#not to mention that they subconsciously feel obligated to fix everything all the time but dont worry about it <3

[dungeons-and-dragon-age]

Robin will really just go around Kirkwall saying "what if i tried fixing every problem ever" huh

[rainbows-fanfics]

Help Unwanted (Chapter 13)

Summary: After losing the Pirate, Deacon is unwillingly paired with a partner to help with his job. The only problem is - they can't stand each other, and time is dwindling until he can re-capture all his lost prisoners.

Human AU of the Armada from Pirate101.

Pairings: Deacon/Queen!Deacon, Deacon/OC

--

Dea clenched and unclenched her hands as this news sank in the room. It felt like the temperature had dipped again and a new chill settled on her skin. She tore her eyes away and swallowed. This was not how she imagined this conversation would play out. She thought their prisoners would be held behind bars to serve their time in Valencia for their committed crimes. But now she learned they were interrogated and tortured for information. 

..Why did that make her feel sick? 

She attempted to call his bluff. “You’re lying.” 

He wouldn’t dispute it because there was nothing to disprove. Still. She hoped he would appease her regardless. But she was not that lucky. 

"It’s a part of my job that I don’t talk about.” 

“...But that can’t be.” She tried to keep her voice steady. The pain in her head was coming back at a cruel time. “I know the Armada do unsavory things, but I didn’t picture you doing them...” 

He tilted his head curiously. “Do you think I’m not capable?” 

“Anyone is capable. It depends if they're willing to do it.” 

She crossed her arms and fixed him with a challenging stare. He was not intimidated in the slightest. 

“I do everything I can to obtain the information we need. I don’t do it because I like it. I do it because that is what is expected of me.” 

Her eyes searched his mask. To hear that the man she worked with was the same one physically inflicting this pain on others…She’d heard the Armada was involved in dirty business, but she thought such things were carried out by people… less than the Elite. She hadn’t viewed Deacon as a threat - she learned he was a mildly-tempered man. But knowing that he tortured people…

…

…That was what was expected of him? What did his job entail, exactly? 

Dea suddenly felt defenseless. If he was capable of this, then he was damn-well able to do things to her, too. Queen assured her he was a good man, but she neglected to mention he was capable of mindless violence. 

Her mind began to spiral. She thought of all the nights they had slept together in the same room. At any point, he could’ve easily restrained her and questioned who she was. She would've had no other choice but to cave in. He could've gotten all the answers he wanted through physical means. 

…Her subconscious dutifully reminded her that he didn't. 

A painful ache formed in Dea's head from all this mental fretting. She wished she could have learned this without a concussion. She covered her mask with her hands and groaned. Deacon grew concerned. 

“Are you alright?”

She held up a hand to reassure him. He didn't push it. She moved her arms to hug herself in a sudden need of comfort. Her voice was quiet.

“...What is it like?" 

It took him a few seconds to realize what she was asking. His voice gave nothing away. "I won't talk about it." 

"I don't want to know anything confidential. I just…" She looked to the floor. "..Want to know if it's hard for you."

She wished to know how he felt doing these things. Did he enjoy their pain? Or was it something he despised? He said it was part of his job that he was expected - and possibly forced - to do. If the process was difficult for him, he shouldn’t bear that burden alone. Something tapped the tiles and caught her attention. Deacon had rearranged his cane into his other hand. 

"This is nothing you need to worry about."

"Why not? Do I not have the right to know what happens to those we are capturing?"

"Your involvement is limited. The moment we’re done arresting them, you are dismissed from this mission. Anything that happens afterwards is my obligation, not yours." 

She fell silent. He continued, "-These are *my* prisoners. And I will see to it that my duties are fulfilled once and for all."

"So you’ll question and beat them until they tell you what you want?" It was a rhetorical question and she knew it. She chewed the inside of her cheek. "...But what if they are innocent? If they know nothing about this 'pirate haven'?"

"They have been rightfully convicted with full evidence against them. These are not 'random scum' I have chosen willy-nilly."

"..."

Dea didn't know what to say. It was so much to take in. And really - she had no place to argue, what with this being * his * situation that she merely stepped into. She wondered if she would've agreed to this operation if she knew everything that was happening.

…Torture was wrong. But she personally knew a few men who deserved that pain. Who she would love to see suffer. She pictured Deacon bringing justice this way in her mind. *Someone* had to teach these degenerates a lesson, after all. Now she didn’t feel so bothered by the prospect anymore.

But she was still conflicted. 

The door opened and her nurse peeked in to announce that visiting hours were closing. The spymaster stood to his feet once they were alone. He faced Dea and tapped his fingers on his cane thoughtfully.

"What are your favorite flowers?" He prompted.

Despite the earlier tension, his co-captain let out an airly chuckle. She rested her head in her hand. "Why? Were you thinking of getting me some?"

"Yes. But…you've never mentioned your favorite."

She smiled under her mask. "Lobelias."

He tilted his mask ever so slightly. "Interesting," He remarked.

"I don't know if they're that popular here in Valencia, but we used to have them in our garden at home." Her heart ached as a feeling of reminiscence washed over her. She sighed. "But…tulips are also lovely." 

"Noted. Buona notte."

He wasn't sure what else to do but take his leave. As he departed, he took one last glance at the trench coat hidden behind Dea and exhaled sadly. 

-----

That night, Deacon was where most Armada soldiers shouldn't be. But he was one of the few who had full clearance here, and he was going to use that to his advantage. 

He’d been here months ago when he was first assigned a partner. He spent hours scouring through classified documents and checking the Armada’s files for any information about her. He made little progress that day; it infuriated him to waste so much time. But now he had a lead and he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. 

Reyna. 

It wasn’t hard to find his way past redacted Armada memorandums. The difficult part was * knowing * what material was obscured - and if he had that information, he could easily locate the original document. His search tonight went much easier than his last. Before the Emissary knew it, he was holding a confidential stack of papers containing everything that he wanted to know. 

As he went to open the folder, he paused. Was he doing the right thing? 

He’d held back long enough. If he had been really dedicated to finding Dea’s identity, he would’ve returned here the second he learned she was from Monquista. He could’ve cashed in on a few favors owed to him there, taken a look at their army’s records. But he’d been focused on his mission; too preoccupied with staying on Kane’s good side to do any more personal digging. But with her admittance, he could search to his heart’s delight. 

He had waited, which proved fortunate. He held back long enough to learn Dea’s true name directly from her lips - albeit accidentally. Which made what he was doing all the more contentious. But she didn’t have to know . No one did. He had practice hiding things and acting on the down-low. It helped that he was an Elite and had authorization to do most of these things. If what he was doing was ever discovered, most Armada officers were more than willing to look away. 

He opened the folder. 

---- Obtaining the lobelias was a little time-consuming, but it didn’t matter. He had time to waste, so what was a day hunting down a vendor in possession of them? It turns out they were beloved in Valencia, since the rich regularly decorated the outside of their mansions with hanging baskets of the flowers. But that meant most were out of stock, and that’s where Deacon’s little hunt began. He still managed to procure a bouquet with little problem, and wrote Dea’s name on a small tag in neat handwriting. 

He was stopped when Queen heard of what he was doing and she insisted he’d take her own arrangement with him. It mainly consisted of zinnias, to lament her temporary absence in the Armada, with chrysanthemums and crocuses. When he dropped them off at the hospital, he felt he had been overshadowed by Queen’s bountiful assortment.

. . . 

When that was done, he was faced with the same dilemma as before. Even though he visited Dea and made sure she was well, he still had to captain his ship alone and strategize by himself. It didn’t make a difference, really - he’d done this for years and managed well on his own. But he was missing her input, her small comments on how repetitive his schemes were and how he needlessly wrote every tiny detail down. 

He felt...incomplete. This was not a feeling he experienced before, which meant he had to accept the difficult fact that— 

He missed Dea. 

To cope with this realization, he sought out his journal every time he thought about her. Her mattress in the cabin was vacant, but all of her belongings were still there. The room even lingered of her perfume. Soon his back pages were full of Dea’s habits that he knew, what foods she liked, and the lyrics to the songs she sang around him. 

On his less favorable nights, much like this one where he was deep in thought, he scribbled down the name ‘Reyna’ , followed by what he found in those documents. He learned a few interesting things about her past, but it all felt like an incomplete puzzle. 

It turns out she wasn’t a transfer at all. She’d been discharged from the Monquistan army for ‘insubordination’ , and had a list of misdemeanors on her record. But he couldn’t find what she had been accused of, and all of her superiors used codenames to hide their identities. Deacon recognized the work of someone intentionally covering their tracks, and had the strongest feeling that was going on here. He just wasn’t sure if it was Dea herself, or someone else outside of this equation. 

It just…didn’t make sense. 

Yes, Dea was a little difficult. She talked back and asserted herself when she could. But she followed orders and expressed nothing but loyalty to the Armada. She never worked against their mission and had no issue when it came to capturing prisoners from her homeland. It was hard to picture his co-captain as a troublemaker.

Not to mention, the Armada’s standards were strict, and would not willingly recruit anyone with a bad history. There was no statement of her request ever being denied, but surely her records had to have been accessed? Knowing Queen was behind Dea’s promotion, he wondered if she had a helping hand in her enlistment as well.

And if she did… why? Queen was the second-in-command of the Armada. She had the authority to do as she pleased, but she was also stern. She had high expectations like any other upper-hand did. She would not let a disobedient soldier work alongside an Elite like him. 

Deacon dropped his pen and sighed, sitting back in his chair. His thoughts returned to the day he was called into his father’s office and presented with a proposition. Kane himself said Dea had no “records of negligence ” - had he lied? Or was that a true statement, and Dea’s misconduct was elsewhere? The Supreme Commander had the final say in all decisions regardless of Queen's input. Which meant he must have personally approved of Dea himself.

He could not ask Queen about it because then that would reveal he was snooping around Armada records again, and she might not appreciate this with Dea, knowing how she felt about the girl. And Kane would be upset to learn he was avoiding his mission and fretting over such trifles. The spymaster regretted looking at those papers, because now he had more questions than answers. 

Why couldn’t this be easy, and he could simply ask Dea about it? She was secretive of her past, and now Deacon had a clue as to why. But what could she be hiding? How much was there that he didn’t know? And why did that bother him so much?

He leaned forward and grabbed his pen again, letting out an exhausted breath. In a fit of frustration, he wrote down the words:

I miss her.

[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 19

Thank you guys for your patience!  I took a week of vacation to focus on relaxing and catching up on this fic but I’m a wife and a mom so that’s the exact opposite of what happened.  But I’m back now.  I still won’t have daily updates, but it shouldn’t be weeks in between anymore.

Chapter 1     Chapter 18

Marinette looked up at the Wayne Enterprises building, craning her neck in an attempt to see all the way up.  This was only her second time seeing the building up close and it was no less intimidating the second time around.  There was nothing inherently intimidating about the building. It was large and imposing, but that was the only characteristic that would be considered intimidating.

It was more a feeling, an aura, she got from the name, the history, the expectations and obligations that hit her every time she saw the building.  Like something was weighing down on her for just being in its presence.  Something pushing her away and pulling her in at the same time. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, her eyes never once leaving the building’s façade.

She almost jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder.  “You sure you’re okay with this?” Max asked quietly.  “We don’t have to do this today.”

Marinette shook her head, her eyes still pinned to the building.  “Yes we do. I’ve pushed it off too long already. At this point, I’m getting favoritism by not getting lectured for it.”

Max looked around to make sure nobody was listening.  “If it helps, I don’t think M. Wayne is the type to confront you at work.”

Marinette scoffed and gave him a pointed look. “That is exactly the type of man he is. Confront in a public place where it is likely to create a scene if I say ‘no’ and ask me to speak with him in a more private venue.”

Max gave her a small sympathetic smile.  “Bad time to mention that you appear to have similar approaches to confronting people who are avoiding you?”

Marinette glowered at him, but only slightly.  He wasn’t wrong.  She was usually the one doing the avoiding, but if she had to confront someone who was proving elusive, such as when she had approached M. Fox the first time, it was an approach she would take.  Didn’t mean she liked it.  Either the tactic or the similarity in thinking process… or maybe she did like the similarity.  It was a link to him.  A subconscious, constant, unchanging connection to her biological father.

“I just mean to point out that if you do think alike, then you can anticipate his next moves and plan accordingly.  You can use it to your advantage.  You’re Harry Potter to his Voldemort,” Max offered with a supportive smile.

Marinette blinked a few times before turning to him wide eyed.  “Did you just compare your boss, my biological father, to Voldemort?”

Max’s eyes widened in realization.  “I… no… I… what I meant…”  

He was cut off by Marinette’s laughter.  It took several minutes for the laughter, loud enough to draw the attention and gawking of employees passing them by as they made their way into work, to die down enough for her to eke out words.  “First a snake, now Voldemort.  The man cannot get a break.”  She wiped away the laughing tears from her eyes.  “At least nobody’s compared him to Umbridge yet, so there’s that.”

She finally settled enough to pat Max on the back, her expression still amused, a wide smile on her lips.  “Thank you, Max.  I’ll consider that.”  She turned back to the building and her bright smile dulled until it disappeared.

Max frowned at the change.  He was very familiar with Marinette’s anxiety, it was an integral part of who she was.  It had been since he first met her.  But he had yet to figure out how to get her out of it.  Alya and Adrien were always so good at getting her out of her head. What would they do?  Max stared at her while he tried to remember how Adrien and Alya responded to Marinette’s anxiety spirals.

They had already reached the front steps before he decided however they would respond that wasn’t him.  He pointed out facts then let people make their decisions based on the information. Then they might, or if it were Kim definitely would, make a stupid choice, but at least they had the information beforehand.  “If it helps, M. Wayne used to walk through the department twice a day.  But the last few days he’s only seen him in the afternoon, so I don’t think he will be there this morning.”

Marinette looked down, tapping her fingers together, avoiding his eyes.  She closed her eyes and mentally berated herself.  Why was she still such a coward?  Avoiding her problems as though that had ever made things better for her. Avoiding Luka after they broke up just made him feel terrible and made her feel like a horrible person.  And here she was doing the same thing, like she hadn’t learned a damn thing.  She needed to talk to M. Wayne eventually, she knew that, she just didn’t know what to say or how to make it better yet.

She finally looked up guiltily at Max.  “I’m sorry.  I’m just not ready to see him yet, I haven’t figured out what I want to say, so that does help, knowing I still have time.”  She let out a deep breath and squared her shoulders before making her way to the front door.

They slowly made their way to the elevator, focusing on each other and their path to the elevators, pretending like they didn’t see the people staring at her and whispering to each other.  Once they were alone on the elevator, nobody to overhear their conversation, Max spoke up.  “Maybe,” Max started quietly, “maybe, you don’t need to know what you want to say.  Maybe you should let him say what he wants to say and go from there.”

He looked up at Marinette, a slight furrow in his brow.  “From what you and Adrien said, it sounds like he may have some questions or may want to apologize.  You had the last word, perhaps it would be most appropriate and in spirit of the rules of conversation to allow him the first in the next conversation.”

Marinette nodded at his reasoning.  He was right.  M. Wayne likely had a lot of questions and she hadn’t exactly let him have a say in their last conversation, perhaps it was only fair to allow him to have his say this time.  She gave him a resolute nod and stood up straighter.  “You’re right, Max.  I should let him decide the next steps.  I decided the last ones.”

Max turned and shook his head.  “No.  That is not what I am saying.”  He looked her in the eyes for a moment before looking away and fixing his glasses.  “What I meant to insinuate is it doesn’t have to all be on you.  You don’t have to take responsibility for everything.  There are two people in the conversation, in the relationship.  You don’t have to take responsibility for moving either forward. He is responsible as well.  You shouldn’t take it all on your shoulders.”

Marinette opened her mouth to say something but closed it quickly, not entirely sure what she wanted to say to that.  She was saved from having to respond by the elevator doors opening.  She stepped off and turned to Max with a plastered on smile.  “Ready?”

Max looked down into his bag and raised his eyebrows at Markov as he stepped off the elevator.  Markov displayed down-turned eyes and a frown.  “Right, well,” Max started, much too loudly.  He stood up tall and adjusted his glasses as Markov flew up next to him.  “I promised to show you around the department.  Come on, they’ve made some great progress.  You should see the plans.  You might have insights on the different directions we’ve been considering.”

The tour was short, it wasn’t a large department, but extremely enlightening.  They were already making great progress.  There was a mountain of failed prototypes with in depth analytic reports on their development and why they failed, ways to change it for the next attempt.  There weren’t many employees in the department and they all smiled at Max and Markov as they passed and gave friendly nods. It seemed like nobody was upset that their former head of the department had been ousted and had welcomed Max with open arms.

“Ms. Dupain Cheng,” Lucius called out, making his way off the elevator and toward her and Max.  He smiled warmly at Marinette and clasped her hand between his to shake it.  “It’s been too long.”

Marinette chuckled and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “It’s been like three days since we talked.”

Lucius grinned.  His eyes gleamed with a mischievous glint that reminded her of the sweet older men who would come into the bakery and “flirt” innocently with her maman and her when she was older but then wax poetic about their wives, their entire faces brightening when their wives joined them. “Like I said, too long.” He chuckled along with Marinette and backed up a step.  “Thank you for meeting me here.  I trust Mr. Kante and Markov showed you around the department and pointed out your office.”

“They have,” Marinette looked at Max and Markov with a smile.  “It looks like they’re in good hands.  I don’t think I’ve seen Max this giddy since he got a tour of CERN.”

“That is great to hear.  And did he run over the different options we’ve been discussing?” Lucius motioned toward the white board and neatly stacked piles of reports on the tables next to the board.

“He did,” Marinette assured him, her face turning serious as she looked at the piles of reports.

“Very briefly,” Max added.

Marinette kept her eyes focused on the whiteboard, looking over the bullet points of their conversations.  “They are very ambitious plans.  It will certainly be a challenge for designing and a lot to consider.”

“In any way in particular?” Lucius prompted.

Marinette considered his question for a few moments and looked between Max and Lucius.  Max nodded to her.  She nodded back.  “If you're talking about changing the rigidity of the fabric, then I’ll need to consider how that will affect the shape.  If I have it molded to a person's body when it's soft, when it gets stiff it won’t bend the same way, so it’ll lose that shape. I’d have to figure out how to make it still work.  

“We should really discuss intentions for the clothes so I can design appropriately and we can make sure there is a market for the clothes.”  Lucius looked at her curiously.  “How large of a difference are you thinking?  Because the larger the difference, the more difficult to design, but also to wear.  Unless you have some way that you're keeping it in shape regardless of how rigid it is. So you need to figure out if that is an important issue for you or not.  Also, thread.”

“Thread?”  Max blinked a few times

“Thread,” Marinette repeated with a curt nod.  “The thread I use on say silk is a lot more delicate than the thread I use on jeans or leather.  Those materials are stiffer and harder and need thicker thread to hold them.  But I can't use thicker thread on things like silk because it weighs the fabric down too much and ruins the shape, so you need to think about the thread.  It needs to be something that can work with delicate fabric but will still hold without breaking when the fabric changes.

“Also color.  If you are going to change the fabric color, then the thread will likely have to change as well.”  She looked between the two men.  Max was staring toward the white board with the algorithms on it in contemplation. Lucius pursed his lips as he looked at the desk.  Marinette rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet.  “But that’s just off the top of my head.  I can come up with more insightful once I’ve had more time to think.”

“That is quite a lot to consider,” Lucius nodded, finally looking back at her.  “Those are important points we hadn’t yet considered but will have to be incorporated immediately.  Thank you. I would very much like to discuss this further, but with more of the project involved and give you time to review some materials.  Would you be available on Monday?  That should give us and you time to prepare to discuss the options.”

Marinette frowned and pulled out her phone to see her calendar.  “That should work.”  She scoffed and waved her phone helplessly.  “I pull this out like I’ve been putting anything in my calendar on it.  We’re in Metropolis this weekend.  I should be back by Monday.”

“Monday it is,” Lucius agreed.  “Now that that is settled, I’d like to talk about logistics, setup, and ask a few questions up in my office.”  

Marinette’s smile immediately dropped.  She froze, her eyes widening.  “Oh… um…  That sounds…”

Lucius looked around the room to see who was looking their way and who might be listening in.  He lowered his voice until only she and Markov could her and leaned slightly closer.  “Mr. Wayne hasn’t been in before noon the last few days.  I happen to know he has asked his PA to reschedule his morning appointments for today as well.”  He shrugged and leaned back, keeping his voice low.  “No real importance to that information just that there’s nobody up there with whom I can drink tea and it is about tea time for me.”

Marinette let out a small breath and gave him a grateful smile.  “Thank you. I’d love tea.”

Lucius motioned toward the elevators.  “Shall we?”  He fell into step beside her.  “We assume you won’t spend much time in your office, but it is fully equipped in case you would like to use it or split your time.”

“Thank you,” Marinette nodded lightly.  “I haven’t decided what I want to do yet.” She looked up at him uncertainly. “Or what the contract would allow.”

Lucius grinned as he walked off the elevator on the executive floor.  “It is a partnership with a designer, not employment.  You are working with us, not for us.  As long as we can contact you and get the fabric to you, we will allow whatever you need, Ms. Dupain Cheng.”  He nodded to Bruce’s PA.

“Mr. Fox,” Bruce’s PA called out.  “I wanted to double check that the new time works for your meeting today with Mr. Wayne.”

“Yes, Mr. Cortland.  The new time is fine.  I’ll be in my office for a bit.  Can you send someone to bring in some tea for us please?”  Mr. Cortland nodded and sat back down, picking up the phone to make the arrangements.  Lucius opened his office door and motioned for Marinette to enter.  After she had taken a seat at the small conference room Lucius watched her with a concerned look for a few seconds.  “So is the trip to Metropolis for business or pleasure?”

“A bit of both,” she smiled at him.  “Metropolis is one of the places we’re considering moving to so we want to look around and see if it’s some place we would like to live. Really, it’s just touring around the city.”

“You’re still deciding on where you want to live then,” he noted.

Marinette started to respond but paused when a man came in with a tray with a tea kettle and cups.  She thanked him and waited until he’d left before speaking more about her plans.  “We’re still thinking, yes.  We’re not extremely excited to live in New York.  Honestly, I think if we like Metropolis well enough this weekend, we might make the decision.  Assuming Adrien gets offered the position he applied for, which I am.”

Lucius nodded as he took a sip of tea.  He quirked his head to the side as he considered her answer.  “Metropolis is certainly more manageable than other options, workwise, I mean.  We could still have some in person meetings. Getting fabric to you would definitely be easier than say Paris, but we can push off making a decision on the logistics on that.  Until then, let’s make sure you have access to the network.  We’ll talk to Mr. Cortland about it when we’re done with our tea.”

Marinette smiled at him and took a sip of her tea. Lucius watched her for a moment, drinking more of his tea as well.  “You know,” he started slowly, “Metropolis is close enough, you could choose to live between there and Gotham and be close enough for both of you to commute, him to Metropolis and you to Gotham… if you wanted to base your company here.”

Marinette froze momentarily, her lips perched on the edge of her teacup.  She set the cup back down without taking a drink.  She stared at drink for a few seconds before shaking her head.  “I don’t think basing my operation in Gotham is a good idea,” she said quietly.  She looked up at him with a smile and immediately looked away.  The smile was supposed to be confident, quirky, not shaky. She took a moment to breathe and refocus.

“I’m trying to build my own brand without depending on M. Wayne.  I’m going to face enough criticism and skepticism as it is without setting up my company ten feet from his.”  She looked back at Lucius with a steely resolve.  “I’ll finish my contract to the best of my ability.  I’ll work with you in the future, not doing so would be business suicide, but I think a little bit of space might be good… for us both.”

Lucius gave her an understanding look.  He knew something had happened.  There was a reason Bruce was no longer coming in in the mornings and looked like Tim after a research bender when he finally did come in, like he had been up all night protecting someone.  But he had also seen Tim’s reactions to him, the disappointed, frustrated, annoyed looks and passive aggressive comments about communication. All of which means Bruce was brooding and not talking to Marinette about it.

He swirled the tea in his cup.  “You know, Bruce takes protecting those around him very seriously.  He’s lost so much and is terrified of losing more.  He’d give everything he has, everything he is, to protect someone he loves. But he also takes on all the guilt when he failed.”

Marinette sighed deeply and looked away, her eyes suddenly desolate.  “He told you about dinner,” she said quietly.

Lucius frowned at the implications of her statement. He’d guessed Bruce had started brooding because of the Riddler incident, but clearly there was something more going on. “No.  I didn’t know about dinner, I just know Bruce.  I know his guilty brooding.  I also know Tim and his disappointed anger at Bruce.”  He leaned in closer toward her conspiratorially despite her not looking at him, hoping it would still get a smile out of her.  “I’ve seen it a lot.”

He leaned back with a gentle smile.  “So I don’t know what happened, but I know Bruce feels like he failed you.  Which means he’s afraid of saying or doing something to make it worse, so he’s probably avoiding you, which is probably making it worse.”  He faced her with a frown.  “Because the worst thing in his mind is hurting you.”

Marinette continued staring at the cityscape outside the window and took a long sip of her tea.  “That’s an awfully proper and long winded way to say ‘he had a reason for being an asshole and you should excuse him for it.’”

“Well, I do strive to be proper,” Lucius chuckled mirthlessly.  “But I never said you should excuse him for it.  I suppose it's something that the rest of us have learned to accept about him.  We put up with it, but that doesn't mean you have to.”

“The problem is…” she quirked her lips as she sought the words to properly express her thoughts, “everyone keeps explaining why he acts the way he does as though that makes it okay, as though there’s some obligation on me because of it.  Like understanding it means I have to build a great relationship despite it.  But… there has to be trust somewhere in there too, doesn’t there?  Understanding, compassion, those are supposed to go both ways, aren’t they?  Everyone’s asking me to be more understanding, more forgiving, but nobody’s asking the same of him.  It isn’t supposed to be the job of the child to do all the work.”

“He does get asked to do that.  You don’t see it, but he is getting asked.  I assure you his other children are making their positions clear,” Lucius assured her softly.  “And I assure you he knows he isn’t doing what he should, but he is trying.”

Marinette scoffed.  “He’s shit at it.”  She took a long sip and watched some birds flying outside the window.

“I don’t disagree.”  Lucius fought keeping the amused tone out of his voice, but it was a hard fight.  “This whole situation is filled with everyone trying to do the right thing but failing… constantly, talking past each other, working past each other, sacrificing parts of yourselves thinking it will help, but it really just hurting everyone. It’s a comedy of errors.”

“Except it’s real life, and in real life it isn’t so funny,” Marinette whispered.  She stood up and moved to the window, crossing her arms over her chest protectively.

“No, it isn’t,” Lucius agreed softly.  He quietly rose up and stood next to her at the window, keeping his gaze focused outside the building.  “Real life is work.  Real life is hard.  Real life hurts.  Real life is less than ideal almost always.  This situation isn’t ideal, but it doesn’t have to be abysmal either. You can choose to make the best of it.”

“But what’s the best that this situation can be?” Her voice was so quiet Lucius almost didn’t hear it.

“That is up to you and Bruce to decide.”

“It’s not just us though, is it?” she noted quietly.

“This part is,” Lucius assured her.  “This part is just between you two.  Your relationship with your siblings is separate and you can work that part out with them.  One doesn’t have to affect the other.”  He chuckled lightly, his eyes unfocusing slightly as he remembered something.  “The other children have proved that well enough.”

She looked out to the skyline again, letting his words settle in, considering what they meant and if she believed them.  “How do you forget?  How do you move on?”

Lucius shook his head gently.  “Moving on isn’t about forgetting.  It’s about learning and adapting.”

Marinette finally looked over at him, her eyes pleading, looking more lost than he had seen her look before.  “But what’s my lesson?  What is it I’m supposed to learn here?”

Lucius’ lips turned up into a sympathetic smile. He laid a hand on her shoulder.  “I can’t answer that.”

She shook her head and looked out the window again. “Because the only thing I see so far is that I shouldn’t trust M. Wayne.  That I’m never going to be…” she sighed heavily and looked down.  She took another deep breath and looked back up.  “Weren’t there setup issues we had to resolve?”

Lucius stared at her for a few seconds, compassion shining in his eyes.  “Yes we do,” he nodded lightly allowing her to change the subject.  He patted her on the back and encouraged her toward the door. “Let’s get you in the system so you have access to the building and a secure email.  We’ll order a laptop for you too so you can access the documents on the network.”

“Mr. Cortland,” he called out.  “Can you get Ms. Dupain Cheng set up with a secure laptop with access to the network and the basic programs installed, please?  And request an email for her.”

“Of course, sir,” David nodded to Lucius and started typing.

“Did you say Dupain Cheng,” a new voice spoke up. Marinette picked up on the excitement and interest in his voice with extreme apprehension.  Marinette whipped around to the new voice.  She looked over to Lucius to see how he responded.  Her shoulders relaxed when she saw his easy smile.

“Mr. Dowd,” he held his hand out to him, “it’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Dowd gave him a bright smile. Marinette stared at him curiously. He was about her age and was too excited and happy to be an employee.  Not that the Wayne Enterprises employees she’d come across so far hadn’t seemed happy or excited about their projects, but they had a professional demeanor that Mr. Dowd didn’t seem to share.  “It’s always good to see you.  How’s Luke?”  He looked between the two of them though his eyes lingered on Marinette as if waiting until it was polite to start talking with her.

Lucius chuckled.  “He’s doing well.  He is supposed to come visit next weekend.  I’d like to say it’s because of me, but I believe he has a date or two planned with Ms. Gordon.  But let me introduce you to Ms. Dupain Cheng.”  He motioned to Marinette.  “Mr. Dowd, this is Ms. Dupain Cheng.  Ms. Dupain Cheng, this is Mr. Dowd.”

Bernard rolled his eyes.  “Please call me Bernard.  I’m Tim’s boyfriend.  It’s really nice to meet you.  I’ve heard a lot of great things about you.”  He held his hand out to her.

Marinette immediately relaxed and shook it.  That explained the excitement and interest. It wasn’t a random person wanting a scoop on the Wayne family, it was someone wanting to get to know his boyfriend’s family.  “It’s really nice to meet you.  I didn’t even know Tim was dating.”  Her eyes widened immediately.  “Not that he doesn’t talk about you!  I just haven’t had the chance to really talk to him yet.”

Bernard smiled at her for a few seconds.  He shifted back and forth on his feet awkwardly. Marinette opened her mouth to tell him she had to get back to work when Bernard spoke up.  “Hey, Tim and I were going to get lunch in his office.  Want to join us?  We were just ordering from the cafeteria because he has a meeting scheduled in like an hour.  We can add something for you.”

Marinette looked over to Lucius anxiously.  Lucius smiled at her and nodded in understanding. “We don’t have much more to finish, just waiting for the laptop to arrive.  There’s no reason for you to sit around and wait.  Go ahead.”

Marinette’s eyes widened.  That wasn’t what she wanted him to understand!  That wasn’t what she was trying to communicate to him. She hadn’t had really talked to Tim and every time they were close he froze up or got so tense she swore he was going to give himself a headache.  Spending time with him and his boyfriend while he acted like everything was okay wasn’t going to end well for either one of them.  She narrowed her eyes at Lucius.  She honestly wasn’t sure if he misunderstood the source of her anxiety or if he knew what it was from the start and decided to ignore it.

Marinette turned to Bernard with a forced smile but it relaxed into a soft smile when she saw how excited he was to spend time with her. “That sounds really nice.  Thank you, Bernard.  Please call me Marinette.”

“Awesome, Marinette,” Bernard’s grin was a brilliant as Adrien’s and Marinette couldn’t suppress the giggle that came out.  He led her toward Tim’s office.  “By the end of the day, I’m going to get you to let me call you Mari.  That’s the new goal for the day.”

Marinette tried unsuccessfully to suppress a snort. “And what was the old goal?”

“Prove the Miraculous team in France are actually fae,” he answered with conviction.  He looked over at her, his face somehow becoming even brighter.  “Hey, you’re from Paris, right?  Maybe you can help answer some questions for me.  This is perfect.”

Marinette stared at him wide eyed, frozen in place until Bernard looped his arm around hers and gently pulled her toward Tim’s office. Marinette chuckled and shook her head. She needed to record this conversation. Alya was going to die laughing.

Chapter 20

Tags:

@maribat-bdbwm @jayjayspixiepop @redscarlet95 @alice-hazelwood @deathssilentapproach-blog @unoriginalmess @alyssadeliv @emotionalsupportginger @frieddonutsweets @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @toodaloo-kangaroo @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @iloontjeboontje @wolf-for-life @maribatserver @aespades @prettylittlebutterflie @imarivers8  @ certainmuffinbagelcalzone @ritacrow-blog @unoriginalmess @demonicbusiness @kking13 @lady-bee-fechin @blur-of-colours @kittenmywaythrulife @kashlyn @loysydark @nerd-nowandforever

[kainscape]

Really enjoyed the Morning fic you made for Bo! If possible, can I please request one just like this for Asa or Jesse? I just could use all the possible fluff right now~ Thank you!!

A/n: I can’t tell if this one is as good as the morning fic because I kinda just had a random idea in the middle of writing it, but I really like writing for Asa so here you go!

Death do you part ~ Asa Emory

Happiness wasn’t in Asas vocabulary or main emotions. It was drained from him at such an incomprehensible age he never mentioned it to himself. No whispers of joy or happy warmth, just exultation or sinister excitement. Asa wasn’t one to ponder or to think about what lies ahead in the future besides his traps and plans of new specimen to find.

Just like how he didn’t think anything of you when you were still asleep in your shared bed he never came too. Of course it was to be expected hence his return being quite early in the morning. He would’ve guessed around 7:30 to 8:00. The university needed to be stayed at, him finalizing the place to sleep at from his exhaustion. It was the best choice not to drive home in his state, and it made it easier to more access of his work.

You must’ve guessed he wouldn’t be returning home again, which seemed to be more common in the latest month. It annoyed you to no ends, but when it came to Asa and his work force, there was almost no convincing him to take a break. So you settled on heading bed early to meet him at dawn.

The professer walked through the front door, his case full of papers to grade and fix filling it whole in his hand. He kicked the door shut behind him, hearing it settle back in place as he laid down his keys on the end table. It was quiet except the air flow of the AC from the vents.

He travelled over to kitchen table, laying down the case on its side as he slid off his jacket. The temperature from inside to outside was perfect, it was cold and gave him freeway to wear layers in his house while it was humid and unforgiven on the outside.

He signed, a hand running down his face as he tried to rub away the tired feeling that buried within him. It was something he would never try to fix, like he could even attempt to do so. He made his way to the stair case, trudging up each step with a small hold on the railing.

Asa walked down the hall with a small click of his shoes. There wasn’t many creaks in the floor besides the two by the guest room and bathroom, so he wasn’t concerned about waking you.

Even if he did make a loud sound, it seemed there would be no one to wake from the empty bed that laid within the room. He kept his weak grip on the door handle, eyebrows furrowed as he looked around the room. It was dark besides the slight shine from the curtains, and the door to the bathroom was wide open and collecting darkness. Where the hell were you?

His hand slipped from the metal knob, his steps slow as he fully entered the room. He couldn’t have missed you on the second floor, you could be quiet at times but not that quiet. He analyzed your personal items, taking count to see if there were any gone. You were the only person to ever gain Asas full trust, he thought you realized the great importance of just that as he formed conclusions.

He didn’t even want to move from the room, his mind blank as the scenery before him was bare. Maybe he did miss your presence on the first floor, the realization that he was so tired coming into mind. With first ever hesitance, he headed for the stairs, slowly making his way to the living room and kitchen. It’s like he was almost begging you to be down there, wanting you to be curled up on the couch almost half asleep or in the kitchen one your phone at the table.

But you weren’t. Still reaching for that unacceptable feeling that you left him, he traveled to the bathrooms, the pantry, the closet. He ripped open the doors, unhinged more than he’s ever felt. He was desperate to see you, even if it was in the fucking basement. His breath picked up the pace, somewhere in between fast walking down the hallways.

He returned to the kitchen, running a hand through his hair. He was sure that you were here, you were just hiding from him. He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes with a deep sigh. He pushed down the nagging feeling pulling at his heart, instead focusing on the primal feeling of hunting you down.

He’d rather not feel hurt like this compared to other emotions. The light from the window above the sink showered him, his eyes traveling with the few dust particles in the air. That was until he was forced to focus on the figure in his backyard. He walked up the counter, his hips leaning against it as he squinted his eyes to see closer.

It was you, sticking your hand through a metal wire fence to pet a dog. You were on your knees, resting back on your heels as you smiled. The clothes you must’ve slept in last night were still on, gathering water on the fabrics knees. He couldn’t stop staring, his hands resting on the edge.

You could say it was relief, but he didn’t care as he exited through the back porch door he never used. The sound of the door shutting closed caught your attention as you looked over your shoulder. Asa headed toward you with determination, you calmly petting the dog once more as you rise to your feet.

It was tension that stretched between you two, his hand cradling the back of your head as he observed you. You raised your eyebrows with a smile, happy for him to be this close at such early mornings. You had been sitting on the back porch, taking in the scenery of his beautiful back yard before a simple dog showed up, practically begging you to pet him.

You most likely didn’t hear the car pull up, the modern vehicle quiet. But, here Asa was. Quiet besides the quickened breaths and intensely loud stare. Your hands tested the water, running up his forearm and bicep while the other reached around his waist. It was quite odd, no words spoken from him, actions far from the collector in this moment.

You weren’t complaing, finally deciding to pull him closer. He obliged, pushing you into his chest as he looked across to the dog that resided in the same place. He could almost say he was pissed at this dog for taking away his companion like that. But he insisted on holding you, his chin gently resting on your head.

He couldn’t say what possessed him to hold you in such a random place at an early morning of the day, but he liked it. You hadn’t left him, you didn’t break that trust he never let free. Instead you were simply out of sight, subconsciously hiding from him like he had told himself.

You guys had returned inside the house, you explaining why you were out there as he sat at the kitchen table, cracking open his case to destroy his chance of sleep once more. He would usually travel to his work room, not to be bothered by you or anyone. He wanted to keep you in sight for the time being, wanting his senses to interact with you in anyway.

As he listened to your plans that would probably change throughout the day, he relaxed his face and body, looking up to you. You were rambling as usual, one thing that he grew to seek out when you would converse with him. Maybe it was a smile forming, maybe it was just his lips resting. But either way, he was satisfied for the time being.

Asa hated to admit it, but he actually cared for you, absentmindedly searching for you in simple things. Like how a certain color on an item would remind him of you entirely. It just goes in depth to how.. attached? Connected? He was to your relationship. It made him feel better about himself honestly, the way you loved him unconditionally even after everything you’ve seen him do.

It was the way his first thoughts were to look for you, rather than hunt you down which came later. It showed him how important you were, that you weren’t another common specimen. As he scribbled on the papers, he realized that even if you had left, he would find you. You were his. Thinking that made him, what you could say, happy. It would be like that until death do you part.

[wannabe-fic-writer]

WandaNat x Reader : Safe

Summary: What is it that they say about a woman in uniform?

Warning: Violence

Word Count: 2,481

* * * * * *

“Lieutenant Colonel Y/ln.”

Hearing your name, you stand up straight, the brown paper grocery bag in your hand clutched a little tighter as you do an about-face. 

The mystery man himself, Nick Fury, steps from the shadows of your apartment buildings hallway. Right off you can tell he wants something from you, if not for him just showing up, it’s written in the smirk on his lips.

“It’s been a while Lieutenant Colonel.”

Steam billows from the mug as it fills with coffee, and after dropping a spoonful of sugar in it, you carry the mug over to Fury. Then move to lean against the wall opposite his spot on the couch.

“I don’t think I’m the fit for your special team Nicholas.” 

After you had invited the man in, he’d informed you that he wants you to join the Avengers. His reasons somewhere along the lines of you having special skills and being able to relate to a number of the people on the team. 

You’d given it a little thought as you fixed him some coffee. 

Having just left active duty, you assumed you would have some down time until your next deployment. Not that you were going to be “relaxing” anyway, but still.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He sips from the mug and sets it on the table,“ you are more than fit. And I’m certain you’d appreciate the distraction.”

You lift your head, taking in his words. They hold deeper meaning and you know what he knows. He knows you go to group therapy with other Marine Corps members, both active and retired. He knows you struggle with dealing with what you’d seen out there. 

“I have an obligation to serve my country Nicholas. That would come before your special team.” You inform him while also avoiding that topic.

He nods,“ an obligation you won’t have to neglect. The second you’re assigned for deployment you can go, until then, you’re an Avenger.”

Just like that, one meeting with the man, and you were walking up the graveled path to the Avengers compound. Fury waiting for you beside the door.

The man smiles at you,“ everyone’s inside waiting to meet you. Follow me.”

Walking into the usual meeting room, Natasha pulls a chair out for her girlfriend. Wanda smiling up at her softly.

The woman takes a seat as well, looking to Steve,“ what’re we meeting for again?” 

Steve shrugs,“ Fury didn’t go into detail.” 

Everyone in the room waits patiently for the arrival of Fury, filling the time with light chatter until the door is pulled open and the man walks in.

Eyes widen at the form that enters behind him.

Natasha’s gaze subconsciously wanders down the uniformed woman. She takes in the way the pristine navy blue and red striped pants fit her legs and the form fitting coat adorned with medals. 

Trailing up her body only to be a little shocked when she meets the woman’s striking e/c eyes. 

The two hold eye contact until Fury speaks.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Lieutenant Colonel Y/n Y/ln. Lieutenant these are the Avengers.” Fury gestures from the uniformed woman to the group surrounding the table.

All eyes follow you as you go around formally introducing yourself. Starting by shaking Steve Rogers hand as well as Bucky’s. Then saluting Rhodey and mentioning that it’s an honor to meet him.

When you reach her girlfriend, Natasha notices the seemingly nervous pause Wanda has, before rising and shaking your hand. She holds it a little longer, held titling to the side and Natasha knows her girlfriend is reading you.

Based off your expression, you know as well. And you let it happen. She let’s go before it becomes obvious to everyone else and with a nod you move to Natasha.

Up close the woman can’t help but appreciate how good the uniform looks on you. How the coat fits but still leaves much to imagine. 

“Natasha.” She introduces personally, shaking your hand.

Again you nod,“ it’s a pleasure.”

From there you shake Tony’s hand and Peter’s, who does so over excitedly. You then reassume your spot beside Fury.

“Lieutenant Y/ln will be joining your ranks until her next deployment. Simply lending a helping hand on missions.” Fury explains your presence.

Hands linked behind your back, you look at them all, adding,“ but only when need be. I’m not here to take anyone’s position, nor will I be overstepping.” 

Wanda’s little smile at your words isn’t missed by Natasha and she makes a mental note to ask about it later.

“In that case, let me give you the grand tour.” Tony cuts through the silence, walking over to you.

“Lead the way.” You gesture for him to walk first and follow after.

Fury leaves shortly after. In the silence, everyone non-verbally agrees to make you feel welcome unless you prove you should be treated otherwise. 

And it’s a decision that everyone is glad they make. Especially Natasha and Wanda. 

There had been an instant physical attraction toward you from the moment you walked in. That attraction grew the more they saw you and learned about you.

In the beginning the physical part led it. They would see you in the gym at the early hours in the morning, adorned in your uniform camouflage pants and a perfectly fit green t-shirt. Or in that same outfit as you ran with Steve around the compound.

It was clear that the team was growing fonder of you by the day. 

Rhodey had begun speaking with you about your served time and his only to find other common interests with you along the way. Both Steve and Bucky found your loyalty and dedication inspiration and took to that. 

Tony had grown closer to you over a conversation about his company’s departure from weapons manufacturing. You’d simply found it admirable and later became interested in what he was currently doing.

Obviously, impressionable Peter Parker was taken with everything you did. He worked out with you, asked about your service, and took a genuine interest in what you do daily in and out of the Marines. 

But Wanda and Natasha.

The two women learned about you at a slower rate than the rest of the team. For a number of reasons.

Wanda didn’t want to learn about you. Having had been so physically attracted to you the second she saw you, she made it a point to avoid you. She loves Natasha and didn’t want her seeming crush on you to get in the way of that.

Natasha mainly wasn’t sure if she should trust you. You’d come off to her as too perfect.

Personally, you thought the women didn’t take a liking to you. Which kind of sucked. Not only had they seemed like great women based off what you saw from their interactions with the team, but they were incredibly beautiful.

You knew they were together but that didn’t stop you from doing your best to be friendly toward them: speaking in passing or starting conversation when together. In the end you assumed they just didn’t want anything to do with you.

That all changed in the span of two nights.

Both being particularly hard nights for you. Where your PTSD had become too much. 

The first night, due to nightmares, you found yourself awake in the common room with a glass of straight vodka. And Natasha had found you. The far off look in your eyes was one she was familiar with and the pure human side of her carried her to you.

She’d simply sat with you. Her surprise set in when she felt your head resting on her shoulder. A conversation had barely begun between you two, one simply about nature as you both looked out the window, and you’d fallen asleep.

The second night you spent in another country.

Both yourself and Natasha, as well as Wanda, were sent on a mission in Egypt. You all settled in, ate, and went over the mission before heading to bed. 

Wanda couldn’t bring herself to sleep though. Since you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep. 

Your thoughts were loud and she wasn’t trying to listen but she couldn’t ignore it. You’d sounded so scared and anxious. Both emotions she never would’ve associated with your strong and confident persona.

So there was no way she would leave you in that state by yourself. After knocking on your door, she’d offered to make you tea and the two of you sat together. When Wanda noticed that your thoughts hadn’t changed. She used your powers to calm your mind. 

As you fell asleep that night, head resting on her shoulder like you had Natasha the night before, you had no idea how hard your actions had made her fall for you.

People had always been scared of her powers and you just trusted her to use them to help you. Not a single hesitation in your eyes. 

What they didn’t know was how safe they’d made you feel in such a short time.

On your own, there was no way to get the nightmares to stop. You had always just distracted yourself when woken up by them. You’d read, watch nature, workout, and occasionally drink. But going back to sleep wasn’t a thing.

The fact that their presences were so comforting spoke to you.

It all came to a head the next day on the mission.

First having seen how good you looked in your desert camouflage uniform made their hearts flutter, something Natasha would only admit to Wanda. And then on the mission. 

Your group had been clearing the enemies base and were under heavy fire when you saw Wanda using her powers. It was clear the young woman was concentrated and so she hadn’t seen the people aiming their guns at her. 

Natasha had watched in slow motion as you ran to protect her girlfriend. Effectively taking a bullet for her as you ducked for cover and then throwing back a grenade they had thrown in the first place.

Shielding Wanda’s body from the blast sent you both crashing into the wall behind you. But you took the brunt force of it and had fallen unconscious.

Both women were beyond worried for you but had to focus on clearing the building. The second they did, they gave you their undivided attention. 

Working together, they got you back to the safe house and set out to clean your wounds. 

“Wan, remove her jacket and shirt I need to get a better look at the entry point.” Natasha instructed before going to grab a first aid kit.

It was a bit of a struggle to shred your unconscious body of your uniform but the second she did she froze.

Taking in the sight of your mostly bare torso. On both you sides sat tattoos. Tribal tattoos. Your sports bra covered the top of the tattoos that seem to start under your breasts, and stretch down below the hem of your pants.

“Staring isn’t po-” Natasha’s teasing falls short as she sees the cause of her girlfriend’s staring.

But she manages to pull herself together faster than the younger woman. Telling her to stare later because they have to help you.

After having successfully cleaned your wound, Natasha removed the bullet and thanked whatever higher power that no internal damage seemed to be done, and stitched you up.

The two showered and sat in the living room. It was clear they had a lot on their minds.

“I have feelings for her.” 

Natasha almost misses the whispered words from her girlfriend. Almost.

Sighing, she leans back into the couch.“ Me too.”

Wanda scoots closer and snuggles into Natasha’s side,“ so what do we do?”

“Tell her.” 

“Is that-”

“Tell me what?” Your groggy, slightly pained voice meets their ears and they look behind them to see you walking from your room, hand clutching your side.

You hadn’t put a shirt back on which served as a momentary distraction.

Smirking, you ease into the arm chair beside the couch,“ staring is rude.” You joke, effectively pulling them from their daze.

They see the question still in your eyes and look to each other. Should they tell you? How would you react?

“If you aren’t comfortable telling me it’s fine.” You assure, laying back with a a groan.

Wanda takes a deep breath and sits up,“ Y/n, Natasha and I know that this isn’t the most normal situation. And we know that things could always come up, especially with the chance of you being deployed-”

Natasha, seeing the confusion in your eyes, stops Wanda with a hand to her thigh,“ we have developed feelings for you.”

“We?” You’re quick to ask.

Both women couldn’t be saying they like you? Both? 

They nod.

You hum,“ what does that mean? How would it even-” you cut yourself off.

It’s silent as you all think. One solution seeming to circle all of your minds. It’s not unheard of, just unorthodox. 

“You become our partner.” Natasha finally speaks, looking at Wanda then you.

A hand raises to run through your disheveled hair,“ you mean, the three of us in a relationship.”

The smallest of smiles tugs at Wanda’s lips at the idea. Is it scary? Yes because nothing is written in stone and as she said anything could come up. But she’d still like to see where this goes.

You’re special and neither of them could deny that.

A number of thoughts run through the women’s minds when you stand and move to sit on the coffee table in front of them.

They watch cautiously as you hold your hands towards them and just as cautiously, they accept them. Instant warmth. Instant safety. All in a single touch.

“We all know this could end badly, correct?” You ask, knowing full well that it would most likely end badly for you before them.

Scooting to the edge of the couch, Wanda’s thumb strokes the back of your hand.“ We know.” She nods, confirming it with Natasha through a look.

“But we want to try.” Natasha adds, scooting closer as well.

A moment of nervous hesitation sets in. And shockingly to everyone, Wanda breaks it by moving forward to kiss you.

It’s simple, her lips pressing to yours as her free hand cups your cheek. But it’s still an incredible feeling. One you hadn’t felt in seemingly forever and one she finds similar to her first kiss with Natasha.

Said woman joking about missing all the fun and then kissing you as well. 

From there, the three of you spend an extended amount of time(after reporting back to the team) talking about what this relationship truly means. New fears linger, as to be expected, but it’s nothing compared to the anticipation and genuine trust you all have in this. 

* * * * * *

[morimakesfanart]

Sindria's Prophet #16

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15]

[AO3]

~POV Sinbad~ Mori wasn't just a Prophet, she had immense knowledge of her own that was going to make Sindria untouchable. Sinbad was going to achieve his dream much sooner than he had ever imagined. Mori was special; intelligent, clever, capable, and she could read the waves of Fate. Was there any other woman as attractive? The unknown craving that had plagued him for the past week was placated. Delicious wine, beautiful women, delicious food -none of his normal pleasures had fulfilled whatever that feeling was, but for some reason this moment with the his Beautiful Prophet was. "And now you're *my* kind and generous King Sinbad, ... Right?" Mori's bashful confidence was always endearing, but hearing her call him 'my King' in person made something snap in him. They were in a corner and Mori is small; he could easily block view of her in case any of the magicians turned around. He wouldn't even have to lean that far to get a taste of her. "DO EITHER OF YOU Have an ounce of self awareness??” Ja'far popped the bubble that had formed around the two.

King Sinbad froze. Everyone in the room was watching them. Sinbad stood up straight. He shouldn't exactly continue his plans with an audience. He removed his hand from the window and crossed his arms. Yam was practically shaking the magician next to her. "I wasn't the only one to see it this time!” An older magician with a beard laughed and said something like 'to be young.' Another said something a long the lines of "So it's like that then." Ja'far was still grumbling about his King's behavior -he should know better by now, he promised he wouldn't, etc. but 1. Sinbad didn't do anything wrong, and 2. he said he knew what he was doing -he knew how to handle flirting with Mori; he never said anything about not flirting with her. "And you, Lady Prophet," Ja'far changed targets. 'Oh?' Sinbad didn't expect Mori to be reprimanded for his flirting -although, she did flirt back. Ja'far continued, "You said that you knew about Sin's habits so wouldn't fall for him or-" "AAAAAH" Yamuraiha yelled over the other General as she crossed the room as fast as she could, and clapped a hand over his mouth. She turned to the King and Prophet with wide eyes and a forced smile. "Your Majesty! Mori! Would you like to see the spell again with our new changes?!" She didn't let go of Ja'far. The group of magicians started supporting her suggestion with "Let us show you," "I'm sure we've got it this time," and reciting the changes to the formula. They were clearly trying to stop Ja'far from discouraging Mori. Sinbad had no idea why they suddenly decided to become his wingmen, but it was convenient for him since he planed to do more than flirt with her later. Mori walked up to the Generals, although she only addressed Yamuriaha. "Yes, please! Even if it's not perfect I'd like to see your progress!" She spoke with the same forced enthusiasm as Yam. Sinbad only got a glimpse before Mori's back was to him, but her face was definitely a brighter red than it had been a moment ago. She was getting better at flirting with him, but she couldn't hold her composure for long. The King laughed as the head magician practically body checked Ja'far out of her way and left him out of the group before they preformed the newly revised spell. This time it produced a mostly clear stone. It wasn't a high quality diamond, but they had done it. They would have to be careful with this though since it could lower the market value of whatever they make. As they figured out the specifics for every substance they needed, Sindria could become fully self sufficient -they would still deal in trade so as to not completely leave the rest of the world behind. It was amazing. His magicians were amazing for being able to figure this out in such a short time, and his Prophet was just as -if not even more- amazing for knowing all of this and being able to explain it to them. When the excitement around the magic spell died down they finally showed him the microscope. It was a prototype so they had to be gentle with it. Two pieces of glass with water squished between them were slid under and when Sinbad looked through the lenses he saw the strange small creatures that Mori had written about. Seeing them forced him to accept that what Mori wrote about 'germs' had to be true too -and those were even smaller than these things. Looking at those things squirming around and knowing they were everywhere made his skin crawl. The King stopped looking through the device. "They really are real." "Yup." Mori responded plainly. "And now that you all know and have proof. There's going to have to be a lot of changes. The way illnesses are handled is obvious, but there's going to have to be a lot more changes to how food and housing and things are handle to better maintain sanitary environments. I know a bunch of sanitation procedures so I can help there too." Ja'far was rubbing his temples. "This is going to be a logistical nightmare. Do you realize that we are going to have to fix all those things and get all Sindrians to understand without having it affect our production or

trade??" "It's not like we're doing this alone." Mori tried to comfort him. "We'll figure something out." The conversation moved to this new problem. His Beautiful Prophet really was something else. She had solutions to problems they didn't even know they had. Mori had a habit of using her hands whenever she talked -even more when she was excited. She was cute and deserved to know, but she was in the middle of helping his people so he would hold his tongue and just watch her. If Sinbad was honest, he had stopped listening to the conversation a while ago and was just looking for an opportunity to finally ask Mori -and Yam of course- if they would join him for dinner so he could get all of his Generals more aquatinted with her. Someone mentioned a specific scroll in one of the libraries. Before the whole group could drag Mori out of the room, King Sinbad raised a hand and got everyone's attention. "I know there's a lot to do, but I have some things to discuss with my Beautiful Prophet as well." Mori looked back at him. "What is it?” It seemed that nickname wasn't as affective as before -hopefully it was just the timing. "Is it something we can talk about here?” "I was thinking we could talk over dinner," Sinbad paused to see how she would respond to the implications. Mori's eyes widened and her shoulders tensed, and best of all that blush came back. "With all of my Generals, of course." Mori blushed harder realizing he was messing with her. Yam looked disappointed at first -his Generals cared way to much about him finding a wife- but then she looked content with being a part of the plan. "You might have met them, and know them from reading Fate but they still don't know you yet." He finished. Yam spoke first. "This is a great idea. Pisti was just telling me that she wanted to get to know Mori." Mori regained her composer. "I'd like to get to know everyone personally too, so I'm find with this." It was a roundabout way of saying 'yes.' Her blush was gone but she was still embarrassed. With that settled, Ja'far let Yam and Mori know when dinner would be ready. It was a little earlier than he normally ate but this would give them more time to mingle before they'd be completely out of sunlight. "Well then," the King turned to his Prophet, "since we have some time beforehand-" "OH no you don't!" Ja'far cut in. "You've already had a long enough break *and* you plan on ending early today? The least you can do is work your butt off until then." --- ~POV Mori~ The King was pushed out of the room by his right hand man. I had a mix of relief and longing watching him go. "You'll see his Majesty again soon." Yam had a sweet smile on her face, but I knew better than to trust it. All eyes were on me and they were no longer the eyes of academics; they were hungry for gossip. I was not ready to explain why shipping us was a bad idea. "So about that scroll you mentioned earlier..." I completely shifted conversation back to the eventual rebuilding effort and luckily one of them obliged me.

I was lead to one of the libraries and handed a few scrolls on the construction used in the country. I had read a little on ancient construction methods out of interest and some on modern methods since my uncle worked in the industry. I had a little bit of experience with construction when I worked at a community theater, but it wouldn't be anything the people here wouldn't know. That paired with these documents showing how magic was used in the process made what little I did know completely useless. 'Can't know everything I guess.' I turned my head up towards the ceiling. I wasn't sure how much time I had left and I decided to use it soaking up the ambience of the library. The smell of paper, the maze-esc layouts, the quiet feeling; it's like a gentle space separate from the rest of the world. The libraries of the Black Libra Tower also had huge windows to let in a ton of natural lighting. I was really going to enjoy working in this place. --- Yam and I ended up lost in conversation, so someone ended up being sent to bring us to the dinner. When we finally arrived and opened the doors to the dining hall my nose was filled with the smell of herbs and delicious food. This was my first meal that wasn't paired with bitter medicine. I might have been procrastinating subconsciously to avoid the medicine I was no longer taking. Everyone was already there chatting. The long table was covered with food, but I couldn't make out any of it from the door. King Sinbad was sitting at the head of the table at the other end of the room with a goblet in his hand. Yamuraiha started in ahead of me and called into the room. "I'm sorry we're so late! We were talking about magical proofs and," she rambled in her explanation. I heard a few comments of congrats for getting better and said "Thanks" reflexively more than consciously. As I got closer, I ignored the Generals at the table to look at the spread. There were a few different types of fish, meat of some kind, a bunch of vegetables, and bread. It brought tears to my eyes; It was so beautiful. The Imuchukk laughed at my obvious interest in the food. "What are you waiting for? There plenty for everyone." He was sitting closest to the door. I didn't look away from the food when I answered. "I'm small with a small stomach so I'm going to need to pace myself to be able to eat a little of everything. If I save the best for last like I normally do then I might not even get to eat it." That garnered laughs and comments. I ignored them; I was too busy weighing my options. As the guest of honor I was placed at the opposite end of the table from King Sinbad. Thank goodness, because I didn't think I could handle being super close to him all evening. Even with the direct line of sight, I had distance to protect me. Yam sat on the other side of Hina from me. Pisti was on my other side. Sharrkan was across from Yam. Spartos was between Yam and Ja'far. Drakon was across from Ja'far. And Masrur was between Drakon and Sharrkan.

I picked up my plate to get food. "Alright. I've decided to just grab my favorites. If I have room later then so be it!" I was used to being watched while I eat so their stares didn't bother me. I covered my plate in all of the types of fish and some vegetables. "I take it you like fish?" Sinbad asked while I was taking some of the fish that was on his end of the table. "It's my favorite!" I answered excitedly. I could tell as I placed the grilled fish on my plate that it was going to be heavenly. It was already flaking and letting the smell reach me faster. I couldn't wait to get back to my seat and took a bite of the fish. It melted in my mouth. I let out a squeak of approval as I grabbed another bite. After a moment Sinbad asked me another question. "What do you think of greasy foods?" It felt pointed. "I'll eat it if it's the only option, but I'm not a fan." The Generals made some comments that amounted to, "They have the same taste." I was too busy enjoying my food to think about what they were saying. Pisti asked me her own pointed question as I sat down. "Do you like alcohol?" They were comparing me to Sinbad. I suddenly remembered the Official Character Encyclopedia. According to it, Sinbad's favorite food was fish, his least favorite was greasy, and his favorite snacks were the types that paired well with alcohol. "I'm not a big drinker, but it's not like I dislike alcohol. I'm just allergic to sulfites." "Huh?" The group asked in unison. Time to explain one of my allergies again. "Sulfites are a very useful preservative so it was also added to a lot of foods back home including alcohol. All grape wines produce sulfites naturally. When I ingest about 2 shots of a drink that contains sulfites I will struggle to breathe for about an hour." As soon as the words were out of my mouth, the goblet of wine I didn't realize was in front of me was grabbed by Hinahoho. They all looked panicked at each other like they had just dodged a bullet. In an attempt to relieve the tension, Sinbad asked Yam to catch everyone up on the meeting from earlier. Yam started ranting about the progress we had made with the alchemy magic. While they focused on reclaiming the mood, I focused on the delicious food. I tried a root vegetable on my plate. It was a little earthy with a subtle sweetness. The seasoning added to the sweet, but also had a little spice similar to cracked pepper. It had been streamed so it wasn't crunchy. I was asked to repeated what I told Sin and Ja'far earlier about the tech of home, Their questions had me explain more about my world and many of the things I had done: volunteer work to get scholarships, marketing for some networking organizations and some other companies, an assistant and teacher in out of school programs for 6 years while also working at a theater to pay for my own education. I only mentioned some of the places I had traveled to. I didn't even get to the things I did as hobbies or in working toward my dream of being a full time writer&artist. "I'm surprised by how much you say you've done." Drakon commented. I had heard similar before when talking about my past. "Is it really that shocking? Considering my age, I think it makes sense for me to have done a bit." It's more shocking that I was doing all that while getting so sick from my chronic illnesses that I would be fully bedridden and need a machine to breathe at least once a year until I turned 15. But I had also ate up inspiration porn as a child as a motivation to not let my body hold me back if I could. "Aren't we around the same age?" Yam asked me in response. I laughed. "Do I look 23 to you?" I've been mistaken for much younger than I actually was for as long as I could remember. It 1st became a problem when I turned 18 and got told I was clearly 12 with a fake ID when trying to buy an M rate game (Devil May Cry btw). "You're not?” ”Nope.” I rested my elbows on the table, interlocked my fingers, and I placed my chin on top with a smile, "But I'm curious how old you all think I am now." At 25 I was mistaken for a 14

year old. At least, a few months back someone thought I was legal (they guessed 19). Most realized I had to be older the more they talked to me, but their impressions never fully dissipated. As frustrating as it was, I found amusement in times like this by turning my age into a guessing game. Sharkkan had the face of someone fearing they had hit on someone too young. "You are at least 20, right?” They all suddenly looked worried. "I'm definitely older than 20." I answered. Pisti laughed. She was also short with a baby face; she knew my struggle. "Maybe she's older than Ja'far!” Of course she would make the closest guess. "There's no way she's older than me." Ja'far scoffed. "I am older than 25 though.” I could have teased him but I held my tongue since he already seemed annoyed with me. "How old are you then?” Hina asked. "I'm 29.” I smiled at everyone's surprise. I might only have surface levels similarities to Sinbad, but when you're a simp for a fictional character does that really matter? "I was born on April 7th so I should only be 5 days younger than King Sinbad since he was born on the 2nd. However, I don't know if there's a time dilation between my world and this one. The day we met was Oct 3rd for me back home. It wasn't the same date here, was it?" Sinbad is 29, Ja'far is 25, and Masrur is 20 during the Balbadd arc; their 2nd set of ages are 30, 26, and 21 respectfully. Ja'far's birthday is Aug 30th and Masrur's is Dec 27. Those 2nd ages listed can't be for right after the 6 month time skip because no matter how you calculate it the shortest distance between those 3 birthdays is 8 months. I was really interested in how the current arbiter of this world was going to figure this out. "It was Oct 3rd here too." "Oh. Well, that's convenient," was what I said while my thoughts were cursing the arbiter. 'That lazy son of a bitch synced the worlds so they wouldn't have to deal with a time dilation. I can feel it. Hold on... I arrived on Oct 3rd; the coup was 4 days later on the 7th. 6 months later would mean Sinbad arrives back in Sindria on my birthday. Did some 'real me' somewhere plan a b-day present for myself in some self-indulgent fanfiction??' ((Yes. Yes, I did UwU & I plan on making Mori panic then too.)) King Sinbad had that smile on his face that told me he was ready to flirt. "I didn't realize we were so close in age." No colors got in my way when he talked. That was good. I was desensitized again, and wouldn't have to deal with unnecessary distractions. I couldn't tease Ja'far, but I could tease his Majesty. "I know, right? It's amazing what the difference of 5 days can do for one's complexion." Sinbad froze and his expression went blank. Something that was probably wine sprayed across the table as Sharkkan had a spit take before erupting into laughter with Hinahoho and Pisti. "Oh my" Yam murmured with a hand over her mouth. Drakon , Spartos, and Ja'far stared at me in disbelief. Sinbad still wasn't responding... Maybe teasing him about his age was a bad idea. So far, unless it was something important I flirted with Sinbad since that was the best way to get on his good side; hearing something like this from me must have hurt a bit extra. I had been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I forgot just how sensitive he was about his age. I ended up flailing my hands from nerves, and to get his attention. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that when I know how self conscious you are." He flinched. "I don't know if this will make you feel any better, but you won't look any older than you do now 5 years from now..." "I uh.. Is that so?" Sinbad asked as he started to regain himself. "It is. You'll be just as-” "If you're willing to talk about the future, does that mean you are finally ready to explain about those calamities you mentioned in Balbadd?" Ja'far cut in with a fierce look. He had been waiting for any mention of the future to bring this up. The King spoke with a gentle but stern tone. "I don't know if this is the time for that conversation. This is Mori's first meal with

everyone after all." "I'm fine. I made a promise and I intend to keep it. As long as everyone else is willing to talk seriously for a few mins, I don't see the problem." I had been avoiding this conversation for long enough. There were things I still planned to keep secret, but I couldn't avoid having this conversation forever. And besides, I could feel in the waves that Ja'far wasn't going to let this night end unless I explained some of it. ((I have the next 3 chapters written but it's going to take me a bit to draw all of illustrations & comics. Also, good luck to all the students reading this. I know classes are starting up again. Be safe out there.))

[sonnetthebard]

On Losing One’s Head

Or, in other words, my entry to @shipwreckedcomedy‘s fanfiction contest. I have had a really fun time reading the works of Washington Irving to prep for this, and it’s only made me more excited for this series. Even though I know in a modern adaptation it may be changed I’m sticking to a lot of the facts that Irving gives us about the Headless Horseman. Thank you to everyone on here who gave me ideas/ inspiration/ let me rant to you for a bit while I figured this out. It took a bit longer than I had anticipated, but I’m really happy with it. This is probably so far from canon, but I got a prompt from the wonderful ‘S’ anon on here and I had to write it. Enjoy!

Genre: Comedy/ Fluff/ Mystery/ A Pinch of Angst

Words: 4249

TL;DR: Ichabod Crane tries to unravel a bit of the Headless Horseman’s past in order to try and figure out where his head might be. 

TW: Minor bullying, Mentions of war, mentions of PTSD, mentions of decapitation

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Ichabod Crane navigated the hallways of the school, eyes trained on his feet. He normally wouldn’t allow himself to walk with such a closed posture- it exposed him for how nervous he was (which was, contrary to popular belief, a more recent development in his personality). This town had put him a bit on edge. This town and his roommate, who was as inexplicable as he was persistent, and happened to be the reason he was allowing himself to walk with such a closed posture. He had a series of questions to ask his roommate at the forefront of his mind, and he’d spent a majority of the day figuring out how to word them so that he didn’t sound completely heartless. He didn’t want anything or anyone distracting him, because the talk he was about to have was very important- well, he thought it was anyways. It was important to him. His roommate seemed like a good person, and he really did want to help him (though it seemed like his roommate was doing more ‘helping’ at the moment than Ichabod was). 

Ichabod’s roommate was, of course, the infamous Headless Horseman. It had certainly made his life interesting- especially given that he was only just settling into this new town and his new position. He was just navigating his new life, and now on top of that, he was also trying to find his friend’s head. So far, no luck on that front. He hadn’t had a lot of luck on many fronts. It didn’t seem like his colleagues were particularly fond of him- especially not Douffe Martling or Brom Bones and his cronies. He wasn’t quite sure what it was with Martling other than perhaps a naturally uptight attitude, but he could at least venture a guess on why Brom Bones didn’t like him. It seemed they both had their eyes set on the same woman- which was another front on which Ichabod had not been very lucky. Katrina Van Tassel, the woman his heart had decided to set on, did not seem to reciprocate his affections in the slightest. Mind you Ichabod also found her incredibly hard to read. She was confident and smart, and one could interpret nearly everything she did as flirtatious. But you also got the overwhelming sense when interacting with her that she was not flirting in the slightest. 

Ichabod needed to stop distracting himself, he thought, as pleasant of a distraction as Kat was. He was on a roll. He was trying to get back to his room in a timely matter because (and I cannot emphasize this enough) this conversation was important. It was also a conversation that his friend would prefer to keep confidential, so he needed to get back to his room and have it before anyone could decide to tag along. He wasn’t the only person in Sleepy Hollow who wanted to help the Headless Horseman find his head. In fact, he had many supporters. But this particular conversation was delicate. Ichabod intended to ask how precisely his new friend had come about losing his head. Ichabod believed that perhaps even though this head wasn’t the Horseman’s original one, it may be able to help with some of his memories- physical memories, that was. It would likely be a hard conversation, Ichabod considered. Losing one’s head seemed like it would be traumatic. Remembering that feeling wouldn’t be pleasant for his friend. He would eventually need to share the necessary details with those who were intent on helping him and his friend, but perhaps the Horseman might feel slightly more comfortable having the initial conversation privately where he could express his emotions without judgement- if, of course, he had any. It was more of a precaution. 

Ichabod found himself so consumed in his thoughts that he neglected to notice a foot extended in front of him. He was looking at his feet. He really should have seen it. But he was in a state not uncommon to him where the world within his head had taken precedence over the world outside of it. Ichabod tumbled to the ground with a thud, and it was not long until a roaring chorus of laughter resounded above him. He did not even need to look up to know precisely who he had encountered and what had happened. He did the courtesy of looking up anyways- though it was probably only feeding their egos to see the embarrassment flush on his face. As Ichabod had suspected, the figures of Brom Bones and his three usual companions Tripp, Cal and Blair loomed above him, their bodies racking with every laugh. Ichabod sighed, fixing his glasses and trying not to pay them much mind. The more upset he got with them and their shenanigans, the more satisfied they would be with their results (which meant that they’d be inclined to throw something else his way). He stood, brushing himself off and starting back on his way. Before he could get very far, though, he felt a strong grip on his arm pulling him back. Even once he had stopped walking, it didn’t let go. It seemed Brom wasn’t through terrorizing him yet. 

“Where are you going?” The strapping Brom Bones smirked. It was a smirk Ichabod was all too familiar with, and one that he had very much hoped he wouldn’t be seeing. Brom was holding him up intentionally. He knew Ichabod didn’t want to be there. “You look like you’re in a hurry.”

“Well-” Ichabod started before being cut off.

“You going to try to pick up Katrina?” Tripp teased, pouting and cooing mockingly at the mention of the woman Ichabod had taken a liking took. He sighed as all four men found amusement in that and erupting into laughter again. 

“What? No!” Ichabod blushed.

“Ichabod and Kat, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-” Cal and Blair cooed before Brom raised a hand to signal for them to stop. 

“That’s enough, guys.” Brom told them, trying not to show how much that bothered him. There was only just a hint of jealousy in his tone, but it was enough for the boys to know they’d gone too far. He seemed to size up Ichabod again, before letting go of Ichabod’s arm. Ichabod sighed in relief, thinking that he was finally free... until Brom wrapped an arm around him in a seemingly friendly gesture, putting on his smug smirk again. Ichabod seized up a bit. He was not too fond of physical contact at the best of times, but especially not from Brom Bones. It took everything in him not to scowl. “So if you’re not going to see Kat... what’s the rush getting out of here?”

 “I’m going to have a talk with the Horseman.” Ichabod told him plainly, hoping that was enough to get him out of this. Whatever Brom Bones had against Ichabod, the feeling was entirely mutual.  

“But don’t you, like, live with him?” Cal pointed out. 

“You could literally talk to him any time.” Tripp nodded. 

“Yes, but I’ve spent all day planning this conversation.” Ichabod sighed. There were very few people Ichabod knew who would understand his situation, and these men were most certainly not among them. “I have to do it soon before I forget what I was going to say.”

“It’s just a conversation, man!” Tripp laughed. 

“It’s not just any conversation.” Ichabod told him, getting an idea. “It’s about his head.”

“You’re still on that, are you?” Brom rolled his eyes, letting him go. He knew he didn’t need to hold Ichabod there anymore. Not only did Blair, Tripp and Cal have him surrounded, but... now Ichabod felt socially obligated to stay. Brom Bones was a lot smarter than he let on (at least socially). Most bullies were. 

“Well... yes. I’d like to help him find it.” Ichabod shrugged. 

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Brom warned him in what Ichabod might almost consider to be a genuine tone. He hand a hand through his hair subconsciously, and Blair reached forward once he was done to fix a strand that had fallen in Brom’s face. Brom gave him a clap on the back as a silent ‘thank you’. Ichabod had always found those four men to be strangely close. “Listen, bud... he’s been missing his head a long time.”

“Since before we were born.” Blair added. 

“It’s not like you’re just going to waltz in and find it.” Brom sighed. “This head probably isn’t going to know anything.”

“We don’t know that.” Ichabod countered. “We’ve finally got people taking the search for his head seriously, and I think we’re making good progress!”

“Right... you keep telling yourself that.” Brom rolled his eyes. “Alright, guys, let him go.”

“But you said-” Tripp furrowed his brows. 

“He’s doing enough damage himself.” Brom sighed. The boys cleared a path for Ichabod, and he meekly started to walk away. He felt oddly embarrassed, or ashamed, about what he was doing. He tried to shake it off, but Brom had successfully gotten under his skin and he knew it. Brom chuckled, almost gloating. “Have fun, dork!”

“Thank you?” Ichabod tried, unsure as to how he was supposed to respond to that. 

Ichabod made his way out of the school (but not without a cold glare from Douffe). Perhaps what Brom Bones had said had some merit. His headless friend had been missing his head for a long time. Did Ichabod really think things were magically going to go better this time around? He wasn’t even dealing with the original head. He couldn’t expect to find anything new. But then again... Ichabod himself had also posed a good point. They did seem to be making progress. And how were they supposed to know if his head could ever be found until they tried? No, Brom was wrong. Brom was wrong a lot of the time, but especially about this. He walked down the streets of the town, head down but significantly more aware of his surroundings. He’d learned his lesson- at least for now. His room was within walking distance from the school. In this town, just about everything was within walking distance. He exchanged nods of acknowledgement with a few people on the street, a smile or two. Luckily, he was running into people who knew better than to bother him when he was like this. People like Judy, Rip Jr., Verla, or Matilda. Verla and Matilda probably didn’t want to talk to him anyway. But Judy had given him a nice smile, and it had raised his spirits. It’s funny how small things could do that. 

“Ichabod!” A light voice called out from behind him. Ichabod pivoted, recognizing it instantly. For anyone else, Ichabod would have simply waved, continuing on his way. But this wasn’t anyone. This was Katrina. Ichabod smiled softly upon finding that he was right. It was a dopey sort of grin commonly found in people when they saw the person that brightened their lives. “You’re out early!”

“School ended half an hour ago.” Ichabod furrowed his brows, confused by her implication. 

“Oh, I know.” Kat clarified. “You usually stay a bit longer, though.”

“Oh.” Ichabod nodded. And that was when it hit him: he had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. He’d always been a little socially awkward- especially when he was under as much pressure as he was with Kat. He bit his lip, trying to think of what to say next. Luckily, Kat took care of that for him. 

“Any particular reason you’re out so soon?” Kat asked, finally catching up with him. She kept walking as if silently asking him to walk with her, or maybe telling him it was okay for him to continue on his way. That she would follow. Either way, it was a great comfort to Ichabod.

“I thought of a few questions to ask the Horseman.” Ichabod told her. 

“What kinds of questions?” Kat asked. Ichabod could tell she wasn’t teasing him. She was genuinely interested. But there was also an air of amusement to her that was undeniable, and admittedly rather attractive to Ichabod. It made him feel like she genuinely enjoyed his company. A light blush covered his cheeks.

“Well... I was hoping to ask him about how exactly he lost his head.” Ichabod admitted. “See if maybe his history might be able to help us figure out where to look in the present.”

“That’s a really good idea! Maybe this head will know!” Kat hummed in agreement. “I’ve always wondered about what happened... People say he was a Hessian soldier. You know, during the revolution.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the concept of Hessian soldiers.” Ichabod hummed. “German regiments for hire, if you will, employed by the British to fight in the Revolutionary War. Do you really think he’s a Hessian?”

“That’s what the lore says.” Kat shrugged, smirking. 

“All the more reason for me to talk to him about this alone.” Ichabod decided. He blushed again, not having meant to think aloud like that. “Sorry, I-”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” Kat assured him. “He’s probably not going to want a lot of people around if you’re talking about... you know, war. It should be just you and him.”

“I’m glad you understand.” Ichabod sighed softly in relief. 

“I don’t like to talk about war anyways.” Kat admitted. “I don’t... I mean...”

“I understand.” Ichabod hummed sympathetically. No one liked talking about war. But on top of that, he knew Kat was very against slaughter of any kind. “Have you thought about how to approach it if he has... you know, PTSD?” Kat asked. “It’s pretty common in soldiers, even if this isn’t his original head.”

“I... haven’t.” Ichabod admitted. “I did work out how to ask the in a way that I think will be the least upsetting or offensive.”

“That’s a good first step.” Kat encouraged him. “Just... respect his boundaries. Give him the space and time he needs to answer- if he can answer. Don’t pressure him if he can’t.”

“Right.” Ichabod nodded, taking mental note of those things. “Thank you, Kat.”

“No problem.” Kat smiled softly. It was smiles like those that made appearances in Ichabod’s dreams as he rested his head. She had, Ichabod thought, the most beautiful smile in the world. It was so kind. They approached the inn, and Kat sighed. “Well, this is your stop.”

“It is...” Ichabod chuckled semi-nervously. He stopped, shifting his weight awkwardly on his feet. She had him so nervous that he couldn’t quite stand still. 

“Good luck, Ichabod.” Kat smirked. Ichabod blushed. It seemed that nearly everything Katrina did, intentional or not, made him blush. 

“Thank you!” Ichabod called after her, watching for a few moments as she continued down the street. 

Ichabod sighed, imagining very briefly what their family would look like. He imagined they would be a very handsome family (though the children would get their looks from their mother- he was of the opinion that he was a bit homely). He snapped himself out of it before he could go too far down that rabbit hole. He wondered for a moment if it was weird that he was already thinking that way about a woman he hadn’t even worked up the nerve to ask out. It likely was. But his heart tended pine after things and his mind did no helping, running wild with even the smallest of fantasies. When he was a child, a teacher once told him that his appetite for the fanciful was unsurpassable. He was now rather more a man of reason than he was then, where he was willing to believe just about everything he heard. But his mind did still run wild with whims about more everyday pleasures. Rational joys, like love, romance, and food. Mostly food, until Katrina came along. For a man his size, he had a surprising appetite...

“Hey, Ichabod!” Someone called. Ichabod snapped his head, looking for where it was coming from. Oh. It was Judy again. He waved. “Do you need me to call Lucretia to get you a new key?”

“What?” Ichabod blinked. 

“You’ve been standing there for a while.” Judy pointed out. “Did you lose your key?”

“Oh...” Ichabod blushed. He pulled out his keys, holding them up. “I’m fine!”

“Okay! Just wanted to be sure!” Judy chuckled, going back to her own business.

“Thank you!” Ichabod called after her. It was lovely that she cared. He quickly and carefully opened the door to his room. He saw his friend the horseman busy at work taking a tray of what appeared to be either muffins or cupcakes out of a microwave oven he’d been gifted by the family of one of his students. The room smelled wonderful. “Hello...”

“Oh, hey Ichabod!” The Horseman turned, his- or, rather, her (for now)- hair splaying out behind her in a fan-like motion. She gave him a brief smile before busying herself with her work again. Ichabod liked this head on the Horseman. “I hope you don’t mind, but while you were out I thought you might be hungry when you got home, so... I made some carrot cake muffins.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Ichabod sighed contentedly. So long as she didn’t burn the room down, he had no objections to food. 

“We just have to let those sit for a bit.” The Horseman muttered, removing the last of the muffins from the pan. “There! I’ve got a cream cheese icing in the fridge for when they cool if you want.”

“Lovely.” Ichabod chuckled. 

“How was your day at school?” The Horseman asked. 

“Good.” Ichabod told her, sighing and taking a seat on his bed. The mention of school had reminded him of why he had left school so promptly in the first place. She seemed to be in such a good mood... he hated to ruin it. “Would you... I have a few questions.”

“Oh... sure.” The Horseman shrugged, sitting down on the small chaise in the corner of the room. “What is it?”

“I... know this isn’t your body.” Ichabod bit his lip. “But... do you remember anything about it?”

“I... don’t know. I think, a bit.” The Horseman considered. 

“Do you think you might remember how you lost it?” Ichabod asked carefully. Well, that wasn’t what he’d planned on saying. He winced. “Your head, I mean. Do you remember how...”

“I... can try to.” The Horseman offered. "I don't know what I'll be able to get, though... I don't have the eyes, ears or mind of the original body"

“You could still find something.” Ichabod reasoned. 

“Just give me a moment.” The Horseman nodded, sighing. She closed her eyes for a moment, head in her hands. 

Ichabod gave her space and silence to think. Each new head the Horseman donned seemed to unveil a bit more about his personality. He hadn’t thought to ask about any memories before because it didn’t seem entirely logical to assume that any head other than his own would hold them. But... he’d gotten the idea at school today that maybe the body had a few memories of its own. Like a physical memory. It was silly. And it might lead to nothing. But the chance that it might amount to something was too much for Ichabod to pass us. He was a man of science. And with science comes experimentation. It’s how humanity evolves and grows. This was an experiment that might prove fruitless but was still necessary. Because like many experiments, you can never be certain of what you’re going to find until you conduct it. After a moment, the Horseman raised her head and opened her eyes. 

“Anything?” Ichabod asked cautiously. 

“Not much.” The Horseman shook her head. 

“Not much is better than nothing.” Ichabod blinked, pleasantly surprised. “What did you remember?”

“Well... I don’t have anything visual or auditory... because like I said, those are kind of gone...” The Horseman warned him. “But I can remember... I think the body was fighting. I mean, obviously it was on horseback. That’s how it got its name. But... I think it was holding a gun of some sort. Maybe a musket?”

“Interesting... so perhaps you were a soldier...” Ichabod hypothesized. “Anything else?” 

“Well... you’re not gonna like this.” The Horseman chuckled nervously. She clearly didn’t like it either. “I don’t think this body’s head was cut off.”

“What?” Ichabod blinked. 

“From what I got, it felt more like the head was ripped off. Or blown off. I’m kinda leaning towards it being blown off...” The Horseman winced. 

“With a gun?” Ichabod asked cautiously. 

“I’m thinking something a bit bigger than a bullet.” The Horseman shook her head. “I don’t know what, though.”

“Well, a cannonball would be too big...” Ichabod thought aloud. 

“You know what, I don’t think it would.” The Horseman snapped her fingers. An almost cartoonish ‘lightbulb moment' look graced her features. 

“A cannonball?” Ichabod gulped. 

Well... she was right. he didn’t like that. Because if his friend had lost his head to a cannonball, the odds of it being in good shape were slim. He certainly hoped that this Headless Helper, as he’d named her, was wrong. That maybe the head had been cut clean off. Or that if it hadn’t, it was at least in usable shape. Mind you, he realized, his friend was certainly not around by any natural means, and it was wrong to assume that his head would have been preserved by any natural means either. This entire situation was unlike anything Ichabod had ever been through. It was terrifying... and absolutely thrilling. Ichabod had always imagined himself playing hero, and though these circumstances were odd ones, he was finally living that reality in a way. But back to the matter at hand... perhaps he now had more clues to his Headless friend’s identity.

“I’m sorry...” The Horseman winced. “I know that’s probably not what you wanted to hear.”

“Actually, it really helps. Very useful information.” Ichabod assured her. “This is the closest we’ve gotten to finding out who the Horseman is. Thank you.”

“I’m just happy I could help.” The Horseman smiled shyly. 

“Are you okay?” Ichabod asked carefully. 

“I think so.” The Horseman shrugged. “I just... I feel bad for this guy. What he went through sucks.”

“Yes it does.” Ichabod hummed sympathetically. 

“I mean, I guess it was a quick death.” The Horseman reasoned. “I just... wow.”

“I’m sorry for-” Ichabod started. 

“No. Don’t be. I really want this guy to find his head.”  The Horseman cut him off. “I’m fine.”

“As long as you’re sure.” Ichabod nodded, not wanting to push. There was a moment of silence between them. “You know, it’s okay not to be.”

“What?” The Horseman blinked, confused. 

“It’s okay not to be fine.” Ichabod told her. “And if you’re not, or you need anything... I’m here.”

“Thank you.” The Horseman sighed. There was another moment of silence. Ichabod didn’t know what else to say. "I think the muffins have probably cooled enough for us to try. Want one?”

“I would love one.” Ichabod nodded getting up, walking to his desk, and pulling out his notebook. 

And so Ichabod Crane took some rather detailed notes on his findings, however scarce, and his new hypotheses about where they might find his friend’s head. While he did this, he snacked on one (or two, or three) of the Headless Helper’s muffins- which were exceptional. Especially for the grade of the oven they’d been baked in. This head had a knack for knowing precisely what Ichabod needed and providing it to him. The other heads he’d encountered... not so much. It was a finicky business working with his headless friend because with every new head he changed fairly drastically- almost as if he were an entirely different person. What a mess Ichabod had gotten himself wrapped up in... Truly, he’d only come to Sleepy Hollow to teach science. Teaching was his passion, and he was very much enjoying his job in Sleepy Hollow. But his mind had always wandered towards the inexplicable, and that was a term that more than aptly described his friend the Horseman. 

In a sense, Ichabod felt that maybe that had been the true reason he was drawn to this little town. That perhaps a higher purpose did exist in his life than simply to teach. He had always thought teaching was his calling, but perhaps it was simply a step on the journey that was meant to be his life. Or a vessel, he supposed, for it was teaching that had brought him to where he was. Whatever the case may be, Ichabod knew that what he was doing in helping the Horseman felt right. He wasn’t usually a man to trust pure gut instinct, but this was different. This felt like the start of something. Ichabod hoped that it was a good something. He would hate to be on the wrong side of history. The Headless Horseman had been a beloved legend for so long, and Ichabod felt it in his bones that he was now building onto that legend. That was a scary prospect. Because if he made a wrong move, all that he was building could crumble as quickly and as easily as a Jenga tower and leave him buried under the weight of his failure, the villain of a story he had never intended to be written into. 

[fortheloveoffanfic]

One More Weekend With You

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n-Was gonna post another one from this set of fics, but this was oh so conveniently edited and forgotten in my drafts)

Summary- Inspired by Tis The Damn Season of the Evermore album

Masterlist 

Warnings- Angst  

It was hard to tell, it had been so long and maybe he'd cut his hair and started wearing his beard lower. Maybe he'd changed the way he dressed- no, not really. Did he always keep his hand in his pocket when he walked? He did, it was definitely him, and there wasn't a chance that her heart was going to let her avoid him. He still had a place there after all. 

Rubbing the cool metal of the key between her fingers, Y/n inhaled deeply, trying to brush off her nerves before making her way through the department store to where Keanu stood. "Ke?" 

And of course, he'd know her voice anywhere. So instead of just turning to see who it was, Keanu smiled despite the wave of pain that usually accompanied the thought of Y/n. Even if their end had been bittersweet, she was still his 'one.' One true love. One person he wanted to see after a bad day. One voice he wanted to hear when he picked up the phone. "Y/n?" He tilted his head, temporarily abandoning the shelves lined with glassware he was looking at, to hug her quickly. It was short, though, not short enough for it to mean nothing. "You're back”.”

"I'm back," she nodded with a soft huff, righting herself and pulling away from their awkward embrace. He’d felt different and the same; like returning to an old playground and realizing that the magic had gone from childish wonder to aching nostalgia. "Just for the holidays though, after New Years its……"

"Back," he determined as his face fell. Why'd he even let himself think she'd come back for good. Out there was her dream…..L.A…..was just him. And he wasn't enough. "Uh…how-how are your folks? I saw them a couple months ago, they were grocery shopping, but I was in such a hurry, I didn't really get a minute to catch up." What he really meant was that he didn't want to see the look on their faces when they had to stand in conversation with the son-in-law they never had and worst yet, he didn't want them to talk about her, so he could hear how well she was doing without him. 

“They’re good. What about your family?” As she spoke, Y/n tried to fight the twinge of regret that accompanied Keanu’s presence. Regret because every time they spoke, the dormant love for him was always reawakened. He told her, a long time ago, that once you started loving someone, if it was real, then it would never go away. And she had learned that he was right the hard way. 

Nodding absently, he stuffed his hands into his pockets again, just to occupy them, “They’re good….” they still ask about you. He inhaled softly, not knowing what to say next. It was uncomfortable, before, just a few years ago, Keanu always knew what to say to her, because he could say anything to her. “So how have you been? How’s work? The job?” The job that you left me for.

“I’ve been okay,” Y/n shrugged, trying to muster up a smile, only just realizing that she wasn’t half as happy as she’d been when they were together. “And work’s……its good, the job’s….” not everything it was cracked up to be, especially since it took me away from you, “Its amazing, still can't believe I got it. What about you?” She stuttered, moistening her lips. 

Keanu observed her curiously, noting how Y/n’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and how she’d kept anxiously toying with her car keys. She always fiddled when she was nervous. “You sure everything’s okay, Y/n?” It was quite likely that it was no longer his place to ask, worst yet to try to fix things if something was wrong, but Keanu hated knowing that something was bothering her. 

He always knew when she was lying. “I…..” Taking a deep breath, Y/n prepared herself to lie anyway, “You know, I’m just….it’s weird to be back, its been a while.”

“Yeah okay,” it was obvious that Y/n wasn’t going to tell him what was going on, not that Keanu could blame her, they had been over for a while by then, she wasn’t obligated to tell him anything. Still, he craved her company and wasn’t willing to let their interaction on such a flustered note. “I don’t know if you have the time, but if you do, maybe we could grab coffee or something, catch up a bit.”

Staring up at him with agape lips and sad eyes, Y/n contemplated for a minute before submitting, she couldn’t imagine saying no anyway, “Sure, okay. I’d like that. The place we usually go to?” She cleared her throat, realizing her mistake as heat rose to her cheeks, “Went to.”

Grinning fondly at her comment, Keanu tried to shake off the memories that the mention of that little coffee shop brought up, they’d had some great times there. “Great,” he determined, deciding that gift shopping could be put on pause for a bit. “It’s not too far from here, we can walk if you’d like.”

“Sounds great.” As they walked, Y/n and Keanu kept a comfortable distance between them. It wasn’t much though, she could still compare his warmth to Los Angeles heat, which had toned down significantly since the start of the holiday season. For a while, the only thing traded between them was silence, though, when they got to the coffee shop, Keanu surprised her by remembering her order to the letter. “You remember,” she mused with a soft soiree, in awe of how he’d held onto the smallest shred of their past.

How was he supposed to tell her that he’d never forget? That he sometimes ordered it for himself, just so the smell could dreg up an innocent memory or two. “You ordered it every time we came here,” he shrugged, glancing away, “And we came here a lot.”

Her gaze weaved through the patrons, eventually finding a wicker table for two near the back of the establishment, with a window view. It was the perfect place for couples to get cozy without receiving judgmental glances and lingering stares. It used to be their table but that afternoon, it was occupied by two strangers who’d never know the history shared between two lovers that had let something so precious escape them. “We did,” she agreed absently, watching the pair share pecks between sips from steaming mugs. That used to be them. 

Noticing her far away look, Keanu found what she’d been looking at. The reminder that holding Y/n in his arms like that was now nothing but part of the past stung and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of the unknown couple that sat where they once did. “Do you want to walk instead?”

Reluctantly, she nodded, “Sure, lets go.” As they left the shop, Keanu placed his hand on the center of her back in an unconscious gesture and Y/n suppressed a shudder, caught off guard by how instinctively her body had responded by leaning in before her mind could even permit it. “So,” she eased as they walked along the busy streets, shoppers and pedestrians too caught up in their own busy lives to notice that they were brushing shoulders with a celebrity. And it helped that he was wearing sunglasses. “What have you been up to?”

Shaking his shoulders, “You know,” he took a punctuating sip of his scalding coffee, thinking up ways to make his life sound more exciting than it actually was, “Work, hanging out, dating around, that kind of thing,” he offered nonchalantly, subconsciously trying to show her he’d moved on since their split. At least, he’d tried to.

At the mention of dating, Y/n almost choked on a mouthful of coffee, brashly replacing the cup at her lips with a napkin so she wouldn’t make a mess. Dating around, that wasn’t something she was expecting to hear. It was something she particularly wanted to hear either, because what was a casual mention for him brought a landslide of panic for her. Keanu was moving on and one day, he was going to find someone that would choose him in a way she hadn’t. One day he’d be someone else’s. “That’s…..uh….” exhaling loudly, she mustered up a fake smile, “That’s great! I’m….I’m happy that you’re- you’re um...that’s great Ke,” Y/n stuttered.

“Thanks, I think,” he huffed shyly, “But I’m…..I’m not seeing anyone right now.” Apparently he’d developed a habit of oversharing since he’d met with Y/n merely an hour earlier. Perhaps it was solely because telling her everything used to be habitual.

Her head snapped towards him, eyes wide and lips agape. “You’re not?” She breathed, hoping she didn’t sound too eager. When he confirmed, Y/n proceeded without thinking, “That’s great,” internally kicking herself as soon as she heard the words.

“What?” Keanu halted abruptly, only moving once more to step in front of Y/n. His brows were furrowed and he was starting to wonder if he’d heard her correctly.

“I mean….it’s….not great,” taking a deep breath, Y/n desperately sought to slow the erratic thumping in her chest, finding that the quickest remedy was meeting his whiskey orbs. “It’s….fuck,” she sighed, overwhelmed by the surge of buried feelings that had started welling up since they’d hugged. “I mean…..” Again, Y/n trailed off, at a loss for words, “It’s……”

Bringing his hand up to cup her neck, Keanu leaned down, kissing her slowly, letting instinct take over. He knew what she liked; the slow introduction of his tongue, the way it occasionally glazed over hers and a little nibble on her lower lip to keep things a bit rough. She was liking it then too, Keanu could tell by the way she’d stumbled closer, grasping a fistful of his jacket. “Is that what you were trying to say?” Keanu whispered as they broke.  

“Yeah,” a glimmer of a smile tugged at her lips as an idea brewed. “What are you doing this weekend?” She asked softly, the tips of their noses still brushing as they held each other close.

“I’m supposed to spend Christmas at my sister’s,” his words said in a tone that was meant to protect their moment, “Why?”

Dragging her lower lip through her teeth, Y/n debated on whether or not she was about to make a fool of herself. But she had to try; returning to Los Angeles had left her craving Keanu’s company and the fact that they were both single had to mean something. “Spend it with me.  We could be like this again….just for a little bit.”

“That’s not a good idea,” he resisted, not really wanting to but knowing that it might be in both their best interests if they didn’t go down that road again; she was leaving after the holidays anyway.

“I know,” Y/n sighed wearily, “But don’t you want to anyways? We could pretend that nothing’s changed,” her free arm rounded Keanu’s neck and her fingers twirled the ends of his hair. “Please, just think about it, okay?”

Conflicted and caught between wanting to be with her, if only for a bit and doing what was best for them both, Keanu took a step back, taking his hand off her and consequently urging Y/n to retract her hold on him. “You can’t come here and just expect me to go along with this.”

“I’m not expecting anything,” she argued, “You were the one that kissed me, and I’m just asking you to consider it. Don’t you miss me? Cause I miss you, Keanu.”

“I….” Mulling on her question, Keanu hit his fist to his thigh, shaking his head, “Doesn’t matter, Y/n,” turning, he walked away without saying goodbye, waving dismissively as he melded into the crowd.

Christmas Day Y/n had tried forcing herself into forgetting how things had gone down with Keanu earlier that week, when she’d asked him to spend Christmas together, the way they had when they were both convinced that they were going to be each other’s forever. But she couldn’t, he’d been on her mind constantly, and every time her phone rang, she’d snatch it up in hopes that he’d changed his mind, and every time, when it was work, or even on of her friends, Y/n felt the sting of disappointment dig at her heart. 

Five whole days had passed and she was even starting to get used to it; accepting that she had crossed a line and Keanu was right, when on Christmas day, while she was caught in conversation with her father over very strong eggnog, her mother entered the sitting room, grasping the arm of a familiar figure. Her parents had always adored him, they’d hoped she would marry him, let him be the one that fathered their grandbabies and they were so disappointed when it hadn’t worked out. “Look who’s here!” She announced, squeezing Keanu’s bicep affectionately, broad smile plastered on her face.

“Keanu, son! Look who’s here Y/n!” Her father nudged as if she hadn’t already seen him, standing giddy in the doorway, flashing the room with that movie star grin.

“Yeah dad,” she breathed, not believing her eyes. He’d actually come, even after the way things had ended a few days ago. “What…..what’re you doing here?” 

“I’m here to see you sweetheart,” Keanu beamed, slipping away from her mother, approaching Y/n and then bending to kiss the side of her lips. “I thought about what you said,” he whispered, only loud enough for her to hear, “And I miss you too,” he ended his words with another peck, easily wrapping an arm around her shoulders as her family eyed them with confusion. “Y/n invited me, and I was just wondering if that invitation is still open.”

“Of course it is!” Her mother cheered, clapping her hands excitedly, “You know we love having you here Keanu!”

“I’m glad you came,” Y/n shifted in his embrace, standing on her toes so she could peck his cheek, hugging Keanu at the waist. After that, things fell into the way they used to be; like Keanu was part of their family, and for the rest of the evening, he and Y/n had acted as if nothing had changed between them. As if they were still that couple that was so in love that it was hard to believe they’d ever break up. And it was easy to return to being those people too; within an hour together, it was easy to pretend that nothing had changed, to act as if there hadn’t been a fight a few nights before Y/n got on a plane that would whisk her out of his life or Keanu hadn’t called her a week later, drunk out of his mind only to pour his heart out and beg her to come back. It was as if a day hadn’t passed since their last good one and they were still each other’s future.

When presents and dinner was through, and after Keanu had brought a duffle bag up to Y/n’s room and the cool sun had set making way for the glowing moon, he and Y/n had slipped away from the family festivities to go on a walk around the block. They’d shrugged light coats on over their clothes and had linked arms as they strolled up the desolate street, absently staring at the homes illuminated with colorful lights and Christmas decorations. “What made you change your mind?” Y/n probed, nuzzling his arm, subconsciously hoping he wouldn’t change it again.

“I don’t think I did change it,” Keanu mused, keeping his eyes forward, “I was always gonna come. You know me; I can’t seem to stay away from you,” he gently tugged her closer. Being with her like that, it felt like right, like things were finally the way they were supposed to be, “I miss us, you know?”

“Mm hmm,” he she hummed, resting her head on her bicep, letting Keanu guide them forward with complete trust, “I miss us too. You’d like it there,” she said, referring to where she’d started building her new life,  trying to keep them from lapsing into silence.

“Yeah?” He kicked a pebble absently, wondering what it would be like if he ever did move. Could he do that? Leave his family back in L.A to be with Y/n? She was worth it, after all, she was the only woman he’d ever seen himself having a future with. “I think you’re the only person I’ve ever met that wanted to leave Los Angeles to make it big,” he changed the topic, too fearful to let the thought of leaving behind everything he’d built for himself in California cement itself. Maybe they were selfish, Keanu thought, that was why things couldn’t work out for them; cause neither of them was willing to adjust what they wanted outside of each other.

“I think you might be right,” Y/n chuckled and it wasn’t long before they'd fallen into what she’d dreaded; silence. Back at the house, she had the cover of menial chatter, but on the barren sidewalk, where there was nothing to shroud the heaviness of things that were kept guarded, it was different. The atmosphere was clumsy and she felt a way she never had around Keanu; uncomfortable.

“I’d gotten you something,” he broke the quiet, sounding unsure of himself, “Before you told me you were leaving for the job, I’d gotten you something. Well, technically, it was given to me, for you, I guess.”

Throwing him a curious glance, she urged him to slow down, “I don’t understand,” knitting her brows, Y/n silently pleaded with him to elaborate. 

“Your mom,” he explained, “She gave me your grandmother’s ring…”

“You were gonna….” Maybe if she’d known before she would have changed her mind.

“Yeah,” he sighed heavily, reminiscing on how that night had gone. How’d they texted each other excitedly on their way home, how he’d insisted she go first, only to hold himself back when she broke the news that the job might threaten to tear her away from him. Long distance wasn’t for them and Keanu knew that moving wasn’t in the cards for him. “Were you mad at me?” She probed meekly.

Huffing a dry chuckle, Keanu shook his head, “No, when I saw how your eyes lit up when you told me about it, all I wanted was for you to be happy, even if that meant it wouldn’t be here, with me.”

“I was happy with you,” they stopped, and turned to face each other, hands still tangled, and unchecked tears threatening to spill over as her voice broke, “I think I was happier with you.”

“I know,” his tone was low and husky as Keanu stepped closer, muting the few inches of space between them. She didn’t need to ask how he did and Keanu had no cause to explain; they knew each other better than most ever would; he could pick up on her faked smiles from a mile away. “Would it be wrong if I asked you to stay?”

Still trying to fight the wave of emotion, Y/n looked at their interlocked fingers, frowning at how well they worked together. No other hands would ever feel like that, and she’d long made peace with the fact. “Would it be wrong if I asked you to wait?”

Closing his eyes, he bent lower to press his forehead to hers, letting her scent tickle his senses. It was as if he was trying to freeze himself in time, so he’d be forever basking in the sweet smell of her perfume and the comfort of her touch while the warmth that radiated between them, tethering him to her was one he was sure he could never remember to its exact perfection. Why couldn’t things be easier? “I’m sorry,” he shuddered, letting his breaths be captured by her quivering lips.

“It’s my fault,” Y/n exhaled, sniffling, “But at least we have right now, right?”

Keanu hugged her low at the waist, burning his face in Y/n’s hair while she sought refuge in the crook of his neck, “Yeah,” hot tears made their slow journey down his his cheek, and he could feel moisture soaking his t shirt where Y/n had buried her face, “At least we have now.” 

Even if it would never be enough, for now, it was all they had. 

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[sleeplessincairo]

[ dating bucky barnes would include: ]

warnings: a somewhat vague sexual outline and a few cusses

///

Him walking around with a notebook everywhere. Bucky got the idea from Steve when he saw him writing new things to his modern day to-do-list, so Bucky decided to do the same except fill his notebook up with his old memories instead; anything he could remember from his life before being The Winter Soldier. At first, there were only a few pages filled but as his life starting to include domestic and mundane-as well as a healthy environment-activities, he started having spontaneous and soon-to-be-frequent flashbacks that, later on, contributed to dozens of notebooks filled with not The Winter Soldier, not Prisoner #56898, not White-Wolf, but James Buchanan Barnes.

You never mentioned the notebook to Bucky nor asked to read it-Bucky was a private person, and you understood and respected that-but you still started carrying a pen with you, just in case he ever needed one.

At first, the notebook(s) was/were filled with solely memories of his past-No matter how insignificant. Whether it was that time the toilet got clogged in his shabby little apartment and had to stay with Steve and Sarah Rogers for a week because he couldn't afford a plumber or that time he lost his shoe in bar brawl and some swanky chrome-dome gave him a few bucks to buy some shoes and a sock without a hole in it. He wrote everything his mind could clearly grasp. But as the two of you got closer, he started filling it with memories he had with/of you because-even if he would never admit it-you made him feel right at home.

You may or may not have stolen his dog tags from the Smithsonian museum just as a reminder that even after all the pain, despair, manipulation, and torture he still managed to be the good person he was all those years ago. He was still James Barnes, local heartthrob that volunteered at the soup kitchen during his free time, that fought a war and lost an arm during the process, that dreamt of flying cars and a future without all fights and wars, that had a soft spot for a certain trouble-attracting boy whose heart was too big for his body.

“Jesus doll, I didn’t know I was dating a thief.” “Oh James, I thought you’d already realized that when I stole your heart from right under your nose.”

Bucky’s not big on talking or directly verbally professing his love, but that’s okay; His eyes tell you everything. There was always something about Bucky’s eyes that were so mesmerizing, so captivating, you could instantly tell how he was feeling. Before you, his eyes resembled a pale arctic blue that were as cold as glaciers-His eyes were hollowed and empty, scratched raw from any emotion but your growing presence thawed them out, they warmed through the cold exterior of what was once The Winter Soldier and reminded you that the hottest fires burn blue.

He does, however, reference quite a few interesting slang choices from the 40′s, which is his own little way of demonstrating verbal affection, ranging from calling you ‘Doll’ & ‘Sweetheart’ to calling you ‘The Cat’s Meow’ & ‘Butter and Egg Fly’

He’s never been very invested in hygiene. It never really was something important for him since he was in the Army and BO was a pretty normal thing, and then he became The Winter Soldier and HYDRA never exactly gave him a bathtub-Not that he was in the right mindset to to care about it anyway-So you usually have to remind him to shower everyday-Not that you mind, it would usually end with the both of you showering together and you having the opportunity to wash his hair yourself.

Soon enough, Bucky gets real invested in hygiene, he starts reading about self-care routines, exfoliating, conditioning, and gets completely hooked. Secretly, he does it because he likes the routine, something mundane and fixed to do to keep him busy.

You’re the only one that gets to call him James. Something about the way you say it warms his heart, he’d focus completely on the way your mouth moves as you say it-It reminded him of the way his mother would say his full name before busting his chops about coming home all dirty but then later ruffling his thick hair and offering a plate of strawberry jam sandwhiches, or how the word was always lurking in the dark corners of his mind like the silhouette of a ghost he couldn’t seem to recognize until you brought it to life.

Him always reaching out for your hand when he feels out-of-place, outside, or honestly just all the time because it helps him feel secure and grounded.

Steve third wheeling the both of you all the time. No seriously, literally all the time. He spends more time in the apartment you and Bucky share more than his own to the point where you and Bucky wonder if he actually has one. 

Steve has a key to your place-Even though, the both of you never gave him a key in the first place-and has a habit of interrupting the both of you or walking in on the worst possible moments.

“Hey guys, what are ya doi-Oh...Sorry I didn't know-Buck, you don't need to throw-Jesus, okay, okay I’m going.”

“Who the hell does it look like I’m doing, Steve.”

Bucky being very insecure about his arm, he even refuses to touch you with that arm-Subconsciously, he’s afraid he’ll accidentally hurt you. At first, he only ever wears long-sleeved shirts and a glove even on the hottest days as if he’d somehow forget that there was a metallic limb under all the cotton, but slowly like molasses he starts accepting it. He starts wearing open finger gloves, then discarding the gloves, then wearing 3-quarter sleeves, then short-sleeved shirts, then sleeveless shirts, then finally feeling comfortable enough to take off his shirt in front of you which leads to a night filled with discarded clothing, the sounds of soft murmurs and reassurances, the rolling of each other’s names off each other tongues like a prayer, and the rustling of the blanket against the delicate movement of your intertwined bodies skin-on-skin, skin-on-metal as the both of you unravel thread by thread in each other’s arms.

Truth is, you love his metal arm, you love the way it’s cool against your warm cheek on hot summer nights, you love the splashes of light that kiss it every morning making it sparkle, you love the soft and soothing whirring noises it lets out breaking the silence in your room, you love it because it’s a part of him and God knows how much you love everything about this man.

Despite being the assassin that killed JFK, managed to get away with it, and mind boggle conspiracists for decades he’s a bit clumsy. He has a habit of accidentally breaking things and later on, not telling you about it.

"James Buchanan Barnes, I thought I developed super strength-and even asked Stark to do some tests on me, but apparently you just happened to forget to mention and explain why the fuck doors are falling off their hinges!"

Losing sleep with Bucky. He tends to have very frequent and graphic nightmares which leads to various panic attacks and the inability to sleep, and you're more than happy to stay up with him and comfort him. Sometimes you’d talk while he listened and watched the way your lips moved or the way the pony tail you had gone to bed with loosened and hundreds of strands escaped the grasp of the hair band or the way a yawn would escape your lips and your hand would momentarily rise to cover your mouth but get lazy halfway, other times you’d lay in each other’s arms in complete silence while you traced patterns on his chest and trail kisses across his skin.

You being his anchor. You holding him tightly and assuring him that he’s okay, that you're here, that you're real, that he’s out, that he’s safe, and many other tender 3-worded sentences uttered over and over again like a mantra until he’s murmuring them back into your chest. 

Sometimes, when he has really bad nightmares and panic attacks you grab his notebook and start reading the memories out loud while you lay his head on your lap and run your hand through his hair in a calming manner until he calms down. It soon becomes a regular thing where you read him a memory before he goes to bed like a bedtime story.

Bucky Barnes is a man who was tortured and tormented for years, a man whose life was ripped right from his very arms along with his very own arm, a man who has gone through a long and unforgettable journey where he has learned to cope, grow, accept, and embrace himself and now he’s made it his mission to encourage and help others to do the same, whether they're struggling with their sexuality, amputation, mental illness, gender, or general self-acceptance.

You educated him about women’s rights because things are a lot different then in the 1940s; women are no longer obligated to get married, cater to a man’s every whim, have children, and other traditional gender roles. At first, Bucky’s very confused and doesn't understand why feminism is so important-I mean, lets face it, Bucky was raised in a traditional society and was later on manipulated to being a bloodthirsty assassin and now suddenly, he can think on his own and his life has turned completely upside down from thinking his own thoughts without HYDRA around to thinking past social constructs and norms so its normal for him to be a bit weary. However, you're there to explain thoroughly about how unjust society still is and how women may have won a few battles but still have a war to fight in a society where they are hyper-sexualized, mistreated, and controlled, and Bucky immediately thinks of Peggy Carter and how the men used to catcall her, how they raked her body with inappropriate stares, how she was ignored and seen as a pretty face, and then he finally understands. 

Dozens of articles about mysterious beatings of assaulters around New York.

His metal arm is decorated with dozens of pins, magnets, and stickers of all the movements he supports. Oh man, you should see him during Women’s marches and Pride fairs, considering all the black he usually wears seeing him dressed in bright colors or a pink shirt that says ‘On Wednesdays, we destroy the patriarchy’. It’s a sight that truly belongs in the history books.

Bucky breaking hold of the toxic masculinity he was subjected to in the 1940s and advocating for men to be able to display their God-given emotions freely, to not feel obligated to put on a tough guy front, to telling boys its okay to cry, to feel, to act, to wear, and to be whomever they please to be. 

Bucky visiting youth centers and giving advice and support to the kids there. Every kid he meets reminds him of Steve, whether its in their stubbornness, taste for trouble, lostness, or the glimmer of potential he sees in every single one of them. He remembers every single name of the teenager he meets and later on, uses them as a mantra whenever he’s undergoing a panic or anxiety attack as well as use SHIELD’s equipment to check up on them every once in a while.

Bucky going to children’s hospitals every week to cheer up the little kids there. He ends up being quite the inspiration and their ‘Favorite Superhero’ for the kids with amputations there and they end up being one of the very few people who are allowed to touch his metal arm. Something about the way their eyes shine with hope and their hands melt at the feeling of the metal warms his heart and his insecurities.

[imagitory]

Favorite twst boys?

Oooohoohoo, you wish me to talk about my Night Raven College baes? Let’s see then...

Ace Trappola ~ Okay, so I should admit right off the bat that I have a huge soft spot for the Heartslabyul dorm in particular. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll are one of my favorite things ever, and so most adaptations of those works tend to give me some amount of glee, even the really flawed ones. But for Ace specifically, it took me a little while to warm up to him, given that he can be a real prat, but once he and Deuce really rallied around Yuu (especially when they dropped everything on their winter break and took the bus all the way back to school during the Scarabia incident to try to rescue them and Grim -- MY HEART!!!), I fully adopted Ace as my second trash son and that was that. I also loved Ace’s development in the Ghost Bride story line, as well as his admittedly harsh, but still rather fair tear-down of Riddle immediately pre-Overblot. Ace can be really harsh sometimes, but that also makes him an incredibly honest sort who won’t take anyone else’s bull and won’t let anyone push him around -- yet at the same time, he’s also lighthearted enough that he never takes himself too seriously. In some ways he kind of reminds me of Jounouchi Katsuya from Yu-Gi-Oh!, and that’s definitely a compliment.

Deuce Spade ~ MY ORIGINAL TRASH SON. I loved Deuce pretty much from the get-go, considering how passionate he was about trying to fix the mistake with the chandelier and how adorable he was casting the only magic he could manage (“COME FORTH, CAULDRON!” XDD). Then there was the whole “chick” incident where we not only saw his delinquent side which he tries so desperately to hide on full display for the first time, but we also got to see how much he truly loves his mom and how friggin’ stupid and yet absolutely sincere he is, and I just fell in love with Deuce even more. The Wish Upon a Star event where we learn Deuce wants to basically be this world’s equivalent of a sheriff after having been such a delinquent in his younger years only made me feel all the more for this guy -- him wanting to be so much better than he was even if he’s not the smartest, strongest, or most talented guy around I find so compelling and likable.

Riddle Rosehearts ~ Yeah, I know, a lot of Heartslabyul love, but like with Ace, it took me a LONG while to warm up to Riddle. I thought he was a total jerk and I wanted nothing more than to give him a good telling-off (“go ahead, use that stupid collar on me -- I don’t have magic for you to block, you bullying prat!”) until Ace got around to punching Riddle in the face and then tearing him a verbal new one for me. It honestly took Riddle’s Overblotting for me to feel the least bit sorry for him, but it was how sincerely he acted after the fact in trying to make up for his mistakes that really softened my heart to him. Riddle has lived his whole life following rules and convention to the letter, and it’s made him miserable, so now that he’s come to grips with the fact that he doesn’t need to be miserable in order to live an upstanding life, he’s softened a bit. Even with this, though, that rule-abiding, upstanding attitude isn’t always hard to shake, and I think it makes for a much more balanced outcome than if Riddle just went hog-wild and stopped caring about everything -- because the whole reason Riddle followed the rules so closely is he wanted to do what was best for all and to be the best he could be, too. His motivation for being so strict came from a deep passion for leadership and order, and I’m glad that passion of Riddle’s wasn’t dampened, but instead given nuance. Now he can focus his passion more effectively, rather than lashing out in all directions indiscriminately. Like Ace as well, I loved Riddle’s development in the Ghost Marriage plot line, particularly his individual side story with Malleus. It really showcased Riddle’s noblesse oblige moral code, which I personally find the most compelling and likable aspect of his personality.

Jack Howl ~ JACK IS A GOOD BOY. Anyone who disagrees can fight me. (LOL, not really, but...) Like with Deuce, I liked Jack pretty much immediately. From the start, he just came across as so much more down-to-earth and honest than either of the other two main characters from Savanaclaw (even if Jack is also a total tsundere, but honestly, if you’ve watched any kind of anime, you’re fluent enough in “tsundere” as a language to know exactly what Jack really thinks of something). He was sort of depicted as a black sheep in his own dorm, and -- honestly? -- I’m a sucker for characters that are sort of on the fringes and don’t quite conform to what people expect them to be. Add to that how passionate Jack is about working hard and being the best he can be in his own right, as well as how deathly loyal he is, and he’s just overall a character I would love being friends with.

Jamil Viper ~ Jamil was the first character who Overblots who I actually felt sympathy for long before we see his side of the story in flashback form. Part of this admittedly is because I could sort of see where Jamil and Kalim’s story was going ahead of time, but the other reason is that I could see how much work Jamil put in all the time. Even though yeah, it was a real dick move to try to foist out Kalim so he could become Head of Scarabia instead, and yes, he manipulated things to make everyone see Kalim as cruel and irrational, it doesn’t change the fact that Jamil still acted like a Dorm Head a lot more than Kalim did a lot of the time, in the sense of making sure things run smoothly. Kalim definitely brings amazing enthusiasm to Scarabia as its leader and inspires a lot of positive feelings in the people around him, but if there’s a problem, it’s Jamil who often ends up fixing it, not Kalim. And from the start, I really felt for this guy who Kalim -- simply due to privilege -- didn’t seem to acknowledge he was demanding so much of, without receiving the same kind of attention and appreciation in return. I never disliked Kalim for this, because I could tell Kalim didn’t mean it maliciously and admittedly Jamil really should’ve said something since Kalim adores Jamil and would have likely been more than receptive to hearing what he had to say...but at the same time, given their power imbalance, it’s also not completely unsurprising that Jamil didn’t feel like he could say something. The best part about Jamil for me, at least, ended up coming out after he was allowed to finally speak his mind. Yeah, maybe he’s a little meaner now. Yeah, maybe he’s not so patient or amiable now. But he’s also allowed to show more of that deep, searing passion and ambition he’s been bottling up for so long. I loved seeing how much he enjoys dancing and performing through the Fairy Gala event and the recent Pomefiore chapter. I’ve loved how thoroughly (and pretty justifiably) distrustful he is of Azul. I’ve loved how he’s sort of on the fence emotionally about looking after Kalim the way he used to and making sure Kalim doesn’t expect his service the way he subconsciously did before. Jamil is one of the TWST characters who surprised me the most in how much I enjoy him, and I honestly can’t wait to see how much more he grows.

Epel Felmier ~ I WILL PROTECT THIS BOY, OKAY. Not because he’s delicate-looking, but because damn it, if he wants to eat macaroons and steak with the wrong fork, then he should be allowed to just go out and do it. I absolutely love the contrasts we’ve already seen in Epel so far. For as sweet and bishounen as his face is, he has a real rough, informal side fitting his background as a kid from the country, and yet he also has his “Prince Charming” moments too. He completely on his own comes up with the idea to arrive riding a horse when trying to impress the Bride during the Ghost Marriage event, and yet he’ll also tear into a bunch of ghosts who dare mistake him for a girl. Epel reminds me of a friend of mine from high school who also was a lot gruffer and more cynical than his short height and cute face would suggest, and it makes for a very interesting character, I think. You can’t pin this kid down or put him in a single box, and I think that’s awesome.

Vil Schoenheit ~ All right. Before the Pomefiore chapter, I thought there was no way in Hell that I would ever warm up to Vil. His slapping of people’s butts in the Fairy Gala event, his superficial focus on exterior beauty, and his bullying, condescending attitude toward Epel in particular really made me dislike him from the get-go. But then the Pomefiore chapter started and we reached the auditions...and I found myself agreeing with just about every critique he made, in contrast to Rook’s sunnier, fawning reviews. It made me feel like I was watching American Idol or America’s Got Talent and agreeing with Simon Cowell (which I honestly almost always did, whenever I watched those!). And as the Pomefiore chapter’s unfolded, I’ve seen that fascinating contrast in Vil. Yes, he’s very superficial -- but his dream is to act and be an idol, and in that world of celebrity, appearances are important. Yes, he’s very conceited -- but he’s also an incredibly hard worker who’s put in a lot of effort to improve himself and his talents to the point that he should be proud of them. Yes, he’s almost cruel in how relentlessly he pushes people -- but he never holds anyone to a standard he wouldn’t also expect of himself. Yes, he’s very forceful and sees his way as the only way -- but he does truly want those people to succeed in his own weird way, even if he can’t properly express it. Not to mention the fact that he’s constantly typecast as villainous characters, and he just wants to be a hero who makes it to the final curtain call!! My heart!! It’s made it so that like with Jamil, I’ve found sympathy for Vil long before he Overblots, and so I’m all the more eager to see how both the Overblot itself and its aftermath impacts Vil as a character and his relationships with the other characters.

Malleus Draconia ~ Oh, come on, who doesn’t love Tsunotaro? This precious child needs all of the love and party invitations in the world! (And yes, he may be an immortal fae, but he’s still a precious child to me, so there.) I would totally love chatting about gargoyles and grotesques with him. X3

[harringtonheartache]

Daybreak | Part Eighteen

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Lab Escapee! Reader?

Summary: Part eighteen of this fic. Steve and Nine must leave the house and stumble upon — ? 

Word Count: 3,300 +

Warning(s): Cussing

A/N: Yay! I think that I have an idea of where the next few chapters are going (and then... *whispers* conclusion?) Enjoy! 

P.S. watch Joe Keery’s new movie Spree! I did! It’s great! :-)

The two sat in Steve’s familiar car (doors locked, double-checked) with the windows down, breeze against both of their faces as he cruised down even more familiar roads. They had made a successful escape through his bedroom window earlier: Steve first, Nine second with a perhaps overly-cautious helping hand to guide her down. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier,” Steve said when her shoes hit the pavement of his back patio. He hadn’t bid farewell to either one of his parents, but it wasn’t necessary as long as they couldn’t find him if they went looking. 

After a solid half-hour of aimless loops around town, the car’s gaslight began to blink. “Shit,” Steve muttered, turning the wheel down a new road. “I have to stop to get gas,” he said, his head drifting from the road to glance to his passenger. “It will only take a minute,” he reassured. 

Five more minutes and he pulled in slowly to a gas station, exhaling with relief at it’s empty state. “You can stay in the car,” he told Nine. She looked to him and nodded with a smile, happy to oblige. He slung his door open lazily, exiting the car as Nine shifted in her seat. She pulled her left arm in front of her, eyes catching the vibrancy of red leaking through layers of white bandage it wore. Warily, she dragged a finger against the stain, and took it away to see that same red on her finger pad. “Shit,” she said, copying Steve. 

He returned to his seat, a gas pump sticking out of the side of the car where he had been standing. Sitting again, he gazed over at Nine. “Oh,” he said, then turning in his seat so that he could see her better. He caught sight of her concern and reached out a hand. “Here, lemme see,” he said gently. She offered him her arm and he turned it tenderly, assessing the damage of the day’s activities. “There’s a small store down the road from here. We can stop there and pick up some more bandages, fix you up,” he proposed. The gas pump clicked, signaling that the tank was full. 

The newly-filled-up car pulled into a parking place in front of an indeed small store, and once again Steve was reassured by the lack of action in the lot. There were a couple more vehicles than the gas station (which had been completely empty) held, but none of them were tall, white vans that implied severe danger. He made sure to check, as if a five-second head start to peel out of the storefront would make all the difference if one had been there. “I’ll be right back, any requests?” Steve asked Nine as he stood, a hand on the top of the car as he  leaned down to peer in from outside. 

“Can I come with you?” she asked.

“Uh… I meant, like, snack requests,” he replied, his words stalling as he thought over his ask. “But, um, you can. Are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” Nine said, a hand reaching to unbuckle her seat belt. She took the hat that had been sitting on the dashboard from its last use as she slid from the car. 

She jogged around the front of the car to Steve and he laughed quietly. They walked together now, and he slung an arm around her shoulder, pulling her towards him with ease. His forearm draped down her front side as he spoke softly, something close to a whisper-in-her-ear. “You know, I’m starting to think that the hat doesn’t do much,” he teased. She pulled her head back, looking at him with the beginnings of a smile. A hand reached up from her side and she plucked it from herself. Holding it by the brim, she pulled it down over Steve’s head instead. “Hey! Not cool,” he said, flicking up the front of the hat that had covered his eyes. He took the hat off and gave his head a shake in an attempt to fix his hair from it’s damage. “It looks better on you, anyway,” he admitted, placing it back on Nine’s head and dragging his hand down the front of the brim to cover her eyes as it had his. She tossed her head up to give Steve a bemused smile from underneath the hat’s cover. 

The store was mostly empty when they walked in. The buzzing of some unrecognizable song played through speakers too cheap to work without the hum of electrical problems masking the music’s lyrics. The cashier supposed-to-be greeter didn’t look up from her magazine when the bell in front of the door rang to signify their entry, but the two wandered past her without care anyway. A few steps down one aisle and the shuffling of objects in the neighboring one made Steve creep backwards, stretching out his neck to peek around the corner at the commotion. 

Joyce Byers stood, far too occupied to notice spying Steve, using one arm to shovel boxes of Christmas lights into her cart, and the other to keep the cart steady. He contemplated her actions for a moment — squinted confusion — then reached a hand out in front of him to gently grab for Nine who was a slow step ahead of him and unaware of his departure. She twisted around lightly at the sensation of his touch (fingertips brushing her arm, just out of reach) then sent him a puzzled look of which he did not see. He pulled himself back up then, and whispered so only Nine would hear. 

“Will’s mom is here, I have to talk to her,” he informed, throwing in a “she’s trustworthy,” afterwards to settle her nerves about being seen. 

Rounding the corner, Steve hesitated with his introduction, wondering if he should clear his throat like he had caught Joyce in the middle of something. “Hi, Ms. Byers,” he called out, a little bit of something — perhaps he adopted a shyness — to his voice. 

She turned around sharply, bumping her arm against the handle of her cart and rattling the contents inside. Stacks of the Christmas lights Steve had watched her throw into a pile sat on top of a few lamps as the foundation of her basket. She would hit the light bulb section next, not bothering to count the number she’d need for however many lamps she had claimed before sweeping them on top of the pile. Her hair fell in front of her face as she jolted to Steve’s voice, and a hand reached up quickly to tuck it behind her ear — an action taken less to look presentable and more to be able to see whoever was advancing on her. Shoulders deflating from the scare, Joyce sighed and tried on a smile that looked a little too forced. “Hi, Steve,” she returned. 

“We- uh. We were just here to pick up a few things and saw you,” he started explaining his hello. “Oh. This is Nina, she’s a friend,” he said, lifting a hand to waver in front of Nine as he introduced her politely. Joyce, as if she hadn’t even noticed the girl, lit up her face in a look of corrective surprise. “Oh!” she sang, another solemn grin but also an accompanying hand stretched out for a shake. Nine, caught a little off-guard herself, took the handshake with a kind smile. “Hi,” she said, pondering a second after if she should tell Joyce it’s ‘nice to meet her,’ (people say that, right?) then realizing that she waited too long to decide. Steve sweeped the conversation right back up anyways. 

“How are you? Um- like, is there anything we can do?” he said, unable to decide on a question. How is one supposed to speak to someone with a missing child? What are the right things to say? Did he already mess up? He wondered for a second if this was one of those situations where you just don’t mention the elephant in the room, it’d be rude to bring it up. He then mentally scolded himself for even considering that to be the right route to take. It’d be inconsiderate not to, he assured himself. 

Nine could have sworn she saw Joyce flinch when he asked his questions, as if it would break the role of happy mother she was playing to answer them. “Um - you know -” (he didn’t) “Just doing everything I can. I think people are starting to think I’m crazy”. She tried to laugh, but it came out sounding even more forced than the smile had appeared. 

Steve held his breath a moment, replaying the mental picture that had been on loop in his mind since Dustin told him Will was missing. The mental picture of Will himself, the night Steve and Nine dropped him off at home, opening the door to his house and disappearing inside. Steve worried repeatedly if this particular moment he had often called upon was a mix-up, a recollection of a different night he had conveniently changed the time stamp on. He kept asking himself if he really saw Will go inside that night. He did, right? It wasn’t just his guilty subconscious protecting him by substituting memories, right? 

“You’re not crazy,” Nine unexpectedly spoke. Steve glanced at her then quickly retreated his gaze. 

“Thank you,” Joyce said with a sincere smile that faded into silence. 

Wanting to recover, Steve opened his mouth to speak again, but Joyce turned suddenly to gesture to her cart. “I guess this doesn’t really help my look,” she said as she peered over the mountain of electrical supplies. 

“What is it all for?” Steve asked, thankful for both the recoup in conversation and new attention paid to the second elephant in the room. 

Joyce shifted on her feet, hesitant and unsure of how to continue. She was starting to realize her lack of skill in answering questions. “I- I’m going to sound… I’m going to sound delusional,” she said. For the first time in the conversation her voice fizzled out, became weaker with clear indication of tears that wished to join the dialogue. “I feel like Will is trying to communicate with me”. 

Steve’s eyebrows jumped and he staggered over a reply. “Wh- wait, what? Did he call or something? Did someone take him-” he stopped as Joyce began to shake her head. 

“No, no, nothing like that. He just…” she trailed off, refusing eye contact as she searched for the words. “The lights”.

“The lights?” Steve glanced at her shopping cart once more.

“They flicker. And I know it doesn’t make sense but- but I feel like it’s him.”

There is another silence as the two process Joyce’s words - interpretations independent of one another withheld from sharing as she waits for a reaction. Steve first considers the woman in front of him, her cart of lights and missing child, and has to wonder if she is (as politely as he could put it) losing it. He then acknowledges the woman to the side of him, steals another glance in her direction as he remembers how he met her and what she can do, the reason they’re in the store in the first place and how they came to be in the situation. Maybe Joyce was doing just fine.

Nine’s head quirked as she tilted it a little in confusion. Confusion or realization — her mind connecting dots, checking boxes on a recently developed mental checklist that helps her decide if something is just peculiar enough to be related back to her. Flickering lights, like the flashlights Steve, Dustin, and her swung from limp wrists in the forest. Flickering lights, like the ones above her head in the lab that made her close her eyes tight when her powers left them flashing too erratically. 

“You feel like it’s Will?” Steve said. The realization began to dawn on him that this is a heavy conversation to be having in a shitty, run-down store that’s only still in business because the town it’s in is too small to let it die. And so he deliver’s his response a tad quieter, suddenly itching for a bit more privacy. 

“I know how it sounds… but that’s why-” and she gestured to her cart again. “I have to find out”. 

“No- um,” Steve stumbles for a logical response. “I get it,” he tells her, “you’d do anything to find him”. 

Nine hadn’t gotten a chance to choke over her own response. Instead she was still thinking up ways she could somehow help the woman she had just met who stood sad and small in front of her. 

Steve inhaled, cutting short her chance as he redirected the conversation. “Well we- we’re just here for some bandages. Um-” Is it rude to just shift the topic like this? He’s second-guessing himself more often than he’s used to. “Nina scraped herself up pretty bad earlier.” Nine looks down at her arm, a problem completely forgotten from her mind despite the still growing red leak showing through the bandage. It was stinging, too, she remembered. “We’re here, though. Any help you need — we’re going to find Will. I know that,” he finished. 

Consoling looks shared between thank-you’s concluded the conversation within the minute. Now the groups backed away from one another, heads turned to watch the departure and toss solemn smiles for the other to catch. A few awkward strides and Steve and Nine were rounding the corner of the isle, shuffling to redirect their attention back to their errands. Neither of them were brave enough to talk again with Joyce so close in the otherwise silent store. And so Steve led Nine down the closest row of shelves, eyes glossing over the products lined up on each one but not quite focused enough to register what they were (what did they even come here for, again?). 

He moved hurriedly, putting as much space as possible between them and the woman he could only assume was still stockpiling light bulbs. On his third twist around an end-cap, Nine reached a hand out to grasp onto his wrist and stop him from continuing his march. He turned to her easily, eyebrows perked as if he didn’t understand why she stopped their search (...for… oh, yes! bandages). She kept her eyes on his face, and after a moment it gave into a look of distress; brows quirking again, this time dipping downwards with a sadness he wasn’t able to disguise anymore. Big brown eyes so somber, he looked like a puppy someone had just kicked. 

“Steve,” Nine said, and her voice was pacifying — a quilted warmth that fit snug around his name. 

A determined hand — the one Nine had dropped from her gentle hold — reached from his side and rubbed once underneath his eye. He hadn’t started crying yet but his vision was wet, and he was trying to scare the tears away. Unsettled breathes made his chest rise and fall quickly while he tried to catch up with his brain’s sudden increased demand for oxygen. Nine said his name again, conciliatory tone still present and pretty. “What’s wrong?” she asked. 

He was looking down at her, but when he spoke he took his eyes away from hers. Instead his gaze darted around the store to fixate on anything else. “I can’t-” he started, his own voice weak and damaged from his body’s anxiety. He tried to center himself enough to talk, blinking irritatedly in an attempt to get rid of that threat of tears he hadn’t forgotten about. He was shaking his head now as he worked up the breath to continue, “I was responsible for her kid. She- she trusted me. I was supposed to get him home safe and now she has to deal with the fact that I failed.” He looked to her again — either her turn to react or his turn to take another breath. 

“Steve, it’s not-” 

“I can’t even remember if I made sure he got inside that night. I don’t know what happened and I’m too fucking stupid to remember.” 

“Don’t say that,” Nine said, but her words were pushed away.

“She thinks she’s losing her mind. And she might be, I don’t even know, but I know I could have done something.” His words were picking up speed alongside his heaving chest. A tear finally escaped his vision but he was too focused on his speech of self-hatred to notice. It traced down the length of his cheek but he didn’t feel it. 

“No you couldn’t have,” Nine told him, and she sounded sorry. “Steve, look at me”. 

And he did, face still painted with pain. “You can’t remember that night because of shock. Your brain is trying to fixate on every detail but it can’t happen. You’re not stupid.” She said her words like she was so sure of them (because she was), but Steve looked skeptical at best. Nine continued anyway, reassurance incomplete and will with unwavering persistence. “You didn’t fail at anything. You’re a good friend to those kids and a good guardian, too. Something happened that night that was out of our control. Something from Hawkins’ Lab happened.”  

He sighed this time, eyebrows furrowing as another tear dropped. 

“You told me it wasn’t my fault that Will was taken, and now I’m telling you that it wasn’t yours, either.” 

For a moment he simply thought about her words — a long moment that convinced her that he didn’t believe them. His lips parted to speak but he only took in air to hold it in his lungs. Another second passed and his shoulders fell; perhaps he was giving in. Giving into what she told him, giving into her, and he reached downwards to wrap his arms impulsively around her body still somehow warm from the outside sun. She let him, of course, and felt his fingers squeeze around the fabric of her shirt. With his head burrowed between her neck and her shoulder, his hold was desperate and he breathed out a huff of air that felt built up, heavy against her neck. She hugged him back, and while he closed his eyes tight, she understood that this was both a thank-you and a release. 

-

A single bag with a lone item dangled from Steve’s grip as they walked, side-by-side again, through the parking lot. Joyce, a few minutes ahead of them, spun her cart around by the handle so that she could stack her purchases in the backseat of her car. Seeing her from afar, that nagging resumed in Nine’s head, reminding her of her aching desire to somehow help the woman. 

“We have to help her,” Nine said, and her walking slowed. She didn’t look away from Joyce when Steve turned to face her, and she missed his visibly confused reaction. “What?” his disorientation still managed it’s way into his voice, though, and for a moment he thought that she meant they should assist Joyce with her shopping bags. 

“We have to go to her house, see what she’s talking about”.

“Nine, hold on-”

“If she can contact Will then maybe I can figure out where he is. No more wandering around the forest unsure of what we’re even looking for. I can find him. I can actually find him this time and get him out of there. Steve, I-” she pulled her eyes away from Joyce and looked wildly at Steve. 

“Wait, slow down,” he told her, jumbling to catch up with her rapidly developing plan. 

“Steve, we can save him,” she said. 

He paused at this, and the bag at his side swayed lightly. Then, looking off to where Nine had been so focused, he studied the woman so integral to the plan. 

“Okay, I’m in. If you think we can save Will, I’m definitely in,” he told her, unmoving. He brought his head back to Nine after a moment of delay. “She doesn’t know… know about you, though. How are we going to… do this?”

Nine paused herself. “...I guess we let her know”.

---

A/N: Realizing how sad these characters have been these past few chapters... they’re going through a lot, okay?! Can’t promise it will get more uplifting right away, but I have... plans. Whatdoya think?

Tag List: @ggclarissa​ @gurl-ly​ @hyp-oh-critical​ @alewifex​ @we-are-band-sexuals​ @cpt-lamby​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ @easvtohate​ @used-avocado​ @kwyloz​ @itzpikapie​ @samwise-babeyy @1985keery​ @kaelyn-lobrutto24​ @mochminnie​ @peterwandaparker​ @ayamecrevan​ @lilyhw1​ @seninjakitey​ @lulurose17​ @write-from-the-heart​ @harringtonlr​ @sledgy14​ @stranger-names​

[darkestfable]

The End

((Thank you to @kidcatgemini​ for helping me with such a...painful RP. CW: blood, death, mind control))

“I’m sorry, babe, I gotta go. They gave me these orders and-” Raetos heaved a sigh, tightening the rifle over his shoulder. He didn’t want to leave Fable alone, but he knew his lover couldn’t go with him.

“I know, I know. It ain’t gonna be forever. Jus’ go do what you gotta do ‘n when you get home we’ll make up for lost time, yeah?” the blood hunter smiled up at his lover, pulling him down by his chest piece for a kiss. It lasted for a little longer than he meant to, got a little more heated than he’d anticipated.

“I love you.” “I’ll miss you too, Raetos.”

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

Restlessness set in much faster than the blood hunter had anticipated. One night alone and he was chomping at the bit to do...anything. All the maps were updated as best as he could, spelling errors in the survival guide master copy had been edited. Fable couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. There had to be an outlet for the nervous energy.

There was a small dig in Feralas that he’d spotted in Brent’s itinerary, back when they were talking about locations. Fable knew the forest fairly well, enough that there wouldn’t be much he’d have to guard himself against. That would work just fine as a distraction, and he’d be back in a matter of a few days at most. His foxes, Connor and Kenway, could help keep predators away from the homestead while he was gone, but someone would have to feed them…

Vandrir.

The druid he’d interviewed for his old group would be a perfect caretaker for the animals! During the interview, Vandrir had mentioned that he wasn’t an expert at things, but more of a jack of all trades. And well, if Raetos could manage Obligation and Responsibility, Fable was certain a druid could.

Thankfully, he’d agreed without hesitation.

Now that all of the plans were made, Fable was able to head out to Feralas and simply enjoy being in the field, hands in the dirt, mud on his knees…

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

The sun was high in the sky, filtering through the thick canopy of the trees older than he was. It was warm and humid, and Fable had ditched his shirt a long time ago to continue moving earth. Survey equipment taken from his old job was still serving him well, and had pointed him to this exact location. The hole was waist deep on him, but the corner of a box that he’d uncovered had given way to the rest of it; a perfect cube that had almost been lost to the land again. Fable could feel the magic radiating off of it, enough to make his fingers tingle. This would be fun to transport back…

“Mmm…if only all archeologists were as handsome as you,” a melodious voice spoke up from behind him.

A Ren’dorei woman sat on a rock a few paces away, legs crossed and leaning back on her hands. To say she was attractive was an understatement, and she dressed to show off every aspect of her features; tight shorts with thigh high boots and a low cut crop top. Her deep blue eyes and pink lips were absolutely captivating against her lavender skin. Purple hair  with glowing blue tips cascaded down to mid back. Not a blemish or scar could be seen on her smooth skin. It was impossible to tell how long she’d been sitting there, or even how she’d arrived.

Her head tilted in interest at Fable, a playful smile on her lips.

“But then, I suppose we wouldn’t get much work done, would we, Sweetie?”

Fable looked up from the artifact, squinting at the figure perched on the rock. His glowing blue eyes travelled every inch of her form, clearly appreciating it. She was absolutely stunning, and were it before his relationship with Raetos, he’d have completely abandoned the dig to go flirt. Instead, the blood hunter got to his feet, wiping some sweat from his cheek(and leaving a smear of dirt in its wake).

“Not with women like you runnin’ ‘round, that’s for damned sure. Did you need somethin’, or you jus’ here t’ watch me work?” Fable smirked. He had questions about her arrival, for sure, but the tight shirt distracted his mind quite well.

“Would it make me a bad girl if I were here for the later?” she asked, almost innocently, “Actually, I was surveying a site, just north of here, for a client. Then I came across a hot shirtless guy playing in the dirt.”

Uncrossing her legs, she got up from where she was sitting and strolled over to the edge of where Fable was digging, hips swaying as she went. There, she got down on her hands and knees, both to be eye level with Fable, but also to give him a better view of her cleavage.

“Decided I wanted a closer look, so here I am,” her eyes left his to shamelessly take in every inch of his physique, “So, what’s your name, handsome?”

“Must’ve been kinna like Winter’s Veil mornin’ for you then,” the blood hunter chuckled, watching her every move. Not like she was a threat, but like she was a meal. He couldn’t help it, even if he knew in the back of his mind that she was doing it on purpose.

“Th’ name ‘s Fable, gorgeous. Do I get to know yours, since you’re enjoyin’ the show?”

Fable hung his thumbs in his waistband, effectively tugging the dirty black pants down just a little more in the front. There was no danger in flirting, right? Showing off as much as she was? Of course his lover was in the back of his mind, and he’d never seriously go through with anything. Of course.

“You dig too? Uh oh, sounds like you’re competition…”

“Oh?” the woman perked an eyebrow, her ears flickering playfully, “Well, good news for you, hmm? You’re competition’s been distracted. She decided to come get dirty elsewhere.”

She bit down on her bottom lip lightly as her eyes absolutely ate up the little bit of extra skin he allowed her to see of his waistline. She leaned in as her piercing blue eyes moved up to meet his again, to the point where her lips were but an inch away from his.

“My name’s Cebina, Sweetie. Feel like taking a break to play with a pretty lady?”

His own lips parted as he let out a slow breath, clearly struggling. He had a job to do, he had a boyfriend for which he cared very deeply. Fable shook his head a bit, smiling and ready to take a step back. If he didn’t remove himself from her aura of seduction, he knew he’d make a very big mistake. The blood hunter’s hands tightened at the waist of his pants, trying to maintain control.

“You ain’t got th’ faintest idea of how much I wanna play with you, but uh…” his voice trailed off, and he vaguely motioned to the artifact with his head. “And I kinda got a boyfriend I ain’t lookin’ t’ cheat on.”

Cebina moved in before he had the chance to step back. Arms wrapping around his neck as she brought her body down into the small space with him. A hand gripped the back of his head, keeping his gaze on her as she pressed her body against him. That playful, seductive grin never faded. There was a flicker in her glowing eyes, something that seemed to nudge at his mind.

“Don’t worry, Sweetie. Doesn’t have to go all the way. A bit of fooling around never hurt anyone, hmm?”

With that, she attempted to capture his mouth with hers.

Any protests were swallowed in the kiss, Fable’s willpower breaking. His hands went to her hips then before sliding around her waist to pull her close. Her skin felt electric everywhere he touched, and Fable didn't hesitate to back her against the side of the hole, dirt crumbling around their feet.

His subconscious was screaming alerts that his conscious mind was deaf to.

One of the blood hunter's hands slid over Cebina's hip, down to her thigh. Strong fingers hooked under her leg and lifted as he shifted his hips to get between them. Fable was running on instinct, caught like a moth with a flame.

Cebina moaned into the kiss, more than pleased by Fable’s response. Her leg wrapped around his waist as she rolled her hips against him as the heat between them grew. Her other hand grasped the hair at the back of his head, wrenching it to the side to suck and bite at his neck. 

While she had him well distracted, her other hand unsheathed an old and ornate looking dagger from her boot; easily reached with her leg up. She could feel his excitement and pent up energy swell. Part of her wished she could play a little longer, but her mind control only lasted for so long. 

“—Oh, Sweety!” She cried as he buried his face between her neck and shoulder to repay the favor.

It was time.

It happened very quickly, shadows closed in on the two as the dagger pierced Fable’s upper back in one swift motion. Immediately, shadow magic poured into the wound, spreading through his system fast. The effect was painful, much more than physical… the spirit weapon grasping his very soul. 

As the runic weapon continued its siphon, Cebina grabbed either side of her victim’s head to make eye contact one last time. By now, the shadows had enveloped her form completely. Her smile was wicked.

“Thanks for digging up the artifact for me.”

Fable’s mind was awash with pleasure. Everything felt hazy and floaty, akin to being drunk without the alcohol. He gasped pleasantly at the teeth in his neck, fingers tightening around Cebina’s leg. Nothing existed outside of her, outside of this. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, common sense screamed Raetos’ name, tried to remind Fable of his lover’s existence.

He might as well be deaf.

“You taste goo-” the blood hunter started to purr against her neck, but the words were frozen on his lips when the shadows washed over them both.

The first thing he felt was searing pain, the blade biting through flesh and muscle and into his lung, fitting neatly between ribs. Fable didn’t even get to stumble backwards, he was trapped and gasping for breath as the hurt spread through his body. Tears beaded and rolled from his eyes, pale blue gaze fixed on Cebina’s shadowed form. He barely managed to cough out a breath, blood running from the corner of his mouth.

His last act of defiance before his legs gave out was to spit blood at Cebina’s face. The blood hunter crumpled to the ground at her feet, wheezing. Fable’s very essence was being pulled from his body, and he couldn’t even scream. No one would find him out here so deep in Feralas, and he was breaking a promise he’d made to Raetos. He remembered their date, how he’d promised his lover that he’d not leave him.

“Raetos… I’m sorry…” Fable gasped out before his world went dark.

[laceymorganwrites]

Red lily

Word Count: 2,662

Pairing: Tendo x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, slight mentions of bullying (Nothing explicit)

A/N: okay so this is really self indulgent. All of the Habits and past About the Reader are taken from myself (except for the homeschooling lol). And I´m Pretty sure I wrote Tendo ooc. But whatever. I quickly wanted to say why I wrote him like this: I relate to him a whole lot cause like him People were scared of me as a child too. I´m also regarded as the weird one and I wanted you guys to know that that´s okay. if you´re different and People tell you you´re weird, take it as a compliment, I know it´s hard, but you got this! Being weird is Nothing to be ashamed of

You didn´t belong in Shiratorizawa and everyone knew it. You just stood out with your quirky habits and weird looks as well as your behavior, you were different from your fellow students.

Never being one to like it when all the attention was on her, the elite school wasn´t a good match for you.

Of course your parents thought otherwise, once you had the grades to be able to enroll, no other options existed anymore. You were thankful for the opportunity at first, after all Shiratorizawa´s reputation preceded the school.

And once you were there it felt like all your dreams and nightmares came true at the same time.

For one the school was very prestigious and large, there were so many interesting classes and clubs that you had trouble to choose in which one you wanted to partake.

The students and teachers seemed really nice too at first, the volleyball club was the absolute pride of the school, making everyone else feel invisible which you were thankful for.

You never knew how to make friends anyway, nobody ever wanted to be your friend and for as long as you could remember you were always alone, an outcast, a weirdo, a girl who just didn´t know any better. How could you when nobody ever taught you how to be socially acceptable?

The bullying didn´t bother you until middle school, you didn´t comprehend it back in elementary school, you simply concentrated on your school work until the bullying got so far that you couldn´t even do that anymore.

Middle school was rough, you almost got kicked out because your bullies tried to pin the blame on you, which was easy enough. If one was different it was easy to make them the bad guy. Your parents had you home schooled from then on.

They were always supportive of you, giving you enough freedom to do all the things you wanted, to try out different things and they were still close enough for you to make you feel loved.

Because of that you never bothered meeting new people in school, why should you? They would only be scared of you again.

It was always rough being the odd one out at the beginning of the year, but your initial fear of Shiratorizawa´s students being entitled luckily turned out to be false.

Naturally most of them left you alone, which was way better than actively bullying you, you just weren´t like them and for the first time it felt like that was fine.

For the first time in your life school wasn´t a horrible place you didn´t want to go to, it was a place where you could study the things that interested you, you finally had fun studying again. And in club times you sat by yourself, doing homework and writing poems.

It was weird how you still had that hobby when it was one of the most major reasons you were bullied in the first place, the contents of your poems were rather dark, which people didn´t like from your experience.

You were always writing something in every free minute you got, even in lunch breaks you stayed inside the class room.

But you liked it that way, you liked being creative, you never thought of it as a negative isolation, rather as not disturbing others.

“What´re you writing?” Tendou has been staring at you for a while now, you just didn´t seem to notice it, you were always so focused on whatever you were writing. It intrigued him, everything about you was vexing to him. You and him have been in the same class ever since the start of the year and yet you never uttered a word to anyone. But you also didn´t seem shy or rude or arrogant, he just couldn´t figure you out. Tendo could read people easily normally, but you were a mystery to him. And you didn´t even give off the attitude of a typical mysterious girl.

You raised your head to meet his eyes, looking at you curiously, he was a weird guy, you had the feeling that he somehow always knew what was going on in people´s minds and that scared you.

His intense gaze scared you and yet his eyes looked rather soft and amused, contradicting the wicked smile he wore.

“Oh...um...nothing special” you answered, subconsciously going into defense. You were used to people making fun of you because of your writing so you didn´t want to say too much.

His grin grew wider, you weren´t used to this much attention so you blushed a bit at his intensity.

“So mysterious!” he rested his chin on his hand, tilting his head slightly, still focused on you.

“Oh, really? I´m sorry” you said, getting embarrassed, this is why you kept to yourself, sometimes you felt like you didn´t know how to talk at all.

You hated it, hated not being able to have a normal conversation with anybody.

But maybe that was why you and Tendou could have one, because you weren´t normal.

“Who said that was a bad thing?” he smirked at you, lowering his voice, his eyes glinting.

Before you could reply anything the lesson started.

It was interesting enough, though you had to admit it was hard to concentrate with Tendo´s eyes piercing you again, it was hard not to notice that, but a little voice in your head still told you that it was nothing, that you just imagined things, that nobody was interested in you in any way.

You only looked back at him when the teacher announced you would be working together for a project.

He gave you a grin again, turning to you.

“So we meet again, mystery girl” he teased you.

You gave him a shy smile, making his eyes go wide.

“Oooh she can smile!” he chuckled.

You crossed your arms, feeling like a little child.

“Of course I can! And I´m no mystery girl, I´m (Y/N). And there´s nothing interesting about me...” you mumbled.

“Girls like you always say that” he remarked, but he knew you weren´t like other girls, his intuition never failed him after all.

“Well, maybe...but that doesn´t change the fact that it´s true. And we should really get started with the project” you said, avoiding his eyes at all cost, they made you feel exposed. Not necessarily in an uncomfortable way, just in an unusual one. It was certainly new to you to be watched this intently.

Tendou obliged and you two worked hard for a while, you were focused on your task until your eyes went wide in embarrassment.

“Oh shit! What´s your name, I totally forgot to ask, I´m so sorry” you rambled, something like could really happen to only you. So much for not knowing how to socialize.

“Tendou Satori, but you can call me Satori” his lips curled into a smirk again, but this time it was softer.

Over the course of the next week you warmed up to him, you managed to relax and collect your thoughts, hell you were so comfortable around him that you started conversations on your own.

And instead of trying to ignore his stare, you now returned it with a smile, which made him happy.

You worked well together and got a good grade for your assignment.

Even after school you stayed in touch, having exchanged phone numbers and texting frequently now. Texting was easier for you since you could control your words that way, you liked yourself better when you wrote or texted, not so much when you talked, not at all when you talked.

Tendou didn´t mind that though, he thought it was one of your many charms, he didn´t make it a secret that he liked you, or so he thought.

It was hard for him to express his feelings that way, he was so used to rejection and dislike that he built walls around himself in that department. He was so confident in his knowledge of people and yet you managed to make him insecure, he just never knew what was going on in your mind and it drove him crazy.

Of course after months of being friends, something that neither of you had had in your entire life, it was easier for him to understand you. But that didn´t mean it got easier for him to understand himself. The two of you shared intimate moments, such as talking about your pasts and you showing him your poetry, he always felt so special in those times, and yet he couldn´t get that nagging feeling out of his gut.

Tendou wasn´t aware that he was even capable of falling in love, but of course you had to prove him wrong.

He first noticed that the feeling wouldn´t go away when you were watching him practice. It wasn´t the first time you accompanied him in the club, after all he too happily obliged when you asked him to teach you about volleyball. But he expected you to focus on Ushijima like all the others, he wouldn´t even blame you if you did.

And you did a certain amount, you could acknowledge his strength but your eyes were always on Tendou. To be honest you knew you had a crush on him for a while now, but decided not to act on it since you thought you were overthinking again.

That feeling didn´t go away however, so instead of telling him, you found your outlet for those feelings in your poetry.

Your eyes were fixed on Tendou as he blocked one ball after another, you were fascinated at how he was able to foresee where the ball would go next, he was always one step ahead of his opponent and you were in awe of that.

“You´re amazing, Satori” you smiled at him excitedly after the training, you went home together.

“Hm...not really, Ushijima´s amazing, he´s the ace after all. I just have good intuition, that´s all” he told you, making you frown.

“Ushijima might be the ace but to me you´re the one that´s the most fun to watch! And...it´s not like you to talk yourself down like that...” you said, you were a bit worried about him lately, he seemed to be in his head a lot.

Tendou gave you a sad smile at that.

“I guess it´s not, but I can´t help but think that they´re right sometimes… that I´m just some weird demon kid that scares everyone away, that I should just stay to myself” you stopped in your tracks, pouting.

“I used to think like that too, but you know what? Yes, you are a weird demon kid, but that´s exactly why I hang out with you, because I´m a weirdo too. And us weirdos gotta stick together, right?” you tried to cheer him up, not one of your strong suits.

“So you´re saying you only hang out with me out of pity? Oh, that´s just great, (Y/N). But if that´s the case then I´d just rather be by myself again” he coldly stated, walking away from you. You didn´t mean it that way, you tried to go after him, explain yourself but your feet wouldn´t move. Why was he angry at you? You didn´t understand. Maybe you pried too much into his life? You went home and texted him that you were sorry. But he didn´t answer.

He also didn´t talk to you in school, he didn´t even look at you. You felt like absolute crap. For the first time in your life you felt utterly alone. And you didn´t like that feeling one bit.

You couldn´t concentrate all day in school, in your lunch break you read over one of your poems about Tendou again.

The strange girl in the back

And the boy who sees through her

Both have something they lack

Found it in each other

His moon and her sun

Mysterious and complex

And yet they resonate

Reading those lines again gave you an idea, you hastily got out a piece of paper and started scribbling down everything that was in your head.

After school, right before training began you managed to catch Ushijima and handed him a note he should give to Tendou saying he should meet him after training.

“Thanks, oh and could you tell him that I´m sorry and that I miss him, please? Wait, not that I miss him… that sounds weird….um, sorry, I´m holding you up!” you rambled and excused yourself.

You were really anxious, so you went to buy a red lily before going back to school. Somehow you doubted that Tendou would show up, he could do so much better than you, he had so many other friends, friends that didn´t fuck things up like you did, friends that could actually formulate what they meant when speaking. And yet there he was, sitting on a bench.

You sat down next to him, he tilted his head to look at you, a big smile plastered on his face, making you raise an eyebrow.

“Ushijima told me that you missed me” he teased you, to which you blushed.

“And honestly, I miss you too. Look, I´m sorry too, I knew you didn´t mean what you said in the way I thought, but a part of me still thinks everyone´s playing with me. But I didn´t want to make things awkward so I just ignored you, which was really stupid and I´m sorry for that” he told you, his head hanging low.

Your hand subconsciously wandered to lay on his shoulder comfortingly, making him raise his head to face your sweet smile.

“You know I suck at talking, so sorry for the misunderstanding. It´s nice to talk to you like that again, I missed this” you admitted, your heart hammering in your chest. Why did you think it was a good idea to confess right now again?

“What´s that?” Tendou pointed to your hand in which you still held the lily.

“Oh, um...that´s for you...” you shyly handed him the flower, earning confusion from him.

You gulped and took a deep breath before speaking the next words.

“Well, um, it´s a red lily and uh...they stand for passion and they….reminded me of you. And um, maybe….to understand it better you should read this. I wrote it for you, I´m better at writing words than actually saying them” you handed him the poem you wrote for him earlier with shaking hands.

Tendou didn´t know what was going on, never would he have imagined you to be so upfront. You really always did manage to surprise him.

You may be a demon

But that only makes me a satanist

The way you read people

Makes me want to be a book

You have my favorite smile

And are so misunderstood

But to me, if that matters

You truly are, everything

“You wrote that for me?” he breathed out, Tendou never felt so touched, nobody ever did such a great thing for him in his entire life and he wanted to cherish this moment forever, he wanted to cherish you forever. Not knowing what else to do, he hugged you.

You nodded, hugging him back with shaking hands. He was so warm, he felt so familiar, like home, his scent instantly calmed you down, you wanted to hold him forever.

“Does that mean you like me too?” he asked, he still wasn´t sure.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“What do you mean ´too´?” you abruptly said, pulling away from him, cheeks flushed.

“Oh shit! Well, um...I mean I kinda like you...no, fuck that, I like you a whole lot, I thought it was obvious” he chuckled awkwardly.

“Well I think my poem made it obvious too, but because you´re an idiot I´ll say it again for you: I like you too, Satori.” you didn´t know where the sudden confidence came from, maybe it was the adrenaline, but now the secret was out. And you didn´t regret it one bit.

[writingwithcolor]

I'm a POC who writes mainly white characters but after seeing all the "diversity" posts on this site I'm wondering if I may be subconsciously prejudiced and now I don't know what to do. I feel like I've been doing everything wrong and yet I don't want to change my stories/characters to suit everyone else while not liking them myself.

To Write (or not write) with Diversity

No one can force you to write inclusive stories. Inclusive meaning media that consists of marginalized people, because that is what diversity really is - including people who have always been right there, but have been purposefully left out and erased from the pages of books and scripts. Those who are, when finally represented, are overwhelmingly assigned small, unflattering, and / or stereotypical roles.

Pages like Writing With Color are an offering. Our presence here is for those who choose to write with diversity. We aim to make being inclusive easier because we all believe in the importance of it. But as much as we know how enriching diversity can be, we cannot convince you to do something you don’t necessarily believe in.

Don’t do it because you feel forced

As you mentioned, you’ve read the posts. You know the facts. The decision cannot be forced upon you.  If anything, including diversity out of obligation alone could lead to bad representation. Forcing people to do things without motivation usually means it’ll lack effort, or be done with spite. Trust me when I say marginalized people don’t usually want to see themselves represented by someone who does not want them there. That unwelcome feeling shows. In short: Lack of representation hurts. Bad representation hurts worse.

I only ask that you have accountability.  

Now that you’re aware that your works default to white, you have a choice to make. I think a lot of us grew up reading and writing very white stories - both as PoC and white people - but once you possess the knowledge that things can be different, your next step is a conscious one. You’re not on auto-pilot anymore when you make everyone white (and/or straight, able-bodied, etc). You know better now. Own up to your choices.

So ask yourself: why have I chosen to write without diversity?

I’m afraid to write People of Color. 

Being uncomfortable writing People of Color is a big reason why people stick to writing white people, and only garnish their stories with PoC, if that. White people have long been the default, the everyman. White perspectives are “neutral” to approach. It’s daunting to go from feeling you can portray characters in whatever way you wish to suddenly having the weight of good versus harmful representation on your shoulders.

You don’t want backlash from getting it wrong. You also don’t want to be insensitive to groups. It’s easy to avoid writing them altogether, right? Sure. 

Be aware, though:

You’re making a choice to exclude people out of fear.

Of course, new things are scary. But that’s okay! Courage is the ability to do things that frighten you. Face your fears. Will you shrink away from the challenge, or use it to your advantage?

Let the fear fuel you to do better and to know better. Your concerns about writing PoC can drive you to get the research right in order to best represent people. If your fear is leading to more effort into thoughtful creation, you’re putting it to good use.

Let me tell you right now - you will mess up.

Maybe in small ways, perhaps in a big way. But mistakes will not kick start the apocalypse. Ideally:

Do your research to avoid the most obvious and devastating mistakes from the jump.

Equip yourself with the right beta-reader and sensitivity readers to catch those things. 

Even with errors, your story can be quite enjoyable for people who hardly see themselves represented. Yes, mistakes and all.

As a Black woman bookworm, if you write an exciting story about a Black girl on adventures and falling in love but mention a few questionable things about how she takes care of her hair…I will wince, but it won’t ruin the book for me. I’m willing to overlook some things, for the sake of my enjoyment, and let the author know how I felt about those parts in hopes they can improve.

Say you get something real important wrong. People call you out for it. I suggest you apologize, listen to their critiques, and do better. If possible, pull back the story and re-release when you’ve improved the piece. If that’s not an option, fix it in future works. Getting a finger wagged at you doesn’t mean lock up in fear and never write with diversity again. It means you improve.

Research PoC like you would on any topic:

For comparison’s sake, consider writing People of Color (or any group different from you) like writing other topics you’re unfamiliar with in-depth. 

For example: You may know the basics on Medieval England. The knights, royalty, and so on. But i’m sure there’s a lot of misconceptions mixed in there from television or unreliable sources. 

To write people from this perspective, you would do lots of additional research… right?  

If someone mentioned how you messed up on some of the facts, you would take note and dig into it more for the future…right? 

You might even have more experienced persons check your facts for accuracy beforehand to do the best job possible.

Approach researching PoC in the same way as other topics. There may not be hard facts on how to write an X character, but there are portrayals to avoid with explanations why, and roles people want to see themselves in.

I don’t like to be told what to write.

There’s this misconception that writing with diversity restricts creativity. I get it - there are things you’re being told not to do when writing certain groups. The lists of No’s can get dense. This reflects how poor representation has been for People of Color as there are a number of stereotypical portrayals folks are tired of seeing and has been detrimental to them.

Fiction simply reflects real life: People of Color being viewed through the lens of preconceived notions means being written on with those stereotypes in mind. It is a vicious cycle. Stereotypes are more than an annoyance - they can and do lead to real life consequences.

Being treated like a stereotype lowers our quality of life. Experiencing racism and daily microaggressions has a psychological effect - from insecurity, depression and PTSD - it is serious. (X)

Viewing People of Color by their stereotypes is what makes, say, a Black person who speaks with passion no matter what it’s about (and even if they’ve been wronged) too hostile and “Angry” to take seriously. If anything, they’re now a serious threat. And that’s dangerous for them.

Put yourself in the shoes of the overly typecast.

Think of a time someone misunderstood you. You had a bad day and acted grumpy. Well, being a grump defines who you are now. When asked, people describe you as crabby and humorless. Every new person you meet sees your every action through that lens.

Strangers tiptoe around you, as they can just tell you’re ill-tempered. Peers choose their words carefully, afraid of what might spark your wrath. Your children even inherit the title; teachers discipline them more and take other students’ word over theirs- your kids are snappy, difficult, and known to not play well with others, after all.

Wouldn’t that get old? Wouldn’t you feel it was unfair to be reduced to a label, and that you’re sick of being defined by it? Wouldn’t you have the desire to be seen for who you truly are, and can be? Perhaps you do get grumpy sometimes, which is just being human. You’re so much more than a grouch.

Stereotypes are not creative.

Writing outside of stereotypes open up so many more possibilities. How many times have we seen the Black Best Friend play out in media? You’re not being silenced when readers criticize your sassy sidekick. Your message has been heard, loud and clear - again and again and again. People are upset because it’s not anything new - in fact, it is quite old.  We want multiple portrayals. Why not create something new before you decide to write so closely to how we are always written?

OP said: I don’t want to change my stories/characters to suit everyone else while not liking them myself.

This should not be the case. Avoiding stereotypes has nothing to do with making unlikeable or even perfect characters. Simply make Characters of Color who go beyond stereotypes! Characters who are best friends without being arc-less doormats. Characters who are fierce and emotional and stand for something without being simplified to irrational, hostile, and angry. 

Knowing the difference between stereotype and culture is important, too. Don’t let anyone tell you you’re doing something wrong when their bias means they perceive your character as being stereotypical, or problematic, when they’re not. (See: Stereotyped vs Nuanced Characters and Audience Perception.)  

If anything, writing beyond hard labels leads to complex characters. Writing about new cultures is interesting and can be exciting. 

If you only like your East Asian characters when they’re geniuses or your Black girls when they’re angry without a cause…do some self-reflection. Why do your Characters of Color only seem “right” to you when they are flat, or confined to stereotypes? Why not allow them to be complex humans?

I’m not convinced that representation matters.

Well, representation does matter. A lot. While it has been written on so much, and there being countless studies, statistics, and personal accounts to support this, I would like to mention…

Representation (or lack thereof) lowers self-worth.

Studies show TV boosts the self-esteem of white boys. The confidence of People of Color and girls of all races, on the other hand, decreases when watching TV (X X). 

“If you want to make a human being into a monster, deny them, at the cultural level, any reflection of themselves.” -Junot Diaz

The Racial Empathy Gap.

I want to be brief (too late, right?) so let me just mention another point of research for you: the racial empathy gap. Stereotyped depictions and the limited roles for People of Color are internalized by society, leading to lack of empathy towards People of Color and the enforcement of stereotypes in real time. Lack of empathy actively affects how PoC are treated, such as the belief that Black people experience less pain than others and therefore are misdiagnosed (their illnesses and pain are downplayed) and under treated (X X X). 

Fiction Increases Empathy.

In addition to the racial empathy gap, look into the studies on how fiction improves empathy. For example: reading about vampires increases empathy towards vampires. Imagine what non-stereotyped, marginalized depictions in fiction can do for empathy.  (X, X)

The strength in which people are against representation speaks volumes. 

If representation does not matter, then why are some people so angry when it’s there? Let’s take book to movie depictions: 

A Character of Color depicted as white simply means they were the best actor for the job, according to a vocal presence in social media. 

However, even a verified Character of Color being depicted as such leads to boycotting, accusations of being “Politically-correct”, and wide complaints that they can’t relate to the characters and they are poor actors. Never mind that so many Actors of Color attend prestigious schools only to get so far.

The hypocrisy speaks to a need for more representation, and a prevalent lack of empathy. 

The People Want Diversity!

On a positive note: shows that reflect the real world, aka include diversity, continue to get high ratings despite many obstacles: those who don’t want them there, lack of advertising or inconvenient airtime for shows with diverse leads, the ole bait-and-switch method, and hasty cancellations. Not to mention media simply refusing to be inclusive even when they know “diversity sells” (X X). Gee, I wonder why….

Audiences are more drawn to projects that feature a diverse cast, a new study finds, though mirroring the population in the United States remains a problem.

“Less-diverse product underperforms in the marketplace, and yet it still dominates,” said Ana-Christina Ramón, the report’s co-author and assistant director of the Bunche Center. “This makes no financial sense.” 

-Diversity in Hollywood Pays Off in Ratings and Box Office, New Study Finds

Diversity simply reflects the real world accurately. 

There is nothing forced about diversity. People of Color exist in the real world, go out and about, and have lives. Creators including marginalized people only seems strange because media actively scratches them out as much as possible, pulling the marginalized out of focus to zoom in on white characters. That is what’s unrealistic. 

Ultimately, you, the writer, will write what you want. Just ask yourself why you have decided this is what you want to write. Are you okay with that reason? Despite all the progress that is being made, you’ll blend in just fine with all of the other mostly white books and movies out there. And as people become more conscious and bored with the same stories, we can and will choose to ignore whitewashed media.

The good thing is that there’s so much awareness and activism going on with representation; the path has been paved for you and it is not lonely! 

There are resources out there, and WWC continues to be one of them.

More Reading - Diversity:

Braving Diversity: How to Write Yourself (and others) out of your Story  (An early WWC post quite relevant to you, OP)

Diversity exists in the real world 

The Key to Moving Beyond checklisting is not LESS diversity 

Bad Representation vs Tokenism vs Diversity: just existing without justification like in the real world

How to research your racially/ethnically diverse characters 

–Colette

[whats-the-story-tc]

7th-10th of May, 2020

"The One with the Step Back"

First of all, thank you all so-so-so very much for the support! I don't deserve you guys! Let's get into why I was away, shall we?

I was really nervous before class with her. Like, proper, my-hand-is-shaking nervous. There are a couple of us waiting. 10 AM. 10:03. 10:06. V is nowhere to be found, and we're trying to find out where she is, because she's never late. One of the girls messages her via the other class chat, at the same time when V appears in the one on The Platform That Shall Not Be Named.

V: Don't we start at 11?

She joined immediately after, saying "Didn't we say 11?" with nervous laughter, referring to yesterday. But no. We didn't. I did, and she rolled with me, even though another girl after me said something else, and I agreed to it with a reaction emoji. Plus, she always has class with everyone else at 11, as she mentioned, so it's valid she forgot. She apologised and said she was looking at our assignments at the moment. What I said there is a bit hard to translate but it's something along the lines of: "And there's our topic." "There's our topic, indeed," she repeated me, as per usual, before saying: "I'm so glad I cooked earlier."

There was a lot to be said in that class, as the poet V was talking about is kind of a huge deal, and every generation knows his name. (He's one of my favourites, by the way.) As we discuss his works and impact on literature, V tells us a general truth — always take everything you read with a pinch of salt, as it might not be true.

Sailing onto funnier waters, there's this poem by Mr. Poetry Man, which had these two lines where he basically says "with one hand I'm holding my fave book, with the other, my wife's tit". V had grand old fun talking about this one, completely unserious, and I had a hard time not laughing. "You can imagine [Poetry Man] lying there reading and holding his wife's boob" V said, and I couldn't hold back anymore, I had to respond. "I did not want to imagine that!" I said, horrified. There was a small, quiet laugh at the other end of the line. If only I knew this was NOTHING compared to the things I was going to hear a week later...

She went on about Mr. Poetry Man, feral as I've ever known her, mentioning mocking nursery rhymes his name is featured in and how often people hate on celebrities without actually, personally knowing them.

As we know, V has had her fair share of wild experiences, as she sometimes lets on. She brought up a poem about walking home along an avenue at dawn, and said "You guys don't really go home along avenues at dawn — but you surely will, at least once in your lives." I blinked at the screen, confused. Umm... V, is there something you want to tell us?

"Are there any questions?" she asked, at the very end of class. Complete silence. "So it seems there were problems with the sound, any questions?"

"No, we heard you, there just aren't any questions." I felt obligated to help out, so I did, because no one else would speak.

"There just aren't any questions, okay." she repeated me once again, before saying goodbye with a "give my love to everyone".

I felt good. I felt much, much better than I did before, relieved, if you will. And that feeling only doubled when I saw my points for the assignment in Google Classroom, that I just got the notification for. 5/5. I was ecstatic. And while my friends were sharing what V wrote to them, I waited for my own response, at least a thank you.

There came nothing.

I was crushed. There was so much of my heart and soul in that script and the messages I translated here, I simply couldn't imagine where things went wrong. Then I thought it was surely the messages. I stepped too close. It wasn't the right thing to do.

I was rightfully upset, and it didn't help that some of my more rational friends, who like to get mad at V if she unintentionally hurts me like this, were very cold about what happened. Amongst other things, one of them wrote:

"She is a good teacher. But she will never be anybody's friend."

And that was the message that did it for me. I realised that everything I'd been was completely in vain and stupid of me. That I needed to pull back a little now, let her breathe. That I was straining this relationship of ours. For a moment, I even thought about discontinuing the blog, but eventually resorted to just crying.

I didn't want to step back at all, you see. There is nothing in this world I love more than loving people shamelessly (okay, theatre is a very close second, but this isn't that kind of post). But I knew there was nothing else I could do, so... distance it is.

The next day, we got some online tests (not for a grade) from V that we needed to do, on literary devices and the stylistics of a text. She also asked us to tell her our opinions on how we found the tests (hard, easy etc.). I found myself getting really immersed in the tests, focused on getting as much as I could right, because this is exactly one of the things I enjoy doing most — digging down to the very mechanics of writing. Both tests turned out excellent. The easier 100%, the harder, that was actually meant for seniors, 87%. And for once, when I sent my response to V via Google Classroom, I wasn't nervous at all. I did it, I told myself. It gets better.

Come Sunday, there is suddenly a text from V in our class chat. She announced that she'd have to spend Monday and Tuesday at school, so we'd have to reschedule class again. We ended up fixing Wednesday 10 AM as a time. I dreaded it, but at the same time, I couldn't wait for it to come.

As if I subconsciously knew what was about to happen to me...

~ S ♡

[Every story I share here, no matter how specific I get with my wording, depicts actual events from my own life.]

[leviathiane]

OH 41 👀👀👀👀👀

sajdkhbsfkd since you deemed fit to go Feral in my inbox ill Oblige 😘

…….However im realizing this is long as fuck and I went a lil unhinged myself bc i got Serious at some moments (apologies to everyone) so WHOOP stickin it under a Read More 

9) Read 

…….This is full of negative energy to ask Me of all people asjndbhfdnj YES please read. Read all the time. Read everything and anything you can get your hands on. Read to write the same way you listen to speak and watch to draw. Read and read and read and read and read. The first step to writing is reading. also who doesnt read……… who doesnt just hunker down and frantically absorb text like a starving raccoon………………………….

13) Less is more

This can go either way! Sometimes you need a little extra to whats going on, and this is largely dependent on the situation and style. Less is definitely more when it comes to action. However, less is not always more when describing the environment– setting a scene takes a bit more than just “they were there”, you feel? Unless youre going for vague to make a certain mood– again, it all ties largely into tone and style for most cases

17) Rules are made to be broken

LANGUAGE ISNT REAL. WE MADE IT UP. FUCK EVERYTHING. SHAKESPEARE INVENTED A SHIT TON OF WORDS AND NOBODY SAID ANYTHING. FUCK CRINGE, INVENT A WHOLE GENRE! STAR WARS AND STAR TREK AND LORD OF THE RINGS INVENTED THEIR OWN LANGUAGES, FREEFORM POETRY KICKS THE SHIT OUT OF EVERYTHING POETRY IS “MEANT” TO BE–– BEING ILLITERATE IS IN BABY. YOU ARE THE GODLESS TODDLER WITH A ROOM FULL OF LETTER BLOCKS AND YOU ARE MORE VALID THAN ANYONE WHO TELLS YOU YOU’RE WRONG! EAT THE CONFORMING LAWS OF LITERATURE ALIVE AND MOMMA BIRD THEM INTO THE MOUTH OF YOUR OPPRESSORS 

18) The first draft of everything is shit

FUCK THE FIRST DRAFT. do what you have to. my first drafts look like a groupchat with 13 people all trying to explain whats going on as theyre typing and none of them are reading the others texts. Write it drunk. write it at 5am and fall asleep on the keyboard. Write it full of spelling errors and wrong punctuation and characterization that will make you scream later because it doesnt matter. Bad writing can always be fixed, empty documents cant. Act like its an alien parasite you have to violently dig out of your stomach and stitch it up later– just get it out 

24) Don’t edit as you write

This one is also a big yes or no for me, since it works really well for some people and not at all for others. I lean more towards Don’t, since its best to just shove it all out before you try to perfect it– but sometimes that push to have a Perfect product is too strong to leave a typo or the wrong word or whatever mess was made. Do what works for you–– HOWEVER, do not do FULL SCALE edits in the middle of the draft. it will twist up your plot, and leave you frustrated and confused. Nothing stops progress like being forced to stop and reread your entire piece because it changed so much along the way you can’t remember where it was supposed to go. 

41) The only way you can write the truth is to assume that what you set down will never be read

Yeah! Honestly, idk what to say for this but ….. yea h asknbhkdnsdkf. Its not a secret at this point that i write MASSIVE amount of OC-self-insert fic as a means to practice characterizations of canon characters, but hoenstly?? I find that stuff to be some of my best fic. That’s the stuff that I get lost in, because I know it’ll never be posted. There’s nothing more honest than what’s only for your eyes. There’s none of that panicked “will my readers like it”. No subconscious (or conscious) pandering for anyone except you. That stuff can be raw as hell. Ive tackled mental health issues i might NEVER touch in actual fics within stories i wrote just for me. 

44) Everyone has a book in them

I want to say yes, but I also need to have the disclaimer of do not take this lightly. In ratatouille Remy says anybody can cook but do i Look like gordo mcramsay? Everyone has a story, but not everyone has a book, if that makes sense. We are all capable of writing and publishing something brilliant, but its not something you sit down and just decide and do. Its the same mentallity with fic authors, in that people assume this is easy, fun work. It is not. writing is grueling. Sometimes It sucks. You do it over and over and sometimes are never satisfied, and more often than not you have to just live with it. People will hate or love what you make regardless of your skill, your ideas, your execution. All creative work comes at a cost. It takes time, and practice, and sleepless nights, and sometimes even the criticism you ask for makes you want to curl up and cry–– and thats not even mentioning criticism you didn’t ask for. Anybody can write a book– but good is subjective, and it takes so much more effort than popular media/culture acknowledges.