#when usually at least one of them feels worthwhile

[meyerlansky]

you ever just slam headfirst into a fandom hangover for absolutely NO reason

[cinnbar-bun]

Part 4 Jotaro going to Morioh only to find you, a former Stardust Crusader on accident. I imagine they fell out of touch/didn't have time to talk. (Maybe they had feelings for eachother??)

A/n: I LOVE THIS REQUEST SO MUCH I WENT NUTS!!

Reunion in Morioh

Relationship: Jotaro 4 x GN!SDC!Reader

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~1.4k

Notes: Reader is GN! Some discussions of spoilers for P3 and P4. A brief P5 mention (ifykyk). Jotaro is currently divorced in this fic, and it features some cameos of the Duwang crew. Some mentions of trauma from P3 but overall pretty soft all things considered.

Read in my AO3 here!

Taglist (if you'd like to be tagged, please fill out the form on my pinned!): @child-ofdust @starr-l1ghtt

Jotaro isn’t necessarily the best at communicating. That was always the case with him, as he felt he expressed himself just fine. Surely anyone could tell what he was thinking with just one look or a quick sentence. 

Even when you two traveled together with the rest of the Stardust Crusaders, he assumed you knew him well enough. It did seem that way, at least. You practically became the Jotaro translator to the rest of the team. 

His relationship with you was different from the others, a more close and intimate one compared to the others. It was clear that he valued your presence in the crusaders even more than he did, say, Kakyoin’s or Polnareff’s. 

Jotaro, despite his rough and tough exterior, really did care for you. Even in his more immature state, he had a habit of protecting you and focusing on your comfort than he usually spared the others. 

He knew what he felt inside, that the feelings he held for you went beyond platonic or just mere friendship. It was a genuine want for a closer relationship with you. 

But Jotaro, ever the stoic seventeen year old who had never been in a relationship before, did not really know that his feelings were not easily read as desiring a romantic relationship with you. 

To him, he was dropping hints left and right and showing obvious signs that he had a crush on you and wanted to be with you. 

To you, he would just hand you the last bit of water before Polnareff attempted to chug it down. 

To him, he was standing closer to you and signaling he liked being next to you, while also keeping watch of you to make sure you weren’t too far behind. 

To you, he was gruffly telling you to hurry the hell up. 

Despite the untold feelings you both had for the other, neither of you ever went out and told the other of them. It was the one time you had failed to read Jotaro correctly, one that he spent the next few years believing to be you rejecting him and his ‘advances’. 

So when it came time to part, he believed that your rejection of him (misunderstanding his cues) was your real feelings and decided to stay away from you, figuring you’d rather not be around him after he confessed (throwing easily misinterpreted signals at you). It was another of his silent ways to make sure you were comfortable, but he didn’t realize that you would take it as a sign of him rejecting you as if your relationship meant nothing. 

Well, that was ages ago. 11 years later and he’s no longer the 17 year old delinquent who could smoke five cigarettes at once, but a 28 year old marine biologist who had gotten divorced from his first marriage. 

He didn’t want to be in Morioh, but considering Joseph’s colossal screw-up and the mysterious events taking place, he knew he’d have to stay far longer than he had anticipated. 

Morioh is fine and all, but he didn’t find any worthwhile reason to stay. That was, until Okuyasu and Josuke accidentally destroyed a part of your fence, leading Jotaro to drag them to you to apologize. 

“Come on, do we really have to?!” Josuke cries.  

The commotion outside obviously bugs you, and you swing open the door, complaining about the noise when you gasp as you come face to face with Jotaro again. Time has really been kind to him, and even with his older appearance, it’s easy to tell it’s him. 

“Jotaro?” You ask, making sure it’s really him, while Josuke and Okuyasu eye up Jotaro to explain what’s going on. 

Jotaro keeps it curt and polite, feeling some fondness for you after all these years but still not wanting to overstep your presumed boundaries. He ignores Josuke and Okuyasu’s wide eyes and comments and gives you a brief nod. 

“(Y/n). It’s been a while.” 

“11 years, to be exact…” 

Knowing that you’re here makes the trip significantly different in his mind. Your stand is quite useful, and he asks to recruit you one more time to aid him in finding Kira. He is being truthful about wanting your help, but admittedly, a selfish part of him wants to see what you’ve been up to. 

You agree, feeling somewhat similarly to Jotaro. He has changed a lot since you two last said your goodbyes at the airport, and it’s made you curious how he may have grown. 

Jotaro doesn’t really like to discuss much of what occurred in Egypt to the Duwang group. Josuke and Okuyasu mostly want to hear about how you two became friends and knew each other. Koichi recognizes that you two have some mutual respect for the other and that you seem to know a lot more about Jotaro than meets the eye. Rohan, however, is the one who knows something must have gone down for you two to be this awkward around the other. And he will be annoying and try to get sneaky about finding what happened. 

“Call it a hunch of mine, but something tells me that there’s an interesting story to be told between the two of them.” 

Joseph is the one that breaks the ice for you and Jotaro by being his usual self. 

“Oh, (Y/n)? Is that really you? Don’t tell me I’m hallucinating this!” Once you assure him that no, you are not an illusion and that it really is you, Joseph embraces you and blabs on. 

“You’ve grown well! Haha! I didn’t think I’d see you in this little old town. You know, it breaks my heart that you and Jotaro didn’t stay in touch after all that with Dio. I was sure you’d become part of the family!” 

You can practically hear glass shatter as everyone gawks at Joseph, who is humming casually and doesn’t realize what he just admitted, while Jotaro is fuming internally and attempts to drag Joseph away. 

“Ignore him. Old age has taken a toll on his brain.” 

It’s both a blessing and a curse that Joseph spoke so freely. It stopped both you and Jotaro from thinking the other hated you, but it also left a reminder that once upon a time, you two were that close. 

Still, Jotaro doesn’t want to push his luck- for pete’s sake, it’s been 11 years, why would you care for him like you did when you two were dumb teenagers?- so he tries to keep it professional. 

But unfortunately, even he can’t help the way he gets more protective over you during an ambush from stand users. Or how he gets stern with the boys if they make a poor joke or something negative about you. Or the way he finds himself feeling nostalgic. 

It takes a while but you two eventually begin to talk again beyond surface level greetings and battles. Jotaro finds out that Polnareff used to send you letters, but one day just stopped sending them all together without warning. You find out Jotaro pursued his dream of becoming a marine biologist and was currently writing a thesis on starfish. You moved to Morioh after the trauma from Egypt, living alone and being unable to connect with ‘normal’ people after being so fundamentally changed by the trip. He had a wife and daughter in America, but due to his time away from home, was divorced from her. 

Some things haven’t changed. The comfortable air between the two of you still remains, giving the two of you a break despite Kira being on the loose. Jotaro thinks to himself that he hadn’t felt this at ease in years. 

As the days pass, the feelings he had for you slowly resurface, but this time, he’s much more aware of relationships and wants to correct his mistakes from the past. He won’t be the same misunderstood boy from back then. 

So with a casual and stoic expression, he puts his hands in his pockets and turns to you. 

“How do you feel about going to grab a meal with me tonight?” he asks, hoping that him being upfront will give you two another chance to start anew.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Yandere Euron Greyjoy w/ Siren!Reader

Euron grew up hearing the tales of the children of the sea; the sirens who sang their songs and all the men they lured to their deaths, along with their ships. He’d always dreamed of coming across one, catching it and having it for his own.

The thought of having his siren never strayed far from his mind, everytime he was at sea it was all he could think of. He would swear he felt something deep in the water watching him. Following him. Studying him. Teasing him. He knew they were out there, waiting for him. And this only ignited his need to find his siren all the more.

Usually most ironborn take a share of the plunder from their pillaging, especially the captains but not Euron. No, he knows there is a much more valuable treasure out there. Something far more worthwhile. Something only for him.

When the day finally comes and Euron hears that hauntingly beautiful song, he knows he’s got his siren and he’s not going to lose them. Whatever plans, whatever destination there was before is quickly forgotten in place of finally getting what belongs to him.

And what a sight you are to behold when he does finally catch you. You’re beautiful, so frighteningly beautiful. But he’s not scared, after all this is Euron we’re talking about, on the contrary he’s excited. Very excited. You have him feeling euphoric and he loves it. The look of complete shock, anger and fear at finally being caught that washes over your mesmerizing face has Euron feeling even more euphoric. He likes that look on you, he likes it a lot.

As much as Euron has grown so accustomed to this drawn out game of cat and mouse, a game that he has come to take much excitement and anticipation in, he couldn’t be more thrilled to have finally caught you. A part of him almost wants to throw you back into the sea just to be able to chase after and catch you all over again but he’d much rather finally claim what’s been rightfully his all this time.

People said he was mad, that the seas had corrupted him but he knew better than to listen to them. After all he’s got you now, the proof to his unrelentingness. And he can’t bring himself to take his eyes off of you. He doesn’t want to miss a thing; every part of your being, Euron wants to memorize it all.

He’s already prepared a place to keep you, a tank he had specifically made just for you. Quite a well crafted and spacious enough little home where he can watch you whenever he pleases and you’re entirely unable to hide away from his prying gaze. You are his trophy, his gift from the sea that he has waited so long to receive. Of course he wants to be able to look upon you whenever he wishes, it’s his right after all. After everything he’s done to get you in the first place the least he deserves is to see his catch in all its maddening glory.

And maddening you are. He thrives on the hateful look you send his way, the gnashing of your teeth whenever he gets too close, the way you thrash your beautifully scaled body against the thick cage-like glass of your new habitat trying to free yourself. Euron isn’t stupid, of course he’d have your new little home be thoroughly enforced. He may not exactly know what all you are capable of but he has a few ideas and your immense strength was certainly one of them.

After all this time it’s no surprise that Euron would be addicted to your voice, to your song. He’s only ever heard it a few times in his life but he saved it to memory, he would’ve been a fool not to. Euron even took up whistling a similar tune, primarily to draw you out but it was something that just stuck and he never let it go but nothing could ever compare to the real thing. So once he finally had you that song, your song, was all he ever wanted to hear. And he had nothing to interrupt it, no other noise to take away from it. He’d made sure of that when he cut out all his crewmens’ tongues. You may not have necessarily been the sole reason behind his decision but you were one of them. And if he didn’t have to bark out orders he would have taken their ears too.

As much as Euron would love to have his precious little siren wrapped around his body, he knows they’d break him without a second thought. They’d rip his throat out and spit it back in his face with a sharp toothed grin. Don’t even get him started on the drowning bit, not like he isn’t use to it given his being an Ironborn, if anything it excites him more. But none of these things could possibly strike even an ounce of fear into Euron, I mean he’s committed so much worse with his own bare hands, instead it all captivates him all the more. You truly were meant for him and only him, weren’t you? He’ll make sure to take real good care of you, his Queen of the Sea.

[skywalker1dream]

Title: Stuck with the stranger

Note:so it's 2:40am I can't sleep and this fine man is in my mind, inspiration 'hating game' hope you have good day or night and don't forget to drink water ;3

part two | part three

Summary:When You get trapped in an elevator with a charming stranger named Carlos, what starts as a stressful ordeal turns into the beginning of a heartfelt friendship. As you two share stories and dreams, an unexpected bond forms.

Warning: Contains mild claustrophobia and brief moments of anxiety.

Carlos sainz x reader

You entered the elevator, you were accompanied by a stranger.

The doors of the elevator closed with a quiet thud, sealing you inside with a stranger. You barely spared him a glance, too preoccupied with your own thoughts. But when the elevator jolted to a sudden stop, the lights flickering out, you couldn’t ignore him any longer.

“Of course this happens today,” you muttered to yourself, frustration bubbling up.

The stranger beside you was already frantically pressing buttons, his expression a mix of annoyance and desperation. When it became clear the buttons weren’t responding, he sighed heavily and slumped against the wall, sliding down to sit in the corner of the elevator.

You glanced over, finally taking a proper look at him. He was fiddling with the bracelets on his wrist, clearly trying to distract himself. His features were dimly lit by the emergency light, but you could see he was attractive in a rugged sort of way, with a familiar face you couldn't quite place. He looked up at you with a small, sheepish smile.

“Doesn’t seem like pressing those buttons is helping much,” you said, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Yeah,” he replied, his accent a smooth blend of Spanish and something else. “I guess we’re stuck here for a while. I’m Carlos, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Carlos,” you said, settling down on the floor across from him. “I’m [Your Name].”

Carlos chuckled softly, a sound that surprisingly made you feel a bit better about the situation. “Not the best way to meet someone, huh?”

“Could be worse,” you said with a shrug. “At least we’re not alone. So, what brings you here?”

He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing whether to tell you. “I’m here for some work,” he said vaguely. “What about you?”

“Just visiting a friend. So, where are you from, Carlos?”

“Spain. And you?”

You chatted for a while, the initial awkwardness giving way to a more comfortable conversation. You learned that Carlos traveled a lot for his job, though he was still vague about the details. He had a love for adventure, often finding himself in unexpected situations,though getting stuck in an elevator wasn’t usually on his list.

“Do you always carry so many bracelets?” you asked, noticing how he seemed to calm himself by playing with them.

He laughed, holding up his wrist. “They’re kind of a good luck charm for me. Each one has a story.”

“Like what?”

He began to tell you the stories behind a few of them, and you found yourself genuinely intrigued. There was one from a charity event in Monaco, another from a small market in Brazil. Each bracelet had a memory attached, and you found yourself admiring the way he cherished these small tokens of his experiences.

Hours passed, and you both shared more than just surface-level stories. You talked about your dreams, fears, and the small moments that made life worthwhile. You were surprised at how easy it was to talk to him, a complete stranger. There was something comforting in the way he listened, the way he seemed to genuinely care about what you had to say.

Suddenly, the elevator jolted, and the lights flickered back on. You both looked up in surprise as the elevator started moving again. Carlos stood up and offered you a hand.

“Looks like we’re saved,” he said with a grin.

“Yeah, looks like it,” you replied, taking his hand and standing up.

As the elevator doors opened, you both hesitated, neither of you quite ready to step out. There was an unspoken understanding between you, a connection that had formed in the hours you spent together.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to get a coffee sometime?” Carlos asked, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I’d like that,” you said with a smile. “I’d like that a lot.”

You exchanged numbers and stepped out of the elevator, going your separate ways. But as you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel that this was just the beginning of something special. A friendship born out of a shared misadventure, with the potential for so much more.

It's short I know..if you want part 2 I will deliver it hope you liked it:3

[sillysiluriforme]

So glad you liked the other Chloe submission, thanks for the informative and entertaining response and the kind words from the comrades!

As before no worries if not interested but I did have a couple more thoughts, though be it these one's likely relate very specifically to teen Chloe so may not be useful/interesting but still.

Oh quick aside:

Not sure how prevalent Sabrina is, but the fact we see her dad encourage her master servant dynamic with Chloe, because it fits his definition of being "Useful" to society and how... Low key unhinged Sabrina can get about her usefulness not being utilized or acknowledge (Like with Marinette) is very interesting. Her & Chloe finding each other in canon is just like two people with hilariously complimentary but deeply unhealthy ideas forming a circular relationship of mutual self destruction.

Anyway, an interesting thing to me is how while Chloe does replicate the abusive behaviors taught (Andre) or demonstrated (Audrey,, Gabriel & Emilie) to her, she had already softened them without any real moral or empathic guidance.

Andre: He explicitly taught her cheating, extortion & threats are moral goods, and she does use them to try and win at things. But she doesn't actually utilize them that often or with as much intensity.

& like her father she uses money/gifts to compensate for shitty behavior but unlike him does, ya know, do things with Sabrina & is invested in their relationship outside of Sabrina's use as a tool.

& while she did use Sabrina as a shield in Zombisu, she also protected her in Ladybug, so its at least mote mutual as I cannot envision Andre doing anything for Chloe that really risks him.

Audrey: She's been impersonating her mother for years in a bid to earn her love but it didn't work until someone else made Audrey decide it was worthwhile & even then didn't seem to amount to much.

So while like Audrey she is antagonistic, haughty and rude, Chloe did actually demonstrate the ability to feel guilt (Zombisu but others too) & when Akumatized in the early series was not terribly murderous.

Compare that to Audrey who happily mulches her husband and daughter despite AKuma usually avoiding hurting their loved one's outside of indirect harm done by their warped attempts to protect.

Gabriel & Emilie: She clearly fucking hates that Adrien is making friends with people she hates and who hate her and is possessive of the relationship.

Yet until everything goes to hell, she doesn't really do much to try and stop him or undermine said relationships either. That is to say, she's already far less possessive & controlling than Emilie of Gabriel are.

Conclusion: So yeah while definitely not good, she had seemingly without much if any guidance, already made the abusive traits she picked up less toxic than those demonstrated by the adults around her.

Note: Also I always feel compelled to note this, but it is low key creepy Andre has been rewarding Chloe for impersonating his wife.

Like even if he's just instinctively recreating the dynamic he had with Audrey; not sure on that as they do seem to argue a lot.

Or is just using Chloe as an emotional crutch/ego-soothing proxy for Audrey's approval... Its still deeply messed up & unhealthy.

you're so smart @clemnoir was right you deserve sloppy head

I love thinking about child development when it comes to fictional characters, it's so fun...Also i don't care how much the show tries i will never have empathy for andre i hope he explodes into a fine mist

[thezombieprostitute]

I'm gonna let myself seriously indulge on this one.

Reader is Tall and Plus Size woman.

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Language, Size shaming

Part 2

Every time you went out with your friends you felt like you were babysitting a bunch of toddlers. They would whine for another bottle, swear they weren't tired, and get angry when you suggested it was time to go home.

You're certain the only reason they ask you to go with them is because you're always the designated driver and your size could scare away some of the seedier guys trying to get with them. You know the reason you keep going out with them is to keep them safe. You'd genuinely feel awful if something happened to them the one time you said you weren't going to go out with them.

Elena had found a new dive bar for everyone to try. The place, named Snowpiercer, gave you bad vibes from the start but your friends were wanting to try to find a place the group could become regulars at. That meant every place deserved a chance.

You were actually heartened to see the motorcycles outside the bar. Bikers may have a mean reputation but they have rules, especially towards women and children. Hopefully, if your friends do something stupid, that'll save them without you having to endure another asshole calling you "a fat she-hulk" or "the ogre Fiona".

You all line up at the bar to order. As expected the place didn't have the best assortment of drinks but you'd let your friends work through that. You were just happy to find out they did serve food. You swear that greasy bar burgers are some of the best tasting in the world.

Tanya, the woman behind the bar, seemed ready for your group to become annoying, belligerent drunks. Her smile widened when you ordered a soda, telling her, "designated driver," by way of explanation.

"Well then that soda is on the house," she replied. "We like to reward people who look out for others."

"Thank you," you smile back. She yells out your food order to someone in the back named Andrew.

Everyone gets their drink and sits at the table (you can't fit into the booths with your long legs). This is the part of the outings you actually do enjoy: catching up, discussing struggles, congratulating wins. Most nights it makes the several hours of wrangling exhausted toddlers worthwhile.

As the designated driver it was also up to you to get everyone's food and drink from the bar. This was yet another safety measure since some of the places you went to were so crowded anyone else would get lost in the crowd and never return with the beer and nachos. As you thank Tanya for another round the door opens and a line of, what you assume to be, bikers pour in. Not wanting to be in their way you quickly duck back to your friends.

The last person to enter catches your eye. You're not used to seeing other people your size or bigger. He's at least as big as you, but with muscle instead of pudge, like yourself. He's got a nice beard, piercing blue eyes and a grumpy look.

As the bikers get their orders they start to fill in the tables and booths around the place and the bar really comes to life. Your initial concerns are gone and you really feel like this place could be comfortable. You're still going back and forth between Tanya and your table. Still on the lookout for the usual skeevy characters that hit on drunk women. Still trying your damnedest to not get into anyone's space.

It's only because you're on alert that you notice the big and tall guy looking your way more than once. It makes you feel more awkward than you know you are. You may be big and tall but you're surefooted, especially in crowds. You have your own gracefulness but he's making you feel like it's more ridiculous than you think.

Another couple of hours pass and your friends have fully reached the level of drunk that requires adult supervision. Some of the other patrons seem to take notice and pick up on the leering looks. Every time they get caught looking you give them your “don’t fuck with us” look. It’s pretty effective. You’re not a fighter but you can definitely look the part. 

Unfortunately, it’s not 100% effective. You come back with another round and a guy has intercepted Mason on her way back from the bathroom. You set the drinks down and walk towards them. She sees you and gives you a look that says, “please help me.” 

“She’s not interested,” you tell him. “Please leave her alone.”

He turns and looks up at you, “the fuck you know about what she wants?”

“I’m her friend,” you reply. “Please leave her alone.”

He laughs, “ain’t nobody friends with a fucking sasquatch like you!”

“Sasquatch,” you contemplate. “Not the usual I get called. I’ll give you credit for creativity. But the woman is here with me and a few friends. Leave her alone.” You grab Mason’s hand and pull her around the guy, getting her behind you. 

You can’t look away from him lest he take that as an attack of opportunity, so you miss that the big and tall guy is walking towards the both of you.

“Fucking cunt,” the guy booms. “Just tryin’ to have a little fun! Such a bitch! Can’t get laid so she doesn’t let anyone else get any!”

“Egg-head!” A deep voice booms from behind you. “Leave the ladies alone and I won’t tell Gilliam about your skimming.”

The man angrily mumbles, “yes, Curtis,” and shuffles off back to his small group.

You turn around and see that Curtis is the big and tall man who’s been watching you. “Thank you for the help,” you nod in appreciation. 

“Shouldn’t have needed to help,” he grumbles. “Curtis,” he says, holding out his hand. You shake his hand and give your name in return. His hands are strong and heavily calloused. 

He watches you go and settle the tab for your group, being incredibly polite to Tanya. You know that with Mason being scared like that, all the girls are going to go into support and comfort mode which means it’s time to go home. 

He’s been watching you all night, even when you didn’t notice. He watched you being kind to Tanya and Andrew. He watched you move gracefully between the drunkards. He watched you look after your friends. He watched you protect them. 

As he watches you drive away he motions to Edgar, “have someone follow her. I want to know everything we can about her.”

“You think she’s the one,” Edgar questions.

“Yeah,” Curtis nods. “She’s the one.”

Tagging @alicedopey and @icefrozendeadlyqueen because I promised I would!

Part 2

[koishiro]

# - 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇

masterlist | genshin masterlist | upcoming anon asks

Diluc

Okay I’m sorry but he’ll flat out ignore you at first,

Or at least he tries to considering he can’t stop thinking about you which will make him confused for a while on why his heart “aches” when you’re around. He doesn’t realise it but when you’re around or generally anywhere near him, he’ll subtly scuffle closer towards you and I can imagine Diluc trying his best to be in your line of sight as much as he can because that’s his way of infiltrating your mind. Every time you visit Angel’s Share don’t expect to pay for anything, it’s conveniently on the house. I can imagine he’d also want a form of validation from you (and only you) after he gives his opinion in a discussion, it makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Fancy seeing you here Y/n, the usual? What are you doing? There’s no need to spend your mora on such wasteful things”

Zhongli

…I hope you like tea,

Because you better expect to be invited to the funeral parlor “for tea” at least 3 days a week. If you’re ever walking through Liue and compliment something at a passing stall, he’ll buy it for you without a second thought because let’s be real (and these are his words exactly): - “mora has no value if it’s not spent on something worthwhile” …this man - he doesn’t realise how much of a flirt he is and is always confused if he catches your red face. He’ll also subtly court you without making it too obvious, like he’d appear at your place of work quite often with the excuse;

“the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor is running quite slow today, I wondered if you’d like to take a stroll around the town with me, possibly have a look at the stalls”

Kaeya

This flirtatious bastard,

He’ll always think of ways to make you malfunction. You’re a regular at Angel’s Share as well?: “Ah so this is where all the pretty ladies are kept hm?”, followed by a drink he bought you. Any time he sees you walking though the streets of Mondstadt he’ll jog up to you and say: “Going somewhere m’lady? I could escort you if you’d like, maybe you’d care for a drink at the tavern?”. I can imagine Klee giggling to herself when she sees you as if she knows something you don’t…

“Sorry miss Y/n, Klee was told she can’t say anything, Kaeya made Klee promise - oh, you won’t tell Kaeya will you miss Y/n?”

Al haitham

This withdrawn boy…

He’d quite literally just stare at you from across the room until someone (Kaveh) nudges his shoulder, telling him he’ll scare you off if he continues. If you’re already aquatinted with each other he’ll most likely try and impress you by giving you book recommendations or talk about his findings at the Akademiya while you zone out and stare at his face for the next few hours. If you’re not aquatinted, he’ll saddle up to you and still give you recommendations:

“If I could just interject, herbal tea would be best whilst chamomile shall just make you drowsy, if you’d like I could show you how to make your own”

Childe

Ah yes, the cocky ginger,

I imagine he’d act like Kaeya, if he saw you strolling through Liue, Childe would stride up to you and ask if he could escort you to where you need to be with the excuse; “you can never be too careful” and this would become a habit to the point of meeting you once your shift ends to walk you back home. He’d also 100% spend his money on you no doubt, like Zhongli his excuse would be

“what’s the point of mora if I can’t spend it on a pretty girl hm?”

Itto

I hope you’re a dog person,

Because this is at your beck and call. One of the ways he shows his interest towards you is gift giving; you need a certain herb? Wait here while he goes and hunts it down for you, or maybe you need some meet? Don’t worry, he’ll quickly chase down a boar for you. And if you thank him a big smile when he delivers them? His tail could cause a tornado with how powerful his tail is wagging. Another way he shows his interest is physical affection; you’re sitting down reading a book? He’s there with his head on your shoulder, you’re both walking through town? He’s got a firm grasp on either your hand or your arm,

“what? I can’t let you wander off and get yourself lost, what would I do then? Who would hive me head pats?”

Kaveh

You wouldn’t even know he has a crush on you,

Instead thinking he’s just this friendly with everyone. Being an architect, no less from Sumeru, he would show and explain his ideas to you and ask for advice on what you think about them, sometimes he’ll deliver miniature structures to you that he made, for example: he once made you a wooden mobile (like a baby cot mobile) to hang wherever you please that plays music because he knew you had trouble sleeping or another time, he made you a glass wind-chime that would reflect the sun and cause rainbow rays to spread across your porch because you spend so much time in your garden. He’ll either make these as a thank you, a just cause, or he’ll make up a white lie and say it’s an experiment he’d like you to test run, always delivered with an excuse he made beforehand:

“Ah Y/n, glad I ran into you! I noticed the other day that you were struggling to keep on top of watering all of your plants so I made an automatic watering system! If it all goes well, I might start a batch of them”

—

－𝘬𝘰𝘪 𝘹𝘰

[hawkinsmafia]

𝔼𝕕𝕕𝕚𝕖 𝕄𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕠𝕟: 𝔽𝕝𝕦𝕗𝕗 𝔸𝕝𝕡𝕙𝕒𝕓𝕖𝕥

day 04 : Eddie

featuring Eddie Munson x reader (no assumed gender)

rating: general

cw: two minor, non-graphic mentions of sex; one brief mention of recreational marijuana use

wc: 1.6k

an: this is my first time doing one of these, and I was reminded of filling out those massively long surveys your friends would all email around in the 90s. I miss those. this was written for @corrodedcoffinfest!

𝔸𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕤 :: How does Eddie spend free time with his partner?

⟢ Eddie is the king of parallel play. Just being in the same room is enough to please him, even if you’re both absorbed in different activities. You’re lounging on the couch with a book while Eddie is noodling around with his guitar, or he’s at the table working on his campaign notes while you’re writing up a grocery list.

𝔹𝕖𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕪 :: What does Eddie admire about his partner?

⟢ I won’t lie, one of his criteria in a partner is how well you fit into his rockstar aesthetic. If you look like you’re ready to pose beside him on the cover of Rolling Stone, that’s a huge boon.

ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥 :: How does Eddie help his partner when they’re struggling?

⟢ Eddie’s love language is acts of service, so when you’re having a rough time, he’s insisting you take the night off and let him make dinner—and it’s probably just boxed macaroni and cheese and maybe a can of green beans if he thinks about it, but he makes it with so much love. Then afterward, if you’re amenable, he’d break out his private stash and pack a bowl for you.

𝔻𝕒𝕥𝕖 :: What is Eddie’s first date with his partner like?

⟢ A disaster. He had big ideas of impressing you, but it was one of those nights where nothing went as he planned. He wanted to take you to an open mic night and wow you with his musical prowess, but the performance list was already full when you arrived. At a loss for a last-minute substitution, you wound up going to the Hawkins High carnival, where he was harassed by the popular crowd, he couldn’t manage to win a single game to get you a prize, and he nearly choked to death on his corn dog (then coughed so hard he almost puked). To top it all off, he was pulled over by a cop while driving you home, and the familiarity the cop had with Eddie clearly announced that he had regular run-ins with them. And to this day, Eddie has absolutely no idea why you invited him inside when he finally got you home, or asked to see him again tomorrow for a do-over.

𝔼𝕢𝕦𝕒𝕝 :: Is Eddie more dominant or submissive in his relationship?

⟢ Eddie is a very easy switch. He can and will take either role depending on his mood and yours, and can switch from one to the other with a moment’s notice.

𝔽𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 :: What is it like when Eddie and his partner argue?

⟢ Honestly, Eddie doesn’t argue with you very often. He struggles with feelings of inadequacy and fears the day you’ll wake up and realize he’s a worthless, white trash loser, and he’s afraid of driving you to that realization early. Much more common between you are the more playful, low stakes disagreements, like which dresser drawer to put socks and underwear in (the top one, obviously) or whether peanut butter belongs in the fridge or not (no). These ‘arguments’ are usually settled with a dice roll.

𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕦𝕕𝕖 :: Does Eddie acknowledge how much his partner does for him?

⟢ Oh god, yes. See above for those feelings of inadequacy, he is grateful as hell that you gave a freak a chance and somehow found him worthwhile, at least for now.

ℍ𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕪 :: Does Eddie keep secrets from his partner or does he share everything?

⟢ Eddie couldn’t keep anything from you to save his life. He tells you everything, and everyone knows that if they tell Eddie something, they’re really telling the both of you because he’ll tell you immediately.

𝕀𝕟𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 :: Has Eddie’s partner inspired him to grow or change in any way?

⟢ Your presence in his life has made him more focused and given him more drive. His rockstar dreams were just a farfetched fantasy that he toyed with before, daydreams of a better life, but now with you in the picture, he craves that success to be more than make-believe.

𝕁𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕪 :: How does Eddie handle jealousy in his relationship?

⟢ Eddie doesn’t fall victim to jealousy all that often. Those occasions when he does feel it flare up, though, it’s because he saw someone else flirting with you, and his response is to go over there and slip an arm around you, maybe give you a slightly-too-deep kiss, and remind the other person that you’re already spoken for.

𝕂𝕚𝕤𝕤 :: Is Eddie a good kisser?

⟢ He’s not too bad! He doesn’t have a whole lot of experience when you first get together—there haven’t been many people in Hawkins willing to take a chance on a Munson—but he does have some natural talent, and he’s a quick learner with practice.

𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕗𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟 :: How does Eddie confess his love to his partner?

⟢ In song. He stresses out for a while over how to get to the next level with you, and he finally decides that since music is his forte, he’ll write you a song and perform it for you.

𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕒𝕘𝕖 :: Would Eddie want to marry his partner?

⟢ Eddie would be one of those guys who proposes to his partner and then stalls in the engaged phase for years, putting off the actual marriage. It’s not that he doesn’t want to marry you (he does!), but he’s worried (perhaps subconsciously) about tying himself to you and becoming a weight that holds you back, ruining your life by making you a Munson.

ℕ𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕟𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤 :: What does Eddie call his partner?

⟢ Princess, sweetheart, baby, babe. If he’s in a goofy mood, he’ll call you ‘my liege’ (often with a deep bow and a thick accent).

𝕆𝕟 ℂ𝕝𝕠𝕦𝕕 ℕ𝕚𝕟𝕖 :: What is Eddie like when he’s in love?

⟢ Oh god, I hate to say this, but I think he’s that guy who kind of slowly starts drifting away from his friends in favor of spending time with his partner instead, at least for a while, and it causes tension between you and them. When he starts cancelling Hellfire at the last minute and not showing up to band rehearsal, the others start getting angry with him.

ℙ𝔻𝔸 :: Does Eddie openly share affection with his partner, or is he more private?

⟢ This man would fuck you in the hallway at school if you asked him to. Once you’ve made it clear that you aren’t afraid of everyone knowing you’re with him, he can be downright obnoxious with his affection. You’re the couple making out in the hall during class change, causing a traffic jam. You’re the couple who gets caught in closets and bathrooms at every party. More than once, Wayne has had to clear his throat rather loudly to remind Eddie that he’s still in the room.

ℚ𝕦𝕚𝕣𝕜 :: What’s a random action Eddie performs for his partner?

⟢ He learns your routine and makes a point to ask if you want a ride to work today before you even say anything, or he’s already waiting for you outside your classes so he can walk with you to your next one.

ℝ𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 :: How romantic is Eddie?

⟢ Very romantic. He’s making you new mix tapes weekly. Whenever he stops for gas, he always comes back to the van with your favorite snack without being asked. (He may have taken the five-finger discount, but it’s the thought that counts!) He holds doors open for you with a sweeping bow. He makes a big production of giving you a pin off his battle vest or one of his rings.

𝕊𝕦𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥 :: How does Eddie help his partner achieve their goals?

⟢ You have never heard a pep talk until Eddie gives you one. He is a stalwart and unwavering pillar of support, and no one believes in you as much as Eddie believes in you.

𝕋𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕝𝕝 :: Does Eddie like to experiment and try new things, or does he prefer familiarity?

⟢ Eddie is always down to try something new, especially if it’s something you’re interested in. Whether it’s a new movie in a genre he doesn’t gravitate toward, or heading into the city to try a new restaurant cuisine that’s caught your attention, or a new bedroom activity, Eddie’s down for it.

𝕌𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 :: How well does Eddie know his partner?

⟢ Pretty damn well. Sometimes you might think he’s not listening while you’re talking, but even when he looks distracted, he never misses a word. He knows your favorite color, the foods you hate, your class or work schedule, the kind of future you daydream about. If you have a menstrual cycle, he doesn’t have it memorized but he can always tell immediately when your uterus is making problems.

𝕍𝕒𝕝𝕦𝕖 :: How important is Eddie’s relationship to him?

⟢ It’s literally the single most important thing in Eddie’s life. It’s the greatest thing he’s ever had, and he knows he doesn’t deserve anything this good. He loves you more than his guitar, which speaks volumes on its own.

𝕎𝕚𝕝𝕕 ℂ𝕒𝕣𝕕 :: A random fluffy headcanon.

⟢ The first year you were together, Eddie very nearly forgot your birthday. It wasn’t until a quarter to midnight that he remembered, and he tore out of the trailer like a man on fire to get over to your place before midnight, nothing but apologies and affection and promises to make it up to you this weekend. Since then, he goes out of his way to make a big deal of your birthday every year.

𝕏𝕆𝕏𝕆 :: Does Eddie like to be affectionate with his partner?

⟢ Oh yes. Given a choice, Eddie would be attached to your hip 24/7. He loves to hold your hand, put an arm around you, give you little kisses, cuddle up to you. If acts of service is his primary love language, physical touch is a close second.

𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 :: How does Eddie cope when he’s missing his partner?

⟢ If at all possible, the quickest cure is to just go see you. Eddie’s liable to show up at your place at any hour of the day or night, looking a little lost and forlorn, just wanting to see you. If you’re unreachable like that, oh, how this boy pines for you. He’s a mopey, moody, melancholy mess. Wayne has to tell him to go outside and get some sunlight before he makes the mold in the trailer flourish with that storm cloud over his head.

ℤ𝕖𝕒𝕝 :: To what lengths would Eddie go for his relationship?

⟢ Eddie would brave the Upside Down alone to preserve your relationship. He would bitch and moan the entire way, but he would do it if it meant keeping you.

[totalswag]

chapter two - all i want

authors note super sorry chapter two is up so late but it's finally here for you guys! thank you so much for your patients. officially on summer break and i will have more free time on my hands. if you would like to be on my taglist for this series let me know in the comments.

summary Y/N Y/L/N is a regular kook that lives in the Outer Banks. One of the most pleasant person to encounter. Room lights up when you enter a room. Contrary to some kooks, you don't care whether side of the island people come from. Friends with the pogue's. You go through a lot struggles in your life where you shy's away from the world. Rafe Cameron, also known as Kook King. He has a huge reputation on the island; is cold, cocky, jerk face, asshole, and will say whatever he wants to get what he wants. Behind all that tuff-ness, he struggles with a lot of things too. On a random Friday night you meet for the first time and Rafe can’t seem to get you out of his head after your little encounter. He’s never met a girl like you before. Eventually, you learn a lot about the Cameron boy from your eyes.

masterlist

warnings love, crying, kissing/making out, yelling, partying, cursing, explicit scenes, fighting, mentions of death, possible pregnancy?, addiction, mentions of drinking and other drug substances.

The next morning rolls around. The sun shines through the curtains, birds chirping, and the neighbors trim their lawns. Ordinary mornings on the Outer Banks.

Your eyes open gradually, blinking a few times before rubbing them. As you extend your body, you let out a little groan. You feel a minor headache coming on now that you've woken up. 

You're not sure how you wound up back at Scarlett's house, but you arrived safely in bed, makeup off and wearing comfortable clothing. Hands try to find your phone, patting on the covers, trying to find it. When you can’t find it, you lift your body up, only to find it on the floor.

8:30am

"Good morning, sunshine," Scarlett murmurs, turning to face you with her eyes still closed.

"Good morning, sweetheart," you say sarcastically, pushing yourself back under the blankets.

"How did we get back to your house?" You ask casually because all you can think of is how you got home safely without being wounded or waking up with your clothes and makeup still on. 

Scarlett giggles, "my brother picked us up and brought us back after we bribed him with food"

"Okay, that sounds exactly like us when we're drunk," you say, shaking your head.

"So, you wanna tell me what went on between you and Rafe Cameron?" Scarlett dives right into the debrief from last night. "You had that man hooked the entire night, with you two even kissing, Y/N!" she says, her eyes wild.

Oh shit

You can't remember much from yesterday night except getting drunk, playing drinking games, dancing with your friends, and chatting with Rafe. You were shocked to learn that, despite it being your first meeting, Rafe Cameron was with you all night long.

"We got to know one other better. He asked me why we hadn't met before, and I explained that we have the same friends, but we have different priorities." You feel Scarlett's eyes on you the entire time, "We kept eye contact the entire time during our conversation, and whenever I talk to a guy, he can never keep eye contact," you ramble on.

Scarlett dropped her jaw, unable to believe what she was hearing. For a long time, she has wanted you to find someone who makes you happy and makes life worthwhile. She realizes that you stated "my person will come to me when I least expect it," and right now she believes Rafe Cameron is that person. 

“You need to hit him up or ask to hang out soon because holy crap Y/N”

"Stop it, I'm sure he was being his usual self when he talks to girls," you shrug, removing your blankets and getting up to eat breakfast. 

"Don't say that, you know it's true," she gestures at you sharply, "you are right, let's eat breakfast"

During breakfast you continue to talk about the rest of the night with Rafe and how it went all together.

When you made it home, you quickly ran to your shower to get last night off you. Drank water and ibuprofen to get the minor headache to go away.

The feeling of showering after going out feels amazing and you feel completely clean. Usually you take showers the night of but surprisingly this time you didn’t.

By the time you got out of the shower, it was noon. It was just you and your mom at the house while your dad was at work and your younger sister, Jasmine, was at a friend's house next door.

You were putting lotion on your legs in the bathroom when the sound of your moms voice called you from downstairs. "Y/N can you come down here real quick please?" You murmur to yourself before getting your phone and heading downstairs to see what your mom needed.

"Yes, mom?" you inquire, puzzled.

She smiles, "Do you want to go to the store with me to get stuff for dinner tonight? "Dad wants to barbecue steak, and the weather is lovely today," she says as she walks around the kitchen to get her car keys and groceries bags from the pantry.

You lean against the counter and watch your mother stroll about the kitchen. From a young age, you’ve always enjoyed going to places with your mom, it’s been a bonding thing for you two.

"Yeah, sure, let me put my sandals on first," your mother nods, indicating that she will wait in the car.

The drive to the grocery shop took five minutes. The parking lot appeared to be packed, as it usually is. Your mom handed you a list of items she needed as she pushed the cart. There weren't many items, but enough to feed the entire family tonight.

Your headache had gone away which was a relief.

"Should we get your sister ice cream for dessert?" Your mother inquires, pausing in the ice cream aisle and pointing to Jasmine's favorite ice cream.

"She's been asking me to come here for it since Monday, so I don't see why not," you say, already walking past your mom to get the ice cream.

The rest of the time at the grocery store, you helped your mom grab the items she needed to make dinner for the night. Both made sure everything was checked off before checking out.

By the time you arrived home, your dad's truck was parked on the long driveway; it sounded like he had just returned home. When mom switched off the engine, dad walked out of the garage in his regular clothes, looking like he was ready to barbecue. 

"Hi honey, how was work?" Your mother asked gently, her face brightened up, excited about seeing him.

"Not too bad, just a bunch of meetings and figuring out new things to put out next year," your dad says as he grabs bags from the trunk.

Your dad works for a well-known company that has been successful since its inception. He works on the mainland and travels for work when needed. When he visits the mainland, he encounters a large number of individuals and attends numerous meetings.

He has done a lot for the family to get you where you are now. Both parents have wonderful jobs.

Dinner was delicious—steak with potatoes, salad, strawberries, and shrimp on the side. Because the weather was so wonderful, you ate dinner in the backyard under the lights that surrounded the entire area. The pool waterfall was turned on, as were the pool lights, to enhance ambiance.

You sat at the table for thirty minutes after eating, discussing everyone's day, recalling prior memories, and so on. Jasmine and you helped with putting dirty dishes away and bringing items into the house.

When you were done with that, you went upstairs to your room and changed into sweatpants and a tank top for the remainder of the night. Scarlett texted you, asking if you wanted to go for a drive and perhaps stop for some snacks. 

People were posting on social media about a bonfire on the beach; it did not appear to be anything huge, just a relaxing event. You didn't think much of it and preferred to hang out with your best friend instead.

"I'm going on a drive with Scarlett for a bit," you say as you go by your parents in the kitchen, holding a glass of wine. Before hugging your parents, you get some cold cold water from the fridge.

“Be safe please” your mom tells you.

"Long time no see" Scarlett sings, with the passenger window down and music playing in the background, "It's been eight hours since we last saw each other?" You both giggle as Scarlett drives out of your driveway.

You were about to open your mouth till your phone started to buzz. Your face frowns as you pull your phone from your sweatpant pocket.

Topper Thornton - rafe won't stop asking me about you 

Topper Thornton - so what i’m gonna ask is if i can give him your number?

Topper Thornton - or you can come to the bonfire right now by the beach and you two can get to know each other?

Your jaw drops from shock. You glance to Scarlett, who is already smirking and keeping her focus fixed on the road. When she continued urging you to go for a "drive" around figure eight, something itched in your gut.

She was bringing you to the bonfire.

"Did you already know about this?" giving her a suspicious look, leaning over to get a good look at her face, hoping she'll crack.

"Maybe I did, but I still want to go for a drive first," you say without hesitation, giving you the impression that she still wants to drive about first.

The two of you drove about Kildare for fifteen minutes before heading down to the beach where everyone else was. When you arrived at the beach, there were few people because cops had closed it off.

"Wanna grab some blankets? I have them in my trunk," Scarlet says, pointing to her trunk as she parks her car.

When you two arrived, your close friends seemed pleased to see you. You sat on the log with the blanket wrapped around you.

You scanned the area, looking for Rafe. Deep down, you were curious about why he was so interested in you and wanted to get to know you. He has a well-known reputation on the island. Perhaps there is something about him that will capture your attention.

"Hey, Y/N" Rafe's voice came into vision as you gazed off into the distance.

You shake your head, looking up to him with a cheerful grin, "Oh, hey there Rafe"

"Do you mind if I sit next to you?" He asks, pointing to the free space to your left.

"Yes of course."

Everything in your body was becoming agitated with a variety of emotions. You were unsure what these feelings meant, but you hoped they were positive.

Rafe gives a little sigh and rubs his hands down his thighs. You realize that he is about to say something.

"How are you feeling after last night?" He questions out of interest, scanning your expression, hoping you were not feeling uneasy. 

"I awoke with a little headache, but otherwise I felt okay. I'm generally good with my drinking, but sometimes it gets to me the next morning," you say with a chuckle.

"What about you?" You respond by asking.

"Pretty good, not too bad" he explains.

You nod, staring down at your lap, attempting to get the words out.

"I'm glad you came out tonight because I think you're very nice and I enjoy your company," Rafe says, staring at you.

"Also, you are pretty" he quickly adds.

The butterflies begin to gather in your stomach, and you conceal your face between your shoulders, facing the opposite side of Rafe, hoping he won't see your reaction, but the sound of his laugh said it all.

"I had no idea I was coming out here tonight, Scarlett nudged me into it, but I'm also glad I came out here tonight too, Rafe," you smile while softly pushing his shoulder.

"I like your company too and I think your cute too" you add.

For the next thirty minutes, Rafe and you get to know each other and discuss various topics. The way the conversation was going, you got the impression that you two will be hanging out one on one shortly without any friends around.

You two grabbed beers from the cooler further away from the fire pit then walked over where Scarlett and Topper were near the water.

"Glad to see you two finally join us," Topper says sarcastically, making the other guys laugh. 

"Haha, very funny, Top," Rafe says, rolling his eyes.

Scarlett approaches you, asking if the conversation went well; you give her two thumbs up, and she squeals discreetly so no one else notices.

It was getting close to your curfew, and your parents wanted you home by midnight. Scarlett and you were heading together to the trash can to throw out your drinks. Everyone else was collecting everything else.

You said your goodbyes to your friends before heading over to Rafe, who was standing near the hill that led to the cars. He smiles as you approach; he has a good smile, you think to yourself.

"Looks like we're splitting up again, huh?" you reply with a hint of disappointment.

"I don't think so, Y/N," Rafe says.

You look at him perplexed, but you know where the next question is going.

"How about I give you my phone number?" I'd like to get to know you better and hang out with you anytime next week when you're available. He respectfully asks, grinning cutely.

"Yes, you can give me your number and I would like that" you say with a grin.

all i want taglist

@winterrrnight @lucky7rosie @bejeweledreverie @rachelivey333 @obxdude @upelchkin

➨ i have two separate tag-lists one for my regular fics and this tag-list if for this series. if you would like to be added to my regular tag-list, you can let me know in the comment section.

➨ welcome to my rafe series tag-list readers. if you aren't on my taglist and would like to be notified whenever i upload a chapter feel free to leave a comment in the comment section or hit that follow button with post notifications (works either way).

[coloursflyaway]

hello 💘 i’m loving your stories and i have a prompt for something silly: what could the boys possibly be using a ouija board for/why did they acquire it in the first place? you pointed it out among all their iterations of clue and now i have questions lol

And finally, I have your second fic ready!

This Is How For Now We Touch

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 5.200

Read on AO3

“Hey, Edwin”, Charles says, and there is something about his voice that lets Edwin know he will be rolling his eyes at least once during the upcoming conversation.

“What is it?”

“I got us something”, Charles answers and pulls a box from the bag he’s been carrying, black and unwieldy, adorned in white scribbles. He’s holding it out like it’s something precious, which Edwin highly doubts it is, considering the look Charles gives him. “Something really really cool.”

Edwin takes a moment to look at the box, the poor quality of the cardboard and the horrible picture of teenagers that are trying to look frightened, and yes, some eye rolling will definitely be necessary here. “Why on Earth would we need a Ouija board, Charles?”

The grin on Charles’ lips would be obnoxious if Edwin didn’t like him so much.

“To talk to ghosts, of course.”

It becomes a game, even if Edwin still does not know how: sometimes, when the agency is quiet, one of them gets the Ouija board, they set up some candles, and they talk to each other through it, pretending that they cannot see the other’s fingers as he moves the planchette with them.

Of course, it is silly and quite childish, but it’s also fun, a good way to focus on each other and their words completely, and sometimes, at least for Edwin, it’s easier to say things like this, without having to speak them out-loud.

So, when he looks at Charles one day and there is so much warmth and affection in his chest that it feels overfull, overflowing, ready to burst, he pulls out the board in the evening, lights the candles, and spells out, letter for beautiful, frightening, worthwhile letter: YOU’RE THE BEST FRIEND I’VE EVER HAD.

Usually, Charles would try and guess the words before Edwin has finished them, but this time, he doesn’t; when he looks up at Edwin again, his eyes are soft and bright with emotion, and maybe it’s just the flickering light of the candles, but they look just a little wet.

“You’re mine, too”, he says, and the feeling in Edwin’s chest grows even fuller, even warmer, even more overwhelming. He never wants it to fade.

(It doesn’t.)

I LET YOU WIN AT CLUE LAST TIME, Charles spells when they set up the board once more a week later, and almost doubles over laughing when Edwin starts sputtering in pure outrage.

It’s the longest they have ever gone without a case in the short history of their detective agency, and the candlelight is making Charles’ skin shine like polished metal when he slides the planchette to the last letter of his question.

WHAT’S YOUR FAVOURITE COLOUR?

There isn’t much to say, since there isn’t much going on, so Charles asking a question so inane makes sense, in some sort of way. Edwin finds he doesn’t mind it like he usually would, idle chitchat not to his taste unless Charles is the one making it.

Blue, Edwin wants to answer, out of habit more than anything, but then he stops himself, thinks. This is Charles after all, his best friend in the world, in his life and afterlife, and if anyone deserves an honest answer, it’s him. Even if the question is something so utterly inconsequential.

“Red”, he finally says, without quite knowing why. “It’s red, oh noble spirit.”

I CAN’T REMEMBER MY PARENTS’ FACES, Edwin spells out and every letter feels like the stab of a needle, the slice of a blade. And yet, it should be harder to admit to something so monstrous; and yet, it cannot be, because Charles’ gaze stays warm and understanding, just like Edwin knew it would.

“It’s been a long time”, Charles tells him, “And a lot has happened in between. I’m sure they’d understand, oh my spiritual guide.”

It takes a moment, because Edwin wants to give this idea a chance, because Charles is looking at him with so much kindness, but in the end, there is only one answer Edwin can give. He might have forgotten his parents’ faces, but not their character, not yet.

I DO NOT THINK SO.

A beat, far shorter than it should be, then Charles breaks the unspoken rules of their game and puts a hand over Edwin’s where it rests on the planchette, and holds it tight.

“Then they deserve to be forgotten”, he says, and sounds like he means it.

Edwin wishes he could say the same.

LET ME PUT SOME EYELINER ON YOU.

Charles waggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly, and for a moment, Edwin considers saying yes, just to see the surprise in Charles’ eyes. But it’s the third time he has asked the question, so he will ask again, and the longer Edwin resists, the greater the shock will be.

“Under absolutely no circumstances. Don’t even try it.”

AWW.

“Very well put, noble spirit. Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

DO YOU WANT TO GO ON A TRIP?, Edwin writes and watches Charles’ eyes light up, just like he knew they would. They haven’t done it often yet, usually quite busy with their cases, but they have just survived the Great Debacle of the Double-decker Buses, mainly unscathed even, and Edwin believes they deserve a little break.

“Oh, that would be brills, oh spiritual guide of mine”, Charles tells him, then adds, “Where do you want to go?”

There are a hundred suggestions burning on Edwin’s lips, because he never got to travel when he was still alive, only heard about faraway places through his mother’s library, but they all stay unspoken, at least for now.

YOU CHOOSE.

And Charles smiles at him, and Edwin knows it was the right thing to say immediately.

“That’s almost too much responsibility”, Charles answers, and he sounds a bit like no one trusted him with something like this before; Edwin hopes more than anything that it isn’t true. “I’ll come up with something. Something really good. I promise.”

(They go to Athens, and see the Acropolis and the Parthenon and afterwards, Delphi, and Edwin knows that, even if Charles enjoys it, he’s picked it for Edwin’s sake. Next time, he promises himself, he’ll choose, and they’ll go somewhere Charles will have the time of his afterlife.)

Charles seems to consider the words far longer than he usually would; maybe it should be worrying, but there is nothing about Charles that could worry Edwin, not really.

WHAT DO YOU MISS ABOUT BEING ALIVE?, he finally writes, and there is some fragility in the question that Edwin doesn’t understand and can feel anyway, like an echo of a thought he has had himself.

And he looks at Charles, looks at the space they have made for themselves, thinks of their cases and the souls they have helped, and comes up empty.

“To be perfectly truthful, nothing at all”, he answers, and there is something happy in the smile he gets from Charles in return, something sad as well.

It’s still morning, which makes the candles superfluous, but Edwin lights them anyway, puts them on their assigned spaces on the table cloth they got years ago; something about a séance without them just feels wrong to him.

“Do you want to write today?”, Charles asks from where he is already sitting, looking up at Edwin with eyes that Edwin could draw from memory and yet would never be able to get quite right.

“Yes, why not?”, he answers, like he hasn’t been buzzing with the need for it since the sun has risen. Not because there is something in particular he wants to say, but just because he wants Charles to listen, wants Charles’ gaze on his fingers as he moves the planchette, wants Charles’ attention on him.

It’s a desire that occurs often, at the same time one that Edwin doesn’t inspect too closely.

He sits down once the candles are lit, and it feels a little bit like coming home, because Charles smiles at him, focussed on nothing but Edwin and what he wants to say, even if what Edwin wants to say is nothing at all.

Do you have a favourite flower?, he wants to ask for a moment, then wants to spell, Your handwriting might be some of the worst I’ve ever seen. I enjoyed the last song you showed me. We should go on a trip sometime.

In the end, he writes none of it.

Because Charles looks up at him and there is so much tenderness in his gaze, and Edwin’s heart flows over with the love he has for him.

I LIKE YOU SO MUCH.

And as he reads it, letter for letter, Charles’ face lights up with the same emotion; Edwin knows his answer before he has a chance to give it, has known it all along.

“I like you just as much. Oh, best of all spiritual guides.”

I REALLY WANNA PUT SOME EYELINER ON YOU, Charles writes and Edwin has to do his very best not to smile.

“Absolutely not, noble spirit. I don’t know why you keep asking.”

U JUST WANNA SEE THE BOOK OF KELLS AGAIN, Charles spells and he’s grinning so smugly Edwin wants to groan.

“Absolutely not, I have no idea what you are talking about. Also, please be so kind as to use proper spelling”, Edwin tells him, resisting the urge to fix his bow tie, or smooth down his lapels, before tacking on, “Oh, noble spirit, who I know is familiar with the orthography of the word you.”

It makes Charles laugh, his warm, dark eyes crinkling at the edges, but Edwin ignores that, since Ouija boards do not transmit sound after all.

JUST ADMIT IT AND I’LL TAKE YOU TO DUBLIN, Charles spells out, and the problem, the real problem here, is that Edwin knows Charles means it and they will be through the mirror and at Trinity College within the minute.

The other real problem is that Charles is right, and that he knows it.

“Fine”, he concedes, hissing the word out like it has offended him personally, and then, because Charles’ grin is only widening, adds, “but we’ll also have to pay the Oscar Wilde statue a visit.”

The tip of Charles’ tongue peaks out between his lips as he drags the planchette across the board, quicker than he usually would, like there is a timeline he has to adhere to. It’s distracting in a way Edwin cannot quite pinpoint; it’s not like he hasn’t seen Charles’ tongue before, stuck out behind the back of infuriating witnesses, trying to catch raindrops that just phased through them, or, one memorable time, trying and failing to lick an ice cream cone.

And yet, Edwin cannot keep his eyes off it now, which makes it quite difficult to keep up with what it is Charles is spelling.

DO YOU WANNA GO TO A CONCERT TONIGHT, it reads in the end, after Edwin has patched up the gaps in between letters, and he already wants to shake his head, because good heavens, does he not want to, but Charles is still spelling.

THERE’S A SPECIAL’S CONCERT AND IT’S THEIR LAST TOUR AND I DON’T WANT TO GO ALONE

And he looks up at Edwin and his eyes are so wide and pleading, and Edwin knows he might be signing up for the worst night of a long time, but his head nods his approval before he has been able to form half a thought.

The smile that blooms on Charles’ lips within a split-second is worth all of it.

BRILLS, MATE. IT STARTS AT 8.

(It isn’t the worst night by any stretch of the imagination, not because Edwin ends up enjoying the music or the lights or the crowd, but because he watches Charles dance like he’s forgotten everything around them, because he listens to him belt out lyrics at the top of his lungs although no one but Edwin will hear him, because Charles is having the time of his afterlife and the thought that Edwin almost wasn’t there to witness it, is almost painful.)

LETS GO TO CORK, Edwin writes and Charles looks at him, confused.

“Cork? Why Cork? We’ve just been to Ireland.”

THERE IS A JAZZ FESTIVAL.

“But you’ll hate that. You don’t like concerts, do you?” Charles’ left eyebrow is raised, but he looks excited, and oh, Edwin definitely has made the right choice.

BUT YOU DO. LETS GO.

A pause, their fingers almost but not quite touching on the planchette, and then Charles ducks his head, smiles up at Edwin from beneath his lashes, and it does something to Edwin’s heart he refuses to think about.

“Yeah, okay.” Another pause, shorter this time. “Thank you. Oh, most generous of all spiritual guides.”

There is no Ouija board in Port Townsend, but once Crystal has gone to sleep, Edwin makes Charles go fetch it from their home. This, at least, Charles finds without difficulty.

For once, there is no discussion who will play the ghost, Edwin just picks up the planchette as soon as they have lit the single candle they could find, places it in the middle of the board and waits for Charles’ fingers to join his. They look right there, just barely touching.

“What wisdom do you want to impart on me tonight, my spiritual guide?”, Charles asks, a hint of a smile on his lips although he must know that it feels less like a game to Edwin right now, more like a confession. Edwin would do anything for him.

I’M AFRAID, he starts spelling and his hands are shaking, and Edwin doesn’t waste any energy on hoping Charles won’t notice; he will, of course, THAT YOU WILL END UP LIKING CRYSTAL MORE THAN ME.

There is a pause, and Edwin cannot look up at Charles and see his expression. He won’t find pity there, he knows Charles too well to fear that, but he isn’t sure what else to expect.

The planchette jerks under his fingertips, and then suddenly, there are arms around his shoulders, pulling Edwin closer until the only thing that stops the motion is the table digging into his stomach. Charles is solid against him in a way very few other things are, his head fitting into the crook between Edwin’s shoulder and neck in a way that seems to complete him, and Edwin wishes with something bordering on desperation that he could let out breath deep enough to carry all the tension dissipating from his spectral body.

“That’s never going to happen”, Charles mutters into the fabric of his suit, almost against his skin, and Edwin finally manages to raise his arms and hug Charles back. “There’s no one in the world I could like more than you. Believe me. Not a single person.”

They’re back in London – finally – and yet it doesn’t feel as triumphant as Edwin had hoped it would. Niko’s loss is a wound that Edwin cannot stop prodding, although it hurts every time his thoughts brush up against it, and even if he has come to like Crystal quite a bit, there is still a part of Edwin that misses how it was before she was there, when it was just Charles and him.

And maybe Charles can sense it in him, maybe he feels the same; what Edwin knows is that the first evening, after Crystal has gone back to her hotel to have a long shower and whatever the minibar has to offer, Charles walks into their game closet and comes out of it holding a familiar, battered black-and-white box.

“Let me write this time?”, he asks, and Edwin nods; how could he do anything else?

They set up their little séance, the white tablecloth, the dried flowers, the dripping candles, and although he was the one to suggest it, Charles’ hands hesitate for a moment before settling down, fingertips barely touching the planchette.

He has beautiful hands, Edwin allows himself to notice this time, strong and yet elegant, and Edwin remembers how the left one felt, even through their gloves, when Charles had put it over his own, expecting to be sucked into oblivion any second.

ABOVE ALL, Charles writes, then pauses, like he has to collect his thoughts, and Edwin will give him this time, will give him all the time he needs, whenever he needs it. I AM GLAD YOU ARE HERE.

They look up at the same time, and Edwin’s tears are glistening in Charles’ eyes, and part of him wants to reach out and hug Charles and feel him solid and real against his chest, part of him wants to stay like this forever, looking at Charles and being looked at in return.

Edwin does a third thing.

ME 2, he writes, orthography be damned, and then grips Charles’s hands in his and vows he won’t let go until he has made him smile again.

HOW MANY LEGS DO YOU THINK A MILLIPEDE REALLY HAS, Charles asks weeks later.

They have exhausted all other kinds of questions, the sun almost rising between the skyline of London, and Edwin can’t help but chuckle. Charles quirks an eyebrow in response, an invitation, and he’s so pretty, so carefree and relaxed that Edwin wants to reach out and touch him, no matter in which way, in hopes of some of it rubbing off on him.

“Do you really want to know, oh noble spirit? Because I can find the appropriate books to answer your question”, he asks, but allows his fingers to slide just a little closer to Charles’ on the planchette until they are touching in the most insignificant, the most important way.

YEAH, GO ON.

And it hurts to break the contact once more, but it’s worth it to read Charles page upon page of The Complete Encyclopedia of Common Insects on their sofa, Charles’ feet resting in Edwin’s lap and Edwin’s fingers slowly moving to circle Charles’ ankle; not a shackle, but an anklet, a piece of jewellery.

DO YOU KNOW ANY POEMS? Edwin asks, because he’s spent the day buried in volumes of Byron’s prose, and Charles looks like he might start laughing; Edwin isn’t sure why.

“Sure do, oh greatest of spiritual guides”, he replies, and it definitely isn’t the answer Edwin expected.

WHICH IS YOUR FAVOURITE?

“Whichever it is you’re reading to me at the moment”, Charles answers easily, and Edwin isn’t sure how he ever could not have fallen in love with him.

LET ME PUT SOME EYELINER ON YOU, Charles spells out, familiar words and an even more familiar grin on his lips.

“This is the fourteenth time you asked me that, noble spirit”, Edwin points out, and cannot help but smile back. They were so busy on back-to-back cases that it feels like he hasn’t had time to look at Charles properly in far too long. He’s beautiful like this, bathed in candle light and the silence of their agency, and Edwin aches with it in the most pleasant of ways.

YOU COUNTED?

“Of course.”

A pause that lasts maybe a second too long; Charles’ fingertips are pressed against his, and Edwin cannot feel, and feels them still.

I DID TOO.

YOU WERE QUITE BRILLIANT TODAY, Edwin spells out, because it’s true; Charles’ quick thinking had saved them all that day, battering the right one of three vessels on pure instinct alone.

“Ah, shush”, Charles says, but he is ducking his head, smiling; Edwin loves him so much it feels like a physical weight in his chest, grounding him in the best way. “Couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

THEN WE WERE QUITE BRILLIANT TODAY, Edwin tries again, in case it will be easier for Charles to take the compliment this way. He tries for a smile as well, and Charles’ eyes go soft at that; their fingers are touching, but it almost feels like Charles is trying to press closer still.

“That we were, oh sweetest of all spiritual guides”, Charles concedes, and for a split-second, the brightness of his smile is enough to let Edwin forget about anything else, but only that.

Sweetest?

MY FAVOURITE POEM USED TO BE FIRST MEMORY BY LOUISE GLÜCK, Charles writes, apropos of nothing, on a calm summer night when Crystal has long since gone back to her apartment and the only thing they have to do is tell silly stories, taking turns with the Ouija board.

“Your favourite…?”, Edwin starts, but it’s true, he has asked about it before. He stops for a moment, Charles watching him, and rifles through his memories to find the poem in question, before stopping dead in his tracks.

It makes sense, too much of it.

“Oh, Charles…”

Without thinking, he puts his hand over Charles’ on the planchette, even if only for a moment, because Charles is writing more.

IT’S NOT ANYMORE.

And Charles gives him a smile, and it’s not broken and not brittle, and so Edwin chooses to believe him, and smiles back.

“Give me a minute to get some books”, Edwin says, and gets up before Charles has the opportunity to answer, “We will find you a new one.”

Edwin waits until Charles has sat down and put his fingers where they belong, then writes, WHAT WERE YOU TWO TALKING ABOUT?

It sounds jealous, but that is not what makes Edwin ask the question, it’s genuine curiosity. He had been setting up the Ouija board when Crystal had returned to the agency, having forgotten her keys, and Charles and her had been talking for a few minutes while Edwin had spread the table cloth, fixed the flowers, lit the candles and the incense.

“Oh, nothing really”, Charles starts, half chuckling as he pushes a hand through his hair. It musses up his curls and Edwin desperately wants to reach out to fix them. “She asked about the séance, and I tried to explain it, but I don’t think she got it.”

HOW SO?

“Oh, she told me to “just start communicating like adults” or something like that”, he answers, and there is something bashful about it that Edwin doesn’t associate with him at all, something that looks sweet on him and yet feels strange. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it. She just doesn’t understand it.”

LET ME PUT SOME EYELINER ON YOU.

The same request, the same grin on Charles’ pink lips; it’s the sixteenth time he has asked Edwin this, and he wants to refuse out of habit, but he’s been wanting to see that surprise on Charles’s face for so long and maybe Edwin is just tired of waiting.

“Alright, oh noblest of spirits”, Edwin tells him, and the astonishment on Charles’ face was worth the wait and then some.

I’M GLAD I TOLD YOU, Edwin spells and this should be harder to say, should be something he doesn’t want to remind Charles of, but it isn’t. BACK IN HELL.

And he’s right to say it, because Charles’ eyes soften, and he smiles, and Edwin loves him so much he almost tells him again.

“Me too”, Charles answers, and it makes Edwin shiver; Charles moves his left index finger so it is resting on top of Edwin’s. “I’m honoured, even.”

Charles seems to hesitate for a moment, before he starts to move their hands, touching and yet not intertwined like Edwin imagines them being sometimes late at night, when they are wrapped up in companionable silence on their sofa, also touching, but never quite in the way he wants them to.

I THINK I HAVE A NEW FAVOURITE, he spells. POEM, I MEAN.

“Oh?”, Edwin asks, and for some reason it feels like his pulse should quicken, like this should be a confession and not just a statement of facts. Something about Charles’ eyes when he looks up at him again from the planchette, something about the quirk of his lips. “Which one is it?”

THE 2ND ONE YOU READ LAST NIGHT.

The problem is that Edwin has read so many poems over the last months, all to Charles, all on their sofa, almost all with Charles’ feet in his lap, Edwin’s fingers resting on or around his ankle.

So he says, “Oh. I am glad you enjoyed it.”

And vows to look it up afterwards, especially when the look, that strange, intense look doesn’t leave Charles’ face for the rest of the game.

“Can I tell you something?”, Charles asks him, rocking back on his heels, and Edwin is struck again by how much of Charles is just motion, even if it must be the hundredth time he’s noticed it. And how fitting it is, too, since Edwin life had never felt like it was moving, yet in his death, the Universe never seems to have stopped spinning: Charles is the centre of it.

“Of course”, he says easily, and Charles gives him a quick smile that Edwin will treasure like every other one he has ever gotten.

“Like this?”, Charles adds, and puts down the Ouija board in front of Edwin, which he must have been hiding behind his back. It’s a surprise; usually it’s Edwin who uses the barrier the board offers much more than Charles does, and nothing has happened in the last few days that Edwin could imagine rattling Charles so much he feels the need of it.

Yet, he nods immediately, and there is another smile, a little brighter this time.

They set up the candles and the incense and everything else, even if it is Edwin, who is doing most of the work, because Charles seems to be distracted, having to flick the lighter several times to produce a flame. Edwin would be worried, but Charles doesn’t seem scared, doesn’t seem to be hurt, just seems… distracted.

He sits down as soon as Edwin puts the planchette on the board, his fingers finding it like they have been itching for it.

“You ready?”, he wants to know, and Edwin has to stop himself from asking what is happening, instead just sits and nods, placing his fingers delicately next to Charles’, making sure they touch just so.

“What do want to tell me, noble spirit?”, he starts, and hasn’t even finished the words before the planchette is moving; Charles is looking at it intently, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his plush lips, and Edwin would be mesmerised by it, if he didn’t have to know what Charles wants to tell him so desperately.

I REALLY WANT TO FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU.

Edwin doesn’t have to breathe and yet the words suck the air right of the room; he doesn’t have to drink and yet his lips and throat are dry; he doesn’t have a heart that beats and yet it stops.

There are no thoughts left in his mind, but when he looks up from where their fingers are touching, Charles is already looking at him, eyes wide and earnest and almost pleading; he’s not scared, he’s not hurt, he’s… excited. This is Charles before an adventure, Charles packing his backpack and ready to leave, only waiting for Edwin to stop fussing, Charles like he always is, in motion, in flux, in the centre of Edwin’s universe.

Are you certain?, Edwin should ask, but he won’t insult him like this; Charles would never say something so momentous if he hadn’t put the thought into it before.

“Okay”, he says instead, and still feels breathless, feels starved for any additional kind of love Charles might give him that he hasn’t been allowed to taste before. “Brills. How do we- how do you want to start?”

A smile blooms on Charles’ face that rivals the sun, the stars, the candles illuminating the single most important being in Edwin’s life, and he shrugs. Their fingers press together a little more, although Edwin isn’t certain who of them moved them.

I DON’T KNOW, Charles writes, and Edwin isn’t certain what his heart is doing within his chest, only knows that it is bright and warm and overwhelming, that it is the closest he’s ever gotten to Heaven. I THINK I’VE ALREADY STARTED WITHOUT YOU.

And if possible, his smile gets brighter still, happier, and Edwin’s heart is pressing against his ribs, trying to escape them so Edwin can lay it at Charles’ feet and ask him to take care of it.

“Alright”, he says, and doesn’t know how he is still speaking, how he is having a single thought. “Then, what do we do?”

Charles hesitates for a moment, and Edwin needs the reprieve, because he would have been happy with loving Charles from the little bit of distance between them, would have taken every word and every touch and every glance and treasured them without ever asking for more. And yet, here is Charles, the sun behind his eyes, saying that he has already started loving Edwin back. That he wants to do so even more.

The planchette moves, and it’s the only thing that breaks Edwin out of his reverie, because whatever Charles wants to say, he needs to listen to.

KISS?

And maybe Edwin doesn’t have to listen after all, because the word buries itself into his very soul, digging itself so deep into his mind he’ll never think of anything else again, because -

He is nodding before he can comprehend the motion, and for a moment, Charles just looks at him, happy and still excited and maybe, just maybe, a little loving, and it’s all the warning Edwin gets.

There are lips on his, and they are soft and warm, and Edwin doesn’t even have the mind to consider the feeling of them, because Charles is kissing him and Charles is kissing him and Charles is kissing him.

A hand cradles Edwin’s cheek and tilts his head just so, and then Charles kisses him differently, his tongue teasing at Edwin’s lips until he parts them, and it’s bliss, it’s Heaven, it’s everything Edwin never thought he would deserve.

Edwin does his best to kiss back, and Charles sucks in a breath they do not need, before he kisses him with even more fervour, making a sound at the back of his throat that Edwin drinks down like it is ambrosia.

It lasts forever and it lasts no time at all, and when they part, Charles leans his forehead against Edwin’s, so that they would be sharing air between them, would share their very breaths.

“Definitely started without you”, Charles whispered into that hallowed space between their lips, and there is laughter in his voice, there are tears.

“I did, too”, Edwin replies, and knows that he sounds just the same.

Their hands, still resting on the planchette, are intertwined, and without looking down, Edwin knows they’ll stay that way forever, now.

______

Here's the two poems mentioned: First Memory by Louise Glück Like Air by Laura Hershey (and yes, Charles meant this to be a love confession, but unfortunately not even Edwin's brain is big enough to retain all poems he has ever read.)

[robogart]

no hate at all whatsoever, just an inquiring mind who has never understood adoptables or things like that - are you not concerned that people will just take the outfits you designed and use them for their characters anyway? or, derivatives of it? what kind of rights do you have as the artist and like, what makes it a worthwhile business for you?

Adoptables are honestly something I'm extremely new to, so I feel like I'm not as informed in the business of it as others are (so feel free to chime in anyone who has bought/makes adoptables and has more insight)!

When it comes to people just taking the designs, I feel like you could argue that's a concern for any piece of art/design that's out here on the internet. As wild as the internet is, I truly believe most people are cool and see that ripping off a design from someone is unkind and hurtful. And more often than not, people will notice if someone plagiarized an artists work and will reach out to the artists to let them know.

On the whole, I think for everyone 1 person who will steal a design, there are at least 100+ people who think that's shitty and will back up an artist for it. Word gets out and for as big as the internet is, the art spaces and communities are quite small. People look out for one another here and grifters and art theft isn't tolerated in these spaces.

For rights it varies for everyone, but I usually give personal/non-commercial rights (although I'm open for buying commercial rights for some adoptables) and I retain the ability to use the design for promotional work (I don't usually end up doing this, but I put it in just in case)! And also I ask to be credited as well.

I enjoy making adoptables simply because I like designing things and instead of having them sit in a folder, it's nice to put them up for sale so they can get a new life somewhere! I wouldn't call it a huge part of my business right now because I'm still pretty fresh at it and do it rather infrequently (and I'm still learning a lot about it)! But it's fun nonetheless and if someone grabs a design, it's always really cool and super appreciated! 🙏💖

I hope this helped answer the question a little bit for you! I apologize again that I'm pretty shallow on my information for adoptables themselves, but I hope I could share a little insight with at least the bits that I know! 🙏💕💖

[artist-issues]

this my sound silly, but do you have any advice on how you come up with something to say for a story?

I think you're right that good art has something to say and communicates it well. That's certainly true of every story I've ever loved.

But while I love inventing fantasy worlds, you've made me realize I've never actually planned to say anything with them.

I've got lots of opinions, lots of beliefs, lots of stuff to say, but now that I realize I need to, it's been hard to pick one of those to be the core point of a story.

the trouble is, the dominant writing advice I saw online was the opposite. that stories made for the purpose of communicating a message or promoting something just turn into preachy propaganda, so the best way to make a good story (that, dare I invoke the curse, appealed to a wider audience) was to muddy it so you could take away as many interpretations from it as possible. thus most of the material I've given myself to work with has been slightly poisoned.

I really like how you said all of that! I agree with your assessment of the advice most people give.

Here's how I do it:

A loose concept, like a disgraced knight falling in love with the King's head of staff who's come to live in the village he's hiding in, will pop into my brain. I'll like the concept. I'll imagine one or two interactions between them that I just like.

But when it comes time to write anything down, even just for my own notes—then it's time to find a message. And usually that's not hard, or at least, that's not disingenuous, because:

what I believe, my worldview, was already subliminally shaping the things that I liked.

So then as I go to write down the names, the histories, the plot points, of my fun little knight love story idea, I find that something kind of...readily fits them.

But now here's the catch; it really helps to know what you believe, and to feel strongly about it, for all of that to come as naturally as possible.

About Propaganda "versus" Stories:

It's a lie to say that something which is created to say something is always propaganda, and something which is created with no careful point thought out is always art. Silly thing to believe. It's like saying "all words are propaganda." No, all words are communication. It's not our fault they don't like that we know what we want to say, and we want them to understand it clearly.

I mean. All art is propaganda, if by "propaganda" or "preachy" you mean, "I tried to take what was going on in my head & heart and put it in your head & heart." All art, all storytelling, is that. Otherwise you'd just keep what you think and feel bouncing around in your own brain, instead of doing anything outward (writing, drawing, painting, singing, speaking, reacting with your body language) with it.

I think what people are getting at when they say "avoid being preachy" or "that's not art, it's propaganda" is "you weren't being genuine." And that can be true. Sometimes people can tack a meaning onto a movie or a story where it doesn't fit because they either a) don't believe that strongly in the thing themselves, but everyone around them was clamoring for it or b) they were lazy and didn't do the work to make the story fit, genuinely, with the message, in a way that enhances and makes the message winsome.

But as bad as those two mistakes are, neither of them prove that intending to say something with your story, very carefully and genuinely, that you don't want misinterpreted, is somehow a bad thing.

Look at the fairy tales that the Brothers' Grimm collected. Look at any stories from the time before commercialism: Our oldest stories combined genuine enjoyment with the virtues and meanings that made enjoyment possible/worthwhile.

Anyway. I have a feeling you agree with me already about this so I'll hop down off that soap box.

What Comes First: Having Fun Making What You Like, or Choosing Something to Say?

I don't think it is wrong to tell a story that...you didn't have an intended thesis written down for. I think people like J.R.R. Tolkien and Walter Elias Disney prove that. But the thing is, what they believed got infused into their storytelling, because of course it did. It can't help it. When you want the audience to like your lead character, you make her likeable—but the traits you think are likeable are informed by something.

Snow White is innocent and pure because Walt Disney naturally considered those things beautiful and good and worth liking. He probably didn't even think to write it down and revolve everything around it: it just came out that way.

Frodo is a little scholar, and willing to soldier on with what little he can do, despite his lack of experience, because those are character traits Tolkien felt were good and likeable. Why? Because deep down, in his worldview, he believes being book-smart and doing what you can with what you have is valuable. And that just...comes out, much like his valuing of history, in the thing he creates.

Now, if they didn't know what they believed--or if they were insecure people "blown about by every wind of false doctrine" that comes their way--or if they were focused more on satisfying what the largest number of people liked--they wouldn't have been able to infuse the story with any genuine meaning, planned-out or natural.

That's what I think.

I think it's all a matter of loving what's good and true. Training your affections, so that you care most about things that are worth caring about—the things you feel most strongly about in characters will be the things you feel most strongly about in life. I love Stitch because I love redemption. Not primarily because I love sci-fi characters, the color blue, or the blend of ugly-and-cute—even though I do like those things on a more minor scale. See?

But if you've trained your affections for junk food—you feel most strongly appreciative of characters that are hot, or spout off funny one-liners, or come onscreen to cool music—then that's what will naturally come up in your own storytelling.

There's also nothing wrong with doing it the other way; saying you want to teach a certain lesson, and then coming up with characters and settings to fit that lesson. Coming at it from that direction is just as valid—as long as you put in the work, and care more about that lesson you genuinely believe in than you do what other people think.

Anyway,

To Write Your Own Main Point/Thesis/Armature/Theme

When it’s time to start writing anything down, it’s time to figure out the main point, and that’s when I...typically think about what I'd want to teach the kids I'm around, to be honest.

With my disgraced-knight love story, I go "what is it he loves about the girl, in all those vague vibe-y scenes I’ve been picturing?" And I make the connection between her virtuous character traits to what I want him, the main character, to learn.

So for example, she used to live in the palace, working for the King, but she was humble enough to give all that up and live in a no-name town to take care of her stepfather. He's disgraced and doesn't want anyone to know who he is—well, that's a pride issue, totally the opposite of how humble his love interest is. And why’s she humble? Because she’s not focused on herself. She doesn’t care about her own reputation or status. So then I just reverse engineer that: the point of the story is "Live in the King's name, not your own." Now one of the two main characters embodies that—the other has to learn it, and the story is the obstacle course he’s pushed through to get there.

I wasn't consciously thinking about making her the king's former head of staff, or him disgraced, when I first came up with the vague concept of the story, see? I just liked the "vibe" of a hopeless dude suddenly seeing a ray of light in the "vibe" of a girl from poor circumstances who seems happy regardless of them. I liked that "vibe." Then I traced what I liked about the vibe back to something that is true and worth teaching or appreciating in real life.

I’m in a job I don’t love right now, and it could make me miserable, but if I just remember “in everything you do, whether in word or in deed, do for the glory of the Lord,” then my focus isn’t on myself and I have joy and hope. And that hope can be used to point others, around me, to hope, too. So I’m not “preaching” something disingenuous; I’m living it, because this is what I believe, so no wonder it’s also leaking it’s way into my story. I just happen to be creating a pipe so that the leak flows more smoothly, which can only help, in the long run.

But I’ve done it other ways, too. Once I watched kind of from afar as a friend’s family fell apart. I felt like, from the outside, I could see where one of my friends was hurting and what they needed to accept (from the Bible) to move forward, but I wasn’t in a position to say it to my friend directly. Then I figured, “if my one friend is going through this situation, others probably are too, and this lesson from the Bible is universal anyway” so I…made up an analogy for the way their family fell apart, then came up with an ending that taught the “family” in the analogy the lesson I got from the Bible. So for that, you can see how I first came up with the main point, then built up characters and a world and a story to fit around it.

Both ways work, the chicken or the egg first. But they only work if you are committed to working hard and serving others with your story, not committed to being popular or “only making what YOU like.”

Make sense? I hope so! Thank you for the question!

[nataliesfirefly]

chapter 4 - ‘tis the damn season

a/n: new chapter for you!! a little longer than usual, but i had so much fun writing this one :)) the slow burn is slow burning, but we’re finally getting somewhere! it will pay off, i promise <3

chapter warnings: slight language

wc: 4.7k

series masterlist

The word ‘stress’ does not even begin to describe how you are feeling at the moment. This time of year is always the worst, right before Christmas holiday. All the final exams fall in the same week, right before the end of the term, and not to mention your final project for English; the essay.

Which wasn’t coming along too badly, you realize. You and Farleigh have actually made impressive progress, and not to be too prideful, but this might be the best essay you’ve ever written. But definitely not because of his help. No, you’ve done most of it. He’s just been there for… moral support? And… occassionally adding worthwhile things to the writing. Occasionally.

In fact, you unfortunately have started to grow fond of his presence and his company. He’s not a bad guy, you’ve realized. He’s quite funny, and has a certain way of dragging a giggle out of you or causing a smile to tug at your lips, in contrast to your usual resting bitch face. You’re going to miss those late nights spent in his room, considerably past curfew, meaning you typically had to sneak back to your own dorm as carefully as possible. You can’t seem to figure out why time goes by so fast when you’re with him, whether it’s because you’re trying to finish up a project or because of… other reasons.

Lately, you’ve also been finding yourself to be very nervous whenever he speaks to you. Your voice trembles, you suddenly forget your whole vocabularly, and that stupid blush that always creeps onto your face, feeling like flames on your cheeks.

You only have a bit of editing and revising to do on the essay before it is ready to turn in. Some finishing touches. Which means it will be ready to turn in next Friday, a week from today, the last day of the term before winter holiday.

You throw the covers off of yourself and yawn, climbing out of bed. This weekend will be brutal, since you’ve designated it to studying for exams, which means a few late nights spent at the library. But for some reason, you feel excited to go to class today. English class, specifically. You slip out of your pajamas and fold them neatly into a drawer.

As you step into your skirt and tug on your white button-up, you glance at your calendar posted on the wall. You feel warm just thinking about returning home to see your family in Bath. You picture your mother’s welcoming smile and your father’s comforting embrace, and those evenings you will spend gathered around the fireplace, regaling them with tales from your first term of the school year as you stuff your face with sweets. If you’re lucky, you’ll even get snow. The last time you had a white Christmas was… well, you can’t even seem to remember.

You observe yourself in the mirror as you work on tying your tie, suddenly hyper-aware of your appearance. You comb your fingers through your hair, realizing you haven’t brushed it yet. You step over to your chest of drawers and grab your hairbrush, dragging it through your hair quite aggressively. You’ve never cared much about how you look, it’s always been more of a personality thing. How others perceived you was what mattered, but not in a physical aspect.

But who are you trying to impress? You scoff sarcastically at the idea, shaking your head. You throw your brush onto your bed before grabbing a pair of black socks, pulling them up your legs. And finally, your trusty jacket, provided to you by the school. It doesn’t help much with the cold, but at least it looks cool with your uniform. You hurriedly step into your shoes once you’ve buttoned your coat and race back to the mirror, brushing through your hair one last time. Does it look okay? You think. Should I tie it up? Or at least do something with it?

No. You shake your head and bop yourself on the head with the brush. “That’s enough,” You say under your breath, as if to silence your own thoughts. You sling your bag over your shoulder and as you’re walking to the door, your stomach lurches as a sudden realization comes over you.

You’re trying to look good for Farleigh. What the hell are you on?! You slap a hand to your forehead and groan dramatically. Suddenly, you think of Clara and all her random appearances she’s been making, flirting with him and twirling her hair. What does she do differently?

Her skirt. She rolls it up on purpose to make it shorter. You chew on your bottom lip nervously as you return to the mirror once again. You tentatively roll your skirt up at the waistband, making it a bit shorter. You’ve always followed dresscode, the fingertip rule. But if she can get away with it, so can you, right?

You step back and admire your long legs and your thighs. Wait, what on Earth are you doing? Your face burns with humiliation. You’re basically trying to seduce a man. No, not even a man. A boy! An immature, stupid, extremely handsome boy.

You trudge back to your door determinedly, swinging it open and stepping out into the hallway, locking it behind you. You picture Farleigh’s face in your mind as you walk through the corridor and down the stairs. His caramel skin, his eyes that remind you of chocolate, his perfect teeth, his curls… Fuck.

And the weather isn’t helping. You sort of regret adjusting your skirt now, since you’ve just given the freezing air more opportunity to bite at your skin. It seems today you might actually be on time to class, though. You reach the door to the east wing and step inside, seeing a group of students gathered outside Mrs. Chasteen’s door.

You squint harder and realize it’s your class. You curiously walk over and spot Magdalena, so you tap on her shoulder.

She turns around and her face immediately brightens. “Hey! You’re early for once in your life.” She grins and you shove her playfully. “Oh, come off it. Is she not here today?” You point to the door and she quirks an eyebrow. “No, I think she’s here. Sometimes it just takes a while for her to get here, and we show up before her.” She shrugs. “But what would you know? You’re always dashing in at the last second.” Lena tsks and shakes her head, wagging a finger at you.

“Ready for holiday?” You ask. Her eyes brighten at the mention of the upcoming break. “Oh my God. You don’t even know how ready I am.” She lets out a sigh of relief. “But we have to get through those bloody exams first. At least we got our GCSEs done last year.” Lena nudges you softly with her shoulder. “True.” You nod in agreement. You truly believed those blasted tests were going to be the death of you.

At that moment, Lena’s gaze leaves yours and travels slightly upwards, to something in the distance. Or someone, rather.

“There’s your shadow.” She points with a quiet little giggle. “Wha-” You turn to follow her eyes. Shit. You immediately turn back to Lena, your heart racing as panic starts to set in. You start to feel hot, despite the cold air of the corridor.

“What do you mean ‘my shadow’?” You furrow your brows and tilt your head, hoping she elaborates. “I mean, you two are always together. And he follows you around like a lost puppy. I know I’m not the only one who notices it.” She lowers her voice to a hurried whisper.

“Maybe because we’re working on the final project together?!” You whisper back harshly. “Mm. Right.” She nods and crosses her arms, spinning on her heel to go chat with someone else. “Lena! Lena, don’t leave me!” You whisper-scream after her, but she doesn’t turn back for you.

“What was that about?” You already know it’s him before you even register who’s speaking. You spin around, much closer to Farleigh than you thought. You stare up at him awkwardly, pretty much eye-level with his chest. You step back cautiously.

“Uh. You know…” For such a large vocabularly you claim to hold, it seems to be failing you at the moment. “Erm. Girl things?” It comes out like more of a question than you mean it to. You feel that familiar burn scorching up your neck and onto your cheeks. Fuck, it always gives you away.

“Girl things?” He repeats, raising his eyebrows. “Yep. Like, periods and stuff.” You freeze, your brain registering what just came out of your mouth. Oh, good Lord. Your eyes shoot down to the ground as you suddenly become interested in the stonework.

“Oh. That’s… cool. I guess.” He replies just as awkwardly, and for a minute you think that maybe he’s nervous too. No, he’s not. How else would you reply to a girl who’s just randomly brought up periods? There’s not much you can really say to that.

“Not really.” You shake your head and shift your weight onto your other leg, glancing back up at him. You really need to work on keeping your mouth shut during awkward moments.

And then, for one sliver of a second, you see his eyes trail down to your legs, and then quickly back up to your gaze. He clears his throat. “Our teacher seems to be late today,” He remarks.

You nod quickly, grateful for the change of subject. “Yeah. Maybe she’s just as sick of this as we all are.” You gesture to your fellow peers. You look back up to him, meeting his eyes once again. You swear, if you could just swim in them you would. You would make them your home and never leave their warmth. He stares back at you, his gaze unrelenting. You feel yourself growing hot once again, like you need to go back out into that chilling wind.

And then, your favorite person comes along, cheerfully skipping through the corridor, her steps echoing off the tall walls. She pauses mid-step, turning to you and Farleigh.

“Oh! Hi, guys!” Clara grins, showing off her blinding white smile.

“Hello, Clara.” You mutter reluctantly. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. “Hey,” Farleigh replies. She steps oddly close to him, staring up at him with her baby blue eyes. Those must be her secret weapon, you think. She traces a finger down his chest and giggles. What the fuck is she doing? Farleigh’s face reddens and he looks down at her, a smile tugging at his lips. “What was that for?” He mutters. “No reason,” She shrugs with another giggle.

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt jealousy this strong. It’s a feeling that bubbles up in your stomach, clawing its way up into your chest, burning through your veins like a fire. It’s an unpleasant feeling, you realize, as you look at Clara and try to hide your distaste. How can he be enjoying this? Does he really like her? Your mind spins.

She steps back from him and flips her hair. “I really should be getting to class right now…” She says, looking around the hall. “You’d better get going, then,” You murmur under your breath before clearing your throat. The words kind of just slipped out before you could think about them. Clara glances over to you so quickly you swear she almost snaps her neck.

“What was that?” She asks with that saccharine smile playing on her lips. “I said you’d better get going, that’s all.” You smile right back at her. She looks like she’s biting back some snippy remark, before she flips the switch and smiles again. “You’re right. Don’t want to be late!” She winks at Farleigh before skipping off again.

You look down at your shoes for a moment, pondering what to say next before looking back up at him. To your surprise, he’s staring down at you, a look on his face that you can’t quite figure out.

“What was that about?” You ask, snickering nervously as if it’s humorous, when really the whole interaction made you want to die. He opens his mouth to speak, but then is interrupted by greetings from your classmates to Mrs. Chasteen. You turn around to see her turning the key to her classroom, fiddling with the doorknob before opening it. You decide it’s better to not talk about the Clara situation right now.

“So, you think we can get the essay done today?” Farleigh asks as you both walk to your usual table. “Possibly. If Mrs. Chasteen even allows us to work on it,” You reply, setting your things down and sitting. You tug at your skirt, which to your annoyance, continues to ride up your thighs. Fuck Clara and her stupid skirts.

“Look at her. She looks exhausted. Do you really think she wants to teach right now?” He subtly nods in your teacher’s direction. She’s sitting at her desk and sipping a mug of steaming tea, or perhaps coffee, you can’t tell which. She usually has bags under her eyes but today they seem more pronounced.

“She’s probably been grading a lot,” You mutter to him. He shrugs. “Or maybe she had a thrilling Thursday night out on the town,” He whispers, nudging you playfully with his arm. The heat of the proximity has you burning up, inside and out. It makes you want to snuggle up next to him and chase his heat, especially on this cold winter’s day. You remind yourself to laugh at his comment.

“Mrs. Chasteen? Going out? Yeah, when pig’s fly.” You giggle genuinely at the thought. “I’m serious! We should do a stake out,” A boyish grin spreads across his face, lazy and lovely and truly beautiful. You drink in the sight, taking in his features and wishing you could screenshot this moment with your brain and keep it tucked away for later.

“She’s married, you idiot.” You swat him on the arm and his stupidly charming grin only intensifies. “Well, you’d be surprised.” He leans back in his chair and spreads his long legs. God, you usually hate when men do that. But…

Your eyes betray you. Fuck, he’s so handsome. And tempting. You’ve never had such scandalized thoughts about someone before. You start to wonder what he would look like with his shirt collar loosened, or with the buttons undone. Or maybe with just his tie on.

You hear your name suddenly, interrupting your diabolical thoughts. “Are you okay?” Farleigh asks. Shit. You’ve spent too much time analyzing his appearance and imagining him with less clothes.

You already know your face is giving you away with the pure heat that warms your cheeks. “Oh.” You say stupidly. What the fuck?! You curse yourself internally.

“Yeah. I’m great. Sorry, I was just… thinking about–” Think. Think of something. An excuse. Anything.

“The essay. Mhm.” You nod aggressively almost to convince yourself rather than him. “What about it?” He asks, raising an eyebrow with intrigue.

“I think it’s gonna be… so good,” You lose your train of thought once again as your eyes focus between his legs this time. Did he choose tighter pants today on purpose, or is your mind playing tricks on you? Your tongue darts out to lick your lips before you glance back up at him.

His eyes widen. You freeze and immediately turn to face the front of the classroom with a loud swallow. Thank God for Mrs. Chasteen.

She clears her throat. “I’m not feeling too well today, hence my late arrival. Feel free to work on your essay. Or whatever it is that you want to do…” She waves her hand dismissively and then continues organizing things at her desk. The chatter in the classroom resumes.

“Told ya,” Farleigh says, clearly happy with himself and his prediction. Normally, you would make some quippy remark about how this is the one time he’s right and he’d better enjoy it while it lasts. But instead you remain silent, pulling out your laptop.

It’s your last night to study and cram all possible information into your mind before finals week. You’re not even sure your brain has anymore room to store said information. Nevertheless, you feel slightly more confident about your tests than you did before your first night at the library on Friday. And, you and Farleigh finished the essay and turned it in.

You yawn and check the time in the bottom right corner of your laptop’s screen. Sunday, 10:03 PM. Your tired eyes widen and glance around. To your surprise, many students are still gathered here, almost every desk full. Lucky for you (and everyone else), the library has extended hours during the week before end of term exams. You believe it closes at three AM, since keeping it open any later would encourage students to pull an all nighter. Which they probably do anyways when they get back to their dorm.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and you spin around. “Hey.” Farleigh smiles down at you. Your heart almost leaps out of your chest at the sight of him. “Hi,” You respond, your voice coming out at a higher pitch than you expected. You cringe internally.

“You look like hell,” He says. His voice carries a teasing lilt, so you play along and poke him. “Let me guess, you’ve been here since… six?” He tilts his head in a way that reminds you of a puppy.

“Six thirty, to be precise,” You reply with a sarcastic eye roll. “Jesus. What a tryhard,” He shakes his head in mock disapproval. “Shut up. Showing up to study at ten PM is arguably worse. Do you always wait until the last possible minute?” You scoff but it turns into more of a giggle than you intended. He sits down next to you.

“I’m smart enough to where I can wait ‘til the last minute.” He flashes a grin at you before twisting in his seat to pull out some books from his bag. “Well, we’ll see once we get exam scores back.” You sigh.

“Oh, really? You wanna make a bet?” Farleigh questions in an oddly flirtatious tone. “Mhm,” Once you realize he’s staring at you, you feel a tingle shoot down your spine as you slowly turn to meet his eyes. His gaze is hot and heavy and it almost melts you on the spot. You inhale a shaky, quiet breath.

“What will you give me if I make a better grade than you?” He asks, his voice lower and seemingly quieter than before. An unfamiliar warmth spreads throughout you while an unwelcome swarm of butterflies makes their home in your stomach.

You cough loudly into your arm to interrupt the moment, mainly because you’re scared of how you would respond to such a flirtatious question. You don’t trust your mouth right now. Farleigh just laughs and returns to his textbooks, flipping through them.

Why does he say stuff like that? It only gets your hopes up that he might return your feelings. Which, of course, he never will. Why did you get cursed with this obsession? Well, you wouldn’t call it an obsession. Just a… crush. No, that sounds too childish. You just like him.

You spend the next two hours studying with Farleigh. You write each other calculus problems for the other to solve, or you quiz each other on vocabulary for English, or dates for medieval history. As much as you hate to admit it, you’re having fun. It’s almost as if time speeds up while you’re in his presence. However, your eyes are burning and you’re struggling to keep them open.

“Are you okay?” Your eyes snap open at Farleigh’s words. You had begun to drift off into slumber, slumped over in your chair. You sit up efficiently and nod. “Yeah.. sorry.” You let out a long sigh and attempt to rub the sleep out of your eyes with your fingers.

“You probably need to get some sleep,” He suggests, his voice soft as silk. Your eyelashes flutter as you fight to stay awake. “I’m okay, really.” Your last word is interrupted with a big yawn. You cover your mouth with embarrassment as he lets out a snort.

“It’s midnight. You need to get to bed.” He tells you more sternly this time. “Well what about you?” You question.

“Don’t worry about me.” He shakes his head and reaches his hand out, placing it on your shoulder. “I guess I’ve studied enough,” You yawn again and close your eyes. Just for a moment, if only to rest them. You think.

About ten minutes later you awake to the sound of Farleigh’s voice again. “Do I need to take you to your dorm myself?” Your gaze slides over to him as he packs up his things. You let out a sleepy hum of disagreement. “You can’t even keep your eyes open. C’mon.” He stands up and pats you on the back.

You groan and grip the side of the table to support you as you stand up. You just stand there and watch as he packs up your own things, depositing them into your bag. “Can you carry it?” He asks, his eyes full of concern. You nod. “Alright. Let’s go,”

You both walk back to the dorms, with your occasional stumble, along with his occasional hand on your shoulder. You walk up the stairs, sleepiness weakening your legs. You eventually make it to your door and glance up towards Farleigh while blinking rapidly to make sure you’re not dreaming.

“I don’t think I studied enough–”

He holds up a hand to silence you.

“No. We studied more than enough. Sleep is what you need right now. Our English exam is at nine tomorrow morning. Or, today, actually.”

You’ve never seen him act with such kindness and care. Why is he doing all of this for you? And why is he being so nice? It’s suspicious, you think. But you push the thought aside as you unlock your room.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” You smile in an attempt to convey your gratefulness. You’re a little too prideful to say thank you right now. “Goodnight.” He pauses for a moment, just like he did the first time you were at his dorm, like he wants to say or do something else. You stare into his dark eyes, willing him to do something. Suddenly, you don’t feel so sleepy.

But he just turns and walks away, probably back to his own dorm. Damn it! You feel stupid for being so hopeful. You step into your room and close the door angrily. He’s never going to admit anything, even if he also has feelings for you. Which you extremely doubt. And you’re never going to admit it either.

By the end of the week, you’re more exhausted than ever, but very relieved. Exams went smoother than you expected, and before you know it, you’re standing in front of a table waiting to get all of your results.

“Last name?” The random teacher whom you’ve never had asks, glancing up at you. You tell her your last name, and she fishes through a folder divided alphabetically by last name.

“Ah. Here you are.” She pulls out a packet and inspects it first before handing it to you. Your hands suddenly feel clammy compared to the smooth surface of the paper. Your heart pounds.

“Thank you,” You smile gratefully before turning around and quickly walking to the nearest bench to sit down and flip through the pages. A wave of relief crashes over you as you see your near perfect grades. Your lowest was a 96% on calculus, which you consider a pretty amazing achievement. You sigh with relief and close your eyes, leaning against the wall. You finished the fall term well.

You shove the packet into your backpack and put on your big coat and your beanie, preparing to venture out into the cold to pack up the last of your things to head home. Last night a huge snowstorm passed through London, so you delightfully woke up this morning to what looked like powdered sugar dusted upon the roof outside your window. It felt almost like the universe’s way of wishing you good luck on everything.

You walk outside on the cleared path with shoveled piles of snow hugging the sides. Breathing in the crisp yet calm air, you look around and take in your surroundings. The bustling groups of fellow students chatting excitedly about their scores, red cardinals hopping from tree to tree, snowflakes peacefully falling from the sky and joining the glittering snow upon the ground.

Suddenly, you hear your name being called from a distance, and then footsteps. You turn around to see Farleigh jogging toward you.

“Farleigh!” Unfortunately, you cannot hide your adoration whenever you see him and your content smile breaks into a foolish grin.

“So? How’d you do?” He asks with excitement. Oh, how the tables have turned. Usually he would start by bragging about his own results, and now he starts by asking you about yours. You quite enjoy how this friendship has grown.

“I did really good. My lowest was a 96!” You tell him. He beams, and then his eyes narrow. “On – let me guess – calculus?” He asks with suspicion. “Shut up!” You exclaim, punching him rather hard before turning serious. “Yes.”

He snickers and rubs his arm. “You pack a good punch,” He smiles, and you swear you can even see it in his chocolate brown eyes. You’re going to miss him over the holiday.

“So, what about you?” You ask while he falls into step next to you as you continue your walk. “Lowest was a 97. On history.” He cringes and you allow a satisfied smirk to break through.

“History?!” You giggle. “Shut up. My strengths are science and math, obviously.” He rolls his eyes. You’re beginning to love his sarcastic eyerolls. But then again, you think you always have.

“Hm. I thought you didn’t have any weaknesses. Academically, I mean.” You nudge him.

Farleigh shrugs. “Well, I wouldn’t call them weaknesses. I’m just better at some subjects.”

Without warning, he takes your hand and pulls you off the sidewalk and onto the snow. A squeal escapes you as he lets go, and then you look up to see him reaching down to pick up some snow. After he gathers a sufficient amount, he starts to pack it into a sphere. Oh no.

“Farleigh, no! Wait!” You scream, but it’s not really a terrified scream, more like a giggly one. But it’s too late. The snowball hurdles toward you and eventually crumbles once it meets your coat. An uncontrollable fit of giggles comes over you as you crouch down, packing snow into your hands.

You launch the snowball at him and he gasps with betrayal. “How dare you!” He shouts playfully. You’re so weak with laughter that you fall down into the snow. You look up to see a few other people joining in, throwing snowballs and running around. You can’t remember a time in the last few months when you have been happier.

Eventually, Farleigh sits next to you on the ground. You look up to see bits of snow adorably sprinkled throughout his hair. Something gives you the nerve to lean your head on his shoulder. He stiffens, only slightly, before relaxing and letting out a short sigh.

“Farleigh Start, I think I’m going to miss you,” You admit sheepishly. You can feel him turn his head a bit towards you, his breath grazing your hair.

“Don’t be dramatic. It’s only three weeks.” You recognize the tease in his voice. “But I tend to have that effect on people.” You can also hear the grin in his voice. You smile and make patterns in the snow as you both sit in comfortable silence.

[jerzwriter]

A million years ago, someone asked me if I'd write a series that mimicked canon but with Tobias Carrick as head of the Edenbrook Diagnostic Team. While I don't have the bandwidth to take on a series at this point, as I'm doing my Open Heart re-read, I will rewrite select scenes that I think could be interesting.

The first one is that first night at Donahue's. I may have forced myself to finish this tonight just so I could read @alj4890's version before I go to bed tonight! lol Amanda, my fellow Tobias ho, I'm so glad you're taking this trip with me.

Book: Open Heart Book 1 / Chapter 2 That first night at Donahue's Pairing: Tobias Carrick x Casey MacTavish (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 1,445 Series: If it were canon... AU Summary: Casey and her new friends are celebrating their first day as interns at the renowned Edenbrook Hospital. When her attending, Dr. Tobias Carrick arrives, he can't take his eyes off the beautiful young woman, even though he knows he should. When she joins him for a drink, will the two of them be able to fight their attraction? Or will they give in?

A/N: Participating in the @julychallenge Pink: Playfulness, Warmth Black: Attraction

After a grueling sixteen-hour shift, Dr. Tobias Carrick opened the door to Donahue’s, desperate for a brief escape. He hadn’t been to his usual watering hole for the past couple of weeks, not since his messy breakup with the pretty nurse from Peds. He knew the probability of her tossing a glass of Merlot onto his expensive threads was real and best to be avoided. But tonight marked his grand return. Tonight, his need for relaxation made the threat of a hefty dry cleaning bill worthwhile.

It hadn’t been your typical day. The universe decided that the usual life-or-death matters weren't enough. So, it threw in a new class of interns and all the “joy” that came with them. There was a surprise visit from the Director of the Board and, to add insult to injury, a long phone call with his mother. Yes, tonight, he needed the poor lighting and the scent of stale beer that only his home away from home could provide. He nodded to Reggie as he settled onto his barstool, and within moments, his usual drink appeared. Finally, he was ready to unwind.  

As he sipped his bourbon, his eyes wandered across the room, settling on the tiny dance floor in where a group of new interns were swaying to the sounds of Marvin Gaye. At least they have good taste in music, he thought, as he was about to turn back to the bar. But then he noticed a mane of golden hair thrashing about, accompanied by a radiant smile that threatened to light up the room. Dr. Casey MacTavish, was a new intern he met in a rather dramatic manner at the start of the day, and he hadn’t been able to get her off his mind since.

He couldn’t peel his eyes away. Her movements were a little erratic, to say the least, but there was no denying she was sexy as hell. Her laughter rang out over the music holding him captive. He took another sip of his drink, feeling a twinge of something he shouldn’t feel for an intern smoldering inside. He had a reputation for the artistic way he managed to blur lines, but as her attending physician, he knew this was one he shouldn’t cross.

He turned his attention back to his drink and was relieved when Reggie came over to discuss the Red Sox’s post-season chances. It was a welcome distraction, but despite his best efforts, his thoughts kept drifting back to Casey. He turned back ack to the dance floor, but she was gone but, luckily, not for long. A raucous chorus of wolf-whistles drew his attention to the side, where a new surgical intern Tobias had already dubbed “Ken” had the object of his attention bent backward as he feverishly kissed her.

“That lucky son of a bitch,” he mumbled under his breath.

The moment Casey was back on her feet, she tossed her head back with another infectious laugh, and despite Reggie’s attempts to pull him back to the conversation, Tobias was lost.

“I get that she’s prettier than me,” he finally heard Reggie laugh. “But does she know the Sox as well as I do?”

Caught, Tobias grinned sheepishly. “I don’t know, man,” he replied. “She strikes me as someone who could surprise you.”

“Yeah,” Reggie smiled, drying off a tumbler. “Well, she strikes me as someone who is making her way over here. Don’t look now, boss, but...”

“Hey! Do you mind if I join you?”

Her voice was melodic, and if he thought she looked gorgeous across the bar, seeing her up close was a bit too much... even for him. The delicate blush on her cheeks and playful giggle made it clear she caught him eying her from head to toe. Normally he was as smooth as silk... but he already made his first misstep. But who could blame him? Her smile, those blue eyes, the way her denim cut-off shorts clung to her body, showing off her... assets... that top that left little to his overactive imagination...

Casey cleared her throat loudly and motioned to the empty stool beside him. If she were being honest, she was reveling in the level of control she appeared to hold right now. “So, may I?”

“Of course,” Tobias replied, unable to hide a smile.

“What has you so dazed?” she teased, slipping onto the stool beside him.

“You just... you look different outside of work.”

“Different good or different bad?”

“Different,” he said, turning to her with a smirk. “You looked like you were having fun out there.”

“Yeah, burning off some steam. If I can’t celebrate my first day as a real doctor, what can I celebrate?”

“True, true."

Just then, “Ken” approached the bar to order two beers. Tobias glowered his way, but "Ken" didn't notice one bit. He was too busy winking at Casey before rejoining his crew.

“I see you’ve made some quick friends," Dr. Carrick observed.

“Of course I have," she beamed, trying to discern… was he jealous? “With all of this charm and personality... I practically have to fight them off with a stick!"

Tobias laughed so much his eyes crinkled as he motioned to Reggie. “Two specials,” he smiled. “I hope it’s not too forward of me to buy you a drink.”

“Hell no!” She winked. “You know what I earn; feel free to buy me as many drinks as you want.”

God, he was impressed. Tobias Carrick was a known flirt, a master in the field, so he knew when he met a match and holy shit, did she have it. He didn’t want to steer the conversation back to a more appropriate topic, but he felt like he should.

“So, how was the first day?”

“It was... challenging, but that’s the name of the game, isn’t it?”

“Sure is,” he nodded. “When I first came to Boston, I was interning at Mass Kenmore, and let me tell you....”

The two began to trade war stories of med school and, in his case, beyond. Their boundaries softened more with each sip they took. The conversation flowed easily, marked with laughter and, occasionally, a brief touch that felt like sparks igniting under their skin. Without realizing, Tobias leaned in closer, hanging on her every word. Beauty and brains were one thing, but her charm and wit gripped him and didn't let go.

“You know,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight. Do you come here often?”

“More often than I should probably,” he grinned. “It’s my go-to place after a long day.”

“Well, it’s easy to see why.”

He let out a snort. “Please don’t tell me because of the ambiance.”

“Of course not!” she replied, nudging his shoulder. “It’s the great company! I mean, it’s clear that I’m already your favorite, and here I am!”

“Oh, are you?” He chuckled, no longer able to deny the warmth building inside him. She had him mesmerized and all but forgetting “the rules.” But he was Tobias Carrick, and rules were made to be broken... weren’t they?

“So, the guy over there... the one you were kissing...”

“Bryce?” She asked, taking a sip of her drink as Tobias’s eyes fell to her lips; never had he been more jealous of a straw. “He’s cool. We just met today.”

“Damn!” Tobias exclaimed. “Does everyone you meet get a kiss like that?”

“Nah,” she smiled seductively. “Only the ones I lose bets to.” Meeting his eyes, she built up her courage and spoke with a flirtatious lilt. “Anything you care to wager, Dr. Carrick?”

That was it. He barked out a laugh, his eyes on fire. Yeah. He may have met his match.

“You’re something else,” he smiled, then his voice became lower and took on a more serious tone. “You know, I know we’re supposed to keep things professional, but you are not making it easy for me.”

“Yey," she clapped, "then it’s working!” Her face became serious, and she lowered her voice, too. “I definitely feel something here, Tobias, but I'm not stupid. I know this would be... complicated.”

“Mmm,” he hummed. “But complicated doesn’t mean impossible. If you ever wanted to find a workaround, you just say the word.”

Casey’s eyes searched his. They looked at her so intently she had to remind herself to breathe.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she whispered. Sensing the shift, Casey's nerves got the better of her, and she glanced at the clock on the wall. “I should get going. Early start tomorrow and all.”

Tobias nodded, masking his disappointment. “Yep, and I heard your attending is a real asshole.”

“I don’t know,” she smiled. “He's impressed the hell out of me so far."

Tobias bit his lower lip, fighting the urge to take this to the next level with all his might. This woman was going to be trouble.

“Good night, Casey. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he replied, never taking his eyes off her as she walked away.

Tobias sighed as she left with her friends. This was going to be complicated, but there was no way he was letting her slip through his fingers. Some things were worth taking a risk for, and there was no doubt in his mind that Dr. Casey MacTavish was one of those things. He finished his drink and threw some bills on the bar to settle his tab.

“Hey! Leaving so soon?” Reggie hollered.

“Yep!” Tobias smiled. “I want to get a good night’s sleep. Suddenly, I’ve got a lot to look forward to tomorrow.”

~~~~~

Agh! This was so much fun! WHy didn't I do it sooner! lol

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

[kosmicdream]

I love manga and comics, but I gotta say. So many of the series i have found most influential to my work either won’t finish, have not finished, or finished in a sort of unsatisfying way. Even if they’re fine, its usually not like.. IT. This is a pretty common experience. I have had a lot more luck watching movies that have endings that felt worth the experience and I’ve started to try to read in hopes to get more exposure to “good endings”.. But i do wish it was more common in my favorite medium to like, have that experience! Even when the endings are pretty good (and there are some, i personally think “paradise kiss” had a great ending that makes me return to the series multiple times over the decades) - I also am like.. I dunno. Its never the highlight of the story, you know. Its not the main reason why you’d read it, is the ending. I would assume most stories across all mediums, the ending isn’t going to be the “best part” anyway. However, after finally finishing watching UTENA earlier this year, I can say that at least for that series (no movie spoilers pls, i still havent seen it ;n;) the ending was in fact, the best part to me and made the entire experience even more memorable and worthwhile to watch. Months later, I’m still kinda amazed that happened! Wish it was not so rare, but also what a treat to get to see something like that felt like what i think an ending to a story should be. Still not a manga/comic ofc, but y’kno. Still good.

Other strong endings for me were: Paradise Kiss (as I said above), There will be blood, Monster, NGE (specifically end of evangelion) … umm!  I don’t know.. Is that really it for me? I like the 98’ Trigun end, but i also hated it as a teenager. So its more of a “nostalgic” one to me, same with Princess Mononoke. I’ll include those just for the sake of having more to think of. There’s plenty more i am fine with and enjoy fine enough.. but i guess its a lot harder for me to find ones that last in my head as what i find to be a satisfying & impressive end.. Of course, endings are all based on taste. Maybe i just haven’t seen enough endings. I think this contributes, along with a plethora of other elements, why writing endings are so hard! There’s just a lot you want to say and it is such a long journey to get there anyway. You are filled with doubt with your executions of ideas, or maybe find the ending you thought of less satisfying than you used to think it was. The longer you spend with something, the more you might find issues. Plus, it really is so hard just to get there. You’re usually falling over with exhaustion just to get to the finish line, let alone do the ending of your dreams. I know when i get to the ends of my chapters, i’m usually so desperate just to get there, i end up feeling like they come out poorly vrs my vision for them. 

Yes.. i have been thinking about endings a lot. Its just something that’s always on my mind, with NRD nearing its close. It still is going to take time of course, but as I revise the last chapters I’m still like left with a lot of feelings with wondering how it’ll come out, if i can even do it, ect. I know i will, its inevitable. But after that, well, my big struggle with FFAK will continue. I know that NRD has given me more tools to handle a series as long as FFAK, but its still getting older and it can be harder to understand all the things I wanted to say with it, what I still can say with it and what is the most valuable to say with it. I can’t do everything! And i certainly have more ideas for it than I could draw, I’m excited to have the story close too. Before it used to make me too upset to even think it i’d cry.. But now i’m like yeah! I wanna know too. I want to share what I thought of, even if its not what readers might have thought it was going to be like. Honestly, with every choice i make in the story, i always have had at least 1 or 2 other options, and I get attached to the other versions of the story that i dont get to make. They all end up very different ends, but still more or less the same story regardless. 

Anyway, just some thoughts on writing and comics today…

[daydreamsandcrashingwaves]

Transference 3

Heyy friends, I'm back. Had some health issues and just a bunch of life stuff at once! A humble chapter for your eyes. I'm not exactly happy with it but the only way out is through! Hope you're well <3

Other chapters & writing

Ren

It had been one extended weekend away to finalize some last-minute things with her apartment. One weekend to lay the groundwork for what was the first real step towards their independence from their parents. When her phone vibrated in her pocket, Ancients, she almost dismissed it. Jazz thought Danny must be checking in, but when she freed her phone from her jeans the screen flashed Sam’s contact photo and her heart dropped to the floor while her hairline broke out in sweat. Something had gone very wrong in her absence. Sure, they talked occasionally but the teen never just called out of the blue. Jazz had opened a new tab on her laptop, dismissing the article she had been reading and had begun searching for an earlier flight home as she picked up the call. Getting any of the teens in their little group on a phone call was like pulling teeth, a delicate procedure and potentially painful without the correct preparation so to hear from them with no prompting? The world may as well be ending, or more accurately based on how things have gone, Amity Park was in danger from something they couldn’t manage on their own at the very least. 

Jazz had a lot of practice projecting calm into the space around her and she leans hard into that practice now. Every word Sam gets out makes her grip her phone tighter and tighter. Everything blurs together. She’s moving through the world on autopilot. Reality blurs. Taxi, airport, security, gate. It all flies by hardly registering. She’s sitting on the plane staring out the window when she jolts back into herself, and Jazz is suddenly grateful, she still had a third of her things left behind in her old bedroom. She had been in such a rush she had only bothered to grab her purse. She dug her head back into the lackluster headrest and closed her eyes to try and gain some rest. It’s not like she could miraculously do something to tackle the situation from where she was in the air and -she wasn’t ready, for any of it, she wanted to scream it was all too soon, please. They were all just kids- She clenched her eyes shut and gently knocked her head on the plane wall. She had a distinct feeling she would need to maintain her energy levels the best she could over a long period of time, nothing that involved Danny was ever easy or simple, and she would need to be ready to strike when the opportunity presented itself. She leaned against the window, closed her eyes, and let out a long sigh. Jazz couldn’t get home soon enough. 

A half hour later Jazz has to hold in a groan of frustration. She can’t quiet her mind enough to gain any worthwhile rest. She’s just getting more worked up. Sam’s voice had sounded so terrified while recounting the event. They hadn’t heard from Danny since late Friday night, so they went over to the house Sunday morning, and called her shortly after they had to leave. The door had opened as easily for them as normal since the Fenton's never locked it, but the lights had been off. While odd, it hadn’t set off warning bells right away- the Fenton's are eccentric, both of them have known about their parents' weirdness since they first followed Danny home. It had only strengthened the bonds between the three. Danny’s friends were exceptionally loyal and stubborn which was usually a frustrating combination when turned on her, but Jazz has decided this time she’ll give them a pass since they had listened to their guts and had been determined to soldier on to find their wayward Phantom. When they had tried Danny’s room, and the door wouldn’t open, they knew something was definitely wrong. When they took a moment to pause as they tried to figure out their next move they realized they could feel it in the air. 

Ghosts did that. Danny had mentioned it once. Their stronger emotions exude into the air like supernatural diffusers. Usually, it was so subtle you would hardly notice unless you were actively looking for it. Because she did know it helped her keep tabs on how her brother was really doing. Instead of smelling tangerine or eucalyptus you’d get goosebumps on your arms, your hair will stand on end, and you’ll feel an overwhelming wave of an emotion but when you catch your breath to look, you won’t find anything around you that warrants what you’re suddenly feeling. Amity Park-their house- it all was Danny’s haunt. Danny had been screaming for help in the only way he knew how. His friends… they had found him, but they were kids. Jack and Maddie had seen them frozen for a moment in horror at the bottom of the stairs and quickly caught the two teens, who started kicking, screaming, biting, only to be thrown out the door, for it to be slammed in their faces and the house was shut tight behind them with the lockdown protocol whirring into effect. 

By the time Jazz had got off the plane and made it home to bypass the biometric lock it was too late. She doesn’t blame Danny’s friends for failing to free him. She can’t. Maddie is a ninth-degree black belt and Jack is built like a brickhouse, tall and imposing, with a grip to match. And so, Danny, her baby brother, was gone from the lab when she returned by nightfall. Spirited away just out of her reach. She failed to remain calm. Her voice rising in volume and pitch with her distress. The Fenton's were tightlipped about anything that had to do with the boy that had been tied up in their basement. They were disappointed with her that she didn’t celebrate with them. A small victory against the ghost that took their boy from under their noses, they said. That the thing was no longer what once was Danny. They would honor him by defeating the monster that killed him. 

(Jazz felt her words choke her, wiggling desperate to be free but even she isn’t that cruel. So, she stared at them, mentally screaming as her body slumped in resignation. They were the monsters that killed him. It was their obsession with proving their theory was right, that is what led to the portal being built. Led to Danny’s death.)

No, she doesn’t understand how they justified turning on a child, biologically part of their family or not, ghost or not, Danny is a child. Everything about him was good. Their betrayal zaps through her, cold and sharp. It steals her breath and moves her reality three steps backwards. She feels the love and fondness that she held onto desperately for them vanish in an instant. She stares blankly at the people who gave her life and can’t understand how they became this way. Why won’t they listen? How could they ever put their work over a living, breathing child that is in front of them? Their child. They had always seemed.. Benign, as they shouted silly things and their shots missed Phantom by what felt like miles, but that is a mistake she’ll beat herself up for later. If she struggles to acknowledge Danny’s death that is one thing, to refuse to acknowledge his continued life? That was truly unthinkable. 

That was then. When she first returned home. Now with little to nothing to direct their search Jazz was spiraling. She can’t help it; her mind keeps looping over and over. Her brain was trying to fill the unknown with possibilities of what could be happening to her brother. The silence was wearing her down, dragging her back into her own personal hell. It wasn’t complete silence, of course not- no, the air conditioning still hummed as it blew cool air throughout the house. She could hear their neighbor to the right mowing his lawn, the wind’s summer flirting with the trees and their leaves muffled the music he was playing while he pushed the old mover across the grass. The happiness was casual, innocent, yet it sliced her down to her bones. Her world has stopped.

Inside the house there is a miasma of quiet that leaves her choking and breathless. There are no feet rushing up and down the stairs, no muffled cursing or gentle ribbing after school while Danny and his friends played Doom. There was none of the warm teenage laughter she’d grown fond of. No. It hasn’t been this quiet since they first brought Danny home. It’s been years since she first met him, and she has stubbornly hung on ever since. A too small child with black hair and blue eyes that looked at her with eyes too jaded for what age the nice older woman at the orphanage had estimated him at. He didn’t have to tell them anything for Jazz to know. His eyes spoke to her in the absence of his voice. This boy who had become utterly alone before he even was old enough for school was haunted by what he’d experienced before he appeared at the orphanage. She had decided that day that this little boy would always have her by his side.

With help from his social worker and a lot of time and effort, they had eventually managed to get Danny settling into an outgoing child and once he was out of his shell, he had made the decision to follow her around religiously, she’d turn away from the fridge and almost run him right over. He kept it up until he had made friends with Sam and Tucker, at one point his hovering had frustrated her to tears, now she aches for days past when her baby brother was at least within touching distance. Danny was hers.  It had been Jazz who had tediously built a connection with Danny despite his… spiky personality, but her parents- their parents had grown to love him as if he was their own. She knew they did. 

Jazz had been so excited when her parents had tentatively agreed to foster and later adopt Danny, she’d finally have someone for herself. Someone to joke with, to play with and she could show him her books! Mom and Dad had each other, often their attention would stretch, reaching for so many new ideas that they forgot to do things like schedule their doctor’s appointments or pick them up from school. Jazz can’t count how many times she would stand outside the middle school waiting for the GAV to appear, the third time they forgot she decided not to wait for the teacher to call their parents and snuck away while she was distracted with Dash. She had an easy enough time finding the elementary school. She had made her eyes real wide and blinked up at Danny’s teacher Mrs. Donner, explaining to the woman that her parents had decided she’s old enough to walk home and was sent to pick up her brother with a large toothy grin. Mrs. Donner had looked at her innocent face and big eyes and fell for it hook, line, and sinker. She simply praised Jazz for being so responsible and they were off, headed towards home. With their little legs it took most of the afternoon and because it was late October the sun was kissing the horizon when they arrived. Relief filled her at the sight of their door. She did it!  From that day on Jazz never waited for their parents again. If she did, what would happen to Danny? She knew her little brother was mature for his age. Jazz hasn’t once seen him afraid, though leaving him behind at school might be the thing that finally does it. Jazz refuses to make Danny feel forgotten like she has. 

She had a lot to learn so she spent the next two months reading parenting books in the library. As he grew his needs followed. Jazz had to make sure he was getting new clothes as he outgrew the old ones, they came from the only thrift store in town, but they were clean and fit him well. She had saved up her allowance money for his tenth birthday to give him the video game he needed so he could play online with Tucker. It was the one thing that seemed to fascinate Danny so far and she was going to reward Danny for going out of way to make plans with the other boy. Fentonworks was good for a few solid years. It felt as normal as their family could get. 

Then her parents finished their portal. Unsuccessful as they had been turning it on. It mystified her that her brother managed to get it up and running in moments. Of course, she didn’t find out what really happened that afternoon until after Danny knew she knew he was Phantom. He had fallen out of the opening shrouded in sickly green light that further washed out his skin to make him look like something from the grave. In the tranquility of the night Danny told her in a hushed voice it took him seconds to realize that’s exactly what he was. Something that shouldn’t exist but did. He would tell her how his breath came in fog, how he steeled himself to look up and discover the portal was swirling and functional and eventually he had risen from that floor as something new. How he knew because he had died before. By that time, it was too late, he had forced himself to become a vigilante in response to the swarming citizens of the Infinite Realms and nothing she said could change his mind. Danny was already an object in motion before she had discovered what had really happened.

Every action has a reaction. Every choice you make funnels you down an unknown path that at its core is out of your control. An obscure college degree could lead to the discovery of a new world parallel to your own, taking an innocent picture could kill you again before you reach adulthood, or with a simple sentence said in anger one could make it so the closest of friends never crossed paths. With time you can gain experience by observing your surroundings and learning the pattern of which choices have which consequences and then plan accordingly. You can learn to influence the outcomes. It’s supposed to be soothing to have a plan. Jazz will admit it’s a lot different in practice than drawing up theoretical plans on paper. She was never very good at putting elaborate plans into action much to her dismay. Too many moving pieces to keep track of. Good thing this plan only had two phases, search and rescue. Tucker and Technus were scouring the web for hints of where they moved Danny to, until they found his trail she had to wait.

This time alone has forced her to stare his reality in the face and it was jarring to realize how their lives as siblings were polar opposites. Time and her experience had made her complacent, but of course she wasn’t the one getting chased around town by their parents while having to dodge ectoblasts. Jazz didn’t carry the fear of watching your parents gazing at her with no recognition-only fear and hate- while they tried to shoot her out of the sky, she never felt her fear so intense it would make her tremble as she had to remember to sneak around to her window carefully or trigger the traps and face the very real consequences she would pay the cost in her blood. No, that was Danny.

As soon as they could find Danny, remove him from where he’s trapped they would. She would take him away and actually provide some protection. Even if all the protection from his pursuers was a change in location. Or at least Jazz would give him enough breathing room and a burner phone to use while he goes to escape, and she throws herself at whoever shows up to hunt him to slow their pace. Jazz has no illusions that she would win even with all her training with Jack. She didn’t need to win, just to stall. She would do whatever she could so Danny knew without a doubt she would never stop loving him. Give everything and then some to keep him safe. Death could come for her, and it wouldn’t stop her. No, the Realms were interlinked with Danny’s very being and it would never leave their King with no family, in death or life. 

If she could she’d wrap him up in her embrace and beg him to forgive her-no, Jazz cut that thought off. She doesn’t deserve his forgiveness. She would never let the question leave her head. If she asked, he would give it. Just as easy as breathing. She’s not sure where he finds the strength and grace to brush off serious offenses the way he does. (He must be trapped or hurt right now since he hasn’t come home or sent a message, a new group with the same hat, right?... if he- if he left her behind- if he saw no difference between her and their parents- it would kill her, and she’d pray to Clockwork not to form a core so she could rest when she dies instead of confronting her worst fear made real.)

Jazz couldn’t help but fall further into her memories, trying to hold onto the comforting image of her little ghostling. Memories that are poor substitutes but all she currently has. Her brother always had made the effort to stay under the radar much to her dismay. Danny was wicked smart. If he decided to hunker down and hide, they’d have little luck finding him. Tucker always says to her that hacking is about knowing how your opponent thinks, yet she never knows what Danny is thinking unless he wants her to. Daniel was an..odd child. A ghost in personality before the accident that killed him. A little boy who could get into any space in their house with little effort. Twisting his body to slip into gaps that should be too small to fit him. He blended into shadows with ease, often scaring her shoes off her feet, appearing besides her with no warning. Silent steps for a silent kid. It had amused their parents more than worried them, not a flicker of concern that she had spent hours crying out his name-alone- only for it to bounce uselessly off the walls and had worked herself into a panic looking around for their new addition. She quickly realized their parents didn’t see anything wrong with a small child disappearing from their supervision for half a day and that was the first time Jazz had considered, maybe she shouldn’t have tried as hard to wear them down as she did to convince her parents Daniel would do well with them. It had been a selfish desire of a small girl desperate to make a connection. It took her a longer time to realize he wasn’t just keeping himself withdrawn, no Danny was observing them, watching with sharp eyes and learning how to fit in by mimicking her behaviors. She doubts he had any illusions about their guardians, he was too perceptive, and proved it by easily escaping her gaze- even when she was trying really, really hard to keep track of where he was. Jazz never fully got over her terror of losing him in the mass of stuff her parents had accumulated over the years.

Those first few years they played an intense fucked up game of seek, please, Danny. Don’t hide. He never seemed to understand that people don’t just vanish out of a space, a frown distorting his face at the sight of her the one time he tried to teach her the trick to it. Afterwards she expected it to be easier to track his movements, Jazz would do her best to keep him in sight but even with her higher-than-average attention span the second she was distracted Danny would be gone. She had scolded him once that if he kept popping out of the shadows, he would become the proof of ghosts that their parents were looking for. (Just thinking about that joke all these years later made her nauseous. Her brother’s pout- what had been his actual reaction- pops into her mind.) Danny was never the most popular, he had toed the boundary of society by choice and necessity. He preferred when eyes slid over his presence. 

(He admitted to her one night that all he wanted was to be normal, he was content in mediocrity. He had confided that he never wanted to push himself to be special again. He had spat it out with a nasty curl to his lips like the very word was dirty. 

Jazz didn’t have the heart to tell him that no matter what, Danny was extraordinary.) 

The Fenton’s reputation around town seemed to please him as it didn’t win them any friends. Sure, now that ghosts attacked the townsfolk bought their families weapons but too many people have suffered some sort of property damage because of their parents over the years and the GAV for a real shift in perception to take place. As it is, most of the townsfolk ignore them with a stony silence or simply give a pointed comment about checking the news report for when the GAV would be on the road. If Danny was the one sitting in the cramped seats of her last-minute flight musing about his existence, he’d insist he could leave without notice. Not a trace left behind of him to be missed. Would even bet money on it. He had gotten sneakier after becoming Phantom yet, Danny was very wrong. He didn’t take into account that even if he’s not going out of his way to interact with others, they still notice him. 

Valerie, Mr. Lancer- Ancients, even Dash has cornered her. She saw the worry and fear underneath their forced casual demeanors. As normally as she could, she told anyone who hovered too long that Danny had caught a nasty case of whooping cough and would be out for a while. She just couldn’t make herself say something, anything, the truth.  It wasn’t a safe decision and she had to be skeptical of everyone. They couldn’t risk anything endangering Danny even more. Team Phantom was made up of three teenagers and a half-human half-ghost vigilante that’s missing. Despite their intelligence, they were just that, teenagers. Teenagers who only had each other. They weren’t an organization with a million bodies to throw at a problem, there was no one waiting in the back to replace them if they fell or were taken. So, they had to be deliberate with how they approached this. She’d like to believe the few who’ve asked her about Danny wouldn’t share the information, but the team agreed not to risk it. By the twist in Dash’s brow and the tightening Mr. Lancer’s smile, they didn’t truly believe her tightlipped story but were unwilling to push. For now. It made her anxious and then when she thinks about the chance people will finally see what the Fenton's are, how alone their two children have always been inside the house that could kill them if they took one wrong step. It makes her heart ache fiercely. Maybe they’d help her. It’s a bittersweet fantasy she pushes away so she does not dwell in it. One way or another they were going to find their missing family.

Those very first few days holed away in her room confusion, anger and denial raged through her body. She hadn’t even registered the familiar noises of their parents banging away in the lab, but it’s been two months, and it was all she could hear from her room. Boom, Boom, ta, ta, ta. Over and over, nonstop. Jazz has taken to shoving her earbuds into her ears and blasting her favorite playlist, but she still could feel the vibrations coming up through the floor. The Fenton's when they see her as they pass by each other in the halls act outwardly like nothing has changed. Chattering away and throwing around ideas on how to catch the Phantom for good. It was like her world wasn’t expected to be decimated the moment Danny had been taken. The swinging between emotional poles of acting like the last ten years never happened, time rewritten as though they never took in that shy, bright boy who looked so afraid when people moved too quickly towards him, on the other end they could be heard from anywhere in the house dramatically wailing about the injustice on the stairs to the lab. They then rant like Danny is dead- fully dead and was stolen from them by this powerful, unnatural thing. Manic determination oozed from their rapid-fire conversations, they were determined to recapture Phantom and force him to allow Danny’s body and soul to rest. 

She was lucky to be home when her parents received the call. Jack had cheerfully ripped the house phone out of her hand as soon as she picked it up and took it to the kitchen where it gave him the illusion of privacy. Jazz thought it was both very fitting and extremely concerning that someone had stolen Danny away from a GIW base. Jazz is fiercely glad but worried that if someone snatched her baby brother away from the people that were hurting him, how strong did that make them. They had to be powerful or have the manpower to take on a shady government agency. It made the chances of finding Danny that much slimmer. She had to find him to figure out if he was actually safe. Finding him is shaping up to be a challenge.

She could feel she was reaching her limit. Her brother is missing. Danny, her little shit of a brother was missing, and she was stuck in this house with his would-be murderers. The people who gave her life do mean well, but she can never forgive them for what they’ve taken from her. And there’s no trace of where he went! They had Technius and Ember haunt the base… computers were wiped clean, the same with the security feeds and any equipment left behind was unusable. Not even a hair was left behind, white or black to indicate Danny had been there, just a shell of a building blown into rubble. Tucker and Technius are trying to sort through the Fenton’s communication with the GIW, if they hear something or find him, they’ll let her know.

She hears them at night. Her-their-the Doctors Fenton, she means. She hears them in the kitchen from her room at night. Jack, a sniffling blubbering mess. Jazz could barely make out his words as he wailed, and Maddie who was calm, quiet, and serene. Both grieving a boy that was alive. Alive only because someone stole him from them. It made her sick to hear, sick and angry. How can they grieve a boy they sent off to his full death? How can they curse the fact Phantom isn’t available anymore for experiments? They had blamed ghosts for freeing Phantom, of course, but when Sam ran into Johnny 13 and Kitty, no one had heard anything. Jazz, Tucker and Sam know if a ghost had Danny, it was being kept really quiet and that meant it was most likely Vlad. 

The thing that horrifies her the most is they don’t ask ‘how or why or when’ he died. They don’t hear her when she explains it was their portal and absence that caused this, little else. 

(She’s never wanted to blame or resent her parents for Danny’s death, it’s not like they forced him inside…but there’s this kernel hurt and betrayal that has exploded inside her since his disappearance. It swims around her chest overshadowing the childish anger that echoes in the background. How can they wash away their responsibility? What about her? They’ve left her here to deal with this on her own, it hurts, she’s hurting, why won’t her parents help her? How is it that when they discovered Danny’s death, they both became dead to their parents. They pass by her room when they bother to drag themselves out of the lab to bed but not once have they asked her how she is doing or offered any comfort. It grates and stings, she tells herself she really should be used to it by now. She hates that it feels like a surprise at how low they truly will go. 

Jazz reminds herself to be glad even as she’s immensely worried at the same time that someone took her baby brother away from the people that saw him as less than human. She had to find him to figure out if actually safe and not with someone or an organization that is worse. Finding him is shaping up to be a challenge. This is nothing like waiting for him to come home from his late-night stargazing, fully abusing the fact he could sneak out perfectly silent, invisible and be able to fly to find the perfect spot to see the constellations. In his absence she felt more like a ghost haunting the halls than Danny had been. When she lays down at night she strains to hear any hint from him, bumbling around as normal. She thought she heard something, a week into his disappearance, but when she had scrambled from her bed, her pillows and blankets flung to the floor in her haste- maybe he’s back, he escaped and came for her- but when she pressed her ear against their shared wall the noises had stopped. She’d take even a small creak at this point. She had laid there crumpled against the wall for hours, face blank and her gaze was distant. Why was she expecting Danny to miraculously find her? She’s the older sibling, Danny isn’t meant to take care of her or keep track of where she was-it shouldn’t matter he’s a half-dead teen with powers and that he feels like he’s responsible for her safety- Jazz is the eldest, she had been the one to convince her parents to give her a sibling. 

Danny is hers, her miracle, hers to hold. 

She was so stupid for leaving him alone with them. It had been less than a week in Boston, to get her lease signed and tour the campus so she knew where her classes were going to be just a few months later. Guilt continuously tried to steal her breath. She had to remind herself that falling into her self-loathing was only going to get in the way of her finding where her brother was. If he’s still alive-half alive- whatever the technicality is, it has never mattered much to her as long as he didn’t stay dead. Jazz turned back to her laptop, refreshing the server Tucker had made for them to securely communicate on, hoping to see some activity from her brother. Some sort of answer. She could look at how the complexities of what makes a halfa and what that means for Danny (and her) and how it made her feel later. To try and pass the time she tried to finish packing up her childhood bedroom. She had to keep busy, so she felt like she was actually making progress.

‘The world never stops turning Jazz, it laughs in the face of personal tragedy… I just have to keep moving forward.’ It’s what Danny would say to her when he got that look on his face. The one that said, I have taken what the world has thrown at me and the scars it left in its wake, I have survived what it has stolen from my hands, I have endured, one moment at a time until I have made something for myself on the scorched ground.

Jazz turned towards her desk and almost fell down, tripping over clothes she had been sorting through for donation. Where was the box ghost when you needed him? She was drowning in moving boxes that she needed to finish packing away to be shipped cross country, when her brother wasn't missing-Or fully dead. With everything going on, it’s no surprise that she’s still behind getting the last of her things from her old room. The most damning thing about the situation was Jazz had plenty of time to think about everything and she wasn’t surprised. She’s not shocked by her parent’s willful blindness, their casual violence. Their hate. Realizing in the aftermath she had always known how her parents would react only made her feel worse about insisting that eventually Danny should come clean. Had she been trying to convince Danny that they’d love him regardless, or herself? This is all her fault. Hindsight really is a bitter pill to swallow.

That first day home Jazz had gone up to Danny’s room to try and find some sort of scrap, a clue, something. She knew Sam and Tucker wouldn’t lie about not being able to get the door to open but she had to at least try. She had to try, or hopelessness would paralyze her when acknowledged she couldn’t help her brother at all. (All Jasmine Fenton had amounted to when her little brother currently needed her, was sitting in the house desperately waiting for Danny to signal he’s safe.) She tried everything she could, his door wasn’t even scratched. It was sealed shut. Her… roommates were either downstairs in the lab working on something or out of the house, often distracted and muttering to themselves so she had plenty of time to try and bust into Danny’s room. No matter how hard she rammed into the door or how many times she blasted it with whatever inventions she had been steadily stockpiling she couldn’t get in. How the Fenton's had made his door ax proof, she’s unsure. There doesn’t seem to be any sort of visible shield protecting it.

Tonight, will be different, she will find something. Her anxiety has reached a peak, so she bites the bullet, and she decides that if his door doesn’t open for her, she’d try Danny’s window. Glancing at the floor she pictured her parents milling about the lab like ants. She would have to be careful not to alert the Fenton's that she’s on the move. She couldn’t be sure if they rigged Danny’s room with alarms. If they did set sensors and if she is lucky, it’ll only trigger when an ectoplasmic signature tries to breach his room. Jazz may be slightly liminal, but she’s never had one of their inventions target her before. It’s a risk she’ll have to take. She turns away from her desk, hesitates, then turns back around to lock her door, just in case, before moving to the window. The glass slides quietly up in its frame and she peeks outside to make sure she’s in the clear, and when she doesn’t hear or see anything for a few minutes Jazz climbs out her window onto the sill to eye the old tree that was between her and Danny’s room. She’d made the jump before but only a handful of times in the dark. She thought of her little brother hurt and with strangers or worse, with Vlad. 

Firming her resolve she jumps, and for a moment she’s weightless, only she didn’t push off hard enough and she’s falling too soon. Jazz has to bite her cheek so she doesn’t scream as she stretches out farther in desperation. Her fingers scramble to grip the bark to gain some traction on the sturdy branch, determination surging when her fingers hit wood. Jazz feels the tree tear into her palms, she uses that pain to fuel herself, her face stuck in a grimace. She had to succeed. She grunts softly using her legs to swing for enough momentum to leverage herself up to safety. The fall to the ground isn’t far enough to kill her but it would’ve hurt. Panting she half crawled half slid her body close to the trunk. Her hands were bloody and stinging but she was almost there. Carefully Jazz shifted around the trunk and reached for Danny’s windowsill. She was smearing blood on the wood, and she could taste it on her tongue, but what she saw through the glass made her feel a few drops of her blood were hardly significant. 

Danny’s room was tossed, furniture destroyed, clothes everywhere. Burn blasts littered the floor and walls, but there was no blood she could see from her spot- ghost ectoplasm nor human. With the sheer damage it was hard to tell if the destruction was because of the hunt to capture Phantom or if it was done in the aftermath because of their frustration of having missed his transformation when it happened under their roof. Jazz refocused and pushed the window, it slid up silently, and she thanked her paranoid baby brother for the consistent maintenance he did on it. She crawled through, leaving it open in case she needed to get out quickly. Jazz froze when the carpet squished under her shoes. Shakily she pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight. Her phone drops from her nerveless fingers. Blood, so much blood. Must’ve been before they caught Danny then. Maybe this is where he was cornered. Swallowing thickly, she looks away from the splatters of ectoplasm, splatters of Danny’s blood. Jazz tried to be quick and quiet as she scoured through the wreckage. She worked until the sky just started to lighten to no avail. 

Exhausted, Jazz took in the destruction around her as she slumped to her knees besides Danny’s bed. Jazz had loved her parents. More than anything- family was oh so precious to her. She has always strived to meet their expectations. She had been resistant to training to hunt ghosts, but after fighting off those ghosts with Dad… she had begrudgingly changed her mind. It’s just- practicing with their Dad was fun. For once her Dad’s gaze and attention were firmly on her. Jazz was learning something because she wanted to, not because it was her best shot of getting established as an adult as soon as possible so she could bring Danny with her. She figured her knowing some self-defense could only benefit them both. For the most part, fighting and souping ghosts was Danny’s thing, Jazz had no desire to duke it out with her little brother’s rogues. Yet, she found herself working out on her own. The quick steps of a fight felt like a dance, one only she could hear the music to. It called to her. Danny had given her an unrecognizable look the first time he caught her. Jazz had shrunk under his intense gaze, feeling as if he was seeing something no one else even began to know to look for. It was unsettling as much as it soothed some unknown part of her. Being truly seen will do that to you. 

She wouldn’t say she’s handled her baby brother being a halfa gracefully at all. His absence truly shed some light on her mistakes. She knows Danny… died, was still half dead. It’s just- it was so easy to overlook. Nothing about him really changed all that much. Sure, his heartbeat was off, and he was chilled to the touch and he started wearing clothes that hid his scar or drew so much attention no one seemed to notice the scars. Jazz is certain he’s noticed her… aversion to acknowledging him being half-dead and that makes the guilt dig into her stomach all the more. She- her mind snaps back to focus on her surroundings. 

She hears her window slide open and her head twists to look. For a heartbeat she hopes it’s Danny. It wouldn't be. More likely it's his friends. Sam and Tucker are the only ones who’ve come crawling through windows lately, they’d usually shoot a quick message but- Jazz blinks. That's not anyone she knows, not personally at least. Just through the news and pictures. A shadow joins them causing her to jerk. Her eyes take in the brightly colored costume that juxtaposes against his companion's black get up. Jazz’s fingers search under the bed for something useful. They bump into a familiar shape, her hands grip around her creep stick that was hidden just under Danny’s bed with a breath of relief. Her heartbeat had gone from sluggish to pounding in her ears. Jazz takes another deep breath and uses her free hand against the bed to rise and face them, raising her chin stubbornly and schooling her expression the best she can as she raises her arms pointing her weapon directly at them. She doubts she could’ve fooled them.

The real question was, after almost two years of calls for help, why were Batman and Robin here in Amity, breaking into her brother’s bedroom?