their gate and shooting the shit. It’s been a good weekend —a podium for him— but he’s tired, and ready to be home.

“No no no no, I’m done.” He settles into his seat, pushing Alex’s face away from him. Alex cackles, and Marc points at him. “But you should do that professionally!”

Alex pulls one of his mild, exasperated faces, and it makes Marc smile wider. They’re probably being too loud. Marc doesn’t care.

“You know,” Alex points out, dragging out the last syllable of know so it sounds like knowwwww, “You are the world’s absolute worst loser.” 

Marc shrugs. “It’s a good thing, too— in our line of work you have to be.” He’s unrepentant. It’s how he’s built.

He ignores the face that Alex is surely making and leans down to rummage through his carry on, looking for headphones. For sure, if he has to lose to anyone, he’d prefer it was Alex. With him, the nagging bite of loss usually manages to morph into something lighter, more fun, just because he knows Alex won’t ever blame him for how he gets, how involved he can be in winning. That doesn’t mean he enjoys losing—he’ll never enjoy that—but it takes it back to being a game. None of the anticipation of a sour aftermath that he’s faced in the past, the wait for the other foot to drop, and the play to slide towards resentment without him noticing.

“I doubt losing at a video game will help you gain a competitive edge on the track,” Alex asserts dryly, turning his attention back to his phone and tapping open the Kindle app. He’s been obsessed with those fantasy novels, lately. “You can’t win at everything.”

“Trust me, I know,” Marc laughs, rubbing at his arm. He needs to call his PT. Whatever. “But! I don’t think that first thing is true.” Banishing the thought from his head, he leans over to poke Alex in the arm. Alex swats at his hand, not looking up from his book, and Marc pokes him again, harder this time. “I have a winner mentality.”

“You have a loser mentality. You just lost.” Alex is staring at what Marc thinks is the table of contents.

“Semantics.” Another poke.

Alex looks up, incredulous. Victory. 

“You were cheating! And you still lost!” 

“But you don’t have any proof of that.”

And Alex shakes his head like he can’t believe him, laughs again. “You are insufferable.”

Marc grins and Alex sighs, scrubs a hand over his head.

“I’m going to go grab some water. Maybe eventually they’ll let us board this fucking plane. You want anything?”

Marc shakes his head.

“No, I’m good.” He ate earlier. He opens his phone back up, thumbs over his home screen. Nothing looks exciting. He hasn't been on instagram so much lately– avoiding comments.

He sighs and contemplates opening his dating app. He doesn’t.

Nothing’s felt— he’s busy. 

It’s always been too much— too complicated with his schedule, with travel, timezones, turning over battles in his head. Braking maneuvers and tire pressure edging out any relationship before it got off the ground properly. Lately, since his arm, and since Alex had told him to go find someone— it’s been nagging more.

But no one gets it. Not like he does. And he’s just never found someone that felt like they were worth all of the effort it would take, keeping a relationship together in a life like his, bending himself around racing. There’s been flashes, some false starts, but nothing has ever–

He hears a distracted chuckle behind his back, a light sound, happy, and it hooks him, hard. A sucker punch. He glances over, his previous train of thought abandoned.

It’s— 

He's heard that laugh before. 

They haven’t seen each other— properly, actually exchanging words— since last year. The end of the season. They were both in the bathroom at the Lights Out Gala. Marc in a tux, Vale in a flannel. Marc had held the door for Vale as he had left. 

Vale, once he’d registered his presence, had thrown him a thin lipped, restrained smile, and thanked him. Asked him vaguely about his surgery. Moved on.

And now he’s on the phone, a few feet away, and he probably hasn’t even seen Marc yet. Instead, he’s chattering lowly, head slightly tilted as he drags a thumb over the handle of his suitcase.

Marc has to wonder if stuff like this happens to other people.

Alex hasn’t left yet, but is about to. He's noticed, of course he noticed, and he tugs on Marc’s sleeve, voice low. “You need me to stay?”

Marc shrugs, shakes his head. He's been around Vale before, after everything, in close quarters even. It's fine. 

He's had a lot of practice.

Those last few years, before Vale retired, after Argentina—after Sepang, really, though he maybe hadn’t processed it yet— he worked on it a lot. On taking Vale off of the pedestal, making him more of a person. On realizing he was always going to have a different relationship to Vale than Vale would to him.

He works hard at that distance, enforcing it, maintaining it. Tending to it.

And he had gotten somewhere better, once he had realized that. Had stopped trying to say hi to him every time he saw him. Vale is his hero, and he knows by know that that’s never going to change completely. The precise way his presence lights Marc up, makes him giddy, the disbelieving undercurrent that Valentino Rossi knows his name— but he also has come to terms with the fact that it's never going to be like he imagined when he was twenty, and he thought maybe he could matter as much to Vale as he did to Marc.

He knows that.

But it was an adjustment. It took some time. It’s better now. He's used to it.

Now, he can sit at an airport gate with him and ignore him.

He’s probably been staring at his phone screen a little too hard. 

“Allora— so, how have you been?” A voice asks, simply, closer to his ear than it should be. Of course.

He puts the emphasis on you, the full force of him narrowed on the word. Marc stays very, forcibly still. Projects calm.

Vale’s across from him, now, got there without him noticing. His legs are spread out wide in the seat across from Marc, hat pulled low and posture easy. His face is neutral— pleasant. Marc knows that means absolutely nothing.

Vale’s gaze charts over him, carefully, taking him in. Marc swallows, steels his jaw.

Vale has always had a way of observing. Leveraging that beam of attention. He doesn’t miss a thing, never has, and he looks good— tired, but relaxed, thin frame bundled up in a hoodie, hat pulled low over his forehead. Incognito mode, Marc remembers him joking sometime in 2013, after they had snuck out of the paddock to grab a drink at a bar post media day. But you always dress like that, Marc had said, probably too confidently, and Vale had laughed, had leant in and said Well, if I want them to recognize me, I just wear the Yamaha shirt.

Marc blinks. Vale’s eyebrows are raised, expectantly. He’s been quiet too long.

“Why?” He asks pleasantly. No use pretending.

“How have you been?” Vale asks, evenly, continuing as if Marc didn’t talk. “It has been a few months, yes? Since we’ve seen each other? The gala?” He looks away, shrugging. “I wondered about your arm– it seems better.”

“You could have texted.” Marc says, furrowing his brow. He's being overly serious, he knows, but he’s curious. He didn’t expect Vale to text, knew he wouldn’t actually. It still, despite it all, prickled at him. Whenever he was injured, before, Vale would always ask. He hadn't, anytime in the last four years, despite the severity of the injury.

So why is he asking now.

Vale huffs a laugh, swipes a thumb over his phone case, waves it lazily. “My number, it ah, leaked.” He makes a face. “I had to get a new phone a while ago. I don't think your contact made it over.”

It’s better than him deleting it. Better than Marc expected, to be honest.

It could also be a lie.

“Oh. Well.” Marc, says, unsure how to continue. He smiles at Vale anyways, lifts his good shoulder, combing through his brain for what he actually wants Vale to know about his arm. Not lying, just slightly to the left of the truth. He doesn't want anything getting back to Pecco, but Vale can sense insincerity from a mile off.

“I can't complain. The last surgery, it helped.”

Vale’s eyebrows jump, making a little grimace. “I heard, it did not look very pleasant.”

The documentary, Marc thinks, Did he watch the fucking documentary?

“—Now it’s just the bike? Managing the new braking style?” Vale asks. Marc cannot fucking remember the last time Vale asked him two questions in a row.

“Ah, you know. Trade secret.” Vale’s team is also vying for the GP25 — best to keep as much as he can close to his chest.

Vale raises an eyebrow and Marc folds like a cheap stack of cards.

He sighs. nods. Who cares. Vale’s watched him ride for years, he knows Marc still has a little bit to improve on the year old Ducati. He’s seen the data.

“Now it’s just the getting the bike, nailing the setup.” He goes for the PR version of the truth. Nevermind that his arm is still in PT three times a week. The Ducati is good— Marc is having more fun. Fighting at the front. Adjusting easier than he thought he would.

But it’s not a Honda. He needs a bit more time, and he needs– he needs the factory spec. And it looks like Jorge Martin might be the one to get it.

Vale nods, neutral, like the conversation’s ending, like he’s being gracious with Marc’s answer, letting him keep his emotions close— and a sharp, unexplainable feeling digs into Marc’s chest, that same way it did when he was watching him from the seat over in whatever press conference, those first few years. He wants to keep Vale talking. Wants him to keep looking at Marc, wants to— Marc doesn’t quite know, exactly, but it feels a lot like he does on track, when he just can’t quite keep himself from reaching for the win.

He speaks. Vale’s gaze snaps back to him, head following after, a little lazier.

“You? How's endurance racing? Missing anything about MotoGP?”

He says like he doesn’t know. Like he doesn't keep tabs. Like people don’t ask him about Vale’s results.

Anyways, it's hard to be involved in MotoGP and not hear about Vale, even when he’s been retired going into three years now. People talk, always eager for Marc’s opinion on his great rival.

There’s a quirk at the corner of Vale’s mouth. Like he’s won something. Marc curls a fist tight, ignoring the feeling that he’s given information away.

“Some things.” Vale replies, an odd glimmer to him. His brow furrows, then: “I miss how it was around ten years ago, more.”

Marc blinks.

“— Getting old, I mean. It was not so fun, there at the end. I could see everything I wanted to do, every move I would've made on track, ” He sits down across from Marc, leans back in his seat, long torso bending with his lazy posture, the mood shifts and he laughs. “But I was too old! It was harder.”

Of course that’s what he meant. Marc doesn’t— he doesn’t miss Marc. doesn’t think about him much at all, probably. Wasn’t saying he missed how it was between them, ten years ago, when they were friends. Marc knows that.

“I'm getting up there, now.” Marc jokes, “Acosta, he is on the horizon.” He’s not sure it lands, but Vale huffs a laugh anyways, rubs at his eyebrow.

“You?” Vale asks, incredulous. That x-ray quality is back in his vision. He always— He used to always get Marc that way, when he would dial in and make Marc think the words he was saying mattered to him. 

Vale shakes his head, shimmies a shoulder, wags a finger. “No no no no, don’t try that– you are still young, you cant talk to me about old.”

Marc grins. He doesn’t feel it so much, now, the years between them, but it’s a nice reminder of how good it felt, being the up and comer on the scene. The next Valentino Rossi. That was fun.

But he’s older now, has been in the paddock longer than almost anyone, just like Vale had– and he can feel it, dragging at his arm. can see it, in the lines under his eyes, the unfamiliarity of the faces around him.

He wonders how Vale did it for so long. That slow decline— new people popping up every day, ones who learned from him, perfected ideas he pioneered, then using them against him. 

He remembers how he felt on the podium yesterday, and decides not to ask. He leans back.

“Ehhhh, you are not really that much older than me.”

Vale’s expression doesn’t change, still set at his default neutrally animated, but something charges in the air, and Marc gets the sense he wants to say something, toying with the edge of the cliff.

Marc searches for something that won’t rock the boat. He settles on a compliment.

“Pecco was good this weekend— He beat me. You trained him well.”

Vale’s shoulders slide down, relaxing minutely. The charge slips away. Success.

“Ah, he’s a lot better than he was when you showed up at the ranch ten years ago, yes.” 

Marc leans forwards, “Hey!” So much for avoiding fraught topics.

Vale tilts his chin, considering. “What did you say about him? I don’t think it was flattering–”

“—That was ten years ago! I’m wrong ONCE.”

“Once is enough!”

“Apparently.” Marc hits back. 

And it’s good— they’re laughing, Marc thinks, he’s laughing— but that last bit, the apparently, hangs there, snagging in Marc’s mind.

Once is enough. Apparently.

Vale’s smile dies slowly, once it’s clear Marc isn’t about to continue, and it’s odd. Not fraught, for once— though Marc hasn't been the best at recognizing when it was in the past, but he’s pretty sure here. The moment dangles for a second, as they sit across from each other in an airport looking at each other. Vale’s face is doing that thing it was earlier, where he seems to be on the verge of some moment, and his mouth opens. For some reason, Marc flushes hot on the back of his neck. His skin feels tight, and their eye contact holds.

“All good?” It’s Alex, coming back with his Smartwater.

Vale sits up straighter, immediately, posture snapping into place. He nods at Alex, who ignores him, and slides back into his seat. He shrugs at Marc, a little in-joke. What did I do? it asks, fully knowing the answer. Alex has never been as shy as Marc is about his feelings concerning Valentino Rossi. 

And it's that above anything that makes Marc feel like he’s dunked his head in ice water, reality crashing in. The moment snaps as Vale tucks back into himself, leaving Marc off his balance. He feels dizzy and a little off kilter, like he’s done something wrong, like he’s gotten away with something, something illicit, which is ridiculous — he’s just been sitting here.

Nothing’s even happened. They've been two meters away from each other the entire time.

They haven’t even touched.

Vale’s eyes are boring into him, blue and clear. Alert. And Marc catches a flash of— concern, maybe, his brow is creasing— and it tugs at Marc, makes him want to glance back and make him feel easy, lift the corner of his mouth, shrug his shoulders and dismiss Alex’s chilliness. Makes him hot and nervy, out of his skin with the need to do something he doesn’t have a name for.

He smiles.

Maybe he is doing something wrong.

Vale smiles back, and it’s brilliant.

The flight attendant comes over the PA. They’re boarding.

[thecousinsdangereux]

i just recently discovered your soulmate au and i loves it so much. so incredibly intriguing and well written and damn is it hot 🔥 thanks so much for sharing with us. in your mind, does it have a happy ending for them?

also wanted to ask if you'll be checking in to see the big warrior nun announcement coming tomorrow?

Ahhhh thank you! This ask is kind of tragic now given how everything with Warrior Nun ended up going, but I thought I'd use it as a way to share my ideas for the rest of a beggar in the morning, if anyone is interested in learning how it was going to go. Long story short, it was going to have a happy ending. :)

Here's a full outline for what I had in mind for the second half of the fic. Under the cut because it's very detailed in the parts that I'd started writing. Also in case anyone cares about spoilers? At the moment, I don't plan on finishing this fic, but I do plan on returning to writing in general, so guess there's a non-zero chance that I could come back to it. Stranger things have happened.

Beatrice keeps looking for the recipient of the Letter she's been trying to deliver and starts taking trips out into the countryside. She takes Ava's advice and takes to enjoying the journey - stopping into small cafes for lunch rather than eating in the car, taking the long way when it means she can enjoy a new view, etc.

During one of these side quests, she's told about a man who lives way off in the middle of nowhere who has the last name of Reis (the last name of the Letter recipient: Lara Reis), and she tracks him down. He had a sister who had a child with someone who was not her Match. I wanted to go more into what this looks like (and how the church is still anti-abortion in this world, because they think this could potentially ruin a future match, cue eye-roll) but in this case, the woman was basically run out of town. The man directs Beatrice to an orphanage where the child was raised.

This trail eventually goes cold because the orphanage has no records of the girl. They only know she left when she became of age.

The end of chapter six is basically Beatrice being frustrated and taking some 'advice' from Lilith to find someone to fuck hfkjshlk so she goes to the bar and ohhh nooo Ava is working that night, filling in for someone. Ava gets jealous, Bea does some shots, and it's basically a rehash of the lemon drop scene from the show, but hornier. Eventually, they make out, and decide to be friends with benefits.

Chapter 7 was honestly just going to be porn. lol. It's actually some of the first stuff I wrote for this fic - just a page of porn. Beggar came out of a Secret Santa fic exchange, and my friend Alex asked for lots of sex and a soulmate au. So... Chapter 7 was the payoff (part 2). Here's a few disjointed scenes, in case anyone is interested in reading some unedited very E-rated stuff.

A few months go by and all the nuns visit Beatrice for her bday and they're like huh so what's going on here and Beatrice has to pretend that it's not that serious with Ava (lol). I also wanted to do a conversation between Shannon and Beatrice where Shannon talks about the whole Mary thing and loving someone against the will of god (or at the very least, in the very gray areas).

The end of chapter seven is Ava finally talking about her past, which is that Ava doesn't remember hers. She woke up in a hospital without her memories and then spent the next decade traveling around trying to find something that felt like home.

In chapter 8, a lot of time passes, and the fucking continues. Beatrice is kind of losing it, poor girl.

I hadn't exactly decided what was going to happen next, but Ava was going to overstep in some way (or in some perceived way) and Beatrice was going to panic. Either Beatrice was going to have a brief thought about being in love, they were going to have reallyyyy soft sex, or something like that, but either way, Beatrice was going to have to admit she has deeper feelings for Ava than what's allowed allowed, so she goes back to Spain and ignores Ava's texts/calls/etc.

Eventually she realizes she owes Ava closure. She comes back and kind of explains why she's reacted the way she has. She gets more into why she joined the church and it's not for God or the Church itself, but because she does genuinely believe that love itself is holy. She admits she's falling in love with Ava, but she can't break her vows. She believes giving into her feelings would be putting herself above the whole history of love... the sanctity of the entire universe... and to be that selfish would be monstrous.

There's a callback to their early game of three questions, and how Ava still owes Beatrice one answer. Beatrice nearly asks if Ava loves her, but pulls back because she's scared of the answer. They basically break up, but Ava tells Bea to let her know when she's ready to ask her last question.

Beatrice takes it HARD. She buries herself in her work and starts visiting hospitals in various towns. She finds a Spanish doctor and he recognizes the number (or rather, the system behind the number) that is on Letter Beatrice is still trying to deliver. He tells Beatrice she's not looking for a hospital in Portugal, but rather in Spain - one in a small town in Andalusia. He mentions a patient who was in a coma, who woke up without her memories.

At this point, Beatrice obviously knows and she flies to Spain in daze. She visits the hospital, gives them the number, and asks for the name of the patient. When they'd brought the girl in, no one knew where she came from, she didn't have an ID, memories, etc. Nothing except for an old receipt from a restaurant in Portugal. ("Beatrice braces herself for what she already knows, but doesn't want to face.") The nurse at the hospital tells her they used a generic Portuguese name for the girl and it stuck: Ava Silva.

Beatrice visits Cat's Cradle because what else is she supposed to do? How is she supposed to deliver this Letter to Ava, who she's obviously in love with. She talks with Mary and we get the other side of the whole Mary/Shannon thing, and Mary is kind of like, okay, the Letters matter but they don't Matter. Beatrice asks Mary what she would do if she got a Letter (since Mary isn't a nun and could get one, but Shannon never could) and Mary basically says she would throw it away without opening it because she wouldn't want to give Shannon a reason to go self-sacrificial.

Of course, Beatrice doesn't really think this is her call to make. She's going to deliver Ava's Letter. There's this whole scene of her very dramatically and angstily getting ready for the delivery in the Official White Habit, then walking through the town she's come to associate so completely with Ava. And chapter 9 ends.

When Beatrice walks through the doors of the bar, Ava looks up, but doesn't seem surprised, even says 'oh, finally', which is pretty much the last thing that Beatrice expected, but then again, maybe it should have been the first, because Ava is always surprising her, and shouldn't she expect it by now? She asks Ava if she'd known that she was the person Beatrice had been trying to deliver to all along and Ava looks confused at this, like she hadn't considered that at all. "It's not that. I just knew my Letter would be coming because I'd already met you."

Beatrice is like, no no no. That's not how this works. It can't be me. I've been carrying this Letter with me this whole time - before I met you - and the Letters are only sent to a person when they've met their soulmate. And obviously, Beatrice is a nun and can't have a soulmate, etc. etc.

And then Ava says something like this: “Maybe every once in a while, God -- or the universe or whatever it is -- knows that it’ll be really hard to make two people meet organically, so it fudges the rules a little bit. Makes one girl a nun, makes another one hard to find, and sets up the dominos really early on."

And when Beatrice says she's being ridiculous/it's impossible, she says, "I know what’s in that letter. It’s you. I don’t need to open it to know it's you." and "Maybe it’s like some people say and god arranged it all. Fine. Then god chose me for you. Simple. He made me in this exact way, down to my hands and toes and whatever, so that I was perfect for his favorite creation in all of the universe. Because that has to be you."

And: "Or maybe it’s like what those other people say. You know - the past lives reincarnation stuff. Fine, then in our first lives we fell in love and then I found you in the second and third and the five hundredth. I found you and I picked you and I wanted you every time. Or okay, fine, maybe it’s what the the pseudo science people say. Even if those guys are right, I still know. It’s you because at the very start of the universe - at the very beginning of everything - we were the first two bits of something. The first two tiny little sparks. One of those was you and one of them was me. And even when we split off into a million trillion billion infinite pieces, the core of one was you. And the other one was me."

And: "In every religion or in any theory, the world exists so that I can find you again, and the world will do whatever it takes - bend the rules in whatever way - to make sure that at the exact right time, we would meet. And maybe it wasn’t perfect - maybe it was stupid hard for us to get to this point - maybe there was an easier way to make it happen - but I don’t care. Because it worked and I found you and I fell in love with you and I would do anything for that. So yeah. This Letter is telling me that I’m for you. That’s easy. It’s not faith. It’s just a fact.

And: "Besides, whatever’s on that paper? It’s going to be you. If it’s a picture of a butterfly, then it’s going to be you because of that time we went to the dam and one landed on your hand and you said “isn’t the world beautiful?” and that’s when I knew I loved you for the very first time. If it’s the notes to the first bar in At Last, then it’s you, because we used to play it all the time in the bar and I always thought it was fucking stupid to think you'd know like that right away, before everything, but it was the song that played in my head anyways when you walked in the bar that first night. There she is, I sort of thought, a dream that I can speak to."

"It could be any single word or phrase or letter and it would be you, because I love you and I love you so much I see you in every part of this entire world. I love you and I want to keep you with me always, and so you’re always there in my thoughts, slipping over and into everything else and I love it. It makes me love everything I see a little bit more, because it reminds me of you. It makes the world more beautiful."

"So, no offense, but I don't really give a fuck about the Letter. I already know it's going to be you. But I think you need to see it. So you know you’re not as selfish as you think you are."

And Beatrice admits that she wants to be with Ava anyways. Even if it makes her selfish. (Even if it makes her heretical.) Love is holy and what she feels for Ava is holy too, even if it's a sort of holy no one else will ever understand.

I went back and forth about whether they actually SHOULD open the Letter. lol. But I think I eventually settled on that they should, and that when Ava does open it, it's a blank page with like, 7 little dots and Beatrice is like??????????????? But Ava recognizes it instantly and it's the freckles on Beatrice's cheeks, the ones she's always tracing, and she does that again, following the ink on the paper.

Beatrice had been ready to give up her religion for Ava, so getting to keep it, maybe, suddenly is a LOT. She can't quite believe something divine would do something like this for her. But maybe she can believe that something divine would do something like this for Ava.

Later, I wanted Beatrice to have a conversation with Mother Superion. I thought it would be interesting to get into the philosophical bits of it. To debate if Ava could actually be right in her ideas about how this could be, and still fit into what they know about god/Letters/religion. I liked the idea of the conversation ending with neither of them really knowing, and Mother S being like, look girl, you'll never know for sure, but that sounds like faith to me. And Beatrice says no, no this is different, capital F Faith is for the divine. This is just trusting that Ava isn't lying about the freckles thing, or won't get tired of me, or won't find someone else. Etc etc etc. because it's panicking time for Beatrice, suddenly. And Mother Superion just raps her knuckles sort of in the most gentle way she can manage and says "That's love, Beatrice." in the way way someone might say "That's pussy, babe."

Beatrice does leave the church (though she eventually goes back to 'consulting' kind of like Mary). And when she does actually physically leave as well, Ava is waiting outside on a bench. Beatrice asks why she didn't just come inside, and she says something about being a little afraid of churches these days. She did steal god's favorite, after all.

And then they walk off into the sunset, with Beatrice being like wait a second, I thought you said this was all God's plan. And Ava shrugs and says that she would never willingly give Beatrice up, so god might come to her senses and change her mind.

I was going to end it there, but I did consider doing an epilogue as well. Early on in planning I had this idea where, years later, all the nuns regularly come over to the Silvas (because Ava does keep her 'second' name, though she does start to learn more about the Reis family, and meets her Uncle - the dude Beatrice learned about the orphanage from). And on one of these occasions, the nuns are all in white, and they're delivering Beatrice's Letter, which is addressed to Beatrice Silva. In the end, I decided against this, because I liked leaving it more open-ended, but nothing had been set in stone at this point, of course.

So yeah, that was going to be a beggar in the morning. lol. I plotted most of it out before I even started writing, because it wasn't the sort of story you could make up as you went and still tell it well. And I did want to tell the story well! There's a part of me that's sad that I wasn't able to, but I do think it was worth writing what I did. I really loved seeing people realize that Lara was Ava, even as early as chapter 5! And I also loved people coming up with theories about how Avatrice would be endgame. Some of them were honestly really good and maybe better than mine fhdskjhfd I had one person be like PLEASE let Ava's Letter be for someone else so they can metaphorically spit in god's face and honestly that was valid.

I don't know if anyone is going to bother to read this very, very long reply to an ask that doesn't actually ask for any of this, but it honestly just feels nice to put all these ideas together and 'complete' the story. Even if I've done it in the most half-assed way possible I am so sorry fhadskjlfhldsj

[aziraphales-library]

Lost Fic #189

1. Greetings! First off, you people are incredible, thank you so much for the work you do, you are this fandom’s saviors! <3 Now, I’m looking for a fic I read a few weeks ago, I’ve already spent so many hours scrolling through ao3 I think I’m going insane. It was an e-rated fic, one chapter I think, and I’m pretty sure it was set in some kind of ancient time. The story was that Aziraphale had been ordered by heaven to experience ~earthly pleasures~, he didn’t really want to but ended up doing it with Crowley. It was kinda awkward cause they were bad at it, but it worked out eventually. It had bottom Crowley. I mostly read recent fics so I’m worried it might have been deleted since I can’t find it. But since it was set in history it could possibly be written pre-season 2. I hope you or someone who sees this recognizes it so I can stop feeling out of my mind! Xoxo - anon

2. Hi, I’m looking for a fic on Ao3 where Aziraphale accidentally gives Crowley a tattoo during an intimate moment. I believe the tattoo was a wing. There is a part where Crowley gives him a tattoo as well. I’ve searched but can’t find it😭 Thanks! - anon

3. Hello, my dearest librarians! I am looking for a fic which I've downloaded, but I don't have access to that hard drive anymore, and it's only recently that I've made a proper Ao3 account. I'm looking for a fic which I found in your "night at crowley's flat" subsection, but now I cannot see it? It's about the husbands, starting on a bus stop and they are drinking wine. When Crowley wordlessly asks for a swig, Aziraphale instead puts his hand in Crowley's. Long story short, they nap together ("oh darling, your hair,") on the bus, get to the flat, sweet dreams and cuddles ensue. There's a second chapter where they watch Wicked, the musical, and a third one months later where they are living a domestic life in the South Downs. "Lost the hard drive" sounds fishy, but it was a very sweet and tender fic, I just happened to lose my phone. I sincerely hope it isn't gone, but either way thank you so much for all you do and I hope y'all have a fine evening. Cheers! - @flying-desk-set

4. TW! SELF HARM/SUICIDE!!!!! hi! i lost a fic where az. was sh-ing and crowley finds out. there was dialouge in there that went like this- " 'Oh really, Crowley it wasn't that serious. I wasn't suicidal or anything.' Aziraphale knew he shouldn't have lied about that, because when he built up enough courage to look at Crowley, he was looking at him with a horrified look on his face." and then they hug and he's like "I've already lost you twice, dont you dare leave me again." thanks if you find it! - anon

5. Hello! I'm looking for a whumpy fic i just can't track down where Aziraphale and Crowley visit Anathema. While there, Crowleys being a bit of an ass (Think grumpy teen, bored at a family event). Crowley pulls out a flask and adds a shot of hellfire(?) to his drink, which Aziraphale then accidentally consumes. I THINK they give him holy water, and Crowley talks with Aziraphale on another plane. (Temporary Character Death?) Any help tracking this down is seriously appreciated. Thanks! - anon

If you know any of these fics please include the number in your reply! Thank you :)

- Mod D

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Lucky Break Prologue

Yandere Straw Hats x fem!Reader

5k words

I finally got this done, boy did it take longer than I had planned. I’ve worked hard on this and will continue to, so I hope everyone who takes the time to read this enjoys it! This fic is for the most part going to feature platonic yanderes, and the reader insert does use she/her pronouns.

There isn’t much One Piece stuff in this chapter, but there will be in the next.

Next

When you’re a kid, everything seems so simple. You look around at the world around you and assume you know exactly how your life is going to go. After you finish high school, you’ll go to college and study for a major of your choosing. Immediately upon graduation, you’ll get a job in your desired field, and have a prosperous career to be proud of. Somewhere along the way, you’ll get married, maybe have some kids, and eventually enjoy a comfortable retirement where you will look back on your life with nothing but pride!

Yeah right. What a joke.

If provided with the opportunity to go back in time, you would kick your child-self’s ass for her naivety and optimism. How dare she foolishly get her own hopes up for a good and easy life. 

Okay, so maybe you’re a little bitter, but who could blame you? Who isn’t disappointed with how at least one aspect of their life is going? It’s perfectly normal. Though, admittedly, for you it was wayyyy more than one aspect. 

For starters, your job sucked. Not an uncommon complaint, but one that wore you down dramatically. Being a waitress was hell, but what could you do? You need money to live just like anyone else. Not that you were making much, not if the late fees were anything to go off.

You couldn’t get a better job because the more desirable jobs were all long since taken. Well, what few jobs you could apply for given the lack of a college degree. Oh yeah, you’re a college drop out. Much to the intense disappointment of your parents. They kicked you out when you told them and have hardly spoken to you since. 

Seriously though, what did they want you to do? Keep going to school in hopes that you’ll magically figure out what you want to and go into horrible debt in the meantime? It’s easy to tell someone to keep going to college when you're not the one paying for it. You don’t understand how you’re the bad guy for not wanting to take your student loans to the grave.

It didn’t help that the friends you had have all slowly fallen out of contact with you since you moved away. You thought that maybe starting new somewhere else would be refreshing, foolishly not realizing how difficult making new friends as an adult is. You had some coworkers that you go along with well enough. They had even talked about meeting up outside of work to just hang out, but these plans never fully came to fruition thanks to conflicting schedules. 

Whatever. Dwelling on it isn’t going to help you. You need to focus on the here and now.

Currently, you were on a bus, and not to go to work this time. No, you were going to indulge yourself tonight with a little urban exploration. Today’s target was a somewhat recently abandoned mall. It’s been closed for around a year now, long enough for retailers to take what they wanted and for cops to be beginning to lose interest in constantly patrolling it. It was still under surveillance, but nothing you didn’t know how to navigate. 

You spent a couple weeks scoping out the place, a nearby cafe made it easy to do so without raising suspicion. There wasn’t any on site security to worry about, you just had to keep an eye out for the occasional cop car that would drive by. They only stopped to investigate if there was a car in the parking lot near the building. This wouldn’t be a problem for you given your lack of a personal vehicle.

The plan was straightforward. You’d already identified an entry point while poking around the building at night, an employee only door with a busted lock. It took a bit of elbow grease to jerk it open, but there wasn’t an alarm rigged to it, so it was perfect. All you needed to do was make sure no one spotted you as you went in, and you would be golden.

The bus was slowing to a stop, and it was your turn to get off. Shouldering your backpack, you scooted to the edge of the seat in preparation. As soon as it stopped, you were on your feet and hurrying to the door. The mall was only a couple blocks from here in a rapidly failing part of the city. The only businesses around there were the aforementioned cafe and a couple of thrift stores. Fortunately, your way in was facing away from those stores. As long as a cop wasn’t driving by as you snuck in, no one would see you.

As you made your way there, you could feel the excitement setting in. You didn’t have much in your life to look forward to, this was one of the few things that made you feel alive. The thrill of getting in and out without being caught was addictive if you were being completely honest with yourself.

There were other pros to it, too. Sometimes you got lucky and found something valuable that you could pawn. A forgotten piece of jewelry, a dropped phone, some abandoned tools, you never knew what you were going to find. Even if you didn’t find anything, it was fun to be able to explore an old building with no one around. It gave you this sense of adventure your life was otherwise devoid of.

Granted, there were risks. Cops being the biggest one. Having a criminal record sounded less than ideal to you. There was also the concern raised by the fact that you did this completely alone. If something went wrong and you got seriously hurt, no one would be likely to find out until it was too late. That, and the threat of encountering someone dangerous.

So far, you’ve gotten lucky, only ever personally running into a couple of other urban explorers that were fortunately perfectly nice. There had been a few other close calls, but you were able to avoid detection those times. Your mom used to harp on this, saying one of these days you would get killed or kidnapped while doing this. Maybe she was right, but you couldn’t say you cared that much.

At least you wouldn’t have to go to your next shift!

You shook your head at the depressing thought. It’s not good to think that way, even if it was how you felt.

The mall was just ahead now, you looked around the parking lot for any indicators that anyone else was here. Nothing. It was completely empty. Good. Despite your excitement, you keep your pace casual, not wanting to attract attention.

Taking a cursory glance around, you don’t see any cop cars on patrol. You’re officially out of sight of the nearby businesses, so you shift into a power walk, wanting to get inside quickly while no one is around. You put on some disposable gloves and also pull a facemask out of your pocket and fasten it onto your face. Partially in case the air is bad, but also to protect yourself in case there are any security cameras.

The door takes a good few pulls to open up, but that’s fine. You do one more look around, and upon seeing nothing, you go in. The second the door shuts, you’re thrown into darkness. You fish a flashlight out of your backpack and click it on. It became immediately apparent that you were not the first person to discover this way in, the walls were already covered in graffiti. That and there were some heroin needles on the ground. You know, the usual signs of life.

You carefully make your way down the hall, trying to make your way into the main part of the mall. The air was musky, the smell easily cutting through your mask. It was far from pleasant, but you’ve smelled worse. At least you weren’t smelling any shit (yet).

The door at the end of the hall was easier to open than the last, no resistance at all. You peek out, looking for anything concerning before stepping out. There was natural light coming in from some sliding glass doors nearby. Looks like this place used to be a Macy’s or something like that. Lingering near the glass doors wouldn’t be a good idea, so you hurry off away from it. Once you’re in the main part of the mall you shouldn’t have to worry about being spotted from the outside.

The former maybe-macy’s was picked clean, they didn’t leave anything behind besides the counters and some flyers advertising a long since past sale. No shelves, no mannequins that would give you a heart attack if you saw them out of the corner of your eye, nothing. 

Outlets in malls were typically very thorough when cleaning out after closing, you doubt you’ll find anything valuable here unless some other explorer left something behind. Oh well. You do this more for the experience than anything.

You found the way out pretty quick and took in the sight of the abandoned mall. Even after being closed for a year, it still had a certain beauty to it. The research you did on the mall told you it was built in the early 70’s and the architecture reflected it. The ceiling had a quirky pattern to it, with blocks of it being solid and other blocks being glass to let natural light in. 

There was also an artsy metal structure that climbed all the way up to the second floor, and a big water fountain that acted as the centerpiece. Granted, all of this was decorated with a layer of broken glass from the shattered guardrails on the second floor, but still. This kind of decor was rare to see in modern malls, with all of them wanting to be as plain as possible. This was a pleasant change of scenery.

You meandered through the open space, glass crunching under your boots with each step. The escalators were right ahead of you. Like the guardrails, the glass on was also shattered, but that didn’t matter. As long as the stairs were in one piece, you could still climb them. 

You had a specific destination in mind for your visit here. Yes, you would like to see every nook and cranny, but the movie theater was especially exciting. You’ve never been in an abandoned theater before, so you were dying to see it and made a beeline for it.

It was damn near on the opposite side of the building, but that just gave you a chance to see what other places you could check out later. While many people find places like this unsettling at best, you found an odd sense of comfort in it. Part of it was the silence. Provided no one else rocked up, the noisiest thing you would hear would be some birds flying through.

There was also the nostalgia of being in a mall and seeing the familiar, albeit vacated, stores you remember from your childhood. Malls simply aren’t what they used to be, and it’s nice to reminisce on what once was. Sure, it’s not like you could afford to shop at one, but just being able to walk around and window shop was enjoyable. At least you could still do the walking around part even when they’re closed.

As you make your way down the second story walkway, you take note of all the signs of life around you. Lots of spiders have set up shop with massive webs in every corner to make meals of the local insect population. Nests were crammed into the spaces in between letters on the remaining signs, and although you haven’t seen any, there are enough droppings here to indicate the presence of a thriving rodent society. That means there’s probably some stray cats lurking around here, too. You hope you get to see one. There’s a laser pointer on your keyring and some treats in your pockets just for such occasions. 

You look up and are thrilled to finally be at the theater. There are blank rectangles on the wall from where movie posters used to be. The sign that used to display movies and showtimes now simply says closed. Well, technically it says ‘CL S  D’, but you got the drift.

The lobby is surprisingly intact. The ticket and snack counters are both still here, even the glass around the ticket counter was unbroken. Some of the old snack machines still remained, which surprised you. It was faint, but you think you could still pick up on the smell of popcorn. It could also just be a placebo effect but shh. 

You hop over the snack counter to see what’s back there. The first thing you notice is how sticky the floor is, your boots sticking with each step. The remaining machines are in rough shape, but that’s to be expected. The nozzle on one of the slushie machines was snapped clean off, and the doors on the popcorn machine were just gone. You meticulously opened all the drawers and cabinets, hoping to find something interesting. You didn’t. Just some garbage and rat shit. 

Moving on, you head towards the really exciting part. The showing rooms. You can’t help but pick up the pace as you run into one, only to feel a touch disappointed. It was completely gutted. The screen, the chairs, nothing was left. Who the hell even wanted a bunch of old ass movie theater seats? Where did they go?

There was a problem though, the area near where the screen would be was completely flooded. You shine your light up to the ceiling and are baffled that there’s no hole for this much water to leak through. Where the hell did it all come from? It also smelled weirdly fishy? The fish smell was so potent that it almost distracted you from all the mold on the fabric covered walls. Yikes. “N95 mask don’t fail me now,” you mumbled under your breath.

Whatever. Spinning on your heels, you head for the stairs to go to the top of the room. They’re creaky and the carpet is coming off of them in bits and pieces. 

There really wasn’t much of a reason to come up here beyond it just felt like the right thing to do. You decide to peek through the window to the projection room. Surprisingly, it’s very cluttered in there, it almost looks like a storage room. Oh, you’re definitely going to have to go in there!

… But how?

Now that you’re thinking about it, how do you even get inside one of these? It must be behind some sort of staff only door. You hope it’s not locked, there was a lot of stuff in there.

You rush down the stairs, ecstatic at what a good find this was. Once you’re in the hallway, you whip your head around to locate any possible entrance, and you find it. A plain, unmarked door between two of the theater rooms. Bingo. You twist the knob, but it doesn’t budge.

Not bingo.

It’s unlikely that the keys for this door are still here… but you can’t just let this go. After testing the fortitude of the door with a few kicks and yanks, you resolve to look for the key despite the low odds of actually finding it.

The most likely place it would be would be a main office or something. You head back to the lobby, that’s probably where the door to one would be. The beam of your flashlight flits over the surrounding walls in search of a side door.

Some fallen ceiling tiles and wires almost hid it from you, but there it was. You pick up what looks like a snapped off broom handle and use it to push the debris out of the way and keep the wires off you while you try the door, praying that this won’t also be locked. 

It doesn’t turn. Dammit! Out of sheer frustration, you give it a violent shake. It snaps clean off, the knob from the other side loudly clattering to the ground. Looks like your luck is coming back around.

The door still takes a bit of rattling to shake loose the remaining bits of the old locking mechanism, but it finally creaked open. Wasting no time, you hurried in, observing the new area. While it was dirty, it was untouched by graffiti and general vandalism. It’s a simple long hallway with two doors. You get to the first and open it up, greeted by the sight of an old bathroom. 

The mirror above the sink doubles as a medicine cabinet, so you decide to check it out. When you pull it open, the whole door comes right off. Oops. The cabinet in question didn’t have anything interesting in it, only being occupied by a bottle of tums, some nail clippers, and a box of dental floss. Thrilling stuff.

You move on and head for the other door. Surely that has to be the office. The door clicks open again, thank god. You grin to yourself, it is the office. The desk is right in front of you and in good shape, not appearing to have been tampered with this past year. Excellent.

It’s surprisingly clean in here. There is some dust, but not nearly as much as you would have expected. The desk itself is old and made of wood. It honestly looks way too nice to have been left here. The chair is, weirdly enough, not present. What, that was worthy of being taken but not the desk? Whatever. It’s not important.

You’re quick to start rifling through the drawers. Paperwork, pack of gum, more paperwork, some pens, a few paperclips, even more paperwork… it’s not looking good. Your heart is sinking with each passing second. You squat and look under the desk as a last ditch effort. Your light reflects off something. Keys!

There’s a strip of tape attached to them, like someone had taped them to the underside of the desk rather than using one of the drawers. An odd decision, but who cares? These might be the keys you need! 

Not wanting to waste any more time, you run back to the possible projector room door. The key ring has several keys on it, so there’s a bit of trial and error to go through in your attempts to unlock it. Your heart rate steadily picks up as you go through each key with no success. It’s not until the second to last key that you finally hear that much anticipated ‘click’. 

The door is surprisingly heavy, you really have to pull to get it open enough to slip through. It loudly slams shut behind you and you’re met with the sight of two staircases. The room you saw through the window should be on the right. 

The stairs are carpeted but not as worn as the ones in the theater, making them less of a tripping hazard. Dust is being kicked up with each step, you can see clouds of it flying through the air and clinging to cobwebs.

Now you’re at the top and there’s another door. This one wasn’t locked. The room itself honestly resembles a boiler room to you. Pipes and cables were running along the walls, and the walls weren’t painted. There was a table in front of the window where the projector would have been.

That’s not what made you want to see this room though. Shelves were along every wall and they were loaded. You’re gonna need both hands for this. Luckily, you have a lantern type of flashlight in your backpack just for situations like this. You fish it out, click it on, and set it on the projector table before turning back to the shelves. 

There were lots of boxes, so you grab the nearest one and bring it over to the table to go through it. It’s full of what you think are spare parts for a projector, though you don’t know enough about this stuff to be sure.

The next box has some old broken lenses. Then one with tools. You even found some film, but it seemed blank. You held it up to the light and saw absolutely nothing. You suppose it makes sense for all these things to be in here, but you can’t help but wish there was something more exciting. 

You pull down another box, this one from the top shelf and open it expecting to see glass cleaner or something like that, but instead you find another, smaller box. You pull it out, and it looks like a jewelry box. There’s an image on the top of it: a skull and crossbones that’s biting what looks like a wand. Interesting. It kinda looks like something you would see on a pirate flag. What were those called again? Jolly Rogers? Yeah, that sounds right.

You give it a little shake and hear something clatter inside it. Trying to open it, however, is fruitless. It’s locked. All the keys you got earlier are way too big to fit the hole, but you think it should be easy enough to break open yourself at home. 

A genuine smile spreads across your face, you found something cool this time! The jewelry box goes into your backpack, and you’re about to resume your search when you hear something. It sounds like voices in the hall.

Quickly, but quietly, you snatch your lantern to turn it off and creep down the stairs and towards the door to try and listen better. There are two sets of footsteps but only one voice.

“-nd today WE are doing an overnight challenge in a haunted abandoned mall!”

You cringe. Oh great. Youtubers. Liars too based off that comment about the mall being haunted. In all the research you did on this place, you never saw so much as one ghost sighting.

Huffing out a sigh, you know that your fun is going to be cut short. There’s no telling whether or not these idiots parked right by the front door. You need to get out before cops show up. That, and you don’t want to accidentally end up in one of their videos. You can practically see the title now: “REAL ghost sighting at ABANDONED mall??? SCARY!!! (NOT CLICKBAIT)”

No thank you.

Lucky for you, you’ve already got a nice find, so at least you’re not leaving empty handed. You wait until they go into one of the theaters to leave the room, carefully easing the door open and closed. After a moment of thought, you lock it, too. You want this to be untouched when you come back. Naturally, this means you’re taking the keys with you. They can’t be that important to anyone if they got left behind like this.

Your escape from the mall and trip back home was uneventful for the most part. You were able to leave unnoticed and before cops got there. The youtubers did, indeed, park at the front door, so it was only a matter of time. 

The apartment complex you lived in was kinda run down, but overall not that bad. Sure, it was dingy and the bathroom had a mold problem, but it kept you warm and dry so things could be worse. 

After entering your apartment, you immediately lock your door behind you. No sense leaving it unlocked and letting some creep in. With that taken care of, you drop your backpack by the couch and go to grab some tools. 

You unceremoniously plop yourself onto the couch and toss a screwdriver and hammer onto the coffee table. You bring out the old jewelry box and really look at it now that you’re in a properly lit room. The dust was really caked on, prompting you to use your sleeve to wipe away the bulk of it.

The picture was very detailed. The skull and crossbones were painted beautifully, even the small wand looked lovely. The box was wooden, expertly varnished. You already feel bad that you’re going to have to break this open. Hopefully you’ll be able to keep the damage to a minimum, that way you can use it for yourself after this.

Experimentally, you try to pull it open again. It does have some give to it, but not enough to actually get it open. You grab the screwdriver and wedge it into the sliver of space between the lid and the box. You try and pry it open. It creaks a little, opens up slightly more, but stops short. Okay, time for the big guns.

Using your feet to hold either side of it in place, you grab the hammer, aim, and bring it down on the screwdriver handle. You hear a crack, but it’s still closed. You raise your arm and bring it down again, harder this time.

CRACK

Both the plastic screwdriver handle and the lock shatter from the force of the blow. You discard the hammer onto the floor next to the bits of handle and throw open the box.

There’s only two things in there. A rolled up piece of paper, and a necklace. The pendant on the necklace sports the same image as the top of the jewelry box over a bronze lattice patterned circle. You gingerly pick it up. It’s thin and feels brittle, like you could snap it in half without much force. What’s the point of a necklace being this fragile? 

You set it back down gently and pick up the paper. It’s almost as bad as the necklace, it looks very old and is crumbling around the edges. Slowly, you unfurl it and see there’s a message scrawled onto it with red ink.

“Congratulations on your lucky find

I wonder what desire you have in mind

Close your eyes, make a wish, and break the pendant in two

Whatever you want most will come to you”

An eyebrow quirks up and the strange rhyme. What, was this left by a genie? You sigh, and here you thought you might get something valuable out of this. 

Still… What would it hurt to play along for a second?

You grab the pendant again and examine it while you mull over what to wish for. Money? Nah. Money can be earned, however difficult it may be. If you’re gonna be using some sort of (allegedly) all powerful magic necklace, it should be something more unobtainable. What do you really want?

If you’re completely honest with yourself, you hate where you are in life right now. The monotony, the loneliness, everything. You need a new start. A new start with some new friends. Friends that actually give a shit about you. Anyone that loves you for you. Yeah, that sounds good.

Leaning back, you close your eyes and make your wish. You’re not sure you need to say it out loud, but do anyway, “I wish to have a fresh start somewhere new. A place with adventure where I can be loved.”

The pendant snaps in half easily. You hold your breath and wait. Nothing. You crack an eye open. You’re still in your same old apartment. Of course you are. Why did you think that would work? How childish.

Even though you expected this, you can’t help the wave of bitterness that washes over you. Angrily, you stuff the broken pendant into your pocket and grab your backpack. You stand up to go put this shit away, but…

You fall through the floor.

The floor didn’t break, it’s like it just ceased to exist. As you fall, everything goes black, and there isn’t a sound to be heard besides your own screaming. What’s happening? What’s going on? Shit, was that stupid thing really magical??? Was it fucking cursed???

Trying not to panic wasn’t even being considered, how could anyone not freak out from this? So here you are, screaming and crying while holding onto your backpack for dear life as if it’s going to help you right now.

Suddenly, you can see light coming from underneath you. You’re torn between being relieved to see light and being terrified that you’re about to splatter onto the ground. A wave of warmth hits you, carrying the smell of sea water. You realize that the ‘ground’ beneath you is actually a huge body of water.

And then you’re in it. 

There wasn’t enough time to prepare for the sudden immersion. Water flooded into your open mouth and you scrambled and flailed in an attempt to get to the surface. As you break the surface, you’re coughing and hacking the salty water out of your lungs. You weren’t anywhere near the ocean, how are you suddenly fighting for your life in one?

You whip your head around and are horrified to see absolutely nothing, No land or ships in sight. Oh my god. You’re going to die out here.

“HEEYYY! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

You attempt to spin around to identify your potential savior, but a wave hits you, knocking you under the water again. Dammit, no! Not like this! 

Miraculously, you get back to the surface again, and the second you do, something grabs onto your shoulder and pulls. And pulls. And keeps pulling. You went from almost drowning to feeling like you’re flying over the surface of the ocean. In an attempt to feel some semblance of security, you grab onto whatever is holding you. 

It… it feels like a hand??? No, that doesn’t make sense, who could be pulling you along like this with their hand???

“Luffy, you need to slow down! You’re pulling her in too fast!”

You try to look over your shoulder to see what the hell is going on, and through your hair you think you can make out what looks like two people on a small boat. The boat is already very close and rapidly getting closer. Way too close!

THWACK

And everything goes dark again.

[ataliagold]

the edges of your soul i haven't seen yet

This came from wanting to expand on the ideas in 'you're the only one who knows, you slow it down', but consider this a new fic with very similar ideas. I'm not sure how long it'll be yet, but here's the first chapter. Title from Forever by Noah Kahan.

Also on AO3 here.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: T (currently)

Tags: modern au, no upside down, autistic steve, steve has a service cat, eddie and steve fall in love while working at a farmers' market, stimming, autistic meltdowns/shutdowns/stimming, platonic soulmates steve and robin, eddie is a sweetheart

Summary: Eddie's reluctantly helping Wayne with his produce stall at the farmers' market. He's resigned himself to a boring summer - until a new face shows up at the market to run a baking stall with his best friend. Steve is...odd, like no one Eddie's ever met.

And it doesn't take him long to fall head over heels for him.

___

Chapter One

Eddie isn’t particularly enjoying his morning.

Not yet, anyway.

He grunts as Wayne loads another box into his arms, adjusting his footing under the weight of the produce, of apples and pears, oranges and grapefruit, of avocados and sweet potatoes and carrots and lettuces…

“Right, that’s the last of it,” Wayne announces, dusting his hands off and locking his pick-up behind him.

“Thank fuck,” Eddie grumbles. He makes his way towards their stall, cursing as he trips a little and loses an apple or two. There’s sweat dripping down his spine already, this summer proving to be particularly hot and humid even at eight fucking thirty a.m.

But Eddie had promised Wayne he’d help him out at the farmers’ market this weekend, since he had nothing better on, since his friends had actually gotten in to colleges and were busy getting ready to move away, since Eddie had been sort of…left behind, with nothing to do but trail after his uncle like a bad smell.

He does as he’s told. Sets the boxes down where Wayne points, helps him set the produce out, puts the little cardboard signs with the prices scribbled on them at the front of the table.

Once that’s finished, Eddie sinks into a plastic camp chair with a sigh, reaching for an apple and loudly crunching into it, ignoring the half-hearted glare Wayne shoots back at him.

There’s only a couple of people here this early – mostly other stall-holders setting up, the occasional dog-walker taking a non-committal glance at the wares, an old lady or two with purses clutched close to their middles.

It’s gonna be a boring morning.

Eddie chucks his headphones on, cranks the music as loud as he’ll get away with, and settles in for several hours of withering in the heat and making sure no one pockets an extra pear.

Eventually, his gaze wanders.

Wayne’s talking to a customer, something about the growing season for oranges or some shit, when Eddie claps eyes on the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen.

He sits up. Swallows, stares because he can’t help it.

There’s a literal god unfolding a table not far away, placing a thin yellow blanket on the top, smoothing it out just so. He’s about Eddie’s age, all olive skin dotted with moles and broad shoulders and golden hair that’s fallen effortlessly into place. Glasses frame his face, his perfect fucking face with those pink lips and square jaw, and even from here Eddie can see the look of concentration on the boy’s face, his brows slightly drawn together as he tucks the blanket in at the corners, as he readjusts several times to make sure it’s completely straight on the table.

A light smack to his knee jolts Eddie out of his daze, forces him to drag his gaze reluctantly back to Wayne. Wayne, who’s frowning at him, shaking his head.

“Turn your damn music down, Eds,” Wayne huffs, “need ya to dig me out some change.”

Eddie doesn’t argue. Lets Wayne believe he was distracted by his music, not by the boy several stalls over.

He rifles through their tin of change, picking out a few quarters, and then sneaks a look back again.

The boy’s bent over the table, light-wash jeans pulled tight across his ass, and Eddie’s pretty sure he’s openly gaping at the guy right now but he can’t fucking help it. It’s a baking stall, by the look of the cupcakes and cookies the boy’s currently placing out on the table, tongue poking ever so slightly out of his mouth as he works. The boy pauses for a moment in front of the table, as if assessing his wares for anything out of place.

“Eddie!” Wayne says again, exasperated. “You got that change, or what?”

Eddie snaps his mouth shut. Turns back to Wayne, hands him the change which his uncle takes with a shake of his head. Once the customer has left with a paper bag of carrots in hand, Eddie makes a decision.

“You want a cookie?” he asks Wayne.

“Huh?”

“A cookie,” Eddie repeats, slowly.

Wayne looks down at his watch. “It’s barely gone nine a.m.”

“So? I’m getting one. You want one, or not?”

After Wayne declines, Eddie heads off with a shrug, making straight for the tall boy still frowning down at his baking, thumb drawing anxious patterns on his index finger.

As he approaches, Eddie’s words die in his throat.

He’d planned on flirting. Was ready to try and charm the pants right off this boy, as quickly as he decently could.

But the closer he got, the more the butterflies began in his stomach.

Because somehow, he only got more attractive with every step Eddie took.

And yeah, he wasn’t usually one for ironed polos and blue jeans and bright white Nikes that looked meticulously clean, but Eddie’s cheeks were reddening and his heart was pounding when he reached the stall.

The boy didn’t turn around at his approach.

Not until Eddie clears his throat a little awkwardly, hand brushing over the back of his neck. Sheepish. Shy. Two things he’s never been in his whole fucking life.

“Uh…hi,” Eddie starts.

The boy’s eyes widen behind his glasses. His hands grasp each other, almost frantically, and his gaze darts from Eddie, to the table, to somewhere off behind him. He opens his mouth briefly, but closes it again without speaking.

Huh, Eddie thinks.

Well, maybe the guy’s even shyer than he is right now.

Eddie tries again. “I saw you setting up, looks good. The…the baking, I mean, not…not you setting up. Well, that too, honestly, but I thought…” Eddie trails off, internally kicking himself.

You fucking idiot, Munson.

The boy blinks at him.

When he still doesn’t speak, Eddie shifts from foot to foot a little, then finally steps over to the table.

“Well, I’m just gonna have a look, if that’s ok?”

The boy nods. Quick, his head jerking a little, the movement stiff and awkward.

Eddie feels his eyes boring into his back as he scans the table. There’s cupcakes with piped-on frosting in several different patterns but all of them yellow, matching the boy’s soft polo that was clinging unfairly to his chest. There’s slices of brownies, cookies of varying flavours, apple pie and cinnamon donuts and red velvet cake and shortbread…

“Did you make all of these?” Eddie asks, a little in awe.

Polo-boy nods, not meeting Eddie’s eye. He’s wringing his hands, clenching his jaw, repeatedly glancing over Eddie’s shoulder as if he’s looking for someone.

“Shit, that’s…there’s so much different stuff here, how long did it take you?” And Eddie’s genuinely curious, he’s not just talking for the sake of it, for the purpose of squeezing at least a word or two out of this guy. Because everything on that table was meticulous – the cookies perfectly round, the pie sliced into completely even pieces, not even a stray dribble of batter or frosting on the cupcake liners (also yellow, Eddie noted) – there’s so much effort gone into this, and Eddie’s impressed.

The boy wants to speak, it looks like.

Eddie waits while he opens and closes his mouth a few times, flapping a hand in front of him.

“Hey Stevie, everything ok?”

A girl wanders over with several cake boxes in her arms, glancing between Stevie and Eddie. She’s got short hair, a dusting of freckles across her face, and a yellow top on to match the boy in front of Eddie, who relaxes a tiny bit as soon as he sees her.

He nods, but doesn’t stop clenching his hands together over his stomach.

The girl puts the boxes down, and steps over to the boy.

“Hey, it’s ok,” she murmurs softly, “we talked about this, remember? You’re fine, just…take a breath, ok?”

Eddie turns away from them. Senses this isn’t a conversation meant for him, and brings his attention back to the table, pretending he’s just…really interested in cupcakes all of a sudden. But he’s only a couple of feet away, and the girl doesn’t seem to care that he can overhear.

“Has he asked to buy something?”

“No.”

It’s the first time Eddie’s heard the boy speak. His voice is quiet, not much above a whisper, but Eddie wants to hear more of it.

“He wanted to know how long it took me,” the boy continues, “to make everything.”

“Ok…so did you answer?”

“No. Wanted to.”

“Your words get stuck?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Well, that’s ok. Here, I’ll help you.”

“Robin -”

“You gotta try, Stevie. You can do it, come on.”

Eddie turns back to them as Robin tows the guy – Stevie? – over by his sleeve.

“Hi.” She grins at Eddie, and the boy stands slightly behind her, looking down at his feet. “This is Steve, I’m Robin. It’s our first time at a market and Steve’s kinda nervous. Can we help you with anything?”

Eddie’s eyes flick back to Steve, to his red cheeks and long eyelashes. His heart thuds in his chest.

He smiles at them. “I’m Eddie, my uncles got a stall just over there.” He jabs his thumb over his shoulder. “We sell fruit and shit. This is really your first day? Your set up is…really nice.”

“Thanks.” Robin beams even wider. “It was all Steve really, he did all the baking too, I’m just here to help out.”

Eddie nods slowly. Steve’s still avoiding his eye, no matter how much Eddie tries to catch it.

Swallowing his disappointment, he points to one of the chocolate chip cookies on the table.

“Can I get one of those, please?”

Robin nods briskly. “Steve, can you sort that?” She nudges him slightly in the side, and Steve springs into action, seemingly happy to give his hands something to do as he grabs a paper bag and looks around the table for something.

He freezes suddenly.

Robin’s back at his side immediately.

“Everything ok?” she asks quietly.

He shakes his head, flaps a hand at the table, face drawn tight in a frown.

“Where’s the…” he mumbles, trailing off.

“The what?” Robin prompts.

Steve bites his bottom lip, hands finding his thighs and tugging at his jeans, frustrated. Seemingly unable to find the word, he brings a hand up to chest height and makes a little snapping motion with his fingers.

“…tongs?” Robin guesses, and Steve nods briskly. “Maybe we left them in the car? I’ll go have a look.”

“It’s fine, you can just use your fingers,” Eddie offers, because he truly couldn’t care less.

Steve shakes his head vehemently, face tightening even further.

“Or…I could grab it?” Eddie tries, but Steve shakes his head again, looking so distressed that Eddie shuts up.

There’s a meow from somewhere behind the table.

A black and white cat emerges from under it, a red collar around its neck, and approaches Steve confidently, pressing up against his legs.

Steve ignores the cat, at first.

He’s digging a thumbnail into the meat of his palm, shuffling from foot to foot every so often, dragging a lip so hard between his teeth that Eddie’s worried he’s gonna make it bleed, and Eddie isn’t sure what to do. He wants to help, wants to somehow soothe the boy, but he isn’t sure how, thinks if he gets any closer to him he’ll only make things worse.

The cats meows again. Presses itself harder up against Steve, stretches up so its little front paws are against his thigh, kneading insistently, refusing to be ignored.

Steve sags a little. Reaches down with a trembling hand, strokes it across the cat’s head, and Eddie can hear the rumbling purr start up from the little creature. He watches as Steve loosens up, as his fingers unclench and his teeth release his lip and the frown fades slowly from his lovely face.

Robin returns, snapping the tongs triumphantly, and hands them to Steve.

He takes them happily and returns to his task, placing Eddie’s chosen cookie into the bag with more care than Eddie’s ever seen from someone serving him food before.

Eddie takes the offered bag, the divine scent wafting out and making his mouth water. Wayne was going to regret not asking for one, he knows.

Steve looks up, catches his eye for the tiniest moment, then his gaze ducks away.

“Thanks, Steve,” Eddie says softly. “This smells great, seriously. And if you guys need anything,” he looks over to Robin to include her, too, “come see me at the fruit stall, I’m just over there.” He points in the direction of Wayne, who’s no doubt getting grumpier by the minute at Eddie’s absence.

Please come, Eddie begs silently, eyeing Steve one last time before he turns away.

“Three days,” Steve blurts out as Eddie starts to walk away.

Eddie pauses, turns back to him.

Steve’s eyes are fixed on his shoes again, and he rocks back and forth on his heels slightly. Robin glances between the two of them, then looks hopefully back at Steve.

Eddie frowns slightly, about to question him, when Steve speaks again.

“It took me three days. To bake everything. Wanted it all to be perfect.”

Eddie smiles, wide and warm.

“It is, Steve.”

___

[reverssentiment]

What are the salient features of Asriel, post-canon, that keep us from "saving" him from life alone in the Underground?

He's soulless (a practical problem),

he'll soon return to being a flower (a practical problem) and would prefer that you think of him like this rather than Flowey (a personal and interpersonal problem), and

he's decided to stay and tend the grave of the fallen child (and this is not really a problem at all; rather, a decision, which the boundary conditions of Undertale require us to respect).

There is a lot of UT post-canon fic out there which treats all these as practical problems. Frisk can just get a soul from somewhere, throw Alphys technobabble or soul arcanobabble at the body issue; get Flowey in therapy; and... also get Flowey in therapy for that last one, because his decision isn't really legitimate, in save-the-goat stories. It's self-harm. Which, personally, is both understandable and missing the point of one of the game's core themes: no matter how many times you restart the story, there are things you can't do; you are not getting a 100% Complete Perfect Pacifist where even Asriel is saved, and it's okay to be wistful about it, but you still need to put down the controller eventually. Getting him to the surface happens a lot in fic, because we all want the goldenest ending, but it could never happen in canon and we just have to live with it. It's thematically potent and I'd lose a lot of respect for Undertale's commitment to its story if you could circumvent it.

(Incidentally, this feels to me like it stems from the same ideas as making "* I have places to be" the wrong answer, a giving-in to Frisk's self-sacrificing, self-disregarding nature which must be corrected. Sometimes, you have to let people live and make their own decisions, outside the boundaries of the story's frame. Your perspective only goes so far.)

...now, fluffier, more sympathetically-traumatized Asriel, on the other hand...!

Ralsei's woes in Deltarune are very visibly the same kind of isolation as what Asriel's dealing with at the end of Undertale, but a) it's worse (a whole lifetime of waiting in a very deliberately empty, lifeless, three-screen-long kingdom) and b) he's stuck there for purely practical reasons. Darkners can't enter the Light World without becoming objects. He never made a decision to be here.

It's not something we can technobabble our way out of right now, but we're only in Chapter 2, right? We can save him, in a way we can't save Asriel: the deadlock we can't resolve has been removed; we don't really have to think about his preferences any more, because the preferences that kept us from helping him and left him stuck in the Underground I mean Dark World are just gone.

His issues are also much more obvious from the get-go, and seem designed to be something we talk him out of – not Asriel's decision to stay by his lost friend's grave, with a weight of meaning and feeling behind it, but hero worship, subservience, religious dedication to the Prophecy and self-image issues, all clear and visible dysfunctions. Giving Asriel therapy has left the realm of fanfiction and wish fulfillment and become part of canon... and the real disagreements we had with UT!Asriel over what he was and meant and deserved have become simple roadblocks for DR!Asriel whoops I mean Ralsei, things we have to help him through. Practical problems where the solution is friendship speech + therapy.

To make a slightly heavy-handed comparison, Ralsei saying we exist to serve Lightners and gratefully referring to himself as Kris's lackey is Anthy saying I'm the Rose Bride because I like it. It's the kind of reason we're inclined to reflexively overrule without working to deal with it at its root. Ralsei is Asriel, minus the irreconcilable and bittersweet parts, someone whose objections to being helped have either been removed or simplified down until we can feel good about disabusing him of them. He's our wish fulfillment in the way that candy on trees might be Susie's and a city of shining lights might be Noelle's and Giant Arcade Consoles might be Berdly's: an Asriel you can help, who you can make go to therapy and deal with the problems that keep him from caring for himself; who'll shut up, comply and let himself be saved.

...so the fact that Kris – whose personal issues are opaque, complex, and frustrating; who appears to be actively hiding parts of their life and motives from us; who clearly doesn't want our help or an improved social life at the expense of their agency – finds him so distasteful might not just be because he's a parody of their brother or Secretly Evil or whatever. If Ralsei is "the kid they're supposed to be" it's not just his fluff and horns!

[thepascalofus]

Growing on Me - Chapter One

AO3

Din Djarin x botanist!Reader

Word Count: 6.1K

Summary: The Plant Species Inventory Project is a one hundred day expedition in the forests of Nevarro. You’re Nevarro’s best (and only) botanist, which is something Karga doesn’t want to risk losing. Making sure you’re safe on this years expedition, Karga hired a Mandalorian to protect you—Mando.

Series Content Warnings: 18+ only, MDNI, swearing, completely made up species and/or irl species instead of canon ones, inaccurate descriptions of Nevarro (it has forests instead of lava plains), lots of biology and environmental stuff (I promise I won’t go too deep with it [i have a bio degree]), 70% strangers/30% enemies to lovers, semi-slow burn, lots of tropes (because what are tropes if we don’t use them am I right?), canon violence, eventual SMUT, eventual FLUFF, reader is described as gender neutral as possible but has female sex organs and is occasionally referred to as a girl, no Y/N, hurt/comfort, happy ending guaranteed!

A/N: I have had this idea brewing in my mind for a while now. I’m so happy to share this with all of you. I truly love the topic I went to school for (biology), so this is mostly for me, oops. There will be lots of biology related stuff in this series, but I promise it will be “comprehensible”, not textbook jargon. Every single like, reblog, comment, smoke signal (that’d be a fun one), and ask truly means the world to me. Sharing my writing is a new thing for me and I’m enjoying it so far. Alsssoooo, I’m planning for this fic to be a long(er) series. 

Leaves crunched underneath your hiking boots with every step you took into the forest. Further and further in, green soaked into your vision and found its home. The forest was moderately dense. Trees of various shapes and sizes were scattered throughout the land. Distances between tree trunks varied, but gaps still allowed for traversion.

The understory was spectacular. Biodiversity could be defined in a dictionary, and a picture of this landscape would take up two and a half pages. Tall, leafy plants with elongated petioles and broad leaves gave the small shade plants cover. Tiny collections of different mosses littered the surfaces of landlocked rocks. Vines found their way up tree trunks and retreated back down, hanging from branches as thick, green ropes.

Light peeked in from the gaps in the forest canopy. Small lizards basked on rocks where the light shined especially bright. Happy, buzzing pollinators made their way from flower to flower in search of sweet nectar.

The light also reflected off of Mando’s silver beskar, and right into your eyes.

You squinted at the white splotches that harassed your vision. In response, you turned your head and ignored the man that stood in the corner of your eye. Your feet continued to weave between plants, careful not to break too many with your steps. With each step, the brown rucksack on your back bounced against your torso and your blaster patted against your thigh.

Karga lent you the rucksack to hold the maps and forms needed for the expedition. It was one hundred days out here. You’ve done longer land surveys and experienced plenty of joy from doing them. But you were with your university mentor then.

Now you’re with Mando.

Karga insisted that the Mandalorian come with you. You sauntered into his office this morning to retrieve the rucksack and its contents, and were met with two men instead of just the High Magistrate himself. Karga pulled you aside and told you to, “think of him as more of an assistant,” but you knew he truly hired the man donning beskar to protect you.

You rolled your eyes in response, but thanked Karga nevertheless. The Plant Species Inventory Project was in its third year, and you were on your third year of running it. Every year you hiked through the surrounding forests of Nevarro for one hundred days to document the species of the forest.

But last year you had to stop early due to receiving a venomous bite from a lizard. Karga called in an airlift and had you rushed to the hospital. The doctors said that if you had arrived five minutes later, you would’ve been dead.

This year, Karga decided that your knife and blaster weren’t good enough against lizards. Instead of getting you better self defense tools, he bought a Mandalorian to protect you. From the lizards.

Right before you passed another rock with a lizard sunbathing on its peak, Mando made his way over to you and put his body between you and the rock. You huffed in response. The lizard had brown, pointy skin with splotches of blue along its back.

“That one is harmless, Mando,” you deadpanned to the man.

“Yeah? How do you know?” He quipped in response.

Taken aback by his sudden eagerness to talk to you—he hasn’t said a word to you since you both left Karga’s office—you quickly explained, “The harmless ones, Glendia ropensis, have blue spots on their back. The venomous ones, Glendia frediama, have green spots.”

Mando turned his helmet to look at you. You stared back at him, directly in his black visor. Other people have told you bits and pieces of folklore about the Mandalorians. The galaxy’s best warriors. They trained to develop their fighting skills as soon as they were old enough.

Yet, the beskar man didn’t phase you. Karga wouldn’t send you into a remote forest with a man he didn’t trust…right? You trusted Karga and his judgment, therefore you trusted Mando to not kill you.

“I thought you were a botanist?” The shiny man stated in confusion.

“I am,” you replied, “just because I know plants doesn’t mean I can’t know animals.”

His helmet tilted in a “fair enough” motion and you two continued to trek through the forest. Mando cleared his throat, “Karga said you were Nevarro’s best botanist.”

“I am,” you repeated, then continued with tight lips, “I’m also Nevarro’s only botanist.”

The man hummed, the sound crackling through the helmet. Facing forward, your gaze drifted downwards to the array of plants on the forest floor. Different leaf shapes popped out at you. Some plants had bright flowers while others lacked them.

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Your watch went off, signaling for the first sampling. Bringing your rucksack around your shoulder and in front of you, you plopped it down on the ground and opened the sack. A holopad and two cubes were held in your hands as you brought them from out of the brown bag. 

Flipping the switch on one of the cubes, you tossed it to Mando. He stood there, examining the device, while you pulled up the proper programs on the holopad. One program mapped your hike while the other helped you record the species you sampled. You tucked the holopad under your arm after setting up your sampling preferences.

You looked up to see Mando fiddling with the cube you gave him. Your hand whose arm wasn’t holding the holopad flicked the switch on the corresponding cube.

A hologram square projected out of the cubes, the devices corresponded to two diagonal corners of the square. You walked closer to the Mandalorian and the square shrunk. You walked further and the square grew.

Selecting a small rock protruding from the ground, you set the device on top of it. Mando picked up on your motions and found a log to prop the corresponding device onto.

“Don’t all of the sampling plots need to be the same size?” The silver man questioned.

You retrieved the holopad from under your arm and tapped the screen to initiate the calculations on the size of the plot. Looking up from the holopad you pointed to the screen, and replied to Mando with a hint of sass, “The programs standardize everything, so the sampling plots don’t need to be exact.”

His gaze bored into yours while the program calculated the dimensions of the plot and ran other diagnostics of the area. You raised an eyebrow at him, shifting your weight to one foot, “Do you not trust Nevarro’s best botanist?” You asked jokingly, yet with a tone of seriousness.

At first Mando didn’t respond in words, but his shoulders rose, as if he let out a silent laugh at you. He shook his head, helmet rotating from side to side, “It’s only been a couple hours, we’ll see,” Mando drawled. Light glinted off the beskar donning his head as he turned to observe the surrounding woods. 

Bending down, you began to assess the leaves of the first plant to identify. The veins were parallel, running side by side to each other. Leaf arrangement was alternate, no two leaves shared the same growth point on the stem. No vein on the plant touched. They all went and came from the same direction, never meeting.

The second plant had net-like veining on its leaves. Veins crossed and morphed into each other. Leaf arrangement was opposite. Pairs of leaves pinched the stem with their petioles and crossed it perpendicularly. Every feature on the small herb met and weaved together. Each vein could only be minutely distinguished among the web of veins working together to keep the plant alive. 

Stenica aparinese and Wortanum tortanumus.

The pair of you haven’t met before. You knew nothing about the beskar man, besides that he didn’t talk much. But it had only been a few hours, as Mando said before, and you still don’t feel like your paths have crossed. Even though you two have been walking side by side. 

—

You completed ten samplings before you decided to call it a day. Squatting over plants and counting petals wasn’t mentally difficult, but it was physically. Knees aching and thighs burning, you two made your way through the maze of trees. The holopad glowed in the fading sunlight and aided you in finding the nearest safehouse. 

Footsteps created a chorus of crunches that echoed off the tree trunks. Your gait was focused on avoiding the small, rare plants on the forest floor. Occasionally, you’d stop to get a closer look at some—having never seen them before. 

Mando would pause behind you. His large hands settled on his belt, palm resting near his blaster. The helmet swiveled from side to side as he dragged his gaze over the forest. He would wait patiently near you as you took notes about the species, attempting to identify it. 

“Are we good to go?” He’d grit out after a couple minutes. 

You stood up from a squat and clicked the holopad off, throwing him a quick nod. The crunching chorus resumed, feet finding pockets of common grasses and clovers. Mando’s heavy boots tried to fall within the same pockets of green that yours did, but his success was debatable. 

Sunlight shining down from the canopy became scarce, but not obsolete. The blaster hanging in a holster on your hip tapped against your thigh. The crunches caused by footsteps were accompanied by a cadence of muted pats.

Mando cleared his throat, a sound that choked out of the helmet’s modulator, “Do you know how to use that thing?” The beskar man asked.

You turned to face him, stopping in your tracks. You’ve never had to shoot it, the blaster hung from a holster just in case you needed it. But it can’t be that hard, right? Just point and shoot.

“I mean, yeah,” you shrugged, “you just point and shoot.” Thinking that was an acceptable answer for Mando, you turned to continue towards the safehouse.

“Just point and shoot?” Dry exasperation churned out like gravel from his helmet. 

Lips became a line on your face, and your torso faced him again. Before you could start speaking, he cut you off. “You haven’t used it, have you?” Mando sighed.

You crossed your arms over your chest, exhaustion took over your expression, “Why does it matter? Does a Mandalorian need back up?”

Head turning, your footsteps resumed towards the safehouse. The holopad indicated it was less than fifty meters away. A warm shower and a comfy mattress sounded better than a shooting tutorial—from a man destined to be far better at it than you—would be.

Mando sighed and continued behind you. “What’s the point of carrying a blaster if you don’t know how to use it? If you’ve never shot it?” His helmet gave his tone a sharp edge.

“So I can look like I know how to use it. I don’t want to use it.” 

It was true. You didn’t know what you would do if you actually had to use it. Your biology courses always talked about the fight or flight response, but they rarely talked about freeze.

That’s probably what you would do. You’d freeze. 

“Firing bad shots at someone who does know how to use it, makes you look like you don’t know how to use it,” Mando said matter-of-factly. 

Shoulders dropping, you sighed and trekked forwards. “Look, I know that the bolt comes out of the barrel and to point it at what I want to shoot. And pulling the trigger fires the blaster. I feel like that’s good enough for now,” you rebuked. 

Thankfully, Mando dropped the subject, since the gray exterior of the safehouse came into view. The small building formed a basic cube of cement walls. Only a few windows interrupted the slabs of stone, and they were dark, bleak. Near the tree-brown door was the only sign that the safehouse wasn’t a long-lost monument—a glowing, yellow keypad. If you were the only humans in the forest, the safehouse shouldn’t have been used since last year. 

Approaching the brown door, you dug into your memory for the code that allows entry. Karga asked you what code you wanted when he had them built throughout the forest. 

That’s right! The code is your birth date.

You pressed the corresponding keys, the yellow glow bathed your fingertips in a warm light. The brown door slid open once the last key was pressed. Before you could even find the kriffing lightswitch, a crackle came from behind your head.

“What’s the code?” Mando asked with intention.

Mando must have assumed that you knew where the lightswitch was, because he continued his path over the threshold and directly into your back. The momentum from his body ramming into yours made you stumble, falling towards the wooden floors. You brought your arms up to brace yourself for the harsh impact.

And they hit nothing.

Instead, a large, gloved hand settled on your stomach and pulled you upwards. The muscles of his arm pressed against your side and burned their warmth into your skin. Suddenly, you were back on your feet and the lights were turned on.

You turned around, eyes wide in shock at the speed of events. Mando’s gloved finger dropped from its position under the switch. “Sorry about that,” he sighed.

Acting like he didn’t just seamlessly haul you back to your feet with one arm.

A feeling that was foreign—but not too foreign—seeped from your chest down to your stomach. The ticklish warmth emanated throughout your body in all directions. The same feeling you opted to tune out at while you were at university. Shit.

One guy put a hand on you and now you have butterflies? C’monnn. 

Just like every other time, you blockade the warmth from spreading too far out. Mentally, barricades went up before the feeling could leave your torso. It’s better to stay focused on the task at hand.

Shhkt.

The Mandalorian pressed a button that triggered the door to slide closed.

“Um…”

Were you supposed to thank him? Scold him? Leave it at that? Your mouth tightened and you gave the Mandalorian a curt nod and a, “Thanks.” 

Before receiving his reaction, you turned your back to him to assess the layout of the safehouse. A small, cozy living room with a fireplace filled up most of the space to your left. Knit blankets were draped over the thick cushions that sat upon the wooden furniture frames. 

The space continued into the equally small kitchen. Basic silver appliances filled up most of the kitchen space. Simple, gray pantry doors blended with the small, semi-shiny machines. On the right of you were two doors, one you assumed contained the fresher, and the other containing beds.

Turning to your left, you removed your bag and plopped onto the thick cushions of the couch. The burning in your legs made you unconcerned about making food for dinner or discussing sleeping arrangements.

The burning—or maybe lack thereof—in Mando’s thighs didn’t dissuade him from being persistent.

Mando sauntered over to the couch you were laying on. The thunks of his heavy footsteps became louder as he grew nearer. “Are you going to tell me the code?” Mando’s helmet came into your line of sight as he towered over your slumped figure.

You groaned, “Are you going to stop walking into me?”

The horizontal line of his visor tilted in your view, signifying a, “really?” emotion. His shoulders dropped, “I just want to be able to get in and out of the houses.”

Begrudgingly you told him the code, “It’s my birthday,” you explained.

“Oh, uh, happy birthday.” He gave you a curt nod and turned to walk into the kitchen.

A small smile spread across your face, and you sighed once more, “Today isn’t my birthday, metal man, the code is my birthday.” You propped one of your elbows on the couch to look over the back of the couch at him. He stood against the small metal sink, arms crossed. His large hands grasped his biceps on each side of him. The Mandalorian made the sink look like he stole it from a child’s playset. 

Once your gaze landed on him, his shoulders slumped. The T-shaped visor looked away from you and towards a map displayed on the wall. Silence ensued over the space. You too glanced at the map—yet there was nothing particularly noteworthy about it.

Mando’s visor pivoted on his shoulders and returned your gaze. After a few seconds his helmet crackled to life, “You’re getting a shooting lesson tomorrow morning.”

Your brows furrowed together and slanted downwards. “Ugggghh. I thought I told you I was good for now,” you gritted out. You let your elbow give out from underneath you and you flopped back down onto the couch cushions. 

A rumbling noise came from over the back of the couch. Footsteps followed. The heavy boots Mando wore sent muted dunks your way—then they ceased. A black T framed by silver entered your view yet again.

“I’m not good with it. Tomorrow morning after you eat,” Mando finalized.

You maintained “eye contact” with him after you rolled your eyes. Instead of staying awake—sore—and putting up with his banthashit, you willed your body to get up and to one of the wooden doors on the right side of the safehouse. Bending down, you scooped your bag onto your shoulder. Hopefully the room was the fresher.

A few paces. The turn of a doorknob. Creaking door opened. A sink, similar to the one in the kitchen, welcomed you with—metal arms? Either way, you were glad to be able to get to clean yourself after a long day. The heavy backpack slid from your shoulder and onto the floor in front of the silver sink.

Turning to close the door, you look up and Mando’s stare is directed at you. An eyebrow of yours raised, directed at him. He began to saunter over to the door next to the freshers’. His bag hung from a large, closed fist at his side.

His frame passed the threshold, making the rectangular entrance appear much smaller. A heavy object hit something soft. Hopefully Mando was finally laying down so you could be left alone. You paused for a couple seconds to see if the heavy footsteps would resume—but nothing.

Relief flooded your body, giving you the idea to close the door and get ready for the night. Water washed away the remnants of soil, tiny pieces of bark, and fragments of shed leaves from your skin. Liquid that once ran dark down the fresher drain steadily turned clear. Your body was a sponge, sucking the warmth from the water into your bones.

You finished your pre-sleep routine and ventured over to the room that contained the beds. Calling it a bedroom was too homey for this space. It was more of a room bunk beds would be kept in at camping lodges. Except there were only two adult-sized beds. And Mando’s confusedly still-silver frame covered most of the bed he chose. He laid on the mattress like someone was giving a eulogy—for him.

Peeling your gaze away from the Mandalorian’s mummy-like body, you peeled back the blankets and shuffled onto the mediocre mattress. You faced away from Mando, getting a nice view of a generic forest picture framed on the wall. It was the only decoration in the room.

“Night, metal man,” you murmured. He was already asleep, why not tease him again?

The helmet crackled to life.

“Metal man earned you one lesson. Say it again and you’ll earn another,” the words gritted out from the beskar helmet.

You laid in your bed, wide-eyed. Not knowing what to say, and honestly too tired to have this conversation, you opted to say nothing. After a couple moments, you heard shuffling from over your shoulder. The helmet crackled once more.

“Night.”

Your eyes drooped once your brain knew that social interaction was no longer required for the night. The pillow beneath your head lulled your slumber closer and closer.

“Ruus,” came from behind you.

Too tired. So sleepy. You’ll ask in the morning.

—

You woke up to birds chirping. Their calls and songs came in through your cracked bedroom window. Naturally, your brain deciphered the individual calls.

Cheep. Cheep. Cheep.

Shrrrrrk. Shrrrrrk.

Ki-ki-ki-ki-ki-ki.

A common house sparrow, a buzzard, and a finch.

You shuffled around in your bed seeking a couple more minutes of comfort before your alarm inevitably went off. Mattress providing a soft cushion of support for your body, pillow delightfully cold against your face, and your eyelids heavy, your body absorbed your surroundings and let them influence you. Everything influenced you to stay the fuck in bed. Shifting in and out of consciousness, your blurry dreams pulled you further into a deeper slumber. 

Dawn quickly approached, signaling for the birds to scream at each other that they’re awake. Bird calls blared through the air like tiny sirens. The rays of sunlight shone through the slits in the window blinds.

The extra-loud bird sounds snapped you out of your dreamlike state. Your gaze was trained on the warm glow of sunlight seeping into the room. Everything was natural. Ethereal. In sync and calm.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Dank farrik. Whipping the duvet off your body and swinging your legs to let your feet touch the ground, you hurriedly zipped open your bag to find the holopad. Once your hands found it between clothes and your notebooks, you clicked it on. The bright screen made your eyes squint at the device. Clicking the screen once more, the alarm was silenced. Now that the blaring ceased, your mind began to catch up to your surroundings. 

Oh kriff, the alarm probably woke up Mando. Your voice was a whisper, “I’m sorry if that woke yo–.” You turned towards his bed and the silver frame of his body was no longer there. Once you noticed his absence, you quieted yourself and listened for any noise. Nothing.

But then you smelled caf. 

Your brain put two and two together. Your thoughts slowed down. After a second, you rummaged in your bag for a change of clothes and your toiletries. Once your outfit was changed, you strode over to the door and aimed to enter the fresher.

The wooden door opened to reveal Mando sitting on the couch, reading something on his holopad. Hopefully the helmet muffled any sounds you could make. You took one sock-clad step over the threshold. Then another. And another. Only a couple more until you reached the other door.

“Morning,” Mando’s speech crackled.

You turned towards him, holding up a hand, offering a quick, “Morning,” back. He didn’t say anything afterwards. Slunking into the fresher, you closed the door behind you and began your morning ritual. 

Mid-teeth-brushing, you remembered last night.

“You’re getting a shooting lesson tomorrow morning.”

Fuck.

Well, wouldn’t Mando remind you the moment he saw you in the morning. You didn’t even set one foot inside the safehouse before he demanded the code for the door. Maybe he forgot. You can only hope.

The wooden rectangle swung on the hinges, opening the fresher. You stepped out and made your way to the kitchen. Before you entered the pantry covered space, you glanced over Mando’s shoulder to see what he was reading. His gloved finger clicked the holopad off before you could get a good look. Silver beskar filled your vision as he leaned forward to place the holopad on the empty table in front of the couch. 

You continued to the kitchen, too hungry to care. Reaching into a cabinet, you retrieved a mug, then poured a generous amount of caf into it. In the adjacent cabinet were ration packs and miscellaneous hiking-friendly snacks. Trail mix. Jerky. Protein bars. Cans lined one section of a shelf—in case anyone wanted to craft their own meal, instead of tearing open a ration pack.

Being Nevarro’s best botanist had its perks, and one was that you helped Karga set up these safehouses. So your favorite ration packs were always in stock.

You reached for one and opened the pack, eager to satiate your stomach. Your fingers found the lip of a drawer and pulled, revealing small piles of cutlery in a wooden organizer. The same fingers danced over the utensils, determining which one you preferred. Opting for a spoon, you took the utensil and fed yourself generous spoonfuls. Hiking did a number on your hunger, plus you needed the energy.

After a few sips of your caf, finishing half the mug, and a ration pack, you leaned against the counter and observed the back of Mando. His large frame nearly spanned across an entire couch cushion. Silver donned his shoulders and traveled its way down his arms, towards his hands. He spread his wingspan across the couch, exaggerating his size—not that he needed to. The Mandalorian’s leather-clad fists also donned beskar on top of them. One of his fists flexed and relaxed in a slow rhythm. 

Bubbling began at the center of your stomach, threatening to boil over into the rest of you. Heat bloomed near your face at the sight of him.

Nope. Not happening.

You peeled your gaze away from his figure and went to wash the mug. Thoughts wandered and yours landed on how Mando still hasn’t mentioned the lessons. Maybe you got off this time, you got lucky. Warm water poured over your grasp. Suds coated the shiny surface of the ceramic drinkware. The faucet let out a steady stream of water, and it dribbled against the metal lining of the sink. Soundwaves from the water traveled to your ears, which blocked the sounds of Mando’s footsteps approaching the kitchen.

You shut the faucet off and turned to place the mug back into the cabinet. The Mandalorian’s towering beskar figure standing in the space between the living room and the kitchen made you gasp in a lungful of air. 

The modulator in his helmet crushed the tone of the sentence he spoke, “Let’s go, time for your lesson.”

Shit.

—

“You’re holding it wrong,” Mando stated sternly.

You sighed and rolled your eyes at him, “I’ve been holding it for, like, ten seconds. Not even.” Instead of focusing on the black T stamped on his silver helmet, you shifted your attention to the stump of a fallen tree. It was covered in moss and mushrooms, decaying. The fallen trunk with dense branches sprawled out on the forest floor behind the stump. Light could barely make it through the thick foliage.

Metal man insisted that the lesson should take place at a location far from the safehouse, “to keep it hidden, in case anything hears the blaster shots,” he reasoned. You supposed that it wasn’t a bad explanation, but the hike before your lesson was challenging. Mando guided you through the forest for so long, you thought he forgot about the lesson. But he didn’t. And this lesson sucked.

You were having more fun looking at the ground around you. A couple different leaf shapes popped out at you from below. Flowers were scattered throughout the area, and you matched them to their respective leaves, giving you quick identifications. 

Mando used one of his gloved fingers to tap you on the shoulder. The gesture returned you to the present moment from your resentful thoughts. His leather-gloved hands gripped his own blaster. It was much larger than yours, yet his grasp consumed the handle of the weapon. Another broad, gloved hand covered the one gripping the handle. 

Your hands attempted to match him on your own blaster. It was clear that you were struggling. Eyes in slits and brows furrowed, your gaze repeatedly shifted from his grip to your grip. Fingers stumbled to find their rightful places. Instead of giving up, you settled on something that sort of resembled the position his hands were in. 

His helmet tilted downwards at you and cocked to the side, another expression of, “really?” This gesture seemed common with him. Metal clicked onto metal when Mando re-holstered his blaster. Then, his hands were on your blaster, giving the weapon a slight tug to release it from your grip.

You thought he was going to demonstrate on your considerably smaller blaster. Instead, he grabbed the barrel of the blaster and pointed the handle at you. His other hand reached for your wrist. Worn, warm leather slid against your skin. A wide palm rested against the back of your hand. Thick fingers formed a loose—but stern—grip around the base of your palm. 

His hand was so warm. And strong. Every movement was done with purpose and confidence. The grip he had on your hand guided yours to the handle. Once you grasped the metal you expected him to let go, but his hold remained. Small flecks of light glinted off the barrel of the weapon when Mando turned your wrist.

Light shined off the helmet as well. He leaned down to check if your fingers were in the right places. Spotting an incorrect placement, he used his other hand to nudge a finger downwards and onto the handle. He nodded, “Good.”

The short praise sent heat flying towards your face, and you willed for it to sink back down. His thumb shifted on your wrist, giving you slight goosebumps. How could his fingers be that thick? And his hands so strong? What would they feel li—.

You backtracked in your head. Nope. You didn’t want to go there. You had one hundred days in this forest with this guy, and you had a job to do.

Mando took your other hand with his other hand, and placed it on top of the one gripping the handle. The hold he had over the new hand tightened. In exchange, your own grip tightened over the handle.

“This hand,” he tightened his grasp once more, “squeezes down on this hand,” he rasped as he shook the wrist holding onto the warming metal. Each squeeze threatened the bubbling in your stomach to evaporate into the rest of your body, but you repressed it. Managing to control your pointless butterflies, you did as he explained, and the hold you maintained felt better than it did previously. 

As you raised the blaster up towards your eye level, Mando stepped away. Shutting one eye, you looked down the barrel and at the old tree stump. Your arms were both steady and relaxed. Remembering only the second half of Mando’s lecture from earlier, you spaced your feet shoulder width apart, and squeezed your grip around the trigger.

A bolt shot out of the end of the silver barrel and into the top of the tree stump—much higher than where you aimed. Crackling came from your right, “The piece of metal at the end of the barrel needs to line up with the notches above the trigger.”

You let out a heavy exhale, that information was in the second half of his lecture, “That’s what I did,” you told him. He let out an exhale in response, but his was in amusement, “Well, you didn’t hit the center,” his head jerked towards the stump to make his point.

He stood with his hands on his belt, shoulders back, with one knee out. Chrome plated armor gleamed from the sun coming in through the forest's canopy. His dark leather and clothing contrasted the bright metal. Without seeing his face, you knew he had a smirk on it. 

You huffed as you turned towards him, “If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?”

He gave you his signature head tilt towards the side, “You know that I would hit it,” he stated.

Honestly, you knew he could. The man is fully decked out in beskar armor and carries several weapons with him at all times. But you were fed up with the slight smugness he exuded. “Do it,” you challenged him.

Before you could even register he was doing so, he pulled his blaster from its holster. With a firm grip and confident aim, his blaster bolt hit dead center into the tree stump. Just as quickly as he pulled it out, he re-holstered his blaster and looked at you. 

His incoming responses went through your mind, “It’s because I don’t suck,” “Don’t even bother,” “Why’d you buy a blaster in the first place?”

“Just try again,” his helmet gritted and the black T shook from side to side, “I’ve just been doing this longer than you have. It takes practice.”

Without thinking, you responded, “And what is ‘this’?” The Mandalorian gave you a stare—not like it wasn’t always a stare—but his helmet didn’t move a bit, unlike the usual tilts and shakes you had been getting. 

“If by ‘this’ you mean shooting, then I’ve been shooting since I could hold a blaster. If you mean my profession, my occupation has required shooting since I’ve been an adult,” his voice stated, sounding like churning gravel.

Both of your eyebrows lifted and your eyes widened. You tried to hide it, but you probably failed. Only a few professions in the galaxy required shooting all of the time.

“So you’re a bounty hunter?” You asked with confusion, your mouth semi-dry.

Mando nodded, “Yes, now try again,” he pointed towards the stump.

‘Okay cool, we’re just going to gloss over that one?’, you thought. Instead of voicing your inner monologue, you raised the blaster once more. The metal lined up with the notch and you squeezed the trigger. Your shot landed half a meter above Mando’s. It was far from his shot, but much closer than your previous one.

“Better. But you flinched,” Mando critiqued. His gloved hands rested on his hips and his visor bored into you. 

Trying again, the notch lined up with the metal as you peered down the barrel. Instead of holding your aim and then getting ready to fire, you fired as soon as your barrel lined up with the center of the stump. Energy left the end of the blaster and shot into the decaying wood. It landed about fifteen centimeters above Mando’s.

You heard crunching on the ground as the Mandalorian walked towards you. Lowering your blaster, you pointed the barrel at the ground. Maker, if he showed you how to hold the blaster again, you were going to lose it. Once he reached you, he stood in front of you, hands clasped in front of his belt buckle.

The helmet crackled to life, “Good job. Those were better than my first shots,” he stated plainly, then turned, “Let’s get going.” Before waiting for your response, he continued on into the dense forest.

—

The section of the forest you just entered was darker than any other area the pair of you had been in previously. Light barely made its way down from the forest canopy. Shade-loving plants bathed in the lack of light. Small rodents scampered from shrub to shrub, picking the fruits off of their stems. Scuttles were heard in all directions, creating a chorus of sounds influenced by food-web interactions. 

Mando decided to lead the way. His helmet remained on a swivel as he constantly scanned the area. You had been this way before and knew there was nothing harmful, it was just dark and ‘scary’.

Then the scuttles stopped. And in response, Mando stopped. Which made you run right into the back of him. “Ufff!” You let out as your chest collided with his back. Rough, black fabric scratched against your face. It smelled like wood and musk, but in a good way. Did he usually smell like that or was it just the forest?

You pushed yourself off of him and stayed behind. Mando held a hand out to his side in a, ‘stay behind me’, signal. Everything froze, and left you freezing with it.

Then you felt it.

The ground shook softly. A steady rhythm of shakes became increasingly more intense. Trees sensed the waves too, as their leaves rattled above. You looked downwards and noticed that Mando retrieved his blaster from its holster. His stare was locked forwards. Almost as if he was looking beyond the dense foliage into the distance.

Dun. Dun. DUN.

Each shake caused your feet to vibrate in your boots. And then they stopped. In front of you, the large silhouette of a creature made its way through the foliage and towards you both. You squinted into the darkness in an attempt to identify the creature.

And Mando fired his blaster.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: The story of how you, the bastard daughter of the Hiiragi clan, gain power in a country at constant war — and how, just as quickly, you lose it, too.

Chapter Synopsis: An introduction to you, Y/N L/N, the unwanted daughter of a serving maid and a daimyo.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Otoya x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.2k

Content Warnings: sengoku period au, character death, angst, sad ending, implied abuse, lots of political content, violence and war, the characters will probably be ooc a bit (as is to be expected when you put a bunch of soccer freaks into the warring states period), they are all morally questionable AT BEST, i promise i don’t hate your fav if they act heinous it’s just that someone has to, the prose here is so purple you might confuse it for reo mikage, i may or may not include original characters, i do try and do a bit of research but this is a bllk reader insert fanfic so please keep your expectations for historical accuracy and whatnot at a minimum, possibly a bit suggestive eventually

A/N: erm…hey guys…this one’s for the three otoya stans out there 🤞🏻 listen i don’t even like him that much (prefer his bff tbh) but for some reason i can’t stop thinking about him and i had this idea for a fic that just wouldn’t let me go so uhh here we are!! but this is one i really don’t know how i feel about so lmk if you liked it/think i should continue

On the day you were born, a star died. It was like a great gash in the sky, supposedly, a bloody smear of fire against the blue of the afternoon, which flickered to the rise and fall of your wails and only vanished once you had been taken to your mother’s breast. The story was told to you so often that you could picture it as vividly as if you had been there, though of course your recall of the event was non-existent. But your half-brother, who had barely been more than a child at your birth, took a particular pleasure in reminding you that you were the star-killer, the ill-portended bastard who was a curse on his family.

He was relentless like a hornet, that half-brother of yours. A better man would’ve ignored you completely, would’ve taken satisfaction in his own supremacy and left you, who were no threat to his position nor his ego, alone. Yet it remained that it was your half-brother’s favorite pastime to follow you around and whisper things in your ears, striking you swiftly if you dared to respond.

“You’re a monster,” he’d murmur when he wanted to amuse himself. “Little witch-thing. You were just a babe when you murdered your surrogate…I wonder, is it truly the same blood which runs in both our veins? No, I am sure that you are just a demon who has taken the place of my sweet half-sister. Did you kill her, too? May she rest in peace. Greedy child. Devil child. A star and a woman and a little girl — how many more until you are satisfied?”

Though you had learnt long ago the value of your silence, there were still occasions when you would tell him no, that it was not the case. It was a meaningless form of retribution. He knew the truth, knew it as well as you did or maybe better, but he did not care. It was a little play of yours, this argument and its various other forms, and if you were to deviate from your script, you’d be met with the consequences of displeasing your audience of one.

“You killed her,” he would say, your cheek stinging where he had slapped it, his pale irises gleaming at the tremble of your lower lip, which even after so many years you could not quell completely. “You killed them both, didn’t you? Apologize for it. Repent for the sin.”

The relationship between you and your half-brother was of little consequence to your father. If he hurt you or if he loved you — what did it matter to the man whose adoption of you was so reluctantly done as to be all but forced? Your half-brother was the one who shared his name, who was his perfect heir, who had twin moons for eyes and was born at the stroke of midnight. You were the one who had killed a star and a surrogate alike, whose name was common and plain, as was fitting for the daughter of a dead serving girl. Certainly, the sacrifice was easy to make, and likely it was not even a sacrifice in the first place. The closest he ever got to reprimanding your half-brother was letting out a heavy sigh when he walked past your frozen form, reminding him that ought to keep better company.

You could not say the same about yourself. You lived in the Hiiragi manor only on account of your father’s charity, and so you were expected to conduct yourself in a manner that invited the highest praise — though you never received this praise, naturally. If you were behaving in an exemplary way, then you were only doing as you ought to, and anything lesser was met with cold correction.

According to your father, you were an embarrassment, but one he had to display as if he were proud. He was a daimyo, the lord of your province, and so he was meant to be the perfect example of an honorable man. Nobody batted an eye when he lay with his own servants — it was typical, anyways, especially since his own wife had died in the service of his first and only son — but when the stomach of the maid who swept the kitchens began to swell, the whispers abounded. What would happen to the child, who was undoubtedly of the Hiiragi line? Would he acknowledge her, or would he throw her to her death in the streets?

Well, it would’ve been worse if he cast her away, so reluctantly, your father watched over your mother, caring for her until you were born. That day, he snatched you away, your lips still wet from milk, your thin hair plastered to your tiny brow, and he handed you to the waiting surrogate. After that, he had your mother killed, taken to the back and burnt alive when she was too weak to fight back.

It was easy for him to disguise the murder by claiming that she, too, had faced the same fate as his beloved wife. Hiiragi blood claws at the womb. Though of course you were no Hiiragi — you were Y/N L/N, undeserving of a nobler address — it was true that, despite your circumstances, you were still half a lady, a daimyo’s daughter as much as you were a maid’s. So your father blamed her death on you, and only a select few knew the truth, all of whom shared blood and two of whom shared a name.

Though it was impossible for him to remember it, your half-brother would describe the gray of the smoke to you, the way your mother’s ashes had swirled into the air and her screams had faded into the crackling of embers. Only when your eyes welled with tears would he snicker and leave you to your own devices, ruffling your hair fraternally, though the gesture was anything but.

“What cause do you have to cry?” he’d call out over his shoulder. “You hardly knew the woman. At least her death at Father’s hand was quick; were she left to you, she would’ve suffered for longer and longer. It was a mercy, though I am sure you know not what that word means.”

Once you had grown older, you began to understand, in pieces and then all in a rush, what purpose you served for your father, why he had kept you at his side so many years after propriety demanded. Your father, who had never had any other children bar your half-brother…if he wanted to secure an alliance with one or another of the neighboring daimyos, who were ever clamoring for more territory, more land, more wealth, more more more, what was the best option? It was you.

Mere days after you turned of age, the men began to arrive at the Hiiragi manor. These conversations were like dancing with snakes for your father and half-brother, each word a baring of their fangs, each sly remark a biting challenge, each exchanged glance a seeping of their poison. You were relegated to pouring tea and keeping your gaze lowered, a showpiece more than a participant.

The more foolish of the supplicants, in their earnest desires to appease the serpent-kin Hiiragis, would seek to compliment you, claiming that no more beautiful woman existed in all the world, insisting to your father that, were they given your hand and thus the support of the Hiiragis, they would build a palace grand enough to contain even one such as yourself.

This was when your half-brother would make himself known, his expression coy and playful, his voice a smooth hiss as he reminded the suitor that you were a bastard. The daughter of a maid, he’d say with a laugh, the sound jarring and devoid of mirth. You find her so lovely? You must not have very high standards, then.

Their faces would go white, and the corners of your father’s lips would twitch as he commanded them to leave at once. The Hiiragi would not ally themselves with those who had such lofty but baseless aspirations, not when they themselves had their own goals which they pursued so staunchly — only an equal or greater would receive the honor of their support, of their only daughter, who was barely classified as such but nevertheless had attained at least that much in her lifetime.

“There’s a suitor coming to see you,” your half-brother said, the painted screen door pushed aside, his arms crossed as he peered into your room. “Hey. Shitty Y/N. Get dressed; Father seems to think this one might have some merit to him.”

“Might you send a maid to assist me?” you said, your voice catching in the back of your throat when he raised his eyebrows. “Reiji, you must realize that it is difficult for me to ready myself to that extent.”

Reiji’s lip curled as he regarded you, but finally, to your relief, he nodded at you. “Very well, though only because this meeting is of import and it would not do for you to have a shoddy appearance.“

“Thank you,” you said, pressing your forehead to the floor until you heard the whoosh of the door as it slid shut. Curling your fists, you pushed yourself up until you were kneeling in front of your dressing table, staring into the mirror and wincing when you noticed that there were dark hollows under your eyes.

“Miss L/N,” a soft voice called from the other side of the screen. “Shall I enter?”

“You may,” you said. You recognized her gentle intonations; she was, after all, the only maid in the manor who treated you as if you were a true-born Hiiragi and not some other, accursed thing.

The door opened once again, but she stood alone, her tiny figure such a contrast to Reiji’s boasting frame. Her bright hair was tied back, her eyelids lowering in disappointment when she glanced at you.

“Ah, Miss L/N, you must endeavor to sleep earlier,” she said, crouching behind you, her clever fingers beginning to weave through your hair. “Are those terrors plaguing you anew?”

“Is it so obvious?” you said.

“Rather, it is that I know you so well,” she said. “So, that is the reason?”

“It is,” you said, pursing your lips. “But that is enough questioning on the matter, Anri. I should not like to speak of it.”

“Perhaps it would be helpful if you did,” she suggested. “Do you not agree? Recounting them could ward them away.”

“It has never worked in the past, so why should it work now? I think that you are disguising your curiosity as concern,” you said.

“I—I—I would do no such thing! Miss L/N, how could you even suggest it?” she sputtered.

“It was only a jest,” you said, fighting back a smile. “Anyways, I suppose that this terror is of a different nature, so it may yet vanish if I speak it aloud.”

For as long as you could remember, you had had fitful episodes, lasting a week but never longer, in which you dreamt of terrible things that haunted you even in your waking hours. None of these visions ever had much coherence, but there was a sense of doom interspersed throughout, a personal doom, as if they held a sort of significance to you that you were too naive to understand.

“This time, there was a man,” you said. “I saw him vividly, though I cannot recall him any longer.”

“A man!” Anri said.

“Yes, and I believe a comely one, to answer what I know you will not speak aloud. His face has been lost to me, but I was frightened of him, or perhaps for him,” you said. “It is the first time I have watched someone other than my mother die in the fire. He embraced her as it happened, but despite their familiarity, I am certain it was not my father.”

Every single nightmare ended in the same way: a woman’s immolation, flames licking up her dress and lashing against her face, which resembled yours so greatly that you knew she could be no one else but your mother. Her expression was stony and set, though her eyes danced with a wild sort of panic as she burned, her jaw twitching from the efforts of silencing the screams that Reiji had claimed he had heard.

This was the first time that she had not been alone, her taut muscles releasing as the man appeared. Though your mother’s face never left your mind — you could not escape it when a facsimile stared back at you whenever you gazed at your reflection — the man was out of your grasp, a slippery sort of person who you wanted very badly to remember but simply could not.

He had had his back to you, facing your mother at her end, and then he had gathered her in his arms, clutching her tightly and allowing the fire to take them both. And though tears had dripped from her eyes, though she had shivered from the pain of their shared death, you had noticed that for the first time, your mother had seemed happy, as if her impending doom meant nothing in face of what you got the sense was a long-anticipated reunion.

“Did your mother have another lover?” Anri said.

“How should I know?” you said, harsher than you had intended. Anri flinched from surprise, and you frowned. “I apologize.”

“No, the error is mine, Miss L/N,” she said. “Please forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to be forgiven. You were merely expressing your interest in the subject, and I had the gall to snap at you for it. To tell you the truth, he did hold her in the way a lover might, but I have never heard much if anything about my mother’s past, so that does nothing to solve the mystery of his identity. Anyways, if ever he did exist, he’s likely long dead, so it does not warrant further investigation,” you said.

“Of course not,” she said, pressing a cake of powder against your face, blowing the excess away. “Do you think that this discussion has assuaged you?”

“That’s a question I can only answer after tonight, you know,” you said.

“Oh, I have spoken hastily,” she said. “Forgive me.”

“You needn’t apologize,” you said. “I am not Reiji nor my father. It isn’t possible for you to wrong me. For if you could, then I would not be Y/N L/N but Y/N Hiiragi, and as I am not, you ought to worry less.”

“You are still Lord Hiiragi’s daughter, and as such, I will give you the respect that that position demands,” she said.

“Am I?” you said. “What if I am that man’s daughter?”

“Were there even a hint of uncertainty as to your parentage, I do not doubt that Lord Hiiragi would’ve long ago sent you away,” Anri said. “Without question, you are his. A name cannot change that.”

“It is a reminder better given to my half-brother,” you said. “Reiji believes me to be a devil, one of the star-killing variety.”

“Well, that half-brother of yours—” Anri began before silencing herself. “Regardless. Not even the Shogun himself could take your inheritance from you.”

“Thank you, Anri,” you said, recognizing that she had put herself into danger just for the sake of your reassurance. It wasn’t fair of you to demand, so you mustered a grin in the hope that she did not continue to worry. “Am I ready, then? Reiji said that Father believes this suitor to be a genuine prospect, so I do not wish to tarry.”

“You are as lovely as ever,” she said. “The hollyhock of the Hiiragi.”

You could not see that supposed beauty, not in yourself, but if Anri said it, then it was definitely there. Clasping your hands, you nodded at her, your face warm at the comparison to your family’s flower.

“Thank you,” you said. “You may go fetch Reiji now. I am sure that he wishes to escort me, as is proper.”

“I will return at once,” she said.

You inhaled and exhaled, counting the seconds in between to calm your nerves. Your father had never once spoken favorably of a candidate for your hand until now — did that mean this was it, then? Had he finally found the family that he wished to align himself with? Which would it be, and would their son be cruel? You did not mind running the household, but if your husband were unkind or overly interested in your affairs, then you were unsure of whether you could handle it. And children, what of children? Would you be expected to have many? Would it be a demon which you carried, a star-killer like yourself or a Hiiragi which clawed at your womb as it left? All of these things and more you considered, the endless loop playing as you waited for Reiji and Anri to return.

“You look acceptable, sister,” Reiji said, his charade well-perfected at this point. If your marriage was meant to unite two clans, then you could not be referred to with the usual indignity. Of course, you could not be a Hiiragi, but you had to be considered the sister of one, or else your father’s efforts would be for naught, and given the instability of the country at the moment, that would be a fatal mistake.

“Thank you, Reiji — brother,” you said, correcting yourself when you stumbled over his name and he shot you a dark glare. The iciness of his eyes, which might’ve entranced anyone else, seemed sinister and dull to you, and you did everything you could to ensure that they were not settled upon you for too long.

Your father sat across from a boy with dark, wavy hair, who turned to look at you when you entered. He had wide eyes that were the burnished color of a gourd, and his face was appealingly structured, his shoulders broad and a sword strapped at his waist. When he noticed that it was only you and Reiji, he dipped his chin in acknowledgement.

“Mister Reiji Hiiragi,” he said. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Your father has spoken highly of you.”

“The pleasure is mine, sir…?” Reiji said.

“Kenyu Yukimiya,” the boy said. On closer inspection, he was nearing the cusp of manhood; several years your elder and likely even wiser than Reiji, he was hardly a boy at all anymore. “My father is daimyo of the neighboring province, and I am his heir. Am I to assume that that woman is your sister?”

“Y/N L/N,” Reiji said, maneuvering you in front of him so that your charms could be on display for Yukimiya. “Greet him, sister.”

“Welcome, Mister Yukimiya. It is an honor. Would you like some tea?” you said.

“I should not say no, I think,” he said. “In the face of such generous hospitality, who could refuse?”

As was traditional, all three of them quieted, contemplating and meditating on their woven mats as you prepared the tea, pressing your whisk against the powdered leaves and boiling the water. It was a soothing ritual, the billowing steam clearing your head of the migraine which threatened to build behind your temples, the easy motions of the preparation allowing your hands to work mindlessly and simply at the task.

After the tea was prepared, you bowed before Yukimiya. He raised his cup for you, and you filled it carefully, ensuring that you did not spill even a drop. Holding the pot steady until the liquid reached the rim, you bowed again and then repeated the actions for your father, after which came your half-brother. Then, you stowed the pot and the tea-making materials away; it would be improper if you, as the official host of this meeting despite contributing almost nothing to it, partook as well.

“That was elegantly done,” Yukimiya said as you returned to your place at Reiji’s side. “I’m impressed. For only being half-highborn, you have taken to the customs quite well, Miss L/N.”

He said it bluntly. Half-highborn. This was, after all, a person who did not have to fear your father’s rage, not when his own family was of a comparable status. The Hiiragis could not raise a hand against him, not if they wished to avoid a war with the Yukimiyas, and as that would be costly, your father could not respond to an insult even when it was so plainly given.

“She is a quick learner,” your father said, and instead of offense, there was interest twinkling in his mien. Yukimiya took a sip from his cup, mulling over the taste and your father’s response alike.

“Might I inquire why she has the name L/N, and not Hiiragi? If she is your daughter, then surely the latter is her birthright,” he said.

“She is a bastard,” your father said. “You know that already.”

“I was aware,” Yukimiya affirmed.

“Her mother died upon her birth; my daughter chose to take her name instead, as a way to keep her memory alive,” your father said.

“I see,” Yukimiya said. Whether or not he saw through the obvious lie was irrelevant; your father had given him a weapon with which he could defend himself to those who might question his future wife’s parentage, should he choose to take you. That was all that he needed. “She must be of a more sensitive temperament.”

“As a lady, it’s to be expected,” your father said genially.

“I confess I grew up without a sister, so I am not used to the inclinations of young women,” Yukimiya said. “I shall take you at your word, Lord Hiiragi.”

“I thank you for your trust,” your father said. He might’ve seemed indifferent, but in truth there was a great joy to the heaviness of his forehead and the set of his cheeks, which only you and Reiji could detect.

“If you are not opposed to me asking for your trust in return, and if the lady agrees to it, then I would like it if she might show me around your gardens,” Yukimiya said. “It’d allay any misgivings of mine if I could speak to her in private before I make a decision one way or another.”

“Neither my daughter nor I would deny such a gently given request, especially not coming from a guest,” your father said. “Y/N, please see Mister Yukimiya to the gardens at once.”

“Yes, Father. Please follow me, sir,” you said, standing and bowing at Yukimiya once more. He stood as well, walking purposefully after you. He was careful to pace his longer strides with yours, so that you were not gasping and racing to keep up with him, as you often were with Reiji. The casual tact warmed you to him, and as the two of you entered the gardens, you took a moment to sneak a glance at him.

“Your innocence is fascinating,” Yukimiya said when he caught you peering at him. “At first, I was convinced that it was an act you put on in front of your father, but it seems to be genuine.”

You cringed. “Forgive me, sir. I meant no disrespect by it.”

“It’s really interesting,” he said. “Do you think I mean to hurt you?”

“If you did, I could not stop you,” you said. “Our families are not on the best of terms, are they?”

“Who told you that?” he said in alarm.

“It is commonly known that the daimyos do not get along,” you said. “Why should your father and mine be any different?”

“The relationship is awkward, but it is not as bad as it could be, or as some are,” Yukimiya said, relaxing. “Were it any worse, I’d be a fool to come here alone in the pursuit of a mere girl.”

“A mere girl?” you said. “But is the alliance not what you are truly after? If so, then it would have been in pursuit of that which you rode, not of me, and so it would’ve been far less foolish and more pacifistic in nature.”

“True,” he admitted freely. “You are only an additional benefit, but one I am not opposed to. I would have accepted your father’s proposal regardless, but I must confess I am pleased to find you so agreeable.”

He meant to win you over with his kindness, as surely as he had won over your father with his stoic maturity. Reiji had instructed you in these things, told you to be wary of men who treated you well, but you could not help the fluttering in your stomach at the unprecedented tenderness Yukimiya was showing you.

“I find you agreeable as well,” you said. He let out a laugh, full-bodied and musical, suiting him exactly.

“Take me to your favorite place in these gardens. You must wander them often, yes?” he said.

“When I am given the opportunity,” you said, leading him down the path, past a copse of camphor trees and towards a low wall where hollyhocks burst from the ground, profusely flowering in shades of red and pink. They were towering, some arching above even Yukimiya, and a few bees darted around their blooms, paying you both no mind as you admired their work.

You preferred this location above all others, for the curve of the route and the height of the hollyhocks meant that you could, for a moment or two, be hidden away from Reiji and the rest of the Hiiragi household.

“And which flower do you find the loveliest?” Yukimiya said. You cocked your head before pointing at one so pale it was almost white, its petals reaching towards the sun and a butterfly resting at its center. Abruptly, Yukimiya drew his sword, and before you could cry out from shock, he brought it down on the stem of the blossom. The butterfly fluttered away, and the flower fell into his waiting palm, which he then extended to you.

“For you,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said, though your heart was still pounding from how quickly it had all been done. He tucked the flower behind your ear and stroked your cheek.

“We should return before your father grows worried about how long we are taking,” he said.

“Father wouldn’t worry,” you said, with only a tinge of rebelliousness.

“Oh?” Yukimiya said. “Is that so?”

“Er, I mean, well, it’s only that I’m in good company, and he is likely delighted by our camaraderie, so, ah…” you stammered when you realized how dangerous that simple misinterpretation could be. Thankfully, he only smiled at you.

“Of course, but fathers get protective over their daughters, and I would not like to fall from his favor when that very favor is so important to our success,” he said.

“It is sound reasoning,” you said. “Let us be off at once.”

You were dismissed to your chambers as the terms of the marriage were set, and this time Reiji did not come with you, so you allowed yourself to feel giddy. How you had been so frightened! If only you had known that Yukimiya would turn out in the way that he had, you would not have feared so greatly.

Anri came to help you undress that evening, and though she did not inquire, you knew she could tell from your uncharacteristic jumpiness that you were thrilled at the course of events. Being wedded to Yukimiya was not only a livable fate, it was one you could genuinely look forward to — if you were his wife, then you’d command a far greater respect than you ever had in the Hiiragi manor. You would no longer be the bastard-born Y/N L/N; instead, you’d be the next Lady Yukimiya, whose ancestry did not matter nearly as much as her progeny did.

As you settled down on your mat to sleep, pulling the duvet up around your shoulders and facing the window so your face could be bathed in the light of the moon, you hoped that you’d have a peaceful night. Whether your conversation with Anri or your joy at the engagement with Yukimiya…one or another of these things, you prayed, would have been enough to chase off your nightmares until the next week of fits came about.

To your eternal gratitude, it was a dreamless sleep you fell into, and indeed when you awoke to darkness, you could not discern what had caused you to stir. Sitting up and rubbing your eyes, your duvet falling in a puddle around your lap, you yawned, contemplating the notion of going to fetch a glass of water before attempting to return to your earlier state.

Before you could make up your mind either way, you became horrifyingly aware of a firm presence against your back. An arm wrapped around the side of your face, a gloved hand covering your mouth and a kunai pressing against the skin of your neck, angled so that it could pierce your throat if you moved even a centimeter. You did not even scream for fear of its wicked tip, and your breath came in harsh, short pants, the taste of linen washing over your tongue as you shuddered in the deadly embrace.

“Shh,” your invisible assailant murmured. “I’m good at this. It’ll be quick, young Hiiragi. You won’t even know it happened.”

Young Hiiragi. Not once in your life had you ever been called that, and before you could stop yourself, you were shaking your head, pulling back from the kunai, though he did not let you get very far.

“Plead all you want,” he said. “Go on, then. It’s late, so no one else will hear us. I don’t mind if you want to try; maybe if you offer to pay me more than my current employer, I’ll consider sparing you. Don’t think about calling for help, though. I’ll kill you before you can make a sound.”

He parted his fingers, though he still held you in place, staring ahead at the wall. You squeezed your eyes shut. This wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t, it wasn’t, you just had to go along with it and then you’d actually wake up and things would be fine.

“I’m not a Hiiragi,” you said. “I’m Y/N L/N. The bastard — the bastard girl. What good comes of you killing me? No one will care.”

He stiffened, you felt it against your body, though he tried to disguise it the moment that it happened. His voice was low and cold when he spoke next, as if you were the one who had wronged him and not the other way around.

“You’re the fucking girl,” he said. “That incompetent piece of shit. He told me he knew exactly which room the Hiiragi heir slept in before sending me, and you’re telling me he got it wrong?”

“Who?” you ventured to say. “Who wants to kill Reiji — my half-brother?”

“As if I’d tell you,” he said, and then the hand holding the kunai was balling into a fist and knocking against the top of your head lightly, almost teasingly. “Maybe if you think about it hard enough, though, you’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I don’t — I don’t — are you going to kill me?”

You wished that in these last moments, you could’ve kept some kind of composure, could’ve held your head high the way your mother had, but you were nowhere near as strong as the woman in your dreams. You were a bumbling mess, tripping over your words, clinging desperately to a life you had never cared for in the first place.

“What to do, indeed?” he mused. “If I kill you, it’ll be ten times as difficult for me to come back to this place, but then again, you know of a plot against your half-brother, so how can I let you live? It’ll be a real weight on my conscience.”

“What conscience?” you said. “If you are a murderer-for-hire, then how can you claim to have anything resembling that?”

“I prefer being called a ninja, though as you please, lady,” he said. “By the way, this is generally when you would beg for me to spare you.”

“Will it matter? Will the course of your deliberations change if I beg?” you said.

“Give me something,” he said. “Something that makes letting you live worth it.”

“I have nothing of the sort. Only my own life, and even that is not so precious. I want to live, I cannot deny it; I want to live more than anything. It is a miserable life, yet it is mine, and I cannot bear to let go of it quite yet, so if begging is enough, then I shall fall to my knees gladly, but that is all I have to offer,” you said.

“Hm,” he said.

“They won’t believe me,” you tried. “Even if I tell them. Everyone knows I’ve been having nightmares this week. This is just another one of those terrors, isn’t it? If you think Reiji or my father would take me seriously in the best of days, then I’d call you delusional, but at a time when I am prisoner to my own visions, they are more likely to seek counsel from a quail.”

“How sorry,” he said. “To think that they would ignore their own daughter’s warnings. It’s only that kind of clan that could be killed by its own neighbors.”

“Yukimiya,” you breathed, the realization like a bucket of ice water over your head. This earned you an amused exhale.

“Smart girl,” he said.

“They sent you? But what about—”

“An excuse,” he said, before you could complete the inquiry. “For the son to come to the manor and grow familiar with its layout, so that he could direct me to Reiji Hiiragi’s quarters. It was a plan not without risk, but in this world, isn’t that the only way to succeed? Ah, I really should get rid of you now. I cannot believe that incompetent dimwit has put me in this kind of situation. I hate killing women.”

The kunai was back at your throat, this time the breadth of it resting against your pulse. You swallowed.

“Then don’t kill me,” you said. “Hurt me or take me hostage, but let me live.”

“A hostage?” he said. “Hostages are generally people who are wanted, Miss L/N. Taking you as one would bring me far more trouble than anything.”

“I don’t want to die,” you said. “What do you want from me? You said if I could give you something that makes letting me live worth it, you’d spare me.”

“There’s nothing,” he said. “That doesn’t exist. I was being cruel to you, lady, for no other reason than my personal entertainment. It’s like how a child might pry off the wings of a butterfly, causing it to suffer just because they can.”

“I won’t betray you,” you said. “Please, sir, I won’t. I really won’t.”

“Sir? I’ll admit I’ve never been called that before,” he said. “Would your opinion of me be lower if I said that I liked it? On second thoughts, don’t answer that. It’ll only hurt my feelings.”

“Have you no empathy?” you said. “You are joking around as if my life is not in your hands.”

“Empathy? For you and your kind, I feel none,” he said. “Hiiragi or not, you have spent your entire life in a walled off manor. We are so different as to be entirely separate species. Asking me to feel empathy for you is akin to asking me to move the sun a degree to the right. I cannot do it, I am not capable, and furthermore I think of you as grossly ignorant just for making the request.”

“Please,” you said, long ago having run out of anything else to say. He scoffed.

“That’s enough,” he said. “Let’s get on with it. I’ve wasted enough time here.”

“I’ll take you to my half-brother!” you said, the delicate flesh of your neck smarting from the shallow cut he had torn into it. “Reiji’s quarters. I will show you where they are.”

“You would trade his life for your own?” he said, pulling his kunai back, voice lilting with interest.

“Yes,” you said. He was silent for so long that, were it not for the crush of his chest against your spine, you would’ve thought he had vanished. Then, suddenly, he chuckled.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” he said. “Here I was, thinking you’d be the self-sacrificing type.”

“Kill him if you must,” you said. “But release me.”

Live. Live. Live. It was an imperative in your mind — you had to live. You could not die yet. You could not die here. If that meant latching onto your half-brother and draining him of his own existence, then you would do just that. If it meant you could survive, then you’d do it again and again, as many times as you had to.

“Close your eyes,” he said. You did so promptly, and your obedience was met with a condescending pat on the head. “Do not open them again until dawn. I shall let you live on the assumption that you are true to your word — but mind you, I will come to collect. Not today, but someday, I will kill Reiji Hiiragi, and you will be the one who gives me leave to do it.”

[m-jelly]

All I need - Chapter 1

@ladycheesington <3

Levi x fem!reader Future Fic, Romance, Drama & Romance, Falling In Love, mafia, Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Gangsters Violence, Love, Confessions, Love, True Love, Fluff, Protective Levi, Possessive Levi, Gang Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut

You become the centre of Levi's world after a collection of debts your runaway ex put you in goes wrong because of a new kid not following Levi's orders correctly. Levi makes it his life's mission to protect you, care for you and give you everything you could ever want. As love blossoms between the two of you, things around you start to fall apart. Multiple people are working to stop Levi and take the power he has over the city. With multiple enemies working against you and assuming you're Levi's weakness, Levi shows them all just how powerful you make him.

A gangster romance with love, smut, romance, fluff, gore, lies, secrets and violence.

This chapter: Your now ex left you in debt with a gang and you're left to foot the bill. The debt collection goes wrong and the leader of the gang, Levi, comes to see you personally. Levi protects you and keeps you close. He takes care of you taking you and others by surprise.

Trigger warning: The reader is attacked and beaten in the beginning of this story.

Ao3 link

Part 2

It was driving you insane what had happened over the last few weeks. First, your boyfriend showered you with too many gifts and then he started to get paranoid like someone was watching him. Second, his things in your shared apartment started to disappear but he was at home a lot. Third, he vanished and left a note on the bed saying he was running off to earn more money and pay for all the debts he’d put you in.

Debts.

You had no idea that he had debts and put anything in your name. The most heartbreaking thing of all was he took everything from your account and left nothing. You had no money left to pay for bills and your rent. The only thing you had left was money in your savings, which you had been saving up for your dream home in the city.

As you faced your landlord while fighting tears, you were slowly losing your mind. No matter how much you begged him to let you stay for a bit longer, he wouldn’t let it happen. You even offered him some money in your savings until you made it to your next paycheck, but he simply said sorry and that someone was already interested.

It didn’t take long for you to pack your things up because you had sold a lot to get some money. The move to the next apartment was awful. It was tiny with just the basics. You had a lot of neon lights outside from shops, meaning your place would always be lit up even with blinds up. The rain did leak in a bit as well, so you were always cleaning it up.

As you made some instant ramen for dinner, you were wondering if your life could get worse than this. You wanted to know if more things could go wrong. You had a little hope in you that things could go well.

While you were holding out hope for life, something was happening that was going to change your life. The bad things in your life were not done with you yet. Your now ex had not only put you in some debt that you’d paid off with your savings, but he’d also gotten a debt with the mafia and they wanted to collect.

Levi gazed at the new kid and Mike. “This is a big debt. Tch, the shit owes me a lot and there are a few in his girlfriend’s name.” He said your name softly as he said your name written on the contracts. “Cute name. This writing looks like his. So, I’m assuming he signed her name.”

Mike hummed. “Likely.”

“What’s the update? He disappeared and so did she. You locate them?”

Mike nodded. “In a new apartment. Want to send the new kid?”

Levi looked the kid up and down. “Tch, oi? Do this right and you’ll be part of the group. Go to the apartment and see if you can get the money. Got it?”

The kid saluted. “Yes sir!”

“Go.”

The kid hurried off out of the base and into his car. Excitement filled him as he thought about his job. This mission was the first one he’d been sent on his own. He couldn’t wait to prove to his boss Levi that he should be in the scouts. He believed he was a vital part and Levi would think he was the best thing ever.

It was drizzly when he arrived at the apartment block. He landed his hover car on the platform and made his way inside. The kid was hoping that you didn’t have the money so he could break you to get the money. Levi had never approved of breaking someone to get money, but the kid was sure he would be proud if he got a lot of money from you.

He slammed his fist against your door a few times and waited. As soon as you opened the door he slammed his fist hard into your face and knocked you to the floor. “Where the fuck is the money.”

You touched your face and felt blood. “M-money?”

He closed the door behind him. “You owe my boss a lot of money.”

“What money?” You welled up. “I don’t understand.”

He punched you across the face again. A rush of pleasure went through him when you screamed and your blood coated the floor. His fist wrapped tightly around your shirt allowing him to lift you. “You and your boyfriend took a loan out with my boss and he wants the money.”

“My boyfriend skipped town. He stole all my money and ran. I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing. Please.”

He shoved you against the floor and gripped your neck tightly. “Liar.”

You gasped and kicked your legs. “S-Stop!”

“Your boyfriend is here. Call for him!”

You welled up. “He’s…not…”

“Oh, Danny! Come out!” He gritted his teeth as you looked on the verge of passing out. He released your next and growled. “Fucking stupid bitch.” He stood up and slammed his boot down on your arm causing you to scream. “Give me everything you’ve got.”

You whimpered. “I’ll send you the last of my savings. Tell your boss I’ll slowly pay him back each month.” You shivered as you fought your tears. “Please.”

He released you. “Send.”

You tapped on your communicator and sent the money across. “It’s yours.”

“Good bitch.” A sense of pride filled him. He got a lot of money from you, it wasn’t enough to pay off the debt but it was enough to make Levi happy. With this pride in him, he decided to take things further and slowly started trashing your apartment as you begged him to stop. He walked over to you and kicked you to the floor a few times. “Dumb bitch. I’ll be back soon.”

After leaving you he felt like he could run miles, drink bottle after bottle and fuck anyone he wanted. A false sense of power filled him. To him, he felt like there was no shot Levi would deny him a chance to be a scout. He did everything to make Levi proud. First, he had to report to Mike.

Mike sniffed the air once the kid returned. “I smell blood.”

The kid smirked. “For a good reason.”

Rage filled Mike. “What did you do?”

“Something amazing.” He shoved Levi’s office door open and grinned. “I got your money!”

Levi turned to face the kid and noticed his knuckles and shirt had blood on them. “Why is there blood on you?”

“Well, the dumb bitch needed to learn a lesson. So, I beat her black and blue, choked her a bit before trashing the place. She sent me the last of her savings.” He laughed hard as he thought about you. “What a pathetic bitch she was. Begging me to stop and that Danny wasn’t there. Said that I took all her money too.”

Levi’s foot connected with the kid’s gut and sent him smashing into the metal office door causing a dent to form. The raw power behind Levi’s hits was frightening to anyone. “I never gave you permission to lay a hand on her.” He walked closer as the air got thick and a darkness came over Levi’s face sending pure fear through the kid. “You beat a woman whose boyfriend had left her and you took all her money. This apartment she is in now? It’s the cheapest shit in the city, you dumb fucking piece of shit!”

Mike placed his hand on Levi’s chest. “Boss? We should focus on a girl needing medical attention, not this shithead.”

Levi pushed back his hair to return it to its tamed combed-back way. “You’re right.”

“Shall I send a medic?”

Levi shook his head. “I’ll go to her. I have to beg for her forgiveness for this moron. Make sure Hange sees him for discipline. Got it?”

“On it.”

Levi walked down the hall and sighed. “I’ll treat her. Tell the others not to bother me. I’ll update Erwin too.”

Mike dragged the kid down the hall. “I’m sorry I was a bad teacher to this one.”

Levi paused in the lift and looked at his friend. “You are not at fault for his stupidity. He thought his dick was bigger than it is. The fault is in him, not you. You’ve trained a lot of good members. I’ll be back soon.”

“You got it.”

The feelings inside Levi right now felt like something was burning him. No matter how hard he tried to push it down, it was still boiling up inside him and he wanted to hurt someone. The wheel groaned under Levi’s angry grip as he made his way to your apartment. He was thinking of what to say to you, but all the things that came to mind were just pure anger towards the kid who did this to you.

He parked up and went through the apartment block until he reached your door. He didn’t expect you to open your door to him, so he had a story ready and a lot of apologies. He gripped his medical bag, lightly rapped his knuckles against the door and held his breath a moment.

You pressed the small window and gazed out at Levi. Your heart skipped a beat as you took in the most handsome man you’d ever seen. “C-Can I help you?”

Levi flinched at your projected voice. “Hello. I’m Levi Ackerman. I believe a fucking piece of shit came here earlier and hurt you. I am sorry. He was in training with my people, but now he’ll be punished. I want to fix what he’s broken. I have a medical bag.” He lifted it for you to see. “I want to help. I’ll pay for the damages.”

You whined. “I can’t pay you back though and I already owe you money because of my ex.”

“After what that shit stain did to you today while using my name, I am wiping the debt clean for you.”

You gripped the door handle. “But my ex still owes you?”

“I will break him if you let me.”

You giggled. “Please do.” You opened the door a little. “Please excuse the mess and my face. I’m trying to clean up.”

Levi’s eyes widened as he took you in. Both your eyes were bruised up, your lip was cut, your nose had bled and there were marks on your neck. “Fuck.”

You smiled sadly. “That bad?”

He blushed. “Sorry. I just…I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re here to fix it, so it’s okay.” You waved him in. “Come on in.”

Levi slipped his shoes off and made himself at home. “Thank you.”

“Can I get you a tea?”

He looked around your place to see the damaged things gathered in the corner ready to be fixed. “Uh, I think you should relax.”

You walked over to him. “You having tea with me would help me relax.”

He gazed at you as his heart fluttered. Your voice was incredibly soothing to him, your smile was infectious, your body divine and there was just something about you that drew him to you. “I’ll take that tea then.”

“Wonderful.”

“I’ll set up everything.” He placed his medical box on the table, used his fingerprint to open it and started getting a few things out for you. The way you looked it seemed like some bones had either been broken or cracked, so he needed his best stuff. “Have you done anything yet to try and heal your wounds?”

You returned to Levi with his tea and yours. “I tried. I can’t afford much right now. All I could do was fix my ribs and arm with bone healing. I think he cracked something.”

“Shit.”

You sat next to Levi. “All I need is the face stuff.”

He nodded and picked a bone healer. “I think you have a cracked bone where your cheek is. Are you okay with me using the healer?”

You clenched your fists as you felt nervous. “Yes, but I’m not looking forward to the pain. The bone healers are horrible.”

His touch was light as he held your chin. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m so tired.”

He hesitated momentarily when he saw the exhaustion and pain on your face. “Forgive me. This is only for a moment, okay?”

You whimpered. “Okay.”

He pressed the healing pen against your cheek and injected it. He flinched you grabbed his arm tightly and cried in pain. “I’m sorry. Just a bit longer.” He pulled back and rubbed his thumb over the wound. “Better?”

You sniffed. “Mm.”

Instinct and feelings overtook his actions leading him to kiss your cheek. As soon as he registered what he did he released your cheek and pulled back. He blushed when you smiled sweetly at him before and leaned towards him for a kiss. Levi held his breath and moved closer but you flopped forwards against him after passing out.

Levi released a long sigh before looking around the room. “Hmm.” He lay you down on the sofa before looking around your place. It was all one room and just a blind to hide your toilet and shower. “Where does she sleep?” He stared at the sofas, the blankets, the pillows and a little cushioned board that would attach the two sofas. “Fuck me…poor thing.”

Levi scooped you up into his arms and carried you to his car. He carefully placed you in the back before loading all your belongings into his car, which wasn’t many. As soon as he had everything he drove to the best hotel he owned and parked in his spot. First, he took you to the best room and lay you on the bed, then he added your things to the room.

He went to the bathroom and ran you a bath so you could relax when you woke up, he even made sure to add something nice to the water and put the towel on the radiator. Room service was ordered for you and Levi made sure that everyone knew that anything you asked for, or ordered, was on him. He wanted to make sure you were as comfortable as possible. He knew very well you’d wake up and try to pay him back for everything, so he had a plan.

Your eyes flew open as you inhaled deeply. “Levi.”

Levi sat on the bed with you. “I’m here.”

You looked around a little. “Where am I?” Tears filled your eyes as you felt slight fear. “I’ll do anything to get your money back to you, but I won’t sell my body to you or anyone. I’m sorry! I can’t.”

Levi cupped your face. “Shh, shh, I’m not asking that.” He wiped your tears away. “I don’t support that at all, okay? Besides, the debt you’re talking about is not yours, it’s your ex’s.”

“But he put things in my name.”

“I know, but I can tell by meeting you that you had no idea about it.” He hugged you. “Sorry, I felt like you needed this. Look, everything in your name has been moved to him, okay? Besides, if anyone is in debt to anyone it’s me to you. Someone in my name hurt you and damaged your things.” He pulled back and smiled a little at you. “I owe you and you owe me nothing.”

You pulled and played with the bed cover. “Mm, so, you want to help me?”

“Yes. I’ll give you anything you need.”

You gulped hard. “A good paying job?”

He chuckled. “I can get that arranged. It was my plan anyway. I know just the job for you and I will pay you well.”

Your eyes sparkled as you gazed at him. “Really? Amazing.” You gulped hard. “Thank you, Levi. I’m shocked at how much you’re helping me. You’re nothing like the rumours.”

“I’m glad.” He held your hand. “Now I’m taking care of you and I employ you, I am making a few changes. For starters, your apartment is no longer your apartment. I will sell it and you will be living here for a bit until I get you something better.”

Your heart fluttered. “Really? But-.”

He kissed your hand and smirked at you causing you to gasp and go quiet. “I take care of my employees. I’ll also pay you in advance and I will get some clothes sent here for you. Anything you need, let me know. Got it?”

You were so enchanted by his gaze that you just nodded and agreed with him. “Yes.”

“Good girl. Now, head to the bathroom and enjoy a nice hot bath. Once you’re done there go into the living room area and eat up everything there.” He pinched your cheek and wigged your face. “You deserve the best.”

You gripped the sheet tightly as a mixture of feelings went through you. At first, you thought Levi might hold affection towards you, but then you started to think that maybe he saw you as a young sister that he had to take care of. You didn’t mind because it meant at least someone cared about you in this sad city.

Two weeks had gone by and you were still in the hotel room recovering from being beaten. Your bruising had faded and your bones no longer felt funny. Levi had come by to see you almost every day. All Levi would do was check on you and give you some gifts before staying over for a while. The two of you would either talk, hang out a little or just sit in comfortable silence. It was nice to enjoy each other’s company.

Today you’d been alone for most of the day. You had grown so accustomed to Levi’s company, that you missed him. It was clear he was not coming to visit you, so you decided that you’d enjoy yourself and relax for the day. So, you run a hot bath with plenty of nice things in, heat your towel along with your dressing gown before getting in.

As soon as your body hit the water it was in pure heaven. All your aches washed away causing sleepiness to consume you. You closed your heavy eyes and softly slept in the big comfy bath. All your cares and worries in the world were gone. Even though Levi was a leader of a deadly and powerful gang, since meeting him you felt so safe and cared for. It was odd to seek comfort with a man who can and has killed.

Levi felt bad that he hadn’t come to see you all day, but he had a lot of meetings and needed to make sure your job was all set up. The job he had made for you was just a front and kind of fake. A building had been set up with a reception desk area that only people with ID approval on their communicator could get in. The work Levi was going to get you to do was just organise his emails a bit, send some messages for him, review mission reports for him and sum it all up in a smaller report. It was nice and simple for you.

He searched for you around your hotel room, but could only find evidence of your presence. The last place he checked was your bedroom and you had left your bathroom door open. He glanced inside to see you in the bath with your eyes closed. A slight jolt of fear went through him as you lay there unmoving. He hurried inside and checked your pulse to find your heart beating.

He released a long sigh and pulled away from you. “Tch, thank fuck.”

The sweet sound of Levi’s voice caused your eyes to flutter open. “Levi?”

He quickly turned his back to you when you started to sit up. His cheeks burned at the image of the top of your wet breasts came to mind. He used every ounce of his willpower to think of anything else, but it was hard to when you were moving about in the bath behind him. His hands shook a little as nerves consumed him. Normally he was smooth talking with people and confident, but you made him a mess.

You climbed out of your bath, dried yourself and then put on your dressing gown. “You can look now.”

He turned to look at you and felt his heart flutter. “Sorry, I came in here. I saw you lying there and not moving and I got concerned. I’m glad you are well.”

You fidgeted on the spot. “I’ve never had anyone care so much before. Thank you. I am well. I uh…I was worried about you because you were a while.”

He reached over and caressed your cheek. “You missed me?”

“I did.” You pulled from his touch with the belief that he held no love in his heart for you. Your heart was damaged and fragile, so it was difficult to imagine someone would care for you without a catch. Plus, you believed that Levi was only helping you out of guilt. “Are you here to make sure I’m eating well? I am if you’re asking.”

He emptied your bath as he hummed a little. “I am here to tell you about your new job.”

You sat down on a seat in the bathroom. “Really? That’s exciting.”

He nodded. “Yep. What you’ll be doing is checking emails for me, sending messages out, reviewing reports and then converting them into smaller ones to send to me. There’s no pressure either.”

You smiled sweetly. “Sounds like a great job.”

“I’m glad you think that.” He tapped on his communicator on his arm. “Sending you your first month’s pay.”

You looked down at your comms, the amount that came through made you gasp in shock. “Levi, this is too much.”

He hummed a laugh. “I think it’s not enough. I know you’ll be good at your job and you’ll help me out a lot.”

“When do I start?”

He rolled his sleeves up to reveal his arms were covered in tattoos. “Whenever you want.” He noticed you were staring at his arms. “Is it the muscles or tattoos that have your attention?”

You gulped hard. “Tattoos. I can tell you’re covered in muscles, but I didn’t expect the ink.”

He hummed a laugh. “I’m covered in tattoos. I have a few spots free that I intend to put something special there.”

“For a lover?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

You hummed a laugh. “What if it doesn’t go well with your lover?”

He cleaned up the tub as he thought. “Well, I intend to make it work with them. I don’t throw my love around.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

He stared at you for a while. “I have two exes and both I tried to love, but failed which is why I am not with them and I don’t have a tattoo. I know I’ll find the one. I have a strong feeling they are close.”

You fiddled with your dressing gown. “I’m happy for you.” You rose to your feet. “I’m going to change and probably go to bed. I fell asleep in the bath so I am taking the hint that I need sleep.”

“I’ll stay over. I have paperwork to do.” He watched you for a moment. It was clear something was bothering you and he was hoping that maybe the connection you had already would help. He waited a while so you could change before joining you. He softly called your name as you climbed into bed. “Something bothering you?”

You sat in bed and hummed in thought. “I’m just thinking things over. My situation and everything. I’m so grateful to you for what you’ve done. Thank you.”

He walked closer to you. “You feel guilty, don’t you? I want to treat you. This is all my choice.”

You welled up a little. “I don’t understand why you’re doing it all.”

“Because you don’t deserve the terrible things that have happened to you. You deserve good things in life.” He reached over and rubbed your cheek. “You deserve happiness.”

“Levi.”

He smiled a little. “An I uh…I li…I…I li.” He winced at his comms going. “Tch, shit. I have to get this. Excuse me.”

You smiled at him. “It’s okay. I’ll get some sleep. Thank you though. I feel better knowing your reason for helping me. I think I’m just…that damage Danny did.”

Levi pinched your cheek. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me, okay? Also, when I find that piece of shit I will make him wish he was never born.”

You giggled. “I can’t wait.”

He tucked you into bed. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me, okay?”

You curled up under the covers. “Thank you.”

Levi made his way to your living room and sat. He released a long sigh and thought about everything. His heart longed for you but he wasn’t sure if he should pursue anything because you had been hurt, your heart had been damaged. Walking into your life and loving you was not the answer to your problems. No matter how much Levi longed to be yours, it just wasn’t the right move right now. All he needed to do was look after you, give you the space you needed and watch for signs of when you were ready to receive love again.

For now, Levi was going to find your ex and drag his sorry ass back to this city and make him pay. He tapped away on his communicator and called the best tracker in his gang. “Sasha? I’ve got a job for you.”

“Hey, boss! What can I do for you?”

Levi sent all the information he had over. “I need you to find this man for me. He skipped town after gaining a large debt. He left someone wonderful to suffer because of it. Find him for me and when you do, do whatever you want or can to drag him back here.”

Sasha laughed. “You got it, boss, I’m happy to hunt and hurt him.”

“I appreciate this. You’re doing me a big favour. I’ll call you later.” He ended the call and gazed out of the window at the neon city with cars flying by. “Mmm, she deserves better.” He glanced down to see Hange’s name light up. “What can I do for you?”

Hange grinned. “I have some great news for you! I did a lot of research on the girl you’re looking after.”

“Oh?”

She giggled. “I am sending it over now. Looks like she was dating Danny for a year and he was good at first, but then the debts started a few months in. She was saving money for a dream home in the city.”

Levi gulped hard. “Send me a picture.” He tapped away on his comms and smiled at the cute apartment that was a little high up with a wonderful garden. “So cute. It fits her well. Well, I think we should work on making her dream come true.”

“Great idea! Now, can I ask why you’re doing all this? I’m curious Levi because you’ve never done this before.” She hummed a laugh. “She special?”

“She is.”

“You going to ask her out?”

He looked over at your door. “Not yet.”

“When?”

He ruffled his hair. “When she’s ready.”

“Baby steps with her. You’ve got this.”

Levi smiled a little. “Thanks.”

As Levi pulled up in the car it allowed you to look out at the building where you’d work. It was tall and shiny with a few pretty plants outside. You climbed out of the car and clutched your bag tightly as you admired the place. Happiness filled your heart because it was the most perfect place to work. The best part about it was Levi was leading you to the doors. The more you looked at Levi, the more your heart yearned for him.

Levi beckoned you closer. “This door will open for you because I have uploaded an ID to your communicator. Anyone without one won’t be able to get in.” He pushed the door open. “This is your office.”

You gasped in delight at the tidy and cute desk Levi had set up. It had wonderful soft and gentle colours on it, with a few little cute cuddly toys. The computer screen was nice and big for you. The mouse pad had a little dog on it and matched the sweet theme of everything. You adored the officer chair and thought the bunny ears on top were a cute addition. There was a snack cupboard and a fridge for you, along with a nice tea and coffee station.

Levi pulled the chair out for you. “Take a seat.”

You sat down and enjoyed how comfy it was. “This is nice.”

He leaned over your shoulder and whispered against your ear causing you to shiver. “I’m so glad. You wanna know the best thing about this job?”

You turned your head and gazed at Levi. “What?”

He eyed your lips for a moment before looking deep into your eyes. “No customers. It’ll be incredibly rare that someone will come here. Isn’t that good?”

You giggled. “Yes. I love that.”

“I’m glad.” He pulled back and hummed. “I’ll be working here in the office behind you. If you need me, you call for me.”

You nodded. “Promise.”

“Good girl.” He walked towards the door behind you. “I mean it. Call me if you need me for anything at all, even if it’s for a chat.”

You waved to him. “I promise.”

You waited for Levi to go into his office before you tapped on your keyboard and saw you were logged in thanks to your communicator. You stared at your empty emails and felt a bit useless, but a wonderful email came through from Levi. He made your heart flutter at how sweet he was in his welcome email. You replied to him and smiled at the emails that came through, along with a to-do list.

When you studied the to-do list, it didn’t seem like that much for the day which wasn’t too surprising. A part of you suspected that this job was just a front for Levi’s shady business, but you didn’t mind at all. Levi was kind and sweet to you, so you were happy to do anything he asked of you. You got to work right away and enjoyed the delicious snacks and food Levi had bought you.

As lunch came, you ordered some food to be delivered to the building. When the delivery machine arrived you opened the door and took all the food. You were about to close the door but an old man slammed his cane on the door and shoved it open. You backed up a little before blocking his path because Levi had clearly told you that you would never have contact with customers again.

You gulped hard. “Sorry sir, but can I help you?”

“Help me!? Help me!? I don’t like your tone of voice! And look at you, ordering food and grabbing it from a bot right in the front door where customers enter!”

You flinched at his tone. “Sir, we’re not a business. This building just has me and my boss in. We just process reports.”

He pointed at you. “Are you calling me stupid? How dare you!”

You felt panicked and tried to keep your cool due to years of customer service. “I’m sorry, sir, that was not the intention of my words. May I ask the reason why you wish to come into this building?”

“Why? Do you not know? My god, when I was your age we knew what we did in our jobs. These days all you young people just sit around and don’t care! This world hates old people! I am here for my money!”

You gripped the bag of food. “From Mr Ackerman?”

He shoved past you. “That’s what he’s called now, huh? They’re always swapping people around and getting rid of the old experienced workers. Now these places are full of young people who have no experience!”

You hurried after him. “Is it taxes? Council tax? Pension?”

He glared at you. “Why should I tell you!? You’re just a receptionist! Go get your boss, a real man! I demand to see him!”

You placed the food bag down on your desk. “Mr Ackerman is a rather busy man. He deals with a lot and-.”

“Are you saying no to me? What kind of customer service is this? You stupid pathetic woman! I pay your wages! I want to put in a complaint about you! Everything has gone bloody downhill! I’ll have your job.” He slammed his cane down on the floor. “You are prejudiced against old people! I’ll have your job for that! I promise you, you little fat tramp, you will be out on your arse in a heartbeat if I was your boss!”

You fought your tears and took in a deep breath. “Mr Ackerman deals with clubs, bars and shops. He doesn’t deal with pensions, taxes, benefits or council tax. We do not accept customers in this build. You are in the wrong place, I am sorry. Now if you tell me why you are here, I can help you out.”

He swiped his cane and smacked your leg with it. “Don’t you talk to me like that! Who do you think you are? I’m not some senile old man! I used to work for a place like this you know? It was far better when I was younger! I want this Mr Ackerman out here now.”

You winced a bit. “I will go get him, please just take a seat.” You limped to the back door and knocked. “Levi?”

The door slid open and Levi’s soothing voice called your name. “Come in.”

You limped inside as you fought tears. “Umm. Some old man forced his way into the building and started calling me names and shouting at me. He hit me with his cane and demanded to talk to you. I’m so sorry. I tried to get rid of him for you. I’ve failed you on my first day.”

Levi hurried over to you and held you as you cried. “Shh, it’s okay you haven’t failed at all. Tell me what happened.” He listened to your story in between your sobs. “So cute, you got us lunch.”

You sniffed a little. “I did.”

“Thank you.” He softly wiped your tears away. “You are amazing, okay?” He released a long sigh. “You did so well against him, but remember it’s okay to ask for help.”

You hummed. “I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“You could never bother me.” He cupped your face and nuzzled his nose against yours. “I’m here for you, okay?”

A warmth washed over you from Levi’s words and touch. You felt safe. “Yes, Levi. Thank you.”

He released you and pulled his blazer off to show he had a tight-fitting waistcoat under. Next, he rolled his sleeves up to show off his tattoos. No matter how much he tried to put his hair back, a few strands kept falling out of the hold of the product. He glanced over at you. “You can stay here or join me. All I will say is, I’m not going to be friendly. In my world, it doesn’t matter how old you are or where you come from, if you show no respect you don’t get any.”  

You clasped your hands together before your chest as your eyes sparkled in awe. “I like it.”

He stormed out of his office to see the old man messing up your desk. “Tch, oi! What do you think you’re doing to my girl’s desk!?”

“You’re girl.” You softly whispered as your heart fluttered.

The old man was ready for a fight, but as soon as he locked his eyes with Levi it seemed as if he recognised just who he’d disrespected today. “Levi Ackerman?”

Levi snarled. “That’s right, and who the fuck are you? You came barging into my office. You disrespected me. You disrespected my place and worst of all” he moved closer with a menacing aura “you disrespected my girl. Now, kindly tell me what the fuck you want and why you are here because as far as I’m aware, I have no meetings today with shrivelled-up old cocks like you.”

The old man shook a little. “I thought…I thought this was…”

“This was what? Some place you could shout at poor hard-working people just so you could get your thrill for the day? So you could feel big and powerful, huh?” Levi spat his words at the man. “Pathetic. Picking on people who are doing their best in life because you think the world owes you everything? You probably did jack-shit for the world. You’re a greedy old fuck who needs to reflect on his life. I bet you’re alone, aren’t you?”

“I-I.”

“You made yourself that way.” Levi pocked him in the chest. “Your selfish and self-centred ways pushed everyone away. Why don’t you try doing things for others for a change? Maybe thank hard-working people for doing their job. You’re so focused on yourself that you don’t even realise how others may feel. The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

The old man lowered his head. “But I…”

“Did you ever stop to think about her? About maybe how your words could hurt? Plus, she isn’t a fucking mind reader. If you have a goddamn problem, you tell someone! She wanted to help you but you shut her down at every opportunity because you wanted to be this big ol’ dicked boss. Oh, and also? She was right. This place does not have customer service. I bet you were here about council tax, right?”

The old man mumbled a little. “Yes.”

“You got the wrong building. You need the other side of the city. I bet you knew you were wrong, so you took it out on her. It’s not her fault you’re stupid. It’s not her fault you got it wrong.” He walked over to the door and shoved it open. “Get out before I report you for hitting her with a cane. Yeah, U heard and I have cameras in here.”

You hurried over to the old man as he limped away with a strong blush. “Excuse me? I hope whoever hurt you in the past who made you like this suffered. Just because you’re hurting doesn’t mean you should hurt others. I really did want to help you.” You smiled softly at him. “Not everyone is out to hurt you. As a wonderful man once told me. Show respect and you get respect.”

The old man sneered at you as if you repulsed him. “I don’t need some mafia whore giving me therapy.”

Levi grabbed the scruff of the man’s collar and threw him out. “She gave you a chance and you fucked it up. If I see you near her again, I will beat your okay leg with your cane until the bone shatters.” Levi slammed the door closed and growled. “Un-fucking-believable. I should rip his spine out and use it to choke him!”

The rage inside Levi faded in an instant when you cupped his face with your soft hands. The sweet and bright look in your eyes made him melt. It was like you were a beast tamer. Instinct took over him causing him to nuzzle his face against your hand for comfort. He grabbed your hips first before pulling you against him. He held you for a while before releasing you.

Levi hummed a laugh. “Maybe I should add hugging to your job description.”

You giggled at how playful he was being. “Maybe. I like to see it as a fun bonus.”

He blushed bright red at your words. “W-We should have lunch.” He left you and grabbed the lunch bag. “Come on, let’s go.”

You hurried after him and went into his office. “Is it okay that I check my leg? He hit me rather hard.”

Levi placed the bag on the coffee table and looked over at you. “Where did he hit you?”

You touched your upper thigh. “Here.”

Levi gulped hard. He knew he needed to look at the wound and assess it, but at the same time, he was nervous about touching your sensitive thigh and looking at you without your tights on. “I ah…need you to lift your dress and take your tights off so I can look.”

You hummed and slipped your shoes off first before wiggling off your tights. “Sure.”

Levi could not take his eyes off of you. Something tingled inside him as your tights slowly dragged down your legs to reveal your soft and biteable skin. He wanted to bite and suck on your skin. He gulped hard as you lightly played with the bottom of your dress before pulling it up to show your thighs to him.

You turned a little. “My left thigh.”

He knelt before you and gripped your thigh. “Fuck.” He stared at the big wound. “He hit you hard.”

“He did.” You felt Levi’s grip on your thigh tighten with his rage. You reached down and played with his hair. “I’m okay. You’ll heal it.”

He looked up at you as he lightly massaged your thigh. “I will. I’ll fix it.” He rose to his feet and looked down at you, his big muscles and dominant look making you feel so small and yet protected. “Take a seat on the sofa, okay?”

You sat down and watched Levi closely. “Thank you. You always seem to be helping me out.”

“Well, because I want to.” He walked over to you with his medical bag and began rubbing the cream into the wound. “This should help.”

You hummed. “Thank you.” A shooting pain made you flinch. “Ow.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’ve done so much for me and you’re very delicate.” You smiled as you watched him work. “Your girl, huh?”

Levi’s cheeks went red. “U-Uh, y-yes. I-I meant that uh…that you uh…that you’re with me, you know? You’re um…protected by me.” He reached over and held your hand. “You’re mine.”

You smiled a little as happiness filled your heart. You knew there was a tiny chance this was a romantic claim to you being his girl, but in your eyes, Levi was too perfect for you. You were damaged goods and you felt like you’d only cause him pain if you got romantic. However, you had hope that there was a chance because he wasn’t any ordinary guy. Levi was a strong and deadly leader of a criminal group. He had control over a lot of the city and its money. Levi could protect you and care for you like no one has ever done before. You could tell by Levi’s words, his gaze, his touch and the way he smiled at you that you meant something to him.

[youandmedead]

𝕽𝖊𝖉𝖚𝖈𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖘𝖙 - 𝕬𝖉𝖆𝖒 𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖝 𝕲𝕹 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

Warnings: Swearing, heavy angst with no comfort, gory descriptions (it is saw, after all)

Notes: So this is chapter one of the Apprentice Adam fic. I decided to post it on here so I have a better chance at gaining feedback from people so I hope everyone enjoys it (this will also be posted on my A03 account @/Iliketomakeyousuffer as many people also wanted me to post this there, but I'm still trying to work out it's layout/set up)

Taglist: @ghustface737

Darkness shrouded the bloodied and germ ridden bathroom. The stench of bodies beginning to enter their decomposition stages and release their bowels, now that there was no use for them, lingered and entwined with the already nauseating stench that the trap had to offer. So many thoughts and emotions ran through Adam's already haywired brain. Was Lawrence going to survive? He was, right? He had to, he just had to! If he was going to make it, would he send help for him? Would he stick to his promise…after all Lawrence would never lie to Adam.

He said so himself.

With what little strength that Adam had possessed, he adjusted the position he currently resided in. He drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them, whilst trying to avoid further agitating the bullet wound around his right shoulder.

He sobbed helplessly - pain, sorrow, fear and anger all melded into one. The only thing stopping him from completely losing it and smashing an object then cutting his lifeout of existence, was the very thought of Lawrence's return or even the presence of another human being showing up, apart from that sick twisted psychopath that threw him in that god forsaken room and forced a man to completely saw his own foot off in order to prove his worthiness of life. As his mind flashed and flickered to the very moment when Lawrence sawed through the flesh, tissue and bone of his ankle in a mad fit of hysteria and rage, Adam's sons became more violent. His eyes hesitantly lingered over to the severed limb where Lawrence was once trapped - he gagged and his gaze hastily rushed back to his dirt covered knees.

-

The decreasing temperatures began to weave its way into the bathrooms foundations. Goosebumps prickled and littered Adam’s skin, his body began to shake and eventually began to feel a biting numb sensation in his feet, hands and the tips of his ear. He assessed the current conditions and assumed that it was night - he decided to try and keep track of the temperatures within the room to help assess what time of day it is, then from this he could potentially estimate how long he has spent in the desolate deathtrap.

The cuff and chain that restrained him to the massive network of pipes began to feel even more uncomfortable than before. The metal was digging into his skin and due to the cold, it burned his skin and thus irritated his ankle more. He attempted to slot his denim trousers in between the cool metal to ease off the sensation, however the material was wrapped around his ankle too tight to do so. He groaned in dissatisfaction and once again laid his forehead on his knees and hugged himself, hoping that someone would eventually come and save him.

-

Time passed at an agonising rate. On top of all of the traumatic events that Adam had been exposed to, the boredom played another factor in his torture. He found himself beginning to turn to hunger and thirst the longer the hours dragged on. Constant growls of starvation echoed throughout the desolate walls, no food was provided to him...except the rotting corpses laid out before him and the tiny bugs scavenging the floor. Would he grow so desperate for food to the point where he'd devour another's life? Well their time was up...

His body ached all over now and not just at the wound site. After crying, screaming and begging for hours on end, his voice grew hoarse and his throat now burned and he slowly began to feel his emotions drifting away from him. There was nothing left for him now. Despite his humanity and sanity still being intact, Adam wondered how long it would be before even those were stolen away from him. He knew that he wasn’t an angel and he knew that he didn’t have the most perfect track record when it came to people, but did he truly deserve this punishment? Was he not aware of how strenuous his sins and the paths he took in life were? The chains he forged in life were now being weighed down by all of his wrong doings and just like the key that was in that rusty, mucus filled bathtub it went down the drain and the possibility of it being retrieved were zero.

He reflected on himself, as a passenger of life and as a person in the lives of others who he cared for. Memories began showcasing in his mind like a presentation at a massive criminal court case - the bad were specifically provided to him in order to prove his guilt and define why he was in the position that he was stuck in now. He had done so many things that he regretted, things he wished he could travel back in time to prevent himself from saying…he should have really thought before he spoke when faced with a conundrum or a situation where someone’s tone seemed off. He always created enemies because of this and it eventually led to a solitary life. As a child, he was too, very much in the same state that he was in terms of a social life now - he only had one or two friends that he stuck to like glue, but he eventually screwed up and pushed them away, he would always misread a situation or go into defend mode when someone provided him with an act of kindness and drove them away through his stupidity and hot headed resolve. Many arguments that he had had with his parents, friends, past lovers and present lover invaded his fragile mind. With a deep sigh, Adam tried to think of some of the positive experiences he had in life. For example all of the memories he had shared with his partner y/n…they’ll be alone now that he’s gone. Will they believe he just randomly disappeared out of cowardice and despise him or will they search for him?

The night that Adam had been drugged and kidnapped, was the night that the two of them had a huge altercation…an argument that wouldn’t have occurred if Adam had just taken a moment to re-evaluate the situation and shut his mouth instead of adding more gasoline to the already blazing fire. A few tears collected and pooled in his eyes, he was such an asshole for leaving them there…and the fact that he was never able to apologise to them before he was led blindly to death's door will forever haunt him, even beyond the land of the living. They certainly were one of the best things that had ever happened in his life but he was such a fool for believing that his happy ending would be closer than he once believed. The two of them will never be able to sit down together and watch a cheesy B listed horror movie whilst taking a drink from a beer every time someone made a stupid decision or broke the rules that almost every horror movie abides by, they’ll never be able to sit on the local park’s bench during the autumn season drinking coffee, admiring and photographing the beautiful scenery filled with crimson, auburn and medallion hues, they’ll never be able to go see their favourite bands together and get absolutely wrecked in the mosh pits.

They’ll never be able to see each other again.

-

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he weakly muttered, “I'm going to get out of here…Lawrence will come, h-he’ll get me out of here. He’s alive, he’s alive and not dead. I’m going to get out. I have to get out.” The man began to rock backwards and forwards as he spoke to himself in a poor attempt to warm and soothe himself.

“Think of good stuff, don’t be dragged down by all of the bullshit, just think of the good.”

He squeezed his eyes closed, the pitch black that he saw was exactly the same as the bathroom’s brightness level - there was no difference whatsoever.

He searched long and hard in his memories until he stumbled upon a time where he was at his lowest as a child. He sat in the backyard of his family home with his beloved pet dog crying to him about how much he hated his life. He was absolutely devastated when he died. The first and only best friend he had was now gone forever. In a strange way, it helped him know what he wanted to do in his life. He wanted to help families and children have a longer time with their beloved pets:he wanted to repay animals for what they had done for him.

Suddenly Adam recalled telling Lawrence about it:

“Yep, I think I can safely say that it’s too late to become a vet”

“It’s never too late”

Adam then pointed to the bloodied corpse lying face down on the uninviting floor of the bathroom, with his brains splattered everywhere.

“Well he’s got fuck all chance of becoming a vet.”

Silence reigned through the room for a bit before Adam let out a chuckle and in turn Lawrence did the same till it died down and the two stared at each other.

Adam nodded and looked back at the photos of Lawrence's family, what was so wrong that he had done to end up in the same situation as a no good, pathetic waste of space?

-

Throughout his childhood, Adam was incredibly resilient. It felt as if everyone (including the world) were trying to knock him down to his lowest. As he sat there, he couldn’t help but think about how glad he was that he stayed in a weird sort of way. Yes he was still sick of all the assholes the world had to offer and yes he was still dealt with horrible cards, yet as pathetic as it may seem to some, he was glad he was able to find himself a person like Y/n. However he probably fucked up with them just like how he fucked up with his parents and everyone else.

-

His parents…

His mother left him a voicemail an hour or so before he was knocked out by a stranger in a pig mask and scarlett red cloak in his own home. “Adam, are you there? Please pick up if you are there. Your fathers not angry anymore. We just want to know if you’re alright. Please call honey…..goodbye.”

Adam’s breath hitched and exhaustion wracked through his body.

Perhaps some day he’ll be able to get out.

[nsyncat]

OK, so this is my first post EVER since I joined Tumblr like ten years ago. Always been a lurker, enjoying all of the wonderful things here, the gifs, fics, ships, art, all the knowledge and all the amazing heritage posts, but never posting and hardly reblogging, I don't know why, was always afraid I would make a mistake or reblogg incorrectly...

Anyway, the reason this is my first time posting is because THAT amazing moment that happened a week ago, and I've been losing my mind ever since, and unfortunately I have nobody to share this excitement with that will understand... So I had to get it out somehow, and here seems like the perfect place to do so.

I don't know if anybody will read this or pay it any attention, but never mind, I just have TO. GET. IT ALL. OUT!

So I've been a loyal fan of 9-1-1 this past six years, got hooked to these kind of first responders dramas, also Station 19 and then of course Lone Star. I fell in love with the writing, the drama and action, the characters of course, the emotional and moving stories, both of the regular cast and the people in the emergencies (am not afraid to admit that I cried more than a few times, especially when I was pregnant... woooh, that was a tough season for me).

Anyway, like everyone else, got invested in Buck's storyline and of course hopped on the Buddie train in season 2. And obviously there was something between them, and the fandom always clowned themselves that "in the next season SOMETHING is going to happen!" and I always wanted to believe it, and also fooled myself a few times but always was the cold harsh realist and realised it was not going to happen... But enjoyed the ride nonetheless, read amazing fics, saw wonderful fanart, read interesting breakdowns and analysis.

And then 704 happened and I'm not joking or exaggerating, my life changed!

Confirming that Buck is Bi was amazing! I'm ashamed to admit that I really thought it won't happen, EVER! So I still can't believe it actually happened (thank you soooo much ABC!) and like a lot of you, I've been on cloud nine this past week and can't wait for tomorrows episode (also not from the US), literally counting down the hours.

And look, I love Buddie, I really do, but I fell in love with TEVAN (my favourite one yet) 😍 and been OBSESSED with them this past week. Just from those few moments between them and what we barely know that is going to happen the next episode, I truly fell in love with them and really hope they make it as far as they can. I think its an amazing thing for Buck and also CANT. STOP. WATCHING THE KISS! The actors did an incredible job, especially Oliver, also with his spoken support of the storyline and his love for Buck. Such a KING! So this whole thing is huge.

And I have a one-year-old, my life is hectic with taking care of a little human being, a hubby who is also very busy, work, family and a million other things and this past year with a heavy heart I kinda neglected reading fics, and it was my main hobby, my escape, my one and constant thing in my LIFE since I was 12. I do read here and there, but not like I used to, reading hours and hours and into the night, multi chapters and long oneshots, in multiple fandoms, and now whenever I do get to read something once In a blue moon I'm not fully invested or enjoying it because either I'm tired or have something else more important to do. And unfortunately, eventually I noticed that I lost this fire, the passion in me and it left me sad and heartbroken...

And then something incredible happened. Ever since that earth-shattering kiss, the fire and passion came back! Holy shit! I've been reading and ENJOYING fics nonstop this whole week, I can't concentrate on work thinking about everything and reading in-between tasks, I use every single free minute I have to search new fics and scroll through the tags, I go to sleep late because I need to read just one more fic(!!!) even tough I have to wake up very early in the morning and I DON'T EVEN CARE. I'm thinking about it sooo much and imagining new scenarios in my head, and feeling giddy and happy, in a good mood a lot of the time, more optimistic, knowing I have a new and exciting place I can "escape" to, like I had in the past.

Its not that i'm not happy, I have an amazing son and a wonderful husband and I cherish every moment with them, but these are hard and difficult times and life can be hard and stressful and I'm a different kind of happy... So these past few days have been nourishment for my soul and my mood, it sounds so silly but its true! I'm feeling a bit like my old self and it's amazing.

And if someone did read this or did pay attention and got to this point, sorry for the long rant and thank you so much for the patience and understanding 🙏 I love you and wish you a wonderful weekend and happy Buck's-first-date-with-a-man day! 🥰

So I want to thank, from the bottom of my heart, ABC, Oliver, Lou and you crazy lot for resurrecting my old fangirl self 😌 I'm so grateful for all your posts, your takes, your similar enjoyment and of course your amazing fics you're writing and sharing 🩵

[slutshamethesquirrels]

Shamesy's Declassified Fanfic Writing Survival Guide - Part 3

Help! The world is burning and everything sucks!

hi hi friends!!! welcome back to the fanfic writing survival guide!

today i'm gonna cover a bit of a "no-no" topic, if you will. its something i've been struggling a lot with here recently and something i'm witnessing other authors go through as well: writer's block... or, at least, what you might think is writers block.

today, we'll be talking about what to do when you lose interest in your fic. and, respectively (possibly more importantly), what not to do.

1) Beat yourself up

Look, I know, I know. Theres a chance right now you're kicking yourself and loosing ur marbs because your little writer peanut brain has convinced you that you are satan's incarnate and everyone hates you and wants you to die.

this is, undeniably, untrue. i implore you to do whatever it takes to get out of this headspace before you do anything at all. go outside, touch some grass, maybe eat a bug, just really get in touch with the real breathing world with no fictional dick n balls for a while. however long it takes to realize your intrinsic value is not tied to the fictional dick n balls. there are no fictional dick n balls out there, friends. only real ones.

here u go, look at this:

feel better yet? if not, keep staring until you do. it'll get funny eventually, i swear.

2) Force yourself to write the damn thing anyway

this is only gonna result in a sub-par product, and your readers can tell. no, they can, i promise. it's always evident to me when an author has lost steam.

i dont want ur poo poo writing, and neither does anyone else. i would rather you abandon it entirely than ruin it-- AHT AHT! TAKE UR FINGERS OFF THE KEYBOARD RN!!! NO!!! BAD FIC AUTHOR!! BAD!!

3) Think you owe your readers anything

another controversial statement but what am i good for if not being a big ole bitch??

look, we love our readers. we ALL do but you simply cannot pour from an empty cup for them. you come first, your mental health and general health comes first. your interests come first and your wants and needs come first. if they want superhot!chad!alphamale!jimmy neutron x reader or whatever that fucking badly, they can write it themselves.

1) Write other things!

Yep yep!!! Write a one shot, a drabble, a personal self indulgent story, some poetry, whatever floats your boat!!

Remember, this is supposed to be fun! You are allowed to indulge in whatever you want to, shocker, I know!!! the world is your oyster baby! branch out to other fandoms, re-visit old dead writings you've re-gained interest in, write a character you don't usually write, jump on a roleplay forum and just chill, my dude. kick back and remember why you enjoyed it!

2) Put it on hiatus!

"NOOOOOO!" the readers shout and then immediately explode. "YEEEESSSSSS!" I respond just as violently. Seriously, push it away from your nog for a bit. Let it rest. I would rather see a good chapter from you in six months from now then to get something soulless. If you just cant rn, thats fine!!

3) Grab a buddy and have them critique you

god, i will forever be in debt to @vallification for having this type of friendship with me.

we often think of critique and feedback as a negative, but it can often breathe a new life into your work!! message your most down to earth and honest bud, send the draft over and just say "hey i fucking hate this why do i hate this" and chances are a pair of fresh eyes will be able to point out things to you you didn't see before. nut up and quit being a baby, we all have shit we can improve on. who are you, jesus christ? if yes, could you PLEASE answer my prayers and send me a hot n' spicy mcchicken to my door via drone and/or angelic delivery?? im not asking for much, dude its the best fast food sandwich.

"but shamesy, im super hermit basement dweller core and don't have a friend thats kind of a bitch that would--" yes the fart you do. im right fucking here, rude ass <3 my dm's and asks are always open.

3A) Bounce ideas off said homie

again, val could absolutely sit on my face for this. we throw ideas back and forth constantly. you have no idea how absolutely megamind brain your dogs can be until you ask them.

4) Just start virtually sharting onto a page

this is how suguru blue AND a first time for everything were created!!

just start typing and see what happens! sometimes it doesn't work out (#shamesy's failed ficlets ) but no matter the case it'll help you loosen up a little

5) Take your writing on the go!!

ooooo I LOVE THIS ONE!! Take your laptop or phone to the park, the beach, a coffee shop or cafe and just make it feel less like work and more like play! this can do WONDERS for your creativity! the library is also a great place, because you have so much literary inspiration to quickly reference!

hope this helps!! you can check out my masterlist to find the other two survival guides as well as all my writings! stay cooch!!!

[perseusannabeth]

Chapter 8 - Cassian

A/N: Hi guys, long time no see!

I just want to thank everyone for all the lovely comments you left me during this really long break I took. I really appreciated them, even though I didn't respond. You guys were the reason I carried on writing.

After I posted the last chapter, my grandad got really ill, and he passed away at the beginning of this year, so I've been super absent because as you can imagine, taking care of my grandad, and then dealing with his sickness and then death took it out of me. I'm doing a lot better now though, but writing isn't coming to me as easily as it was before.

I felt like since I finally finished writing and editing this chapter, everyone deserved it, but I have no idea when the next chapter will be. I promise I'm still writing this fic, I'm just taking a long time to write the chapters.

With that being said, please remember that this fic is angsty. There are no trigger warnings I can think of for this chapter, but if people think of any that need to be added, please let me know!

Word count:   7282

LMBYH Masterlist | My Masterlist | My Ask Box | Read on AO3

Cassian had never been the kind of man to live in excess. He enjoyed his wine and whiskey as much as the next person, but he rarely got drunk. Frankly, he found the effects on his health the morning after far too much for a man of his age. This night, however, was making Cassian wish he could work his way up to a drunken stupor because the after-effects of that would be more enjoyable than this night. 

It hadn’t all been bad though. He had felt fairly good at the beginning of the ball and eventually had felt a level of joy he hadn’t known was possible when he had danced with his wife. The dance had given him hope that perhaps they could grow to have a more ‘normal’ relationship as husband and wife one day. One where they could grow to care for one another, and where they could depend on each other. They could become a husband and wife partnership that his parents had never had. Cassian had felt the chemistry with his wife, and he had wanted more. But hope was for fools, and he was the biggest fool of them all.

Nesta had seemed to be enjoying herself, talking to old Devlon. He hadn’t even known they were friends, but that made Kallon’s outburst at their wedding even worse. Then she was sat by her sister, and Feyre seemed so happy to spend time with Nesta. He somehow managed to lose sight of his wife, he thought she was safe with Feyre. He didn’t want to make it seem like he was following her, he had stayed close by if she needed him. He didn’t want to smother her.

It had come as a shock to him when Adelaide told him his wife was not feeling well, and he looked around to notice she wasn’t in the main hall like he thought. When he had tried to find Nesta, he had managed to get cornered by Ianthe, which he should’ve known would happen. Then of course, he was careless and Nesta saw them together, and as he tried to chase his wife and explain what she had seen, only for her to bump into Philp Mandray of all people. It was like a nightmare, only worse because Cassian knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was real. He wished he knew what he had done to deserve this. 

The events of the night felt like they were catching up with him, and his head certainly felt like it was spinning. He wished he could just go to sleep and forget any of this had happened, but he couldn’t. Cassian wasn’t sure how long he stood there, looking at Philip and Nesta before he managed to shake himself out of his daze. Seeing Philip was a shock to the system. He knew that Philip would not be welcome at Helion’s house. Helion had his own issues with Philip Mandray way before the issue of Cassian marrying Nesta had happened.  

“Nesta, are you alright?” Cassian asked loudly, reminding both Philip and Nesta of his presence. Nesta flinched at the sound of his voice. Cassian felt like a knife had pierced his chest at the sight of his wife, practically in another man’s arms, flinching at the sound of his voice hurt him more than he cared to admit. 

“She’s fine, she’s always been very clumsy,” Philip responded, his voice grating on Cassian’s nerves as he spoke, a smirk on his face. Cassian’s hands were balled up, wishing he could throw a punch, but he couldn’t let his anger get the better of him like it did at his wedding. He needed to make sure Nesta was okay. 

“I wasn’t aware that you had changed your name Mandray. Last time I checked, Nesta was my wife’s name. Care to explain why you decided to respond on her behalf?”

Philip’s face was instantly flooded with red, a mixture of anger and embarrassment, which brought Cassian great joy. Cassian hadn’t given a shit about Philip Mandray before, not until he had stopped Cassian from meeting Nesta before their wedding. Still, Cassian couldn’t bring himself to feel even the smallest ounce of guilt when it came to embarrassing Philip. 

“Nesta, sweetheart, are you okay?” Cassian asked softly as he stepped forward. He slowly walked towards his wife, putting himself between her and Philip. 

It seemed like that had been the right move, because Cassian coming into her line of sight seemed to snap her out of the state of shock she had gone into, and she didn’t flinch at the sound of his voice when she was looking at him. Cassian started to move his hand slowly to help her up, not wanting any sudden movements to startle his already terrified wife, but she didn’t even wait for his hand to become fully outstretched before she grabbed his arm so tightly Cassian wondered if she would leave marks. His wife was delicate and didn’t look like she would have the strength to do so, but she might prove him wrong.

She gripped him like she was afraid to let go, so Cassian brought her close by his side. Although he and his wife were not ones for public displays of affection, or any affection, Cassian felt that with Philip around, a united front was needed. 

“I wasn’t aware that you were invited to Helion’s party Mr Mandray,” Cassian said, in the hope of reminding the man that he was risking making a huge scene if the hosts discovered he was here uninvited. A man like Philip put a lot of thought into his appearance, and sometimes needed reminding that he was not as untouchable as he thought. 

“I was not, but I’m sure that I could’ve gotten an invite if I wanted. Anything can be bought for a price, after all,” Philip said, responding to Cassian but not taking his eyes off Nesta, who had buried her face in his chest. Cassian was trying not to focus on the fact this was the most physical contact they’d had since the wedding night.  

“Well, an invitation to this party cannot be bought. I suggest you leave before you end up embarrassing yourself by having to be removed forcibly. I’m sure the guests would enjoy the entertainment though, if you feel like putting on a show,” Cassian said, smirking at him.

“There’s no need for the threats. That’s not the kind of behaviour I would expect from a Duke,” Philip said, tutting and shaking his head in fake disappointment. 

“Ah yes but you forget, I’m not just simply a Duke. I was also in Her Majesty’s army. This is a tame reaction for a soldier,” Cassian said sternly. He didn’t remind people of his history very often, but Philip Mandray needed to be reminded that he was a threat.

Unfortunately for Cassian, it seemed that Philip didn’t give a shit. “What good is a soldier who has no experience in a war? We have been at peace for so long that your title is just for show.”

“I don’t need to justify my service to the likes of you. The Queen is aware of what I did for my country,” Cassian said, wishing he was able to say more. 

Thankfully, Nesta tightened her grip on Cassian’s arm, reminding him she was in desperate need to get out of there. Although they hadn’t spoken about him very much, Cassian was very aware of how terrified she was of Phillip. He simply decided to ignore Philip’s existence (as much as it pained him) and focus on his clearly terrified wife. 

“Do you remember what I said before we came? About how if you want to go home, you just need to say the word?” He asked quietly, so only Nesta could hear. Philip watched them with great curiosity, but Cassian ignored him. 

Nesta had been shaking in his arms before, but now she was still. Cassian knew she remembered what he had said, but she didn’t say a word. He didn’t know why he was forcing Nesta to tell him she was uncomfortable and wanted to leave, but he felt like it was important for her to say this.

He waited for a response, before deciding that perhaps it was best to ease her into these things. He knew she wouldn't have been allowed to voice her opinion while married to Tomas. 

“Nesta, I need an answer. Do you want to go home?”

Nesta was so still in his arms that he wasn’t sure she had heard him. He was about to repeat himself when she nodded, her face still buried in his chest, but it was enough of a step for Cassian. He knew that telling him she wanted to go home had not been easy for her. 

He didn’t bother glancing at Philip, who was glaring at him with such hatred that Cassian wished he could punch him. It seemed unfair that he had punched Kallon at the wedding, but had never once laid hands on Philip, despite him being far worse in some respects. 

Still, he had someone else to think about now. He couldn’t let his emotions rule him, not when he had Nesta to worry about. He led Nesta into Helion’s study, knowing the guards would be standing around. As lax as Helion could be, he would never give someone the opportunity to slip into his study when nobody was paying attention. He’d learnt the hard way that he always had to be prepared. 

Thankfully, the guards knew Cassian well enough to allow him into the study. He guided Nesta onto one of the many armchairs placed around the room, before going to the guard at the door, asking him to find someone to bring his carriage around to the side entrance. With the state Nesta was in, he didn’t want the partygoers to talk about her more than they already were. 

A servant was called and asked to relay a message to Helion and Adelaide that the two of them would be leaving now. They would pass the message on to Nesta’s sisters and the rest of their friends so nobody would worry. He would have to explain what happened later on, once he had made sure Nesta was okay. He knew he had some explaining to do to his wife first, but seeing Philip had clearly scared her. He needed to make sure she was okay before talking to her about anything else that had happened during the evening. He didn’t want to add to her stress and worsen her condition, because she looked incredibly unwell right now. 

Cassian was tempted to send a rider to go get the doctor so that they would arrive home at the same time as the doctor and he would be able to check Nesta over. Thankfully, the rational part of Cassian’s mind reminded him that his wife wasn’t even comfortable around him, so there was no way she would remain calm when a doctor tried to do an examination. 

Since she had been seated in the armchair, Nesta had gone still. Before, when she had been in his arms, she had been shaking uncontrollably; whether this was due to her fear or shock, Cassian was unsure. Now, she was not reacting to anything. He had called her name a few times, moving in front of her hoping to snap her out of her trance, but there was nothing, not even a trace of recognition. He didn’t want to risk touching her in case she reacted badly. She seemed to shy away from him at the best of times. 

Thankfully, the carriage pulled around the French doors, probably ruining Helion’s perfectly manicured lawn, but Cassian didn’t give a shit if he was perfectly honest. He knew that Helion and Adelaide wouldn’t care either. 

“Nesta, the carriage is here. Let’s get you home now,” Cassian said gently as he kneeled down in front of her, slowly putting his hand on Nesta’s. Thankfully, that seemed to be enough to bring Nesta back into the present, although she seemed disorientated. 

Cassian guided her into the carriage by her hand, similar to how you would take a child by the hand to guide them. Cassian joined her in the carriage, trying to give her as much space as possible in a carriage. 

Not knowing what to say, Cassian decided to stay silent. His silence allowed him to get lost in his own thoughts, which mostly consisted of him thinking how nice the calm before the storm had been. His mind kept going back to how beautiful Nesta had looked while dancing in his arms. He had never seen his wife radiate such joy, and he wished he could go back to that. Instead, it had all gone to hell as soon as she left his arms, or so it felt like. There had been chaos after, and Cassian couldn’t understand what happened. Only, that was a lie. He hadn’t been careful. He had let his guard down in his joy of being out with his wife.

He was pulled out of his melancholy thoughts by the sound of Nesta gasping for breath. It seemed like she had come out of the trance, and now the panic in her eyes told Cassian she was hyperventilating. 

“Nesta, it’s okay, you’re safe. Please, just breathe,” Cassian said, scrambling closer to her. His movements made her flinch away from him, so he stilled and sat as still as he possibly could in a moving carriage. 

His words were no help to her, Nesta’s mind was already riddled with panic, and her breathing was getting shallower and louder. Cassian knew she needed fresh air, but stopping their carriages on the mostly deserted roads was not safe either, so he made a decision, which was most definitely a stupid decision. 

He moved to the door of the carriage while he shucked off his overcoat, wrapping it around his hand clumsily, and then punched the glass. It shattered instantly, causing Nesta’s strangled-sounding breaths to stop. He ignored the pain in his hand and cleaned all the glass near Nesta so she wouldn’t get hurt. 

Once her path to the broken window was as safe as he could make it, he moved back to the other side of the carriage. “You needed fresh air to help make you feel better. Please mind the glass,” Cassian said, nodding at the window. 

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again after no words came out. She took some time, but eventually, she moved towards the broken window and closed her eyes. The gentle breeze moved the strands of hair that had come out of her coronet, and Cassian could almost fool himself into pretending she looked calm. 

For the rest of the carriage ride, Nesta closed her eyes and focused on her breathing while Cassian watched her cautiously from the other side of the carriage. She didn’t seem to be calming down, not that he could tell anyway, but she was certainly getting control of herself again. Cassian wished he knew what that meant though. Was it calming enough? Did that mean she felt better, or just better enough to hide her emotions from Cassian? He assumed it was the latter, but it didn’t stop him from wishing he knew his wife better. How could they live together if they didn’t know each other? Every time he tried opening up to her, he was met with a cold hard wall. He knew she didn’t want to share things about her previous marriage, and he assumed none of it could be good, but he knew nothing. 

A normal married couple would know things like each other’s likes and dislikes, and what made them happy or sad. A normal husband would know how to comfort his wife when she was in the state Nesta was in. But Cassian was no normal husband. How could he be, when Nesta was no normal wife? He didn’t need a normal relationship, and he had known that their marriage would be normal, but he didn’t imagine feeling so helpless. He had assumed that taking Nesta away from the Mandray house would free her. He didn’t realise the impact the years had on her until he started living with her. 

When the carriage stopped outside of their house, Cassian felt relief. He knew that, here at least, Nesta was safe and comfortable. He had control of the environment, the situation and the people now, so he might be able to be more useful to Nesta. At the very least, he could do things to distract himself from the helplessness while his wife fought the demons in her mind.  

He jumped out of the carriage, holding the door open for Nesta so she didn’t touch the broken glass. She stepped out gingerly, looking so weak that Cassian fought the urge not to scoop her up in his arms and carry her to bed. 

Hill was waiting at the door, watching pensively as they came in. She knew Cassian well enough to know when something was wrong, and nobody could look at Nesta and assume she was okay.

“What do you need me to do?” Hill asked, ready to jump into action as per usual. 

“I need some tea if you don’t mind,” Cassian said. Hill didn’t say anything, just rushing off towards the kitchen. 

He guided Nesta to their bedroom, trying his best not to come too close to her. She seemed to be walking in a trance, the part of her brain that knew her routine just took over as she walked to their rooms. Nesta walked in and took a step towards the dressing room before Cassian gently told her to sit down.

She froze, and Cassian was sure that she had forgotten he was even there. “If you would just take a seat for a few moments, Hill will be here soon. I would feel much better if you drank some tea to calm your nerves before attempting to sleep.”

He knew saying he wanted Nesta to drink the tea was a low blow, she would see it as a direct order from him, but right now he didn’t care. If she was only willing to sit and drink the damned tea because he told her to, he would order her gladly. He needed to do something, anything to make himself feel better. 

Nesta sat down, as he requested, on his mother’s armchair, which pleased Cassian, and he couldn’t quite say why. Either way, seeing his wife sitting in his mother’s favourite chair was a nice feeling. It calmed his nerves ever so slightly. 

“Your hand,” Nesta murmured, as Cassian sat down on one of the other chairs. 

“Pardon?” Cassian asked. She had spoken so quietly that he wasn’t sure he had heard her properly.

“Your hand, you hurt it,” Nesta said, looking at his injury. 

Cassian followed her gaze to his hand, and to his surprise, it was bleeding. It looked rather gruesome, and as though it should hurt, and yet Cassian hadn’t even noticed it. He had assumed his clumsily wrapped overcoat would do the job, but in all honesty, he hadn’t thought about it very much. He had been far too distracted to realise he had hurt himself, and Nesta was clearly confused about how he didn’t notice it himself. 

“It isn’t bothering me, my lady, there’s no need to worry,” Cassian said, trying to soothe her worries while covering his hand with his other hand. 

Nesta’s frown deepened. She leaned closer toward him and gently pulled his bleeding hand closer to her for inspection. Cassian went still, holding his breath so that any movement didn’t stop his wife from voluntarily holding his hand. Of course, the circumstances weren’t great, but she had willingly held his hand! He certainly wasn’t feeling any pain now that his wife was holding his hand in hers so gently. 

As a man, society dictated that Cassian didn’t need people to be gentle with him. It wasn’t something that had ever bothered him, he had simply accepted it was how life was and moved on. Nesta held his hand gently while she inspected it was the first time someone had been this soft since his mother had died. He hadn’t even realised he missed it. He had assumed when he thought about his mother and it hurt, he was missing her. He didn’t realise he was also missing the kind of love and affection that a man only ever receives from his mother.

It was strange how such a simple act of the slightest affection could make him feel that way. But it was also strange that Nesta seemed to find his injury grounding. When Hill walked into their rooms, he thought she would startle since she was very engrossed with his hand. Instead, Nesta looked up when she noticed Hill put the tea down next to her, and then listed the supplies for the things she needed. 

Hill looked as surprised as he felt, but she quickly gathered all the supplies. “Do you need any help with anything? I can clean Cassian’s hand while you… Drink your tea,” Hill said, looking at Nesta with her eyebrows raised. 

Nesta didn’t respond; she instead went still. “It’s quite alright, Hill. I think my wife can handle it. You can retire for the night now. We’ve taken up enough of your time,” Cassian said with a smile. He gave Hill a meaningful stare, wanting her to get out. If his wife was comfortable dealing with his bloodied hand, then he certainly would not pass the opportunity up. 

Hill left with a small shake of her head, likely knowing exactly what Cassian was thinking. Then again, Hill most likely thought there would be more going on tonight than just Nesta dealing with his injury.

Nesta worked in silence, but it was clear from her actions that she was an expert at cleaning wounds. She picked out the glass pieces and put them into a cloth. Thankfully, There were only two fairly small glass pieces and they had not dug into anything important. It seemed that most of the damage had been done when he had punched the glass window, which was to be expected with his poorly wrapped hand. Perhaps he should not have moved quite so hastily, but he was far too worried about Nesta to care. 

Once Nesta was sure his hand was clear of glass, she dipped another cloth into the bowl of water that Hill had provided, and gently cleaned his hand. Once the hand was clean and Nesta could inspect the wounds properly, she assessed that the cuts were not bad enough to warrant stitches. Cassian was glad to hear that news because although he was able to grit his teeth through the pain, he shuddered at the sight of a needle ready to sew his skin together. He could stomach it, but barely, and would rather drink some poppy syrup. He didn’t really want his wife to see him in that kind of state. 

Nesta wrapped his hand gently, smoothing down the bandages as though she was caressing his hand. He wished he could feel her caress on his skin. His longing was interrupted by Nesta. 

“You’ll need to keep it clean and change the bandage too. I do feel that we should perhaps get it checked over just in case the cut is deeper than it seems, or worse still if any glass remains.” Nesta said, looking at him with concern.

“I think perhaps it is too late to call on the doctor without it being an emergency, but I promise that I will get it checked tomorrow.”

Nesta nodded and then moved away from him to sit back in her chair properly. She slumped down, as though the toll of the day was physically weighing her down. They sat there in silence for a while, Nesta staring into the distance, Cassian watching her subtly. 

Eventually, Nesta stood up. “It’s late, and I think I’ll get ready for bed, if that’s alright with you, your Grace?”

Cassian ignored the way she still asked for his permission. He didn’t have the energy to fight that particular battle right now, not after the night they’d had. He simply nodded and watched as she quickly scurried away into her dressing rooms.

\\\///

Cassian had hoped that his fitful night’s sleep would fix everything, but he had known deep down that he was being foolish. When he woke the next morning and looked at his wife’s tired face, he knew that the previous night’s events had taken its toll on both of them more than he had hoped. He felt like he was fumbling and had no idea how he could fix this mess. 

Nesta seemed intent on carrying on with her day as though everything was normal. She went to her refuge, the library, even though she looked ready to drop. She asked for her breakfast to be taken to the library. Claude was thrilled, saying that it was a sign that she was feeling more comfortable making more demands. Cassian wasn’t so sure but didn’t want to say anything to make things worse. Plus, if he made Claude sad, the whole household would feel the effects of a sad Claude, and that was truly something to fear. 

Cassian worried about his wife. Her resilience was something he admired greatly, but he wished she didn’t need to be this way. He wished he knew how to talk to and comfort her, especially after seeing the fear in her eyes when she was with Philip. He didn’t want to be a traditional, stern husband who barely spoke to his wife. He wanted his wife to rely on him, to be able to talk to him and tell him how she feels and what she thinks. 

Nesta seemed perpetually terrified of everything, and he sometimes felt like she was probably afraid of her own shadow. The way she had looked at Philip was different though. Something had happened to make her scared of him. The problem was Nesta was not likely to confide in Cassian about these things, and unless she did so, he couldn’t reassure her that nothing like that happened to her again. But for her to believe that she would have to trust him, and Cassian knew she didn’t. He didn’t blame her, but it hurt a little.

Cassian tried his best to leave Nesta to her own devices, but it was no use. His mind was constantly occupied by worries for her, wondering if she was okay, and a week after the party he was close to his breaking point. He had to ask Jacob to repeat himself on multiple occasions, but Cassian was just thankful that Jacob hadn’t commented on his lack of focus. 

When Jacob had suggested that perhaps the problem with the tenants could wait until tomorrow, Cassian had felt grateful that he was being given an out. It was too soon after the chaos of yesterday for him to be able to carry on as normal. His tenants would survive one day without him. 

Cassian didn’t instantly want to go running to the library to see what Nesta was doing, worried that she would find him smothering. It was difficult for him because all Cassian wanted to do was check on his wife, spend time with her and get to know her. The fear of alienating his wife was the only thing that made him go see Claude in the kitchens instead.

“Cassian, what are you doing here? Surely you know better than to come into Claude’s territory unannounced!” Matthew said. 

Cassian smiled at the young man, who, braver than most in his household, had volunteered when Claude had needed an assistant in the kitchens. Even Hill had shuddered at the thought of working in the kitchens with Claude.

Matthew was either very brave or very stupid, and Cassian truly could not tell which one it was. He had volunteered to work with Claude, which was a first. Even Claude had been shocked since the cook was nothing if not self-aware of his tyranny in the kitchen.

“I promise not to touch anything. I was just wanting some company,” Cassian said, holding his hands up in surrender. 

Now it was Matthew’s turn to laugh. “And I suppose you seeking Claude out has nothing to do with how he sits with your wife. Your wife is quiet, but Claude manages to bring out the chatty side of her.”

Cassian had no clever response for that. He knew he had been caught. He smiled bashfully, and just shrugged, looking for Claude so he could talk to him. Matthew, knowing how these things work by now, simply informed him that Claude was outside and left them to it. 

Cassian walked outside to see Claude in his garden patch. Claude was a big believer that if you could do it yourself, you should, and so he grew many fruits and vegetables himself. It was yet another reason why Claude was one of the best chefs in Velaris.

“Let me guess, you need my help to woo your wife,” Claude said, not looking up from his thorough inspection of his carrots. 

Cassian spluttered, trying to come up with a way to sound less pathetic, but there was no way to achieve that. In the end, he gave up, took a deep breath and said, “I think I messed up.”

That made Claude look up in an instant, and a heart-stopping glare came his way. “What on earth have you done now? I should’ve known not to trust you with her alone. You’re such a brute. You have no idea how to treat a real lady,” Claude huffed in annoyance. 

“Honestly Claude, if you can tell me what I did and tell you how to fix it, I’ll owe you forever,” Cassian said, running his hands through his hair. That made Claude pause. He knew Cassian well enough to know when things were serious. 

“Tell me everything that happened.”

“It was all going really well, we danced, and she was smiling so much. I’ve not seen her that happy before. I could finally see some real emotions from her, not the ones she wears as a mask.” he sighed, thinking back to how radiant Nesta had seemed in the ballroom. It had been a moment where Cassian believed they could be happy together. They would work through whatever demons Nesta was fighting, and they would be able to be happy. 

“It’s probably my fault things went wrong. I was talking to the others, and Nesta got up. I don’t know where she went or who she spoke to. You know how mercenary those women can be. I should’ve prepared her better. We all should’ve. But then Adelaide told me Nesta was in distress and she needed me. I went to the room I thought she was in and Ianthe told me-”

“Ianthe? What did that snake want?” Claude spat. Ianthe was not popular with his friends and family, especially considering how she had tried to integrate herself into their group. Cassian decided it would be best to keep the details of their interaction to a bare minimum, or his life might end up in danger. 

“The usual, but that’s not the worst of it Claude. Nesta ran into Philip Mandray,” Cassian revealed. 

“Fuck!” Claude exclaimed. 

“My thoughts exactly. I have no idea what he said to her, Claude. They couldn't have been alone for more than two minutes before I got there, but it was enough for him to say something that troubled her. The colour had all drained away from her face, and I was worried she was about to faint. She looked so unwell.”

“Did you talk to her about it?” 

“At the time I was too focused on getting her home, it had all clearly been too overwhelming for her and then seeing Philip was just too much for her.”

“And what about since then? The next day did you try?”

“Claude, I know you don’t believe me when I say this, but I swear, I’m not actually an idiot. I’ve tried to broach the subject so many times, but she either leaves the room or changes the subject. Last night she even pretended to have fallen asleep, even though I could see her peeking to see if I had gone to sleep! I don’t know what else I can do.”

Claude’s angry expression melted away to sadness. “I’m not sure what I can suggest either, Cassian. I know she talks to me, but that doesn’t mean she’s open with me. In fact, she’s only ever talkative when asking me questions about my cooking. If I try to bring up other subjects she’s the same as when she talks to anyone else.”

“I don’t know what to do, Claude. At this point, I don’t even need her to open up to me. If she’s happier with me not knowing, that’s fine, but the problem is, Nesta won’t talk to anyone about what happened to her while married to Tomas. She won’t open up to her sisters, and she doesn’t seem to have any friends. It’s not healthy! The only thing that’s keeping me sane is that she seems to be happy in the library. I try to stay out of there as much as I can because it now feels like I’m encroaching on her safe space, but I worry about her being alone all the time.”

The two let the silence stretch on them until Matthew came out. “My goddess, it's miserable out here. What happened, did you two argue again?”

“No, we’re just worried about Nesta,” Claude said.

“Why?”

“She doesn’t talk to anyone and we’re worried that bottling things up is making her ill,” Claude explained.

“Well, has anyone else talked to her about their own struggles?” Matthew asked.

“What do you mean?” Cassian asked with a frown.

“Well, we all know what the Mandray house is rumoured to be like, so I understand your concern. The duchess does not act in a way that could be considered normal, but I’m sure she’s aware of that herself. Everyone who tries to get her to open up is doing so out of concern, but they don’t understand her. I don’t want to step out of line here, but is there anyone who she could relate to? Someone who’s been in a similar situation so she can see she’s not alone?” Matthew spoke as Claude and Cassian looked at each other with wide eyes. 

“Why, Matthew, you’re a genius!” Claude leapt up and hugged the man, startling Matthew. “Of course, she isn’t going to feel comfortable talking to us!”

“You’re right, but who could she possibly feel comfortable with?” Cassian asked, unwilling to let himself get excited about something when he had no idea how to carry out the admittedly good idea. 

At that moment, a boy called out for Cassian, and it was like he had been sent from someone up above as an answer to their question. 

“I’m really sorry, Mr Duke sir, but me and my sister were playin’ out by the front with a ball, and I think we broke a window, sir. It was my fault, sir, I’m terribly sorry,” the boy said, trembling in front of him, but making eye contact nevertheless. Cassian would guess the boy was no older than 6 or 7 years old.  

Claude let out a chuckle, startling the boy. “No need to worry about Cassian when it comes to broken windows Arthur. Cassian has probably broken every window in this place at some point or another.”

The boy, Arthur, looked from Claude to Cassian cautiously. “Why don’t you take me to where you were playing and show me what happened?” Cassian asked, gesturing to the boy to lead the way. It looked like that was the last thing he wanted to do, but clearly, Arthur felt like he had no choice. 

“Of course, sir,” he said, resigned to his fate clearly. 

“So, your mother is Eleanor, correct?” Cassian questioned, having finally been able to place the boy.

“Yes, sir, I’m the eldest. I have a little sister, Jane. She’s the one I was playing with, but it was all my fault, sir,” the boy sounded panicked, clearly worried his sister would get into trouble.

“It’s quite alright, Arthur. I know it’s hard to believe this, but I truly was a scoundrel when I was young. My mother used to despair when I played with my friends. Accidents happen, I’m just glad nobody was hurt.” The boy remained quiet, so Cassian attempted to change the subject. “Do you like living here?” He asked, not sure what other types of small talk he could make. 

“Yes sir, I’m ever so grateful you took us in and allowed my mother to work for you. I ask you not to punish my mother or sister for something I did. I’ll take any punishment you give, sir.”

At that, Cassian frowned. “I won’t punish you, your mother or your sister for this, Arthur. It was an accident, and I believe you.” Cassian stopped in the middle of the path leading them to the front of the house. They were almost there, but Cassian felt he needed to clear things up with the boy. “I will never raise my hand against any of you. If anyone ever dares to do so, then you come to me or Jacob. Even if you have to disturb us, it is our duty to make sure people are safe.”

“I’m the man of the house. My job is to look after my mother and sister,” Arthur said, puffing his chest out to show Cassian importance.

“That’s a very big responsibility for someone so small, but I have no doubt in my mind that you do the job well,” Cassian said with a smile.

The boy’s shoulders slumped at that. “I only look small. I’m actually 10 years old!” The boy said frustratedly.

Cassian was shocked at that. The boy didn’t look big enough for 10. He was all skin and bones, but Cassian remembered how Eleanor had looked when she had first arrived here. The look of hunger was not something that went away easily. Eleanor had admitted to Cassian that she had run away from her husband, and she was worried about him finding them and wanting retribution, but she had never gone into any further detail. Cassian hadn’t needed details from her when he had seen how hungry she looked. In all honesty, the marks she bore were enough for him to know that Eleanor needed his help. The fact that she had come to enquire about a job in the stables despite not knowing anything about horses was also a testament to how desperate she was for money. 

It had been lucky that Cassian had been thinking about the way he probably needed a lady’s maid, as he had recently agreed to marry Nesta. He knew Eleanor would be perfect for the role, so he took her and her children in with no questions. 

He had seen the children around, and they seemed happy, but he didn’t realise how much the children had suffered at their father’s hand. It shocked him that a man could treat his own flesh and blood so poorly, but then again, if a man hit his wife, what morals could he claim to have?

“I know you are a brave young man, Arthur, and I’m sure you protect your mother and sister very well. Sometimes being young can help in these matters,” Cassian told the boy, who was frowning, studying Cassian.

“How?”

“Well, someone like my wife might feel more at ease around you compared to a grown man,” Cassian said, probing to see if the boy would take the bait.

“Your wife?” The boy asked curiously. “Is that the lady who is in the library?”

“Yes! You see, I wish there was a young man like you to keep an eye on her. That way, I’d know she’s safe without making her feel uncomfortable.” Cassian hesitated, wondering how much he should tell the boy. “You see, the man she was married to before was not very nice, and neither was his older brother. He was like your father, actually.” 

At the mention of his father, Arthur looked angry. “I’ll make sure she’s safe from them all!” He declared angrily.

Cassan ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately. “I think she would appreciate some company in the library, especially with all those big heavy books. Perhaps when you have some spare time, you can help her?”

“Yes, of course!”

There was some commotion in the distance, reminding both of them of the broken window situation. “Oh, we’d best hurry to that window!”

They both rushed off and saw a little girl who Cassian assumed was Arthur’s sister Jane. Eleanor and Jacob had also turned up and were trying to comfort the little girl who was beside herself. The commotion had clearly attracted Nesta’s attention, as she hovered at the end of the path to her library, but she came no closer. She instead watched Cassian, probably to see what he would do. Cassian looked up at the window to see Hill already cleaning up the glass that had fallen inside. 

“Is that all?” Cassian asked as he looked at the damage. 

“Yes sir,” Arthur replied. 

Cassian let out a laugh. “I had assumed it would be so much worse. That is only a small crack. I was assuming I would have to replace the whole window and the pane, the way you described it to me.”

“I can arrange for it to be fixed by tomorrow, Cassian, but in the meanwhile, Hill said she’d board up the hole. Is that alright?” Jacob asked. Cassian nodded. 

“See, Janie, I told you there was nothing to worry about,” Arthur said, acting like he hadn’t been scared out of his mind to tell Cassian. Cassian decided to let the boy have this victory, though, as it stopped the little girl from crying.

As Arthur went over to comfort his sister, Eleanor came over to Cassian. “My lord, I can’t thank you enough. I will work unpaid until you have covered the costs of your window replacement,” she said in her quiet, gentle voice. 

“Eleanor, I’m not going to do that. But you don’t have to worry about it anyway. Arthur has taken care of it all.” Eleanor looked at him curiously but said nothing, so Cassian elaborated. “He’s going to spend some time with Nesta, keep an eye on her, and keep her company. I’m worried about her, but your son has a good head on his shoulders, and I trust him.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Eleanor said, smiling as she watched her children talking animatedly to Jacob, trying to explain how the window broke. Jacob was in good humour and went along with their dramatics. 

Cassian was well aware of his wife watching them from a distance, but he felt no need to try and rope her into this conversation. He was content that, finally, he might be able to bring her out of whatever she was going through. Watching the children, so innocent and full of joy, gave him hope. Their resilience reminded him that people could always come back from sadness, but sometimes they needed a little help.

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[bellaxgiornata]

You've Been Gone So Long, Baby (Chapter Six)《Completed Series》

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Matt had never let anyone so deep into his life until you. But when everything was going so perfectly, when he didn't think he could possibly be happier, he loses everything he loves in a single second–and he's absolutely powerless to fix it.

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains heavy angst & delayed comfort until the end

Word Count: 2.7k

a/n: Comfort finally arrives for this angsty little fic! You can find the entire chapter list for this series here. Enjoy this one, it was my favorite of this series!

Year 5  

The conference room felt stuffy this afternoon as Matt sat at the large table with Foggy sitting just opposite him. Both men were on their laptops with papers scattered around themselves, the sounds of Foggy’s typing and occasional irritated sighs hitting Matt’s ears. They’d been working on building a good defense for a difficult case for weeks now, spending hours outside of the normal work day doing so, and it felt like they were barely making any headway. 

Foggy’s hands eventually dropped down onto the table as he threw his head back against his chair. He groaned loudly in annoyance, the sound drawing Matt’s attention from his braille reader.

“We’re not getting anywhere,” Foggy complained.

Matt let out a sigh himself, a hand coming up to run through his already mussed hair. “Maybe we’re coming at this all wrong,” he mused.

“Is there another way to come at it?” Foggy questioned. “Because, Matt, I feel like we’ve tried every possible angle. This just feels hopeless.”

“Okay,” Matt agreed, pulling the glasses off of his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe we need a break. We’ve been working on this nonstop for weeks.”

“Yeah, but Matt, the trial starts next week,” Foggy said. “It’s not like we really have the time to just kick our feet up and think about something else right now.”

Sitting back in his chair, Matt ran a hand over his mouth as he thought. He could hear the way Foggy shuffled through the papers beside him and the way he was grinding his teeth. He was stressed about this case.

“What about that thing you found earlier?” Matt suggested. “We sure it's really a deadend? We can’t somehow use it?”

Foggy gave an exaggerated nod. “Absolute deadend,” he assured him. “Deader than dead. I don’t even know how we’re supposed to figure this one out, man. I mean yeah, he’s innocent, but it’s near impossible to find admissible proof that will, you know, prove that.”

“Well there has to be something,” Matt said, shifting in his seat. “Maybe we should order lunch, take a few minutes before we focus back on it. What time is it, anyway?”

“It’s–holy crap, it’s almost two thirty!” Foggy exclaimed. “Jeez, yeah, we should get food. I need a minute to think about something other than this before my head explodes.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Matt teased him.

Matt heard the sound of Foggy shuffling once again through the pile of papers in front of himself before he picked up his phone. He heard him tapping away against the screen before Foggy finally spoke again.

“So…you feeling that sandwich place again?” Foggy asked. “I could go for a meatball sub. Feels like a meatball sub kind of day.”

Matt chuckled, shrugging his shoulders lightly. “Sounds good to me, Fog,” he answered.

“You want the usual? Or are you feeling like switching things up today?” Foggy asked.

“The usual,” he replied. Matt could feel the look Foggy sent him and he grinned. “I like it, Fog.”

“You know, you should really–”

“Matt?” a distinctly familiar female voice called through the room. “I thought you were working from home today? When did you even come in?”

Matt’s head immediately darted in the direction of what had to be Karen’s unmistakable voice, his lips parting in surprise and confusion. Across the table he heard Foggy’s heart rate increase, his own mouth hanging open in shock.

“ Karen ?” Foggy breathed out.

“Uh, yeah, Fog,” Karen answered. “Why the hell are you both staring at me like that? And when did you change your suit?”

His own heart hammering loudly in his ears, Matt’s head turned to the side, tuning out Foggy and Karen’s conversation for a minute as he listened to the city outside of the building. He heard the confusing chaos steadily growing outside, chaos that sounded so familiar to what he’d heard years ago. Something anxious fluttered in his stomach, his breath coming in shallower as he found himself rising to his feet.

“Fog,” Matt said, hope growing quickly in his chest as he cut into the emotional conversation that he had been beginning to have with Karen, “I think they’re coming back. It sounds like it outside–it sounds like they’re coming back.”

“What is going on ?” Karen begged, frustration evident in her tone.

The screaming and shouting was growing louder from outside the office. Matt began making his way around the conference table, his mouth feeling like it was going dry.

“I’ll explain everything I can, Karen,” Foggy told her in a rush, Matt aware of Foggy’s eyes focused on him as he spoke. “But Matt–you go find her, man! Just be careful out there!”

He didn’t wait any longer. Brushing past Karen as he muttered a quick apology, Matt was rapidly making his way out of their little office and through the brief maze of the building before he was out on the street. He’d left his cane and glasses back in the conference room but he didn’t care. He didn’t need any of that right now because it was clear no one would be paying him any mind with the sheer amount of confusion happening on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen.

Wasting no more time, he took off at a sprint in the direction of his apartment, weaving his way around everyone suddenly clogging the sidewalk as best as he could. But it was slow going, especially as he ran into more people that appeared to drop into existence out of nowhere. It was almost impossible to maneuver around them all. Frustrated, Matt took an abrupt turn down a nearby alley before clambering up the fire escape to the roof. In this very moment, he didn’t remotely care who might look up and spot the man darting from rooftop to rooftop. All he wanted was to find you there sitting on the leather couch like the past five years hadn’t happened. 

◈𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 ◈

Looking down at your hands, your brows furrowed. Where the hell had that glass of water gone that Matt had so adamantly shoved into them only seconds ago? Head raising back up, you turned to look for Matt at the kitchen table, only you did a double take. You sat on the couch, eyes growing wide as your jaw dropped. Where the hell was the television and the stand it was on? 

And then your eyes noticed the blank wall space, your mind reeling. You had just been looking at the framed collage of your wedding photos barely ten minutes ago. Why were they not on the wall? Where the hell were they?

Panicked and confused, your stomach twisting uncomfortably, you turned on the couch. The  kitchen table wasn’t covered in Matt’s mess that had been there moments ago. It was empty. And the kitchen looked messy with cups lining the counter by the sink and a few empty beer bottles scattered along the countertop. Even the jars on the counter you always refilled with snacks were empty. But you’d just restocked them two days ago.

“Matt?” you called out hesitantly.

You didn’t get a response. Frowning, you reached out to the coffee table for your phone, determined to call him, but your hand hovered over the piece of furniture. There wasn’t a single thing on it, not even your phone.

“What the hell is going on?” you whispered.

Pushing yourself up off the couch, you rested a hand on your belly as you made your way over to the bedroom. The sheets were an absolute mess, bunched up all over on Matt’s side of the bed. Your pillow for some reason was vertical in the middle of the bed near Matt’s side. Which was odd, considering you’d made the bed this morning.

Screams made their way up to your ears from the streets below and you jumped, rushing over to the bedroom window. You pressed a hand against the glass, looking down at the street below. There were people everywhere outside, but they were shouting and moving like they were confused. Traffic in the streets appeared to be stopped up, people even abandoning their cars that were still running. Your eyes narrowed as you watched the disorder below in utter confusion.

“What the hell is going on?” you repeated.

The familiar sound of the roof access door flying forcefully open caused you to jump again. Matt was calling your name out frantically as you pushed away from the window and turned.

“I’m in the bedroom,” you called back. “What the hell is going on, Matt? Where were you? Where the hell is the television and our wedding photos? Why is the–”

You stopped the moment Matt appeared in the doorway, the words dying in your throat. His right hand flew out to grip the doorframe as if it was the only thing holding himself up as he let out a shuddering breath. His left hand flew to his mouth a second later, his eyes tightening as they glistened with tears. Your own eyes dropped down to his left hand, noticing the wedding band distinctly missing from his finger. The sight felt like a punch to the gut and you stumbled backwards, both of your hands flying up to your mouth.

“Matty,” you choked out. “Where’s your ring? Where are our wedding photos?”

A strangled sob fell out of Matt as he pushed off of the doorframe and made his way over towards you. Your own eyes were watering as you watched him, mind racing at what was happening. When he reached you, he immediately dropped down to his knees. His hands landed on either side of your baby bump before his forehead came down to rest against it. And then he openly wept. You stood there, hands hovering just above him, unsure of how to react.

“I missed you–” he choked out, “–so goddamn much, baby.”

“Matty,” you begged, tears slipping out of your own eyes, “please tell me what is going on? I’m–I’m so confused. And you’re scaring me.”

He quickly pulled back from you, shaking his head roughly as he rose back up to his feet. “No, baby,” he croaked out. “No, don’t be scared. It’s okay. Everything is okay.”

He drew you into him, holding you tight as he buried his face in your hair. Your own arms wrapped around his waist, tears still slipping out of your eyes.

“You were gone,” he whispered into your hair. “For five years, baby.”

“I–what?” you breathed out. “What do you mean I was gone for five years? I was just sitting on the couch drinking the water you wanted me to drink! You were in the kitchen grabbing pizza. I wasn’t gone!”

You pushed away from Matt, your eyes darting around his tear-stained face and taking in the sight of his red, watery eyes. You noticed some cuts on his face that hadn’t been there minutes ago. A few gray hairs in his stubble you were positive weren’t there before, either. But he didn’t look like he was playing a prank on you–he looked genuinely shocked and overwhelmed that you were here. And the commotion outside was only growing louder.

“Five years ago,” Matt began softly, “something happened. I don’t–don’t really know what, but half of the population just…disappeared.”

“What?” you whispered.

“I was grabbing you that pizza,” Matt told you, his hand reaching out before his fingers gently stroked your cheek, “and when I turned around, you were gone. Just gone. Both of you.”

Your jaw dropped as you shook your head in disbelief. “Matty, that just happened,” you told him. 

Fingers still tenderly stroking your cheek, Matt shook his head slowly back at you. “No, baby,” he whispered. “That was five years ago. You’ve been gone for five years.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, tears once again burning your eyes. Heart stuttering strangely in your chest, you stepped backwards from Matt. You felt like you were going to be sick. Five years? Five years ?

“Hey, hey, baby, shh, breathe,” Matt soothed as he carefully lowered you to the edge of the bed. “Breathe, okay? Just breathe, it’s going to be okay.”

Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, you glanced back down at his hand. The wedding band was missing. Why was the wedding band missing?

“Hey, relax, sweetheart,” Matt whispered, a hand coming up to rub your back.

“Where’s your ring, Matt?” you asked quickly. “And our photos? If it’s been five years does that mean you–”

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head vigorously. “No. There’s no one else. I–I tried to go on a date. About six months ago. I couldn’t.”

“And your ring?” you asked.

Matt sent you a sad smile, his hand still rubbing calming circles along your back. 

“I stopped wearing it a few months ago,” he admitted softly. “Because it hurt too much.”

“What does that mean?” you asked nervously, voice quivering. “We’re–we’re not married in your eyes anymore?”

“What? No!” he answered firmly. “God, no. You and our daughter are the only thing I’ve thought about every single day for these past five years, baby. I have wanted nothing more than for this exact moment to happen. But–but after so long I didn’t think it would. And it–it hurt. But I swear to you baby, you’re my wife.” His left hand reached out, landing on your baby bump as his eyes glistened with tears once again. “The mother of my child. I want you. I always want you. Forever.”

Unable to hold yourself back, your hands grasped onto either side of Matt’s face and you threw yourself forward, kissing him hard. His own hands landed on your neck, holding you close as his mouth moved against yours, kissing you exactly like a man who’d lost his wife for five years would. You could feel everything in the way he kissed you, tears falling down his own cheeks as he did.

“I love you,” he whispered earnestly against your lips. “I love you more than anything.” One of his hands dropped down again, resting along your bump. “Both of you.”

“I love you, too, Matty,” you murmured. 

Matt’s face lowered until he was nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Your arms encircled his shoulders, holding him to you. You could feel the tears falling from him and dampening your sweatshirt as you buried your face into his hair. 

“I am never letting you go again,” he promised. “Never again, baby, you hear me? Where you go, I go.”

You couldn’t fight the smile that snuck onto your face at his words. “Matty,” you said softly, “you can’t come with me to the bathroom.”

He huffed out an amused breath, his face still buried against your neck. “Baby,” he began, “I will hold your hand while you take a piss.”

A laugh fell out of you and Matt’s lips pulled into a smile against your skin. Your fingers gently played with the hair at the nape of his neck as you turned, resting your cheek atop his head.

“Absolutely not,” you told him.

“Then I guess,” he began lightly, his mouth still curled into a smile along your neck as he spoke, “I am trying to make you piss your pants.”

You immediately lost it, shoulders shaking roughly as you laughed into his hair. Matt’s arms tightened further around you as he laughed along with you, the warm sound filling the bedroom. 

Eventually the laughter subsided and Matt pulled away from your neck, his sightless gaze fixed on your chin. A tender smile spread across his face, the dimple in his cheek appearing as he focused on you. Despite the uproar outside, despite that Matt had just told you you'd been gone for five years, you felt safe with him right here.

“I missed you so unbelievably much, baby,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

Smiling back at him, one of your hands came up to cradle his cheek, thumb wiping away the tears that were still falling from his eyes. “I’m right here, Matty,” you told him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Before you could even blink his mouth was back on yours, his large palms cupping both of your cheeks as he kissed you. The two of you stayed like that for a while, both of you occasionally breaking away only long enough to say 'I love you.'

[ghostoffuturespast]

WIP Whenever

*takes a deep breath* Tagged by @streetkid-named-desire @wanderingaldecaldo (you two I think at least twice lol) @seeker-of-truth

@baublekute @scarlettspectra @aggravateddurian. Thank you all very much for thinking of me! 🧡

Tag backs for everyone above 😘 and @luvwich @merge-conflict @shimmer-like-agirl @mynonsenseistingling

@fly-amanitaa @dani-the-goblin @tarmac-rat @lavnderkiwi @morganlefaye79

Cash your tag in now or later and feel free to do whatever creative projects you're working on! Doesn't even have to be fandom related.

It's been a minute. This one got long.

I largely haven't been doing any fandom stuff other than VP because my work schedule has been insane the past two months. And the only reason I have VP to post is because I'm generous about snapping pics and the vast majority of photos y'all are seeing are ones I took back in March/April/May.

Things at work are starting to be slightly less hectic though, so hopefully I can get back into the swing of things. I'm trying to be gentle with myself about the time and energy I do have but it's been frustrating wanting to do things and not having the beans to do them. Spending most of my workdays outside for extended periods of time means I'm bone tired when I get home. And then I have more work to do outside...

Gardening

My garden is gonna be very scraggly looking for the rest of the year, but if I can keep it alive, in theory, the plants should come back bigger and bolder next year. Shortgrass prairie plants spend the bulk of their first few growing seasons establishing their root systems since water is often in short supply, so the tops of the plants are very unimpressive rn. Most of them probably won't get much bigger than this or even flower this year.

I've gotten a good chunk of the plants in the ground, have irrigation lines going to all of them, and did the lil concrete paver patio. I still need to finish planting the plants that have been languishing in their pots for over a month, bury the irrigation lines, and do a bunch of other random things, but we're getting there. Not planning on covering the bare dirt with mulch because I'm doing fall and spring seeding and I want the plants to self-sow. Going for wild pocket prairie and I'm gonna let it go absolutely feral. I'd eventually like to get rid of the river rocks too but baby steps.

What's really funny is all my native plants seem to be doing reasonable well. My vegetable garden on the other hand... It's sad. I know where I fucked up though (I should not have done that soil experiment lol and attack of the cutworm catepillars), so I'll just have to cut my loses this year and reevaluate for next. The worm composter is doing good though 🪱

Drawing

Attempting to get back into drawing. Again, it's been slow. Have been doodling some mutual's CP2077 OCs when I have the time and still have a ways to get through my list. I'm surprised by how much fan art of Grandpa I've received so I figured I'd return the favor for some folks. It's always a pleasant surprise getting some lovely art in your inbox. Probably won't be coloring most of these from here on out. I have a love hate relationship with coloring. Sorry, I just find lines more interesting. All of these were done with dip pen, ink, and watercolor.

I've got another more formal piece I need to work on as well and get done by the end of the month. Keep forgetting to do the layout sketches...

Writing

The slowest of them all. Been working on the same damn short fic (No. 1 of Les Preludes) and then brainstorming for about fifty other projects that are waiting their turn in line. Plus, I'm still trying to read too. But when I can only manage a chapter of a fic about every two weeks...

Most of my writing efforts have been bopping into my drafts now and then and pecking out a sentence or two. However, I did manage to spend 45 minutes detangling a section of about 200 words 🐢:

Have you or a loved one been in an accident or injured on the job?  Are you missing your former quality of life?  Holed up in the bathroom, Robert winced at his reflection in the mirror and at the crusted blood he picked at underneath his nostrils.  Then consider Arasaka Cybernetic Implants!  Fully functional prostheses are capable of replicating the full range of human motion and more!  Available in a range of sizes and styles to suit all your lifestyle needs.  The body of the future is NOW. The corners of his mouth tugged on a bruised eye and what former experience had taught him was a broken nose. Call 1-800-IMPLANT today for a free consultation! Low-interest financing and payment plans available. A rapid fire of unintelligible fine print was drowned out by the sputter of the faucet. Robert cupped his hands and scrubbed at his face, the pain disappearing for the briefest moments with the black of shut eyes and splashes of cold water.      Arasaka Corporation.  What can we do for you? Dry flecks of red decorated the sides of the sink before rehydrating into inky swirls of blood that slipped down the sides of imitation porcelain. Yellowed, cracked, and starting to chip. The plastic hadn’t aged well.

This snippet gives me the hardest war flashbacks to those late 90s/early 00s TV phone ads. Anyone else old enough to remember these things?