#maybe. i could consider making this a fic at some point. however i sincerely cannot grasp eddie's character that well i think so | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moosoobi · 3 years

Text

Revelation

In the night: Chapter 1

T.Jeffy- Hamilton: the musical

Thomas’s interest in Y/N pulls him into a position he was previously blind to. They say every girl’s another mystery, but definitely not like this. Buckle your seatbelt Tommy, you’re in for a ride

Finally finished the first part of ITN (which is ironic since the moment I wrote this message I still haven’t finished it). I really hope I’m able to bring this story to life the way I want to and I hope y’all enjoy 😔💕. Here’s some stuff to expect:

Told from Thomas’s POV

Modern Au

College talk even though I’m literally in my second year of high school (so please bear with me)

Ruh roh moments

Sorta weird POV/storytelling (I’m new to writing fics and stuff so this is definitely a learning opportunity) Also excuse my English errors: Though this is my only language, my school system seemed to fail in teaching me how to write

Word count: 6.7k (including separators)

2 DISCLAIMERS:

TW: itty bitty angst, themes of injury/blood, etc.

I’m not the best story writer, so after reading this chapter you may have many questions. Please keep in mind that this is one chapter out of (about) 10. Things that you may not understand in this chapter will most likely be explained in future chapters.

-Now Playing: In The Night by The Weeknd-

My God, she’s perfect

The way the sunlight reflects off of her glass skin. The sincerity in every word, every letter that she writes with her only pencil. To be that flawless, it’s a mystery to me. She takes a glance at me. Did she feel me staring? I duck down my head in embarrassment.

“Jefferson, you oughta put that scholarship to good use”

Professor Washington boomed to the entire class. I hear a fragment of her giggle. Her laugh is soft and naïve. I couldn't help but smile at the sound of her happiness.

Washington is right, though. It's my first semester after I came back from my student exchange program over in France and I can already feel my sanity slipping. France was a beauty to visit, so many customs and cultures I wish I could be flourished in right now.

But there was one thing great about going to school in New York: I get to sit in a classroom with Y/N L/N.

I’ve never talked to her formally, at least not yet. She’s always sitting alone, never answers any questions, but Professor Washington makes the class acknowledge her perfect test scores and fascinating interpretations

As the bell rings I watch her stand swiftly. Is she in a rush? I can't help but watch as her hair is flung over her shoulder. She stuffs her notebooks and singular pencil into her burgundy-magenta backpack. Hey, at least she has good taste in color.

I don’t think you understand

She sits alone everyday during lunch, yet she never looks bothered. Her energy is so compelling to me. A feeling about her that I cannot comprehend, something that feels greater than my existence. I just got to know.

“Thomas, you gotta work on staring at people less noticeable” James catches my attention by pointing his fork a little too close to my face.

I was staring? Again?

I shake my head to snap back to reality

“The great Thomas Jefferson is interested in someone for longer than 30 seconds. I gonna be honest with you Thom, that’s impressing”

I hear James laugh as he violently stabs a few pieces of pasta onto his fork.

James has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. We went to the same middle and high school down in Virginia, and just coincidentally ended up going to the same college in New York.

We’re always there for each other. I remember cheering for him at a high school assembly after he won a story writing challenge, he’s such a nerd. Then again, he had to drive me home a couple of times after I failed multiple driving tests.

Back in high school, James was the Chess Club Champion, a title he always shoved down my throat. It’s no secret why, though. He’s really good at thinking things through, While I on the other hand tend to dive headfirst into the abyss.

“Shut it James” I sarcastically retort, taking a sip of the expensive chocolate milk which my scholarship supposedly pays for

Hey, can I sit here?

I talked to her during class. Her voice is angelic: Now, I’m not one to be religious and all, but that voice could get me on my knees praying for forgiveness. My ego couldn’t get me anywhere at all, as if she already knew my tactics, she knew my flirts, and how? I guess it just adds to her mystery.

“C'mon! that one works every time!” I whine

“Don't be so full of yourself Jefferson, I’ve heard them all before” A smile danced across her face

She did, however, laugh at some of my remarks. It's good to know that she has a sense of humor. My jokes of Professor Washington’s shiny, bald head. The jokes of Professor Washington’s assistant, John Adams, who’s suspiciously absent considering he signed up for this job.

Heck, I would even make fun of myself if it meant I got to hear that graceful laugh one more time- actually, that might be a little too far.

Many days of giggling in class came after that day. I can see her starting to open up to my friends and I, like she’s spreading her wings and showing us the greatness that lies behind the social wall that she put up years ago. Even when we got in trouble for a little too much giggling in the back of the class, I sacrificed my own pride so she didn’t have to. Yes, I, Thee Thomas Jefferson, did that.

---

Even though I could see the social wall she put up, I knew one day Y/n would fall for my charming pick up lines, or maybe I just happened to have a lucky day:

“Y/N I need some a some help with my math homework”

Y/N glances over to me in concern. I fake a scared expression.

“Quick!” I swiftly grab her shoulder and shake her “What’s your phone number?”

She playfully smacks my arm

---

Obtaining her number felt like a rite of passage, like I’m important to her, like she wants me in her life. I couldn’t stop smiling that day, and of course James just had to make a comment on it.

“Thomas, if you keep smiling like that I’m going to start thinking that your sick or something”

James said as he shut my laptop, tired of waiting for me to pack my things.

“Now that's REAL ironic coming from you, James”

I raised an eyebrow as my laugh begins to come up my throat. I take my closed laptop and shove it somewhere into my backpack.

“Okay, leaving for a month in sophomore year just because of a little fever doesn’t make ‘being sick’ as part of my trade mark”

James playfully smacked the back of my head. Thankfully, my curls serve as protection, not just to make me sinfully handsome. James and I walk out of the freezing lecture hall and were hit with the crisp-coldness of New York.

To the right of me I catch a glimpse of that eye catching burgundy-magenta backpack as it’s thrown into the trunk of a shiny, expensive car. My feet keep its motion as my head turns to see Y/N standing at the door of the car.

“Yo, is that Y/N?” I hear James whisper behind me “and who’s that?”

My attention is suddenly drawn to the tall man walking around the car to open her door. His curly hair is pulled into a small bun and the smile he had on his face broke apart the stubble on his jaw. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion.

“I’m just as clueless as you are”

Keeping my glance on Y/N and the man, I watch as the man opens the door for her. My stomach turns as I watch Y/N smile back at him as she sits in the car.

For a split second, I swear I saw her shoot a soft glance at me. My feet almost stop in their tracks before I feel James’ hand yank me onto another pathway.

“I’m all for you being head over heels, but we’re gonna be late to our study session with Angie”

Reality starts to set back into my head.

“Right, lets dip.”

---

“So little Tommy is Infatuated with this woman?”

Angie’s eyes are piercing, and her luscious hair frames her face in a saintly manner. She slips off her baby pink coat to ease into her library seat. Her eyebrow raises as she takes a sip of her steaming coffee

Of course James wouldn’t shut his mouth, especially around the notorious Angelica Schuyler.

Angie’s pretty popular here, I find myself wondering why she has so many connections, yet it’s not just any reason(s) why she seems to be in the spotlight.

1: She’s the oldest Schuyler. Her last name definitely got her places, not like I’m one to talk. Everyone seems to know her, not just at school, but all around New York City, and with her 5,000 Instagram followers, her first name’s starting to catch up with her last name in popularity

2: Angie’s Daddy has money money. And that’s no secret when she decides to walk around campus with her designer handbags and shoes. I tend to think she always gets what she wants, but I know deep down, she’s never gonna be satisfied. Maybe it’s just a side effect of growing up with a silver spoon in your mouth

And finally,

3: Miss Schuyler here is Bold. She’s never afraid to put both me and James in our place. It’s almost as if she can’t be touched by anyone’s thoughts of her, then again the gossip in NYC is terribly insidious. With such grace and respect, Angelica is not afraid to throw your opinion into the ground.

“Yeah I swear, Jefferson would’ve gotten run over if I didn’t pull him onto the pathway” James attempted to tone down his laugh so the librarian wouldn’t stab him with those old, sharp eyes

“She-...”

For the first time, I didn’t know how to recoil

“..Just caught me off guard.”. In an attempt to change the topic, I flipped through the pages of his textbook.

Angelica and James shared an astonished glance at Thomas before looking at each other. I could hear James shrug and flipping open his textbook. I lift my head as I hear Angelica dig through her bag

“Alright let’s get started” Angie claps her hands together with determination

—-

It’s been 2 hours of studying in the ghostly library. Unfortunately, I can’t avoid the talk forever.

“Hey Thomas, why don’t you invite her to our next study session?”

Angelica smirked as she rudely shut my laptop. I desperately imagine the day where both James and Angelica leave me alone. I angrily glare up at her, but she has a good idea

“Actually, that’s not to bad of an idea” I ponder for a moment before retrieving my phone from my pocket

Thomas: Hey Y/N, u free this week?

Hmm. Is this okay? Nah it’s too straight forward. I sigh as I deleted and retyped the message

Thomas: Greetings Ms. L/N, this is Mr. Jefferson from class. Would you delight me by partaking in a study session?

What the heck Jefferson? I began to get frustrated from this nonsense. It’s just a text, why am I getting so anal over it?

Thomas: Hey Y/N, ds@insdas/19z7dnesdc-

Angelica, who was watching me the entire time, snatched the phone from my hands. I attempted to protest, yet Angelica Schuyler knows how to hold her ground.

“Angie wh-”

“I’ll do you a favor, Jefferson.” She said sternly. There was no way I was getting that phone back, heck, I would be lucky if I got it back in one piece

“Aaaaand sent!” I heard her squeal

Angelica suddenly tossed the phone to me and I fumbled it between my hands before I held it stably. I check to see the text that Angelica sent from my phone

Thomas: Hey this is Thomas from class, wanna come study with us at the library sometime?

Oh. It was that easy.

“Thanks Angie”

I shove my phone back in my pocket. Part of me was excited to have an excuse to text Y/N, yet I do wonder how awkward it would be if she rejected the offer. I mean, she already has the perfect grades, why would she need the extra help?

I start to rethink my decision.

—-

It wasn’t until 11 pm at night until I got a reply from Y/N. Beforehand, I arrived at my apartment around 8 pm. As soon as my door shut, the room was filled with growls indicating my current problem: hunger. That could only be solved with one solution: microwavable mac and cheese.

My phone dinged while I was laying motionless on my bed. My apartment was right next to the street, and all I could hear was the busy streets of New York City.

My eyes opened as I turned to my charging phone.

Y/N: yeah I’m down :) just send a time and place and I’ll be on my way

I was filled with joy, so much that I couldn’t wait another second to reply.

Thomas: Alright, we meet at the library after our class. Can you make it?

Seeing the three dots jump melodically made my stomach feel as if two fairies were dancing throughout my body. Any second now, any second. ding!

Y/N: sounds good!

I guess it’s settled, I get to hang out with the puzzling Y/N L/N, and maybe I’ll get to learn a bit more about her. But just because it’s a study session doesn’t mean I can’t show her what a southern gentleman looks like, and for the first time, I’m so excited to study

---

James, Y/N, and I walk out of professor Washington’s class, laughing our asses off over some stupid joke. Everyone around us appears to be annoyed, especially with having to sit through almost two hours of my friends and I laughing in the back of the class, but it’s not like I care.

Once we’re hit by the bitter cold of New York, my eyes are immediately drawn to that expensive car. So familiar and so faint in head, the memory of Y/N smiling as she hopped into his car replays in my brain.

“I’ll be back guys”

Y/N excuses herself from the group before lightly jogging to the car. Her hair was graceful in the wind, and her burgundy-magenta backpack didn’t seem to weigh her down at all. For a split second, my brain acknowledges that mysterious man in the driver’s seat. There was a moment of awkward eye contact with him, his cold eyes pierced through me before my attention was drawn back to Y/N. She fixes her hair and jacket.

That was cute.

What?

James and I watch Y/N before turning to each other. I suggest to James that we wait for her, show a little southern hospitality. Even though Y/N seems to be fond of this man, he gives off a mysterious vibe similar to Y/N’s, but I do not want to unravel that mystery at all.

Seeing him throw a smirk at Y/N causes discomfort in my stomach.

Y/N comes prancing back to us, an embarrassed smile on her face. Behind her, that shiny, expensive car begins to drive away.

“My bad, I forgot to tell my roommate that I would be out late”

“That’s your roommate?” James asks, attempting to hide his curiosity and shock

“and he takes you home after class?” I interrupt briefly

Y/N nervously laughs before nodding “something like that, he just..”

That pause was a little too long

“..doesn’t like me out of the house too late so he volunteers to drive me home all the time”

I shrug it off before jumping at the feeling of James’ warm hands pulling Y/N and I to the direction of the library. Y/N and I look at him with confusion

“What? Angie doesn’t like when we’re late, remember?” James says, practically dragging us to the Library

—-

“Nice to meet you”

Angelica and Y/N got along pretty well. I can tell Angie was happy to finally have a girl to hangout with rather than having to deal with me and James only. She’s already starting to resemble a sisterly figure to Y/N, then again, growing up with two sisters must’ve prepared Angie for this moment.

I don’t hear much about the other Schuylers, but I am familiar with them. Angelica is the oldest, as we know. Her first sister, Eliza Sch- I’m pretty sure she got married, is the nicest person you’ll meet. Whoever won her surely must be worthy, because we all know people like me wouldn’t get anywhere near Eliza thanks to her older sister. Her youngest sister, Margarita Peggy Schuyler, is just like Angelica.

Stubborn. As. Fuck.

I’m confident that Angelica has taught her that philosophy since she was born. Anyway, Peggy is currently living her dreams in Southern California. Not sure what she does, but I’m sure she’s financially stable, she is a Schuyler after all.

All of us struggle to not annoy the librarian, let alone the entire library. I watch as Y/N opens up, just a little more, to Angelica, James, and I.

Hours pass as we clown around in the library. From actually completing class work to a small drawing competition between James and I, I was certainly having a good time, and so was everyone else.

It was pleasing to see Y/N more laid back rather than how she acts in class. In front of Professor Washington she’s so ‘put together’ and organized, but surrounded by her friends she’s such an amazing person, her range in professionalism and humor is astounding.

I can’t seem to ignore the fact that Angelica notices the way I look at Y/N. It’s definitely not in my strong suit to be ‘low key’, I’m known for dramatic entrances and stealing the spotlight. She smiles when I make eye contact with her, and I’m pretty sure it’s just her way of annoying me, but I can’t help the way I look at Y/N. She really is an angel sent down from heaven, disguised as a college student, and I’m just lucky enough to be her friend.

I’m blind to her flaws. When I see her, I feel like a tourist glancing at the Mona Lisa, memorizing every curve of her face, the way her hair falls around her shoulders, and the way the library lighting reflects off of her glowing skin.

What felt like a sledgehammer breaking a slab of fragile glass, I see Y/N’s phone light up. Even across the table I can read the word “Lafayette” off of her phone. I can’t lie, it surely sounds familiar.

When she finally noticed her phone flash on, I feel her ease turn into worry, and it definitely didn’t go unnoticed by James, Angie, and I. She starts to pack away her books

“My bad guys, I really gotta go”

Y/N said notably panicking. Her phone flashes once again, yet the only thing that seems to catch my eyes is the bold “7:30” spread across the top of her phone.

“Are you okay by yourself?” I asked, trying my best not to pry into her business

“Yeah, my roommates here to pick me up, I don’t want to make him wait” she tried to play it off, but I’m learning to see right through her

“Alright, see you next time Y/N” I shrug it off

She sends my friends and I a quick smile before replying

“for sure”

Angelica and James got back to work without saying a word, and I could tell they were waiting until she was gone to start teasing me. I eased back into my chair before flipping the pages of my notebook

I watched as she shoved open the library door and disappeared into the darkness. She’s such a mystery, when I feel like she’s opening up, she just shuts the door and we’re back at square one. Though I do claim to love a good challenge, Y/N L/N, I will never understand you.

—-

And that’s when it started. It wasn’t just one time where 7:30 was Y/N magic number, oh no, it was oddly consistent. I’m convinced that Y/N is some variation of Cinderella; her polite attitude and the beautiful little things she does without acknowledging it all vanish when the clock strikes 8:00, but that’s just one of many theories made by James.

Another study session with James and Angelica, and Y/N’s flashing screen still compelled Y/N to leave the library without a trace. On some occasions we don’t even notice her escape, we just turn to see her seat empty and feel the faint wind from outside as the library door slowly closes.

One day Angie bought us all tickets to see the preview to the newest, scariest movie I’ve ever watched. I was accompanied by Y/N, James, and Angie, yet their presences made it worse. Halfway through the bucket of popcorn and the movie, Y/N suddenly stood up and left after saying those 5 words. Before she left, I felt the warmth of her hands leave the place on my arm.

I never knew how addicting her warmth would be until it was already gone.

“Sorry guys, I gotta go” The weak smile on her face instantly resonated feelings of sympathy and understanding.

From then on, Y/N and I grew closer as friends. We’d fool around at a local park before heading to campus, obviously sparking a few observations and remarks from James. I’d invite her to fancy dinners, or maybe even a small festival down the road from my apartment, yet her response would always be proven false at the moment she’d leave me and my thoughts at 7:30.

But that hasn’t stopped me from attempting to hang out with her. Even on the days I wouldn’t have class with her we’d go out and get ice cream, study at the park, I guess you can say we’ve gone on a few ‘dates’ since our initial study session.

Whenever we’re apart, I can feel every second expanding to its maximum capacity of time. I wouldn’t see her for a day and it will already feel like years since I’ve seen her. The days I do see her, time seems to maneuver a little too fast. When I recall hanging out with Y/N, all I can imagine is the feeling of floating above the clouds every time she and I made physical contact. Like a rock being dropped into still water, ever touch ripples throughout my body, sending shivers down my spine.

Truly incredible.

—-

She doesn’t like to talk about her personal life, and I find that quite odd. I’m usually one to continue rambling every detail of every trait of mine, yet I find myself yearning to learn more about her.

We text every now and then when we’re outside of class, a little more to be considered ‘just friends’. There’s always a story which unravels just a little more of Y/N’s past, and she’s left me on my own to connect the dots. I must say, she’s definitely an interesting gal, but I know there’s more to discover.

She’s a native New Yorker, born and raised, surviving by splitting an intense rent with her mysterious room mate. Y/N doesn’t talk much of her family, other than faint memories of her mother single handedly raising her and her little brother, who I’m fairly unaware of.

Going into college undecided, Y/N describes her want to learn more about herself before she’s able to make any life determining choices. I’ve noticed that her schedule seems like a labyrinth avoiding life problems and obstacles, so perhaps being placed in the same class coincidentally was just fate playing its part.

Y/N loves to explain her dream for workless weekends, moments in the week where she just gets to sit back, close her eyes, and breathe a little. With finals starting to appear from thin air, I can’t blame her for a dream so far from reality.

Even with the knowledge I hold of her, something never seems to change: her disappearances at 7:30.

It’s always that damn 7:30.

7:30--the cliffhanger your favorite show leaves you desiring for more

the end of a fun night of laughter and glee, wishing it lasted just a little longer

the off-set energy in a room when those around you know something you don’t.

As days, weeks, and months pass since my first text proposal to hang out at the library, Y/N and I become a little closer than just friends. It’s been obvious, especially to James and Angie, that Y/N is more than capable of holding my attention.

Though James is worried that Y/N will just become ‘another girl’ to me, concerning my tomcat nature in the past, he can see the potential I see in her. I find myself wishing I did spend more time with her, maybe I just need to make a better effort.

I’ll prove James and Angie wrong.

Filled with determination and confidence, in the midst of my silent room, I whip out my phone and direct my attention towards forming a text message for Y/N

Thomas: let’s get coffee sometime?

Jefferson charm, don’t fail me now.

---

Before I knew it, Y/N and I were feasting on exotic cheeses and aged wine in my New York apartment. I hit play on a random romcom which helps to fill the emptiness in my apartment and ironically the thin space between Y/N and I.

I have no idea how to make my move. Though I’m not aware of my competition, I imagine if Y/N could attract someone of My caliber, I should be well aware of the things she’s capable of. Originally I planned to court her-- I know, I know, I’m a man of tradition--yet after James caught on to my recognizable frustration, He suggested I go for it.

This is surprising on multiple occasions, especially since James possesses the ‘brains’ between the both of us. Being the chess club champion, ‘talk’ won’t aid you when you're struggling in a chess match. Just like how he meticulously plays chess, he examines my situation and provides his Virginian insight, or so he prefers to call it, and they always proceed the way his scheme describes.

I’ve adhered his advice to my life ever since we were kids, and when I didn’t, he’d simply reply with:

“I told you so”

His smug smirk accompanied with a finger pointing to his temple would soon transform from clever to annoying.

I feel a vibration come from my pocket. Well, of course it’s not Y/N texting so must I really answer it? I pull out my phone despite my doubts and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

James: 👍

Speak of the Devil.

But enough about James. I understand that both Y/N and I are mature college students, yet I still fear the disruption in our friendship I can provoke just by making my move. I’ve gotten this far; If she wasn’t interesting I’m sure she would’ve rejected me sooner.

She’s different, she’s unique, something about her that I just can’t place, but also something missing. Anyway, this is probably my best chance at shooting my shot at Y/N, and it’s too late now to back down.

As my lips part in an attempt to speak and make a move, Y/N’s motionless phone (currently laying undisturbed on my coffee table) suddenly brightens with the most obnoxious ringtone I’ve ever heard. The words “It’s 7:30!” flash on her screen, almost as if it was warning her rather than reminding her.

“Y/N—” my eyes follow her body as she swiftly stands up

“I gotta g—” I watch as she attempts to grab her purse, yet her body is limited when I firmly grab her arm. She looks back to me with tiredness in her eyes.

Part of me thought maybe, just maybe, Cinderella here wouldn’t have a curfew. That I somehow would be the exemption to this consistent confusion . But you can only daydream so far into the day until you’re pulled back into your reality

Her entire demeanor seems like it was reconstructed after her alarm went off. Moments ago she was just enjoying tasty cheese and cheesy movies, and the worst part is, I have no idea why.

“Let me speak, darlin’”

I stand up to avoid the way her eyes look down on me. I can’t stand that pitiful glare; she looks at me as if I’m a child incapable of understanding her situation, but she’s too stubborn to let me know. I’d be wise to use this time to make a move on different circumstances.

“Now, you’re always leaving at seven thirty..”

Her sigh is almost enough to interrupt me

“..why’s that? Talk to me.”

I maintain my eye contact before it’s abruptly broken. She looks everywhere but my eyes, and I wonder where in my apartment she would find an excuse, yet still manages to dodge the question.

“..you wouldn’t understand..” she scoffs almost intentionally, honestly scratching a part of my ego. I hate to admit she’s right, I really don’t understand what’s going on.

I cock my head to the side. Where’s this coming from?

“Darlin’, I’m sure I’m a very understanding person—”

“—I need to leave”

I could tell by the look of her face that she wasn’t trying to argue, but it’s inevitable.

“Why can’t you just tell me?..” I put my hands up as a sign of defeat, but I’m not giving up yet. “We’ve been friends for a while and you’re always leavin’ at seven—”

“I know! I know..” she removes my hand from her arm, clearly refusing to look up at me.

“Let’s just say..I got a job..?”

Oh. That’s what this is all about? A job? She couldn’t spare at least an explanation for a part time gig?

“See? That wasn’t so hard”

“It’s..really embarrassing..” The glance she takes around the room makes me wonder if she’s really telling the truth. it’s not really my place to speculate, there’s no going back from this.

“It’s alright, it’s just a job after all” I claim, trying to get this conversation back on track

“This is exactly what I meant but ‘you wouldn’t understand’”

Huh?

“You don’t know what it feels like to have your life rely on minimum wage—” she sounds like she’s holding something back.

“Y/N wher—”

“A-and here you are makin’ me late for work” her eyes appear on the verge of crying.

“darlin’ look..”

“God, you’ve never had to work for anything in your life!”

Silence.

Both of us refuse to speak. Y/N phone, still on the table, chimes again. “7:35” it said on its bright screen.

“Is that really how you feel?..” I take a step back to give her space. She still refuses to look at me.

There’s no way she’d cause all this chaos just because of a job. And even if she believes I’ve piggy backed off of my name for my entire life, why would it matter to her?

“I..I should leave” before I could process what just happened, she swiftly tosses her phone into her bag and heads for the door.

“Y’know, I had a nice time..” was all I heard before the harsh shutting of my apartment door.

And that was the end of it.

My first thought after the door shut wasn’t to whip out my phone and attempt to text her, it certainly wasn’t to call James and inform him of his miscalculation, but instead to attend to the matter at hand. This cheese and wine won’t clean itself.

And the night continued normally, as if nothing had ever taken place. I couldn’t help but microwave another cup of Mac and cheese to cope with what Y/N said. Nothin’ like a good meal to divert your attention away from your problems. But even a good cup of cheese and pasta can’t stop me from thinking’:

Is that all I am to her?

A southern snob incapable of functioning without their father’s last name?

After an introspective shower, and a few episodes of a random Netflix show, I’m finally alone with my thoughts and feelings. I lie in darkness, tussling and turning at every occasion, unable to extract her words from my mind.

If there’s someone whose opinion I care about the most, it’s Y/N L/N. I consider texting her at this very moment, yet I’m sure that I’m the last person she wants to talk to. The weight of my actions falls heavily onto my shoulders every minute, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Give her space, Jefferson, and maybe you’ll be able to fix this tragedy.

---

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The knocks on my apartment door were enough to jerk my body back to consciousness. Sadly pulled from the warmth of my dreams, I’m hit with the cold, noisy reality of an average night here in New York.

Can my day get any worse?

Coming straight from the depths of slumber, I take a few minutes to process reality. Maybe the knocks were in my head. Did I dream about someone knocking on my door? Perhaps it’s

The sun’s still not up yet, why am I?

Groggily sitting up, I decide to check the time, yet it takes me multiple attempts to grab my phone in the dark before I catch a sight of the time.

2 am?!

Who is so out of their minds so show up to my apartment at this time? Who do I know that would show up at this time?

James is too sensible for that,

Angie would never waste her time on me, for whatever reason,

And Y/N—

well.

I don’t know our circumstances right now.

I debate whether or not I should answer the door. Perhaps it’s just rock that happened to hit the door of my apartment, and even if it is a person, I’m not aware of anyone so mad to show up in the middle of the night. it’s not worth my time.

...

Knock! Knock! Knock!

So much for ‘Not worth my time’. A groan is all my body can respond with while I gradually stand from the comfort of my bed. I grab the nearest shirt, which was draped over my desk chair, and scramble to put it on. Passing my cramped kitchen, my hands subconsciously flip on the nearest light switches, while my eyes struggle to comprehend the sudden light.

Before I reach the door, I couldn’t help but attempt to fix my hair. Just because someone happens to show up outside unannounced doesn’t mean I can’t present my best rendition of a southern gentleman.

And finally, through my fatigue and irritation, I’m finally urged to grab the doorknob and twist it open in one motion.

“Uh, it’s two a.m. so I hope--”

I nervously scratch the back of my head, attempting to add spice to this awkward encounter. It wasn’t until my eyes caught sight of the blood dripping down her glass skin and the meeting of our eyes did I have any words

“Y/N?!?”

Her cold, pale, and hurt body would’ve hit the concrete floor if I had answered the door any later.

---

And there she layed half colorless on my bed. Her smile was full of embarrassment and gratitude as I sat beside her, tending to the evident cuts and Injured areas of her body. “I hope I’m being a great house guest” she joked, causing her to laugh, yet hurting herself in the process.

“Hey, Hey, Take it easy..” Y/N’s presence usually fills me with carefreeness, or perhaps stability, but for the first time I can’t help but react seriously. Her demeanor changed as she saw my retaliation to her joke.

“I guess…” she looked down to her fragile body, a sigh released, seeming to be an attempt to calm down. “...I owe you an explanation for earlier. And especially for showing up at your place at 2 in the damn morning. ”

Thomas’ hands, full of wipes and hydrogen peroxide soaked cotton balls, froze in their tracks before he looked up at her, eager to listen and visibly confused. Y/N visibly winced as the cotton balls stuck to her cuts for longer than they should’ve, yet with Thomas’ reflexes at their all-time-max, he pulled them away with a worried expression.

“Explanation? You said you got a job, and I’m sorry for not respecting it..” I continued to clean her up, consensually of course, how could I call myself a gentleman if I were to act upon improper motives?

“Again..” I utter quietly “..I didn’t know you felt that way, and I’m ashamed you feel that way”

I attach an ivory-colored band aid to her glass skin, careful not to damage it any further. I look up to her watching, pitiful eyes. “You were saying?” I reciprocate the attention to her, awaiting a so-called answer to come out of her mouth

“I didn’t know where else to run to..” she attempted to sit up, lifting her weight off of my satin-covered sheets, yet quickly stopped when being hit with a wave of pain from her right shoulder

Though my first thought would’ve been ‘Damn it, my darn sheets are ruined’, it was quickly drawn to Y/N and her current problem

“Y’know, I think an apology and explanation can wait, Y/N. you need a little sleep, it’s already three in the mornin’ for god’s sake” a small laugh erupts from her

I sent her an assuring smile, trying to remind her that everything is always going to be okay in a Jefferson household. And surprisingly I received a smile in return, a smile of trust and security that I’ve never felt so glad to see. Of course, I wish I could’ve seen that smile under different circumstances, but I’ll work with what I got.

I stood from my beautiful satin sheets and reached for a hoodie on my swivel chair. (everything but your closet is a closet, change my mind) I braced for a cold night on my apartment couch while Y/N enjoys the warmth of my bed, but Y/N had other plans.

“Wait- Thomas.” She said firmly

I turned tiredly to her direction, my arm already extended for the door, yet frozen in place as I awaited a response

“Can you just..” she scoot herself over, as much as possible with her frail body “..hold me?” She watches me anxiously

“I mean— you don’t have to b—” I didn’t hesitate at all to gently slide under the sheets of the bed. As soon as I turn to her direction, I can’t help but feel scared to touch her in fear of hurting her; my hands don’t know where to reside. “Where do I..” I’m truly perplexed

She giggled at my confusion and shyly grabbed my hand “I’m not so fragile you know”

She brought my hand up to the side of her head, and all I could process was the texture of the bandages under my fingertips. I don’t know what's going on, but I couldn’t just leave her out there.

“..Right..” I wait for her eyes to close before I can even think about closing mine, and soon the texture of the bandages seem to melt onto my fingertips as I’m finally able to return to my slumber.

“See you in the mornin’..”

---

I didn’t wake up until I felt the sun rays kissing my back through my so-called ‘blackout curtains’. Such a scam. The room seemed a little too quiet; I gently turned onto my other side just to find an empty bed. I consider the possibility of last night’s encounter with Y/N was all just some messed up dream, but when I saw the faint stains of blood on my sheets, I knew I was far from dreaming.

My body doesn’t want to move, and I’m stuck sitting up in my bed for another ten minutes. What the heck is going on? One minute she yells at me, then next thing I know she’s outside my apartment at 2 am.

And that explanation.

I guess I was such a fool to think she wouldn’t continue to run away from this matter. My thoughts are interrupted by my buzzing phone. I know for sure that it’s not Y/N hittin up my phone right about now.

James: Let’s try that new coffee place a few blocks from your apartment?

He really read my mind, or maybe it’s a response made from calculating my failure yesterday. But a distraction sounds tremendous.

Thomas: bet.

I throw on a cleaner, more professional jacket, if such a thing exists, and swiftly get my feet out the door. Everything seems the same, as if nothing had taken place last night. The world still spins and I’m expected to spin with it.

I don’t think I’m anywhere near capable of unraveling your mystery.

Y/N L/N, I will never understand you.

#thomas jefferson fanfic #thomas jefferson #Daveed Diggs #daveed x reader #thomas x reader #alexander hamilton #hamilton fanfic #hamiltonau #Angelica Schuyler #james madison #marquis de Lafayette #lafayette x reader #lafayette #george washington #washington #John Laurens #hercules mulligan #thomas jefferson x reader

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elareine · 4 years

Note

the song better place by rachel platten and jay/dick or maybe just some jay-centric bat fam. hope this prompt works for you. love your fics <3

Thank you <3 That’s a very JayDick song, but I love writing batfam, too, so... have both.

Steph took one look at Jason’s old-new room and pronounced: “You need to redecorate.”

“No shit.”

“Let’s go.”

Which was how Jason found himself in Ikea of all places. She even dragged a flustered-looking Tim with her, who proved to be supremely unhelpful when it came to curtain color (“I don’t think either red or purple will look good with those walls,” bullshit) but very willing to hand over his credit card. It was… fun. The room felt less like a tomb when Steph was done with it, which was great.

He told her that.

“Well, duh.” She grinned. “No one in this house knows how to decorate for shit. You should see what Tim did with his bedroom…”

Jason spent a minute considering his options. “Anime girls?”

“Nope.”

“Superman posters.”

“Nope, but I like the way you’re thinking.”

“Bad Picasso replicas.”

“Nooo,”

“I give up.”

“He did…” Steph paused dramatically. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. It still looks like it did in the eighties.”

Jason laughed, and she looked gratified. “Sounds terrible.”

They kept working on the bookshelf. Ikea was great for those; that’s why they went there in the first place. Well, that and the look on Bruce’s face when he saw the boxes.

After a minute, Jason asked: “So… are you seeing a lot of Tim’s bedroom, then?”

“Yeah. So what?” She glared at him, which he was starting to realize was a sure sign that she was embarrassed.

“So nothing. Didn’t know that was happening again, that’s all.”

It took her a minute, but she softened. “Yeah. I… guess we’re giving it a second chance.”

“That’s cool,” he told her sincerely. “I mean, you could clearly do better, but he damn well knows what he’s got now.”

“Hmm.” Steph was hiding behind the shelf she was holding up, but he could still tell she was pleased. “So how about your own second chance, huh?”

…damn, he’d walked right into that one. “Shut up.”

—

“Home invasion in sector 6R. Three 1Cs, suspected armed. Neighbors reporting shots, five people in the house. Hood, you’re closest.”

Jason had already changed course. “I’m on it.”

He waited—this was the point where Batman would send a Robin or two after him, maybe even Nightwing or himself, “just as back-up.” There was no way they would let him operate as part of the team without close supervision for at least a year. Jason was determined to grit his teeth and bear it, even if he wasn’t sure for how long he could. He was chafing already, running like this with the others when he’d been on his own for so long.

However, Bruce only confirmed that he’d heard him, and then the line went silent.

Huh.

—

There was no better time to be awake in the manor than the early morning in Jason’s opinion. The light fell softly into the kitchen as he entered, barefoot and in his pajamas.

Alfred was there, of course. “Good morning, Jason.”

It was their private ritual; had been even before Jason had moved back into the fold. Six a.m., tea and sandwiches. The only difference was that now, Jason hadn’t vanished by the time Damian stomped into the kitchen, glowering at them for being awake and having the audacity to send him to school.

It was kinda adorable, not that Jason would ever tell him that. Instead, he watched Damian make his way through his own breakfast and nodded toward the packed lunch waiting for him. “I see you’re not taking advantage of the school cafeteria, then?”

“Them?” The amount of scorn Damian managed to pack into a single word would have weighed down a ship or two. “They would not know good food if it chased after them with a sword.”

“Let me guess—still only three spices, and these are salt, pepper, and ketchup?” Jason asked.

“I believe there is a fourth one now—they have a particularly intolerable mixture that they like to label ‘Chinese.’” Damian’s whole face scrunched up with distaste. “It tastes nothing like what Mother used to cook.”

“While I am sorry to hear that,” Alfred inserted, “we will be late if we don’t leave soon.”

Damian grumbled but hopped off his chair. Jason glanced at the clock — seven a.m. Dick would get up soon. Might as well make him a sandwich, too.

He pulled the ingredients closer, already compiling a list of recipes in his head. Talia had shown him how to make most of Damian’s favorites. He could teach those to Alfred, no problem.

—

“Hood. Stop it right now.” Dick looked at him with big eyes, or so Jason assumed, considering they were both wearing their masks.

“No, continue.” Barbara sounded choked, audibly forcing down laugher.

And, hey. Love was one thing, but Jason knew who gave him the best intel night after night. “So big bird and B decide that they have to infiltrate this organization, right? Only… they’re all swingers…”

Her laughter was brighter than the streetlights.

—

Jason stepped into the corridor and silently closed the door behind him.

God, but it had taken a long time to get Dick tired and ready to sleep. Jason himself was still feeling too wired to pass out, but then he wasn’t operating on a 40-hour sleep deficit, so it was totally not the same thing.

He decided to wander down to the cave. Bruce was still up, of course, acknowledging Jason’s presence with a grunt. The only other person present was Tim, who was bent over some files.

…like, really bent over them. One could almost think…yup, he’d fallen asleep at the table.

Jason gently poked him. Then he harshly poked him. When nothing happened, he sighed and moved one arm under Tim’s legs, the other gripping his shoulders. The kid would fuck up his back if he stayed like that. It took a bit of effort, but they were soon making their way up the stairs, Tim cradled securely in Jason’s arms.

They’d almost made it upstairs when Tim stirred, blue eyes opening halfway and looking at him.

Heart in his throat, Jason waited. This family had a bad habit of coming awake swinging, and with Jason hovering over them… well, it wouldn’t be entirely unjustified, wouldn’t it? Especially in Tim’s case.

Tim grumbled and went right back to sleep.

—

Jason pinched his nose. Or tried to, but he was wearing his helmet, so he basically poked himself in the face. Judging from Duke’s expression, that wasn’t helping his point.

“So you decided to buy us time by…”

“Ninja traps,” Cassie finished for him. Looking as if that made total sense.

“Ninja traps.”

“Well, it was more of an obstacle course, really,” Duke added helpfully.

“Okay, that’s a weird-ass move, but I can respect that. Then why did that warehouse explode?”

“Fire.” Cassie’s expression gave nothing away.

Jason looked to Duke. “What she said.”

“And the fire was there because…?”

“Fire is an obstacle.”

Jason groaned. “I cannot believe I’m the responsible person here,” he lamented. “Is this how you feel most of the time, D?”

There was laughter over the com. “Oh, Nightwing has finally acquired a co-parent,” Steph commented, followed by Tim’s: “About time.”

(Everyone ignored Bruce’s “Hey!”.)

—

“Jason.”

Bruce was hovering. He probably didn’t intend to it; it just came naturally. Jason still felt that nervous lurch in his stomach whenever Bruce did that, but he was trying to get over it, so he just asked: “Yeah?”

“Let me show you something.”

They went into one of the rooms behind Bruce’s office that Jason had always assumed held nothing but files. He was very wrong.

“After you… left, I found myself reading books and thinking—he would’ve loved that.”

The walls were lined with bookcases. There were special editions of Jane Austen reprints, thick sci-fi novels, and nineteenth-century murder mysteries. It was eclectic and weird and precisely what Jason liked. What they both liked.

“I kept collecting them,” Bruce told him, voice too even. “Just… in case, I suppose.”

Jason stared at the shelves and shelves full of books, all read exactly once. His eyes were stinging because the glass display downstairs—that was bullshit. That uniform was about and for Bruce, and the new Robins, not Jason.

But this?

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Bruce almost-smiled, relief written across his face. “You’re welcome. Uh. I’ll leave you to it.”

Jason let him take two steps, then he said: “Bruce. If there was ever a time for a hug, this is it.”

“Oh. Right.”

Jason let Bruce pull him into an embrace—hugged back just as fiercely and told him: “It’s okay. You can stop grieving now. I’m here.”

If Bruce’s shoulders were shaking, neither of them mentioned it.

—

It was a total accident. Jason had felt like holding Dick’s hand, so he did. It was only when he looked up and caught Tim’s eye that he remembered—right. They were surrounded by Dick’s family. Their family.

Tim winked. The conversation didn’t stop. No one else commented or even gave them a second glance.

Something in Jason exhaled.

Dick squeezed his hand, smiling at something Damian was saying, and ugh, sometimes Jason was so full of feelings, he didn’t know what to do with it. Dick was just so—so—

Yeah. Jason was so fucking gone for him. All he could think about was how it would feel if there was a ring, there, pressing against his own.

He leaned back, adding a sarcastic comment or two to the conversation just to bask in the sunshine of Dick’s laughter. That thought warranted some serious consideration, not to mention talking to Dick, but—just the idea that he could have that? That he trusted himself, and Dick, and their family, enough to have that?

It was more than enough.

—

(Three days before Jason moved into the manor, Dick called a family gathering.

“Why is Jason not here, then?” Tim asked, frowning. “If it’s a family matter, it concerns him, too.”

Dick could kiss him for that. Instead he said: “Because it’s about him. I’m gonna lay down some ground rules, okay?”

Jason letting Dick convince him to move back in with them… that was huge. And dangerous. Dick had figured out long ago that Jay and Bruce had no idea how to handle each other anymore. Neither did the rest. That didn’t mean they didn’t want to. Dick was hopeful.

It was just… Jay was the best thing in Dick’s world; his support, his light, his conscience. He just made everything better. And Dick had no intentions of letting their family or anyone else fuck that up.)

(I’m taking prompts.)

#elareine writes #batfamily #jaydick #jason todd #this was meant to be shorter and is totally unedited because it's 1am and i wanna bedone with it #sorry

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ayamari-no-goshi · 3 years

Text

Verboten 8 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary: AU. When Danny was five years old, he went missing for 2 weeks. In the years that follow, his family tried to make sense of what happened, only for the truth to be discovered years later.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, language. Be prepared for some very weird things

Chapter warning: some gets physically sick, discussions of death

Parings: Danny/Sam

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr. This fic is very heavily inspired by folklore surrounding mysterious wilderness disappearances

Chapter 8

"Hey, is it just me, or is the floor moving?" Danny questioned as he stared at the moving stone.

"No, it's not just you," Sam confirmed as she glanced at her friend. Although he was sitting rod straight as he watched, his coloration was still flickering, and there now seemed to be a green tinge to his cheeks.

"Don't you think we should run?" Tucker's question nearly made Sam snort. With Danny getting worse, there was no way he'd be able to escape with them.

Before anyone had a change to respond, the stone completely lifted and shifted to the side, exposing a hole. Seconds later, a furry head popped out. They watched in silent horror as it flicked one of its ears as if hear them and turned to face them.

The face that greeted them was terrifying. If Sam had to describe it, the appearance was like an angry polar bear who happened to have icy horns. Maybe calling it a yeti would be more accurate, but she could argue with herself about the semantics once she was out of this mess.

They just stared at the thing in the floor until it smiled at them. Whatever spell its sudden appearance held over them was broken, and they yelled in terror. There where several seconds of confusion as the three of them tried to escape. Tucker was halfway to the door while Sam tried to help Danny, who had fallen off the table, when the thing spoke.

"Children, please do not be alarmed," it gently requested as it raised itself up from the floor. Its entire body was covered in that same white fur, save for its one arm, which appeared to be made from ice. In an almost bemused afterthought, Sam noted it wore a blue clothing article which may have been a kilt. "We don't have much time before Plasmius returns."

When they didn't respond of move, the creature continued to speak as it tried to look as non-threatening as possible. "I am call Frostbite, the leader of the Far Frozen. I am lucky to have found out about you when I did. Plasmius has killed many humans in his experiments. If you allow me, I will help you return to your home."

"Why should we trust you? How do we know you won't take us somewhere and eat us?" Tucker demanded as he inched closer to Danny and Sam.

It laughed heartily at Tucker's question. "Myself as well as my clan do not eat people. We have made it the goal of our afterlives to try to assist as many wayward humans as we possibly can." Frostbite's smile faded. "However, I acknowledge your concern. This is the first time we have met, and if Plasmius has been your first encounter with the those of us from this realm, then you most likely do not think highly of us." It, possibly he, glanced at Danny as his coloration cycled again. "You are ill, and if you do not leave this place soon, you may not be able to return to the land of the living."

There was a tense moment as Sam and the boys stared at Frostbite. It… no, he… seemed genuine. Although his face was frightening, his eyes were sincere and almost seemed to plead with them.

"Alright," Danny eventually stated as he slowly stood, "but, you have to swear you won't hurt them!"

"I swear it on my honor, young one."

"Psst, Danny, what are you doing?" Tucker angrily whispered as he tugged on Danny's sleeve. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

"Call me crazy, but I think it's much less risky to go with him then it is to stay here and wait for Plasmius," Danny responded as he tested his footing. "He's a lot more honest than Plasmius, that's for sure."

"You noticed it too?" Sam was impressed he picked up on it. Although, Danny was often clueless when it came to certain social cues, particularly flirting, he did have an amazing talent for picking up on whether someone was being honest.

Tucker looked at both of them for a disbelieving moment before he shook his head. "Alright. I'll follow your lead on this, but if we get eaten, I'm blaming you."

"Young one, do you require assistance?" Frostbite asked as he eyed Danny, who appeared to be somewhat lightheaded as he tried to walk.

"It's Danny, and no, I can handle it."

A frown crossed Frostbite's face for a moment before he scurried forward and scooped Danny into his arms. "I understand your desire to escape on your own, but you are not well, and time is of the essence." Frostbite then instructed Sam and Tucker to enter the hole in the floor first. Once they were safely inside which was revealed to be a tunnel, he handed Danny to them. He then entered the tunnel and carefully replaced the floor's stone.

There was little light in the tunnel save for the slight glow Frostbite and occasionally Danny produced. As if sensing their concern, Frostbite held up his hand (or was it more of a paw?) and created a soft blue light. "This way, children," he instructed as he began to walk. "I am sorry I cannot produce a better light source, but if I generate much more energy, Plasmius may discover our location."

"I was wondering why we were doing things so old school," Tucker whispered.

As Sam rolled her eyes at him. If it wasn't for the fact she and Tucker were both supporting Danny as they walked, she probably would have smacked him for being rude. But, his statement did bring up an interesting point. "So, you could have gotten us out in an easier way, but Plasmius would have caught us?"

"Correct. Most sentient ghosts can easily phase through walls, unless the object is something native to this world or is coated in something that disrupts our powers or repels us. Plasmius' palace is unusual as much of it is created from materials taken from the human realm, but his reputation and the barrier he uses is able to keep most ghosts away. He is very unkind to trespassers." Frostbite glanced back at them. "I know young Danny's name, but I have yet to learn yours."

As weird as it sounded, Sam was embarrassed by that lapse in courtesy. She quickly introduced herself, and Tucker followed suit.

"Sam and Tucker! Such fitting names!" The strange ghost seemed pleased, but after a moment, he stopped walking, so he could turn and look at them. "Please alert me immediately if you notice you are not feeling well or notice something strange about yourself." After they promised, Frostbite nodded and continued forward. "This world can do strange things to those who unintentionally enter it, and there are many ways the changes can occur."

"Can… can I ask a question?" Once Frostbite agreed, Danny continued, "I'm sorry if this is a bit rude, but were you human?"

"That I was." The ghost didn't appear bothered by the question. "While many of my human memories have faded over time, I do remember that I was once an explorer. As for how I came this this realm, I am uncertain, but I do know that by the time I once again found a way back to the world of the living, I appeared much how you see me now. Many of my clan seem were also explorers or those who spent a great deal of time in the woods or mountains. We are not sure why we have taken this form, but we use it to our advantage. We often patrol areas where portal formation is common and try to scare humans away from them. However, more recently we have been finding more and more humans who seem to be looking for us." He seemed absolutely puzzled by the concept.

Sam shared a look with her friends. Did that mean that he and his clan were what people considered Bigfoot? Maybe she was reading too much into it, but that's what it seemed like.

"So, does that happen to everyone who dies? Cuz I don't know if I can handle the fact I might not keep these good looks when I die," Tucker whined.

The soft blue light flickered as Frostbite chuckled. "I don't believe you have to worry. While it is possible, you are unlikely to become a ghost if you expire outside of this realm. However, I am no expert regarding the mysteries of life and death."

"But what happens if you die here?" It was Sam's turn to ask a question.

"It seems to vary. Some die, but their souls do not remain here. For others, their body and soul mingle and change, creating a ghost."

"That almost sounds like a zombie," Sam mumbled to herself.

Frostbite chuckled again. "I understand why you would think as such. However, zombies can only exist in your world. They are corpses reanimated, often through magic, but lack a soul. For us, our earthly bodies are somehow a catalyst for the new form our soul takes, but even though I have seen it happen, I do not understand the process."

His explanation somewhat made sense, Sam mused. It also lined up with what Plasmius mentioned about how his experiments didn't always work. Although, it posed a more troubling question. What exactly would happen to Danny? If he really did die and become a ghost, did that mean there would be no body for his family to bury? It was a troubling thought that wouldn't go away no matter how much Sam tried to think of something else.

However, something Sam also noted was that Danny was avoiding asking questions regarding what was happening to him. Other than when his hands flickered in and out of visibility in the lab, he hadn't brought up the subject. It was possible he was focusing on escaping. However, with the new knowledge Frostbite had given them, he was probably in some sort of denial. She wasn't certain if she'd be able to be as calm if she was the one affected.

What seemed like an hour later, although her sense of time could have been altered due to the darkness, they finally reached the end of the tunnel. It wasn't a moment too soon as Danny had fainted when they had first caught sight of the exit. Once outside, she and Tucker carefully sat Danny down, so they could take a quick break. Once she was certain Danny was settled, she took the chance to look around.

In front of them was a think yet somewhat dead looking forest, like what they first found themselves in when they fled from the first ghost. Behind her was the tunnel which had been cut into what appeared to be a rock outcropping. If it wasn't for the strange coloration, it could have looked like something found in the forests back home.

She started when Frostbite gave a quick whistle. Moments later, four more ghosts who had similar appearances to Frostbite appeared from within the forest. They had to be part of the clan the ghost had mentioned while they were escaping. The group exchanged a few words before Frostbite beckoned to the humans behind him.

"Children, do not be alarmed. These are members of my clan, and they will be assisting us in your escape. However, we need to stop at our realm first as we have an object that will help us locate when and where a portal will open. I would also like to assess Danny's health." The ghost frowned at the form of the unconscious teenager. "You have probably guessed this realm has a grip on him, but he is resisting the change more intensely than I have ever seen."

"That means he'll be able to come home with us, right?" Tucker's question was full of a wary hope.

"I am… uncertain. We may have to seek the wisdom of an older entity to know for sure."

…

The world wouldn't stop spinning when Danny finally came to. After rolling over and relieving the contents of his stomach, he finally was able to think clearly enough to take stock of his surroundings. He was in what appeared to be some type of medical room. Although the walls appeared to be made of ice, there was a light and almost friendly atmosphere about the place.

A sound caught his attention, and he turned just in time to see white creature duck out of the room. Puzzled at the reaction, it wasn't until it returned to the room with Frostbite that he realized it was simply retrieving the other ghost.

"You've wakened, young one!" Frostbite seemed exuberant as he examined him. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got spun around in one of those centrifuges at space camp way too many times," Danny replied as he rubbed his head. Although the dizziness had subsided, he still felt somewhat ill. "Where are Sam and Tucker?"

"They are resting in another room. They've been eagerly waiting for news of your awakening."

Danny sighed in relief at the news. "Will I be able to see them?"

"Absolutely, but first I would like to discuss something with you," Frostbite sat down at a chair near the bed Danny was using. Somewhat unnerved by how serious Frostbite seemed to be, he carefully sat up and gestured for him to continue. "Your circumstance is nothing like what any of us have ever seen before."

"My circumstance?" That didn't sound good. Did it have to do with something Plasmius did to him?

"Yes. Before I explain, I need to ask if you've eaten anything while you were here?"

Danny shook his head. "Unless Plasmius fed me something when I was unconscious, then no. Wait," he paused for a moment as he tried to remember what Plasmius had told him, "maybe? Plasmius said something about taking care of me when I got lost when I was six."

"How odd, but as you must have returned home afterwards, it might have something to do with the unexpected results. Did Plasmius explain what he wanted from you?"

"He wanted me as his heir? I think?" Before he or Frostbite could say anything else, Danny felt something clench in his navel. Immediately afterwards, what seemed to be a flash of light momentarily blinded him. Terrified, he yelped and tried to move away. "What-what just happened?"

"This is what I have need to discuss with you." The ghost then rose and picked Danny off the bed before carefully setting him down in front of a mirror at the far end of the room.

It was the first time since he had come to this world that he had a chance to take stock of himself. However, the image looking back at him wasn't what he was expecting. His eyes weren't his usual blue but were instead an unnatural green. His skin had tanned, but the color somehow seemed unhealthy. His hair was now a silvery white instead of his black, and if he wasn't imaging it, he was admitting a slight glow. "What's wrong with me?" he asked in a horrified whisper.

Before he could get his answer, he felt the clench in his navel again. When the light subsided, he was greeted with the reflection of how he originally looked. Uncertain if his mind was playing tricks on him, he checked his hands and what he could of his bangs. Everything appeared normal.

"Usually," Frostbite started, which caused Danny to pause his examination and look at the ghost," when this world claims someone, they can no longer return to their human form. If they do, they often end up dead. You are somehow able to keep your human form, yet you produce a ghost form. In all my years, I have never seen such a thing."

"What exactly does that mean? What am I?"

"Unfortunately, I do no know. From what our tests showed, you have both a functioning human heart and a ghostly core, which is our equivalent of a heart. You've been switching back and forth between forms for some time."

======================================

Notes:

1) So… the Bigfoot mention. This is something that I've heard before. There are 2 major lines of thought regarding the famous cryptid. 1) Bigfoot is a flesh and blood creature, and 2) Bigfoot is an interdimensional, extraterrestrial, or spiritual entity (I seriously had a professor who believed Bigfoot could travel through dimensions. He even wrote papers about it). For this story, I'm going with the concept that people are catching brief glimpses of Frostbite and his people as they patrol areas known for spontaneous portal openings.

Interdimensional aspects are popping up more and more when it comes to paranormal topics, and they're a major theory when it comes to unexplained disappearances and weird creatures. Personally, I find the concept intriguing, but it's not something that can currently be proven. Though… there are a lot of rumors about how CERN is trying to do that. I know that group is just supposed to be studying particles and quantum physics, but there are sooooo many weird rumors about CERN.

2) For this story, I'm borrowing the type of idea where a ghost can't be created unless its former vessel (body) is used as a medium. You see things like this for Revenants, Strigoi Mort (Romanian ghost/zombie/vampire thing), and Gjenganger (Scandinavian ghost/zombie thing similar to a Dragur), and others. For those stories, the only way to get rid of them is to damage/destroy the body in specific ways which vary from region to region.

3) human centrifuges are real things. They are used by to help test the effects of G-forces on people, and astronauts receive training to handle said forces in them. They do, at least used to have, a version of it at space camp.

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rhube · 3 years

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20 Questions For Fanfic Writers

I got this from @fenrir-kin‘s post I saw someone reblog and they said that anyone who wants to do it should consider themselves tagged, so... same.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

23 on my main account; 32 total.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

397,777 on the main account; about 550,000 total.

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Stone Fever (Anders/Fenris - Dragon Age 2)

2. The Naked Anders (Anders/Fenris - Dragon Age 2 )

3. A Gentle Touch (Anders/Fenris - Dragon Age 2 )

4. An Uncomfortable Discovery (JustFenHanders - Dragon Age 2 )

5. Self Reflected (Anders/Fenris - Dragon Age 2 )

4. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Sadly, yes. It really sucks.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, nearly every time! TBH, it mostly just seems polite - if someone takes the time to say something nice to me, I usually at least want to thank them, and if they stay a bunch of stuff there’s usually something to reply back about. It excites and delights me to have nice comments on my fic and I like to express that and let people know how happy it makes me.

I usually respond to the nasty comments, too, at least to tell them to bog off. Maybe I should just ignore them, but I’ve never been very good at that. Also sometimes they’re wrong and they need to know it.

Sometimes I get thoughtful comments pointing out something the reader thinks or is worried might be problematic. If it’s earnestly meant I try to respond in kind, even though often it’s a case of them being worried I’m not going to address something when I really wish they’d wait to see how the fic turns out before telling me my fic is problematic. But that’s the problem with an episodic format. It can hurt to get those comments too, but I try to be sensitive to the fact that the person is probably feeling anxious themselves.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Maybe Self Love? (Connor-51/Connor-52)

Although virtually all my fics are extremely angsty, they generally have happy endings too. I like my Hurt with some Comfort at the end. This fic doesn’t *really* have an angsty end, but it doesn’t end in a relatioship either.

(My original fiction is another matter. Thinking about it, a major character dies or is dead/undead in four of my published stories, but is it my fault if only the sad/dark stuff sells?)

7. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Hmm, tricky. I think either The Naked Anders (dark in the middle, but the characters not only fall in love, but Fenris is totally won over to Anders’ cause) or A Gentle Touch (much fluffier fic overall, happy ending, but less clear on how a HEA can happen because the wider setting of Kirkwall is cursed and it doesn’t really address how to resolve that).

8. Do you write crossovers?

As a rule, no. I rarely read them, either. HOWEVER, I dearly *wish* I could write a Lucifer/The Good Fight crossover in which Diane Lockhart has to defend Lucifer for something of which he’s complete innocent, and she takes absolutely no shit from him and basically looks askance at the entire LAPD for putting up with his shit.

It would be AMAZING, but I don’t think I know enough about the law to make it work.

9. Do you write smut?

Hahahaha - yes, quite a lot. I once saw someone rec one of my fics and they were like, ‘It’s rated teen for now, but Rhube usually writes explicit, so the rating may rise’ and I was like, yes, that is fair.

I’m 55,000 words into Forgiveness now and I keep having to take breaks to write smutty fics because I CANNOT DEAL with this slow burn nonsense omg I just want the boys to KISS (and then, you know, do the do).

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I sincerely hope not. I can’t even imagine the amount of stress I would feel.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated? Or turned into podfic?

Alas, no.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I don’t think I could cope with that.

13. What’s your all-time favorite relationship (doesn’t have to be romantic)?

Anders/Fenris, if the hundreds of thousands of words I have apparently written about them is anything to go by.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I believe in my ability to finish all my fics! But if I had to pic, I must admit I have less idea overall of where Fenris by Fenris is going in the long term. Except towards Fenris/Anders/Leto sexytimes. But the more I wrote the more it was becoming an interesting angsty fic instead of a silly doubles-sex fic - which I should have expected, but I foresee troubles ahead.

15. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue. I think I’m pretty good at writing in the ways that people actually speak, and paying attention to how characters speak in canon.

And well-structured angst. Like, oh, you think you can see how this is going to a familiar angsty place, but have you considered all THESE ways the characters could get upset too? BECAUSE I HAVE - and I really need someone else to feel these feels!

It has long been my dream to create a Nugget of Purest Angst, and I feel like I’m honing my skills through fanfic.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Actions that accompany dialog. She sighed, he nodded, she raised her eyebrows, he ran his hands through his hair, they groaned, she hummed, he paused for a moment (everyone does things for a moment) etc. etc.

Why must my characters move alongside their dialog? Is it not enough that they say the wrong things to each other in ways that reveal their inner torment?

Also, I am lazy about description in fanfic. I know it. But I mostly don’t have the energy these days to slow down for description. Fic comes out however my poor fatigued brain regurgitates it and I rely too much on people knowing what places are like from canon. Sorry.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Uh, why not? I mean, I’m less likely to do it because I suck at second languages, but I don’t see any reason why a person should not. Is this a common issue for people?

18. What’s the first fandom you wrote for?

Strictly speaking? The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. In a fanzine. Proper Old Skool.

19. What are your favorite tropes/scenarios to read or write?

Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Body swaps. Doubles. Mind-control (but we’re resisting it and we’re very upset that it’s happening, but also we had some extensive discussions about consent and we had sex anyway and we liked it). Forced to Fuck/Sex Pollen/Love Potions. Heats (and Oh No! We’re trapped together! What shall we do?). Arseholes to Lovers.

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Complete? Probably Stone Fever. The angst is good and somehow this pwp setting got proper feels and character development in it, as well as a lot of sex. To the extent that I’m now rewriting in an original setting and with original characters (follow @rubyjones for news on that, if I ever get well enough to finish that project).

Incomplete? Probably An Uncomfortable Discovery - the start could do with some polishing as I only expected it to be a quick and dirty short fic, but now it’s 79,000 words long and contains some of the best, most angsty stuff I’ve ever written, as well as a kickass, very angsty fight scene.

I have so many feels about that fic and I really regret that I allowed a comment to knock the wind out of my sails so it became hard to get back to it. I WILL finish it one day, though.

#ao3 #fanfic #me #rhube #dragon age 2 #dragon age

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offaeandcreation · 3 years

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The Gift of Immortality (Old Fic)

Prologue: To Whom it May Concern

The value of seclusion for an immortal is ignorance.

Those were the words of Baoshan Sanren. They were the tether that kept Wen Mao from wandering down from his mountain to the people who lay below. It has been over 400 lonely years. Wen Mao finally decided that perhaps ignorance was not worth the loneliness, so he descended. However, all he could find was the corruption of his legacy.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

AO3

To whomever it concerns,

One of the gifts of immortality is the ability to pursue whatever you desire with no time constraints. The mastery of most skills are typically limited by the snapshot of life, but with this blessing, you have all the time in the world to master them. About 400 years ago, I built a house here, initially out of wood, but eventually taught myself to make it out of stone (after many failed attempts, I should have studied or at least observed construction before I left society) – wood corrodes after a time but stone lasts longer. I haven’t figured out how to make a stone roof yet. Getting crushed once was enough of a discouragement.

Another perk of immortality; you don’t die…unless of course you get your head chopped off then your golden core cannot quite keep up with healing a missing head. Getting crushed was a too close call, can I bounce back from a collapsed skull? I would rather not find out.

One of the gifts of immortality is time. I spent most of mine gardening. In the back of my house, I have planted a large garden; partially a rock garden, partially a live garden. The dry rock garden acts as a border where the flower garden and irrigation I designed. Orchids of all colors line the small stream I dug up. Peony bushes and plum blossoms thrive in this soil. The designing, the digging, the construction, the management, all done by me. My own clothes, utensils – I am self sufficient. I have to be. That is the reality of living in seclusion. Being immortal, you typically abandon the life of the everyday to continue cultivation high beyond the reaches of society; being immortal would call attention to yourself, people seek to use you for their own gain.

There exists an unspoken rule between cultivators, at least from the era I am from: the common goal among cultivators is to become an immortal and afterwards, abandon this world for it has no room for them. One of the gifts of immortality, they say, is you are able to see the world within the lens of the gods; see the ongoing theatre of history while remaining untethered by the fallacies of bias (granted while being in seclusion doesn’t make one privy to such information without outside contact, which in of itself would be biased, so this statement is a contradiction within itself but I digress).

I made a comment about this exact statement to Baoshan Sanren a couple of decades ago. She gave me a rather pointed look and said she wanted to add to that statement: the value of seclusion for an immortal is ignorance. If she were to have a daily flow of news, or even a yearly flow, she would go mad hearing all the nonsense that the mortals do. I think she is being a bit overdramatic. First of, Sanren and I pulled some quite shameful acts that would make our ancestors cry: what room does she have to judge others? Second, humans are quite stupid. I’m quite stupid. We do stupid things. Does it mean it isn’t worth following along for the sake of laughs and tears.

The truth of the matter, the reason I even bother writing this letter, is to share one truth that most cultivators are ignorant of, or are simply choosing to not consider, since becoming immortal is as rare as the moon eclipsing the sun. Immortality is far too overrated. It’s absolutely lonesome. Everyone I was friends with has already turned to dust (except Sanren). Is there even a point of making other friends? They will all perish anyway and you have to watch it happen.

That is the curse of immortality that kept me awake at night. That is the truth that echoed in the far crevices of my mind during the hours of stillness when not even the breeze would provide me company. Sometimes I would sit with Sanren, drink tea and trade insults and suddenly we would both go quiet. A missing link so obvious that I felt like I would suffocate. Maybe Lan An had the right idea to turn away from cultivation after his wife died. He knew the truth while Sanren and I foolishly pursued the fragile veneer known as immortality that concealed a hidden curse.

There are two ways out of this: I could either off myself or I could re-enter society and quietly establish myself there. Being the adventurous type, I decided to go through with the latter. If anyone does venture into these mountains and finds this letter, I assure you you are welcome to stay at my humble home and enjoy my gardens. Please pick the plums, it is good for the trees. But try not to break anything? Of course I won’t be angry, too petty of a reason to be, but just please respect what I built.

Sincerely,

Wen Mao

#Wen Mao #baoshan sanren #wen sect #mo dao zu shi #old fic #my writing

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veridium · 4 years

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for the record - cellar gate and this whole mess.

I have thought a lot about this. I know I said I would resign from speaking further on it, but some ideas have come to my attention and so I wish to act on my conscience and consideration.

I wholeheartedly think toxic positivity is a prevalent issue in fandom and popular culture. I wholeheartedly believe it works as a silencing and tone policing for those most marginalized in our communities. I think it is something we must be critical of when we engage with each other and our expectations from fandom spaces. That being said, one of the primary reasons I am incensed at its prevalence in this fandom is because it has been fueled for all the wrong reasons: for deeply self-serving, personal, and petty reasons, and not simply to see the fandom be better.

And so, with cautious dread, I am bringing back the issue of the “Cellar Gate” or however it has come to be known.

I think it is safe to say the issue caused a fracture in opinions and people who were all at one time members. I think it is safe to say that drama and dispute has become publicly evident, if not a blaring elephant in the great big room.

I was one of several people who went public with my membership in the cellar. I did so, in part, to have some kind of autonomy and control over how the narrative was being written. I also did it to take responsibility and combat the ways in which that narrative was being twisted in inflammatory, violent, and deceitful ways. I did it because I was hearing how some of my mutuals were being adversely targeted and effected by my name being included on the “burn list” that circulated in the aftermath. I did it to prevent what I believed antagonists wanted: for a dramatic and righteous crusade to begin, which would drive out the people they believed to be “bad apples.” I did it because it was necessary.

And I believe that, considering how much was avoided in the way that conflict subsided, I considered it a worthy gambit. People were listened to, reality checks were taken, and the fanfare was allowed to settle.

Unfortunately, I think some thorns were forgotten about, and left to fester.

I think the former members/people who used the exposure of the Server and the “Salt” to mount their reckoning moral crusade have used the remains of that to persist with a narrative of positivity and inclusion. This narrative, though shiny and great on the surface, is born of toxic fruit: it was not created purely for selfless, apolitical reasoning. It was created to combat a problem they blamed us for: a cultural fixation they believe exists wherein people allow themselves to be critical bullies in the name of “social justice.” I believe they did so in part to antagonize us in public where explicit callouts could not be used. I believe they push positivity as a means of ameliorating their previous involvement in private conversations they believed malevolent harassment, though they took place in, as I said: private conversations.

In short: this positivity wave, as we have recently seen in this fandom, is not much more than a bunch of white women wanting to sleep at night again for sins they deem below their moral high-ground. You know, sins such as: privately salting about problematic fics, shit talking people they don’t like, being rude, petty, salty, and at times insensitive.

One of the reasons I owned up to shit was because I was sick of the image that was being depicted: mean people hiding in some back room somewhere, or backlog of a chat, looking for any reason to tear people apart and be cruel. I was sick of this false interpretation that minimized and reduced a substantial part of my fandom community to heartless maleficents. Especially when these “positivists” once benefitted from, and enjoyed that community as a big part of their audience and support system. Especially when they depended on that community for listening, support, feedback, and friendship. Several of them are people I once considered some of my closest friends in fandom -- people I confided in, trusted, and believed in their integrity.

Unfortunately, I was misguided.

There are several reasons I am coming up for air about this. Firstly, so that I am clear when I say it was never my intention -- or that of anyone I know -- to make it seem like this ordeal was more righteous and universal as it really was. What upset me was watching these ideas about “shutting up” and “minding your business” and “being positive” being pushed onto people who had no involvement with the Server drama, who would nonetheless read their incessant reblogs of that content and think, wow, am I a piece of shit would having criticisms for someone’s work? Am I missing the point in being in fandom when I don’t focus on the positive all the time? Because these messages are being circulated by people who, I think, don’t sincerely care about fandom positivity when it doesn’t serve them and their needs of self-soothing and self-reward. That is wrong, and that is a method of undermining and tone policing I think should be called out.

Secondly, I want to make something explicitly clear: the people pushing positivity and “minding your own business” have all, every single one, participated in the behavior they deem incorrect. They have been comforted by it, they have participated in it, and I would imagine they still do. I have an INCREDIBLY hard time believing that they do not at all speak negatively or harshly about people in fandom considering I, and several others who they deem nemeses, are still here despite their championing. I also have a hard time believing it because they have included and become friends with fandom members who they not-too-long ago verbally and explicitly despised -- people who they lobbied to be banned from the server for being manipulative and toxic, for victimizing them. Someone believed an unsafe presence for them.

And just so we’re clear on this account as well, I’m looking at you, @Tortuosity-Writes, @tanaleth, and @Allisondraste. Hope you’ve been really transparent about that with your newfound friend, @Cassandra-Pentughasst. If not, I know there are plenty of receipts to submit. It’s tax season, no? Just in case you want to suggest it was a matter of ya’ll being poisoned against each other, when you were holding the damn vials yourselves. And the only reason the links don’t work is because we have each other blocked, but somehow I think you’ll see this.

But I suppose bygones are bygones, right? Positivity! Inclusivity!

Also, just to prevent some ammunition unnecessary, and because I know well enough the people I’m working with here: I think it’s horseshit to say you’re all about shutting up and being positive while you’re still passive-aggressively shit-talking people in tags and posts, hoping maybe they’ll come across them or that they’ll cause some whispers/drama/stress for those people. Like, for example, @Cassandra-Pentughasst beautifully resentful tags:

Yep, that’s me she’s talking about. And she’s right: I took forever on a commission, was not communicative, and had spelling mistakes, ones which I sincerely apologized for. I did my best but it wasn’t on par with where I should have been. At the time, I thought I was doing it for a friend, though; and when I could, I was communicative. I even asked after sending a draft to look over if she thought it was okay, because I always do so, so my clients are happy (and people can attest to this practice, and I have email and screenshot records as well). She said everything looked good, so I believed her. It was an unfortunate situation where I wasn’t at my best and I was unprofessional.

What I am not, however, is a coward.

Which is why this kind of behavior incenses me: it makes it seem like she had no way of telling me something was wrong, or that she was unhappy. And it also makes it seem like no one in my circle is ever critical of me, or is invited to be. Apparently everyone thinks the sun shines out my flaky ass.

So, here’s my dilemma: how can people who claim they’re all about positivity, integrity, and inclusivity, possibly condone this kind of behavior? How can people who I once called friends say in all seriousness that their standard of decorum doesn’t apply here, because it’s me? Because it’s someone who didn’t agree with them?

And here’s a very particular thorn: this person, and the group above, only became friends after they all left the server and realized the enemy of thy enemy was thy friend. Before that, it was incessant shit-talking of each other, talking about how one was making them feel unsafe, how toxic they were, and how they should be kicked off or blocked from the server entirely. This person was suddenly forgiven despite the LITANY of conversations and concerns about her trustworthiness, character, and integrity.

At the end of the day, I obviously cannot control people, and they do change. My stance is, however, that none of these people have changed from who they were. They are people: they shit talk, praise, are friendly and also mean. They make mistakes and are regretful. They dislike things, and dislike people. They have animuses and grudges. They are HUMAN BEINGS like we all are.

Only one “side,” however, is trying to get people raked over the coals for admitting to partaking in “negative” behaviors. Only one side is pushing a shut-up-and-mind-your-business broad brush when they really mean they want a specific group of people to shut up. Only one side is trying to push a positivity politic that is first and foremost self-serving.

That, to me, is gross. And that is toxic to fandom as a whole. And I am sick of watching them poke, prod, passive-aggressively post, and seeing their stuff splash onto my dash even though I have them blocked. I am sick of watching it knowing a good portion of what motivates them is spite and antagonism. I am sick of people taking their word for it, and using it as reasoning to be mean to marginalized members. And for that reason I also want to make VERY SURE that no people of color feel like they are being manipulated by anything I have a part in. I want to reiterate: I believe the dysfunction and harm they have circulated to be real and consequential to more than just us tied to the server. I never ever intended false rallying.

Which is to say: their beliefs that we are obsessing over them day and night, trying to find new ways to ruin their lives and antagonize them, is bullshit. I don’t know about ya’ll, but I have, like, a day job. I have family and friends to spend time with. I have PTSD to treat. I think it is safe to say shit-talking people you dislike in private conversations, and conniving/obsessing, are two different things.

And, like I said: if any of these people have said no negative, gossipy, or disrespectful things about us, or myself, since the “Exodus,” then my word to those people are: In case you forgot, you didn’t just leave a server: you hurt a lot of people who were your friends. You made a hell of a lot of people feel unsafe and insecure with their visibility in fandom for shit they had no part in. You didn’t just exit and begin some harmless, painless agenda to bring joy to any and all around you. You fucking hurt people. Swallow that pill and recognize that talking about it -- that includes talking about you -- is a valid form of processing and healing form the disruption you caused in all of our lives. Disruption that we are still dealing with.

Lastly: I have said over and over that I do not care for clout. I do not care for popularity stakes, for “positive” cults of personality. So, if this gets me “cancelled” so be it. But I’d rather be “cancelled” for being transparent than accepted for being shady. My qualms are both broad and personal. I have personal issues with people and I have broad issues with how they are using fandom as a space to enact their false sense of inclusivity.

And at the end of it, I hope these former friends of mine understand one thing above all else: that I soberingly understand the harm they have done in their desire to live with themselves and their guilt, and it is for that reason -- for everything I saw and everything I heard in the aftermath of their need to redeem themselves and their “side” of things -- that I will never, ever forgive them. I have said many harsh things, I have said many unkind things, and I have made many mistakes. But for as long as I fucking live, I will never, ever elect to be known as someone who tried to pass their vendetta and grudges as a community-oriented, positivity-celebrating, sanctimonious cause that made numerous people, especially people of color, have to go to bat to counter and prevent from doing harm.

Also, on a personal note because why not, the fire is going to consume me anyways: you can’t block half of the femslash/wlw genre because you’re insecure about your work or have had drama with them, and then lament that there’s a lack of material. Whoops!

So, yeah, I’ve fucked up. I have. But I can also call bullshit when I see it. And if this ends my tenure in the fandom, again, so be it. I have my friends and my community, and I don’t just jump ship when I see the stormy weather ahead. I have my life, and my loved ones. And more importantly: I sleep very, very well.

Oh and, for the record, contrary to all ya’lls stuff, we aren’t a cult. And I didn’t have to ask permission for posting this from anyone, or mind my manners. I also think it’s very telling when people enact the same standards of control, us vs. them, and dehumanizing that cults are supposedly known for -- and then call us one. It’s really convenient, isn’t it? To have distance from the people you hurt and betrayed, and then say it was nothing more than a cult? And to say that their methods of healing, supporting one another, and processing their anger and pain in private is only proof that they’re a cult?

Yes. Really convenient.

So, there. You want a battle? I think you all know damn well I’m armed. All that I ask is you save your ammunition for me, and not for my friends. Not for people who had nothing to do with the mess we’ve made. Or else.

And this is all to say that, if I have made anyone feel manipulated, led-on, used, or exploited for any of this - then that is something I am responsible for and I sincerely apologize. It is behavior that is below me, and certainly not my intention, but I don’t get to decide how I impact people’s lives and their participation. So, again, I am sorry. And I respect any and all choices you make on that account.

#fandom psa #blog psa #cellar shit I guess?#here we go #maybe this is a callout post #in fact yeah it is

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ko2vo · 4 years

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I really burned myself out last week so I haven’t drawn anything but I returned to some old fics and wanted to share one. It’ll put it under a read more but here’s the gist of it.

BAD SEEDS: Bleeding Hearts

Dhampir!Daniel AU fic. Poet wonders what happens when you starve a vampire.

Content warning: starvation, conditioning, crying, blood, manipulation, self-harm, consensual torture.

Words: 1265

They had agreed on this. Daniel had agreed to do this.

There was a lot that Daniel would regret when he agreed to indulge Poet's sadism but this was, by far, the most pain he had ever experienced.

Any day, he would take Poet's violence. Cutting into his cold skin, interrupting the flesh that quickly tried to sew itself back together, testing the limitations of his undead capabilities.

Never again would he agree to starvation.

They had taken precautions, as they always do. Daniel was a predator, after all. When starved, any animal resorts to basic instincts but predators are particularly dangerous when they are hungry. They installed chains in Poet's earthy basement, tucked in the corner, away from the mushroom farms and work table. It was surreal, helping Poet pick out the chains, determining what bolts would resist Daniel's strength best. He was only a dhampir. It wouldn't take a lot to restrain him.

As they drilled into the concrete walls and welded metal together, Poet laid out the rules of this experiment. As always, Daniel's safe word was chrysanthemum. As always, Daniel silently vowed never to use the safe word. He will cry and beg and scream for Poet to grant mercy but the safe word is too sacred. Too imposing.

Daniel would rather die than ever use his safe word. It's almost happened a few times, to be honest.

It's happening right now.

The chains were heavy. Heavier now, as Daniel's energy had been completely sapped over these last two weeks. His stomach had twisted and gnarled into itself. He'd go numb and then feverish, then numb once more. Everything hurt and then it didn't. After a week, he couldn't help the pained, whining noises that slipped out of his lungs, noisy protests he couldn't control. After five days, they also became too exhausting. The only relief he got was from staying still, laying on the floor and doing nothing. It didn't stop the pain, but it didn't aggravate it.

The glaze of his eyes obscured Poet. Daniel didn't even realize he was there. Wasn't sure when he had appeared. He could have been standing there for seconds or hours. It was all meaningless at this point.

Fingers grasp his chin, lifting his head from the floor. Daniel feels Poet's vitality tempt him, his blood singing the siren's call, but he was trained too well. He will not bite.

“You do realize you're dying, right?” Poet says this with detached interest. “If I don't end the experiment, you'll die.” Daniel shifted, imperceptibly. Then halted all movement once more. It was too tiring.

Daniel gasped sharply as Poet's foot came down onto his stomach, curling into the pain as tears pricked his eyes.

“Are you ignoring me, Daniel?” As always, he asks the question calmly, with no hint of emotion. There is no warmth, but it isn't cold. His cruelty comes from curiosity, not apathy.

Every heavy breath Daniel takes aches. It takes an unreasonable amount of effort to gasp a raspy answer.

“Never.” His gaze is unfocused, he feels like he's disintegrating and the world has been reduced to pain, but if these were to be his final moments, of course it would be spent pledging his loyalty to Poet. He wouldn't do this to himself if Poet didn't want him to. If Poet found more value in his emaciated corpse, Daniel would accept his fate.

Suddenly, a sharp pang ran through Daniel's chest as he smelled the metallic scent of spilled blood. Within seconds, he was salivating, sharp teeth distending, and blinking his eyes into focus.

Sickness and desire mingled as he saw where the blood came from.

“I don't want to hurt you,” Daniel whispered, the animalistic urge to coil and strike pumping an untapped reserve of adrenaline through his body. Poet held the dripping knife away from the cut he had just made to his arm, towards Daniel.

“You won't.”

He says it simply, as though it is an immutable fact. A universal understanding. The sun will rise in the morning and set at night. Water turns into ice when it gets too cold. Daniel will not harm Poet. Daniel will not harm Poet.

Daniel cannot harm Poet.

The knife gleams in front of his eyes and Poet presses the sharp edge against his lips. He's using the edge to pull Daniel's lip up, examining the fang. All while the blood taunts Daniel, flavouring the air with it's presence, staining his lips but not reaching his tongue. Drool has started to form a stream over his chin and his stomach coils painfully.

“What a mess you are,” Poet sniffs, wiping the knife against Daniel's lip before pulling it away. Even just the small amount of blood that leaks into his mouth is making Daniel's head swim drunkenly and his muscles twitch. A manic relief at finally having a small taste of the life giving liquid after going so long without it. Abstinence truly makes blood taste sweeter.

Daniel doesn't even realize he's crying until Poet's thumb is brushing the tear from his cheek.

“There, there,” he coos, and a sobs wrecks itself out of Daniel's chest. “You'll lose whatever energy you got out of that by crying.” All too suddenly, Poet's open wound is pressed against his mouth and Daniel nearly chokes on his own saliva with how violently he jerks back. However, Poet's right hand is already behind his head, holding him in place.

“You'll only take enough to be able to stand on your own,” Poet says, calm and commanding. “Then you'll heal the cut, I'll unchain you, and we'll go hunting.” Daniel's throat spasms, unable to swallow around the anxious lump that has lodged itself there. Poet looks sincere but Daniel can't tell if this is still part of the experiment. He doesn't know what Poet would consider failure. Daniel could follow everything Poet tells him and still feel the weight of disappointment, the sigh of missed expectations, in Poet's expression. If he were to show too much eagerness, Poet would find the lack of restraint appalling. If Daniel refused, it would be an act of defiance and warrant scolding. Uncertainty had paralyzed him and that was just as offensive an act as any other.

A tender smile spreads across Poet's face.

“You're so obedient, Daniel,” he reassures, catching a stray curl with his thumb and forefinger. “The experiment is finished. I learned what I needed to, so you don't have to worry about that. You did well.” Daniel felt himself melt into the soft words, anxiety ebbing away. Maybe he shouldn't be so trusting but... Daniel was so tired and Poet's blood was in his mouth, his flesh on his lips. So he let himself drink, scraped at the wound with fangs that coaxed red nectar from broken capillaries.

He hears Poet try to stifle a gasp of pain and it draws him out of the blood siren trance, looking up toward his partner. This isn't the first time Daniel has taken blood from him so he is aware that Poet doesn't take pain very well. Brows creased, eyes watery, teeth gritting. Heart racing.

Daniel feels warmth in his cheeks and, reluctantly, draws back with a satisfied sigh. Once more, he leans in to lick a stripe along the wound, mending the flesh together and cleaning rest of the blood from Poet's skin. Daniel doesn't miss the shiver that goes through the other.

He smiles, fangs still distended. Satisfied but still ravenous.

“Thank you.”

#oc #oc; daniel #oc; poet #whump fic #vampire whump #i guess #smh i forgot to draw the drool goddamn #dhampir au is fun because daniel has much power but still gets heart eyes at poet #who is definitely human make no mistake

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rorykillmore · 4 years

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okay this is. well. a LATE birthday fic for my friend jemi, who does not have a personal tumblr atm, but i’m sticking it here because this is where i file all my fics at this point, and because it’s also a tiny bit of a partial co-present for @xivuuarath too!

jemi, one of the things i’ve loved most about this past year is getting the chance to write with you again and develop these new and wonderful and crazy cross-fandom dynamics just the way we used to. it’ll always mean a lot to me to be able to write with you, and i really hope i’ve done everyone in this fic justice because i cannot tell you what a DELIGHT forming this disaster of a group dynamic/eventual found family with you and storm has been!!! i can’t wait to develop them more together, but for now, this particular fic is set a little ways in the hypothetical future once they’ve all gotten to know each other a little more, and after villanelle has had... SOME kind of similar encounter with her family to the one she just had in canon. tldr: her mom sucks, she’s dead now, and villanelle ran off after burning her house down.

anyway, yeah, ENJOY!

They all look like idiots, and normally, Villanelle would delete any photo that made her look like an idiot without a second thought. But there is something kind of nice about it this time.

Villanelle supposes that maybe it’s a little unfair to blame Konstantin for the fact that her birth family turned out to be shit.

(Okay, not all of them were shit, but it is easier to pretend that they were and not that the few days she spent with them were the happiest she’s ever been in her whole life.)

Anyway, while it’s not technically his fault, he is the one who told her they were alive, and the last thing she wants right now is to go back and tell him exactly how catastrophically things did not work out. He is no longer her handler anyway. She has to report back to Knock Out.

(Actually, she has not been on a mission recently, she has nothing to report, and Knock Out would probably not even notice if she didn’t contact him for several more days, but... Villanelle will just make up a reason to talk to him, then. He doesn’t have to know she’s wasting his time just because he makes her feel a little better.)

So she’s surprised when she texts him (or his comm frequency, however it works with Cybertronians) and gets a message back that he’s already waiting for her at Mistoffelees’.

That’s how Villanelle thinks of the house, absurdly, as belonging to Mistoffelees and Victoria -- namely because by know she knows them much better than she knows their people. Somehow, amidst the chaos of the past several days, Villanelle had entirely forgotten she’d agreed to cat-sit again (less for any pragmatic reason this time and more because she hadn’t had anything better to do, before the issue of her family had cropped up) starting this evening. She’d also forgotten that they’d all planned another marathon session of Kitchen Nightmares, and for some reason... all of this rattles her.

For some reason, when she arrives and walks up the driveway and finds Knock Out parked waiting for her, and Misto and Tugger settled side by side on the fence, she gets a strange little lump in her throat that she can’t explain.

“Finally,” Tugger complains the minute he sees her. “If any of us actually had thumbs, we may well have considered starting without you.”

“Excuse me,” Knock Out is quick to protest. “Just because it’s not exactly strategic for me to transform in the middle of a human neighborhood doesn’t mean you get to lump me in with you furballs.”

Mistoffelees rolls his eyes in an unnervingly human gesture that Villanelle is only just starting to get used to. “I’m sure he meant ‘if any of us actually had thumbs that we could conveniently use without causing hysteria in this precise moment.’ Didn’t you, Tug?”

“Sure, darling,” Tugger says, not sounding very sincere at all.

Villanelle comes to a slow halt beside Knock Out’s alt mode, trying to bask in their familiar banter, trying to make it feel just the same as her family’s home-y sense of chaos did. It doesn’t quite work. But it does make her want... something.

“We should take a road trip!” Villanelle announces suddenly, entirely out of nowhere and without thinking about it. Mistoffelees and Tugger turn nonplussed looks on her, and she can practically feel Knock Out figuratively side-eyeing her, and for a second she worries that they’ve noticed something’s wrong.

But the silence only lasts for a beat before Knock Out scoffs, “What, now? And where, exactly, were you thinking of going?”

Villanelle shrugs, undeterred by their skepticism. “Anywhere. We could just... drive.”

“In that?” Tugger stares wide-eyed into Knock Out’s windows, and then very quickly clears his throat. “Sorry. In him?”

“We could bring Victoria too,” Villanelle says, appealing to Misto. “Is she home?”

Mistoffelees flicks an ear uncertainly. “She’s out at the junkyard this evening. And anyway, Villanelle, we can’t exactly up and disappear without giving the others cause for alarm --”

“So go tell them! We can wait here. It would only be for, like, a couple of days, and your humans will not even notice since they’re not due back ‘til next week.”

“Not to agree with Tugger, but I’m still stuck at the part where I have to lug them around and get cat fur all over my interior,” Knock Out quips, rather casually considering the chaos unfolding around him. “...Not to mention, we don’t exactly have clearance for this.”

“We don’t have an assignment either,” Villanelle points out. “Do they really care what we do in our own time?”

Knock Out seems too surprised to answer, maybe because this is the first time outside their missions and their little casual reality television get-togethers that Villanelle has ever expressed such an interest in spending time together.

The cats are almost as baffled. Tugger and Misto exchange a look that Villanelle can’t quite read, before Mistoffelees settles his attention back on her. “This is all a bit... sudden,” he starts, and it’s the fact that he sounds almost gentle that makes something in Villanelle prickle up again. Is her behavior so erratic and concerning that she’s making them feel sorry for her?

“Fine,” she cuts in, changing tracks suddenly. “Fine! Never mind. I will take one on my own. See you all in a couple of days --”

“Er, hold on.” Knock Out recovers enough to stop her. “If you’re going to do this anyway, I might as well tag along and see that you don’t do anything careless. Otherwise I’ll have nothing to do but drive around London while you go off and have all the fun.”

Villanelle stops in her tracks. “Do you want me to be careful, or do you want me to have fun?”

“...Is that supposed to be a trick question?”

She shrugs, still recovering her pride and wondering if she should brush him off just on principle because of it. Deep down, though, Villanelle doesn’t want to, and so instead she looks back at the cats where they’re still settled together on the fence.

On the fence. Heh. Like a metaphor.

“I think you two could use the vacation,” she tells them casually. “Have you ever actually been on a honeymoon?”

“A what?” Mistoffelees asks as Tugger sweeps his feathery tail around him. Villanelle has started to get used to the easy affection they share between them, but it hasn’t yet ceased to give her a pang of something indecipherable each time.

“A honeymoon,” she says. “It is something two people do when they get m -- when they love each other and want to be together forever. They go off and take a trip and kind of... celebrate their relationship.”

Tugger tilts his head ever so slightly to one side. “And is it customary for them to bring their friends along?”

Villanelle glances at Knock Out, but if he knows anything about this particular Earth custom, he stays silent for once. So she shrugs. “Sure. That way it is like a party, you know?”

“I daresay neither of us do.” Mistoffelees turns so he can meet his mate’s gaze. Villanelle expect Tugger to have a very decisive opinion on all of this, and to state it very loudly, because that’s just how Tugger is. So it surprises her when instead, he returns Mistoffelee’s look quietly - almost gently - and waits for his verdict.

“Is it really only going to be for a couple of days?” Mistoffelees asks cautiously at length. Villanelle grins despite herself.

It is roughly a five hour drive between London and Paris, which is a bit of a pain in the ass when the taking the train shaves about half of that off, but for once Villanelle is trying to be objective about how she is probably the least inconvenienced person in this situation. The only reason Misto and Tugger aren’t stuffed in the trunk right now is because she offered to buy them cat carriers to travel in instead, and when the cats vetoed that option, she’d reluctantly promised Knock Out that she’d be the one vacuuming his back seat instead.

Even with that compromise made, though, five hours is a long time to spend in a car with someone. Especially a sentient car. They’ve already gone through the motions of arguing about the radio - a pointless endeavor, given that Knock Out is the one who controls it - and then Villanelle had tried to teach them how to play a couple of road trip games ( “Fuck, Marry, Kill” had gone the most disastrously).

Finally, Mistoffelees asks, “Was it really necessary to come so far for this... other city you described? I don’t see how it can be all that much different from London.”

He sounds almost uncomfortable, and for the first time Villanelle wonders whether he or Tugger have ever been this far from home before -- they are cats, even if they are special ones.

“Paris is nothing like London,” Villanelle insists, though she knows that alone might not mean much to him. “-- It is the most beautiful city in the world. And if you’re in love, you have to go at least once.”

“I never figured you for the sentimental type,” Knock Out quips dryly.

"Maybe she means if you’re in love with yourself,” Misto offers. “I suppose that describes at least three out of four of us, so --”

He breaks off at Tugger’s feigned indignant gasp and even-more-feigned swat, laughing, and Villanelle gives both of them a pointed look through the rearview mirror.

They are just made for Paris, these two. Later, they’re going to have to admit that she was right.

Knock Out sighs audibly, distracting her from her thoughts. “You know. You really do owe me for this.”

Even Knock Out can’t find too much to complain about once they reach the city proper, though. Villanelle beams smugly when he admits that there’s a certain classiness about it all “as far as cities on this mudball go”, and he rolls his windows down a little so that Misto and Tugger can better appreciate the scents and sounds.

“It’s not home,” Tugger drawls, enjoying the way the wind buffets the mane of fur around his neck. “But it’s not half bad.”

It’s home to Villanelle, though, or -- the closest thing she’s ever had to one, besides the one she just burnt to ashes. She takes them past the street where her old apartment used to be, just for nostalgia’s sake.

“The only thing about Paris is, it’s really more of a walking city,” Villanelle tells them at length. “Hey Knock Out -- you don’t have some kind of boat mode, do you?”

“A boat?” Knock Out echoes scathingly. “What exactly do you take me for?”

“Okay, so, the river tour is out. But I can show you around even better from here. Just follow my lead.”

Mistoffelees leans languidly against Tugger as they share the open window, and sighs. “What could possibly go wrong.”

To Villanelle’s credit, she does give a hell of a tour, taking them past the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre and the Arc de Triomphe. Then they make a stop at the Pont Neuf bridge, where Villanelle positions the very bemused cats on the railing so that she can take their picture against the backdrop of the Seine.

“I can’t say I really understand the purpose of this,” Misto says for about the third time, then flattens his ears when Villanelle shushes him.

“I told you! It is easier to show you than tell you -- here, look.” She approaches to show them the image on her phone, ignoring the peculiar looks she gets from one or two passersby. Tugger is the first to lean forward with skeptical curiosity, and then --

“-- It’s us.” His eyes go wide, and Villanelle watches his reaction with a smug sort of delight. “Oh, that actually is marvelous.”

“I knew you would enjoy any excuse to look at yourself,” Villanelle quips in return, though in truth, it is a very nice picture if she does say so herself. Misto and Tugger look especially handsome in the photo -- you know, for cats. The sun brings streaks of vivid color out in Tugger’s fur, while Misto’s black and white pelt looks particularly glossy. They sit side by side, their sides touching, and Villanelle had captured just the right moment to preserve the glance they’d exchanged as she took the picture: Misto looking up at Tugger in "can-you-believe-what’s-happening” exasperation, and Tugger returning his gaze with something that read between amusement and the inevitable fondness he always seemed to regard the other cat with.

It’s very... them, Villanelle decides.

“It’s...” Mistoffelees seems almost uncharacteristically at a loss for words. “...It’s like you froze a moment in time.”

Villanelle shrugs agreeably. “Humans kind of collect them. I can get this printed, and then you can have your own physical copy, if... that is something you want?” She isn’t sure whether cats have any particular use for photos, but Tugger and Mistoffelees seem to like the idea.

“Seems a shame to waste such a handsome keepsake,” Tugger says, his eyes glinting. Misto smiles - in that very un-catlike way the Jellicles have - and looks up at Villanelle directly.

“Thank you.”

She tilts her head and almost responds, but then can’t think of anything good or clever to say. So instead, she turns to where Knock Out is still parked, the impatience practically simmering off him.

“Knock Out! Let me get one of you.”

“I don’t do autographs, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“Don’t be so boring, God. Actually, we can all get in it! I will get someone to take it for us.”

It is probably only Villanelle’s perfect French that saves her from looking like a completely batshit tourist as she herds the cats over to him and needles one very confused local into taking a picture of the four of them together. Instead, she just looks like... well, a batshit French person obsessed with taking photos of herself, her two cats, and her sports car. Which is fine with her, really.

The photo turns out nice, too. Not quite as romantic as the first -- actually, it looks pretty silly. Tugger, taking advantage of Knock Out’s inability to protest while in public company, had leaped up onto his hood and sprawled out like some kind of feline model, which had made Villanelle throw her head back and cackle while in the midst of trying to scoop a begrudging Mistoffelees up into her arms.

They all look like idiots, and normally, Villanelle would delete any photo that made her look like an idiot without a second thought. But there is something kind of nice about it this time.

She takes them to the Luxembourg Gardens, too, where an artist asks if she can paint Mistoffelees (leaving Villanelle, Tugger, and Knock Out all quite individually offended evidently not to be considered the prettiest of the group), and then to the fish market where she figures the cats will be in heaven (shockingly, Tugger decides that Parisian food isn’t beneath him, though Misto is partial to the vanilla ice cream Villanelle buys him later).

By then, it’s getting close to nightfall, and Villanelle checks the time and then the listing on her phone. “Okay. Just one more stop. You will all like this one, I promise.”

“I think we’ve all learned by now not to trust your promises,” Mistoffelees retorts, but it’s goodnatured, a mild protest by his standards. Tugger even joins in making fun of his grumbling this time, and Knock Out has spent the last twenty minutes idly looking into things near the city he might want to do “for reconnaissance purposes” the next day, so Villanelle suspects that - not so secretly - they are all enjoying themselves.

The last stop is at a little park just beyond the city, where an overlook affords them a view of the Parisian lights in all their glory. Misto and Tugger stop to enjoy it together for a little while, while Villanelle urges Knock Out to continue on up the road a little ways to find parking at...

“A drive-in theater.” Knock Out realizes, surprise lacing his tone.

Villanelle slips out the passengers side door to stretch her legs, but also to inform him: “Drive-in is a loose term. I rented out the entire space for us tonight. I figured if we had a bit of privacy, you wouldn’t have to be stuck as a car all night.”

“I --” Knock Out starts, then seems to register what she actually said. Villanelle waits through the pause patiently. “...I happen to be gorgeous in vehicle mode. As anyone with optics could tell you.”

“Yes,” Villanelle agrees, because she’s already learned how to butter him up, “But you make an even prettier robot.”

Knock Out tilts his mirror at her. His version of a side-eye, and code for I know exactly what you’re doing but I’m still flattered. “Well. I suppose this was... shockingly thoughtful of you.” He transforms once Villanelle takes another step back, and then crouches down to eye her suspiciously. “Uncharacteristically, one might even say.”

But Villanelle has no real ulterior motives, this time. She is just happy they all came with her to her favorite city in the world for no other reason than because she asked. Instead of saying that aloud, though, she redirects her attention to the overlook, where Tugger and Misto’s silhouettes are visible. “Do you think they are enjoying their honeymoon?”

“How would I know?” Knock Out flippantly tilts his head to consider the pair. Misto tucks himself against Tugger’s side, and Tugger wraps his tail around the tom’s smaller frame as if they’ve done this thousands of times before. They look so... still. So content, in a way Villanelle isn’t used to imagining them. “I’m not an expert on the mushy stuff.”

“Really? You don’t have anyone?”

“I...” That actually gets Knock Out to hesitate, his expression unreadable. “...Think it’s inappropriate to divulge that kind of information between agent and handler.”

Villanelle nods ruefully. Konstantin had always been smart enough to avoid talking about his personal life with her, too. “I have someone,” she announces quietly, the status of the actual having be damned. “I might tell you about her someday. But --” And before Knock Out can react to that, she shifts her attention back to the cats again. “I think they really love each other.”

“That seems like a safe assumption,” Knock Out quips dryly. “Why do you even care?”

Why does she care? Envy? Her usual fascination with other people’s emotions, the ones that are always just out of reach for her? Neither of those feel right, but Villanelle doesn’t know the name for what is.

It just... feels better, knowing that Mistoffelees and Tugger have each other. It makes something in her calm strangely when she thinks of them.

She just shrugs again, in the end. And then the cats are getting up and coming back around to meet them, and Villanelle shoos away whatever she was feeling or pondering feeling and gives them an elegant smirk. “Finally decided to join us, lovebirds?”

Tugger smirks right back up at her. “Personally, I would have been quite happy to spend the rest of my night watching the city lights, but Mistoffelees here seemed to feel that would have been terribly discourteous of us both.”

“It is your honeymoon,” Villanelle points out, because despite her teasing she wouldn’t really have minded. Her and Knock Out have a movie they could have entertained themselves with, after all.

“Yes,” Misto agrees lightly. “And I don’t think it’ll be one we’ll ever forget. Especially if you’ve chosen a decent... movie for us.”

“Please, Mistoffelees,” Villanelle mimics Tugger using his full name, because she enjoys the way it rolls off her tongue and she knows her accent makes it sound a little funny. “Surely you trust my taste by now.”

“Not unconditionally.”

“It’s French,” Villanelle promises them as she goes to turn on the screen. “-Ish. And romantic. You will watch it, and be grateful that your lives are not anywhere near as terrible as this couple’s are!”

“Moulin Rouge?” Knock Out asks in confusion as the title screen pops up. “I’m not sure I understand the need for dramatics. It all ends happily enough, doesn’t it?”

Villanelle stares back at him wordlessly, one eyebrow raised.

“...It... I may have caught Starscream watching it once. And I’m positive they get back together safely at the end.”

“Do not spoil it for the cats!” Villanelle tries not to sound too gleeful at this newly collected potential blackmail on the Decepticon second-in-command. She sits down in the grass by Knock Out’s feet, and Tugger settles in beside her with Misto at his side, and Villanelle spends a moment reflecting that it would be really fun to teach them some of these songs.

She wonders if cats can technically sing?

#fic #i know we talked about them meeting eve and i was INCREDIBLY tempted but this was already getting really long #ill do it in another fic. i swear.#also: not sure what to do with the information that starscream turns off moulin rouge 10 minutes early? me neither #also feat. villanelle starting to get soft for these idiots which is Important.

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elliemarchetti · 5 years

Text

Holiday Inconveniences (part 2)

Part 1

Other Red Queen fics:

A Wonderful Mistake (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

The Scam (part 2)

Red Queen Soulmates AU (Mare) Part 2 (Diana and Shade) Part 3 (Diana) Part 4 (Shade)

A Rebel’s Song (part 2)

A Different POV

The Epilogue

Words: 1224

“Is it as strange for you as it is for me?” asked Cal, sitting sprawled on the same sofa on which they had clung together until a few hours before. Mare didn’t even turn to look at him: the snowstorm showed no sign of abiding and her chance to leave in a reasonable amount of time, that allowed her to prepare adequately for the next day’s departure, slipped away like the snowflakes that melted in contact with the glass. When the silence lasted too long for Mare to respond, Cal seemed to decide to change approach.

“Why don’t we listen to some music? Maybe it puts you more at ease.”

"I don’t need things that put me at ease!” Mare blurted out, finally paying attention to him. “I just want to go home, pack my bags and make sure I have everything I need to face tomorrow’s journey.”

Cal seemed to frown for a moment but didn’t comment, maintaining that composure that gave incredibly on her nerves.

“What if you can’t leave?” he asked, just before the silence could be even more embarrassing. “What if the storm didn’t stop and you’re stuck here?”

“Here?” she asked, looking around. Anyone in her place would’ve considered it a blessing: expensive food, a bathroom that could made those in the fancy hotels jealous, and a hot and extremely nice stranger, but Mare was different and she missed her family too much to give up even an hour of those two weeks with them.

“Am I so terrible?” he asked, as a joke, but Mare felt guilty anyway and went to sit next to him on the sofa.

“It’s not your fault, you’ve been fantastic and you’re behaving admirably, certainly better than I am, but I miss my family, I miss my father’s old vinyls and the blanket fort with my siblings.”

"We can do it. We can listen to old vinyls and build all the blanket forts you want, if it helps you in any way.”

Mare looked at him for a few moments before answering: they didn’t hide any malice, just a sincere kindness and perhaps even a touch of… apprehension? She couldn’t tell, but something in him inspired trust.

“Do you have anything from Guns N’ Roses? Because with dad we always listen to Guns N’ Roses and Motley Crue.” she finally gave in. Cal laughed, and Mare noted with great annoyance that his laughter, although a little nasal, was almost contagious. She didn’t want for the one who should’ve been just a pleasant pastime of a horrible Monday night to become something more, nor did she want to even start hoping she could attract someone that rich, but his attitude was so down to earth that she decided she can dream for a little longer.

“Not really the classic Christmas songs, apparently.” he commented, searching through a huge collection of vinyls arranged neatly under the huge flat-screen TV. Mare wondered how she hadn’t noticed them before, if not the previous night at least in the morning or during that crazy early afternoon, but she had no time to investigate any further as Cal announced he had nothing by Motley Crue.

"I have Appetite for Destruction by Guns N ‘Roses, or something by Deep Purple or Led Zeppelin.”

“How can you have nothing by Motley?” she asked, amazed. “They’re the fathers of glam metal and they sold more than a hundred million records.”

“So does Drake.” he replied. “Do you think he has any kind of talent?”

“Touché. However, nothing is classic in my family.” she let slip before she stopped abruptly. What did she have in her little, silly head? Did she want to tell him her sobbing life story? She could’ve told him about their economic problems, since she was at it. She just couldn’t understand what was wrong with her: she had chosen the most distant college that was willing to accept her mediocre grades just to get as far away as possible from a city full of people who did nothing but look at her with pity and now that she finally found herself in front of someone who seemed to treat her like a person and not like an abandoned puppy she seemed to want to go straight back in the arms of what she was running from in the beginning. Fortunately, although he seemed interested, Cal didn’t ask for further explanation and chose a Def Leppard’s record.

"Is the predilection for English bands born from an innate patriotic pride or is there a deeper story behind it?” she asked, trying to put back together her attitude.

“Only a fan of more refined techniques.” he answered vaguely, positioning himself so that he could study her expression more comfortably. The depth of his gaze made her a little uncomfortable, as if she were at an exam for which she hadn’t prepared properly, but she tried not to pay too much attention to it.

“Did you have just defined Def Leppard refined?”

"I never defined them refined, don’t put in my mouth words I never said, miss I’m not interested.”

Mare rolled her eyes. “For the tenth time, my name is Mare and I’m sorry I treated you like that at the bar last night, okay? I had a bad, very bad, day and I just wanted to get drunk. Alone.”

“Don’t blame me for your failures: when Carmadon makes a decision there is no way to change his mind and you were way too drunk for his standards, therefore, even if it hasn’t seemed to you, take it as a victory.” he replied, confirming her suspicions from last night. “Don’t misunderstand” he continued, noticing what must’ve been a change in her expression “I don’t know the bartender’s name because I spend my evenings getting drunk but because he’s a friend of my uncle. Not that you can lecture me about what I do, or don’t, with my liver.”

An amused smirk made its way onto Mare’s face: "I had no intention, but it seems that you want to scold me for my bad habits. What else do you want to do, spank me? Should I call you daddy?”

His expression was so ridiculous that Mare burst out laughing, but Cal didn’t seem to have any intention of letting her get away with it and their exchange continued for a while longer, until he offered her to continue what he had interrupted the night before.

"I have no intention of getting drunk on expensive English liquor, I’m not some kind of lord.” she threatened him, but the boy, whose house really seemed to be more full of surprises than she imagined at first, took two bottles of beer out of the fridge and handed her one.

“I’m stealing it from your secret supply of American products that you only show off during your only boys night?” she asked, after she had taken a perhaps excessively long sip only to prove a point of how much she didn’t care.

"You’re really impossible, did anybody ever told you?” he mocked her, without however confirming nor denying. For a moment Mare thought of Kilorn, of how many times he had repeated that sentence, but somehow the thought came distant, muffled, like an echo of which the meaning cannot be fully understood.

“Never” she lied shamelessly.

#holiday inconveniences #marecal #mare barrow #cal calore #kilorn warren #carmadon #daniel barrow #redqueenetwork

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fate-hates-faraday · 5 years

Text

“This is why I drink”

It's fluffy and funny until it's not.

Or: Roman receives love and the whole crew receives a situation they aren't sure how to deal with. Those invisible walls don't help either.

(Follows SvS and DWIT) (A/N: First off, big shout-out to @honeygemtrashbag who not only talks with me about SS, but also helped beta this fic. Secondly, as a fair warning, the first half probably doesn't have much triggering material - it's the second half where excessive alcohol consumption and brief suicide discussion comes into play. Also Deceit. If any of those are triggering, I strongly advise finding a different, equally fluffy/angst/what-have-you fic.)

It's been a couple of weeks.

Things have stabilized (Thomas can't say yet they've improved, not with Remus still hanging around and Virgil walking on eggshells). While Patton is still working on relaxing his heart-strangling grip on the need to be selfless, Thomas can tell he's trying, and the attempt alone feels like it's taken a weight off his shoulders. He didn't know it had been there, but having it gone somehow makes everything easier. He's able to brainstorm with Roman and Logan for some videos, he hangs out with Joan and Talyn when he wants and politely turns them down when he doesn't, he at least leaves Virgil a note saying that his past doesn't define him and regardless of his origin he's grateful to have met and come to terms with his Anxiety.

The Tuesday before the wedding, he calls the four sides together.

"So," he says, holding his hands together as he looks around the room. "I've been thinking about what Talyn and Joan said yesterday." It almost hurts to see the way Roman's expression lights up, and he realizes why: when was the last time Roman was so genuinely cheerful? He thinks maybe it was last February, before they all realized they'd been tricked. He had never gone back to act with Roman like they discussed. Right, focus.

"I'm going to call Mary Lee and Lee tomorrow and tell them about the callback, see how they feel. If they're alright, I'll then tell them my idea: I'll miss the wedding-" He can feel the way both Patton and Virgil tense, but he pushes onwards "-but will be at the reception to give them their gift and best wishes." It's an attempt at compromise - the callback's in the morning, the wedding starts around noon. The reception, however, will start at 1:30, and Thomas will be long finished the callback by then. Of course, he'll still talk with Mary Lee and Lee first and respect their wishes, but it's worth a shot. "Patton? Think you can be available tomorrow to help?"

"Of course!" Despite his obvious tension, Patton grins. He's not alone - Roman is grinning as well, looking ready to cry and for the first time in a while, Thomas feels his heart swell with delight. It's actually a bit overwhelming, how quickly it happens.

"Whoa." He can't help but reach up to his chest to take a moment to steady himself. Virgil's tension grows greater and for a moment, everyone else looks confused. "...you alright, Roman?"

"I-" Roman swallows, and Thomas can hear how his voice is thick with unshed tears. "It's all I've wanted." Something about that bothers Thomas.

"Roman... Thomas said he'll talk with them tomorrow." Logan speaks slowly. "And that if they're alright - if - then he'll share his idea." There's a moment of hesitation. "And there's still no guarantee we'll receive the role."

"I know, I know-" Thomas wishes he could take Roman's hands because now he is crying. "But we have a chance now at least." Ah. There it was. The thing bothering Thomas. He takes a second to compose his thoughts while Patton tries offering verbal comfort, since he also can't offer the hug Thomas wants to give so badly.

"... what you said in the courtroom - has it really been that bad?" Even the slightest possibility of success could affect Roman so much? Thomas had to admit, Roman was usually unrelenting in the pursuit of dreams - steps were acknowledged, and then he planned further. Nothing but total success or total failure truly moved him. But if everything had been going as poorly as Roman suggested-

If there was always something more important than his hopes and dreams-

Roman hesitates, that swell shrinking, and that is enough.

"Alright then!" Thomas claps his hands together to get everyone's attention. "So, new topic, I think we need to talk about how we're going to balance everything going forward." He glances at Logan, Virgil, and Patton. "I'm not going to drop everything just on chances. My friends and family are important, and I need to be healthy and stable to pursue my dreams." Now he glances at Roman, who's trying to recompose himself. "... but I don't think those dreams should always be my lowest priority either."

There's some awkward shuffling, instead of a chorus of responses that Thomas had hoped for. Logan hugs his arms a bit closer. Virgil flicks at the pull tab on his sleeve. Patton tugs on his cat hoodie. The swelling in his heart shrinks a bit more.

"Guys..."

"Sorry!" Patton clasps his hands together as if making a plea. "It's just - it's a lot of big changes right now, kiddo. I don't want Roman to be ignored, but you know you care about everyone so much! It's why they..." He looks down. "...get pushed aside. Because you want to make sure everyone else is happy." Thomas winces. It's an answer he expected, just not one he really wants right now.

"I need something a little more solid to go on than 'balance everything'." Virgil is next. "You can get a bit carried away, Roman, and, really, some of those plans you already have-" He lets out a huff. "Don't exactly feel great about them." Thomas smiles when Roman manages to make his "offended Princey noises", as the fandom dubbed them. "I don't do well in crowds and around strangers. Becoming famous kinda rubs me the wrong way."

"We can act like we're fine. All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." Roman no longer sounds like he wants to cry, at least. "You were pretty gloomy too about Vine, remember?" He laughs, but cuts himself off when Virgil reaches for his hood. "B-but that's in the past! We've been coping pretty well so far, I think, and I'm sure you'll be fine in the future too!" Yeah, Virgil still isn't feeling well. Thomas considers keeping him after the discussion was done and trying to talk about his past in person. Maybe that'd work better. Roman's words though, 'act like we're fine'... Well. He did have to admit the whole issue had come up because of him, and, while he had been giddy when Thomas admitted his lie, he had gotten inexplicably angry when Roman handed down the sentence. Maybe... maybe he might have some ideas. If nothing else, his perspective will probably start some kind of fight that might lead to a reasonable compromise?

He glances at Logan. Of course, he's at least giving everyone a chance to speak.

"Anything?"

"I can't say anything comes to mind, not since the last time the topic came up." Logan frowns. "I recognize that you have deemed this important-"

"It's just a lot, yeah." Thomas nods. "Right." He inhales, knowing what will come next. ".... I think another perspective might help-"

"No." Virgil glares up at Thomas. "You cannot - you can't be suggesting what I think you are."

"I mean, you guys are stuck. Can it really hurt-"

"Yes it can!" Virgil's voice layers in that loud, intimidating way that Thomas has nicknamed the 'tempest tongue'. Yeah, they really ought to talk later. He can't really understand the degree of vehemence and contempt Virgil seems to hold for the Dark - the Other sides.

"Just because he's here doesn't mean I'll listen to him. He's tried making me lie twice now, and have I done it?" He is very careful to make sure his words are as genuine as he feels. Virgil takes a moment before shaking his head. "Just, you guys admitted it: you're stuck. I don't think I can solve this alone - I don't want to solve this alone, and neither does Roman." He looks to Roman for confirmation, who smiles. The swell returns a bit, and the delight makes him giddy. "Maybe he'll have something, or he might just say stuff that leads us to a good idea. And if he tries anything, I'm pretty sure I can make him leave." He had wished as much in the courtroom - but, really, even Deceit pointed out it was all in his head. He could've technically left whenever he wanted. The other time, Deceit had left, grudgingly, when Thomas yelled. So, yeah. He feels confident he can manage this. "Can we just... try?"

While Logan seems indifferent and Roman nods, Patton is obviously not sure. Thomas can't blame him. His sense of morality has had the carpet pulled out from under him the last few times they've talked, and Deceit almost seems to enjoy harassing Patton the most.

"Patton, Virgil... I will not let anything bad happen. Not to you, not to our friends, not to anyone. I promise."

"And if Thomas can't, I will!" Roman adds, drawing his sword. Thomas can read the desire on Roman's face - don't let this conversation go, just acknowledge some changes need to be made.

Thomas' sincerity finally seems to let Patton relax, and Thomas catches a ghost of a smile on Virgil's lips when Roman speaks. Logan nods.

"Do you wish to try, or shall I?"

"Er, let me." Roman giggles. "He likes me best." Thomas doubts that's true, but then again, Roman does seem to get a starring role when Deceit is around. Maybe it's true in the same way that cardboard is edible compared to antifreeze - true in a sense, but doesn't mean much, not when the other options are 'worse'. Roman turns to Patton. "Padre, if you'll step aside?" Patton listens and Roman raises his arm. "Deceit!" There's nothing at first, but, when Roman tries again, Thomas can feel the way Deceit materializes - the odd music echoing in his ears, the way the light seems to focus on him while his own vision temporarily blurs, and - wait, he doesn't have his hands together. In fact, immediately, before his vision fully returns, he can see Deceit's blurry form raise a hand and make a fist. Thomas' internal panic lasts for a painful second - what was his problem? Starting by silencing everyone else already? Seriously? - but then he realizes the music has abruptly ceased. His vision fully returns to see Deceit lower his fist and glance around.

Thomas can't help but be on guard, and not just due to the way Virgil looks ready to leap off the stairs at a moment's notice. No, just... Ok, he's only really met Deceit three times. Three times isn't really enough to get to know someone well, especially when they're being antagonistic, but each time Deceit seems to value a dramatic introduction. Where's the evil chuckle? The sinister smirk? And what is that in his other hand?

So Thomas watches as Deceit's gaze instead sweeps the room, starting with Patton and ending on Roman. Roman sheepishly sheathes his sword and waves. He's about to speak, but Deceit nods and then pushes past Patton. Patton grumbles a little, clearly more confused than mad, and they all watch as Deceit sinks onto the living room couch. He lifts his other hand - oh, that's a bottle, Thomas belatedly realizes - unscrews the cap, and starts drinking.

He gets two gulps down when Thomas decides to be the first to speak up and ask the relevant question.

"Uh, hi Deceit. We were wondering-" Deceit lowers the bottle and shoots him a look. Thomas immediately amends his statement. "I was wondering if you could help us with something." Deceit doesn't answer, raising the bottle and taking another gulp. Thomas sees Patton frown from the corner of his eye.

"So, uh, buddy," Patton begins, putting on his best Concerned Dad voice, "whatcha got there? Is it pop?" He grins at the pun. Deceit lowers the bottle and doesn't bother making eye contact.

"Tequila."

Deceit takes another swig as if he isn't now at the center of several alarmed expressions. Thomas can't confirm what the others are thinking, but him? He's not exactly a huge fan of alcohol to begin with. Tequila is... pretty harsh. And here's Deceit, a part of him, using it like it's water on a hot day. He instinctively steps forward before hitting that invisible wall that keeps him separated from the sides. And where was he going to go from there even if it wasn't there? Well, maybe snatch away the bottle, but he doesn't quite get what Deceit's doing. He manages a glance back towards Virgil - the alarm on his face is expected, but there's something else. Fear? Sadness? He unfortunately can't spare the time to puzzle over it. Instead, he looks towards Logan, who glances back, and gestures at Deceit. Logan clears his throat.

"Given the hour of the day, the strength of the alcohol being consumed, and-" Deceit finally makes eye contact, a very cold glare as he pointedly drinks more. "-and the rate of ingestion, I think we would all like to know why you are performing this course of action."

"Well, as I am clearly wanted here," Deceit says, gesturing to them all, "I thought I may as get ready for what will surely be a wonderful time. Why wouldn't I?" The sarcasm is positively acrid, burning as bad as the tequila has to.

"I mean, that seems a bit much so fast." Patton's cheer is evaporating. Deceit grunts in return.

"I - that hardly makes sense. You realize even mild alcohol consumption impairs cognitive function and motor skills." Logan can't help but gesture in confusion. "The amount you've consumed - you're still consuming - will have more serious consequences."

"You don't say."

"I do say. You risk passing out or, with an even greater volume, becoming comatose." Thomas can see Logan growing frustrated with the blatant rejection of logic, and the sheer oddity of the situation.

"Hm. I'm sure what I have to say will be understood equally well." With that, Deceit tips his head and the bottle back. The tequila bottle is draining at a worrying rate. Thomas swallows the lump in his own throat.

"Hah... yeah..." The words are as uncomfortable as he is. "I can be a bit slow, huh?" It's deliberate bait, but Patton makes an affronted gasp anyhow.

Deceit pulls the bottle away and coughs harshly. Thomas is considering talking to Deceit after Virgil once all is said and done, and this ...situation (Is he messing with them again?) is resolved.

"Just get back to your... whatever."

And another gulp. Deceit's looking woozy now. Thomas can't help but try again. The alternative, after all, is that Deceit's actions are honest and he doesn't even know where to begin with that.

"I decided I should at least try to attend the callback, you know. I talked it over with my friends, and tomorrow I'll be calling the happy couple. So, I guess you really did win." He shrugs. "I... really wanted the callback." He expects something sarcastic, maybe a laugh at his expense, or a "I told you so" remark.

The silence that lingers in the wake of his words is cold, and he shivers. He should pull the others closer together - can a side get drunk in the first place? What happens if he drinks too much? Can he do that? Has he done this before? - and yet he's afraid to turn away. It's like he's a Weeping Angel: as long as Thomas keeps him in his sight, he can't leave. That's not how the sides work at all, but the rationalization takes the edge off the fear that, if he stops looking, Deceit will be dead next time he looks. Deceit, for his part, pauses in his binge-drinking long enough to sneer and dismissively wave at his audience, splattering imaginary tequila on the carpet and couch. More spills as he attempts to get the bottle back to his mouth. It's half-empty, and every bit spilled is a bizarre blessing.

"Seriously - what is going on here?" He tries to be direct, but Deceit directs his gaze downward, refusing to meet Thomas' gaze. "I - I can't believe you don't have anything to say about this. You took us to a courtroom last time over it. Just - what are you doing?" He lowers his head to try to catch Deceit's gaze, but the side just looks away. He sighs, a bit frustrated but even that frustration is born out of an inability to resolve his confusion and worry.

"Patton? Any idea what's going on?" He asks out of the corner of his mouth.

"Nope." Patton is quiet in his reply.

"Keep an eye on him for a second?"

"Yeah."

He gets a glimpse of Patton as he turns around to confer with the others. Patton can't hide his shaking, no matter how hard he holds onto his arms. Maybe he shouldn't have asked Patton to keep watching - but, facing the others, no one's reacting well. Worst off is Virgil, who has fully retreated into his hoodie, murmuring words laced with tempest tongue. Thomas catches two that somehow make an already bad situation worse: "not again". Roman has no response - gesturing wildly to himself, then Virgil, then Deceit behind Thomas who Thomas is currently trying not to look at lest he trap himself again without a plan.

"He's drunk?" It's a dumb question, but Thomas' brain is still kind of stuck on that.

"It's something we can do - infrequently, as, like with you, it does impair our ability to function." Logan fidgets with his necktie.

"Can he actually die from this? Like, liver poisoning?" It's a horrible idea to contemplate, but he needs to know how severe the situation is. Roman winces but nods. Logan nods. Virgil inhales.

"He'll reform. In his room. It - he's done it before." Virgil can't seem to calm down enough, but Thomas can decipher his words anyways. He wants to ask when. He wants to ask why. Some part of him he wishes he could attribute to Remus wants to know if that's his plan right now.

Patton whimpers, and Thomas whirls around. Deceit has dropped his bottle and is currently sideways on the couch. And, it seems, he has somehow conjured up another bottle. Nope. Thomas is not letting this continue.

"Put that down right now, Deceit!" Since he can't touch the side, this is the best he can do. Deceit hisses back, his grip on the new bottle visibly tightening even as it tips a little. Thomas refuses to let it shake him - frankly, it was more startling coming from Virgil than from someone whose face is half-snake. No, the bigger problem is that he seems uninterested in listening and physical intervention isn't possible. He runs through what little Deceit has said since his arrival and finds a solution. It's... not one he's fond of, as it doesn't actually solve the problem, just relocates it for now. But Virgil is freaking out, Roman is at a loss for words, Logan is struggling to think of some logical way to stop him, and Patton still shakes.

"Deceit - if you're not gonna listen, then go to your room, now!" He points in the general direction of the staircase, feeling more than ever like the parent of some wayward teenager. Except this teenager doesn't want to communicate at all, is drunk, and possibly is entertaining a suicide attempt. Wait, no, he shouldn't have done that. The fear and confusion meshes with the comparison and for a moment Deceit is just.... sad. An unwanted kid, bitter at the world and the people around him, possessing one skill that poses more harm than good.

Then he flips Thomas off as he sinks out without complaint, and, mercifully, it shatters the illusion.

Roman's already begun issuing apologies to everyone and Thomas feels his heart curling in on itself. He holds up a hand.

"It was my idea. I can't say anything except, I'm sorry." Except there's a lot he could say. Mostly what the hell was that all about? Everyone's visibly stressed and upset, though, so he doesn't. He also scraps the plan to talk with Virgil alone right away. "Roman, I'm not forgetting this - we will figure out something. We just need to unwind a bit. I.... I'll check on Deceit later." As for Virgil, he'll just drop in later rather than subject him to worrying about a meeting in the near future. He doesn't know what else to do.

Departure is awkward, few words exchanged, and once the others are gone, Thomas goes to the couch and sits where Deceit was. He tries to wrap his head around his actions. Tries to imagine a possibility where Deceit was being malicious and messing with everyone by putting them in such a distressing situation. Tries to imagine a possibility where Deceit simply can't imagine being wanted and drinks to the point of unconsciousness to avoid another poor interaction. Tries to imagine a possibility where Deceit has just given up and drinks for its own sake and doesn't want to bother figuring out what everyone else will think of him for it.

The imaginary tequila bottle is still there. He can read the label: 46% ABV.

He lays down, staring at it, until he passes into sleep.

#sanders sides #deceit sanders #roman sanders #thomas sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #alcohol #drug abuse #suicide reference #maybe?#remus sanders mention #no villains just really unhealthy attitudes and behaviors #not tagging sympathetic because even if he's not a villain deceit is still a jerk in my headcanons #throw Roman a bone 2k19 #Deceit literally has the worst job of all the Sides 2k19 #Trying to figure out what Thomas himself wants and ignoring Remus' impulse ideas and Virgil/Logan/Patton/Roman's wants #janus sanders

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shelivesinthewoods · 6 years

Text

I am here

Alright, my first D&D fic because sincerely, I think I have a problem. Mr. Sinclaire x MC (Isabel Fairfield)

Word count is approximately 1750

Rating: there be no smut or language here. G.

I wrote this through my “notes” feature on my phone so I apologize for any formatting errors or grammatical... things. I also want to preface that I’ve never written this era, so I apologize if language or what not is awful. Let me know what you think...

——————

London was lovely. The Earl of Edgewater’s home even better. Time with her friend ; time flirting with her friends step brother. Briar has loved every moment of her time as Isabel’s ladies maid. She had experienced so many new things. She got to enjoy Isabel’s new wardrobe, even occasionally getting to try on her fine new dresses. Of course, that was with her best friends approval. They had, after all, only been sharing clothes since they were in diapers. They had always shared, well, everything. It was this, that alarmed her when, on this evening she went up to help Isabel to prepare for dinner and her friend was gone.

There was a note on her bed- Isabel’s scrawling hand writing saying she would be back shortly, to please not alert Mr. Marlcaster or Miss Sutton. Briar knew Isabel though... ever since she was a little girl, she’d had a wanderers heart. While they were in Grovershire, of course, it was safer for her to roam. She knew the safest routes home, knew the area as well as the back of her hand. London; well; London, she did not. She should not have left with out an escort. There were unscrupulous people in a city this big, who would be overly happy to take advantage of a lady like Isabel.

Don’t ask or alert Mr. Marlcaster or Miss Sutton... What was she supposed to do? What was she going to do if Isabel got lost?! She could ask Mr. Harper or Miss Parsons to help locate her, but neither of them were anymore familiar with the city than she was. Mr. Marlcaster was, but Isabel didn’t want him involved.... She thought a moment, then rushed down to let Mr. Harper know she was stepping out a moment, in case she were needed (unlikely, but not unheard of, since Isabel was out.

Briar hurried down several rows of townhouses until things began to look familiar. She and Isabel had taken a stroll and she had pointed out the townhouse where she had attended her first dinner party. He would know the city. She could tell him the normal places she would go; he could make suggestions... he wouldn’t report it directly to the Countess. She knocked on the door, acutely aware that his own servants were unlikely to allow her access to him. She wrung her hands after she knocked again, a little more desperately this time, waited a moment before she stepped back down the stairs, fully prepared to go find Isabel on her own. She honestly didn’t hear the door open, until a deep voice softly said, “Miss Daly?”

Dropping into a curtsy and lowering her head, she said, “ I am so terribly sorry to bother you Mr. Sinclaire.” She stood again, a little afraid to be addressing the gentry man. Not all of them were kind, whereas even those who were did not always extend the same courtesy to those “below” them. Isabel spoke frequently of the man before her; and she seemed convinced of his kindness- that he was a good man. Briar would soon see, now, wouldn’t she?

“Miss Daly, is everything quite alright?” He looked far more casual than any of the other times she had happened to see him, just in his tan undershirt and trousers.

“Mr. Sinclaire, it’s Isabel—“ she cut off, immediately correcting herself, “Lady Isabel.” She had never fully understood the term about the color draining from someone’s face until that instant. He looked stricken as she continued, “I- I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing—she has always been her own person and—“

“Miss Daly, where is Lady Isabel?”

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Ernest Sinclaire had always prided himself on not being prone to flights of fancy or being susceptible to panic. In fact, when he first saw Miss Daly, he half expected that Lady Isabel may be right behind her or playing some sort of trick on him— until he saw the state that her lady’s maid was in. The state her friend was in. The handful of times he’s seen Miss Daly, she seemed happy; carefree. This was unnerving. It took her a moment to compose herself- she took a deep breath, “I don’t know!!” It came out in a rush and as though she was trying very hard not to sob. “Back at home, in Grovershire, Isabel wandered. It was safe. She knew that. It isn’t here. She does not know what is safe here... I don’t know the city; the only ones I know who may are Mr. Marlcaster and maybe Miss Sutton, but neither of them.... She asked me not to involve them. She doesn’t completely trust them. I simply cannot stand the idea of harm coming to her.”

Clearly, that made two of them. He had a grasp of the layout of the city area closest to them. He couldn’t imagine that she would have wandered too far. She was a little fearless, but not stupid. She would never go so far, right? “Miss Daly, you should return to your townhouse- in case she has already returned for the evening. I will grab my jacket and sweep the area. Lady Isabel is no fool, even if she has not yet returned, I imagine she will not be far.” Miss Daly nodded once, his words soothing her fears slightly, “Is she prone to visit parks? Gardens? Storefronts?”

“Parks and gardens, probably. When she ran in Grovershire, it was often to be alone. To think— but she’s been different here. Distracted, a little.”

So, it would be akin to finding a needle in a haystack. ‘Perfect.’ What he told her, however, was, “Please return home. I will find her, I will bring her home.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sinclaire!” With that, away toward the townhouse she went. With that, *he* was being sent on a wild goose chase through London. The absolute worst part was, his only complaint was fear for her well-being. Honestly, in his own mind, he’d search for her all night if he needed to. He could not tolerate the thought of something.. of anything, happening.

He returned to his study to grab his discarded jacket which he put back on and headed to the streets. How- How had he let this woman get under his skin? So far under his skin. She was beautiful and bold- almost more than even her current station as heiress could grant her. Challenging- at every turn, when their gazes met, it was a hard fought battle on who would look away first. Her garden party had started it, this infatuation. His dinner party had convinced him he was doomed. Not even the lovely in her own right, Miss Holloway had been able to draw his attention- and her poisonous words towards Lady Isabel had not had the effect she’d been hoping for. He had enough respect for the earl and for the Lady of Edgewater herself to allow it.

Through one of the parks he wandered, through two of the public gardens, through to the heart of the city... while he had been feigning interest in Miss Holloway’s complements and discussion at his dinner; if he were truthful, he had paid far more interest to the conversation Isabel had been having with Duke Richards. She had told him her mother had been an opera singer— maybe—

There. She sat on a bench across the street from the Opera St. James. Her gaze was upward, on the gas lighted marquee sign. Her expression— normally so lively and joyous— was curiously blank. No... it was solemn. He studied her, one of the few times he was able to without her doing the same. She was so stunning. Every time he saw her, it was like opening his eyes anew. She lowered her head a bit, one bare hand lifted to brush her cheek. A tear. Rarely, she gave glimpses of her grief. Only, with him, in their conversation during his dinner party when she had asked about his wife. He hadn’t considered it but he’d had years to grieve the woman his heart had no longer favored for the majority of the marriage. She’d had weeks. Weeks in which she had been thrust into a completely different life and had barely batted an eye. So strong.

“Is this where she sang? Your mother, I mean?” He asked it, not even aware he was going to. What was it that she had done to him?

Isabel startled, a hand coming to her chest, but upon seeing hearing his voice and seeing him, it was almost as though a shroud was lifted and the melancholy was, while not entire dispelled, vastly improved. She smiled at him, “It is.” She paused for a moment, “I do not recall mentioning that she was a singer to you.” She tilted her head to one side, her dark curls falling over her shoulder.

He absently rubbed the back of his neck, “I may have overheard you speaking of it to Duke Richards.”

“You were eavesdropping on the Duke and I?” She feigned shock.

“Clearly I couldn’t rely on Mr. Marlcaster to intervene should the Duke do anything... untoward. I believe my attention was where it needed to be.” He could feel himself blushing, heat creeping up his neck.

“Mr. Marlcaster is... trying. I cannot imagine being raised by the Countess was easy. In particular when you’re clearly not the favored child. I’ve only endured a few weeks and have found it quite trying. A lifetime?”

“You are likely more kind than he deserves.”

“I’ve been given a chance at a new life. I think that opportunity should include kindness for those willing to try. He has many reasons to hate me. I only hope to prove myself by worthy of it.”

He walked closer as she spoke and sat on the bench beside her. Near enough he could touch her, far enough to be considered appropriate. “You know, you gave Miss Daly quite a fright.”

Her mouth dropped into an o of surprise, “Briar came to you?” She looked slyly at him from the corner of her eyes, “You were worried?” She put her hand on the bench between them.

He looked at it for a moment, Small, delicate, bare. A question. An invitation. He looked at her, met her gaze, not willing to look away as he twined his fingers with hers, squeezing them softly, “ I am here, aren’t I?”

#choices: stories you play #desire & decorum #mc x ernest sinclaire #ernest sinclaire #playchoices #dont be too brutal please #💙

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theonceoverthinker · 6 years

Text

OUAT 2X10 - The Cricket Game

I’m loving this Season’s villains! I think they’re...CORA-upting me!!! XD

It’s okay, Reggie! You know I’m PUN-OMENAL at these!

If you want to read my actual thoughts on this episode (And BOY do I have some opinions), hit me up by going down below the cut!

Press Release Regina is accused of murdering one of the town’s most beloved fairytale characters – but only Emma senses that she may be innocent. Meanwhile, back in the fairytale land that was, after capturing the Evil Queen, Snow White and Prince Charming set about planning her public execution in order to rid the land of her murderous tyranny. General Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness Past The trapping Regina scene in the flashback captivates Snow’s character in essence. Snow is not a stupid woman. She knows from experience what Regina is capable of, so she took the precaution of bringing reinforcements. However, she still has the kindness and love that the world (Both in and out of universe) came to know and love her for by attempting for diplomacy with Regina and later mourning the fact that Regina didn’t take it after the fact.

Apart from that, this is honestly a very frustrating segment. That’s because from where I stand, Regina at this point in her life absolutely deserved to die, and it was moronic of Snow not to let that happen.

And I get that that’s the point of the segment. Snow learns what everyone else already knew: Regina can’t change. However, the problem comes where this episode tries to make Snow and Charming’s debate one of equal merit to try to play up to a level of ambiguity. The episode is trying so hard to convince me that Snow might be in the right for wanting to spare Regina from execution, but is actually giving the explanation and diligence of dialogue to Charming. Charming’s coming across as barely ruthless, and his words are those that make sense and are given truth by the fact that we have seen what Regina is capable of. Hell, Regina, in the moments before the execution says that she regrets not having caused more pain.

And if they’re not going for an ambiguous plot and Snow is unabashedly supposed to be wrong in this flashback, then it’s just an honestly boring flashback. The segment itself doesn’t explore anything or lead to any unique character moments. While it’s nice to see Regina and Henry Sr. talk again, their conversation is pointless and gives us nothing that we haven’t gotten before. It honestly shouldn’t have existed because it paints Snow and Charming’s rule, something that was supposed to be fair and strong, albeit stuck in a conflict with Regina’s kingdom, into a bit of a joke. Now, in relation to the present, is it better that Regina lives? Yes, but this flashback is so fresh off the boat of detailing all of the harm that she caused in Season 1 that it would’ve had more effectiveness had it aired in a later season where present Regina could’ve had a lot more goodness at her back and her past been more distanced. As it stands, it’s a flashback that works semi effectively for Regina, but at the cost of reinforcing Regina’s more evil qualities and making Snow seem like not only a detrimental pacifist (And to be frank, an idiot), but an unjust ruler to all of her friends who lost what and who they cared for at Regina’s hands. It was actually painful to watch the scene between Snow and Charming after the failed execution, and not in the good way (It’s made even worse by the fact that Snow is so much smarter in the present). Snow’s not presenting a good enough argument to spare Regina against someone who is framed semi-negatively who has every reasonable reason to want to kill her, and it’s even revealed during her conversation with Rumple (“I don’t even know if it’s possible.”) that she doesn’t even have complete confidence in her decision while it risks the safety of her entire kingdom. How am I supposed to retain my confidence that Snow has what it takes to rule when this is how she handles such a big decision? Present I love the story here. It feels like the logical continuation of the story for out mains: What do we do with Regina now? Emma feels mixed, but her love for Henry and after dealing with Cora for an extended amount of time paints her as more willing to at least hear Regina out going forward (Though with understandable limits) while Snow and Charming who have encountered Regina at her worst for far longer are far more reluctant, and that conflict of feelings is the driving point behind the story. Now, do I consider Emma a touch too forgiving? Somewhat, but I also feel like said experiences with Cora paired with an understanding of the path bad parenting can turn on onto and genuine gratefulness for her return home makes it work well enough, especially with their argument during the party!

If I had a complaint about this segment (And it’s honestly a nitpick), it would be at Emma trying to pretend that there’s this connection between her and Regina about trying to change. Now, it’s effective enough, showing how Emma wants to be a mother to Henry while Regina’s trying to change her life, but I feel like the balance of that comparison never quite felt as strong as it could’ve.

Also, let’s talk about the “my son” line. I take no issue with it and actually applaud the line. It’s appropriately framed as the moment where Emma’s gone too far when she says it, but because as far as she knows, Regina has just squandered her own redemption, something she was trying to do for Henry’s sake, and then had the nerve to lie about it. It’s supposed to be a frustrating yet understandable response and it annoys me how so many refuse to accept that there are layers to this line and conversation that are delivered through framing and think that this is some issue where sides need to be definitively taken on who was “right.” That’s not how this works. Also, it had an appropriate level of setup because Emma was definitely responsive to Regina’s snipe at her during the party as to her skills as a mother. We see that throughout the episode, Emma’s been taking more steps to take on a direct motherly role to Henry after that conversation at the party. It culminates so well so at the moment she’s lost faith in Regina’s innocence, she’s lost faith in her ability to be a mother too. Insights - Stream of Consciousness -The opening shot of this episode is the most underrated shot in the entire series. It’s cool, dark, and Killian’s standing in the moonlight like a badass. It’s the first frame we see without even a recap or intro, but it pulls me in like nothing else in the world! And as the moment intensifies and we here Killian’s theme as he looks upon an unsuspecting Storybrooke and later jumps off his ship, it only gets better. Gif makers, make more gifs of this because I don’t see these shota on my dash at all and that’s a fucking problem! Like, it’s badass Hook! How is this not the centerpiece art or inspiration for like a dozen fics, no matter what you ship?! Like, Killian could either be a good guy or a bad guy in that! So please, just use this gif more! -Cora and Killian have a great rapport. While Killian’s not dumb by any means, we see how his vengeance tends to blind him and how someone more reserved in her thinking like Cora (EFor as INCREDIBLY fucked up as she is) can keep his thoughts in check. -Cora! Don’t kill the nice tackle shop employee! Rude af, ya bitch! And thank you, Killian for at least having the decency not to kill him. -I talk a LOT more about the tacos scene in the “Flip My Ship” section of this reviews (Or should I say, I TACO bout it), but the aftermath with Henry and Emma is hysterical and it only gets better with time. The line that brings the joke home (“It’s impressive that we can still provide her with a few traumatic childhood memories at this stage of the game”) just cements it as one of OUAT’s eternal shining moments. -Why did we not see Snow and Charming take down King George? At risk of dipping my toe into the salt pool, I feel like King George was really done dirty in the name of getting more characters when he was dripping with nuance. I’m not mad, per se seeing as we got that great castle storming last season, but there were more than a couple of eyes rolled when that bit of exposition was delivered to Regina. -It is just too cute to see Snow and Emma walking into a party only to be cheered by all their friends. Like, that just warms my heart. -On a sadder note, I realized how Emma’s name on the sign is smaller and not of the same material, almost like an add on. I don’t know if that was supposed to be read as a subtle hint from the set designers that Emma doesn’t fully fit in yet or what, but that hurts so much! -”I cannot tell you the relief of cooking something that I didn’t have to kill first.” “Don’t I know it. Meat loaf back home? What a bitch.” Another great set of funny lines! -On another funny note, I’m just imagining somewhere in town, Killian and Cora are walking around with ALL of the modern world jokes happening in the background! Fic writers (Maybe just me): GET ON THIS! -Charming’s speech is just so great here! It’s funny (“Here’s to hopefully not having to look for a while), adorable, and creates this very at-home mood. -Leroy, way to rush for the knife! XD And “What’s the secret ingredient? Poison?” is just a riot! -Mad props to Regina for her respect for the new paradigm of her standings with Henry’s custody. Like, look at Season 1 Regina, and there’s this big change! BUT also, I like how the writing shows how she’s not suddenly a goody-two shoes. Regina has anger issues and that comes out in a nasty and petty way. This was a good decision, especially given how fast she realizes her mistake and apologizes! And that real sincere apology is accepted, but the nastiness and pettiness doesn’t fully go away either, as evidenced by her talk with Dr. Hopper shortly afterwards! The character work at here is just gorgeous! -Cora is terrifying. She knows from just one look at Regina how “broken” she is. (As a side not, I’m now thinking of the title of the Season 1 premiere, “Broken” and how it relates to Regina. -”Reminding them of my past?” Archie told Emma nothing about your past and even you know that! -”I fear the Queen will never change.” I like this line, not only because it contrasts between Jiminy’s resolve in the past and present towards Regina, but how it speaks to the impact that Henry has had on Regina, as he’s made her someone who he believes could be saved. -”We must dispense justice.” Jiminy, for once in your life, you are making sense! -LIsten to the fluffy baby! -”Corgina’s” outfit is just so cool! -I like how Emma, though knowing that Regina’s words were said out of anger, still takes an aspect of them to heart by trying to be a more involved mother. -”How can I blame the one I love most?” A more cynical side of me is saying that this line is purposely over the top, but the side of me seeing Regina and Henry Sr. having a moment is crying too hard at said moment to care! -Rumple shows up for the execution. I wonder, did he actually fear that Regina would die, and if so, was he coming just to see if it would happen, or was his motivation more out of concern. Also, love the pan to him when Regina says, “even caused death.” Twice! -”We let her go. Then, we find the truth.” YES! Give me “Emma Swan: Investigations” on the 3DS, please! -If I ever decide to make a drinking game out of this show, I need to make sure that I take a BIG gulp every time Rumple is interrupted while or right before eating. -Rumple cooing at Pongo turns out to be all I need. Best episode ever! -”Well a long time ago in another life, I got to know a sheepdog or two.” WHY. WAS. THIS. NEVER. SHOWN?! -”It won’t allow us to communicate [With Pongo].” If magic won’t let you communicate with animals, then what’s the fucking point of it? -”Couldn’t you just use magic to fool us?” Give it time, Emma. -I LOVE those looks Snow and Charming give when Rumple reveals that Emma has magic and the follow-up reluctance when Rumple goads her into using it. -Love the Neal hint with that dream catcher! Prop Department, you guys deserve a retroactive raise! XD -Why did Pongo’s dream catcher only start glowing around his back/stomach? XD -I like how Emma immediately adopts and understands the concept of “all magic comes with a price.” -”He’s not [your son]! He’s mine.” I love the buildup to this fight. Like a cup of tea, it was brewing to the point of a perfect outburst. That having been said, Emma’s dialogue gets a little...weird after Regina magically pushes her. It sounds like how Snow or Charming would talk, not her, and character voice is an important thing. And why did what Emma say during that bit of the fight change her attitude from fighting Emma to leaving? It’s not like Henry showed up and saw her attack. I guess it’s a matter of credibility? -How the hell did Cora and Killian travel through Storybrooke with any manner of subtlety?! They’re Mr. and Ms. Drama! -Killian says “mom” too! I know it’s stupid, but what was up with the weird colloquialism in the Enchanted Forest?! Like, 98% of the citizens use the “mother/father” designation, and these instances where they use “mom” really pop out! -”If that’s him, who did you kill?” “How should I know? It’s my first day in town!” The humor in this episode is just the best! XD Arcs - How are These Storylines Progressing? Regina’s Redemption - Regina’s redemption is appropriately challenged here and instead of Henry doing the challenging, it’s Henry’s heroes, who are far less forgiving of Regina’s misgivings. Well, partially because of Emma. I said this before, but I think how they handled Regina in the present part of the story was just genius! She’s really trying to fit in, but no one forgives her barring Henry, Emma, and Archie. Understandable. But what makes this so good is that Regina’s doesn’t just flip characters into someone nice but unrecognizable. The nasty, petty, and savage side to her is still very much alive, suppressed until she gets angry. That goes such a long way to showing that this redemption is a fight within herself. It’s a show of how self aware she can be depending on if she can apologize or not and sticks with the other characters as they investigate Archie’s murder. Cora in Storybrooke - Cora’s here and she’s corrupting shit! Cora immediately starts acting like a heat-seeking missile. She gets basic intel about her situation and then set out about destroying Regina’s life. And just like said missile, she destroys it pretty much on sight. Killian’s Revenge/Redemption - We’re starting to get into the “how” of how Killian takes his revenge. And Killian saves a fish guy! Rumple’s Redemption - Granted while all but forced because of Belle’s presence, Rumple does help Emma and co. to the best of his abilities. Favorite Dynamic Emma and Regina - What I love about this dynamic here is just its sincerity. Emma is blatantly unsure of how much Regina has changed, but she knows that she wants to and is being supportive. And even though this builds to an unhappy ending between the two of them, that sticks with Emma the whole time. She gives Regina the benefit of the doubt because she both believes in Regina and she wants Henry to have her in his life until plausible deniability goes out the window (As far as she knows). Emma works herself to the bone trying to examine each and every possibility that could prove Regina’s innocence and I feel like she doesn’t get enough credit for that. Regina herself is also being sincere, both in her defense for herself in the murder mystery and with her emotions and wants. She’s very honest as to her opinions on why she’s innocent and she’s open about her hopes to spend more time with Henry. And you honestly feel her trying to be more self aware, especially with the apology at the party. Writer Goodman and Hull are back in this episode, and unfortunately, so is Goodman’s sanctimony. This episode is so annoyingly on the nose with its laurels and in the past, it has nothing to show for it. Additionally, there’s no sense of framing in the flashback. While Snow ultimately decides that trying to redeem Regina was wrong, the entire amount of buildup towards that conclusion gives all the good points to David while making Snow our focal character. In the present, things are much better, for the framing is dependent on the effective shows of work into her redemption that Regina’s gone through and the audience has the crucial point of reference that Cora is in town and she can transform herself. I feel like I need to attribute this to Hull. Rating 6/10. I’m so torn about this episode. The quality of the content in the present is out of this world. Half the lines had me in stitches because the comedy hit a bullseye each and every time. And story wise? What a great one! The conflicts between Emma and her parents, Emma and Regina, and Emma with herself are all delivered masterfully and they were written so intricately that no one is left without sympathy. On the other side of the coin though, the flashback is a profound waste of time. It serves to grant a single point of exposition, but unlike other episodes that try for the same thing, nothing of interest is even attempted barring a genuine though completely useless conversation between Regina and Henry Sr.. We know Regina wasn’t about to switch sides in this flashback, and without the attempt of pretense to entertain that, the writing ends up making Snow a complete idiot. Flip My Ship - Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness” Snowing - TACOSSSSSSSSSSS!!!! *ahem* That is all. Okay, I’ve got more to say because the taco scene is just adorable and sexy, and it’s rare that we get a scene like this without unfortunate implications behind it. The chemistry between Ginny and Josh is as hot as it’s ever been and it’s a perfect bout of payoff for their separation. Seeing Snow and Charming cradle each other and have such fluffy pillow talk that you’d think the scene happened in heaven itself is just flawless. Rumbelle - Seeing Belle coo over Rumple cooing at Pongo brings the biggest smile to my face on this Earth! ()()()()()()()()() Thank you all for reading and to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales! Next time, let’s examine one of our outsiders, okay? See you then!

Season 2 Tally (92/220) Writer Tally for Season 2: Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis: (29/60) Jane Espenson (17/50) Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg (20/50) David Goodman (16/30) Robert Hull (16/30) Christine Boylan (7/30) Kalinda Vazquez (10/30) Daniel Thomsen (10/20)

Operation Rewatch Archives

#ouat #once upon a time #watching fairytales #ouat 2x10 #ouat rewatch #jenna watches ouat #basically every character in this episode is discussed

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synonym-for-life · 6 years

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Criticism in fandom

I posted this as a reblog to something already but I feel like this deserves a post of its own. This will be a rather general post about fandom etiquette, but I do think it’s important, so here goes.

1. Most writers (not all, but definitely most) don’t want unsolicited criticism (not in comments, not in fic recs, not anywhere public). Why?

First and foremost, we don’t know who you are. We don’t know if you have any experience writing yourself, we don’t know if you have any experience with editing, betaing, how familiar you are with the characters, the canon, different narration techniques etc. Basically, we don’t know if the criticism is coming from a trusted source or simply from an entitled commenter who didn’t get exactly what they wanted.

A lot of writers already HAVE trusted sources of criticism, namely their alpha and beta readers. These are the people the authors trust, these are the people who mostly have experience with SpaG, editing, plotting, story structure etc. Believe me, when I tell you this, a good alpha/beta won’t just nod along and say everything is perfect - a good alpha/beta will give credit where credit is due and give criticism where criticism is due.

Sometimes writers don’t want ANY criticism on some (or all) of their stories. Not even from an alpha/beta. Sometimes we just can’t be bothered with editing, sometimes we don’t have time, sometimes we just want to key-smash the story onto our AO3 to get all those sudden feels out, just throw it out there into the whirlwind of readers in its pure raw form because we die as warriors.

People who offer unsolicited criticism often do it in the name of “helping writers get better”. And fair, most writers do want to get better, in which case see point one and two of why unsolicited crit isn’t the best way to go. And some writers couldn’t care less about getting better because maybe that’s not their ambition in life and they just write to get those stories out.

2. Fic ratings suck for most of us writers. Why?

We are tender souls who are very often majorly insecure about our own writing and seeing a rating (be it on a 1-10 scale or something else) just makes us a) start comparing to other writers, b) putting pressure on ourselves to write a 10/10 fic c) cry

It also kind of sucks because it brings that “real world” mentality into fandom. The world where everyone is competing against each other, the world where you always feel like you have to score the highest, the world where everything you do is judged. The world that pressures you about being productive and efficient at all times.

3. How CAN you help writers get better, you ask, if you cannot openly offer criticism?

Become an alpha/beta reader. We LOVE alpha/beta readers (This is time for me to say Hi to all of you alphas and betas who make our fics better! *waves*) Yes, you won’t immediately know how to do it (I didn’t either and I still wouldn’t consider myself a great beta) but you will learn by listening to what the author wants/needs (communication with the author is of utmost importance!). An important thing to note is that betaing includes a lot of flailing over the great parts and lots of sincere, but kind, criticism of the parts that don’t work. If you come up with suggestions for improvement, even better!

You can start posting writing tips! Tumblr is a great place for that. If you are a writer yourself or if you simply have some observations to make that you think will help either writers of a specific fandom or writers in general, you can make your blog a reference blog for writers. You can treat different themes ranging from grammar and spelling to plotting to characterization etc. It’s completely fine to criticize fandom cliches and things you find problematic, just don’t call out specific writers and be prepared that not everyone will agree with you.

You can start online writing workshops or writing challenges where your aim could be exploring a certain style of writing, or a certain character or even just the uses of punctuation. We’ve had some amazing workshops and challenges on the Drarry discord and I can definitely say that these kinds of events help writers a lot. But these events do take a lot of time and effort to organize - also a fair amount of knowledge and skill. However, even just participating in the events as a writer and then being able to comment on other people’s works (criticism/suggestions for improvement are welcome in such workshops!) allows for criticism in an overall positive and encouraging environment.

participate in discussions! and I say discussions, not public callouts or attacks or anon messages!

Lastly, I’d like to reiterate a point that I think is very important. Fandom is, for a lot of us, an escape from the outside world. People who are wont to criticize fics/art etc often make excuses that “it’s a tough world out there” and “if you can’t take the criticism don’t write” and stuff like that. The thing is, fandom can be better than the harsh outside world. It is a place where we support each other, where we try to create a comfortable, safe environment that serves as a respite from real life. That isn’t to say that we blind ourselves from the real world. No, we simply believe that even the real world would be able to function the same way - with positive reinforcement, with people helping one another, with people working together, with people respecting each other’s boundaries.

P.S.: This post is meant to be encouraging. I want as many people in the fandom as possible! Comment, interact, write, draw, read, anything! Also if you make a mistake, that’s fine. We all do! Don’t stress over it too much, this is supposed to be fun! As long as we try to be kind and respectful all will be well.

#commenting #unsolicited criticism #criticises #fandom etiquette #drarry #drarry fandom #long post

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rhapsodosu · 6 years

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Psychotherapy, Chapter 3

[x] Chapter 3 has been re-written!

This is also in FF and AO3.

Summary: “After a long day of hearing my patients’ issues, I wake up and find a half-naked woman on my bed, staring at me like she had known me forever. Who is she? I don’t know. All I know is she changed my life in many ways.”

Chapter 3: Ichigo starts admitting his feelings to himself.

Pairing: Ichiruki, T/M, AU || Previous chapter HERE

A/N: So I have rewritten the third chapter now, again, I changed some plot elements to make it more fitting and added some major items to lead into the build-ups. Again, this is a slice-of-life kind of fic, but there’s more to Rukia’s mystery. 😊

I do not own Bleach.

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I don’t care if it seems wrong.

I don’t care if it looks rushed.

I don’t care if it’s crazy.

What I care about… is her.

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She’s mysterious and all. Compare her to an abstract painting, if you will. At first you cannot make out the details, but you would see yourself appreciating it more as you discover more things about it. And then you would be craving for more and more, looking closer and closer to see the finest lines, the smallest of strokes.

Don’t get me wrong though—not all things I find out about her is exactly ideal. Nobody is perfect after all.

But still, it’s Rukia… And Rukia's… Rukia.

Do you even get what I mean?

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Session 3: Guarded

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Rukia was the first thing that I saw on the corridor leading to my clinic.

It was all effortless: her dark tresses heavily contrasted with the white backdrop of the wall she was leaning against, and it made the milky skin on her neck stand out even more. I always thought that my type was different, you know those tall, curvy types that made men swoon. But this woman… she demanded attention without knowing it. From her stance down to the smallest movements of her lips while sucking on the end of a consumed ice pop, and with just that she stirred my rather healthy imagination.

I cleared my throat to drive away my thoughts and she lifted her gaze from her feet to my face in response.

“Oi, doctor. Took you long enough.”

“Those are for my kid patients, y'know. Can’t eat it as you wish.”

“Come on, Ichigo. Just this once.” She pulled out the lollipop stick from her mouth and wagged it before chucking it into the trash box at her side. Rukia’s eyes went brighter as she ran a look from my head to toe as if in appraisal, and then reached out to me to tug on my sleeve.

“I can’t believe you’re this old and you don’t know how to do this shit.” I realized she was fixing the folds of my dress shirt and did it more neatly than earlier.

“Amazing, smidge. Don’t you know this is very domestic? Aren’t you very domestic to me?” It was meant to be a tease. The smaller figure chuckled in response, mumbling something like dummy something something moron under her breath, and then took a step back with a finger on her chin.

“Hey, you look good on this. Pink button-down, denims, a fluffy pair of blue slippers and scowl that looks very well on your chiseled face…”

Then she took an effort of straining her legs to tiptoe—just to mock-punch me on the cheek.

“You’re a doctor everyone has the hots for. Except maybe me.”

Ah, this woman.

Rukia should consider herself lucky for ending up in my place, I decided. I wasn’t just getting possessive. If she behaves like this in front of another person with low self-restraint, then she’d surely be in trouble. No amount of judo would protect her from wild, rabid animals out there.

And I thank all of that is holy for not making that happen.

“Shut up. I don’t have the hots for you either.” I cringed away in faux disgust, although I might have been lying. She started laughing heartily—one of the few times that she lets her guard down completely—and it made her more fascinating.

But that’s just sometimes. And by that I mean just a fraction of a second.

Whenever I noticed it, she immediately snaps back to her unpredictable, unfathomable state. She does it in perfect timing. Every. Single. Time.

She stopped laughing when I darted a glare towards her direction, both her hands which were covering her mouth fell limply to her side and there was a ghost of an expression in her face that I couldn’t identify.

“Really? You don’t?”

I dragged my eyes off her and focused on something else. “Yeah, I don’t. So shut up. Why do you care?”

I went for the Claude Monet painting on the wall opposite her… but… I could tell she wasn’t ready to let it go. Ignoring her, by the way, felt like an itch. Try as you may to not pay attention to her but the itch would just get worse.

From my peripheral, I saw her quietly walk towards me, only to stop a foot away. Without looking I knew her stare was trying to pierce me, like she was digging deep into my thoughts, and then spoke her prophetic statement.

“It’s alright. People aren’t born ready.”

I fought so hard to not tell her anything. Yet. Things were getting physical, and I was trying to not give anything away to not appear indecent. It wasn’t all sexual. I wasn’t trying to get into her pants as soon as I can. I was genuinely interested in Rukia, but I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

I didn’t even know why we were getting to that point or why my opinion mattered. I was under the impression that all the touching, the kissing, didn’t matter to her. That it was just casual like everybody does these days.

Before I could give a coherent answer, the doorbell rang—my first patient of the day.

By the time I brought back my attention to her, Rukia had already retreated elsewhere.

After my three-hour session with Hanatarou, I discovered that my other patients were already at the waiting lounge.

There were eight of them, six were my regulars: Omaeda, Hisagi, Kira, Inoue, old man Sasakibe and his nurse Isane… The other two had just placed their appointments the day before, a child with a tacky name called Wonderweiss and an enormous dude who introduced himself later on as Yammy.

What surprised me is that another certain someone was wearing the bright pink apron that my sister left ages ago, someone who busied herself with offering candies and other whatnots to the patients.

And you guessed it right.

My new, unpaid, mysterious receptionist was Rukia.

I found myself with a smile as I silently watched her, thanking her inside my mind for the effort that she was giving. She looked sincere as she grinned on my patients, especially on Inoue. However, my grin turned into grimace as I noticed the males (except Sasakibe, since he’s sort of forgetful already) were looking at her with slightly pink faces and mouths formed into ‘O’s. Omaeda was actually holding his hand out like he was waiting for a an opportunity to squeeze something.

Damned perverts.

“Ehrm,. Omaeda-san, are you there already?” I called out to him immediately, not wanting him to get the chance to get his hands into anything.

When he came forward, he still had his eyes on Rukia—he even grabbed a cookie from her plate. How I wished he would trip and bash his head on the floor already.

“Oh, come here you big oaf.” I said irritably without thinking. He stopped and looked at me inquisitively.

“What did you just say, doctor?”

“I said that’s a big oat cookie, Omaeda-san.” I grunted, then I stepped out and shoved him inside the room. “Now, now, let’s start.”

Before I went in I saw that Rukia was talking to Inoue and quite oblivious to all the ogling earlier. Fortunately, Kira and Hisagi were still looking at me, and I gave the best glare that I could muster. Well, if there’s something that every person needs to learn, the ought to not mess with their shrink or any person related to their health care. Or it will get pretty ugly real quick.

The day went on more easily and more peacefully, with Rukia’s aid. At lunch time, she knocked and halted my torturing—counseling—of Omaeda for a while just to bring in my lunch. When it’s Hisagi’s turn, she went in to bring tea and milk; in Kira’s she brought re-heated cookies.

Actually, even though her services meant that my refrigerator and cupboard are losing their contents more frequently, I am somewhat smug. Especially when Isane asked something when I was giving prescriptions to old man Sasakibe.

“Ano… Kurosaki-san, who’s the girl?”

“Oh.” A question like that was expected—I mean, it’s the first time they saw someone else in the clinic. “That’s Rukia. My… ah…receptionist.”

“Hmmm, okay…”

My head bobbed automatically towards her seat, noticing her tone. “What is it, Isane-san?”

She smiled timidly. “I thought she is your girlfriend or something. You look good together despite some notable differences.”

“Oh no. You got it wrong.” I forced myself to sound hoarse. Her words actually made it hard for me to prevent the twitching on the corners of my mouth all day, because my lips wanted to disobey me again and smile eternally.

But of course I couldn’t. Because I look good with a scowl on, according to a certain someone.

When it was Inoue’s turn, I was about to talk to Rukia and tell her to rest already. However, I looked around and she was gone. Yammy and Wonderweiss weren’t around either. There was a bit of anxiety in me, although I was convincing myself that Rukia could take care of herself.

“Ano… Kurosaki-kun…” I was snapped out of my thoughts when Inoue greeted me. As much as I want to look around for Rukia, I had a patient waiting, and my profession was almost always the first thing on my list. Almost.

“Ah, Inoue. Let’s go.” I motioned for her to come in the room, while my eyes travelled around for the last time, hoping that Rukia was just lurking out of my line of sight. But she wasn’t, and I sighed.

Where could she have gone this time?

At last, I bid goodbye to Inoue. It was 7PM already, the clock and my stomach both said in alarm.

First things first though. I dashed upstairs to search for Rukia. The apron unceremoniously chucked on a chair on the second floor, the plate of cookies was on the table. Painstakingly, I slowed down my pace when I was on the stairs to the third floor. My heart was thumping a bit faster than normal and my hand was sweaty against the doorknob of my room.

Two questions were always there when she disappears. A) What do I do when she’s not there? B) What do I do when she is there.

It was the second question that came to fruition. I couldn’t help but felt relieved when I saw Rukia sitting on my bed, in front of the television, wearing a new set of clothes and… her hair wet and framing her face. She seemed to notice my arrival even before she saw me. She smirked and waved a hand towards my direction.

“What’s up, doctor?”

“What’s up your face.” I sighed, before leaning on the jamb. “Hey, er… thanks. I really appreciate your help earlier.”

Eyes till glued to the TV, she shook her head. Rukia’s attention seems to be drawn to the commercial with lots of bunnies on it. “It’s nothing. You’re letting me stay here for free.”

“Oh yeah.” I said, wondering about her lack of response. She was less hostile and there was less enthusiasm in her voice. PMS maybe? Was she sick?

“Oi, Rukia. Is there a problem?”

“Nope.”

“Then why are you like that?”

She rolled her eyes and finally looked at me. “What? Lacking response? No, not really. I was just thinking. Thanks for interrupting my train of thoughts.”

I pressed on, now my arms over my chest. “About what? Murdering me?”

“ Would I get your properties if I kill you?”

“Wh-! You were really thinking of killing me?”

Her laugh tinkled against the ambient sounds. “Hey, Inoue’s pretty.” She stared at me like she was expecting an answer but rolled her eyes again as I kept my silence. Rukia held out her arms in my direction, her finger pointing at me like I was guilty of something.

“I was pointing out, Kurosaki, that your patient has the hots for you but you are so dense to notice.”

There she goes again about finding me a girlfriend. Clearly, I am not the one who is missing the point. “Shut up, bird-brain. Do you even realize what you’re getting at?”

“Yeah. It’s a brilliant suggestion. Why not date her? She’s pretty and curvaceous, very heartwarming too. I wanna hug her to be honest.”

“Dammit,” I was guessing that my frown was deepening further after my grunt. “She’s fine, but that's…”

How do you phrase it? It wasn’t illegal per se, but a little bit low on morals.

Just to be clear, not all patients of mine were horribly crazy (like, suffering from dementia, schizophrenia, or bipolar disorders), but the thing is, most of them are… different.

Some would have severe anxieties, denial, or extreme phobias. Yeah, I remember one patient that had vestiphobia. It is an irrational fear of wearing clothes. Then try to imagine going out with that person—or any person whose weaknesses are all laid out in front of you. You were supposed to help them, not to take advantage of them.

The point is, the whole thing was…

“Monstrously repulsive.” I finally came up with a term to perfectly describe the situation.

Her grin widened unashamedly. “So you don’t like dating patients?”

“You don’t seem…disappointed.” I narrowed my eyes, then sent her another glare as I was reminded of another important thing. “And please, don’t try to make relationships for me. It’s annoying.”

“Ah. So you’re stuck with me?”

“Yeah—” I paused when I choked mildly. “I mean no!”

“So you want other women—”

“No!”

“—so just me—”

“No!”

“—so you want me and other—”

“Hell no! I’m just…! Happy as it is!”

I slapped my hand in my forehead whilst slightly panting, non-existent ringing making a buzz in my ears from the sudden shouting. When I recovered from my outburst, Rukia was already in front of me with her lips pressed together.

“I was just messing around.” A finger prodded me on the chest, her amethyst eyes wide and somewhat glittery. I realized she as giving me the shoujo eyes. “Idiot… Your patience needs a professional intervention.”

My shoulders fell further. She was right—although she’s the only one that could rile me up this much. “You keep on annoying me, it’s unbelievable.”

“Hah. Speak for yourself, Ichigo.”

I liked how she breathes my name out, how she plays with it in her tongue.

I very much would like to kiss her right then and there, unfortunately my stomach heaved an enormous growl that broke whatever tension was forming between us. Much to my chagrin, I was subjected once more to endless teasing by the woman.

There was total darkness when I opened my eyes. I reached out but touched nothing. The silence was deafening me and it felt very suffocating. Terrifying. It was then that I saw her.

“Icchi-kun…” The child emerged from the blackness, her eyes were almost glowing as she stared. Tears were pooling in them as she approached, her hand held out as if she was expecting me to pull her in.

“Wh-Who the hell are you?” I shouted back but I found myself moving in. The details were slowly getting clearer; the dress she wore had streaks on it—even on her skin. I figured that it was blood.

The contrast was eerie and haunting, but I was getting the feeling that I knew who she was.

A forgotten memory… a lost friend…?

The child stopped walking when she was a foot away. Her tiny hands, wet from the blood, touched my face and cradled it as if I was more fragile. “Help me…Please.”

“How…?” My heart was aching and I couldn’t breathe; I realized I was sobbing. My entire body was shaking while she watched, and everything shifted around me until finally the light broke through.

I was on a garden now. There were sunflowers everywhere, children running on the background. It was a scene that was mildly familiar, although I cannot pinpoint yet where I’ve seen it. Maybe a movie, or a novel that I’ve read somewhere.

The child still was holding me in what little grasp she had. At first I thought she had gotten taller—but no—it was me who turned shorter. I looked down and realized I was wearing the same clothes when that thing happened. I was back in my lost years, in my teens.

“What’s your name?” The child shook her head at my question. “How old are you?”

“You… don’t remember, Icchi-kun?” Her voice hit me with immeasurable loneliness and guilt. She knew me, yet I didn’t have a clue to who she was. The child started tearing up again, repeating the same words like a mantra.

“Help me… Help me.”

The space around us warped again; it was as if time was being rewound and we were being swallowed again by the wicked shadows. I tried to hug the child but hands appeared and dragged her away. She was shouting, thrashing, and I was screaming in frustration before I could get to her. I suddenly recalled her name.

“No! Come back! I remember!” But she was gone, I could only hear her pained wailing. When there was nothing left but me in the void, a cold hand gripped my shoulder and pulled me back.

“N-no! What about her! The child!” There was no sense in fighting it back. I was clearly heartbroken.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help… Yukio! YUKIO!”

A stinging in my cheek prompted me to break free of the gloom—a couple of blinks and then I was back in my room. Rukia was hovering atop me, my body between her legs, her hand raised in a pre-emptive strike.

I was dreaming. Which was a surprise, everything felt raw and realistic.

“Do you need another slap?” She screeched in anger. Her eyes said otherwise. “Are you okay?!”

Was I okay? It was a weird dream and I still couldn’t breathe properly. However, with the concern that she was giving me, everything strangely felt better. All I needed was a look at her face. I was shamelessly starting to depend on Rukia like she was some sort of therapy of my own kind.

“I guess…”

“Who’s Yukio? You kept on shouting that name in the middle of the night! I thought you were dying!”

“I don’t know.”

Yukio… That was the child’s name, but I still couldn’t recall where I met her. To be honest, I couldn’t remember much back then, back when mom had the accident. I learned later on that it was selective amnesia-my brain tried to cope up with grief and it blocked out important details that were related to a traumatic experience. Perhaps she was of importance. Perhaps I needed to look for her. Perhaps not.

“…It was kind of a nightmare.” Words aren’t enough to describe the strange pain that was eating me up. “Yukio might be a part of mom’s memories… which I forgot…”

“…Don’t talk, dumbass.” I thought she was going to slap me again but her stance relaxed and instead she left her palm to rest on my cheek. It was warmer than usual. And with her being this close, I could indulge myself with her sweet scent that was filling my lungs.

“You don’t need to tell me everything.” Her face drew nearer with her brows gathered at the center. “As long as you’re alright.”

I nodded and ran a hand to her shoulder down to her touch, giving it a light press.

“Yeah. I am.”

The next thing I was aware of was that our kisses were greedy against each other.

I pulled her hastily, and she crashed into me. Everything was in a blur. My hands roamed everywhere that they wanted to and she breathed sharply against my kiss with every touch. The softness on her skin was enough to drive me insane—on her thighs, on her back, on her neck. Her small moans played music in my ears. Her lean figure felt breaking with the urgency, but the way her nails dug into my skin as we kissed told me otherwise.

Rukia, rukia, rukia… I was calling her name in my mind, repeating it as if I was afraid that I would forget her like I did with Yukio.

“Ichigo…” She finally breathed out when I pinned her down, nibbling at her neck. Rukia called me back to reality; and when I did, I saw the state of mess and undress that we were in.

It made me ponder whether to take the chance, but going by her expression, we both knew we were playing with fire. Defeating my own desires, I helped her shift beside me on the bed while never breaking the connection with our stares.

She spoke first after some minutes of silence, and perhaps deep contemplation of what we were doing with ourselves.

“I might have to consider sleeping in your closet now.” It seemed like she was seriously considering it, which I found funny.

“You’re a dummy.” I sent a poke to her forehead and for a moment I thought I saw the same look that I saw in Yukio’s face. A heavily masked solitude, a soul searching for some much-needed help. It was only a dream, but I couldn’t afford for it to happen in real life.

“Hey, just stay with me, midget. Here."

I patted the bed cockily for emphasis. Rukia didn’t say anything, but she moved closer to snuggle against my chest.

That kind of answer was enough, I decided.

End.

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#ichiruki #bleach #kuchiki rukia #kurosaki ichigo #pro ichiruki #fanfic:psychotherapy #my writing

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