#i wrote part of that fic back when i first watched SP

[becausethathappens]

Will you please write a super angsty fic where Link is freaking out because he thinks the wedding vows he has written aren't good enough and Rhett helps him go over them and make corrections and says they're perfect but also, just says the vows he would say for Link if it was them like it should've been because he's heartbroken and Link can tell but their hands are tied and they don't know what to do so they soldier on without saying a word, but wordlessly communicating lifelong love and misery and everything, maybe comfort as well?

i'm really really sad and i can't shake it off and i really want some good angst and hurt/comfort and i really love you, maura, you're awesome

I don't do unhappy endings, anon. I'm confident you don't either. In fiction or otherwise. So, pardon this if it’s not what you expected.

Please enjoy? This was done a little hastily to share it with you (and I should be writing other things per usual) but I've had a rough week and I want to hopefully make someone smile. (I have way angstier stuff in the drafts and I will be sure to get those out eventually, too.) You’ll feel better soon.  🤞  Thank you! 💞

-———————-

now or forever

4k - Rhett writes Link vows.

If you were my boy, Blue

I’d bathe you in honeys (sp?)

I’d sing write you a love song

I’d shoot you a star**

If you were my boy, Blue

There ain’t nothing in this life I wouldn’t give

From my heart, to my toes, to my fingers, my nose (**)

Whatever it takes just to watch you live 

continue to ‘ ’ grow with you like a vine ‘round a rose 

If you were my boy, Bue

I wouldn’t want you all for myself

There’s no star bright enough to match your lightin’

In sickness, blue, so certainly while we have health

Hand in hand, no longer fightin’

What’s destiny (**)

You and & me

If you were my boy, Blue

I'd marry you

&

Thank God for Rhett. Giving him, delivering him, blessing him with Rhett.

Link is in the middle of a spiral (what he’ll later recognize as a panic attack) when Rhett arrives, the eve of his wedding. Bailing him out of this with pen, paper, and a smile.

Link has always been good at improv.

Though Rhett tended to find the words to start. These were his own vows and Link has been putting time to sit and start them off for weeks. Now that he has to, he’s dumbfounded, despite being deeply in love.

Amidst all the planning and chaos, writing his vows was such a given that Link left it as priority sixty-seven on a list of many more.

Unfortunately, even as busy as they’ve been, that list was shredded with the “who gifted what” tracking sheet (both literally, accidentally, and figuratively) back around the bridal shower and it’s been anarchy ever since.

So he thanks God for Rhett, who’s here, to stop another needless disaster from happening.

That same generous God, however, watches him plagued with thoughts of utter devotion at Rhett’s willingness to drop everything on a weeknight and rush over to help Link find his words.

His lyrics, really, is what Link has in mind. Since they used to write songs together and this felt much the same. He’s been floundering all night and now that Rhett’s here, he knows he’ll at least get what he needs done. Even if it’s not all he wants, right now.

That same God seeks judgment on his every decision or flinch against His will, for any reason, to spite him.

For this reason.

He wants to smush Rhett’s face and kiss him. Deeply. He doesn’t.

Even if there were sometime in the past that he could get away with a platonic smooch, now he can’t. He simply could not prevent that from escalating.

So, he merely tightens his grip on the wrinkled scrap paper in his hand and scrunches his eyes.

“Why can’t it be you up there…” Link bemoans, loudly, in his frustration.

Rhett’s eyes widen, in horror, and Link slams his other hand at his mouth, rolling his eyes. “Not like - I mean - why can’t you go say my lines for me. You’re so much better at this kinda thing.”

“Let me read what you’ve got,” Rhett says.

After some review, Rhett sighs, not unkindly and sits down next to Link. “Let’s just talk through what you’re trying to say because, yeah, this reads like liturgy.”

“Ain’t is supposed to? It’s in a chapel!”

“What do you like about her?” Rhett asks, ignoring his nitpicking. “Christy?” Rhett stares at him, waiting, too upset for Link to chastise but clearly wanting to.

“She’s patient,” Link says, reminded by the similar. Rhett folds over the book to an open page and clicks the pen in his hand, writing that down. “A-And she’s kind. Like considerate, ‘specially with babies and little animals. Sh-She does this thing where she immediately drops to their eye-level to make sure they don’t feel unheard or seen. Probably ‘cause she’s always been so tall…”

Rhett’s still writing.

“Then when I’m sick, she forces me to rest. You know I hate that,” Link says, voice rising a little, at the memory. “But you know I need that. You won’t be the last to make me stop and smell the roses or take a break, once in a while.”

“Her hair, write, her hair - the way it looks in the sunshine. Like warm caramel with flecks of gold. She’s a vision, an angel. Especially when she’s wearing all white, like,” Link says, pausing to point to Rhett’s undershirt and pale grey sweats. “Makes blondes look ethereal-like, always has.”

“Oh, and her voice. Sometimes, the way her accent catches, well, you know she don’t like to sing like us, never has, but when she says certain things, asks a question the right way - it’s music. The way it harmonizes with my answer, reminds me of singing, reminds me of us.”

Rhett keeps writing, quiet, and focused.

After a short time, Link can’t stop and wants to crane over to see what he’s come up with. Rhett hands it over after crossing a final “t” somewhere on the page.

“Those’re good, Link, but I think you need to keep closer to what I wrote, leave out the stuff about me.”

“Stuff about you?” Link asks, having spoken in a stream-of-conscious style, Link forgets most of what he even said

Rhett looks away, shakes his head.

Distracted by the desire to read the rest, Link abandons the lingering questions he has about Rhett’s suggestion and response.

“These are great, man, thanks,” Links says, pushing a soft hand into Rhett’s side.

His eyes scan to the bottom where Rhett’s added a few lines about the journey, the marriage, all the ceremonial aspects of the day for him to close with, but then something more.

Something about him.

Rhett catches him catch it and looks further away. “I know Christy pretty well, too, y’know. Y’all are just alike, in that way. She might need some back-up vows, to have and hold.”

Link reads them.

“You know, just in case.”

Link looks up and tries to laugh.

He doesn’t laugh.

He goes back to reading them.

Rhett shifts uncomfortably, touches the back of his neck, and shuts his eyes.

“Rhett, these ’re…”

“I know, bo, you can forget ‘em,” Rhett excuses, still not meeting Link’s gaze. “You want me to… I can rewrite the others on a different - I can turn the page and write ‘em there so you can just…”

“Hey, hey,” Link interrupts him, mad at Rhett putting down his best friend, and eager to explain his actual thoughts. “Rhett, these are perfect. These are… I’m sad I can’t say anything as nice in return to you.”

Rhett finally looks up to acknowledge that and their gaze heats and lingers.

“Not that I…” Link stutters to clarify. “Y-You’d have to be a - if that’s something that was gonna - you know - if that was gonna work…”

His mind does it’s usual jump to a visual for the worst case scenario depicting the implication he stumbled across. Him out eight grand on the wedding. Not to mention a wife, a family, a future, a faith -

a friend -

Link gulps, pushing that back away, pushing them both forward, in his estimation.

It’s too much to bear to think about for another second. When he glances at Rhett, he can’t get a read on his face what he thinks about it, and that’s scary enough for him to want to abandon the concept altogether.

“Christy’s gonna love them.”

It’s enough, saying his fiancée's name, to ground him again. Enough to make it okay for him to grab Rhett’s palm and squeeze it in thanks, between them.

Rhett’s made his choice to give up on film school.

Link’s made his choice to give up on whatever schoolboy obsession he has with monopolizing all of Rhett’s days and nights. 

He’ll stick to the days or every other weekend, however they can still fit time together, is fine by him. This ceremony, tomorrow, feels as much about his graduation from friend to husband, and all that that entails.

They’re adults.

They both know there’s a lot of sacrifices to be made and this feels like the first time he’s really acknowledging how hard they’re going to be to make. He hopes they’ll still see each other.

He hopes their kids will get along.

He has a lot of hopes.

All of them involve Rhett.

There’s a lot he should write down for when Rhett finds his own bride to wed.

Link notices, suddenly, that Rhett is crying. The same part of him that's nearly broken the headwind of these conflicting emotions turns back to comfort him.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Link soothes, realizing he’s also still holding Rhett’s hand.

“‘M sorry,” Rhett intones, the words bubble up and out of him simultaneously, sounding like water draining in a filled sink. “And the night before your wedding, good Heavens.”

“Hey, I’ve been crying all week,” Link says, waving a hand at the stress that planning a wedding has kept put on him. “Nothing I haven’t seen in the mirror.”

Rhett laughs, rubbing a thumb over his own thigh in a way that brushes upwards against the place Link’s clasping his hand. Link nearly pulls his hand back, thinking Rhett’s trying to get him to sense his want for space, but when he meets his eye it’s clear he’d like nothing less.

“I think I’m just -” Rhett starts to say, trailing off. The light from the lamp on the far coffee table is the only thing on in the room. Link drops his gaze a few inches to try and see more of Rhett’s downturned eyes as he hems and haws. He squeezes their hands together, again, this time clasping it more firmly, still pressing Rhett’s large palm down from above. “I think I’m just a li’l jealous, is all.”

It’s the quietest admission he’s heard from Rhett since he told him he failed their chemistry mid-term in eleventh grade.

Link is also so lost at the innocence of the admission that he can only think of follow-up questions. “Of me?”

Rhett looks at him for a long, long minute and finally, when Link’s gaze remains confused for the whole length of the pause, he shakes his head, no.

Then he waits. 

He waits for Link to realize what he means.

But he’s still waiting when Link, oblivious, moves onward trying to comfort Rhett, instead of understanding him fully.

The tension in the room is palpable as Link talks, but only to Rhett, it seems. Only Rhett pictures air bags being deployed in a car safety video as metal hits cinder block. Only Rhett moves his hand, though it’s all it takes to dislodge them from each other completely.

“I know you’re gonna make an amazing husband some day.” Link is saying.

Rhett’s hand aches where cool air now surrounds it.

“I know your wife is gonna get to hear you say such wonderful things about her.”

Rhett wipes his hand of the misunderstanding on the cotton of his pants.

“I know she’s gonna say the same kind of things about you, when it’s your turn up there.”

Rhett mourns the idea that this would ever be requited.

“I know she’s gonna love you, just as much as I do, so she’ll have plenty to say.”

Rhett looks away, wiping the last of his tears from his eyes. 

 “I’ll make sure she has plenty of ideas where to start.”

Rhett pats Link’s leg, in camaraderie, and nods.

And that’s it. They shoot the shit, they make a plan to meet up at a donut place for the groomsmen’s breakfast to thank them for their help, before the ceremony, and they’ll talk things through if Link’s feeling jittery still. Then Rhett’s gone.

It’s not until the next day at eleven on the dot (everyone has an agenda to follow and every moment is accounted for) that Link understands Rhett’s pain.

His mother straightens his tie and flattens the edges of his suit. “You’ll wanna know I heard Christy looks like an angel in her dress, from the girls upstairs.”

“Those actual angels you been talkin’ to, Sue?” Rhett jokes, where he’s twisting his cummerbund around every so often, bored.

“Very funny, honey,” Sue ribs back. “From the cousins, Beth and Hailee Sue. Remember they’re friends with the hairstylist you got to do the curls for Christy’s hair, today? She was over last night getting Christy ready for bed with how to wash and dry it a special kind of way. They were there, too.”

Link starts to tune her out, since there’s a lot on his mind, but then she says more.

“She says the hairstylist was talking about how jealous she was of Christy, all night, getting to marry you,” Sue relays.

“Oh, mama, please,” Link dismisses. The compliments he’s been getting have felt faker than the toupee on his uncle Bruce. That girl has never even met him. “I’m the only person here people should be jealous of, who would be jealous of Christy,” he says, trailing off, muttering his reasoning as he did. “Marrying a trainwreck like me.”

Link looks up in the mirror where some of his friends continue to mingle in various states of undress. Rhett is already dressed, however, and staring straight at Link like he’s been caught with a hand in a cookie jar.

Link’s about to ask what’s wrong when he remembers his words. Then looks again over the planes of Rhett’s face.

Last night’s words slam back into his mind and Link’s mouth drops open.

The church organ belts out an opening flurry of notes before Canon in D begins playing loudly through the sound system built into the rafters above them. Link looks up to see one of the church staff at the door instructing them to join the bridal party to line-up.

Link’s mom dashes off to where she’s paired with her nephew, Link’s favorite cousin, to be escorted down the aisle.

Rhett sees Link’s face rushing through a wash of emotions from a distance, he nods to the staffer in silent understanding that he’ll handle it, and then they’re alone.

He walks up to Link and takes his hand. He squeezes it.

“Hey, you gotta go. We gotta go. It’s showtime,” Rhett insists.

Link looks around like a bomb went off, since in some ways it did, and he doesn’t know what to do.

Rhett seems to pick up on that. He squeezes Link’s hand again.

“I’ll get over it, Link, it’s okay,” Rhett whispers, on the verge of desperation.

That confirmation is enough to fully shatter Link.

Only for a moment. 

The music continues and Rhett keeps his hand hold.

They are adults. They are in love. They have to marry. 

None of these things can be helped.

“I’m gonna be so jealous of Her, too,” Link whispers back. He squeezes Rhett’s hand one last time, as they part.

They leave.

They walk straight.

They part again.

Until later.

They move houses and cities and states.

They move mountains, inside and out.

They move together.

Much later.

They join again.

They run crooked.

They return.

To one another.

Link has spent years worrying a ring that means too much to too few people.

In the beginning, when he cries himself to sleep at what he thinks has been the mistake of a lifetime, it’s His talisman. It reminds him of the expectations upon this life he’s made.

As the years pass, however, the adherence to the bogeymen of their childhood’s rules wears thin. It starts to strictly represent love and patience.

Sacrifice.

It begins to feel like a burden. A representation of what’s been lost, not what’s been found.

He contemplates taking it off, but believes that to be a betrayal of all that it stands for to the people he stands for. 

Then, one day, (surely mid-spin) he hears Rhett tell a story about wanting to change his ring.

He watches the silver twirl as Rhett explains.

He believes he was rushed into a certain type of marriage and a certain type of life by a certain type of person.

It’s a life that he’s grown to love but the ring represents a union forced by custom and not one that’s grown through devotion. 

His ring reminds him of that too often to be good for him.

Link twists his again at the admission.

So, Rhett’s thinking about replacing the ring.

Link returns home that night in a stupor. He’s sure he said one too many things to Rhett to emphasize how wild it felt to hear him talk about changing rings.

Any memories of that day, their wedding, bring up a rush of emotions that he’s never been good at sorting through.

Today’s admission makes him feel the same spur to make use of idle, betrothed hands he feels when he cleans the fridge.

He wants to clean the slate.

He finds an old DVD copy of their wedding ceremony that he paid to have converted from miniDV some years ago. Now he struggles to find a place to watch that DVD. How quickly time has flown by.

Eventually, he ends up in his son’s room - no one’s home for the remainder of the night but he and Christy - now, he’s sitting on a bean bag, squinting at the game console’s controller trying to get the joysticks to move to “play” on screen.

The ceremony bursts to life and, like it was yesterday, Link’s nerves fizzle awake.

About halfway through the video, Christy finds him like that and sits down next to him in a thwump absorbed mostly by the stuffing of the chair.

They watch themselves smile happily at each other and Christy takes his hand.

“Should I be happy or scared to find you alone watching this on a Saturday night?” she asks, wryly, squeezing his palm.

Link doesn’t know what to say. He’s caught up in Rhett’s bygone script being spoken on screen. Words about Christy and about Link that were not their own, declared loudly in front of the congregation.

“I don’t know,” Link admits, shrugging. He doesn’t. He squeezes her hand back.

“You wanna tell me what’s eating you?”

Link hesitates, but relents. He wants that clean slate, after all. “Rhett’s getting his wedding ring replaced.”

“Replaced?” Christy asks, balking.

“Replaced, yeah,” Link responds, sure he didn’t misspeak.

“With what?” she asks.

“Oh, some new one. Fancy thing, very cool, made of trees or something. Honestly he wears the other one, the slick black one more than his wedding band half the time. He says it feels like the old one? It’s the kind of ring you get in a bauble at a vending machine crank. So, he wants a new one.”

“Jeesh,” Christy says, making a face at the screen. The camera catches Rhett stealing glances at the couple, then at the crowd, beaming at all with unbridled pride.

“Wouldn’t you be mad if I did that?” Link inquires, still baffled at the idea.

“Well, no, but don’t you love your ring? Heirloom and all that,” she says.

Link cringes. “Yeah, yeah. Honestly, I do.”

“So?”

“So, I still kind of want to and I’m not sure what that means.”

They watch the screen together.

“Do you wanna stay married?” she asks, in a small voice.

“Yes,” he breathes out.

There’s a long pause.

“To me?” she asks, her voice even smaller.

“Yes,” he breathes in.

She squeezes his hand, her confidence built back up. She begs him to join her.

“And him?” Christy whispers.

They both look the screen, the lens centered on the two of them, but their gaze is mutually torn to where Rhett stands wiping a tear from his eye at Christy reciting the last of the vows that he wrote her. Wrote him. Wrote them both.

She squeezes his hand again.

“Yes,” he breathes out.

She leans her head on his shoulder.

“You should probably get another ring, then,” she jests. “We shouldn’t have to share everything.”

The slate is clean.

There’s a lot he wants to say to Rhett about it, but just as before, he’s relied on Rhett to give him the right words to say. So, instead of words, he starts wearing Rhett’s ring.

Then, a new one, when he realizes he can match him separate from the other, all told. Have something of Rhett’s, all to himself.

In his unspoken push towards something more, their hands now match along with their steps, as they walk forward.

On the last week in July, they get ice cream at the fifth place that month to mistake them for husbands, but the first one he hears Link crow an affirmative in response.

Rhett waits for him while he triple-tips the cashier (for the guess) and pays for their cones.

“Bad joke,” Rhett says, softly, but firm.

“Who’s kidding?” Link parries back, a smirk dancing it’s way across his lips.

Rhett watches him with a wistful look of disbelief.

“Link, we’re married,” Rhett warns him.

Link shrugs. “I know. I’m just waiting for you to figure that out and minding my ice cream here, all right?”

He’s got a mouthful of vanilla bean and extra cookie crumble, the next second, so his vow ends there.

Later, at home, Rhett startles Jessie awake when he fully realizes Link’s words.

He shakes her awake. He shakes them both awake.

“I’m in love with Link,” he says, like it’s a confession.

She kisses him because so is she. So are most people.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

Rhett repeats himself.

So does she.

They stare at each other under the cover of silk and moonlight.

“We’re married,” Rhett whispers, touching his hand to hers. Their rings clink, new and shiny.

“Yeah, and so are we,” she whispers back.

They fall asleep smiling.

The next day, Rhett sneaks up behind Link while he’s working and causes him to spill his cup of coffee. He gets the stink eye for only a minute because it’s the same length of time he can stand Link’s grumpy mug before he has to swoop down and kiss him on the lips.

“You figured it out,” Link says, grinning.

“I did,” Rhett chirps as he kisses Link more.

They take a car to their house. It’s filled with their love and the history of it; before, during, and after.

“What’s this?” Link asks, dazed in their post-sex glow, naked and alive.

He spots an old chord book of theirs from last time they wrote music.

“Oh,” Rhett says, bashful. “I came looking for you here this morning, hoping you slept over again, but, uh,” Rhett stalls, looks away and tries to take the songbook from Link’s hand. Link pulls it far enough he can’t reach. “You were already at the job.”

“And?” Link asks, using his spry, sinewy body as an advantage to slink away from the bed out of Rhett’s grip. He still has the book in hand.

“Those are your vows,” Rhett explains.

Link looks down and squints, confused. These aren’t the vows that Christy read at their wedding. He’s seen that video only a few months back and is sure of it.

“Our vows,” Rhett whispers, explaining further, at Link’s puzzled look.

“It’s a love song,” Link notes, marveling at the gesture. What it means to a young version of himself that once felt like they had surely cut out and mourned the possibility of this - all of this - ever happening. To have that thought coexist with the image of a nude, hulking tree trunk of a husband laid before him smiling up adoringly felt panoptic.

“So are you.”

Link begins to cry.

“Play it for me.”

Rhett wipes his cheek.

“Get my guitar.”

They sing twice more that night, always in harmony (not always in lyric), then spend the rest of their lives together doing much the same.

[spencerreidslove]

Spencer and Maggie

A/N: This was originally supposed to be written as a celebration for 500 followers, but I suck at timelines, so let’s pretend I planned it for 600. This is a little side story of the first fic I wrote that ever got me followers: Matchmaker! This takes place 10 years after the first 3 parts I wrote.

Matchmaker Letters Trick or Treat

————

“Whatcha thinking about?” Spencer asked.

You were looking at your husband of 6 years and smiling.

“Nothing.” You said.

You were thinking about how lovely it had been since you met Spencer. That fateful day when he was late to pick up his daughter (who was also yours now) was one of the best days of your life.

You smiled and snuggled in closer to Spencer’s side. You two were sitting on the couch, watching a nature documentary that Spencer had picked out. It was getting late though, and soon you would probably head off to bed.

From somewhere above you, you heard a thump.

“Shouldn’t Maggie be asleep by now? She has school tomorrow.” You said.

“Maybe she just knocked something over.” Spencer said. But he stood up anyway, going over to the stairs. Even if Maggie had just knocked something over, years of working in the FBI had made Spencer extra cautious.

You followed behind Spencer, watching as he gently knocked on Maggie’s door before pushing it open.

You could see him stiffen, and then turn on the light. He relaxed, ever so slightly, and then cleared his throat.

“Margaret Morgan Reid where do you think you’re going?” Spencer asked.

You moved so you were behind him, and you could see Maggie with one foot out of her bedroom window. She had clearly been reaching for the tree that was right next to her window, presumably so she could sneak out.

“Um...” Maggie said.

“Other foot, back in the house. Now.” Spencer said.

Maggie slid her other foot back in the house, and sheepishly folded her hands in front of her.

Now that you could clearly see the room, you saw that the thump had come from Maggie shoving her desk over and a few books falling off of it.

“Mind telling me what you’re doing?” Spencer asked, folding his arms over his chest.

Maggie looked up from the spot she was looking at on the floor, and it really hit you how similar she looked to her father.

Now 16, Maggie had clearly taken after Spencer, with his eyes and dark, unruly hair. She was also tall and was very smart for her age.

“I was just checking out this noise I heard outside.” Maggie said, biting the inside of her cheek. That was the thing about Maggie, she was a horrible liar and you could always tell when she was lying.

Spencer tiltited his head, showing that he didn’t believe her.

“Fine.” Maggie said, sighing. “I was going out because there’s this party that this guy is hosting, and I knew that you would never let me go.”

“Because you have school tomorrow.” You said.

Maggie rolled her eyes. “You guys never let me do anything though!” She said.

“That’s not true-“

You were cut off my Maggie groaning.

“Yes it is! Last week when I told you about Lilith’s party you wouldn’t let me go. I asked to sleep over at April’s house you said it was too far away. When I asked about Max’s birthday dinner you said you didn’t like him and wouldn’t let me go!” Maggie said.

To be fair, you had only said no to two of those things. Spencer was very protective of Maggie, and while you were fine letting her go to a dinner with Max, Spencer said no.

“I just want you to be safe.” Spencer said.

“I know, I know, you see all these horrible things and you don’t want me to end up on that screen, but I’m 16 not 5 and no one’s going to be friends with me if I can never do anything!” Maggie said.

You glanced at the clock on Maggie’s wall and cut Spencer off before he could say anything else.

“It’s late and we all have places to be in the morning, can we please talk about this tomorrow?” You said.

Both of them agreed, but before you could leave Maggie in her room, Spencer walked over to her window and closed it, and placed a few heavy books along the windowsill.

“Really, Dad?” Maggie asked.

“Yes. Now go to bed.” He said.

You and Spencer left Maggie’s room and went fown the hall to your bedroom.

-

The next morning, you were standing at the kitchen island, eating some cereal when Maggie came down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Where’s Dad?” She asked.

“He got called out on a case early this morning.” You said.

Maggie frowned and sat down at the island, and you pushed her favorite cereal twoards her.

“About last night...” Maggie started.

“Don’t worry about it. I get it, you know it was a million years ago but I was once a teenage girl. I’ll talk to Spencer about letting you do more things.” You said.

Maggie sighed but smiled a little.

“C’mon eat. I have to drop you off before I go wrangle a bunch of 6 year olds.” You said.

-

You were finishing grading some spelling quizzes after school when your phone rang.

“Mrs. Reid?” A voice on the other line asked.

You sat up straighter. Any time Spencer went out you were afraid of a call like this. But it didn’t sound like any of his coworkers, and you know Penelope would’ve called you right away.

“Yes.” You said nervously.

“I’m calling in regards to your daughter, Margaret.” The voice said.

You let out your breath a little. “What about her?” You asked. Normally, she would’ve ridden the bus home and been there when you got home.

“This afternoon she received a detention for swearing at a teacher and fellow student. You are on her contact sheet and you need to come pick her up.” The voice said.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in like ten minutes.” You said. You grabbed your things, utterly confused at the situation. Maggie was a sweet girl and her swearing at a teacher and classmate was way out of line for her.

When you got to the high school, you went inside and waited for Maggie. When she saw you were waiting for her, she seemed to darken even more.

“Maggie.” You said.

She ignored you and didn’t say anything til you were pulling into the driveway.

“Does Dad know I got a detention?” Maggie asked.

“I haven’t had a chance to call him.” You said. Maggie seemed even more upset by this and as soon as you got inside, she went up to her room and closed the door.

Something was definitely going on.

You figured you had to call Spencer.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Spencer answered the call on the second ring.

“Nothing. Well...it’s about Maggie.” You said.

“Is she ok?” Spencer asked.

“She got a detention today.” You said.

“What? What did she do?”

“There may have been some...choice words at a teacher and classmate.”

“What did she say.”

“Something along the lines of ‘You’re a fucking bitch’ to the teacher and ‘You goddamn asshole’ to the classmate.”

Spencer sighed over the line. “Did Maggie day why she said those things?”

“No. She’s barley said 2 words to me. Something’s definitely wrong.”

“I might be home tonight, if all goes well. Please figure out what’s wrong.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too, Y/N.” Spencer said.

After your goodbyes you made your way up to Maggie’s room and gently knocked on the door before entering.

She was curled up on her bed, holding Lily, her favorite stuffed bunny from childhood she never went anywhere without.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You asked, sitting at the end of her bed and gently rubbing her leg.

“I want to talk to Dad about it, but he’s never here.” Maggie quietly mumbled.

“You know that’s just how his job works. But you can always call him.” You said.

Maggie rolled over so she was facing you.

“It’s not the same.”

“You know you can talk to me, right?” You asked.

Maggie sighed and sat up. “I like talking with you, I really do, but I want to talk to Dad. Last week when he was on that case in Vermont I called him and he hung up on me mid story because something I said reminded him about some old book that could be a clue or something.”

You sighed, and wrapped your arms around Maggie.

“I just want to talk to him and have him listen without being interrupted.” She said.

“He said he might be home tonight. Whenever he gets home, we can talk about him taking some time off if that’s what you want.” You said.

Maggie nodded and you sat there, rubbing her back for a few minutes.

-

It was nearly 2 am when the front door quietly unlocked. Spencer clearly hadn’t seen the light on in the living room, and was a little startled when you called out to him.

“Y/N? What are you still doing up?” He asked, moving to sit beside you on the couch.

“I wanted to talk to you.” You said. “Do you know why Maggie got a detention today?”

“Yeah, you told me. She swore at a teacher.” Spencer said.

“Well, yes...but I think she got a detention so you would talk to her.”

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows. “What? Why?”

“I talked to her earlier. She said that last week you hung up on her mid story because you thought of a clue. And that she just wants to talk to you.” You said.

Spencer sat there, doing nothing but staring into space.

You poked his back with your fingers and shoved him towards the stairs. “Go talk to your daughter, Spencer.” You said.

“Why would she still be awake at 2 am?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at you.

You looked down and blushed. “We may or may not have finished a movie marathon a couple minutes ago...”

Spencer sighed, but you knew he was smiling. He headed twoards the stairs and you heard him knock on Maggie’s door.

-

The next afternoon, you were humming to yourself as you made lunch. When you had woken up, Spencer and Maggie weren’t there, but there was a note that said they would be back soon.

You heard the garage door open and a few minutes later, Maggie bounded into the kitchen, holding a bag from her favorite store and smiling brightly.

“Good day?” You asked.

Maggie came up to you and hugged you tightly. “Whatever you said to Dad, thank you.” She said.

You smiled and she ran up the stairs.

A few moments later, Spencer came into the room, holding two massive bags, all filled with books.

You smiled and grabbed one of the bags. “I see you took my advice.” You said.

“I did. Have I ever told you how smart you are?” Spencer asked.

“The Doctor Spencer Reid calling me smart? It must be a miracle.” You said.

Spencer put down his bag of books and wrapped his arms around you. “You are a miracle.” He said, leaning down to kiss you.

“You two are so gross.” Maggie said from down the hall.

Tags!(Open)

@rexorangecouny @magnificentmgg @rachelxwayne @andreasworldisboring101 @itsmyblogandiwillblogifiwantto

[kurokoros]

move me, baby | sp

Title: move me, baby

Rated: T for the first four scenes. M for the last.

Words: 3314

Pairing: Sweet Pea x reader

Summary: Somehow, Sweet Pea starts calling you “baby”. The nature of the petname evolves.

AN: It’s been a hot minute since I wrote a reader insert fic, but here it is!

The bench beneath your back is uncomfortable. You shift again, waiting for the artist, an older Serpent named Micah, to finish prepping his station. Nervously, you twiddle your thumbs, chewing at your lower lip. Already you’ve begun to fidget and the tattoo gun isn’t even out yet.

And really, you shouldn’t be as nervous as you are. You’ve seen Micah’s work before and know he’s a damn good artist. It’s not like he would be doing the Serpent’s tattoos if he wasn’t. Besides, you grew up on the Southside. It’s practically criminal that you made it this long without getting one, even if you aren’t a Serpent yourself.

“Oh, come on,” Sweet Pea huffs, causing your gaze to snap to his. He glances down at you in irritation, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t be such a baby. It’s just a tattoo.”

You roll your eyes at the tall, gruff Serpent. Of course he would think that. Sweet Pea’s favorite past time is getting himself beaten up by the Ghoulies. You’re not even sure pain is part of his vocabulary at this point. “Why are you even here, again?” you ask, quirking a brow at your surly, sort-of-friend. “Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

Not that you want him to leave. The only reason you haven’t bolted from the bench yet is because of his silent judgment grounding you in place.

Plus, you think as you look him over, gaze lingering on the angry, two-headed snake inked into the side of his neck, Sweet Pea has always been pretty damn good eye-candy. That certainly makes up for him sitting there and judging you like an asshole.

Sweet Pea just shrugs. “Moral support.” He crosses his arms and leans back in his seat, completely relaxed.

“Right, because you’re so supportive.”

He reaches out and pinches your exposed hip, making you yelp and jerk away from his mischievous fingers. On reflex, you swat at him, and Sweet Pea chuckles when you miss, a deep baritone that sends a shiver shooting right up your spine.

Before you can yell at him, Micah steps back into the room. The older Serpent flashes you a brief smile as he fixes his gloves and settles into the chair on your left. “All right, Sweetheart, you ready?”

You manage to nod and resist the urge to fidget as he presses the stencil to your skin, a simple flower that follows the curve of your hipbone in the front.

(You’re so preoccupied with the whirring of the machine and the nerves bubbling in your stomach that you don’t see the way Sweet Pea’s eyes trace the hem of your underwear all the way to the blue stencil on your hip.)

Micah draws the first line, officially starting your first tattoo, and your eyes squeeze shut. Your teeth dig into your lower lip at the lick of pain that curls through you. It’s over as quickly as it starts, but you don’t hear the encouragement Micah murmurs.

Sweet Pea leans down toward you. “Just remember to breathe,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear over the buzzing of the gun. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t—”

“Sweet Pea?” Your voice comes out much softer than you mean it to, more breathy, a little shaky, but just loud enough to catch his attention. You swallow. “Just shut up and hold my hand.” The fingers of your right hand wiggle to emphasize the request.

For a second he just stares at you in surprise, lips slightly parted and dark eyes wide. His jaw tightens, causing the snake on his neck to tense. Micah smiles secretively.

Finally, Sweet Pea rolls his eyes. “Baby,” he grumbles as his hand slips into yours.

The Friday night rush at the Wyrm is considerably slower than you expected it to be tonight. Most of the older Serpents have settled into their regular seats and have taken to nursing their beers and reminiscing and the ones still in school ducked out of the bar over an hour ago, bored and headed to the quarry to cause trouble.

FP Jones and his kid are notably absent, as are most of the other Serpents rising up in the ranks. It’s not hard to figure out why. Lately, things have been rough on the Southside. The Ghoulies have been causing chaos all over town. There have been more brawls in the last week than there have in the previous month, and as far as you’re aware FP is pretty keen on ending things before they get out of control like they did back when you were all still in high school.

Worry niggles at the back of your mind, but you shove it down.

It’s a little after two in the morning and the bar is almost empty by the time Sweet Pea slips in through the front door. You don’t notice him at first, half-asleep as you scrub the same spot on the bar with a wet cloth, making lazy circles.

“You know, I think you missed a spot.”

Inhaling sharply, you startle at the unexpected voice. Your eyes snap up to meet Sweet Pea’s amused gaze and his lips quirk higher. You’re taken aback by the man standing in front of you. There’s blood on his knuckles, his own or someone else’s you can’t be sure, his lip is split and puffy, and there’s a nice bruise forming beneath his left eye. More blood is splattered across the front of his leather jacket and the white shirt he’s wearing beneath it.

Without really meaning to you look him over, cataloging the injuries you see. It’s not as bad as you were expecting. He’s bloody and bruised and holding himself like his ribs hurt, but you’ve seen he look far worse than this.

“Let me guess,” you muse, leaning forward on your elbows and grinning at him, “I should see the other guy?” His answering grin is wry and humorless and you think maybe you’re wrong and it’s worse than you think. “What was it this time?”

He shuts down and immediately you regret asking. His expression becomes pinched and a dark wave of fury washes over his features. Sweet Pea grits his teeth, his jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle in his jaw pops. “Business,” is all he tells you.

You don’t have to ask what kind.

Instead, you ask “whiskey or vodka?” Something to make him loosen up or forget. It’s always the same with him.

He leans forward on the bar, careful not to get blood on the clean surface as you grab him a glass. “Whiskey.”

You pour him his drink and slide it across the bar. As he reaches for his wallet, you stop him. He stiffens under your brief touch, but doesn’t pull back.

“It’s on the house,” you tell him quietly. You aren’t sure what possesses you to say that, but you don’t regret it for a second. Hog Eye will be pissed if he finds out you’re giving away free alcohol—at least, he’ll pretend to be—but it’s worth it with the way Sweet Pea reacts.

His expression softens considerably and your throat tightens, your mouth dry. There’s something about the tall, angry biker looking at you like that that makes your breath catch. “Thanks, Babe,” he murmurs. Sweet Pea offers you another small smile before taking his drink and straightening.

You roll your eyes as he fishes out his wallet and shoves a twenty in the tip jar before heading for a table in the back where Jughead and Fangs are waiting for him.

You’ve never understood the point of drag racing. It seems stupid, betting so much on who can drive marginally better than someone else, but those were the Ghoulies’ terms. While the Serpents would prefer an all out rumble, the Ghoulies always have been fond of their flashy cars.

When Toni threw a crop top and shorts at you this morning you should have known it would be something like this. You may not be an official Serpent, but there are still certain expectations.

So here you are, waiting on some dusty back road as one of the younger Serpents argues with a Ghoulie about the same age, setting up the terms of the race. You aren’t sure where Toni disappeared to; she disappeared to go find Fangs as soon as the two of you pulled up in her beat up car.

Usually it wouldn’t bother you, being alone like this, but you’re really not liking the way one of the Ghoulies across the dirt lot is eyeing you. You doubt he’d be stupid enough to try anything in a crowd of Serpents, but you can never be too sure. The Ghoulies tend to be bold and don’t take no for an answer, and everyone here is just looking to start a brawl.

Ignoring the Ghoulie doesn’t seem to dissuade him.

You jump as a pair of big hands settle on your hips from behind and squeeze gently. Panic surges in your chest until a familiar, rough, baritone laugh rumbles through you as you’re pulled back against a broad chest. “Relax, baby girl,” Sweet Pea murmurs against your ear, voice low and throaty. “It’s just me.”

Breathing a sigh, you lean into him. “Fuck, Sweet Pea,” you huff, rolling your eyes when he chuckles.

You don’t have to ask what he’s doing, already feeling the Ghoulie’s eyes slide away from you. And sure enough, you crane your head back to look at him only to find him locked in a staring contest with the Ghoulie across the lot, who sneer and turns back to his friends. Sweet Pea’s jaw is clenched tight, his eyes narrowed dangerously, and you shake your head at the alpha male bullshit, but gladly sink into him anyway.

The pad of his thumb strokes the bare skin over the waist of your shorts, just teasing the tattoo peeking out on your hip. You wonder if he’s doing it on purpose, trying not to squirm and shiver as he leaves a trail of fire in his wake, the heat of his hands sinking into you.

“I thought you were supposed to be giving Isaac and Dexy some pointers,” you murmur, watching the two younger Serpents head back to their car, the Ghoulies doing the same. Briefly, you wonder where they got it, but figure it best not to think about it.

Sweet Pea pulls you a little closer to his torso, leaving no space left between the two of you. He doesn’t wrap his arms around you, just holds you there, grip loosening now that the Ghoulie has lost interest. “I already did.” A low sound rumbles in his chest and echoes in your own. “Thought you looked lonely.”

“So you came to keep me company? My hero,” you joke. He pinches your hip like he always does and you swat at him playfully. Sweet Pea strokes the curve of your tattoo and you hope he doesn’t notice the hitch in your breathing.

You expect him to let go as the race starts, but he keeps his hands on you the entire time. They just rest there on you hips, drumming absentmindedly against your side to his own rhythm.

Picking up an overnight shift at Pop’s Diner wasn’t something you wanted on a Wednesday night. Wednesday’s are always quiet, the shift slow because it’s the middle of the week and no one wants to pop into a twenty-four hour diner for a shake at two in the morning aside from stoners and occasionally Jughead Jones.

And that’s exactly who’s here tonight. A group of southside teens stoned out of their minds are a giggly mess in the far corner of the room, milkshakes of every flavor laid out in front of them. They’ve been taking sips of each one individually and looking like their minds are blown every time. Jughead, meanwhile, is in his usual spot on a stool up front, laptop laid out in front of him as he types away furiously, still working his way through that novel of his that stopped being about Jason Blossom almost five years ago. Besides them, it’s only you and the cook, Brian, here tonight, and you’re pretty sure Brian is taking a power nap in the back while you lazily wipe down the same spot on the counter you have been all night.

When the bell above the front door chimes, you don’t think much of it, calling out a reflexive greeting as a man in a black coat walks up to the counter. It’s not until there’s a gun in your face that you realize what’s going on. The stoners stop giggling in the booth and from further down the counter Jughead stares at you with wide eyes and you hope he doesn’t try to be a hero tonight.

White noise rings in your ears. The man is shouting, but you can’t make out what he’s saying. You fumble and nearly drop the key you need to open the register. The drawer pops open. Jughead slowly starts to stand. The cold kiss of steel presses against your temple.

You wait for the bang but it never comes. Your hands shake as you give him the cash from the register. The bell above the door jingles.

It’s all a blur to you after that. Someone must call the police, because suddenly Sheriff Keller is standing in front of you, holding you steady with one hand on your upper arm. Your head is foggy and you stutter as you recount the events from minutes earlier. There isn’t much to say. You didn’t see his face.

Sheriff Keller talks to Jughead next, and then the stoners in the corner. Jughead comes to stand next to you against the far wall and makes a phone call, but you don’t pay attention.

The shaking in your hands spreads through the rest of your body and suddenly you’re sliding down the wall to the floor, a trembling, sobbing mess as you realize how different things could have gone.

The bell above the door chimes and you flinch. Someone drops to their knees beside you. There are hands on you them, gentle and coaxing, and your back is pulled flush against a broad, firm chest as arms wrap around you. You curl into the person behind you, immediately sinking into the familiar embrace. A tattooed thumb rubs circles into your upper arm.

“It’s okay, Baby,” Sweet Pea whispers in your ear as he strokes your hair away from your face. “You’re okay. It’s okay.” A small, hiccupping sob tears from your chest and his grip around you tightens. His lips press against your temple as he rocks you both. “No one’s gonna hurt you, okay?” he coos. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you.” His palms rub up and down your arms, soothingly.

He kisses your head again and you believe him.

You aren’t sure how it happens exactly. One minute you and Sweet Pea are arguing about something pointless and the next you’re being dragged into the storage room behind the bar at the Wyrm and shoved up against a wall. The cold wall stings your back, but don’t have the time to complain. Sweet Pea’s mouth meets yours in a bruising kiss, and your knees almost buckle.

It’s a mad rush of hands and lips and teeth. Your fingers rake through his hair, squeeze his upper arms, dip beneath his shirt to tease the firm muscle beneath. Sweet Pea wedges a knee between your thighs and rocks up against you, applying enough pressure to make you moan and squirm, soft, needy sounds spilling from your mouth.

He grins against you, smug, and you’d wipe that look off his face if he wasn’t hooking his hands beneath your thighs and hauling you off the ground. You’re crushed between him and the wall, your legs wound around his waist, and already you can feel him, hard and hot against your inner thigh, achingly close to where you want him.

Sweet Pea’s hips rock against yours and you squirm.

A lick of heat curls in your gut, and you realize it’s skin contact you want. The leather jacket is shoved from his shoulders and left in a heap on the floor and he chuckles when your needy fingers grasp the hem of his shirt and tug upwards. You struggle with the fabric, huffing, and consider just ripping it when it catches on his shoulders. Through his amusement, Sweet Pea helps you yank the shirt off from over his head.

He doesn’t leave you for long. Another bruising kiss is pressed to your mouth before his lips wander to your jawline, nipping and sucking a path across your skin that makes your eyes flutter shut. Your hands slide up his back, feeling every bump and scar and bruise with the tips of your fingers until his mouth finds a spot that makes your whole body jerk against him. Sweet Pea squeezes your ass as your fingers grasp at his shoulders, and then his hair. He murmurs your name and you whimper, hips grinding against his until you pull a low moan out of him.

“That’s it, Baby,” he mumbles as your legs squeeze around his waist and your fingers tug at his hair. “Just like that.” His mouth moves from your jaw to your neck, the rough scrape of his lips against your sensitive skin making you shiver.

Sweet Pea grinds against you bucking his hips sharply, and your head falls back against the wall as you arch into his chest.

He pulls away from you then, and you whine at the loss of contact as you’re placed back on your shaky legs, but he smothers your complains with a kiss that makes you dizzy. And you really can’t complain as his tongue drags across his lower lip as he sinks onto his knees in front of you.

There’s something absolutely erotic about having him on his knees for you, his lips teasing the soft skin above the waist of your jeans, his eyes on you, taking in every expression you make as he pulls little sounds from your mouth. His eyes lock on yours, pinning you in place as his fingers slide up your thighs. Your breath catches as he pops open the button on your jeans.

Sweet Pea holds your gaze as he leans in to press a soft kiss beneath your bellybutton. His mouth follows the hem of your underwear to the tattoo on your hip and your legs turn to jelly. The grip he has on your thighs is the only thing keeping you upright and aren’t able to swallow down a pleased moan when his teeth graze your sensitive skin.

His fingers hook around the edge of your panties and the ache between your legs grows painful as he kisses your hip and—

“Oh!” Sweet Pea rips his mouth away from you and you gasp, eyes flying open to see a very surprised Toni standing there. Her lips twitch like she wants to laugh. She turns around and heads back out to the bar, shouting, “Hog Eye, I think we’re out of that!”

“Oh my god,” you mumble, mortification rushing through you when you realize you were about to let Sweet Pea go down on you in the back room of the Whyte Wyrm.

Sweet Pea groans and stands, leaving you wet and needy, and the sound just makes the pulse between your thighs more noticeable. “Shit.” He sighs and glances down at you, taking in your bee-stung lips and rumpled hair, your pupils blown wide with lust. “My place?” he jokes.

You breathe a laugh and stand on your toes to loop an arm around his neck, pulling him down for another lingering kiss.

[autisticlalna]

false disposition

okay i was planning to take a short break from writing stuff for @mine-sara-sp ‘s shadow au after finishing detonator, and... i kind of did?

but i also wrote a fanfic with @betweenlands.

this takes place like... uhhhh right after the first 2 paragraphs of detonator but before the end of chapter 1 and before 6.24! Killjoy stumbles across Shadoc after he flees from Sahara, what happens next may warm your heart (also you should definitely listen to this song)

 previous fics about shadoc: how to kill a shadow / power surge / detonator (part 1 / part 2)

other fics about killjoy: killjoy / salt the earth, prove your worth / can’t take it, it’s mine / 6.24 / let’s get this over with

-

    Killjoy is not a nice person.

    It’s somewhat odd for him, referring to himself as a “person”, but it was at Joe’s insistence - and besides, it’s somewhat scarier when people think of you as being in that uncanny valley between inhuman and human. More intimidating.

    Good. Keeps people on their toes.

    Maybe a little too much in this case, though, because after the small incident with Biffa’s shadow, Joe is avoiding him again. Can’t be helped, really, he’s grown to understand that people act erratically when they’re nervous. And Joe’s grown better lately, stronger, and he can hold his own for a decent amount of time. So it’s no issue if he leaves his summoner be for a bit.

    Still, that does leave him with not a lot to do - he can practice, of course, hone his own work, but usually that’s more done alongside Joe, when he can be easily resummoned. So without that outlet, recon’s really the only thing to do.

    Hence why he’s been haunting Keralis and Bdubs’s village lately.

    It started with professional curiosity - the site was close by to the shadow shrine, relatively speaking, and its no-fly zone ordinance made Killjoy feel he was on equal footing to anyone else who happened to end up there. On visiting a couple times though, he picked up a new reason to keep coming back - Bdubs and Keralis were dreadfully, woefully oblivious to his presence.

    He could sneak around corners in peace, practice being just a little stealthier, and they wouldn’t be able to tell anything was wrong. Sure, Bdubs jumped at shadows pretty frequently, and Keralis had keen eyes, but they were both likely to brush it off. It was the perfect way to test himself, and meant he could even mess with them if he really wanted to.

    Mostly, though, he just watches and waits for something to happen. And usually, nothing does. Oh, sure, he’s there when Bdubs makes a deal with Sahara and worries that he’s selling his soul, but that seems pretty light fare. Nothing really changes here.

    Or, at least, that’s exactly what he’s thinking before he stumbles upon something different, the machinery of irony in motion.

    There’s another shadow here. They’re sitting in the small blacksmith’s nook by the stables, curled up in a corner where the light from the sun doesn’t quite reach them, obscured from view.

    Interesting.

    It’s hard to say if the other shadow even sees him. It’d be easy for a casual passerby to mistake them for being asleep; they haven’t moved at all from where they sit with their head resting on their arms, knees drawn up close to their chest, in a pose designed to hide their figure as much as possible. The only thing that indicates otherwise is the soft glow of a yellow eye, barely visible, staring out unfocused into the distance.

    It’s like they’re waiting for something. Maybe for Keralis; it’s his and Bdubs’s village, after all, although it’s hard to say how they’d react to finding a shadow hiding on their turf. They could also be waiting on their summoner, although... it’s usually the shadow hunting the summoner down, not the other way around. 

    They haven’t spotted Killjoy yet, or even noticed that they’ve been spotted. They’re just… sitting there.

    He frowns, unsure how to approach the situation. It’s not exactly like they’re stepping outside of their bounds, Joe is fine, so he doesn’t have to be hostile.

    That poses an interesting problem, because he’s usually hostile, and something tells him this shadow would not enjoy that sort of treatment.

    He rubs his temples, steps out of his own cover and into the light of late day, one hand in his pocket casually as he adjusts the empty frames on his face. Not really intentionally towering, but definitely positioning himself in a dramatic light on purpose.

    “Howdy.”

    They flinch at the sound of his voice. In an instant they’ve snapped upright, looking around frantically, before their gaze finally settles on him. “Oh no, no no no--” It’s a familiar voice. Looks like the newest freeloader is none other than Doc’s shadow.

    He keeps his eyes locked on Killjoy as he freezes. Locking up when scared isn’t exactly the best self-defense mechanism for a shadow to have; he’s defenseless, trapped in a corner with no one else around, and there’s a look in his eyes like he’s bracing himself for the worst.

    “Hey, Joekills,” Doc’s shadow says with a twitchy, forced smile. “Or- S- Sorry, you don’t… you don’t really, um, go by that anymore, do you- ?”

    Killjoy grins, shrugging. “I’ve taken to Killjoy, yes. And you are…?”

    “Um…” A look of confusion crosses his face. Doc’s shadow hesitates, staring down at his hands. “...Shadoc, I guess. I heard Keralis call me that earlier.” He shrugs. Quieter: “...why are you here?”

    “Visiting. Do I need a reason?”

    Shadoc shrinks in on himself. His hands tightly grip the fabric of his lab coat as he tries to steady himself; he stutters, words failing in attempt after attempt, before he finally tears his eyes away from Killjoy to stare at anything but him.

“No,” he manages after far too many tries. “I guess not.”

    Pretty much every inch of Shadoc is radiating please go away, please go away, please go away. He turns his back deliberately, waits to see if the nervous shadow will try and attack - or do anything at all, really - as he stares towards the setting sun, not saying anything.

    There’s a sound from behind him as Shadoc stands up. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, uneasy; once it becomes clear that Killjoy has no intention of leaving, he clears his throat. “Does Joe know you’re here?”

    He probably doesn’t mean for the question to come out the way it does, judging by the way he covers his mouth once he’s done speaking.

    Killjoy tilts his head back to look at Shadoc, still smirking, one eyebrow raised. “No. Interesting question to ask me.”

    “I heard-”

    Shadoc cuts himself off by biting down on his metallic hand. The anxious shadow takes several deep breaths, eyes closed, before letting go and lowering his hand back down to his side. “It’s just… N- No, nevermind, it’s… it’s nothing.”

    His laugh is brittle, like everything else about him. “What I meant was… I thought you two were usually… together.” An awkward, hesitant pause. “As- As in Joe’s usually summoning you for… Joe reasons.”

    He has to laugh at that - really more of a soft snort than anything longer, but the concept of it being Joe’s idea to summon and resummon him is frankly quite hilarious. “You seem to have it backwards. It’s my idea, not his.”

    Shadoc’s expression goes blank, like a switch had been turned off. “...Yours?” There's a note of surprise in his voice, but also… something else. Something weird, that Killjoy can’t quite put his finger on. “But… it’s the hermits that decide what to… to… to do with us.” His voice wavers, just a little. “I don’t understand.”

    That gets another laugh from him as he turns around, rests his arm against one wall as he idly examines his fingers. “Sure, when we were mindless, maybe. But now? Now they’re the ones stuck in stagnation while we grow more powerful every time we fall.” Killjoy grins, a full, wide smile this time. “Joe needs any assistance he can get, seeing as he’s prone to death and I can’t exactly exist without him. So he gets a little extra… help from me, enough that I don’t have to watch him constantly.”

    A pause, for dramatic effect of course. “And me, well, I get my due.”

    The other shadow shakes his head, either in disagreement or in an attempt to shake off Killjoy’s words. “But-” Again with the stuttering, with the half-formed words and phrases he discards and restarts, until Shadoc grabs at his own hair in frustration. “That’s- that’s not how this works!” he barks out in a rush. “That’s not how- That’s- That’s not- ”

    His breathing quickens as he stares Killjoy down. “The hermits- we- They’re the ones in control of all- this! They’re- they’re the ones that summon us, that kill us, that- that decide what to do with us, that- what’s- what’s safe, they- ”

    Shadoc is shaking. It’s hard to say what’s going through his head right now; somehow, one way or another, Killjoy has struck a deep nerve.

    He takes a step forward, extends one hand out towards Shadoc. Not grabbing him - that would be extremely rude - but just… offering. “You and I both know in our own ways they were never in control of this situation, now especially. Maybe they used to be. Now they’re grasping at straws. They have to calculate when they can profit off us being around, take that risk. Really, these days we decide what to do with them, just in a bit more of a round-about way.”

    Shadoc stares at his offered hand like it’s a snake ready to lunge at him. Every part of him is tense, wound up too tight, about to snap. It’s a conscious effort for him to slow his breathing back down, to steady himself, to disentangle his fingers from his hair as Killjoy’s words sink in.

    “You weren’t there,” he says, voice even. “At… At Area 77. Joe didn’t… he… Joe didn’t- …Joe didn’t put you in the trap.” He swallows hard, takes a second. “What happens when Joe does- when- when Joe thinks it’s not… safe, anymore? When you do something bad, really bad, and Joe has to get rid of you? When he kills you and… and leaves you in the dark?”

    He wraps his arms around his chest as he thinks of what he’s trying to say, what order to put the words in. “Are you still in control?”

    Killjoy freezes, visibly, and then staggers backwards, bracing himself against the wall as the maniacal laugh he’s been trying to hold back forces its way out anyway. The type of laughter that chills someone to their core, that fills a half-page of narration with nothing but itself. He can’t help it, because try as he might to be sympathetic - and he is, sure - Shadoc’s statement is genuinely hilarious to him.

    “Ahah- Shadoc, I am so sorry about what happened to you. Truly, I am. I’m not laughing at you, just… Joe!? You really think he can stop me? No, I am in more control than I have ever been. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t kill me for good.”

    His laughter knocks Shadoc off guard. The other shadow stammers; clearly, this wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, and he has to scramble to collect himself and get himself back on track.

    “But- but he can,” Shadoc stressed. “He always can. Killjoy, it- it doesn’t matter how much stronger you get, or how much stronger you are, they’ll… they’ll find a way. They’ll get rid of you, forever, because you… because you become too much of a risk and not enough of a reward. Joe likes you, I’m sure, and- and I’m sure he appreciates your help, too, but-”

    He wrings his hands, gripping tight enough to hurt. There’s something he’s dancing around, some idea lodged in him he’s unwilling to let go. 

It puts Killjoy in a tough place, really, because he didn’t exactly come here with the intent to uproot someone’s beliefs. Certainly, didn’t even intend to cause panic…

    Something hits him, a spark of realization. He cocks his head to the side. “You’re not worried about me, are you. You’re worried about them doing something to you.”

    Shadoc goes quiet. He opens his mouth to speak, to provide a rebuttal, but fails to make a sound. He struggles, then settles for a jerky nod. With stilted movements, he sits back down and huddles into the corner Killjoy found him like he’s trying to shut out the world.

    When he finally gets his voice working again, his words are barely audible. “...did you hear about Sahara?”

    Killjoy’s smile is thin, tired. “Oh, Shadoc. It’s not your fault they’re idiots who couldn’t think about other people besides themselves.”

    “It’s not-” Shadoc hides his face in his knees. “I- I don’t- I’m not even really sure what happened, I just- and then-- and then Iskall was hurt-” 

    He rubs at his eyes to try and stop the tears threatening to start. They’re still audible in his voice, with how he gets choked up as he tries to talk. “...they’re going to kill me.”

    Killjoy feels bile rise in his throat, or maybe it’s just pity - on some level, after all, they’re much the same. He grits his teeth. “They’ll do no such thing. Doc certainly won’t, and if they send any of the other shadows after you, I’ll kill them first.”

    Shadoc lifts up his head just enough for Killjoy to see the glow of his eyes. “Why?” he manages. There’s an uncertain look in his eyes - he wants to believe him, wants to have hope, but he’s holding himself back. “What do you get out of it? If I’m… gone… then there’s one less threat on the server.”

    "Well… let's see. Doc feels awful for what happened as far as I can tell, so there's no way of getting him convinced to kill you - and the other shadows? None of their damn business." He rolls his eyes. "I am sick and tired of those upstarts thinking they have any right to target people they aren't reflections of. I intend to enforce that."

    The reminder of what Doc did causes his shadow to flinch despite himself. Shadoc looks like he wants to argue, but instead he just hides his face again and sniffles as he starts to properly cry. “...thank you.”

    He frowns. “Don’t. There’s no reason to thank me. I would be doing it anyway.”

    Shadoc muffles himself until he’s able to speak again without sounding like a complete disaster. It’s not perfect; he still has to pause and collect himself between phrases. “It… it still helps.” His smile wavers before dissipating. “But that’s just a… a side effect, though, isn’t it?”

    He uncurls a little, stretching out his legs and resting one hand in his lap while keeping the other hovering near his face. “I’m sorry, I… I guess that I’m just…” Shadoc gives a weak shrug. “There’s… a lot, right now.”

    “Don’t apologize, either. If the side effect of what I’m doing helps you, then it helps you. It’s not putting me out of my way, after all.” Killjoy tilts his head to look up at the darkening sky overhead. “You’re less of an inconvenience - never mind threat - than you think.”

    Shadoc’s expression darkens. Clearly he doesn’t agree with that assessment, but he doesn’t protest, either. The hand in his lap picks aimlessly at loose threads dangling from the tattered holes in his pants as his eyes drift half-closed; the uneasy frown on his face may as well be one of his default expressions, next to the omnipresent fear.

    “I don’t…” He coils one of the longer threads around a finger. “I don’t know how long I have before they find me… If- if you found me, then… then they probably can too, and…”

    He scrunches up his face, presses the heel of one palm into his forehead. “What- what am I going to say to- to tell Murmur? Even if they… even if the hermits don’t… there’s… I… I’m. ...I’m not sure Murmur would forgive me. For… any of this. For Sahara. For running.”

    Killjoy shrugs. “They’re good people. So’s Murmur. I don’t think you’ve done anything unforgivable by any standards, unless you’ve secretly gone on some mass-murder rampage.”

    He pauses. “...That was a joke, by the way, the last part.” Shadoc doesn’t laugh.

    “I wouldn’t,” Shadoc says, and there’s an undercurrent of hurt to his voice. “I…” He falters. After a pause, he shakes his head. “...I know I’m being a bit… I don’t know the word. Over… no, um…”

    He looks frustrated as he struggles for the correct wording; the strand he’s tugging on snaps as he yanks on it too hard, and he looks down at where it’s twined around his finger with a twinge of surprise.

“I’m scared,” he finally admits in plain wording. “I’m… I’m really, really scared.”

Killjoy sighs. “That’s not something you should be embarrassed about. That’s how people work. You said you didn’t want to die again, and now there’s a little primal part of your brain enthusiastically pointing out the ways you could die so you can avoid them. Inconvenient, but not shameful.”

    Shadoc nods and fidgets with the thread some more. “...is it going to go away?” he asks, timid. “Is it- does it?” That wanting-to-be-hopeful look is back. He can’t help but wear his heart on his sleeve, it seems.

    Another shrug from Killjoy. “I don’t know. I’m not you.”

    That earns a soft laugh from Shadoc. “Y- Yeah, you’re… you’re right.” The fraction of a smile on his face soon fades as an invisible weight settles on his shoulders. “...I guess I’ll have to figure this out on my own…”

    “Just because I’m not going to help you out doesn’t mean that other people won’t,” he responds, turning away. “I think you’re forgetting to consider that.”

    A pause. “It’s getting late… I should go.”

    Shadoc looks surprised, then sighs as he accepts it. “Right… Of course. Um… Good luck with Joe, or... whatever you’re doing.”

    He draws in on himself again, keeping his eyes tracked on Killjoy as he huddles up and braces himself for what may happen once the other shadow is gone. He’s been here a while; if anyone’s searching for him, it won’t be long now before he’s found.

    “Thanks,” he mumbles, so quiet to be just barely audible. “For… for this.”

[randaccidents]

The Plan (Part 3/Finale)

And we finally have the deal to end all deals! Will Wels succeed in his plan? Will he steamroll a chaos entity? Is he alright? Read on to find out!

Jokes aside, I finally wrote fluff yall *confetti*

There might be some follow ups like with Fractured (that I need to write haha)

And there is a bad end to this fic you can look out for! *leaves you on this ominous note*

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

TW: strong descriptions of pain

A deal with the devil. Except its the Vex and not the devil.

As always, Shadow People AU comes from the lovely mind of @mine-sara-sp

Wels woke sitting in an oaken chair, a diamond pickaxe wedged into the table before him.

Quickly, Wels stood and looked around. To his relief, nothing had changed from the last time he had slept. The crossroads table, the diamond pickaxe wedged into the wood, the cake selection, the four locked doors, the bookshelves, the chandelier. He rubbed the burning cold from his arms. Good, that means that the Vex has no idea what was coming to them.

A shiver went up his spine as a presence made itself known. Speak of the creeper. Wels turned back to face the table.

Sat on the handle of the pickaxe was a singular vex mob, smiling viciously at him. Wels could feel the sudden burning spotlight of the Vex and knew that if he looked up now, there would be more vex mobs on the chandelier.

The voice that came from its mouth was crashing, shattering, bells and windchimes, and painfully familiar to Wels at this point. You know why we are here. It spoke the words Wels heard every night. We want to make a deal with you, tin knight.

And this time, he agreed. "Sure, why not."

Wels could tell that he had surprised the Vex when they didn't immediately respond. The vex mob acting as a mouthpiece had its eyes narrowed at him, and he could feel the others in the room doing the same, turning the spotlight of its glare from a harsh flare to blinding focus. You are trying to trick us, as you have once before. What is your goal?

Wels shrugged, ignoring the crawling feeling of being watched by too many eyes. Too many nights with the Vex had numbed him to the effects of its focus. "My goal is to protect my family and friends. To do that I have to protect myself." He raised an arm to point accusingly at the mob. "But you are making it difficult, with the pain and forcing me to hide things. So I've decided that a compromise might be easier. Is that fair?"

Two vex mobs holding iron swords flitted down to cautiously settle on the handle of the pickaxe, guarding the mouthpiece. A compromise, you say. And there will be no tricks on your end?

“Only as many as you throw at me.” Wels settled himself back into the oaken chair he woke in, fingers steepled before him. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

Finally, a reaction that Wels wanted from the Vex. The vex mob's grin relaxed into something that could only be described as sly as more of the vex mobs flitted down from the chandelier above; or was it the ceiling? The eyes in the room only increased. The mobs perched on the remaining chairs in the room, on the table, on the handle of the pickaxe. Wels had to hold back a shudder when the vex mobs collectively turned to look at him, just as it had in the past. He couldn't give them anything to use against him here. Paladin was depending on him. 

Finally, the mobs spoke as one. Yes, let us begin. The Vex wasted no time in laying out its demands, eagerness clear in its multilayered voice. We want you as our Anchor. The Convex have been ignoring us, and we need more Anchors to spread our chaos. We will give you power, and you will obey us when we call. Do we have a deal?

But Wels was already shaking his head, tsking softly at the Vex. "I said this was a compromise, not a one-sided deal." Wels held up two fingers as he kept talking. "I have two conditions of my own that need to be kept before I accept your deal."

The vex mobs seated around the room exploded into action, creating a whirlwind of bodies above him, adding their voices to the outrage and indignation of their patron. U̸͖̬͈͝ň̷̡̗̻̊̚͠a̵̫̳̦̍͐͜c̴̮͇̈́̏c̴̢̾e̵̜͛̂̉p̴̤͘t̷͎̾̿͠a̵̡̞̎͌̎̕b̷̡̘̣͖̎̄͒̈́l̵̗͇͔̱̒͌̀ȩ̵͙͇̿͌̊͋!̵̙̋̅ ̶̠͂͋I̷̱͜͝m̷͖̰̻̜͌͆p̸̙͝õ̵̫̘̺͉ṣ̶͓̣͚̔s̵̨̟̓i̸͔̦̰̐b̸͔̩́̃͊l̸͍̞̼̫̐̏e̵̯̝̐̔̍͝!̵̜̯̪̃̓̃͋ ̷͔̌Ý̶͕̯̰̙̌̈o̸͔̾̉u̸̯̠̣̭͝ ̵̦̭͚̦̃͋̋c̵̰̞̊̒͠a̵̢̦̞͚̐͗n̵̛̳̲̘̥̈́̀ň̷̰̺̘͑͆õ̵̙͖̦̫͆͗̌t̴̗̤͇̒̾̕̕͜ ̶̲̻͚̼̐͌d̶̨̰̲͈̊̽̾̈́ó̸̰̺̅͘ ̷̨̣̈ţ̸͔̂͠ḩ̷̞͓͂͑͠ǐ̶̠̯̬̈s̵̨̼͇̺͆̑̈͠!̶̘͌̐̾̒ ̵̩̮͈́͐̊T̷̨̏͗h̴̢̟̅́̒̑͜í̴̺́́͂s̶͍͛̚ ̵͙̥̜̀ï̷͇̍͌͘s̵͉͎̯͊͆͐͜ ̴̘̹͓͒n̶͕̗̱͂ő̴͓̮t̴͖̖̰̔̋̐ ̷͚̖̠̠̅͊h̴͓̼̜̅̀͘o̴̡͉̪̝͆̔́͘ẇ̵̘̝̦͉ ̵̨̼̻͈̐ţ̴̛̈͆h̸͈̙́͛͜i̷̜͘n̵̍͜ģ̶̩̣̖͋͌̄s̴͉̟̜̏ ̷̠̼̊̄̑͜å̷̩̜̾̈͝ŗ̸͝ȇ̷̞ ̸̨̖̙̃̊͒d̷̳̓̐o̸̩͆̽n̶̲̟̝̑̐ě̴̳̚!̸̩́̔ ̶̞̝̓̓W̷͇͑͝͠͝e̶̡͉͛ ̴̠̲̹̏͠á̶̖̬́͐̚r̴̭̮̈́̏̓͑e̵̬̯̋̃͊͝ ̴͍͖̅̿̏͘m̷̤̣̤̓͝ö̶̡̲̦̬̈́́̓ŕ̴̗̠̝̲̓͠e̴̢̬̮̳͑̓͌̈́ ̸̻̀p̶̧̪̋̐̃̈́o̶̬̖̔w̵̙͓͑͌͝e̶̖̻̥̙̅͊͊ṛ̷̥̹̈̉̈́f̵̫̣̙̌́͘ú̴̬̳͙ĺ̴̞̹ ̶̧͎̥̓̈́͗w̶͔̞̞̓̈́̇͑e̶͍̝̫̍ ̵̲̿̈̎d̵̳͔̀ì̴̩̜̮̌͂ͅṟ̶̅̏͒ͅe̸͕̠̱̱̿͌̂c̷̭̹̦̈́͜ẗ̴̠̠́̽ ̴̳͠t̷͚̲̬̠͊̅h̸̹̘̜̹̓ḯ̷̭̮͐̔s̸͈̈́̊̉ ̷̗̓͝ḏ̸͈̒e̶͙͕̣̅͐͜ä̸̠̳͑̉l̶̡̰̭͈̓ ̵̟̌́ŷ̸̨̓̑̕ȏ̸̢̜̅̍ù̶̖̱̜͆́ ̴̹̤̠̽̔m̵̘̝͓̎ü̵̹̞̏s̶̪̹̻̔t̸̛̝̥̉͆͆ ̸͙̎͌l̷̡͊i̷̜̿s̶̹͐̾̓͝t̸̬̭̻̫͐̇̍͘e̶̲̔̔ͅn̷̯̐ ̸̢̙͑̎t̶̠͕̓͋o̶̧̳͍̣̎̄ ̶̺̗̔ū̵̦̣̠̙ŝ̴͕̫͖̄̚͝!̷͙̟̽̌͝

And through it all, Wels sat there, arms crossed. His ears echoed and hurt, but he had to get his point across first and he needed his ears for that. "So you don't want this deal I presume?" He shouted up into the whirlwind of mobs above him. Suddenly, there was a singular vex mob floating in his face, mouth twisted into an uncharacteristic frown, and Wels had to resist the urge to flinch away, staring resolutely into its eyes.

O̴̼̝̓f̸̱̜̐̎̍̚ ̴͈̝̥͌́c̵͍̑̊͆̂ö̵̭̩̎͝ű̶͇̺̘̲̞̍r̵̯͈̙̭͑͂͂́͠ͅs̵̩͑̈́͘e̵̡͌ ̶̤̗͆̑w̵̡̥̥͇͛͝͝͠͠é̴̙̯̯ ̶̱̗̲̓̆͠w̴̡̽̌̕ã̷̬n̶̛̫̑͜t̵̨̡̓̎͒͋ ̷̲̈͒̐̓́t̵̝͈͋͂̾h̴͔̗̏̌͂͘i̵̢̳͓̣͑̇͋̈́͝ṡ̷̨͇̈́̕ ̷͐͜͠ͅd̴͕̙̣͋͌̚͜e̸̹̐͠ą̵̰̑̂̉̀ḷ̵̛̝͊̑̎̽,̶̼͎͕̊́̔̚ ̵̘̄͆̽͑b̸̳̳̪̙͉̿u̷̩̖̥͈͛̒̈́͘ͅt̵̢̯̖̊̋̎͝ ̸̨̢̧͖͈͗̌̀̋͊y̵̡͈̞̥͊ͅo̷̮͂̀͠u̸̧͙̖̔̓̎ ̶̨̑̍̈̑á̸̬̖̬̎̈́r̴̬̩̓ė̴̦̤͓̯̊̈́ ̸̬̪̜͚̏ń̴̥̞͇̏͛̊̃ȍ̸͖t̴̩͍͈̾ ̴̨̬͆p̸̡̨̘̂̄ḻ̶̪́̀͂̒ą̷̪̯̥̬̌y̷̧̢̝͙̅̆į̷̫̘̞̮̿́̑͑̃ṇ̸̢̨͒̔̿̋̒g̵͇͉̓̾͠ ̴͍̝̫̏̃̑b̵̘̟̪̿̚͠ỳ̶̛̙̳̘͗ ̴͙̟̮͗͋̊͝ẗ̸͇͕̳̫̞̽͠͝ḥ̴̉̐͗ͅe̸̘̺̭̠͛̅͆ ̶͖̇̈́̊́̚ŕ̴̟̰̎̂ự̸̪̖̼l̴͍̏͌̊̉ę̷͎͖͇̈́ṡ̴̞̤͊̈́.̸̺̬̼̎ The freezing anger in its voice made Wels shiver slightly, mind flashing backwards to replay old scenes from past nightmares and The Incident, but he stood his ground. "This is a compromise, not a deal." Wels reiterated patiently. "The rules are different. You give your demands, I give mine, and we both find a common ground we can agree to. Are you willing to play this game?"

The Vex actually seemed to consider this for a moment, the whirlwind of broken noises above him slowing. The vex mob before him drifted backwards to resettle on the handle of the pickaxe in a way that could only be described as sulkily. The vex whirlwind above him dissipated, the mobs resettling one by one into position. Only this time, there was no mass of mobs on the handle to give the illusion of unity and mess with his head. There was only the singular vex mob, face still set in an unhappy frown. Somehow, the Vex's gaze felt more piercing alone than when there had been more mobs. Its voice was soul-shattering when it spoke, the many layers condensing into only two echoing each other, adding weight to the statement. Fine. Let's play your game. What are your conditions, tin knight.

Rubbing his ringing ears, Wels sat back and thought through what he needed to say. He knew that the Vex were manipulative, so he had to be thorough. "Firstly, you cannot corrupt any of my shadows. Hear me out," he quickly added, seeing the vex mobs bristle and feeling the temperature of the room drop several degrees. "I get that part of what happens in a deal is corrupting shadows. I live with them both. But Paladin is affiliated with Abyss and Cavalier is affiliated with Puzzler. I don't want them to come after me when my shadows get corrupted, and I don't think you want them on you either. I know Abyss has kicked you out of some shadows before, imagine if you got his full wrath. And if Abyss needs an army to fight Puzzler, what about you?"

The two remaining voices of the Vex twisted and weaved in the space between them, thoughtful chimes filling the air. They have aligned themselves with The True Darkness and The Watchful Eyes? That is unfortunate. We are thankful that you have brought this to our attention. The voices multiplied and the pressure of its words decreased. Wels took a deep breath he didn't know he had lost. Yes, we agree. We will not touch that which is yours. Both its alignments are too troublesome to meddle in.

Something about the sentence was wrong, but Wels brushed it off. He had to make sure none of his future shadows, if he had any, were affected prematurely as well. "I'm talking about all of my shadows, summoned or not. You are not to touch them unless they come to you first, alright?"

Why are you so possessive of them? The Vex didn't sound malicious or angry, but rather genuinely confused. It cannot do anything without you. It is but a tool to be used to improve yourself. Do you not control your tools well?

The way the Vex said that word, 'tool', struck something deep in Wels, a part that had been forgotten since he came to Hermitcraft. His voice was low and dangerous when he echoed the word the Vex had used. "Tool?"

The Vex didn't seem to notice the danger, or maybe it dismissed the danger Wels presented as insignificant. It is a mob added for your benefit, no? To multiply your items? That makes it a tool of yours to use. It is your own fault that it has abandoned its original purpose. You should have kept it in its place, as we have been with the shadows called Avarice and Keloid.

Hearing the Vex call the shadows tools made something in Wels furious. The pressure of it filled his ears, and his voice was biting as he spoke back to the Vex, standing from his chair. "They are not. Tools. They are people with their own sentience and their own choices." Wels took a step towards the mob before him with each name he said. "One is called Paladin, and prefers the pronouns they/them, and the other is called Cavalier, and so far prefers the pronouns he/him. Avarice and Keloid prefer the pronouns it/them. Do not call my family tools and possessions. They are sentient people who make choices. They are not for people to use."

His chest was heaving, breaths heavy after such an outburst. There was a whining drone in his ears and the only thing he could think about was how dare they treat living people like that.

Your family? We wonder how that came to be. They are but simple mobs. Would you care to elaborate?

The voices of the Vex cut through the fog of his mind like a knife, shocking Wels back to cold reality. The vex mob before him had its smile twisted back onto its face, waiting for his answer. Wels shivered. This was a trap, he could feel the anticipation in the air. He had given them something to work with, and now he had to get out of the trap they were laying. He took deep breaths, in, out, in, out, until he was calm again and his mind was sharp. Then slowly, cautiously, he worded his answer.

"They have sentience, and those who have sentience are more than mere mobs. They should have a choice. Aren't you a sentient mob as well? Should you be a tool for me to use?"

The sound of iron being shattered bounced about the room. The vex mob before him looked away, faking boredom. This topic bores us. Let us move on to your next request.

He had won, escaped the trap, but he had to be sure that he got what he wanted. "So you won't corrupt any of my shadows, now or ever, unless they come to you first?"

Screeching, tearing metal was the noise that issued from the mouth of the vex mob before him, forcing Wels to cover his ears at the piercing noise. FINE. We will not touch your shadows, now or ever, without it being their choice. Can we move on now tin knight?

That reaction brought a satisfied smirk to Wels' face, quickly disguised to prevent further wrath from falling on him. Now for the real hard part. "My second condition. I do not want you to ever take control of me in any way without my permission. I want freedom to decide if I follow your orders an-"

And suddenly there was molten iron in his throat, cutting off his speech. His scars burned with searing fire and he crumpled to the floor, gasping for air through a pained throat. Above him, the Vex loomed, the many vex mobs circling above and glaring down at him.

You d̵̢͓̘͕̞͙͕̯̱͓̪̟͇̍͑̈́̃̀͋̐̾̀̊̍̇͝a̴͓̞̘͍̺͓̒͛̋̀́̇̇͋̏̆̈̒͌̕r̶̡̧̫͔̳͓̈́͑͗e̸̫͉̐͒̓̃͑̇̈́̂̈́̀̈́͋́̀̄͝ to ask us for a deal and then remove the most crucial detail? Your previous success has gone to your head. We think we might have to knock you off your high horse.

And the world became a familiar scene of blue as fire ripped through his body, seizing his body in a blaze of pain.

Wels didn't know how long it was before the pain was ripped from his body, leaving him cold, aching but relieved on the floor. His throat felt raw and scraped; he must have been screaming. His body still felt the lingering burns as he shivered on the cold hard floor. Above him, the Vex spoke, voice singular and clear of distortion. Are we ready now? Will you listen to my demands?

Still on the floor, Wels nodded his head. He knew he was in no position to do anything with his body still recovering from the attack. Even if he did still have more to say. Guess the Plan will have to be readjusted. Shifting to press his back comfortably against the frame of the chair behind him, Wels gave the Vex a small thumbs up.

Wels could feel the proverbial eye roll at his actions before the looping voice of the Vex spoke again. We believe we've said this once. But we will say it again. We want you as our Anchor, to make up for the lost chaos the Convex have been neglecting.

The Vex quieted, obviously waiting for a response from Wels. Parsing through the words, Wels found one point that confused him. "What does being an Anchor entail?" he rasped out.

The sigh the Vex released whipped at his face, whistling through the wood. So cautious. Why can't you be more accepting? Wels glared up at the nearest vex mob he could see without straining his neck. It looked down at him. Our Anchors get powers from us, and in return they have to cause some chaos in their worlds every now and then. It can be pranks, trolls, griefing, as long as chaos is achieved. All we ask is that you listen when we call for more chaos, otherwise we will punish you. Is that satisfactory to you?

That... wasn't as bad as he thought. It was better than he thought. But he had to be certain. "I get to keep my free will?" He asked suspiciously.

Some of the circling vex mobs landed before him on the floor with soft clinking noises. Its voice had returned to its normal multitude, twisting and molding and breaking in many bell-like formations. Yes. We are chaotic, but we are not all bad. We treat our Anchors well. Have you seen our Anchors the Convex complain about us?

They had a fair point, Cub and Scar never did complain about the Vex. "So I suppose we've reached a compromise. I will be your Anchor, and you will not corrupt my shadows. Deal?"

He held his hand out with his limited strength. The faces of the vex mobs before him blinked upwards into their normal smiling grins as they all reached their tiny hands forward to shake his own. Ḑ̵̨̘̪̞̣̲̻͖̰̼͔͓͌̌̽̔̂͒͒̓e̶̹̗̤̯̍̊̃̋̆̂͊͆̚͘a̷̛͉̹͉͈͆͗̇́́̆̀̍̊͗͛͑̉͋͑̇̂͗ļ̸̟̫̥̤̹̬̱̩̎̍̐̓̉͛̈́͛̈͝͝ͅ.̷̨̘̫̜͔̺͙̩͈̬̅͆̒́͗̚͝ͅͅ

Their joined hands burst into blue flame, but it strangely didn't hurt at all. The sound of bells and windchimes dipped and rose through the air. Wels could feel power knocking at his mind, asking to be let in, and he opened the door to the bright blue magic. It was a rushing rapid, swirling in to fill his veins, reaching every part of him and threatening to sweep him away.

Just as quickly as the floodgates opened, they closed back up, leaving the newfound power to settle inside Wels as groundwater, potential hidden beneath the surface. The vex mobs released his hand, floating upwards in satisfaction at their accomplishment. Sit up. We have much to discuss about your new powers, and limited time before your body decides to wake up.

Obeying the command from his new patron, Wels sat up, finding his aches gone and energy restored. Looking up at the new multitude of vex mobs before him, Wels smiled.

"So, what do I have to know about my new role and powers?"

-----------------

When Wels next opened his eyes, he found himself looking up at a familiar ceiling. The feeling of water under his skin remained, letting him know that what had happened was not just a dream. There was a hand in his own. Paladin. He squeezed lightly.

"Wels!" As expected, Paladin's face was quickly looming over his, worry etched deep into their face. "Are you alright? How did your part of the Plan go?"

Wels chose not to answer that, pushing himself into a sitting position. There was something he had to check first. He stared deep into Paladin's eyes, looking for any sign of blue.

"Wels?" Paladin asked cautiously. "Is everything alright?

Finding no hint of blue, Wels smiled gently. "Yep, everything's alright. The Plan worked! Well, mostly worked."

"Mostly worked?" 

Wels shifted guiltily on the bed, smile turning sheepish. "Turns out being an Anchor, as they call it, wasn't actually so bad. You won't get corrupted, but you also can't get any powers from them without a deal. At least the most important things worked out right?"

Paladin sighed, leaning forward to rest their forehead against Wels'. "I thought something was wrong because of how you acted. If you think it's fine, then its fine. As long as you're safe."

Wels's arms came up to grip Paladin's. "No. As long as we're both safe. That was part of the Plan, remember?"

Paladin laughed breathlessly. "Of course." They closed their eyes and squeezed Wels' hands tight. "And it worked. We're safe now."

Wels mimicked the gesture, eyes closed, exhaling softly. "We're safe." He whispered, wonder in his voice.

They sat like that for a while, breathing each other's air, before Wels suddenly pulled away. "I almost forgot!" Wels exclaimed, eyes shining, bouncing off the bed. "There's a little something I learnt from the Vex that I have to show you!"

Not waiting for an answer, Wels closed his eyes and concentrated, feeling for the wellspring beneath his skin. Finding the tap, Wels let the image he wanted flow from his fingers like thread. Within seconds, he could feel the item he was creating fall into his fingers, the spun vex magic lightly brushing his fingers. Grinning, he spun back to face Paladin. "Look what I got!"

But Paladin was staring at him in fear. Grin fading, Wels released the magic, unknowingly allowing his eyes to fade from pure electric blue back to his normal dark blue irises. "Paladin?"

The shadow shook their head slightly, shakily smiling up at Wels. "Sorry," they said, a tremor in their voice. "But your eyes glow blue when you do that, you know? Gave me a fright. What did you want to show me?" Wels could hear the abrupt change in topic and let it slide past him, instead allowing his grin to return.

"Do you remember this?" With a flourish, Wels lifted his arms, revealing the cape he now held. Paladin's eyes widened, the shadow almost falling off the bed to touch the cape. "This is... my cape?"

"Yep! Well, as close as I could get it." Wels proclaimed proudly. Leaning forward, he settled it around Paladin's neck, snapping it into place with a bright blue clasp he had added. "And it's yours again!"

Paladin looked at him, cautious hope swimming in their eyes. "Didn't you say I can't get vex powers without another deal? Can I really keep this?"

Wels never stopped smiling. "Technically, I made it. So it belongs to me. And I say that you should have it. It will come back to me if you die, but I can always give it back when you are summoned."

Paladin's excited hug of happiness made Wels laugh. "Try it out! You should be able to go two-dimensional and fly with that, since its magic and not an item!"

Paladin didn't waste any time, quickly diving in and out of the shadow Wels threw on the floor, marvelling at how the cape never seemed to fall off their shoulders to Wels' delight. Popping out of the shadow, Paladin flexed their shoulders in an instinctive movement, wings instantly furling outwards as large draconic wings. With a powerful flap, they were hovering in the air. The excitement lasted only a moment before they let out a scared yelp and the wings dropped back into a cape, sending Paladin falling down into Wels' arms. Wels smiled down smugly at Paladin. "Why hello there princess."

Laughing, Paladin pushed their hand into Wels' face, causing Wels to lose his balance and send them both falling back onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and laughter.

"Guess we still have to get that fear of heights out of you!" Wels ribbed gleefully, gasping for air through his laughter.

"Good luck catching me when you try!" Came the cheerful response, laughter lining the words.

Eventually, their laughter calmed, and they untangled themselves, sitting on the bed side by side, cape slung over their shoulders. Wels' hands played with the edge of the cape, playing with the magic of the fabric, while Paladin fiddled with a piece of iron, molding it into small shapes with their bare hands.

"Thank you so much for what you did for me Wels." The words were said softly, yet were clear in the silence of the room. The answer was just as soft, and just as clear.

"You're family. I would have done anything for you."

In the ensuing silence, Paladin began to hum. The melody was soft, gentle, but haunting. Wels swayed with the invisible beat. At a singular point that only they knew, Wels opened his mouth and began to sing.

"Just like balloons, we soar on our own.

Finally free from the pain of our home.

And just like balloons, that no one will hold.

Free from the truth, that no one will know~

No one will know~"

[commander-rahrah]

RESIDENCY (AN OPEN HEART FIC): PART FOURTEEN

Pairing: MC (Jordynne Holland) X Ethan Ramsey X Bryce Lahela; MC X Bryce; MC X Ethan

Masterlist: Click Here

Chapter Rating: M (Swearing, Kissing)

Word Count: 5900+

Description: Ethan and Jordynne receive advice from two lonely hospital patients. The pair of them find comfort in each other. 

Disclaimer: Characters, storyline, and parts of the dialogue are taken from Pixelberry’s Choices. They fully own the characters, dialogue, backgrounds, etc. MC Jordynne’s background is my own creation, based loosely off of MC in-game’s personality and provided with more details.

Author’s Note: Oh, Mrs. Martinez chapter... How it broke my heart. I always wished we had more one on one scenes with MC and Naveen as well, so I wrote one of those! I’m starting to gear up for the hurt and angst -- boy, oh boy it’s a big one. As always any likes, reblogs and comments are extremely appreciated! If you would like to be tagged in future updates please reply or DM me! :) 

Taglist: @drakewalkerfantasy​ @owleyes374​ @lahelable​ @mayar-mahdy​ @paisleylovergirl​ @nicquix​ @emilymay100​ @octobereighth​ @llamasgrl @timmagicktoad @lilyofchoices @msjpuddleduck @mfackenthal @paulfwesley @ccolz88-blog @mindlessdreaminxo

Previous Updates: Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part ElevenPart Twelve Part Thirteen

PART FOURTEEN

Drumming her fingers on her clipboard, Jordynne waited nervously for the elevator doors to open. She was headed to check on Naveen, and was doing her best to make sure that nobody noticed her absence on her floor.

And maybe she was hoping a certain Attending would be with Dr. Banerji as well.

They hadn’t had much time together since Bryce had showed up at his office a week earlier. At least not the type of moment she was hoping for. Rounds, and passing by in the cafeteria didn’t really count.

Across the hospital, Ethan hovered at the nurses' station — glancing over his shoulder, trying to keep an eye out for the familiar flicker of blonde hair. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for — he could just page her. But it didn’t feel the same. And he didn’t really want anyone to know he was seeking her out — he didn’t have a good enough excuse for that.

Jordynne darted into the newly constructed wing, ducking under the plastic tarps and into the hallway of Naveen’s room. Quickly padding over, she felt her shoulders sink a little as she realized that the old man was lying in the room all alone. No Ethan in sight.

Noticing the lingering eyes from a few nearby nurses, Ethan pushed himself up off of the counter and started marching through the halls. She had to be around here somewhere.

“Oh, Doctor! Hello!” Two different voices from opposite sides of the hospital caught both of their attention.

Jordynne crossed over to Naveen’s bed, grabbing onto his wrist gently with a smile. “Dr. Banerji, how are you feeling today?”

“I’ve told you a thousand times, Naveen my girl.” His other brown hand tapped hers before he clasped it. “But what I really want to know is how you are?”

Her eyebrows raised in surprise, “Me? I’m fi—“

But the old man stopped her with a tsk, “You know, all I do is sit in this bed and stare at the pair of you all day. I notice things.”

Trying to hide the emotion on her face, she grabbed the flip chart from the bottom of the bed and stared at it instead. Licking her pink lips, she questioned him, “And what have you noticed?”

“Well,” He sat up in the bed a little more, and clasped his hands together on his lap, “First, obviously something happened between you two in Miami — other than Ethan selling out my department to the cockroach. Second, you both obviously are not ‘fine’.” He curled his fingers into quotation marks.

Jordynne hesitated, “Did Dr. Ramsey say anything?”

“He doesn’t have to. I’ve known Ethan for a very long time, my dear. It’s very easy to see that he is… conflicted, to say the least.”

She scoffed a little, “Conflicted. Right.” Putting down the chart, she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the sterile, white wall. “I’m confused — more than anything.”

“About?”

“I never know which Ethan I’m going to get.” She said quietly, staring at her hands in her lap. “The cynical Attending, the cold, calculated researcher, a mentor, or just Ethan.”

Naveen furrowed his dark brows for a moment, thinking, “He’s afraid.”

Jordynne nodded, “I know, he is. But all this waiting and hoping — it’s killing me. I know what I want.” Her soft voice broke a little as she finally looked at Naveen.

The old man gave her a sad smile, “Patience is a virtue? All good things come to those who wait?” He offered.

She let out a breathless laugh.

“Don’t give up on him, Jordynne. Don’t give up on Ethan.” He leaned forward on the bed, and grabbed her elbow gently, “Maybe you’re not meant to be together today, but meant to be in the future.”

She chewed her lip as she felt water forming in her eyes, “I won’t.”

Ethan turned around at the voice next to him, “Oh, Doctor! Hello!”

A small smile spread across his face as he saw Mrs. Martinez walked over to him — her usual IV stand prop was nowhere to be seen. “Look at you, Mrs. Martinez! You look great.”

“Ha, coming from Dr. Handsome, I’ll take it.” She winked, linking her arm in his. The pair walked in silence for a moment, before stopping at the end of the hall in front of the big bright windows. “You just missed her.”

His forehead crinkled in confusion, “What?”

“Dr. Holland.” She said simply, still looking out the window. “I assume that’s who you are looking for.”

Licking his lips, Ethan subtly glanced around them — to make sure no one was listening. The hallway was quiet — only a nurse worked quietly at her station far from them. "What are you talking about, Teresa?” He hissed, keeping his voice low.

She snorted, “Oh, I didn’t realize it was a secret -- since you’re so obvious.”

His blue eyes flashed her a look,  “What—“

“The way you two look at each other -- it's like watching a movie. Will they? Won’t they?” She gave him a teasing smile, "You do know I’m an old woman, who does nothing but sit in a bed all day. I notice things.”

Ethan’s shoulders dropped a little, feeling less defensive. “It’s not really that obvious, is it?” He asked quietly.

Mrs. Martinez patted his hand softly, “Only to those who are invested, love. And I know you both quite well by now — so it is clear to me. Is it clear to you?”

He let out a sigh, looking back out the window — watching the cyclists whiz by, pedestrians loitering on the sidewalk below. “It’s not cut and dry, black and white. It’s… complicated.” He hated that word so much now.

“It doesn’t have to be complicated.” God, she sounded just like Jordynne.

He set his jaw in a hard line, “But it is.”

Feeling her turn, Ethan moved to face Mrs. Martinez. She looked up at him — her old eyes turning wise, “You want to know what I think?” Before he could answer, she started speaking again, “I think, the universe sends us exactly what we need, right when we need it.” Her wrinkled face turned into a smile once again, “And I’ve been in this hospital for a very long time, love. And I have never met anyone like that girl.”

Leaning forward, she placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a hearty tap. “So don’t fuck it up.” She said quietly, before padding away back to her room.

Ethan stood dumbfounded for a moment — his eyebrows raised in surprise. Realizing where he was, he blinked himself back to reality before racing back to his office.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Surprise!” The chorus of voices echoed throughout the cafeteria as Mrs. Martinez entered the room. The old woman’s mouth opened, her eyes going wide as she took in everyone.

“Surprise, Mrs. Martinez! We’re so glad to see you healthy enough to leave!” Jordynne wrapped her arm around her shoulder, pressing her into a side hug.

Ethan had to fight the smile growing on his face as he watched the old woman’s face light up. “What… What is all this?”

Harper stepped forward, “You’ve been a staple of this hospital for years. We wanted to send you off properly.” She said, giving her a warm smile.

The old woman wiped at her eyes, "I’m simply… From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

“You deserve it. All of it.” Jordynne said tenderly, before stepping back to let the rest of the hospital staff crowd around Mrs. Martinez. A soft smile spread across her face as she watched.

Ethan sidled up next to her, “Enjoying yourself, Rookie?”  

She turned her head, her green eyes meeting his green ones, “This is better than I expected. Mrs. Martinez seems to be enjoying herself too.”

The pair smiled as they watched her deep in conversation, recounting one of her stories with large hand motions.

Ethan crossed his arms over his chest, “I haven’t seen her smile this easily in a long time.”

“I can’t believe you got so many people to come to this.” She waved to the crowd of people in the cafeteria.

He shrugged, “Easy. I just paged them. Mrs. Martinez has been here longer than some of us have been doctors. She’s the heart and soul of Edenbrook.”

He watched her out of the corner of his eye — the proud look on her face, the freckles that dusted her nose, her shiny pink lips. Gulping, he looked away with a furrowed brow, “And, Rookie… don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

Her forehead crinkled, “Forgotten what?”

“The day of Declan’s meeting.” He recalled the day, how she had asked him to trust her. That it would be better if he didn’t know. That she was doing whatever it took. “I know you had some hand in this. Perhaps one day you’ll be so kind as to clue me in.”

She bit her lip, “Yeah… one day…”

“Pssst! Jordynne!” Dr. Varma waved her over, and she gave Ethan a polite smile and shrug before walking over to her group of her friends in the corner. He swallowed as Lahela wrapped his arm around her waist easily, drawing her into him as the group put their head together.

What was he trying to do here? They still hadn’t spoken — not like he wanted to. Mrs. Martinez’ words filled his head. Don’t fuck it up.

Blinking himself back to reality, he watched as Jordynne stepped forward with her coffee mug, “Everyone, please raise your glasses for a toast…

“Here’s to Mrs. Martinez and her next big adventure!” People clinked their coffee mugs and paper cups together in the toast. Ethan held his cup in the air for a moment alone, before hugging his back to his chest.

“Thank you all…” She wiped a tear away from her cheek, “So much. I’m so happy to have friends like you all.”

“I still don’t quite understand how you improved so quickly…,” Harper’s face was clouded with a look Ethan knew well — suspicion, confusion. “But I’m happy to see you go. I received word that your ride is here.”

“Wonderful! Dr. Holland, perhaps you can escort me downstairs.” She looped her arm through Jordynne’s like she had done with so many of the doctors and nurses before.

Jordynne gave her a big smile, before muttering something to Mrs. Martinez under her breath. She looked up at Ethan, her eyes soft. Nodding her head towards this entrance, she silently asked for him to join them.

Ethan sidled up to them, offering the crook of his elbow out to Mrs. Martinez, “You sure?” He asked hesitantly, almost glancing back to her group of friends. The pair nodded together.  “If that’s what you want.” Using his other hand, he grabbed the handle of her little red suitcase and started walking.

The trio walked in silence down the hall and through the front entrance, all of them taking the time to look at the all too familiar building.

Once they were outside, Teresa took her arms away from the two doctors and took in a big breath of fresh air. She moved her face up, letting the warm sun shine on it. Turning around, she faced them again — tears rolling down her wrinkly cheeks. “For years, I couldn’t wait to get away, but now… part of me will miss this awful place.”

“We’ll miss you too, Mrs. Martinez,” Ethan said gruffly, swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat.

Giving him a warm smile, she spoke to him again, “Play nice with Dr. Holland, Ethan dear. You’re lucky to have her.”

“What?” Ethan’s mouth dropped open, his eyes flashing to Jordynne, “I mean… She’s,”

Mrs. Martinez winked at him, “Pick your jaw off of the floor, Dr. Ramsey. A handsome face like that shouldn’t look like a fish.”

He barked out a laugh, “Now go on. Get outta here. Don’t let me see your face around here again, understood?”

“Understood, Ethan.” Opening her arms, she pushed herself into him and gave him a big hug. She gave him a sweet smile, before doing the same to Jordynne. She moved her mouth up to the intern’s ear, speaking too low for him to hear again.

“Look out, world… here I come!” She grabbed onto her rolling suitcase, waddling off towards her car.

The pair watched her for a moment, shoulder to shoulder like normal. He felt Jordynne’s soft skin brush against the back of his hand — they were back to these moments? Accidentally touching that caused that familiar sense of electricity. The lingering moments alone?

Ethan felt his breath hitch slightly as Jordynne laced her fingers through his — the movement slow, questioning. Without thinking about, he moved his fingers around hers — it felt so natural. His thumb stroked across the soft skin of her fingers, memorizing how it felt.

They stood like that long after Mrs. Martinez cab disappeared around the busy corner of downtown Boston — watching the cyclists and cabs go by.

He felt a vibration on his hip, and let out a sigh. “Back to the daily struggle, I suppose.” It took more effort than he thought to undo his fingers from hers, stepping back from her towards the hospital doors. Glancing back, he paused to look at her again, “Rookie…,” There were so many things he could say right now.

“For what it’s worth… Mrs. Martinez saw something special in you.”

Jordynne tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, her cheeks flushed pink as she eyed the pavement before looking back up at him. “Do you see it too?”

Smart mouth. He tried to resist the smile aching to spread across his lips, but he gave in. “Since day one.” Grabbing onto the door, he gave her one last look before heading back into the hospital.

_______________________________________________________________________

Jordynne stared catatonic at the dark wall in the on-call room, feeling tears well up in her eyes. Heat spread through her body, and pain burst in her chest. No, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s not supposed to turn out this way.

A warm hand on her back made Jordynne realize where she was. Setting her jawline, she tried to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks.

She knew it was Bryce next to her — he was so familiar. His warmth was radiating off of him like a furnace, his practiced hand rubbing her back with ease. It was usually so comforting — but his touch made the pain in chest hurt more. It added on another layer of heartache. Because it wasn’t his comfort she craved right now.

A loud sob escaped her, and the dam was broken. Tears came down even faster, and she through her face into her hands.

“Hey, hey… It’ll be okay.” Bryce's honeyed voice said. He drew her into his chest, enveloping her in a hug. He nuzzled his face into her neck and hair, placing a kiss there. 

Jordynne hated herself.

The rest of the day was a haze. Her friends had convinced her not to tell Chief Emery yet. A few nurses had finally come back to help her, after much convincing from Danny’s part. It was long past her shift now. She had said no to her friends' suggestion to go out, insisting they have fun without her. Bryce had waited, double-checked to make sure she was okay, before giving her a kiss on the check.

Wandering through the hospital halls, she searched for him again.

The cafeteria was almost empty — patients, family members and hospital staff trickling out after the final meal of the day was served. Outside the sun was gone, leaving behind a navy sky that was illuminated by the city lights.

She saw him right away. Somehow he was always the first thing she saw in a room.

Ethan was in his usual corner, nursing the final drags of the coffee he most definitely brought down from his office. A leafy salad sat in front him, barely touched. He wasn’t hungry, she guessed. His finger skimmed across the words of a medical journal, his blue eyes passing over the words without really taking them in.

“Mind if I join you?”Jordynne asked, hesitating near his table.

He looked up at the sound of her voice, his brows furrowing as he took her in. He nudged out the chair across from him in a silent invitation.

“Reading anything good?” She did her best to keep her voice casual, her shaking fingers hidden underneath the table.

He shrugged, his white coat bustling around his muscular shoulders and biceps, “A fairly longwinded examination of the use of social media by physicians.”

A soft chuckle escaped her lips despite her mood, “You don’t strike me as the type to care about social media.”

A wry smile spread across his face, “I don’t. I’m waiting for the results for another of Naveen’s tests. I guess I’m trying to keep myself distracted.”

Jordynne chewed her lip, “I could use a little of that, too. Did — did you hear about Mrs. Martinez?”

She watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, “I did.”

The lump in her throat was getting too hard to push down, and there was familiar tightness in her chest, “It was me. I’m the reason she died.”

Ethan took a moment to consider what she said before he snapped his book close, looking around the cafeteria to find the room empty. “Tell me.”

Jordynne started talking and talking — feeling so relieved to have finally told him. The secret had been eating away at her. He had told her his — about Naveen. She wasn’t really sure why she had waited so long. She felt some of the pain in her chest go away — but not enough.  

He let out a long breath through his nose, “Well. You wouldn’t be the first doctor to do an utterly idiotic thing for noble reasons. Myself included.”

“I was so sure I was doing the right thing, but now… I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s like with my first patient Annie all over again. Or Delores. I’ve second-guessed everything I’ve said to every patient today. I’m terrified of getting it wrong with someone else…” She picked at the tops of her nails nervously, “Or coming back tomorrow to find myself kicked out of the program and not even getting a chance to try again.” She set her jaw as she felt hot tears welling up in her eyes, “And then I think of Mrs. Martinez dying all alone in another country and I feel so selfish for worrying about myself.” The tears splashed onto her cheeks as she finished, not able to take a full breath.

Ethan's warm fingers wrapped around her tan wrist, his thumb massaging into her in smooth, calming circles, “Stop,” He said calmly, before dipping his head down so he could see up into her face, that was bowed down, attempting to hide her tears. “You can’t do this to yourself. What you did was unethical and stupid, and kind.”

“You’re not angry at me?” She asked through the hiccups — trying to catch her breath.

“Anyone who cared about Teresa knew how much she hated being cooped up in this hospital.” He licked his lips as he stared down at his hand still wrapped around her wrist, “I wish you’d considered your own future in all of this, but it’s done now. Marinating in guilt won’t bring her back. You know that. We’ve done this.”

Her blonde ponytail bobbed as she shook her head, “I deserve to feel guilty about this,”

He squeezed her hand a little tighter, “Then your patients will suffer for it. Guilt destroys good doctors, Jordynne. I’ve seen it happen over and over again.”

“So what do I do?” She asked, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“Examine your mistakes, learn from them and let it go.” He said simply.

“That easy, huh?”

“I never said it was easy.” Pulling his hand away from hers, he checked the time on his expensive, leather watch, “I don’t think I’m getting these results today. I think I need to get away for a while if I am going to keep my sanity.”

She watched him wrestle with his own thoughts for a moment, before he spoke again, “I have season tickets at the Boston Opera House… Why don’t you join me?”

Her mouth opened in surprise, “Really? I mean, I was planning to just stay late and work…”

“I know the feeling. When something goes wrong, you want to make up for it immediately. But over the years, I’ve found it most important to let yourself process what happened. Let yourself feel it. And frankly, I consider the opera one of the most beautiful places in the city to let yourself feel.”

“The Doctor Ramsey, workaholic extraordinaire, just admitted that taking a break is good for him?” She teased.

“Rookie, are you coming or not?” He raised his eyebrow, pushing his chair into the cafeteria table.

Gulping a little, she tried to force down the conflicting emotions spreading through her body, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Standing in front of the mirror, Jordynne readjusted the silky black dress one more time. She didn't want to get dolled up — not after everything today. But she wasn’t going to show up to the opera in her jeans and a cardigan.

Ethan was waiting in his Mercedes downstairs. She had risked him driving her to the apartment, and then stopping to let her get changed. She knew nobody would be home.

After quickly pinching her cheeks, and teasing her hair, Jordynne spritzed on some perfume to mask the smell of the hospital on her, before leaving the apartment in her kitten heels as fast as she could.

Her steps faltered as she rounded the corner outside of her building, and saw Ethan leaning against his black car. He had changed too — a dinner jacket was now covering the white button-up shirt he had worn to work today. The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile when he saw her, “You look nice.”

She felt her cheeks tinge pink, “Thanks. So do you. Do you keep a dinner jacket in your car or something?” She teased.

It was his turn to be embarrassed, as his smile turned sheepish and he scratched the back of his neck.

“Oh my god, I was joking. You actually do?”

“Well, I like to be prepared and this is a perfect example of why I do it.”

She laughed, “For emergency visits to the opera?”

“Yes. For emergency visits to the opera.” He rolled his blue eyes at her, before opening up the passenger door for her, “Get in the car, Jordynne.”

Her breath faltered a bit as he got into the driver’s seat. His scent was more apparent — the sandalwood and leather. Had he put on cologne? His hair seemed a little tidier too.

“Ready?” He questioned, catching her staring at him.

“Mhm,” She said quietly, nodding her head as she looked out the windshield and tried to focus on the road ahead of them.

The Boston Opera House was stunning. Jordynne had only ever walked passed it. Ethan let out a quiet chuckle as she looked around them in awe at the large chandeliers and gold details lining the ceiling.

She faltered a little as she felt Ethan place his large, warm hand onto the small of her back. “We’re just over here,” He gestured, before guiding her over a set of grand stairs.

The usher waved his arm, showing them into a private box, its walls and two close seats offering an intimate space. A gasp escaped Jordynne as she took in the breathtaking view of the stage. “You didn’t have to get us such fancy seats,”

Ethan chuckled again, “I didn’t. This is my box. It’s always waiting when I need it.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Wow…,” She looked around herself in awe as she moved towards the chairs,” Thanks so much for letting me come. These are great seats to see the opera for free. I feel so special.”

“No, thank you. I don’t frequently have the opportunity to attend, so I usually donate these.”

She raised her eyebrow at him, “Oh, in that case, I won’t feel special.”

He let out a warm laugh, “You can feel however you wish. I certainly don’t often invite…” He paused,  “Companions to join me.” Ethan kept his hand on the back of Jordynne’s chair as she sat down, his hand brushing across the skin of her shoulder accidentally as he pulled away and sat down next to her. Their shoulders nearly touching.

The lights dimmed and the sounds of the orchestra beginning their overture filled the room. The red curtains pulled back to reveal a starry set. A woman stepped out into the light, her mournful voice filling the room as she began to sing in Italian.

Jordynne clasped her hands on her lap, awestruck as she listened to the beautiful song — but not understanding the words. “I wish I could understand her." She muttered to herself.

Ethan shifted in his chair, leaning into Jordynne as he whispered to her, “That’s Alessandra, a young noblewoman engaged to marry an older man. But she’s in love with Damarion instead.” His face was so close to hers now, his cologne even more intoxicating than it was in the car. “What unknown emotion now fills me? I feel that my whole being is in the grip of love.” Ethan recites the line, translating the mournful, Italian lyrics for her.

“You speak Italian?” Jordynne whispered back, sounding a little breathless.

Even in the dim light, she watched him blush. “I taught myself a little. I’ve also seen this opera to many times to count.”

Ethan continued to narrate the story of the opera — Alessandra dying, Damarion searching the underworld for her until he finds her at last again,  “She won’t go with him. She says he promised her a beautiful life together, but he was nothing but a liar…”

Images of Mrs. Martinez face flashed into her head — and then Annie convulsing in her bed on her first day, the look of horror Dolores gave her during Jordynne’s diagnosis, the little boy as she referred him to oncology. Hot tears started to trickle down her cheeks, the water falling off of her face and onto her hands in her lap.

“Jordynne? Are you alright?” Twisting in his seat, he moved his face towards hers. His eyebrows furrowed in concern as he noticed her cheeks shining wet. He gently moved his thumb across her cheeks, brushing the tears away.

Reaching up, Jordynne grabbed onto his hand, her fingers tentatively brushing against his — asking silent permission. His blue eyes met her green ones in the dark room — his eyes troubled and worried. But he interlaced his fingers with her easily — holding onto her tightly, their hands falling into his lap.

“What happens next?” She asked quietly — she wasn’t sure if she was asking about the opera or them.

Ethan swallowed, thinking. She could hear his breath was a little ragged, nervous in the intimate space. Licking his lips he finally spoke up, “Now, Alessandra is setting Damarion to a task. One to prove himself in the living world…” He continues to speak softly in her ear, describing as Damarion is slain and carried to the underworld, where he is finally reunited with his love among the dead.

Jordynne glanced up at Ethan as the audience bursts into applause and noticed in the light the glimmer of a tear in the corner of his eye. He wiped at it nonchalantly.

Without thinking about it, Jordynne leaned towards him. He turned to look over at her — his eyebrows furrowed as he studied her face. Moving forward, she gently pressed her lips to his. The applause thundered in her ears, but it was drowned out by the pounding of her heart as she felt Ethan kiss her back, deepening the kiss. Their fingers stilled laced together on his lap, his fingers squeezing hers.

“Jordynne…” He pulled away.

“I’m sorry, I—“ She closed her eyes, not wanting to see that look again. The one she was beginning to get all too familiar with. She didn’t want to have this discussion again — it killed her every time. She moved to take her hand back from his, feeling a little resistance as he held onto it for a moment longer until her hand was free. Standing up, she turned her back to him and leaned up against the railing of the private box.

“You know how complicated this is.”

Her body went on alert as she felt him step behind her. Turning around, he wasn’t very far from her — his eyebrows were furrowed in pain and longing, his blue eyes pleading.

“It’s not complicated, Ethan. Not for me.” She admitted, more tears welling up in her eyes, falling easily. Apparently, that’s all she could do today — was cry.

He raised his hand, brushing the lingering tears away from her face once more. Jordynne leaned into the feeling of his fingers on her face, pushing her face into his hand as he cupped her face.

“Dammit, Jordynne —“ His voice broke as his own tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. Moving his hand down, he grabbed onto her chin gently before pulling her face to his.

He kissed her softly, his lips moving over hers gently as his arms wrapped her into him easily. His fingers waved through her blonde hair as she circled her arms around his strong waist, her fingers grabbing onto the fabric of his suit jacket.

Even with the long, drawn-out kisses Jordynne finally felt like she could breathe again — the tightness in her chest suspending at the moment. Her heart thundering, her fingers winding into his clothes — anything to stay like this for as long as she could.

The house lights turning on broke the moment — and the pair pulled away reluctantly. His blue eyes stared at her pink lips hungrily — eyeing how the sensitive skin around her mouth was red from his rough stubble. “Come on, I — I should drive you home.”

The walked closely to his car, arms and fingers gently bumping into each other. It was casual enough, in case they saw someone they knew. But intimate enough for them to cause jolts of electricity to spread throughout Jordynne’s skin every time he touched her.

Ethan opened her door once again, before climbing into the driver’s seat afterward. The pair sat in silence for a moment — he didn’t reach to turn the car on, their seatbelts hanging off the sides of their seats. There was no music or light — they just sat in the silent, dark car — the streetlight from outside sending in a warm glow.

Then, within an instant, the pair turned to each other, pulling one another into the tight space of the car, the lips crashing onto each other once more. Ethan’s trained fingers went into her hair, tangling her blonde waves as he somehow pulled her more into him. Jordynne’s hands were on his chest and around his neck, feeling his warm skin and muscles, his hammering heart that was on pace with hers.

Ethan’s lips were fervent on hers, kissing her harder and deeper than he had in the Opera House. Her finger’s traveled curled around his shirt, knotting in fists as she pulled him against her and he groaned softly.

Jordynne had never wanted anything so bad in her life. Everything about this, about him, was making her mind swirl and heart pound in her chest. His cologne, the smell of his shampoo, his soft, thick curls, his hard muscular chest. How he still tasted like coffee even though it had been hours since he had his last cup. How gentle and tender his kisses could be, and the powerful, deep ones he was giving her now. The dinner jacket he kept in his car. How he opened the door for her. His whispers in her ear as he translated Italian for her.

A sudden knock at the window caused them to freeze. Pulling his mouth away from hers, Ethan looked sheepishly over his shoulder to find a parking attendant with his arms crossed over his chest. The man pointed to his watch and then to the parking sign just in front of them.

“I suddenly feel like a high school senior again,” Ethan said, smiling sheepishly and he started searching in his jacket for his car keys.

The pair burst out laughing, running their hands through their disheveled hair and clothes.

As the engine roared to life, the pair glanced over at each other, noticing their swollen pink lips, their skin flushed and breath still a little ragged. Biting his lip, Ethan turned on the radio and started to drive.

Jordynne stared out the window, watching the city lights blur as Ethan drove down the downtown Boston streets. She rested her head on the glass, closing her eyes and humming along to the song on the radio for a moment — the events of the day finally catching up with her. Her fingers tensed up into a fist as her thoughts started getting the best of her.

She opened her eyes as she felt Ethan’s hand on hers — his fingers working through her fist and relieving the tension. He intertwined his fingers with hers easily before placing their hands onto her lap. Looking down at her hands, she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. Glancing over at Ethan, he was focused on the road — his other hand draped across the steering wheel. His jaw was set though — he was thinking, his eyebrow furrowed just the littlest bit.

As his Mercedes pulled up next to her building, Jordynne gulped. What happens next?

“Is it selfish that I don’t want tonight to end?” She asked quietly.

Ethan’s fingers squeezed around hers, “No… I’m not looking forward to facing reality tomorrow either.”

She reluctantly pulled her hand away from his, searching for her purse at her feet.

“Here, let me walk you to the door.” Ethan moved to take off his seatbelt, but Jordynne stopped him.

“It’s okay.”

“No, I insist—“

“Honestly, it will just make saying goodnight so much harder.” She bit her lip, her eyes lingering on his mouth.

Ethan nodded understandingly. He moved his hand off the steering wheel, gently pushing back a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear. His touch lingered, before moving down her jawline and grabbing her chin. Gently, he pulled her face to his — placing a soft, long kiss on her lips. She only got a moment to kiss him back, before he pulled away.

“Thank you for tonight, Ethan.” She said quietly, her hand grabbing the door handle.

He cleared his throat, a little nervous, “Did it help?”

“Get my mind off Mrs. Martinez? Not really.” When she saw his shoulders deflate, she quickly spoke again. “But I feel better, you know?”

A tender smile spread across his face, “I do. I’ll see you tomorrow, ok? No more guilt.”

“I’ll try.” She played with the hair that Ethan had tucked behind her ear. “Goodnight,” Opening the door, she stepped out into the cool night air. Taking the few steps to her building, she looked back to see Ethan still waiting, peering through the windshield. Unlocking the entryway door, she gave him a small wave before stepping inside. Watching the door close, she saw the black Mercedes speed away.  

Part Fifteen

[alberteatsglass]

GAYSIES- PART ONE!

Gaysies is basically newsies but gayer and one big sp

There might be call out moments for the fandom just saying

(might write a fic on this later btw)

First off, every ship is canon

Every single one

I don’t care if its fricking Ravey

Its cannon

At the beginning when Jack wakes up, Crutchie is sleeping right next to him and it was implied they were cuddling the night before

When Jack see’s Crutchie get up and start getting ready he smiles and stares at him for a bit before asking him were he’s going

At the end of prologue, they get so close they almost kiss and Crutchie gets a little flustered and its cute (LET ME SHIP THIS FOR ONE SEC)

When Jack yells for everyone to get up everyone is kinda like “shut up you bi cowboy disaster”

Race sprints around stage waking everyone up by loudly playing the overture on a broken kazoo

When race, albert and specs get out there Albert is putting on a shirt and the audience can see scratch marks (and other marks ;) ) along his back. (*COUGH* *COUGH*)

Instead of Albert stealing Races cigar he steals a thing of shoe polish from the back pocket of Races pants

Then Albert is just like “that’s why you’er acting strange in bed” after seeing part of it eaten.

Specs spits out his orange juice and starts laughing

Race blushes and socks him in the chest

When Jack comes out and takes center stage you can see Albert in the background eating a glass bottle

Romeo attempts to flirt with Oscar to get cheaper papes

It doesn’t work at all

After Albert makes the moving pictures joke and everyone laughs Romeo comes up behind him and does that thing were a charter is like “Yeah, heh, *explains joke*” after someone gets burned

Race hears and just shakes his head like “kid have I taught you nothing”

When Davey comes in every single newsies head turns and they all check him out

Race throws him a wink and Davey ignores him

When the first reprise thing of carrying the banner happens you can see Les staying back and talking to Crutchie

Jack gets done selling papes and follows Davey around as he finishes

Jack thinks its kinda cute how bad he is at selling

At the theater after that’s rich finishes and Jack goes up to Kathern you can see two of the bowery beauties hanging out waiting for their que’s

At the end of Jack’s song the two girls make out

Kathern blushes when she sees Jacks picture and she picks it up walking away ShookTM

Jacks picture was of her btw (didn’t have internet to check when I wrote this and can’t care enough to check later so the pic actually might have been her but im not sure right now)

When Davey says it would be like a strike, a couple newsies make batting motions and Davey kinda sits there like “no not that kinda strike you guys are all idiots”

During Jacks speech Crutchie sits and watches practically with hearts in his eyes

“Finch, you get Brooklyn.”

“Finch?”

“Who’s finch?”

“Wait, does Finch even go here?”

“I don’t remember Finch either,,,”

“Is Finch real, or did we make him up?”

Every time the world will know or seize the day starts to become a bop Les does orange justice to the beat of the song

Davey watches him dance and is embarrassed to know him

When all the newsies get beat up the wii theme plays in the background syncing up with the newsies getting hurt

Davey and Les were walking home late after making sure the rest of the newsies were ok and Davey heard Jack singing Santa Fe

Davey tries to go make Jack understand it wasn’t his fault, but Jack pushes him away and wouldn’t listen.

During King of New York there is a lot of close and gay moments with the background newsies

The entire thing is VERY homosexual

When Kathern and Les go to dance Kathern does the normal choreography but then she passes it on to Les and he just furiously starts doing the floss

Right before the spoon fight thing the music stops and everyone looks at Elmer

He is eating a cheese stick by just biting into it

Everyone gets into a big argument about how you are supposed to eat cheese sticks

It ends up being Elmer vs Race and that’s why the spoon fight happens

In letter from the refuge Crutchie low key comments that he heard gay marriage was a chill thing in Santa Fe

The entirety of Brooklyn’s Here Race stood behind Spot and kept making off hand jokes about how big his muscles were to the point were Spot had to stop singing so he could stifle a laugh.

Everyone notices that Spot Collon (KiNg Of BrOoKlYn NoNE ThE LeSs) has a heart and likes Race

The Brooklyn boi’s wont stop talking about it on the way back after the rally

They talk about the ship name between them after the rally because this is a happy au where we aren’t mentioning jack betraying the strike cause I don’t feel like writing that right now and a part two is coming out soon

“What would there ship name be?”

“Spot and Race, um, Spruce?”

“Spruce???”

“Oh, sorry I meant Spra-“

“Conspiracy, there both tree’s.”

“That’s not what I mea-“

“There not both tree’s, you see Spot, he’s a shrub!”

“I swear, I just said the wrong thi-“

“Nope, spruce in canon now.”

anyway here you guys go

[croatian-magician]

since the granny request you wrote was so gooood I decided to request a fic as well :) could you write something about Luka comforting Ivan, I'd love to read something of yours with that plot

Thank you so much, I’m happy you enjoyed that first fic!

Here’s your fic of Luka comforting Ivan then, I hope it will live up to your expectations. I love you

Ivan wrapped his arms around his own chest, trying to warm himself. The coat he was wearing was protecting him well from the wind, though, but the cold biting at his heart was coming from inside. In his hand, he held a worn-out news paper, torn from having been read too much already.

The defeat against Spain still stung and knowing that his plane would arrive in just a few hours to take him back to Barcelona hurt even more. He should have enjoyed what little time he still had with his teamates from Croatia, he knew that, but he just couldn’t do that, not without tears threatening to gather in his eyes. Since he didn’t want anybody to worry about him, he decided to take a walk. The place he reached was nice, full of pretty flowers and tall trees, but it didn’t do anything to dissipate his bad mood.

His 100th game with his national team. The worst game ever in Croatia history. The words were written in fire letters in his heart, consuming all his hope and happiness to leave nothing but ashes and an empty void. He should have been able to prevent it, but of fucking course he messed up and now his mind was clouded with regret.

He wandered through the park, no destination in mind, only wanting to take his minds off the defeat. But the more he tried to do it, the more the images of that terrible game invaded his mind, taking him to the edge of tears.

When that happened, he was standing on a bridge above a small river. There was a wonderful view from there, but Ivan just wasn’t in the right mood to appreciate it. He swallowed a sob back and tried to take a deep breath, but it didn’t work to calm him down. Ivan could hear his heart beating too fast in his chest and he was frightened at the idea of having a panic attack here, in public. Until strong arms circled his waist from behind in a tender gesture and a familiar body pressed itself against his back.

“You were walking so fast, I though I would never catch up with you.” Luka whispered.

Maybe Ivan couldn't see Luka’s face, but he could easily hear the worry in his voice.His presence helped him to ground himself back to reality, to the hands gently resting over his stomach, to the warmth spreading from Luka’s body to his.

“Did you follow me all the way from the hotel?”

“Of course. What did you think, that I would leave you on your own after we suffered such a hard defeat? I thought you knew me better than that, cariño.”

“Aren’t you afraid of people seeing us here? What do you think they would say of you standing so close, not even an inch away from me?”

“I don’t care about what anyone would say, except for you. Right now, you’re the only one that matters, Ivan. You should learn to stop caring about what journalists and magazines say about you, though. I’m sure it would make you feel better, trust me.”

As he talked, his hand quickly moved to rip the newspaper out of Ivan’s grasp. The taller man looked down, embarrassed, since the headline was about that horrible game.

“Don’t look at it, Lukita, please. Don’t hurt yourself.”

“If I shouldn't look at it, then why are you doing this to yourself Ivan? Reading about this won’t help. Feeling like shit about how we played won't help. Come back to the hotel, train a little, bond with the younger players who just arrived in the team. This will help. Going here all on your own to mope and make me worry about you at the same time won’t achieve anything, though.”

Luka words made sense and all of a sudden, Ivan felt even more miserable than before for running away from his problems instead of doing something useful.He shivered as he tried to restrain a sob and Luka certainly sensed it because he hugged him a bit tighter.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to cause any trouble, to you or to the team. You’re right, I was… No, I am such an idiot.”

His voice was filled with sadness and tears started to fall on his cheeks. This immediately alerted Luka and his captain was quick to react, freeing Ivan so he could move and finally face him.

“What? No, that's not what I meant at all! Oh my god Ivan, I didn’t want to make you cry, please calm down. You’re not an idiot, Ivan, you’re just hurt, like us all after this defeat. I just don’t want you to isolate yourself. I’ve tried it at first too and it doesn’t lead you anywhere, trust me. All I want is for you to stay close to me, so I can watch over you and make sure you’re alright.”

“Lukita…”

Ivan didn’t think anymore, he just threw himself in Luka’s arms and started crying on his shoulder, before covering his face in kisses. His tears weren't only of sadness now, but also of joy because of the support his boyfriend was showing him.

“How do you do this? How do you manage to stay so strong even when things are bad?”

“Are you really asking me? You, the guy who fought to the last second of the game against England, despite having a fever? You already know the answer. I’m staying strong for the team and for you, Ivan.”

“I should be able to do it too, then.”

“Not always. You can’t be strong at all times, and it’s not a problem if sometimes you stumble, as long as you get up afterward. That’s why I’m here, Ivan. To offer you a hand so you can do that more easily.”

Ivan didn’t have to tell Luka that it was working, that he was already feeling better. His lover could see that in his eyes, from the way he stopped crouching to stand up tall instead. However, another fear soon crept up on Ivan’s mind, making him feel distressed once more.

“Yes, but soon enough you’ll leave to Madrid and me to Barcelona. I don’t know how I’ll manage to stay strong without you, Lukita. And I’m already so pissed at myself because I wanted these few moments we have together to be happy, to be about us fooling around or cuddling in bed or making love, but I ruined it all by not being good enough during that game and then withering into sadness. I’m so sorry, Luka…”

“Shh, it’s alright, Ivan. You don’t have to be sorry. I know all moments we spend together can’t be happy ones. That’s just how it is. Sometimes you just need to express how you feel deep down and I won’t blame you for showing your pain. It’s part of our relationship too and I want to have this, to know every side of you. And don’t think I’ll stop being there for you just because we won’t be in the same place anymore. You can call me at any time you want, day or night, and I’ll be there for you, I promise.”

“Oh, that’sbgreat to know. I’ll call you during games, then. I’m sure Barcelona will get to the top of la Liga fast if Real Madrid plays all his games with his team reduced down to ten players.” Ivan teased him, a smirk on his lips.

“Now don’t try to take advantage of my love for you, dragi.”

“What? You don’t love me enough to let me steal all the trophies from your team? Now that’s selfish.”

Luka rolled his eyes, but Ivan could tell he was amused by their little game. The smaller man reached in for a kiss, taking his lover’s breath away as he used all his skills to make him lose his mind. When they parted, his captain had a satisfied smirk on his face and Ivan shivered, not used to seeing him looking this cocky.

“Don’t challengebme by speaking of our clubs, Ivan. I’m small, I could always sneak into Barcelona’s locker room before a clasico and then make sure that you won’t be able to concentrate on the game to come.” Luka whispered in a low, husky voice filled with unsaid promises, all while staying close to Ivan’s ear so that only him would get the words and what they implied.

“Bold of you to assume you wouldn’t be the one getting distracted.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised to see how resilient I can be.” Luka taunted him back.

Ivan was looking for an answer, but he suddenly froze, realizing that the emptiness in his chest was now filled with warmth and joy. He looked down at Luka, at his Luka, and he was overcome with pride and happiness at knowing that this man was his.

“You’re distracting me right now, just in a different way, aren’t you?”

“Yup.” Luka declared proudly, a cute smile on his face.

Ivan pulled him closer, but instead of kissing him he simply rested his forehead against Luka’s, simply happy to have him in his arms, even if it was only for a few more hours.

“I’m so lucky to have you Luka. You always know how to make me feel better, even when the times are harsh for you too. How should I thank you? I’d give you anything…”

“Even the titles for my club?”

“Lukita, I was being serious here.”

“Who says I’m not too?” His captain replied back, but the gentle look on his face spoke for itself. “But if you really want to make me happy, how about we go for a walk together? I mean, you found a nice place here, let’s not put that to waste. I’m sure it will be relaxing for the two of us and we won’t have to worry about watching over the team. It will be only you and me, for once.”

“You know well certainly come back to Sime and Domo wrecking havoc on the hotel, right? I won’t explain to you how out of control they can get, especially when Dejan and Mario aren’t there.”

“One more reason to stay here and enjoy our last hours together, in calm. Maybe we'll even find a secluded bench to stop and make out of a while.”

“Did I already tell you that I love your mind, Lukita?”

“No, but you already said you loved me. That’s close enough for me.”

“Oh, I definitely can’t deny that. I love you Lukita, so much. Thank you for coming here and working your magic on me, you magician. I thought nothing could make me feel better today, but I’m so happy you proved mewrong.”

Luka giggled, a genuine smile on his face, and he intertwined his fingers with Ivan’s.

“Then my job here is done, I guess. Time for my walk now. I do expect you to spoil me a little bit in return.” He joked.

“Don’t worry, I won’t disappoint.” Ivan laughed, the biggest grin on his face.

He would definitely never get over how lucky he was to have Luka, that was for sure.

Taglist: @puolendollarinonni @smolmandzo @winters-chiid@tinymodric @pachua @sejan-is-love @marilyn-mandzukic@zadarskabagudina @mandzukics @mandzos-bitch@mandzomandzo@incorrect-croatia-nt @slashandsports @mad-for-mandzukic@sebby-ravnica@synne-sol @kettie09 @ed-dzeko @flemishyugotalian @ante-ray-bitch@federicobernardeschi @domo-no-domo-yes @lovefor-lovren@lovren-la-vida-luka @mrsmodric

[cornus27florida]

The Beginning of Growing Affection between Two People

Prompt: Beginning

Summary: What happening after you blows out all your first paycheck to send a secret love letter? Actually the moneys went to right place, Alzheimer patient and their families need support

Rating: T

Words: 1297

Notes: This will be a short series of prompts with a connection with forget-me-not meaning. It’s my first time to do both drawing and writing after a long hiatus.  I might do some edits later if I have time in AO3. Please enjoy and share what you thought after read it :)

I make a drawing to accompany the first part of my fic as a way to participate the Touken week this year. I’m really sorry for all incovenience and flaws I made. Just imagine there’s a pack of seed that tied with ribbon (like cookies)

The Beginning of Growing Affection between Two People

That evening is unusually the quite one. Some warm sunlight penetrated big windows that Anteiku have, showering all staff with it’s light. Kaneki Ken is a new staff in this cafe, nervously fidgeting several pack of something. One customer drinks his coffee and give encouraging smile after being served with the best coffee in town. The only customer in Anteiku is just his best friend, Hideyoshi Nagachika. Their exchanging glance really like they are scheming something.

“Ex-excuse me, everyone! I-I want to share something today” shout Kaneki break the peaceful evening. All head stare at Kaneki, eyeing the packs with ribbon that really look like a warm handmade cookies packed sweetly to share. Irimi stare with a confused face still washing dishes. Koma’s mop nearly jumps out from his hand. Manager’s hand slowly put the jar of hot water to stove. Touka really like to throws her napkin to Kaneki’s face right now - for sudden interrupt at her work clean up the tables.

“What Bakaneki like to share? Cookies?!” Touka said angrily. This dude really gets her nervous. Is he want to relive his live as human and unconsciously gives poison to all staff? He should knows well that all Anteiku staff are ghouls. Cookies taste like shit, a combination of rat poison and rat own carcass. Is anyone want to lick the source of awful smell with some crumbly material that responsible to make smell and death happen?

“N-nope, it’s actually some seeds” reply him weakly. Kaneki at quick pace give everybody with a pack of seeds, each with different ribbon color. Irimi's got the red ribbon, Koma's got the yellow one, Manager got the yellow one, and Touka got a pack that tied with a pale blue ribbon. Everyone confused with Kaneki's doing. They just eyeing the pack nervously and treat it like it actually contain bomb or something.

Hide exclaim to shed confusion, "This dude blows away all his first paycheck to brought pack of seeds hahaha! Those are forget-me-not flower seeds from an Alzheimer foundation on the way here. Ah how noble his money went~”.

“It’s not like that! I just feel the need to help that foundation. It’s must be awful to have broken memories like people with Alzheimer.. The important thing is I want to celebrate I got work with you all” said Kaneki.

That foundation is need some money and they try to improve the donation involving forget-me-not, flower that symbolize the memories that Alzheimer patients try to hold. Alzheimer's is a type of dementia that causes problems with memory, thinking and behavior. Symptoms usually develop slowly and get worse over time, becoming severe enough to interfere with daily tasks. That foundation helps treatments for symptoms and help the funds for Alzheimer’s research continues. Although current Alzheimer's treatments cannot stop Alzheimer's from progressing, they can temporarily slow the worsening of dementia symptoms and improve quality of life for those with Alzheimer's and their caregivers. Fundraising like what is needed for foundation like that to improve the Alzheimer patient’s life qualities and his families (Souce about Alzheimer: https://m.alz.org/what-is-alzheimers.asp?sp=true)

Manager said deeply, “I hear some other time you got pickpocket, those money should go to yourself. You shouldn’t do this, Kaneki-kun”

“Actually I didn’t blows away all my paycheck sir” said Kaneki quietly while holding his chin. Touka just fidgeting the pack though, unsure what should to do. She still keeps the gesture ‘to not welcoming Kaneki’.

“If you say so, thanks for your gift!” thanks Koma and irimi cheerfully.

Kaneki glances Hide, didn’t know what to do next. The next step of scheme should go on. Hide catch on and take a pack of seeds. He got one like what Kaneki share before. Hide untie his own pack of seed that he saves in his own pocket. He pull a folded card inside the pack, with a purple color like the ribbon. The card is actually a sheet of plant care guide. “Nah everyone, just do the same like what I did earlier. If you didn’t want to spread the seeds soon, please tie the pack again tightly” explain Hide.

Koma is the first one mimicking Hide’s actions earlier. He read the simple tips to grows forget-me-not. He mumbling “Ah.. So this plant loves shade huh?”

Irimi reads the Plant Care Sheet slowly, “Forget-me-not needs much water and some moist soil hmm..”

Manager stare the front side of his cafe. Probably he thinks to grows forget-me-not there. But this flowers shouldnt plant in the edge of a path. Customers could be cynical when walked too close, spent time to removing the clinging Forget-me-not seeds from their pants or skirts.

Touka is the last one to open her pack of seeds. She actually take a seat and unties the ribbon slowly. When she pull the folded card, she surprised to found a neat handwritten on the back of the card. Those rows of text look like be wrote by Kaneki. What this man trying to do? Is not like she’ll open up soon with just a pack of weird things.

May you grows those Forget-me-not flowers to help remind what you really are and your own goal

Don’t let revenge and hatred towards my mind towards ghouls distract it

I’ll try to be better person

I want to understand ghouls better

I know you are the right person to help me

Kaneki stares her nervously, prays silently she didn’t kick him out or other negative replies. Unconsciously she blush madly reads those kind words he write. She avoids Kaneki intense gazes. She’s thanks him with a voice like a whisper “Th-Thanks, Kaneki”. Kaneki smiles lit up upon hears her response. She folds the cards and tie the pack quickly, continues her shift. Kaneki is called by Manager, given a sudden shift stop. Manager asks everyone to going home sooner. Manager feels there’s no customer today. He like to spread Forget-me-not seeds too as the sunlight still shining.

All staff prepare to going home. In the charge room Touka thinks silently, thinks about Kaneki. ‘He actually a nice person. Am I should keep the act to hostile against him. Is not his fault suddenly be a ghoul, he is a victim, so why I keep trying to make him the villain that change to be a ghoul as an act? He tries to understand… He believes I could help him. What I can do him though? Be a white rabbit to helps his adventure to exploring ghoul world ? Ghoul’s world actually a dark world..

On the trip of Kaneki back to his partement with Hide...

“Hey man, I see what you did there. So you write on the back of blue’s one? A Is that a secret love letter to Touka-chan?” winks Hide cheerfully.

“N-no. It’s not what you think it is” stutters Kaneki.

“She’s blushing madly when read that! My boy finally!”

Kaneki just speechless. Hide stops his tease and change topic “It’s rare you back sooner, want to watch movies tonight?

It’s just.. I don’t think I could make hostile act to ends, let alone dates her. I don’t think I even to her…’ thinks Kaneki.

 If Kaneki and Touka knows, the first meaning of Forget-me-not flowers is ‘The Growing of Affection between Two People’

[c-is-for-circinate]

Another lengthy list of Persona 5 thoughts and bullet points, before tomorrow’s inevitable ten-hour marathon of play.

(Spoilers through late June and the third boss dungeon)

Makoto is my favorite character, full stop.  If you have read my epic capslock, you may have already figured this.  She is so fierce and so badass and yet also, the whole judging her self-worth based on her utility thing resonates so hard with me, and I love her and if she weren’t seventeen and also fictional I might propose, but probably I’d just stand back in awe and crush forever.  My new game goal is to max out her social link.  Given that starting it requires significantly more knowledge than I currently have, I forsee a lot of studying in my future...

Current social links I do have: Fool, Magician, Emperor, Hierophant, Lovers, Chariot, Strength, Justice, Death, Moon, Sun.  I am waiting on either stats or trigger events for Makoto (Priestess), Iwai the fence (maybe Tower, I’m guessing now? because who the fuck knows???), the fortune teller in Shinjuku (I am assuming Fortune...), my homeroom teacher who I have been told is an SL (maybe Temperance?  IDK, she seems very ‘sigh why me I just can’t’, which isn’t quite Hanged Man, but whooooo knows), and the two party members I know I’m getting but don’t have yet.  (I’m going to randomly guess Empress and Hermit just based on their character art and the fact that a hacker navi seems Hermit-y to me.)  That counts up to 17 out of 22.  Judgement and World/Universe always auto-level, so I’m still missing three--Devil, Star, and Hanged Man if all of my probably-terrible guesses are right.  Really hoping Sae Nijima is one of them.  Besides that--the reporter lady who gave me Kaneshiro’s name, and maybe that rival model of Ann’s who is such a bitch?  Maybe?  WE SHALL SEE.

Pretty sure I need to do Mishima’s damn Maidwatch thing to start an SL, damnit.  I know I’m not going to max everything (I will max Makoto if she is the only thing I do so help me), but I refuse to deliberately not start something.  Sigh sigh sigh.

Speaking of social links, I’m actually loving Strength most of all right now???  Mostly because of the twins talking about that mysterious list.  I want Margaret or Elizabeth to have written that list for vague arcane reasons more than I can possibly explain.  I am so curious about how these twins and their relationship with the protag is going to develop.  So curious.  That said, the whole ‘how did whoever wrote this list know our next guest would have  Wild Card’ thing???  Who ever goes to the Velvet Room without a wild card?  How is the Velvet Room even remotely useful to anybody without a wild card?

Also speaking of social links and also previous game references, WHO ELSE NOTICED TAKEMI CALLING UEHARA-SAN AT THE HOSPITAL AND MADE HIGH-PITCHED NOISES BECAUSE I SURE AS FUCK DID.  Jesus those two need to be drinking buddies.  I need one million words of Sayoko and Takemi going out to bars together.  Maybe they go out in Shinjuku and run into the reporter-lady.  GIVE ME SOMETHING.

Ahem.  Moving on, can I just say some extremely enthusiastic words about dungeon design in this game?  (Fun fact: it is possible to do the full exploration of Kaneshiro’s dungeon in one day in-game.  Stock up on HP and SP restoration items first, but I have done it and I feel very proud of myself for it.)  It’s so puzzle-y and labyrinth-y!  There was definitely a while where I felt like I was being deeply frustrated by one of those point-and-click escape games I always find myself playing, which I enjoyed immensely.  Everything is so cool and so full of stuff.

So far, we’ve robbed a castle, a museum, and a bank.  We know we’re going to climax with a casino heist.  What else do people classically rob?  Thinking about Leverage is not super-helpful here; they took on a bunch of super high-security office buildings, but I’m not sure they have Sterenkos in the Metaverse, and beyond that it was either new and unusual locations or a lot of museums.  Maybe some kind of ancient tomb/pyramid thing, with lots of traps, very Indiana Jones/Lara Croft?  Possibly a temple to some dude who thinks he’s a god.

I have been theorizing that, as we go through bosses and dungeons, we’re going through the seven deadly sins--seven is a solid number for total dungeons in a Persona game (matches the number in P4), and I feel like we’ve been on par so far.  Kamoshida’s lust, Madarame was specifically called out as ‘vanity’ (which is a subset of pride), Kaneshiro I would’ve expected to be greed but was explicitly called ‘gluttony’, which certainly makes sense with all the pig imagery.  Which means we still need envy, greed, sloth, and wrath.  I could see greed as a ‘greed for power’ final boss dungeon, but I can only imagine what sloth looks like in a P5 boss.  Curious to find out if I’m right!

There have not been a lot of plot developments for me to mull over since last I did a big long one of these.  Not a ton of other things to say on that!

I keep batting ships around in my head, thinking about what-if’s and maybes.

It’s cold and October when the protagonist invites Ann back to his room, just Ann.  They both know what it means.  He kicks Morgana out for the evening and makes coffee and doesn’t meet Sojiro’s eyes, but upstairs it’s... It’s strange, like their lives are strange, this big empty attic-room, this weird outside-of-the-world world where this boy lives like a kid and like an adult and like a thief, making lock picks and training his HP, watching DVDs on rickety chairs with his cat.  And it’s strange because these two people...they lost everything months ago and rebuilt themselves anew.  Panther and Joker are rough and scarred and ferocious, furious, determined.  Panther and Joker don’t do this.  They kill, shadows and now humans because this thing they started once keeps getting bigger and bigger than both of them and sweeping them along with it and they are young gods with magic at their fingertips, and-- here in this room, right now, they’re not the Joker and the Panther, they are.  Children.  They’ve never done this before, because the boy who is now the Joker (most of the time, even when he’s not wearing the mask--how will this train me to be a better thief, how can I use this person, what choices do I make?) well he was quiet and nobody and some core chunk of him still is, under so many masks that he doesn’t know himself any more.  Ann’s never touched anyone like this, not really.  And they are soft to each other, lying on their sides face to face under the covers on his bed, soft and a little wondering and he touches her, shoulder, waist, skin, and she touches him, chest, hip, face.  Very few people have been soft to either of them in a long, long time.

Akechi joins the Phantom Thieves (we all know Akechi already has a persona by this point, right?  Akechi who can understand Morgana from the very beginning, when the game makes such a damn obvious point of Makoto not just a few days later?) and Akechi runs with them and Akechi sells them out, because look if it’s not a fake-out then it’s more interesting that way. Akechi sells them out and the protagonist knows right away that it must have been him, because there are ways and ways they play this game.  They are not soft to each other and they are not done yet.  And however he escapes that jail cell--it is escape, not release, with cops and hounds at his heels, and the help of his team, probably, but our Joker is clever and he manages to twist the facts or appearance of the situation to make it very very clear that Akechi helped in that escape, maybe even masterminded it (even though he probably did no such thing.) That’s it, then, you’re stuck as one of us, boy, one way or another.  The protag meets up with the rest of the team just long enough to make sure everybody’s alive and then they scatter, because he was in there too long and talked too much, and the people watching on that camera have every single name they need.  Everyone in Tokyo is after them.  They need to get out of the city and they need to split up and lie low.  Protag calls his social links, sends party members in ones and twos--get to Shinjuku, the fortune teller will put you up.  If you can slide through Yongen-Jaya without attracting attention, don’t go to Sojiro they’ll look there, go through Takemi’s back door.  Drags Akechi with himself, no questions asked, and they end up in the secret basement Iwai so clearly has for the illegal crap he so clearly sells. Why didn’t you tell them? Akechi says, and the real answer is because that’s not the game, and that’s part of it, but also... We need you now.  You need us.  We’re stronger together.  And also, also, because the team is everything and everyone is at risk now, game or no game, if you do anything like that again I’ll kill you myself, and he will if he has to.  Maybe.  If he actually can. But they spend thirty-seven hours trapped down there in the dark and the dust and the cobwebs, and it’s not the first time they’ve had sex, but every single time previous it was some how much does he know that I know masque of intent and suspicion, and this time, they know.  They know everything.  They’re still enemies.  They’re still closer than the best of friends.  That’s how a good enemy should be.

So look, I don’t know if Morgana ever stops being a cat or not, but if he does, there is going to be Morgana/protag bedsharing fic and I am going to write it.  I don’t even necessarily ship it but that needs to exist.  What’s more in your space than a cat that insists on curling up in your bed, at the small of your back, on top of your face, right next to you night after night?  What’s more ingrained into our protag’s life than the cat in his bag voice in his ear?  What happens if and when that suddenly goes away?  (Sex.  Sex happens.  I am just saying.)

I am weirdly into Makoto/Ryuji right now?  Because okay, look.  Everybody assumes when they get paired together for divide-and-conquer team activities, it’s so Makoto can keep Ryuji out of trouble--impetuous, chariot, loud and somewhat reckless Ryuji.  And it is, but it’s also so Ryuji can keep Makoto out of trouble--because everybody looks at the girl with the grades and the brain and the planning skills, and lets themselves forget the girl who marched into Junya Kaneshiro’s nightclub with absolutely none of that on her side.  Her inner soul is a motorcycle made of light and she’s every bit as much a rebel as any of them, full throttle, no holding back. And so I see Makoto and Ryuji tasked with doing something together, casing out the next target, exploring some bit of a dungeon, and she’s getting a little bossy and he’s getting a little snappish back until, “Come on, Skull, we both know I’m here to keep an eye on you” and he shoots back with, “Nuh-uh, I’m here to keep an eye on you.”  And they face off in annoyance until they discover that no, their leader literally told each one of them separately to keep the other on their best behavior.  And look, it’s an effective personnel management technique.  They respect that.  But also, goddamnit. It makes them both want to do something reckless, just to prove the team wrong.  Nothing to jeopardize the mission, that’s the opposite of effective, but.  But hmm. So maybe they show up to the next meeting both of them on the back of Makoto’s real-life motorcycle, the one she’s said she has a license for, Ryuji squished up against her back with his arms around her waist in a borrowed helmet, and act like nothing’s changed at all while people gape.  Maybe they go a little wild together.  It’s good for both of them. (And they have conversations, the stop-start time that runs into awkward walls but then finds a way around, about their missing fathers, the female relatives they want to do right by and just keep disappointing, their self-worth, their dreams.  Ryuji keeps up with her.  She wasn’t expecting that from him.  He doesn’t take over and he doesn’t try to, but he matches her.  So okay, yeah.  Sure.  Yeah.  This will work.)

They have to flee in the end, every one of them, the whole eight-person-one-cat team--out of Tokyo, and let’s leave all of Japan, and let’s leave the Pacific, leave Asia, get half a world away and regroup.  They’ve got a hacker and they’ve got skills and they end up in Paris because that feels inevitable, in some grand loft apartment or a converted warehouse that looks like the hideout from Inception.  They’re not real adults yet but they’re going to have to act like it, because every adult in their lives is long left behind.  They were the teens and the children rebelling against the shitty grown-ups, but they have to figure out how to be the grown-ups now.  Good luck not being shitty about it They steal because they need to get by and because they’re good at it, and to keep themselves from turning into just exactly the same sort of assholes profiting off the weak they target the biggest assholes they can spot.  Not just in Paris--that’s too close to home, that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?  They spend a week and a half in Belgium, the better part of a month in Germany, a very long weekend in London wrecking things from the base of a couple of hotel rooms, and then they go back to their beautiful huge empty warehouse loft with the tall high windows pouring in sunlight that traces beams through the dust hanging still in the air, and they figure out how to live next. They’re all on top of each other, every one of them, and the boundaries rub away from friction and proximity until they sleep on top of each other in strange piles, until touch comes easy--a hand on a shoulder, a back, a neck, a face.  They pretend to date each other for cons and cover in a dozen different combinations until nobody remembers who’s supposed to be dating who any more, until it doesn’t matter.  They fuck in pairs behind the screens they set up for something like privacy, and there’s no real privacy to it, so instead they start fucking in threes and fours and maybe that’s better. There’s no real rules here except the ones they make for themselves.  They make those unanimously--well.  Let them make this one, then.  The team is the only family, the only life they’ve got.  Let it be everything.

[ourimpavidheroine]

so are you saying you never want a comment that disagrees with you? sorry, not trying to be rude, just asking. I don't mean the other kind of comments like transphobic or whatever.

Well, I’m glad you don’t mean transphobic comments (or any others of that ilk) because no one needs to justify and/or explain deleting those. 

What it comes down to is the difference between critique and criticism. A fair amount of readers don’t know (or care, in some cases!) the difference between the two.

A critique is something that the writer (or artist, or whomever) could potentially find useful in improving their craft. 

A criticism is simply complaining about what you don’t like. There is no benefit at all to the creator in question.

So let me give an example:

CRITIQUE

Wait, I’m confused here. Is Wu in love with Qi or not? It’s not clear from that last chapter. 

Why is this helpful? Well, it tells me that the reader is not picking up what I am putting down, so to speak. Now, there could be several reasons for this. It might be that I have not played all of my cards yet - I may have something planned and I am deliberately writing a slow reveal. In which case, all is well! It might be, however, that I have something clear in my head but I am not getting it across to my readers as well as I think I am. In which case, this is very important information! This is good feedback! I can go back and look at my work with a critical eye and say, you know, the reader is right and I am being too vague here, so I need to address this with more clarity in the next chapter (or whatever). I have gotten these kinds of comments and I always publish them. I value them, very much. 

CRITICISM

I was really into this story until you introduced polyamory. It’s a terrible idea. I hate it.

What is the purpose of this remark? Will it help me to improve as a writer? No, it won’t. Will I change my story line because of it? Not even close. Is there anything that I, as a writer, can do with this remark? Absolutely not. But see, that’s the entire point of criticism. When people post comments like that it is all for themselves. There is no real exchange of ideas happening there; there is no response I can give as a writer to them that will be satisfactory. I am certainly not going to apologize because a reader doesn’t like what I have done with a story, be it characterization or plot. Why on earth would I apologize? I’m not sorry I wrote it that way. The reader is under absolutely no obligation to continue reading my story; they certainly haven’t paid for it. Only once has any of the readers leaving these kinds of comments been a reader that had left any kind of other feedback for me. In other words, people who make those kinds of comments have never bothered to engage with me before and are still not engaging with me. They just want to make a dramatic exit and have the last word. Why on earth should I indulge them in this? 

I’ve been active on the internet since 1992; I have watched the rise of the comment section trolls. They don’t actually care about whatever it is they are trolling, despite their strident claims to the contrary. They’re just there to fuck shit up. People who care about something want to enjoy engaging with other fans, not proving other fans wrong. That’s your litmus test, right there. Is this person trying to engage with me in mutual enjoyable discourse or are they there to prove me wrong? If it is the former, then go for it, even if it might get a little heated (because that happens sometimes). If it is the latter, then fuck ‘em.

As I said earlier, my own personal troll here doesn’t actually like my fic and has said that directly. They are reading it for no other reason than to make horrible comments on it. (And this only came about after months of not actually reading my fanfic but coming here on Tumblr and asking my “opinion” on ATLA and/or TLOK which was a transparent excuse to reblog my answers with really nasty commentary on them, attempting to somehow prove me wrong. It was only after I stopped biting on their Asks that they actually went and started reading my fanfic.) I’m not going to help them do that by leaving their comments up on my work; it’s abuse, plain and simple, and I do not feel under any obligation to help an abuser. Especially not my own. My troll has tried over and over again to tell me that I am wrong for deleting their comments, by the way. They absolutely want me to help them by being complicit in my own abuse. Which is, in fact, a textbook abuser’s move; hell, it’s number one on the list. And it’s just not going to happen.

I have watched a lot of young and/or fragile writers pour their hearts and souls into writing fanfic, only to walk away because a reader felt entitled to leave useless, unhelpful and sometimes even cruel criticism. That goes for young artists as well; I’ve seen the absolutely horrible bullying that goes on here on Tumblr. Sending Asks telling an artist to kill themselves! What the actual fuck! It’s why, quite frankly, I have gently dissuaded my daughter from getting a Tumblr account and posting her art here. Those kinds of comments would devastate her. There is a big difference between telling an artist, “Hey, you know, I see you whitewashed Korra there, and as a person of color I’d really like to tell you why that’s a hurtful thing to do us and oh here are some links that explain about it as well,” and telling them to kill themselves or die in a fire or never draw again. But see, that’s the thing. There is a real sense of entitlement that comes with leaving criticism that just blows my mind. To me, it reads as if the consumer of the art thinks that the creator actually owes them something, even if that something is forcing them to pay attention to the consumer by leaving unhelpful, rude and sometimes even abusive commentary. I strongly disagree with this. Creators are not obligated to their fans. Or as Neil Gaiman once famously put it, “[The Creator] is not your bitch.” 

It’s not that big a leap to go from leaving a comment telling a creator that you don’t like something to stalking someone online to making actual threats and/or doxxing them. The anonymity of the internet makes it very easy, in fact. Internet trolls that cross over the line from being an entitled asshole to engaging in actual illegal behavior had to start somewhere. And that start isn’t by reading half a chapter of fic and backing out to find something else they like better or just scrolling past art they don’t like, you know?

Every single time a writer leaves up garbage commentary on their work, they are giving their tacit approval of a reader’s belief that they are entitled to shit all over said work. 

It’s not the same when it comes to a professional writer, of course. For one thing, they are being paid for their work. For another, reviews on Goodreads or Amazon or on review sites aren’t about engaging the author in discourse about their work. Authors (unless they are Anne Rice or something, wooo-weee) are not responding to reviews. Reviews are all about readers getting their chance to let other readers know how they felt about the work. Dude, if I am going to be shelling out cold hard cash for a book then I’d like to read some nuanced reviews of it first, for sure. I ignore the stupid troll ones, of course. Most of those get downvoted anyhow because nobody likes a troll but a troll.

That being said…do we leave reviews on AO3 or Tumblr in order to tell other readers how we felt about a writer’s work? No. We do not. We leave comments, because we are engaging in fandom discourse with the writer, someone else who loves the fandom as much as we do. 

Reviews and comments are not the same thing, kids. There’s a reason why they are two separate words. There is a reason why AO3 and Tumblr (and fanfiction.net, etc.) very deliberately use the word comments and why Goodreads and Amazon and The National Book Review use the word review. Language matters.

In other words, comments ≠ reviews.

Fanfic is not the same as original published work. Fandom is made up of people who love their particular fandom; fanfic is written by writers that are creating transformative works out of love. (Not that we wouldn’t mind money or anything, but that’s not the end goal.) Two completely separate worlds. Sure, sometimes the lines get blurred - I myself once met a writer at a signing whom I admired and embarrassed the hell out of myself by fangirling all over him. (He was very gracious about it.) But he was there to do a signing, not chitterchat over Tumblr for hours over why it is Bolin can lavabend but not metalbend. Totally different scenario. There are quite a few published writers here on Tumblr who engage with their fans, but they are still not engaging with them over their book reviews, I can tell you that much.

And in any case, who the hell scrolls down on AO3 to read all of the comments before they read the fanfic anyhow? I’m not saying that it couldn’t happen, I’m just saying it’s not the general practice. Not even fanfic readers are using the comments section as a means of deciding whether or not they want to read a fic. People read the tags and the summaries and go by word of mouth when it comes to choosing a fanfic to read. Again - comments section, not a review section!

Some fandom creators can handle critique or criticism and some can’t. Some writers leave up all the shit commentary on their fics and that’s fine. It’s their choice and I’m all about choice! But for me, I’m not going to be any part of teaching a reader on AO3 that they are entitled to shit all over someone’s work just because they don’t understand what the hell the comments section is for. I surely am not going to allow them to think that it is okay to be an asshole in my comments section just because they think it is somehow their god-given right to be one. Freedom of speech does not mean I have to let you take a dump all over my front lawn, you feel me? Go crap all over your own space.

It may not hurt me, a crusty old bitch who could care less if some stranger off the internet is offended by polyamory. But it could hurt and discourage other fanfic writers and anyone who has followed me for any length of time knows how much of a Tumblr Mom I am. I want to encourage new creators. I want to support them as they feel their way about, as they try to improve their work. I try to give as much written support as I can in terms of commenting, reblogging, etc. But I also want them to understand that they are not under any obligation to deal with the haters. Comments are not meant to be reviews; they sure as hell are not meant to be criticism. Leaving up hate on my own work does not get that message across to either the haters or the creators who are having to deal with that hate, as far as I am concerned. And that’s why I won’t do it.