#why on earth are most if not all of these drafts so sad

[dykepuffs]

How Do I Make My Fictional Gypsies Not Racist?

(Or, "You can't, sorry, but…")

You want to include some Gypsies in your fantasy setting. Or, you need someone for your main characters to meet, who is an outsider in the eyes of the locals, but who already lives here. Or you need a culture in conflict with your settled people, or who have just arrived out of nowhere. Or, you just like the idea of campfires in the forest and voices raised in song. And you’re about to step straight into a muckpile of cliches and, accidentally, write something racist.

(In this, I am mostly using Gypsy as an endonym of Romany people, who are a subset of the Romani people, alongside Roma, Sinti, Gitano, Romanisael, Kale, etc, but also in the theory of "Gypsying" as proposed by Lex and Percy H, where Romani people are treated with a particular mix of orientalism, criminalisation, racialisation, and othering, that creates "The Gypsy" out of both nomadic peoples as a whole and people with Romani heritage and racialised physical features, languages, and cultural markers)

Enough of my friends play TTRPGs or write fantasy stories that this question comes up a lot - They mention Dungeons and Dragons’ Curse Of Strahd, World Of Darkness’s Gypsies, World Of Darkness’s Ravnos, World of Darkness’s Silent Striders… And they roll their eyes and say “These are all terrible! But how can I do it, you know, without it being racist?”

And their eyes are big and sad and ever so hopeful that I will tell them the secret of how to take the Roma of the real world and place them in a fictional one, whilst both appealing to gorjer stereotypes of Gypsies and not adding to the weight of stereotyping that already crushes us. So, disappointingly, there is no secret.

Gypsies, like every other real-world culture, exist as we do today because of interactions with cultures and geography around us: The living waggon, probably the archetypal thing which gorjer writers want to include in their portrayals of nomads, is a relatively modern invention - Most likely French, and adopted from French Showmen by Romanies, who brought it to Britain. So already, that’s a tradition that only spans a small amount of the time that Gypsies have existed, and only a small number of the full breadth of Romani ways of living. But the reasons that the waggon is what it is are based on the real world - The wheels are tall and iron-rimmed, because although you expect to travel on cobbled, tarmac, or packed-earth roads and for comparatively short distances, it wasn’t rare to have to ford a river in Britain in the late nineteenth century, on country roads. They were drawn by a single horse, and the shape of that horse was determined by a mixture of local breeds - Welsh cobs, fell ponies, various draft breeds - as well as by the aesthetic tastes of the breeders. The stove inside is on the left, so that as you move down a British road, the chimney sticks up into the part where there will be the least overhanging branches, to reduce the chance of hitting it.

So taking a fictional setting that looks like (for example) thirteenth century China (with dragons), and placing a nineteenth century Romanichal family in it will inevitably result in some racist assumptions being made, as the answer to “Why does this culture do this?” becomes “They just do it because I want them to” rather than having a consistent internal logic.

Some stereotypes will always follow nomads - They appear in different forms in different cultures, but they always arise from the settled people's same fears: That the nomads don't share their values, and are fundamentally strangers. Common ones are that we have a secret language to fool outsiders with, that we steal children and disguise them as our own, that our sexual morals are shocking (This one has flipped in the last half century - From the Gypsy Lore Society's talk of the lascivious Romni seductress who will lie with a strange man for a night after a 'gypsy wedding', to today's frenzied talk of 'grabbing' and sexually-conservative early marriages to ensure virginity), that we are supernatural in some way, and that we are more like animals than humans. These are tropes where if you want to address them, you will have to address them as libels - there is no way to casually write a baby-stealing, magical succubus nomad without it backfiring onto real life Roma. (The kind of person who has the skills to write these tropes well, is not the kind of person who is reading this guide.)

It’s too easy to say a list of prescriptive “Do nots”, which might stop you from making the most common pitfalls, but which can end up with your nomads being slightly flat as you dance around the topics that you’re trying to avoid, rather than being a rich culture that feels real in your world.

So, here are some questions to ask, to create your nomadic people, so that they will have a distinctive culture of their own that may (or may not) look anything like real-world Romani people: These aren't the only questions, but they're good starting points to think about before you make anything concrete, and they will hopefully inspire you to ask MORE questions.

First - Why are they nomadic? Nobody moves just to feel the wind in their hair and see a new horizon every morning, no matter what the inspirational poster says. Are they transhumant herders who pay a small rent to graze their flock on the local lord’s land? Are they following migratory herds across common land, being moved on by the cycle of the seasons and the movement of their animals? Are they seasonal workers who follow man-made cycles of labour: Harvests, fairs, religious festivals? Are they refugees fleeing a recent conflict, who will pass through this area and never return? Are they on a regular pilgrimage? Do they travel within the same area predictably, or is their movement governed by something that is hard to predict? How do they see their own movements - Do they think of themselves as being pushed along by some external force, or as choosing to travel? Will they work for and with outsiders, either as employees or as partners, or do they aim to be fully self-sufficient? What other jobs do they do - Their whole society won’t all be involved in one industry, what do their children, elderly, disabled people do with their time, and is it “work”?

If they are totally isolationist - How do they produce the things which need a complex supply chain or large facilities to make? How do they view artefacts from outsiders which come into their possession - Things which have been made with technology that they can’t produce for themselves? (This doesn’t need to be anything about quality of goods, only about complexity - A violin can be made by one artisan working with hand tools, wood, gut and shellac, but an accordion needs presses to make reeds, metal lathes to make screws, complex organic chemistry to make celluloid lacquer, vulcanised rubber, and a thousand other components)

How do they feel about outsiders? How do they buy and sell to outsiders? If it’s seen as taboo, do they do it anyway? Do they speak the same language as the nearby settled people (With what kind of fluency, or bilingualism, or dialect)? Do they intermarry, and how is that viewed when it happens? What stories does this culture tell about why they are a separate people to the nearby settled people? Are those stories true? Do they have a notional “homeland” and do they intend to go there? If so, is it a real place?

What gorjers think of as classic "Gipsy music" is a product of our real-world situation. Guitar from Spain, accordions from the Soviet Union (Which needed modern machining and factories to produce and make accessible to people who weren't rich- and which were in turn encouraged by Soviet authorities preferring the standardised and modern accordion to the folk traditions of the indigenous peoples within the bloc), brass from Western classical traditions, via Balkan folk music, influences from klezmer and jazz and bhangra and polka and our own music traditions (And we influence them too). What are your people's musical influences? Do they make their own instruments or buy them from settled people? How many musical traditions do they have, and what are they all for (Weddings, funerals, storytelling, campfire songs, entertainment...)? Do they have professional musicians, and if so, how do those musicians earn money? Are instrument makers professionals, or do they use improvised and easy-to-make instruments like willow whistles, spoons, washtubs, etc? (Of course the answer can be "A bit of both")

If you're thinking about jobs - How do they work? Are they employed by settled people (How do they feel about them?) Are they self employed but providing services/goods to the settled people? Are they mostly avoidant of settled people other than to buy things that they can't produce themselves? Are they totally isolationist? Is their work mostly subsistence, or do they create a surplus to sell to outsiders? How do they interact with other workers nearby? Who works, and how- Are there 'family businesses', apprentices, children with part time work? Is it considered 'a job' or just part of their way of life? How do they educate their children, and is that considered 'work'? How old are children when they are considered adult, and what markers confer adulthood? What is considered a rite of passage?

When they travel, how do they do it? Do they share ownership of beasts of burden, or each individually have "their horse"? Do families stick together or try to spread out? How does a child begin to live apart from their family, or start their own family? Are their dwellings something that they take with them, or do they find places to stay or build temporary shelter with disposable material? Who shares a dwelling and why? What do they do for privacy, and what do they think privacy is for?

If you're thinking about food - Do they hunt? Herd? Forage? Buy or trade from settled people? Do they travel between places where they've sown crops or managed wildstock in previous years, so that when they arrive there is food already seeded in the landscape? How do they feel about buying food from settled people, and is that common? If it's frowned upon - How much do people do it anyway? How do they preserve food for winter? How much food do they carry with them, compared to how much they plan to buy or forage at their destinations? How is food shared- Communal stores, personal ownership?

Why are they a "separate people" to the settled people? What is their creation myth? Why do they believe that they are nomadic and the other people are settled, and is it correct? Do they look different? Are there legal restrictions on them settling? Are there legal restrictions on them intermixing? Are there cultural reasons why they are a separate people? Where did those reasons come from? How long have they been travelling? How long do they think they've been travelling? Where did they come from? Do they travel mostly within one area and return to the same sites predictably, or are they going to move on again soon and never come back?

And then within that - What about the members of their society who are "unusual" in some way: How does their society treat disabled people? (are they considered disabled, do they have that distinction and how is it applied?) How does their society treat LGBT+ people? What happens to someone who doesn't get married and has no children? What happens to someone who 'leaves'? What happens to young widows and widowers? What happens if someone just 'can't fit in'? What happens to someone who is adopted or married in? What happens to people who are mixed race, and in a fantasy setting to people who are mixed species? What is taboo to them and what will they find shocking if they leave? What is society's attitude to 'difference' of various kinds?

Basically, if you build your nomads from the ground-up, rather than starting from the idea of "I want Gypsies/Buryats/Berbers/Minceiri but with the numbers filed off and not offensive" you can end up with a rich, unique nomadic culture who make sense in your world and don't end up making a rod for the back of real-world cultures.

[mcu-coworkers]

Enough for you

Summary: You realized that maybe Miguel isn't who you thought he was.

Word count:1k+

warnings: Sad reader, Sad Miguel:(

Tag list: @ahopelessromanticwritersworld  @munixumai  @deputy-videogamer  @blueberry-thrawn  @neteyamsluvts  @um-well @stinygirl009​  @marcswife21 @maladaptivedaydreamingbum​  @juleshadalittlelamb​  @taygrls​  @tanchosanke​  @chuckle-nuts​

A/n: Hello everyone and welcome to part two of “you?” I will most positively be making a part three coming very soon! Thank you all for reading! (I listened to the sour album while writing this series rough drafts)

Parts: One  Two^ Three Four

Credits to the creator^

That night you cried yourself to sleep.

Partially because Miguel completely shot you down and partially because you left your friends and suit forever.

You couldn't bear to bring back the suit or go back to HQ knowing what you knew.

You could never face Miguel or any spider again.

You wanted to so desperately let it all go and forget.

But above all else there was a city that needed you and you’d always be there for them no matter what heartbreak comes your way.

In this moment, you wished you were as heartless as miguel.

Back at HQ Miguel was looking through endless security footage on all possible earths miles could have been on.

Truth was he needed a second pair of eyes.

“Lyla.” he barked out.

“Yes, boss.” she responded, appearing on his shoulder.

“Call y/n.” he said, pausing the footage to rub his eyes.

He could take advantage of this time to apologize.

“No can do.” she replied being short with him. To be fully honest Lyla had also had enough of his shit.

“What? Lyla it wasn't a question go get me Y/n. Now.” he said, not having the energy to deal with her jokes.

“No. Miguel, you don’t-” she tried again but he cut her off.

“Fine.  I  ‘ll go get her my fucking self.” he said swinging towards the door.

“She's gone, Miguel. And it's all your fault.” Lyla said behind him.

He froze,“What?” finding your watch and your suit he stopped thinking.

“She quit. Not just the spider society, she quit being a spider entirely. Because of what you said.” Lyla finished.

“ I   didnt-  I   didnt mean it..” he said, clutching your suit in his hand.

“Well you said it anyway and it hurt her.” She responded, “And if  I   were her  I‘d probably never come back too, she deserved better Miguel. Why did you lie?” she asked confused as to why he denied himself the chance of love.

“ I   was angry  I   wasn’t thinking straight.  I  didn’t mean it.” he said barely above a whisper.

“Yeah well you sold it as far as keeping up an act goes.” she said, sighing.

Miguel could always fix his mistakes. This would be a first.

Sighing he stood straight and turned back to his desk.

Miguel had a decision to make, you or the fate of the multiverse.

It's like he said, there's no room for that kind of stuff for guys like him.

Once again he was right.

“Get Ben and Jess in here and have them start with earth 42.” he said, sounding more defeated than ever.

Still, he was clutching your suit as if you were still in it. Your scent lingering.

“Yes, boss.” was all Lyla could muster up at the moment.

Her artificial heart was breaking for the both of you. He was so close to telling you she could feel it.

It just wasn't his strongest moment.

Neither was this one as he took out his anger on the poor monitor that happened to be in his way.

Back at home you laid in bed trying to find the motivation to get back up but the truth was you didn't want to.

Everytime you tried to create a new suit you just heard Miguel's abusive words like it was the first time all over again.

And it just made you want to hide under the blankets forever.

Your spidey senses went off and then there came the portal.

You knew it wasn't Miguel, he could never.

“Hey webby? You alright in there?” you heard.

Peter.

Taking the covers off you came face to face with an exhausted Peter and a sleeping May Day.

“Heard what happened at HQ  just wanted to check in if that's okay.” he added wondering if he could take a step closer.

“ I   really screwed it up this time pete.” you said wiping the tears away for the millionth time.

God you felt pathetic.

“No way kid, that was all him. You know that right.” he said sitting next to you.

“ I   should’ve been there. But even if  I   was, I don't know if  I‘d be on his side. Miles is just a kid, We’ve all been there right?” you asked. Thinking this way makes you feel guilty.

You should stand behind Miguel at all times.

But now what did it matter you’d never step foot in HQ ever again anyways.

“You're allowed to think whatever you want. He can't take that from you.” Peter reassured me.

He was right.

“You think you’ll ever come back?” he asked, he almost entirely knew the answer but he still held out hope for you.

“ I   don't think so Pete,  I‘m sorry.” you said looking down in shame.

The reality was you could never face him again.

“Don’t be  I   wouldn't stand for that either  I  ‘m pretty sure a lot of us are done for too anyways but listen, you’re never going to be alone.” he said putting a hand on your shoulder.

“If you ever decide to come back not just as spider woman, but to the society, just know you have people in your corner.” he said, giving you a warm smile.

“Thanks pete.” you said as he stood opening a portal.

“Hey pete?” you called out.

Turning back to you he waited for you to continue.

“Don’t ever stop sending me Pictures of May Day. I need my daily serotonin boost.” you said with a soft smile earning yourself a chuckle in return.

“Never kid.” he said as he walked his way into the portal.

A soon as he was gone you went back under the covers and took a deep breath.

Peeking your head out from under the cover you looked at the picture you had framed on your wall.

It was of you receiving the key to the city.

Your city, the one you saved day and night.

Whenever it called for you.

You earned that key the same way you earned the title of spider-woman.

And you weren’t gonna let some words take that from you.

Wiping the fresh tears away you got out of bed putting Miguel's words in the back of your head and got to designing.

You were bigger than his words and you’d prove it.

In that moment you promised you’d make him regret ever  making you feel like you’re not good enough.

One day he’s gonna feel sorry for himself.

And one day you’ll be everything to somebody else.

And he’ll be the one who's crying.

Yeah, one day.

*If you’d like to be added to the tagslist just let me know I am more than happy to :)

[megumimania]

UNGODLY HOUR

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drugs, fluff at the end (i lied!), rapper!ony x black reader, kinda angsty, reader and ony need therapy, mild swearing, unhealthy relationships, somewhat happy ending

a/n: im back after falling off the face of the earth xx this wasn’t supposed to be this sad, sorry x🤗 im clearing out the drafts

ony kept calling again and again, usually you’d ignore it like what you’ve been doing for the past month but tonight was different, so you finally picked up the phone. “hey.” you answered, your voice still groggy from sleep. “hey? it’s been a month y/n, where the fuck have you been!” he said with a slight slur to his words, he was drunk.

“first off, watch your tone when you talk to me and second of all, i’ve been busy.” you replied with a bite to your tone. now you regretted picking up the phone in the first place. prior to your month of no contact with ony, you were his rock. in an industry full of yes men and record labels who didn’t give a fuck about what he did as long as he dropped music on time, you were a breath of fresh air. you were his peace.

so when he’d have a rough day, or was high or drunk out of his mind, you were the first person he called. and you always came to his rescue, calming him down, helping him sober up, hiding him from the paparazzi—but it got all too much. the infrequent bad days became frequent, and his constant expectation for you to be there when he called, meant you lost out on opportunities and relationships, and you slowly began to build some resentment towards him, but that swiftly came down when you realised he was just hurting and lonely.

you were there for him through everything.

you tried to love him from a distance, help him from a distance but that became overwhelming too. you tried to get him help, but that often went nowhere. after a tense argument with him, you went ghost, needing space from him entirely. you still kept up with him on socials though, anonymously of course and it looked like he was doing well—until tonight.

“busy with what?” he asked. you let out a deep sigh before replying, “busy with my life, i have shit that exists outside of you, you know that right?” he went silent for a second before laughing. you were already tired of his bullshit and it hadn’t been five minutes since you picked up. “ony, why do you keep calling me?” you said, frustration evident in your tone. “i missed you ma.” he said his voice sounding hoarse, you felt your heart break for him all over again.

you were sure that you were gonna regret this decision later but you knew that you couldn’t let him be on his own right now, especially in such a vulnerable state. “im coming over.” you said, hanging up before he could get a word out.

—

the first thing ony did after you stepped into his apartment was pull you in for a hug. you pulled away giving him a once over and he looked like he’d seen better days. “you look a mess.” you frowned, pulling him into the kitchen to get a glass of water. “damn ma is that all you gotta say to me, after a whole ass month?” he looked at you in amazement. “just drink the damn water.” you muttered in annoyance.

“so are you gonna give me an explanation to why you ghosted me for a month?” you rolled your eyes in annoyance. “ony man…don’t fucking do this, im not in the mood.” you sighed, rubbing your temples. “do what? im just asking why you’ve suddenly remembered my existence after a month.” you let out a hollow laugh, “i needed space. ”

“space,from me?” ony scratched his beard, not knowing what to say, so you took it as an opportunity to let out all your frustrations at him. “yes, you. ony, you are the most insufferable, selfish person i’ve ever met. you took a deep breath before continuing, “all i’ve tried to do is help and yet you never take it into consideration, hell you don’t even take me into consideration.”

“I do—” he replied. you gave him a deadpan look, “you don’t, instead you end up on tmz or the shade room for doing stupid shit that makes me wonder if you actually care about your career.” ony’s jaw ticked upon hearing those words leave your mouth. he accepted that he wasn’t perfect by any means, but to come for the only thing that he put his blood, sweat and tears into was a slap in the face.

“so why did you come back?” he said quieter than intended, his eyes slightly glossy from the tears.“ i thought time apart would do us good. you needed to work on yourself and on your music, plus i just didn’t want you to rely on me like that again.” you tentatively step closer to him, caressing his cheek. “ony, i genuinely love and care about you but we can’t do this anymore.” you said, your voice wobbling slightly. “you need to sort your shit out and i can’t help you do that any more.”

the tears came out of nowhere and you gave up on trying to stop them. “I should go.” you said sniffling slightly as your eyes, “i don’t even know why i came here, i should’ve stayed at home.” you grabbed your keys and your phone and was halfway out the door, when ony called out for you. “y/n…i’ll go to therapy, anything! but i just can’t lose you!” he begged, the desperation evident in his voice.

“that’s nice.” you said, wiping your tears. you wanted to believe him so bad but you knew him like the back of your hand, this was one of his lies that he’d make you forget about in an array of large gestures and kisses until the next time he spiralled and flipped out on you. “ony, we both know how this is gonna end up.” you swore that you saw his spirit break at that moment, all the fight he had build up, slowly left as his shoulders sank in defeat.

you left his apartment shortly after, before his sweet words could coax you into thinking that things were gonna be alright, that he was gonna be alright. you expected to leave his apartment with some sense of relief but grief ate away at you, you missed him so much and you hadn’t even reached home yet. you mourned the relationship that you had with him, the relationship that could’ve been if he’d just sought out help that he needed.

you got home as the city began to roar up again and tried to move on, it was hard considering that memories of him were scattered all over your apartment, invoking a wide range of feelings from anger to immense sadness. you knew that moving on wasn’t simple especially when you had such a complex history with him. a life without ony, was a life that was going to take some adjustment to but you were to take it one day at a time.

[an-au-blog]

(the draft cleaning continues)

We need a "Out Of My League" type of au, where Zoro and Sanji "secretly" like each other so much that it's obnoxious. Everyone but them knows about it.

it's mutual pining where both of them are scared shitless to do anything about their feelings because they both think the other one deserves way better.

Zoro is wholeheartedly convinced that Sanji is the most attractive person on earth (not necessarily just looks, but his kindness, fighting skills and charm all together) and that it's science. And in his mind there's only 3 infinite things: the universe, people's (Zoro's) stupidity and Sanji's attractiveness levels. When he sees how he acts around women and how he'd flirt with anyone but him, he starts acting like a 5 y/o who picks on his crush to get attention. Which kind of works in the sense where they get plenty of physical contact. But it also backfires because Zoro is convinced self sabotaged himself and made Sanji hate him.

Sanji, however is nothing like what Zoro thinks. He can't even flirt with women like he used to. Ever since he met Zoro he has been thinking about him. He tries to distract himself by flirting with strangers but then he feels Zoro's eyes burning holes in him. He'd rather die than get rejected by Zoro. He's sure Zoro would reject him and then avoid him like the plague, so he just tries to act as natural as he can. He finds out that it's safest to flirt with Nami and Robin instead because it's so much easier and they know about his feelings towards the swordsman.

They both get jealous as hell, but Zoro's the only one doing anything about it. He picks fights or annoys Sanji as much as possible just so he doesn't have to watch the one he loves woo someone else. He believes that Sanji will find a beautiful wife one day, but he wants to be selfish for a little while longer. He wants to indulge the thought that he can be at his side.

And of course, Sanji knows for a fact that one day Zoro will be the greatest swordsman in the world. So why should some cook, who wasn't even born right, drag him down. He can't make Zoro settle for him. He can't bare the thought of chaining him down to a restaurant once he opens one. They're dreams are just too incompatible.

Zoro finally tried to do something but every time he tries to be nice to or even smile at the man he has the biggest crush on, he starts stress smoking, looking at the floor like a kicked puppy. Which infuriates the cook because he thinks that he's being made fun of. It's gotten so bad, that instead of Sanji getting sad, he gets mad at Zoro and starts a fight. Eye contact starts getting so hard that Zoro starts having doing the headbutt thing just so he can look at him in the eye.

[dairyminki]

Acquiescence || j.wy

PAIRING — jung wooyoung x fem!reader ... GENRE — fluff, angst, strangers to lovers ... WARNING/S — major character death, mentions and descriptions of hospital, pet names, reader has achromatopsia, mild profanities ... WC — 7.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE — i had this fic idea hiding in my drafts with only the title finished bcos i felt like it wasn't the right time for me to write it just yet, so i let it sit. and just when i thought this story will never see the light, stormy august happened, i got all angsty, and i was able to pour all my emotions on this fic. and now, i'm posting it for sad september, yay! anyway, special thanks to @hotteoki and @jaehunnyy for beta-reading this one ^^

SYNOPSIS — a life painted in shades of black, white, and gray, sparks a certain yearning for something brand new deep inside of you. but what if that 'something brand new' comes in the form of a boy and his camera? will his presence be able to alter the monotonous world you live in into a world where the colors of the rainbow are freely dancing?

*reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! ♡

— ☁️

ac·qui·es·cence

: the reluctant acceptance of something without protest.

achro·​ma·​top·​sia

: a visual defect that is marked by total color blindness in which the colors of the spectrum are seen as tones of white, gray, and black, by poor visual acuity, and by extreme sensitivity to bright light

☁️.... playlist!

To you, it was peaceful.

How the scratchy sound of the pencil's nib against your sketchbook was the only thing you could hear, how the hues of black, gray, and white were the only ones that filled your vision, and how it was only the smell of fresh grass that lingered in the cool morning air.

But at the same time, it was depressing.

How those were the only things that constantly stimulated your senses. Always the same every morning, unless it were to rain.

You don't think any word was fitting enough to describe what you currently feel. Deep inside you, there's a yearning for something brand new. To alter the monotonous life you have in exchange for a life filled with an endless spark of delirium or one where the world before your eyes appears bright-colored.

Sitting on one of the wooden benches found in the hospital's garden inevitably makes your thoughts and emotions fly around. Sometimes, it's the feeling of hope budding inside your chest, but most times it was the heavy weight of despair forming over your head like a gloomy gray cloud.

Gray.

Now that is a shade you know by heart. A shade you've grown to appreciate that if anyone asks you what your favorite color is, gray would be your automatic answer.

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, pink, and many others, are colors you could only wish and dream to see. When people around you talk about how blue the sky is, or how an evergreen tree looks, it makes you wonder deeply how on earth they look like. Are they as pretty as your favorite color? Or are they something more? Something that'd get you marveling hard and for long.

"Y/N? Y/N~?" You hear the familiar voice calling your name in a sing-song. When you turn your head around, you catch sight of shoe-clad feet before you see the face of your lovely nurse from day one—Nurse Aliah.

"There you are!" She exclaims, walking towards you with a huge smile on her face which you mimic as you close your sketchbook.

"Time's up for me already?" You ask, a bit dejected.

As much as you've grown to treat your hospital room as your home, that doesn't mean you've grown to love staring at the mundane four walls and smelling the overpowering scent of antiseptic and cleaning agents clouding your senses.

"Why? Don't feel like going back yet?" Nurse Aliah asks, making you scoot over so she can sit beside you.

Replying with a mere nod of your head, she sighs, patting you gently on the back. Then, she takes a glance at her wristwatch, saying, "I suppose I could give you half an hour more. I mean no one has to know, right?" She sends you a playful wink.

"That's more than enough, thank you."

"No problem at all, darling. But before I go, can I have a little peek at your sketches?" Nurse Aliah asks, gesturing at the sketchbook on your lap which you immediately hide behind you.

"No!" You laugh. "No peeking until I finish it."

Your answer got her frowning, but she stood nonetheless, muttering a sulky 'fine.'

"The sun's about to reach its peak in a little while, so put your cap on, alright?" She reminds, prompting you to nod your head before she finally leaves the garden.

With Nurse Aliah gone, you grab your cap beside you, wearing it, before you find yourself admiring your surroundings once more, taking in deep breaths as if the earth's air supply was about to run out, and then you're opening your sketchbook and diving back inside the world of art.

Sketching different things brings you peace—if some feel anxious leaving their houses without their phones or watches on, for you it's the same when you leave your mechanical pencil or any of your sketchbooks and drawing pads behind.

Art enables you to cope with all the imperfections you were forced to carry with you ever since you were born to walk the earth with your tiny feet.

You might not be able to see and appreciate colors as much as everyone does, but you do love being able to weave lines, shapes, and patterns from the tip of your pencil.

Click!

Your grip on the pencil loosens when you hear the sound of a camera shutter and someone cursing. Looking to your left, you see a male who looks the same age as you, holding a camera in his hand—his hair is quite long, he has styled fringes framing the sides of his face, and he is smiling sheepishly at you.

"Did you…just take a picture of me?" You asked, squinting your eyes at him and tilting your head to the side. You see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing, all the while he lowers his camera.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" He exclaims—his voice, pitchy. Then he proceeds to ramble aloud, "I didn't mean to startle you, I was just taking a look around, trying to find anything pretty to capture, and then I saw you, and I…I'm sorry."

"Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to take someone's photo without asking their permission?" By now you were standing, approaching the male and his camera. When you stick out a hand, he instantly gives his camera to you and you find yourself staring at a picture of yourself on the screen.

What he did was rude, yes, but you can't help but be in awe at the way he was able to capture you looking so immersed in your drawing—your furrowed brows and your tongue darting out of your slightly opened mouth because you're concentrating hard.

"I should be mad but, it's actually a pretty photo," You say, slightly abashed.

The male in front of you chuckles. Then he asks, "So, does that mean I get to keep this pretty picture of you?"

At the mention of the word 'pretty,' you feel your cheeks heat up. Coughing out loud and not meeting him in the eyes, you reply, "Only if you're not some creepy stalker, then I suppose you can."

"I'm not! I actually did it for a school project."

Hearing him say that made your ears perk.

"Oh, really? What's it about?" You can't help but ask, not being able to hold back with your natural curiosity for things.

"Nothing much, really," He starts. "We were just told to visit someplace we hadn't been to before and then capture something that catches our eye. Once we can do that, we will be asked to share about it in class."

After he explains, you find yourself asking him more.

"What else did you take a picture of?"

"You…were the first really." He answers with his free hand rubbing at his nape. As for you, his answer got your cheeks even hotter.

"Oh." You end up saying, not really knowing how to respond further. Luckily, he opens up another topic, and later on you're back sitting on the bench you previously sat on, but with him beside you.

"So you're telling me you've never been to a hospital before?"

"Nu-uh. Never," He answers, fiddling with the buttons of his camera. "Uhm, how about you? Did you…"

You knew what he meant despite him not fully voicing it out. Thank goodness you didn't see that one thing you really hate, in his eyes, though—pity.

"Been here since I was five," You say as you stare up at the sky. The gray-looking sky that always accompanied you whenever you were out here in the garden.

"What are you here for?" You could gather a hint of hesitance in his voice, most probably not wanting to pry considering you've only just met. But he's just like you, curious.

"I'm color-blind," You begin. And just when you were about to tell him more, you heard someone calling you.

"Y/N!"

You turn your head and see Nurse Aliah approaching you. From a distance, you could already see the questioning in her gaze.

"I—ah, unfortunately, have to go now," You say, picking up your sketchbook and standing up.

"Oh."

"Yeah, um, I'm grateful I was able to cross paths with you today," You tell him with all honesty. And you think you see him bite back a smile.

"The way you say it, makes it sound like, us, meeting was something big."

"Well, maybe it is," You grinned at him. "I'm Y/N, by the way." You say, extending a hand for a handshake which he immediately accepts.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. I'm Wooyoung," He responds before you wave at him goodbye and run towards Nurse Aliah with a smile still lingering on your face and her look of questioning not fading away in the slightest.

"Who was that?" She asks as the both of you start to walk back inside the hospital.

"Hmm, just someone who thinks I'm pretty."

—

The following day, you asked Nurse Aliah if you could go out again. When she asked you why, you simply told her that the fresh air and the calming surroundings got you more motivated to finish sketching, and not because you were kind of hoping for a certain long-haired male to find his way back to the garden, no, not at all.

Well, not that you were going to admit and let her know anyway.

You fell into the same routine as yesterday without any difficulty. By now, the subject you were trying to draw was getting more defined. Just a little more shadings here and-

"Smile!"

Instead of smiling as the chirpy voice told you to do so, you think your caught-off-guard face was what the camera was able to capture.

"You could've warned me!" You exclaim after a few moments of just blinking and nothing but your mind trying to register the sound of the shutter that went off earlier and the laughter of the newcomer.

The very reason why you wanted to escape the stuffy walls of the hospital again.

"I take pride in my candid shots, though." Wooyoung pouts.

"You only started taking pictures yesterday!" You point out.

"Okay, and?"

"Ugh, just let me see the picture," You say, though it sounds more like a demand. A demand that Wooyoung refuses to follow through.

"No, this one is for my eyes only." Wooyoung sticks his tongue out at you and then,, later on has this shit-eating grin on his face.

In the end, you give up trying to get the camera from him. The moment you decide to set your focus back on your drawing, silence envelops you two—not the awkward kind though. It was more like those silence that'll have you sighing in relief, and everything else around you sounding like calming waves.

And amidst the silence was Wooyoung near a flower bush with his camera out. You don't know what colors the flowers are in but you do remember Nurse Aliah telling you they are called Chrysanthemums and that they smell sweet.

"Wooyoung," You say after a minute of just staring at him snapping a couple of photos of the said flower. "What color are those flowers?" You ask.

Without taking his peering eyes off the viewfinder, he answers, "They're purple!"

Purple—you know they're the color of grapes, your favorite fruit. You've wondered since then if purple was anything like how the fruit tasted.

"How about your hair, Woo?"

Woo—that's new, and the way the nickname rolled off your tongue actually felt nice.

"It's black, probably just the way you see it!" He answers, and then you see him finally lowering his camera and smiling to himself while he walks back toward you on the bench.

"Were you able to capture something pretty?" You ask him as soon as he drops his weight on the bench, his shoulder touching yours.

"I did. It's quite a lot. But…" Wooyoung trails off, and then he's looking at you with a cheeky grin. "...they're not as pretty as you though."

At that remark, you feel heat rush towards your face, however, you don't look away from his gaze, just yet. Your thoughts begin to wander again, as you think of what the color of his eyes are and if they're the same as yours, or the color of the shirt he's wearing, and his camera too. You could've asked those questions aloud but you didn't.

Instead, you ask, "If I were a color, what color would I be, Woo?"

Wooyoung briefly seemed to appear as if he was in deep thought, with his head tilting to the side, his eyes roaming all over you, and his lips pursing.

"That's a question I can't answer after just a day of knowing you, Y/N." He answers truthfully. "How about I'll get back to you after a month?" He proposes.

A month could be awfully long for some, and short for others who are patient enough. You're not sure which one of the two are you, although you still nod your head at Wooyoung.

And a month? Sure, you could wait. Time flies fast these days, after all.

—

Days turned to weeks, and by now, you've grown accustomed and comfortable with Wooyoung's presence.

He was just the right amount of loud, funny, and kind, that even your Nurse Aliah has opened up to him already.

"You smile a lot nowadays," Nurse Aliah comments one time while you're resting inside your room and she's replacing your newly emptied bowl of grapes with a fresh set.

"Is it bad?" You ask as you stare at the ceiling, not really thinking of anything—just the little joke Wooyoung told you a day ago repeatedly tickling your head.

You hear the clinking of the fruit bowl for the last time before you hear the rustling of your bed sheet.

"It's not bad per se, but…"

Her unsaid words send the all too familiar sinking feeling creeping its way back into your chest. A feeling you've tried so hard to push to the back of your mind, only for it to resurface once again.

"Don't," You plead in a small voice, eyes closed. When you open them again, you're looking straight at her, hot tears lingering in the corner of your eyes. You tried hard to blink them back.

But when was the last time you let them fall? When was the last time you allowed yourself to feel sadness? When was the last time you willingly set hope free and embraced despair?

"Alright, I…I just want to let you know today will be the last time you'll be able to go out Y/N. Tomorrow, Dr. Lee will be here to check on you."

Not being able to stop the dam from breaking, you just nod your head to whatever Nurse Aliah is saying. You feel her caress your hair before the door to your room closes with a thud.

Tears spilled—rolling down the apples of your cheeks until they're gliding past your lips, enabling you to taste their saltiness. And then you're sitting up, pulling your leg close to your chest with your head resting on the wall as you stare at the window.

You sigh. Feeling all the energy you possess going down the drain.

You suddenly remember all the things the younger you had to suffer through just because you weren't normal just like how everyone was. You remember how you'd run into things and tripped over them because everything seemed dark and dull. You remember how other kids would play outside at the playground while their parents would sit there on the benches and talk about how the sun looked so bright.

You've never directly looked at the sunlight. It hurt your eyes, even until now. Hence, every time you go out, you always wear a cap on your head just to shield your eyes from the light radiated by the sun. Anyone else would've worn sunglasses to deal with that, and you've tried—once. After that, you came to Nurse Aliah, crying, because you felt suffocated while wearing them. And that continued until you were older—any type of glasses having the same effect on you.

Childhood for you was tough. Luckily, Nurse Aliah was there to somehow make it less hard for you to deal with the world and reality. Making you smile, laugh, and enjoy the little things—Nurse Aliah was your only family. She contributed to igniting the spark of hope inside you.

And now, there's Wooyoung—his smile, his raucous laughter, and the way he sweeps his fringes to the side out of habit. Just Wooyoung and the click of his camera, his camera roll that's probably full of your stolen shots now. Just Wooyoung trying to peek at whatever you're drawing while you're so adamant not to show him. Just Wooyoung discreetly picking out a random flower from the bush and putting it behind your ear.

It sends a rush of warmth all over you—something warmer than what you get when you're spending time with Nurse Aliah. No, Wooyoung's was something else.

You place your right hand on your chest, and there it is. The faint sound of your heart beating, increasing, as your mind gets filled more by the said male.

It feels foreign, but it's nice. Really nice.

And with that, you know you're ready to face another day with the open sky and Wooyoung's presence keeping you intact and aground.

—

After all the crying you've done, you felt light and at ease. As you walk out into the hallways and down to the ground floor, you find yourself greeting more people you encounter along the way. You can't help but notice the smile sticking to your lips, and surprisingly, it didn't hurt you with how wide it was.

Your smile only seems to get brighter when you spot Wooyoung's familiar figure outside. He's by the same bench you two sit on with his back facing you.

Giggling, you were eager to reach where he stood.

But then it happens.

Just when you were about to run and shout his name, it happened.

Instead of shouting his name, you find yourself gasping for air, feeling as if your throat was closing in on you. With your heart irregularly beating painfully against your chest you drop to the ground, feeling faint and cold with sweat.

You don't register much about what happened next but swore you heard screams around you and the last-minute turning and running Wooyoung made toward you.

Blurry grayness was the last thing you saw before everything turned black.

—

There were voices around you and the sound of a machine.

Fluttering your eyes open, you recognize you are in your room—lying on a bed with a few tubes connected to your body, and then gently shifting your eyes to the door where the sound came from, you see a familiar back and your Nurse Aliah, talking in low voices. Though, not low enough, seeing as they awoke you.

Nurse Aliah notices your awoken state first, you see her whisper something to Wooyoung before she attends to your side.

"Hey, darling," She began in a soft voice, almost lulling. When her fingers brushed through your hair, you swore sleep was tempting you to go back into its arms once again. But you stopped yourself.

"How are we feeling?" Nurse Aliah asks. You find yourself clearing your dry throat, unable to answer. You give her an okay sign, instead.

Immediately, she gets a glass of water from your bedside table. She gently guides you to a sitting position, before she hands the drink to you.

"I'm glad you're awake, Y/N. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go call Dr. Lee. Meanwhile, you can go ahead and talk with your lover boy over there. Sounds good?"

You could only roll your eyes at her, shooing her away.

Wooyoung instantly came to your side after the door closed. He pulls out a chair for him to sit on and then just stares at you. You find yourself looking down at the empty glass in your hand, with the silence the male was giving you.

You can't figure out if he's angry, sad, or disappointed. If he only sees you as a weak and undesirable thing he no longer wants anything to do with.

"What's my pretty girl thinking, hmm?" Wooyoung asks, gently taking the glass out of your hold, and replacing it with his hands.

Wooyoung's hands felt warm against your slightly cold ones and you liked it.

"I'm thinking that I'm sorry, I'm sorry for not telling you," You answer truthfully, now finding the courage to reciprocate his gaze on you. But then, a gasp leaves you when you see how puffy his eyes are.

"Have you been crying?" You ask, pulling your hands from him and cupping his face. Your thumbs trace the bags of his eyes while Wooyoung leans into your touch.

"If I did, what's my pretty girl going to do about it?" Wooyoung asks with a small chuckle, in an attempt to lighten up the mood inside the four walls.

"Am I really still pretty to you, Woo?" You asked in a weak voice, tone laced with disbelief.

"Y/N, y'know that's a stupid question, right? Love, you'll forever be pretty in my eyes, and I—y'know yourself I'm good at finding pretty things, right? That's how I found you."

"Woo…"

"If you think that me, seeing you like this will change anything, then you're so wrong for that."

"Woo-"

"Is it shitty of me if I say that I'm in love with you, right now?"

You're caught off guard when Wooyoung starts crying, his tears wetting your fingers. With him breaking down in front of you, you can't help but cry as well, pulling his head to your chest in hopes that your heartbeat was loud enough for him to hear that it was actually screaming his name.

"I don't want you wasting your tears on me, please…" Your voice was croaky after a while, tears having dried on your cheeks, while Wooyoung's sobs still hadn't subsided.

"I don't know about you but I'm not feeling funny enough to laugh right now," He answers with a chuckle and you laugh as well, still cradling his head against you.

If you could, and if you only knew how, you'd lessen the pain he's feeling.

Absorbing all the pain coursing through him until you become numb, you'll do so. And if you could control time you would love to rewind it to the time he took a photo of you without permission.

If you acted coldly towards him and sent him away, would you still find yourselves in this position?

Will Wooyoung still weave his way into your fragile heart and your colorless life?

Will you still find yourself falling in love at the last minute with him?

You don't know.

But you do know you feel the same way as him.

Who knew that that delicate heart of yours was still capable of welcoming a powerful force called love inside?

—

Most of your days were filled with your doctor and nurse checking up on you at every possible chance. The wheelchair has become your friend, and instead of getting out into the garden and finding Wooyoung, the tables turned. Wooyoung, being the one who found his way to your hospital room, started constantly visiting you with a different set of flowers every day to adorn the lonely vase sitting atop your bedside table.

Unlike the other days though, this time, he was kind of late. Even Nurse Aliah didn't get to peek inside after the early morning check-up she did on you today. It was strange, you think.

Starting to feel bored, you decided to take a quick look at your finished drawings and the letters you wrote slipped into one of the pages of your sketchbook

Then, you hear the door to your room opening. Instead of Nurse Aliah, though, Wooyoung's adorable peeking head was the one you saw.

"Woo!" You exclaim, putting a sweet smile on his face as he welcomes himself in.

Immediately, you open your arms for him, and he fits in perfectly when he engulfs you in a soft hug. You feel his lips against your temple, and if you could, you'd choose to stay in this position, just basking in all the warmth he could offer and all the kisses he'd get to spoil you with.

"I have a surprise for you."

"What is it?" You whisper back at him. Then, he's pulling away, a hesitant look on his face.

You looked at him, confused, asking, "Is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong! It's just that, Nurse Aliah told me you're not really fond of these, but, I was hoping if…" Wooyoung trails off, and then he takes something out of the small bag that he brought with him. "...can you please, wear them for me, just this time?"

In his hand was a case, and when he opened it, you saw a pair of glasses.

Your breath hitches.

"Is this—h-how were you able to—Woo, I-"

Unbeknownst to you, you were panicking, and Wooyoung was doing all his best to calm you off the overwhelming feeling encapsulating you.

When you've calmed down, he proceeds to ask again, "Will you wear them for me, love?" in a much softer voice.

You nod your head, tears brushing your cheeks, while smiling hard and mumbling a few yeses.

"Thank you, my pretty girl," Wooyoung says, showering you with butterfly kisses, prompting giggles out of you.

"Are you ready?" Wooyoung asks before you take the glasses out of its case. Nodding eagerly as a reply, you put them on, unable to control the blinking of your eyes as they adjust.

An immense feeling grows in your chest, your words stuck in your throat when you finally get to look at Wooyoung and see what his gorgeous eyes are colored in. When you asked him what color they were, he told you they were brown, the same as yours.

Minutes later, as soon as Wooyoung sees you're all set, he pulls you up from your bed, helps you wear your shoes, and then guides you every step until you're sitting in your wheelchair.

Turns out it was blue—your wheelchair. And blue is such a pretty color, you think. Though, after seeing the color of Wooyoung's eyes, you think nothing could ever compare with it.

—

It was your first time being able to see the garden with the stars present, twinkling up above.

Wearing the special glasses that Wooyoung has gifted you, you can't help but cry at the overwhelming colors filling your vision.

Wooyoung and Nurse Aliah told you that it won't make you see all the colors the world is painted in, but at least it was no longer just black, white, and gray—the three same colors your world was revolving in.

Another surprise welcomes you hard when you notice the transformation the garden had to go through with all the fairy lights hanging from each tree.

Green—a color you know that dominates the earth. You are so delighted to be able to see such a refreshing and tranquil color. A color you wouldn't mind looking at forever.

"Did you do all of this for me?" You ask Wooyoung in between shivers, that the latter had to stop wheeling you from behind for a minute. He crouches down in front of you, tightening the jacket around you, and sensing that it isn't enough to shield you from the cold nightly breeze, he takes off his own and puts it on you.

"Hmm, though I did ask Nurse Aliah and a few others for help. Do I look like I could pull off this surprise by myself?"

"Of course not." You playfully scoff.

"I know I asked, but I can't help but feel offended."

Laughter filled the rest of the path you took toward the very bright evergreen tree in the far distance. The sound of the crickets and the luminous moonlight accompanied you two as well.

"Is that—are we having a picnic?" You gasped, spotting a blanket lying over the green grass, a basket, and a set of empty plates over it. You think you even see a bottle of your favorite drink peeking out of the basket.

"Yes, we are, pretty." Wooyoung responds, but then something else catches your attention that you almost want to abandon your wheelchair and just say, 'fuck it,' and run.

You realize that not only fairy lights hang from the evergreen tree, but also pictures.

When you get nearer, you feel your heartbeat becoming louder. And when the wheelchair halts—Wooyoung carrying you afterward towards the area he set for you two—you were able to see the pictures much closer.

At first, all you see were the different flowers Wooyoung captured in his camera—they were a myriad of colors; pink, blue, red, and purple.

You found purple to be the loveliest.

"Is that—?" You turn your head to Woooyoung as your finger points to a certain picture of two people.

Wooyoung only nods.

It was a picture of you and your Nurse Aliah. Bright smiles graced your lips. Your arms were around each other and you were wearing your cap which surprisingly is colored purple as well.

Maybe, Nurse Aliah knew that purple was bound to replace gray as your favorite color in the long run, and the color didn't disappoint you at the very least.

"Thank you," You tell Wooyoung as he puts you down on the blanket. Everything looks magical. Like a scene pulled out from a movie, a scene you didn't expect to live out.

And just when you thought Wooyoung's surprise had reached its end, you thought wrong when he handed you a photo album. Well, it looked more identical to a scrapbook, with your name on the cover formed using cutout magazine letters.

When you open it, you see a short letter written on the first page with what seems to be Wooyoung's penmanship. From his penmanship alone, you could identify what his personality is like. And you thought it was endearing.

However, when you flipped to the next page, your eyes widened, breath hitching as your gaze stayed fixed on the very first picture pasted on.

It was that picture Wooyoung took that got you so caught off guard. The one he so adamantly tried to hide from you.

One of the candid photos he took pride in—you with your eyes staring wide at the camera, your mouth ajar, the pencil you were holding slipping out of your grip mid-air.

You were quite shy to admit it but you now understand why Wooyoung said it was for his eyes only.

It was a pretty picture.

—

Deeper into the night, Wooyoung finds himself running his fingers through your hair while you're laying your head on his lap, watching the stars dance in the endless obsidian sky.

Having you close like this, he gets to realize how frail you appear to be, one touch and he fears you'll break. A second of looking away from you and he's afraid you'll slip away from the clutch he has on you.

But then, there was your smile, ever blinding, and it made him think there was nothing wrong. That this was simply a storm passing by and that tomorrow a rainbow shall greet him from the bluish sky.

"Ask me again, Y/N," He asks after a while of comfortable silence, you merely humming back, eyes questioning him with what he means by that.

"Ask me the same question you asked me a month ago."

And just like that, bliss danced in your irises, but then you sat up a little bit too fast that it worried Wooyoung for a bit. However, the joy in your face never seemed to fade, and that was enough to reassure him that you didn't experience any pain of some sort.

"What color am I to you, Woo?" You paraphrased the question you dropped on him a month ago, one he couldn't answer yet. But now, he thinks he got it all memorized.

"My dear Y/N, if you were a color," He starts, leaning in towards you, his hands cupping your face and then he's resting his forehead against yours. "You'd be every color in the rainbow."

To Wooyoung, you were purple—a color that's meant for uniqueness and the artistic side of life, which you surely have running in your blood. Purple was a color that could relax the overall senses, which is why it's no surprise to him that it was now your favorite color.

Although, he believes you're also blue—not the feeling, though. Blue was a perfect color to describe your calm demeanor to others. Just like the feeling one gets from looking at the sky—breathtaking, pure, serene, and easy to look at. Wooyoung thinks he gets all of that just from a single glance at you.

But then you're also green. Softness and growth. In the short amount of time, he got the privilege to spend with you, he knows you've become more open to everything. You've once told him about what your past looked like and to be honest? He thinks you've started to learn to let go of the painful parts that once scarred you—like a leaf falling from the tree and letting the air carry it to anywhere it'd take it.

Yellow and orange are colors that represent joy and energy—you exude both. Wooyoung sees a certain glow in you, and he thinks Nurse Aliah will agree with him if he claims that the energy you possess is one of a kind, something that needs to be shared with everyone else.

A glow that gravitates people towards you.

And maybe that was one of the reasons that made Wooyoung stumble his way to you that very day you two first met.

Will you end up believing him if he said that that project was something he was forced to do? Wooyoung had never even touched a single camera until that day. And looking at how bright his world looks right now in front of him, he's glad he decided to do it.

"And lastly, you're red. You radiate passion and warmth, Y/N," Wooyoung tells you, never breaking away his gaze from you, and not caring if he ends up cross-eyed.

"You are love itself, and every day I wake up beyond grateful that I'm one of those people whom you've decided to share a piece of yourself with."

"Woo…" You say, already sniffling, while he's now finding it hard to see through his tears.

"Can I…Can I kiss you?" He asks, his hands shaking.

"You'll probably be my first and last-"

Wooyoung cuts you off with the tender feeling of his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was messy and frantic at first, like time was chasing you away, and was salty with all the tears. But then, every brush of your lips against his' turns into something sweet, making his insides flutter and his heart beat like he just ran a mile. Wooyoung feels warm all over as one of his hands found your waist, the other delicately holding your chin, and if he could wish for one thing, he would love to wish for this moment right here to stop as it is.

But the thing is, he can't.

He knows any moment now, an endless slumber shall find you. And if he can, he would like not to waste any remaining second he's got with you left.

"Woo, I'm tired," Wooyoung hears you say in a small voice after a while, a yawn escaping your lips and your eyes getting droopy.

He gently lifts you, placing you on his lap while letting your head rest in the crook of his neck. And then he's wrapping his arms around your body layered with jackets, cradling you like a baby.

"Woo?" He hears you speak once again. He hums back in response.

"Look at me, please?" You plead in a soft voice which almost breaks his heart there and then. But he looks at you, and when he does, he thinks he saw your eyes shine with the littlest spark it could still muster to show.

"Your eyes are really pretty," You say. Wooyoung looks away, fearing you'll see him cry. And he doesn't want you to go after seeing him in that state. Instead, he hugs you a little tighter.

"The sky is a witness to how grateful I am to have crossed paths with you, I hope you know…just how lucky I am and how happy I feel right now," You say with a contented sigh, and based on the way your cheek moved against his skin, he knows you're smiling right now.

But it turns out you weren't finished.

"My life was dull and repetitively the same until you came along with all your colors. Thank you for letting me feel how love feels like, I love you…and I'd like to believe I'll still do until we meet again."

That was the last time he heard your voice drifting in the wind before the chirping of the crickets increased tenfold.

"I love you, too, always, my pretty girl." Wooyoung gets to say before his entire body stills, your last intake of breath reaching his ears and your last exhale fanning his neck.

And then he's shaking, another batch of tears washing over him as he cries silently, slowly rocking your body with his, back and forth, and dropping soft kisses on the top of your head.

I don't want you wasting your tears on me, please.

He hears at the back of his head, bringing him back to the moment he saw you so fragile-looking for the first time.

Wooyoung actually got to talk with your doctor, Dr. Lee, that day. Dr. Lee had told him that it was considered a miracle, how you lasted for a month when he thought you'd only have a week left after the both of you saw the latest condition of your heart—only seeming to get weaker as each day passed.

Now, Wooyoung wasn't one to assume things, but he would like to think that you held out for him, all because you wanted to ask what color you were to him.

"If I were a color, what color would I be, Woo?"

"That's a question I can't answer after just a day of knowing you, Y/N." He answers truthfully. "How about I'll get back to you after a month?"

And you did wait for a month. Wooyoung would like to say it was a stupid reason but, he's glad you asked him that. And he's even glad that you were able to hear his answer to your question before you closed your eyes.

Somehow, it brought him peace.

—

Entering your room, Wooyoung feels nothing but emptiness, the joyful energy you once radiated, is now nowhere to be found—but the memories he got to share with you linger on.

Earlier, he volunteered to tidy your room and your things when Nurse Aliah asked, and now as he's walking near your bedside table, he spots something peeking out of the sketchbook you always used to carry with you to the garden. The sketchbook you didn't let him take a peek even once.

Wooyoung grabs it, and he lets out a sound of surprise when something falls out of the pages, dropping onto the floor. Crouching down, he picks up the bunch of paper and sees there are two drawings and two handwritten letters.

He takes the drawing you made for him—a sketch of him while he's holding the camera to his face—and the letter addressed to him. Then, he puts the ones that are for Nurse Aliah back on the table.

Wooyoung takes his time admiring every stroke and shade you've made while sitting on your bed.

Now he understands why you wouldn't let him peek even just a tiny bit.

Wooyoung feels his heart soaring because you drew him.

And it was a pretty drawing.

Wooyoung sniffs, putting the drawing on the bed and picking up the letter you wrote for him this time.

Frankly, he isn't sure if he's ready to read it, especially since your passing is still fresh in his mind and his heart is still hurting.

But then again, when will he ever be brave enough to read it alone? Wooyoung thinks reading it inside the room you once resided in will ease him even just a little bit, although he can't promise that he won't cry again.

And so, after a deep exhale, he opens your letter.

One look at the first line and Wooyoung finds himself breaking down for the nth time.

My dearest Woo,

Hi! I'll be honest with you, I wasn't really sure how to start this letter, but then I thought, what if I told you a story first? You like stories right? I hope you do. Anyway, here it goes.

Once upon a time, there was a little fairy. Now, this fairy was unlike any other fairy—she didn't have wings. (I know what you're probably thinking; why is she a fairy if she doesn't have wings? But cut me some slack, will you? This is probably why I should stick to drawing, which I hope you saw first, by the way.) Since she didn't have wings, she couldn't fly. And because she couldn't fly, she felt like she was always left behind, always feeling like an outcast that she almost resented herself for being born. Why wasn't she like normal fairies? She always finds herself asking.

Right when she thought all hope was lost for her, she met this boy. A boy who had no wings but was still able to fly. Of course, the fairy was in awe and disbelief, and so, she asked the boy, "How are you able to fly without wings?"

The boy grins at her and says, "Wings? Who says they're the only thing that could make you fly when pixie dust exists?"

"Pixie dust? What is that?" The fairy asks, and then the boy shows him a bag filled with golden-colored dust, which he pours into her hands.

"Sprinkle it all over you and think happy thoughts, then you'll be able to fly just like me," The boy says, and without hesitation, the fairy follows his words.

And when she did, she found her tiny feet slowly lifting off the ground. "I'm flying!" She exclaimed with great joy. After that, she became friends with the boy and together they soared to greater heights. But nothing ever lasts, don't they? Soon, the boy had to leave her, but before he left, he gave her another bag of pixie dust and promised to come back looking for her as long as she continued to think happy thoughts.

However, the time came when the pixie dust ran out, and the fairy had lost her glow and was unable to think of happy thoughts. In the end, her life ended before she could even know if the boy didn't really plan on coming back, or if he simply wasn't able to find her. The end.

Whew, what a story!

I don't know if it made sense to you, Woo. But I think, what I'm trying to say is, I want to make things lighter by saying that, in that story, the fairy was me, and you were the boy who gave me hope. Although, I'd also like to believe that our ending will be slightly different from theirs. We both know that I don't have much time left, we do. And which is why, I'm hoping that before I rest, I'll still be with you long enough to let you feel how much I adore and appreciate you.

The thing is, being born with achromatopsia was already sufferable enough for my younger self. And then, imagine, my doctor comes in one day and tells me I also have problems with my heart and that my days are numbered.

Of course, I became miserable, who wouldn't? I felt like the world caved in on me. During that time, I only had Nurse Aliah and I even shut her out. I thought life was so unfair, because why did I have to go through something I didn't even wish to have while other people my age were living the life I could've lived?

But of course with Nurse Aliah not giving up on me and encouraging me to do the same, I outgrew that phase, or so I thought.

I was a work in progress when lo and behold, you jumpscared me with your camera and affinity for the word pretty. Have I told you how giddy it makes me feel and how blushy I get when you call me that? No? Well, now you know.

Wooyoung, despite all the loudness and wonderful chaos you entailed, you became my peace. Just like how the scratchy sound of the pencil's nib against my sketchbook brought me comfort, so did the sound of your camera shutter.

Did you know that right before the moment you decided to enter my life, I was deeply yearning for something brand new? Well, that yearning was fulfilled, because that something brand new, became you, Wooyoung. In case you haven't realized yet. (But of course, I know you do!)

By the time you read this, I'm probably, well, gone…but I'd like to think I'll be among the stars twinkling in the night sky, trying to get your attention by shining the brightest while you're staring out of your window. (Please, say hi back to me!)

Just like what I said, don't waste your tears again on me, okay? My dear Wooyoung, promise me you'll only smile when you think of me, please. I don't want to cause my favorite people any form of sadness or any kind of pain.

Truth is, I…I don't really wanna go. After meeting you, I suddenly wasn't sure if I was ready to leave everything, especially you, behind, just yet.

But then again, we can never always have what we want right? It's bittersweet, but that's life for you. I'm just so, so glad that this weak heart of mine was still able to beat for you.

I love you, more than you'll ever know.

Forever and always your pretty girl,

Y/N

P.S. When will you ever show me those pictures you've taken of me, huh?

— ☁️

[jeankluv]

Finding you || Jean Kirstein x f!oc

Words: 5,8k

Warnings: fluff, canon & post canon, some angst, spoilers for aot, the female character has a name but her appearance is never described, Jean’s pov mainly.

Summary: Jean never believed in love at first sight, it wasn’t until she appeared on his life

Notes: This is a story that has been on my drafts for over a year now, and I decided to finish it as a goodbye to one of my favorite characters, Jean Kirstein.

Materialist

Months passed by and no info about Eren was found. It was like he disappeared completely. While they searched for him they also investigated Marley and the world, that was the mission they had until some news from Eren came.

As usual Jean woke up early in the morning, he went to the kitchen of the apartment he was staying in, none of the group were staying in the same place but they were close to each other just in case. He prepared himself the usual breakfast and once he was done, he went to buy the newspaper. It was something he always did, that way he could recollect information for the group. He walked down the streets of the city, it was early in the morning so there weren't a lot of people around, just the ones on their way to their work.

He arrived at the store where he always bought the newspaper. He smiled at the owner and paid for it. He starts walking to a nearby coffee shop, so he can get coffee while reading the newspaper. That’s until he bumps into a girl, way smaller than her, and she falls to the floor. Jean looks at her and tries to help her stand but, she is faster, and pulls Jean to her and stamps her lips against his.

Jean doesn’t move and his eyes are wide open. He hears some people running behind them, searching for someone. That’s when the girl separates from him and looks around. Once she makes sure no one is around, she tries to run away once again.

“Hey!” Jean stops her. She tries to free her but Jean is way stronger. “Hey! Stop!”

And she stopped. “What?” She said with an angry look, looking at Jean.

“What? You just bumped into me and then kissed me. And now you want to leave without any explanations?” He said looking at her and crossing his arms.

“Yes, any problem big boy?” Jean smirked, she really is something.

“Those people… were searching for you?” He said pointing to the direction where they went.

She looked in that direction. “Why do you care?”

“Well… maybe I can help you.”

“You already did that.” She said and tried to leave but Jean grabbed her once again. “You don’t know me… so why do you care so much?”

“Because… maybe I don’t know your situation but you seem desperate and maybe I can help you.”

She laughed. “If you knew what I am you wouldn’t be here, you wouldn’t be touching me or you wouldn’t even want to breathe the same air as me.”

Jean didn’t respond this time, something clicks in his head. Could she be a eldian too? So those people probably knew about her being an eldian and were trying to catch her and who knows what to do to her. This makes his blood boil, why it’s the outside world like this with them? He comes back to his senses, just to find that she is gone.

“Damn it!” He started ñ walking trying to find her but she is gone. Just like she appeared, she is gone.

Frustrated, he started walking back home. He really hoped the girl would be okay.

“Jean!” He heard his name being shouted by no other than the two most scandalous people on earth.

“You two really can’t keep a low profile, don’t you?”

Both made a sad face. “C’mon Jean boy, don’t be mad.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Now who is making a scene?” Asks Sasha laughing.

Jean lets out a sigh and keeps walking, followed by Connie and Sasha who are talking about going to the cinema, since finding out about it the whole group has been fascinated with it. The three of them arrived at the place where they usually met to talk about the things that they learned. The rest were already there, so they all sit around the table to talk. The reunion ends up with not much info or new clues.

“You seemed distracted.” Armin said. “You didn’t say a word during the whole time. What’s on your head Jean?”

“It’s nothing Armin, I was just tired.”

“You went out last night again? You know that if captain…”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Hey man. You know that if something is going on, you can talk. Right?”Jean nods and drinks from his coffee cup.

“Jean, are you coming to the cinema tonight?” Asked Connie.

“Yeah… sure why not?”

“Brats remember to be careful.” Captain Levi spoke looking at the group.

The whole group nodded after hearing their captain's order. It was early to go to the cinema, so they decided to hang out and enjoy their time together, pretending to be normal and not soldiers from the devils of the island. The five of them were on a bar drinking and enjoying the day. It really seemed like nothing changed, like they were still in their cadets day. Like all their commanders were still alive. It was nice, it was warm to see them happy, that’s what Jean was thinking while looking at his friends.

“Oi Jean!!” Screamed Connie into his ear.

“Are you dumb or something?!”

“I have been calling for you for the last 5 minutes.” Jean rolled his eyes.

“What do you want?”

“Ask for another round!” He said, raising his glass.

“Connie, if you keep drinking you want to be alright to watch the film.” Spoke Armin this time.

“C’mon Armin! We are young! Let’s enjoy ourselves! Right girls?” He said looking at Mikasa and Sasha, who until a few moments ago they were talking with each other.

“Yes, let's go, Armin!” Sasha screamed this time and Mikasa laughed at her friend's reactions.

Armin sighted, knowing it was a lost battle. “Alright, let’s have another round. Jean could…”

“Sure, I will buy another round.” He said standing and going to ask for another round. “The same as…”

“Disgusting eldian!” A man shouted, the whole group froze in place. “I’m calling the police! They have been searching for you right?”

Jean turned around to look at the place where everything was happening. There she was, the girl from the morning.

“Is she one of the devils?” A woman asked.

“Yes, this morning police were chasing her, and now she was trying to buy something here at my shop, pretending to be one of us!”

People started surrounding her and calling her disgusting names. Jean clenched his fists and tried to go to her.

“Jean… what are you doing?” Said Armin while holding him by the arm.

“We can’t leave her, she needs help!

“We can’t. If we do something they will suspect us.” Sasha spoke this time.

“I can’t do that! Sorry…” He said ignoring his friends.

He was being selfish, he was putting all his friends in danger and for what? For a girl that he met that same morning. What was he thinking? I must be going crazy. He pushed some people aside, to get where she was.

“You think a garbage like you, can keep escaping?! Oh no! You will go back to where you belong! Stupid slut!” The man said, grabbing her by the hair.

“Please… stop…” She said with hot tears rolling down her face.

“No you beg for mer…” Jean didn’t really think before punching the man in the face.

People gasped in shock and the face of his friends went completely blank.

“You…” The man said. “Who do you think you are?”

“I hope you can run. Because we are leaving right now.” Jean whispered to the girl, who stood next to Jean.

“Hey! I’m talking to you! Why are you defending that evil?” The man shouted. ”Don’t tell me… you are also one of them?”

Jean grabbed her hand tightly, she looked at him. “Now!”

And both started running, as fast they could, ignoring anyone that shouted for them to stop. They kept running for a little while more, until it was safe no one was following them. Jean stopped and tried to catch his air again. He looked at her and saw her down on her knees facing the floor. She looked so small, fragile, different to that same morning.

“Hey.” Jean kneeled in front of her. “You okay?”

No response came from her, she didn’t even look at him. Jean sighted and stood back, looking around once again, making sure no one was near.

“We need to…”

“Why did you help me?” Her voice came out, almost as a whisper. “Now,…. Now you’ll be in danger because you helped me.”

“Because I wanted to.” Jean said, looking at her.

“Because you wanted to?” She stood facing him. “Are you completely insane?!”

“Maybe I am but what I did, it’s my problem.” He got closer to her. “Now, come with me. We need to treat those wounds you have.” He said touching her cheek where there was a wound.

“I can treat myself.” She said, moving away from his touch. “You don’t have to do anything more for me.” Jean rolled his eyes.

“You know what?” He said, focusing his eyes on her once again. “I don’t care, you are coming with me, I’m treating that wound of yours, then you will take a shower and eat something. You get it?”

“But… you’re so stubborn.” She said pressing her lips together, making a thin line. “What if you’re a pervert?”

“Would you believe me if I said I’m not?”

“No.”

“Then you will have to trust me. I won’t do anything to you, I just want you to be okay. That’s all.”

“You don’t even know my name. Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.” Then he looked at the left. “He would have done the same.” His words came out as whispered, difficult to hear but she did hear them.

She remained silent, looking now at his back. Why is he really helping me? She wondered.

She ended up accepting, because it really seems like he is worried and wants to help her. They both walk side by side, going through the less crowded streets to avoid suspicious people. None of them says anything, he just keeps walking, being followed by her. They both walked for a few more minutes until they arrived at the building where they entered. He must live here.

“You can make yourself comfortable.” He says letting her enter the place.

She nods and enters, the place feels comfortable and warm.

“I will go for the things to treat your cheek… you can take whatever you want from the kitchen.” He says pointing to the kitchen.

“Thank you…” She said and before he leaves she warns him. “And don’t forget, I won’t hesitate on killing you if you try something.”

He laughs and leaves the room. That girl…

“Captain Levi is going to kill me after he finds out what I did.” He spoke to himself while searching for the stuff. “Fuck, I really fucked up this time.” He sighed and grabs the kit from the shelves.

Jean made his way back to the living room and there she is, sleeping.

“I can’t believe her.” He whispered with a smile on his face. “You really fall asleep in a strangers place?” He sayid knowing no one will answer him.

He gets closer to her and looks at her face. She looks so peaceful like that. He shook those thoughts out of it.

“Hey stubborn girl.” He shook her.

She woke up startled and ready to punch him on the face. If it wasn’t because Jean had fast reflexes, he would’ve probably ended up with a purple eye.

“Hey! Easy.” Jean said, still holding her hand.

“Shit.” She said and took her away from Jean’s. “I fell asleep… fuck.” She whispered.

“It’s okay. You looked tired anyways.” Jean tried to calm her down.

“It’s not okay… I was reckless and I shouldn’t get so comfortable with someone I don’t know.”

“My name is Jean.”

“Why are you telling me your name?”

“You said you didn’t know me, well I’m introducing myself.” He gave her a faint smile.

“Still… you could…”

“I could what? Listen, I’m not going to give you in alright?”

“I… I can not believe that, you marleians, you lie so easily. You probably made a call when I fell asleep and the police are already coming for me.” She stood and started walking around the room.

Jean could see how her body was shaking from fear of the possible outcomes. He knew that telling her his real identity was risky, hell it was so fucking risky but he needed to tell her. Jean stood from the sofa and took her by the arm, making her stop walking. The stubborn, angry, defensive girl was nowhere to be seen at that moment, everything Jean could see right there was a scary, vulnerable girl.

“Please… I know I was rude and an asshole. But let me go… I… I need to go back home, please.” She started to silently cry. “I swear I will never come back, you will never see me again. I swear but please let me go.”

“Hey please calm down.” Jean tried to comfort her. “I’m not turning you in. I am… I am also an Eldian okay?”

She looked at him, shocked. What was he saying? No no no no if he was an eldian too, it meant he was also risking his life? Why? Why?

“Hey.” Jean spoke again. “Stop overthinking.”

“Why would you do what you did, you idiot?” She said and punched him on the chest.

“Here she is again.”

“Don’t laugh, why are you laughing idiot. You’re fucking risking your life for a stranger like me. I don’t understand, I truly don’t. Is it because I kissed you? You’re one of those perverts? But fuck… if they find out not only you are helping me but that you are also an Eldian, they will kill you and all because of me… Again, it’s happening again.”

Jean saw how something broke on her after the last sentence. She fell to the floor, crying and repeating, it’s happened again, again. He didn’t know what to do, he wanted to make her feel safe, to make her understand that nothing was going to happen to her or him, that whatever she was thinking was not going to happen. He kneeled in front of her and embraced her, she tensed at first but then she continued sobbing into his chest.

“I’m sorry…” Jean heard her whisper.

“Listen, angry girl. Nothing is going to happen to me or to you. I promise.”

“Don’t do that…” She said. “Don’t make promises you won’t be able to keep. Please.” She looked at him, still with tears rolling down her face.

“I will try my best to keep the promise…” He said, whipping her tears away. “Now, let me treat your wound.”

She nodded and sat next to Jean on the sofa. Jean put the kit on the table and took out the necessary stuff he needed to treat her wound. He had treated thousands of wounds since he joined the survey corps years ago, he knew how to do it but this time was afraid of hurting her. The wound wasn’t really that big but still he didn’t want her to suffer anymore. Once he was done he put everything back on the bag and turned around to look at her once again. Her eyes were still red and so was her nose.

“You want to eat something?”

“No. I really need to leave and go back home.” She said not looking at Jean.

“It’s already dark outside, it will be dangerous if someone sees you alone at night.”

“It’s… it’s okay, it wouldn’t be the first time I sneak out in the middle of the night.”

Jean thought for a moment. “I will go with you.”

“Wait… no no, you already did enough.” She stood following Jean’s footsteps. “You saved my ass twice today and you’re an Eldian too, it would be dangerous if a police stopped us and they asked us for our documents. We would be…”

“Hey.” He turned around and looked at her eyes. “Trust me okay? It will be alright, I will take you home, safe and sound.”

She stayed silent, observing each one of his movements and trying to understand why that man, named Jean and an Eldian like her, was helping her. No Eldian is willing to help another one if it means risking the little freedom they have and yet, the man she had in front of her was risking everything for her, someone who was an asshole that treated him poorly since the first minutes their destinies crossed paths.

“For more that I try to understand, I just can’t comprehend why are you doing all this.”

“Maybe you enchanted me with that kiss.” Jean passed next to her with a smirk on his face.

“Now you’re flirting? Is that what you want from me? To fuck me?” She angrily asked.

“Wait no no no no.” Jean shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong okay? It’s true that I couldn’t get the kiss out of my head, because it took me by surprise but I’m not doing this because I want to fuck you. I’m doing this because I think you desperately need someone to give you a hand. I’m sorry if that made you feel uncomfortable.”

“Okay… sorry it’s just that… it’s not easy.”

“To trust someone?”

“Yeah…”

“I understand but try to trust me okay.” She nodded, still hesitant but with a feeling in her chest that made her believe his words. “Okay, put this on, it will be cold outside and like that we can cover you up, so those assholes don’t recognize you.” He grabbed the jacket and gave it to her, it smelled like him. “It looks gigant on you.”

“Maybe because you’re like two meters tall?” She said looking at the jacket and then at him.

“Almost two meters.” She rolled her eyes and tried to hide the smile on her face.

“Idiot…”

“You know, you can call me by my name, Jean. And by the way, you still haven't told me yours.”

“That’s right but I’m not telling you. Not yet.”

“And what should I call you then?” He tilted his head.

She was about to respond when a knock on the door made her freeze. She could feel her whole body trembling. Did he lie to you? It was the police, he called them?

“Look at me.” And she did, those honey eyes were looking at her and for some reason she knew right there, that he didn’t call them, that he didn’t lie and that she could believe him. “It’s probably my neighbor, so don’t worry, okay?” She nodded and watched him walk to the door.

She saw how he smiled to the person on the other side of the door and how politely talked to them.

“Jean, I heard a woman's voice earlier, are you finally settling down?” Jean laughed, he wished he could but in his position it was impossible.

“It’s not like that Miss Aldrich.”

“C’mon! Let me meet the girl.” Jean tried to stop her.

“Miss Aldrich I don’t think that’s a good idea, she…” C’mon Jean think about something.

“Oh I get it, yeah you two were having fun, alright Jean boy, I will leave you. Hopefully this old building will soon have new people.” And she left.

Jean sighed in relief, he loved Miss Aldrich and was a good woman but he couldn’t risk anything at that moment.

“Bee.” Jean heard from the other side of the room.

“What?”

“Call me Bee.”

Jean nodded at Bee and she gave him a faint smile. Bee didn’t know why she was willing to tell him her name but something inside her told her to do it, that it was okay.

“Okay, Bee. We should get going, so you can go back home.” Bee looked at him, he was offering his hand. “It will be easier if we pretend that we are a couple, if they stop us I will just show my ID.”

“But you…” She wanted to tell him if he was insane, if he lost his mind. But Jean winked an eye at her, making her heart race.

“I have a fake one, don’t worry, okay?”

“Okay…”

Bee held his hand and they both got out of the apartment. Jean held her tightly but gently, afraid of hurting her, afraid of someone taking her away. They needed to be careful, but the night was already coming so it was going to be easier for them to go unnoticed.

They walked the streets, like a normal couple would do, not making themselves notice. It wouldn’t be true to say Jean’s heart wasn’t racing like crazy, he was nervous about the possibility of getting caught and holding Bee’s hand wasn’t something that was helping. He couldn’t deny that she was beautiful, breathtaking to be more exact. But he couldn’t think about her that way, no, he needed to take her to her home and then hope she would be able to live a normal life, while he kept searching for Eren. That’s what was going to happen and they wouldn’t see each other anymore.

Bee moved beside Jean, guiding him in the direction of her house. From time to time she would look at him, he was serious, looking around, making sure no one would come for her and not letting her hand go. It made her feel secure, protected, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. It almost made her cry in that instant.

Both of them kept walking for a little longer, leaving the most crowded streets behind, almost leaving the city behind. Bee stopped when they reached a small neighborhood, with old houses and almost no light.

“It’s here…” She said letting Jean’s hand go, feeling emptiness when she did it.

“Oh…” Jean looked around and nodded. “Alright…” he swallowed.

“I guess… it's a goodbye.”

“I guess so.” Jean played with his feet. “Are you sure you will be alright?” He looked at her with worried eyes.

Bee swallowed and blinked, trying not to throw herself to him and cry saying that nothing would be alright, that she was afraid and ask him again why everyone viewed them as monsters, why couldn’t see feel safe like she did with him. But she didn’t and she simply smiled at him.

“I will be. Thank you again.”

Jean nodded and they both stayed looking at each. Jean knew he should turn around and walk away, forget about her, forget about that whole day, go back to his life but something wasn’t letting him move, he couldn’t, he didn’t want to move away.

“I think… I will be heading home.” She whispered and started to walk away.

“Wait!” Jean held her hand and made her turn around. “If you… if you ever need anything, just look out for me okay?” She nodded. “Jean Kirstein.”

“I will Jean. Thank you…”

And with that, they both walked away, with a heavy heart and the feeling of a missing piece on it. They met for less than 24 hours but none of them wanted to leave each other. Bee for a moment considered going back to him, asking him to take her away from that place, for them to pretend they were monsters but she couldn’t do that to someone she hardly knew but desperately wanted to know. Jean on the other hand, would have everything for her, for a girl that cornered him, the girl that was so stubborn, the girl that despite looking so strong was so broken, if she only asked to.

But they didn’t say anything and they both saw each other for the last time that night. Bee kept surviving and trying not to get caught, while Jean kept searching for Eren and distracting himself so he wouldn’t think about her.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

It was April, Jean’s birthday, thinking about it he never thought he would make it to his 20s after joining the survey corps. But there he was in a small bar near the refugee camp with Connie, drinking beer and chatting. After the Rumbling and everything falling apart live has been going too fast, it seemed like they couldn’t stop for a single moment, the attack on Liberio, then the rumbling, then helping those who were still alive, try to find peace. Hell they didn’t even properly mourn Sasha, Hange or even Eren, like they deserved, back then. He didn’t even have time to try and reach his mom and let her know that he was alright. He even thought about Bee, did she make it through the rumbling? Was she saved?

Although he met her for less than 24 hours, her memory was still on his head and he wished he could see her once again, at least to know she was okay.

He turned around to look at Connie, who was heavily drunk and dancing, although there was no music on. Jean smirked, he was grateful he had Connie with him and to have these stupid moments with him.

“C’mon Connie, let’s go home.” Jean stood and held Connie’s arm.

“Why? C’mon Jeanboy! It’s your birthday! You are entering your 20s, let’s celebrate it!” Connie went to the dance floor once again, ignoring Jean and forgetting about everything.

Jean sat back on his seat and sighed looking at his best friend. It was good that at least Connie was enjoying himself, but it was going to be a pain in the ass bringing him back home.

He simply stayed there, looking at his best friend, while with each drink he wandered in his thoughts. Two hours later they were kicked out of the place. Jean didn't think he was completely drunk, but his head hurt and he knew that tomorrow would be a hard day. He grabbed Connie's arm and dragged him to the place they now called home.

“You seemed to need help.” A female voice spoke, while Jean was trying to open the door.

“It’s okay, I can do it.” Jean responded without looking at the woman standing next to him.

“Let me help you.” She said and took Jean’s keys from his hands. “I own you one.” She whispered.

Jean blinked, trying to focus his gaze on the woman but he couldn't, everything was double for him.

“I don’t think… I don’t know.”

“It’s okay Jean… hopefully tomorrow you will feel better.” Jean saw how she started to walk away. “I’m glad you’re alive Jean.”

And with that the woman went away, leaving Jean confused and with Connie already sleeping on the floor. He moved him and started walking to their dorms, kicking Connie into his dorm and letting him fall on the couch. He covered his face with his arms, trying to make the headache stop but it was useless. He once again tried to think about the woman, tried to remember her face, but it was impossible, his vision had been too blurry, but something in her voice had seemed familiar. Jean finally fell asleep on the couch and it wasn't until the next morning that he woke up due to Armin waking him up.

“You should try and sleep on your own bed.” Was the first thing Armin had told him.

“Mhmm… I know mom.” Jean grunted, scratching the back of his neck. “Fuck my head hurts.”

“No wonder why, you and Connie had some fun last night.” He said, giving him a cup of water.

“Not every day you turn 20 you know?” Jean drank from the cup.

“A woman asked me about you.” Armin walked to the kitchen.

Jean blinked and stood up, following him. “A woman?”

“Yeah… she asked me about you this morning.”

“She told you her name or something?”

“No, just asked me if I knew you.” Armin shrugged. “Did you hook up with a woman? Jean we are on diplomatic…”

“Wait what? No. No I haven’t hooked up with…”

“Jean hooked up with someone?” Connie appeared in the kitchen.

“Connie… you were literally sticking your tongue inside on everyone’s mouth last night.”

“Hey! Don’t expose me like that bro.” Connie cried.

Jean rolled his eyes. “Where did you see her?” Said looking back at Armin.

“On the market, she was shopping.”

Jean nodded and without a word he left, he started walking across the streets, looking for the girl he met in Liberio. It had to be her, it had to be Bee, she survived and she was there, looking for him. Jean kept walking, looking everywhere, but who assured him that Bee would still be in that market? He reached the end of the market without any success, sighed and ruffled his hair in frustration. He turned around and started walking in the direction of his house. Maybe today was not the day he was supposed to run into Bee, but they were both in that place so at some point they would meet.

“Hey big boy!” Jean stopped walking. “Are you sober already?”

Jean turned around and there she was. “Bee…” His feet started to move on their own and when he realized he was embracing Bee in his arms.

“Wow big boy, careful. You are much bigger than me.” She laughed.

“I’m sorry… I’m.” He broke the hug and looked at her. She was still beautiful. “You’re alive.”

“I am and so are you.” She smiled. “I heard you are some kind of hero.”

“I wouldn’t call it that. But… Bee I’m so glad to see you are okay. I…”

“Me too. I saw you a few weeks ago and felt so relieved, strange isn’t it? We met for less than 24 hours and only knew each other's names but somehow, I couldn’t keep you out of my mind and when the whole rumbling happened, I prayed to meet you again… Oh god, you must think I’m crazy or something.”

“No, no, I mean, I kinda felt the same and… maybe now we could get to know each other better. Grab some coffee or tea or whatever you want, I don’t mind. And only if you want of course.”

“Jean, are you flirting?” She raised an eyebrow without hiding her smile.

“I mean… maybe? Would you be bothered if I did?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Coffee sounds good.”

“Good. Should we go now or are you busy?”

“Now it’s alright.” She started walking.

They both started walking side by side, slowly and enjoying the sun of the day and each other’s company and presence. Jean was beyond excited and happy, to know she was okay and that she seemed happy, despite the whole world went to shit. He didn’t regret hugging her right after seeing her for the first time, he really needed to do it and it just felt right.

He never believed in those stories of someone falling in love with another one at first sight, he used to think it was unreal and stupid. That was until that day in Liberio, after weeks passed by he tried convincing himself that his stupid self only felt like that because Bee stole his first kiss, but as much as he wanted to believe it was because of the kiss that she was still on his head, he couldn’t. He really fell for her just by seeing her and spending some hours with her.

“Is this place okay for you?” She pointed.

“Yeah… it’s okay.” He nodded.

And they both sat on one of the tables of the coffee shop, Each one ordered something to drink and waited in silence until it was brought to them. Bee watched through the window at the people passing by, from one side to the other, while Jean looked at her profile and admired her beauty. He was thankful that none of her friends were around her, otherwise she knew she would have them making fun of her for days.

“So… how, how did you get out?” Bee turned to look at Jean after hearing his voice. “I mean, away from the rumbling.”

“Oh… it wasn’t easy but after that weird message, something inside of me told me we had to get the hell out of there. So we took the last train that was leaving, most people weren’t eldians so they had no clue what was going on, so it was easy to sneak into one of them. After that, when the… the titans started to show up, I prayed to be safe and we were saved. A couple of weeks later we ended up here and that’s it.”

“You said we, you weren't alone?”

“No, my nephew was with me.” She drank her coffee. “It’s just me and her now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, if it wasn’t because you saved me that day from those people I wouldn’t have been able to go back home to her.” She smiled.

“It was nothing, really.” He shook his head. “I’m glad, both of you are okay. I need to know something, why did you risk yourself back then?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you kissed me to get away from those policemen.”

“Oh that.” She looked down and smiled. “Something told me it had to be you. I guess it was right after all.”

Bee and Jean continued talking for hours, about everyday things, Jean told her about Paradise and Bee told her about her niece, her sister. Even when Bee had to leave to look for her niece, Jean accompanied her and continued listening to each of her stories carefully, without missing any detail of what Bee told her. Upon arriving at the school where Bee's niece was, Jean stood in front of her and took a breath.

“Would you go out with me?” Jean slowly spoke, meeting her gaze. “As a date, I mean.”

Bee's heart skipped a beat and she felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach. His honey gaze made her nervous and those words were making her even more nervous. With Jean she had felt security, protection and tranquility, but she knew there had been something more and her heart beat for it, she had liked him a lot. Very much. But the thought of never even seeing him again or anything happening between them had long since disappeared. Until a week ago she saw him again and her heart raced again like that time in her apartment. Bee licked her lips and looked first at her worn shoes and then at Jean's gaze. Maybe this was the destiny telling her that finally she was going to be happy.

“I would love to.” She smiled and so did Jean.

[blorb-el]

Don’t know if you made a post on this but what’s your opinion on DCAU Clark and how unapproachable(?) they made him in the later JL/JLU series without ever resolving it? Like I know the Cadmus arc hinges on him never considering himself a possible threat but it seems there was room for no much introspection outside a couple moments (that were later backtracked).

I've had like 6 half finished posts about this buried deep in the drafts for a year because I have capital B Brain Rot about this, but every time I tried to write it out I got six sentences in and wanted to rewatch the entire DCAU in order to get my facts straight. This time I'm resisting the urge, so forgive me if I forget specific episodes

Also, unfortunately for you, it’s nanowrimo, which means my brain is in Type All The Words Mode, and not Communicate Effectively and Succinctly Mode, and also I need a break from WSBF chapter 8, so. You’re getting a 3.5k essay sort of answering this question but not really. you will see

Thank you to my fellow lawyer for the defense of Rectangle Clark @januariat for helping to put this together

I do rewatch STAS and JL a fair amount, but much less JLU, so I actually don’t have much to say about the specific execution there. I’m planning on rewatching it soon. But for now…

To me it boils down to two answers. The Doylist answer, and what I think the writers really did have in mind, is that they came up with the Cadmus plot, knew it was an absolute banger of a storyline, and decided that it was worth compromising Superman's personality in order to write a good story. which is not something I can fault them for - as a fanfic writer, I make the same calculated tradeoffs every time I set out to write a fic. Characters are tools for narrative, even if these particular characters come with an additional weight of the tradition of collaborative storytelling that their most effective stories honor.

However, I do think it’s possible to, post-hoc, cobble together a Watsonian, narratively satisfying (if fucked up and sad) character arc for DCAU Clark if you also take STAS and JL into account. I think the key to understanding his character arc is his relationship with control. Throughout STAS, JL, and JLU, and then one more time in Batman Beyond for good measure, over and over again, he's manipulated and his powers and body are used as resources for other people. Obviously that’s not much of an excuse for becoming more authoritarian/overbearing/etc, Fascism Is Bad and I personally think a more IC superman would retreat more than double down (as in Kingdom Come), but looking at the totality of things that have happened to him before Cadmus, it's a little more understandable why he'd get close to snapping under the strain. Here's my personal reading of his arc, and the events that might have led to Clark behaving so irrationally in JLU.

cut for sheer length, but also mentions of manipulation, sexual assault, victim blaming, that sort of thing

One of the recurring themes in the DCAU is villains dehumanizing, depowering, and/or manipulating Clark. In STAS, Parasite, Lex via Bizarro, Talia and Ra’s al Ghul use him as a source for their own power. The Preserver and Maxima treat him like some exotic prize, disregarding his wishes. Jax-Ur and Mala use him and then betray him. But the most impactful, by far, is Darkseid.

In Apokolips Now, Darkseid defeats Clark, puts his bleeding body into public stocks, and drags him through the middle of Metropolis. Clark’s only rescued by the last minute intervention of the New Gods, and as a parting shot Darkseid murders Clark’s friend in front of everyone. Even though Clark prevents Earth from turning into Apokolips, it’s a huge emotional loss, and they don’t shy away from showing his rage and helplessness. But it’s when Darkseid returns in Legacy, the finale of STAS, that Clark’s life truly takes a turn for the worse.

Forgive me if this is all plot recap to you, anon, but I feel like a lot of people don’t know that STAS ends with Clark being mind controlled, heavily implied to be sexually assaulted, and forced to try to take over the Earth, killing god knows how many people in the process. When the military finally brings him down with a Kryptonite warhead and imprisons him, they nearly kill Supergirl in the process. Then Lex almost gives him a lethal injection, with a US general looking on, implying that the government approves of killing him. Lois breaks him out, he tries to get help for Kara from Dr. Hamilton, and then goes to Apokolips. Most fights in STAS have him shrug off blows. He ends this one bleeding from his mouth, looking almost dead. When he finally casts down Darkseid, tells the Hunger Dogs (the slaves on Apokolips) that they’re free… they turn away from Superman. They cluster around Darkseid to protect and heal him.

Those universal truths of a lot of Superman stories, that goodness and liberty and the American Way* always win? They don't in STAS. A representative of the US government (as far as he knows) has tried to kill him. He lost his temper and spoke in a harsh tone of voice once, because Kara was dying and he was hurt and desperate, and now his friend Dr. Hamilton, the man he trusted to repair the Kryptonian ship, study his body and his powers, one of the people who knew him best in STAS, is afraid of him - and, as we find out later, takes immediate, drastic, and violating action against Kara and against him. The series ends with the small town man standing on the roof of the Planet, hearing people hate and fear him, wondering how people will ever trust him again.

*I hate this phrase personally when used as a Superman Motto, but it's used here as a contrast to the fascistic imagery of Apokolips Now and Legacy (as well as Brave New World, which, hoo boy, we aren’t even getting into that one).

Six months (iirc) after the STAS finale, in Secret Origins, the US government has agreed to let a visibly older and wearier Superman help disarm the nuclear stockpile - only for this to backfire on him because it was a Plot by the White Martians. Clark’s let down the country again. He’s helped aliens invade again, and to make matters worse, he sped away in the middle of an attack to break into an official government facility to free J'onn. Clark founds the Justice League beginning from a place of personal failure, as a check on himself. Clark has power and wants to help people with it, but he’s been turned against people he cares about, and has twice now failed to protect the world. It’s worth noting that Legacy put him into the world stage; before, in STAS, I can’t think of any true worldwide threats besides maybe Jax-Ur and Mala.

Most of the rest of season 1 of JL isn’t particularly Clark-focused, although he does appear in a lot of episodes, but the themes of some of these episodes are potentially relevant to understanding his character later, so: brief bullet point summaries.

During In Blackest Night, Clark sees his respected colleague turn himself into an authority that turns out to be incompetent investigators looking for a scapegoat. Interesting. Surrendering to governmental authority/oversight didn’t turn out too well here. 

During The Enemy Below, on Clark’s advice, Aquaman tries to solve his problems peacefully with diplomacy and is immediately shot in a life threatening assassination attempt.  Peaceful diplomacy doesn't work so well for him.

During Injustice for All, Lex is dying of cancer. Clark tries to reach out and is rebuffed, with Lex going on to try to found a team to kill him and the rest of the League.

During Paradise Lost, Clark sees his respected colleague turn herself into the authorities and immediately get banished from her home for the crime of trying to save it with all the resources she had at her disposal. Interesting. Surrendering to governmental authority/oversight didn’t turn out too well here, again. 

During War World, Clark’s again captured for exploitation. This is essentially a retread of The Main Man from STAS, doubling down on how some people see him as a thing to be exploited.

During Fury, Clark’s completely ineffective at preventing an attempted genocide of half the world’s population.

Season 2 opens with Twilight, one of the most important episodes for understanding Clark’s mindset during the Cadmus arc. Imagine, if you will, the above happening to you. Darkseid shows up at your workplace. And the man you’ve worked with the longest, your friend, your ally, tells you to cry him a river, build him a bridge, and get over it. Tells you to get over being brainwashed, manipulated, and humiliated. Tells you to get over having your broken and bleeding body paraded around the streets of Metropolis, tells you to get over having your friend killed in front of you for trying to defend you, tells you to get over almost getting your cousin killed. Sure, Brainiac is a planetary-scale threat; Darkseid and Apokolips are in real trouble. Clark was wrong to write off Apokolips and its people, and the League should absolutely have intervened in the situation. But the way Bruce went about it was… one of the harshest things DCAU Bruce has ever done, and one of the only times the narrative seems to actually agree that he was an asshole about it. And even then, you really need the context of STAS to understand why Clark is so furious and hurt in this scene.

Clark relents and goes along with Bruce’s plan to trust Darkseid, only to end up betrayed again, the whole ruse just another ploy for Brainiac to gain control of Clark, torture him, and use Clark’s body to upgrade himself. Clark had spared Darkseid back on Apokolips at the end of Legacy, on Kara’s advice. But now Darkseid’s come after him, again. Used him again to put not only Earth but who knows how many other worlds at risk, now that Brainiac’s even more powerful. It’s the downfall of Krypton, over and over again. And when Clark goes to end it, I think he doesn’t care that the base is about to go, as long as Darkseid goes down with it. That isn’t a price Bruce is willing to pay, so he teleports Clark out. And he’s wrong, again. “No one could have survived that.” Well… no, Bruce. Darkseid does, and Clark knows it.

During Tabula Rasa, Lex manipulates Amazo the exact way he tried to use Bizarro. Clark once again fails to guard against a terrible, potentially world-ending threat, and in fact makes the situation worse by his very presence.

Then we come to Only a Dream, another key episode in understanding this version of Superman. Clark’s deepest fear is that his powers will keep on growing beyond his ability to control them, eventually destroying everything around him. In his nightmare He kills Lois and Jimmy, destroys the Daily Planet, and grows into a brutish, hulking, clumsy figure, first crying out for someone to help him, and then losing hope. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He goes back to the Kent farm and curls up in the spaceship in the fetal position, convinced that he’s only going to hurt anyone who tries to help. Is it any wonder, since that’s literally what’s happened to him in Legacy? Is it any wonder that he’d want to give up, to retreat? If we’re to take the World of Cardboard speech literally, he’s already having to focus on this restraint every day, in every interaction. This is my personal explanation/hc as to why in every single fight he lets himself get knocked around a bit first; he’s calibrating how hard he can hit back without doing irrevocable damage. Anyway. Deeply fucked up 2 minutes of horror. Wish they’d explored this a little bit more in later seasons.

Then, directly after this, it’s A Better World. After we’ve just seen that his worst nightmare is hurting people by being unable to control his powers, we come face to face with a world where he’s hurt people by the precise and controlled application of his powers. Justice Lord Clark uses the same Superman Robots we saw Kara use in Legacy. He’s become quite adept at his lobotomization techniques. Later on in JLU, we see ‘our’ universe’s Clark attempt to lobotomize Doomsday the exact same way Justice Lord Superman did. Again, Clark fails to protect the world from himself, and to make matters worse, the guy to save the day is Lex Luthor. I’d be a little miffed if the maniac who wants to kill me so so bad turned out to be instrumental in saving the world and now I owe him some unspecified favor in the future. Clark’s met with failure and distrust trying to fix things his way, now he tries to do things in an uncharacteristically sneaky way and… gets met with more dislike and distrust.

Eclipsed continues this trend of hurting his friends; he’s temporarily mind controlled and hurts Wally.

In The Terror Beyond, he fucks up and puts the world in danger again, all because from his point of view, he tried to prevent Solomon Grundy being manipulated and used (like he himself has been used over and over again).

In Secret Society, his frustration comes to a peak, amplified by Grodd’s telepathic manipulation. He’s been trying to do his best, but he snaps that he’s had better luck fighting armies alone (dubious plural there, but he did pretty much evaporate an army in Legacy, so at least once, ok) and that he’s had to hold back his abilities in order to be on the League. Again if we take the World of Cardboard speech at face value, this is true, and we see it in the episode when he accidentally hurts Shayera with heat vision despite shouting a warning beforehand. It’s also telling how other members of the League have the ability to constantly voice doubts about its usefulness and cohesiveness as an organization (hi Bruce) but when he expresses the same doubts everyone gasps. When he expresses his doubt and frustration, when he steps away, the organization that’s collectively saved the world several times falls apart; they’re reliant on him, and he has to be aware of the entire existence of the League as an extra burden of responsibility.

Since both this episode and the Cadmus arc as a whole are meant to show his flaws as a leader, it’s worth examining the foundations of that leadership as established in the DCAU. Clark’s the leader of the League, but narratively, Bruce is its brains and its ethics and Wally is its heart. As a result, Clark is filling the role of leader of the League without the narrative scaffolding that gives him the respect comics incarnations of the character are generally accorded. (I’m admittedly only drawing here from the JLA runs I’ve personally read, Morrison/Porter 90’s JLA and the early Fox/Sekowsky 60’s JLA). Superman might not technically be the First Superhero according to these continuities, but he is respected as though he is (and as we comic book nerds know him to be). The League in these comics treat him as something of an ethical standard bearer, a primus inter pares, as well as being the muscle. In the DCAU, Batman, having founded the DCAU with BTAS, is the First Superhero, and the entire plotline of the Justice Lords centers Wally as the emotional anchor of the team. Clark doesn’t have that pre-established stature. What really qualifies him to be the leader, besides the fact that Bruce doesn’t want to do it? His position seems precarious, relying more on Superman’s pre-established reputation than his actual onscreen characterization. Centering Bruce and Wally are legitimate creative choices I don’t even necessarily disagree with, but it means Clark-as-leader functions quite differently than more traditional JL structures.

Hereafter is something of a healing point for him. It’s a little fucked up that Superman almost bashes Vandal Savage’s head in with a rock, but you take what you can get at this point. He comes out of it fine, but everyone else is forced to reckon with what he means to them. Hereafter coming directly after Secret Society is a very good reunification for the League. Shame about what’s gonna happen in three episodes.

In Wild Cards, he’s useful to address the immediate threat but ineffective to stop the real, countrywide (worldwide?) threat. (I should note that of course I don’t expect every episode’s threat to be solved by Clark; I’m just pointing out a trend that I think his character would perceive as failures on his part. If the writers ever let him reflect.)

JL ends as it began, with another massive alien invasion that Clark helped facilitate in Starcrossed, by working with the Thanagarians during the first part of their plan. As a fellow exile, a fellow alien, he’s hurt and angry with Shayera’s betrayal… even though, in the end, in probably one of his best moments, he votes to allow her to stay in the League.

(Sidenote: almost every interaction Clark has had with other aliens have been despotic societies or individuals: Jax-Ur and Mala, Apokolips, Maxima’s planet, War World, and now Thanagar. The Guardians built robotic police/foot soldiers to enforce their will. Even New Genesis is ruled by a benevolent dictator. Martian society is nearly extinct, overrun by… more alien despots, surviving only with J'onn. Argoan society is nearly extinct, surviving only with Kara. At least Lobo isn’t a fascist? Small consolation.)

JLU begins after a short time skip. I’m not as familiar with JLU episodes since it’s been a while since I’ve watched them, so I’m not going to attempt an episode-by-episode breakdown. Also this post is already way too long. But the point of this post is to look at Clark’s overall arc until this point, and see how it informs his decisions in JLU. For a more JLU-specific informed point of view check this post by januariat!

What we have is a man who naturally wants to take responsibility on his own shoulders, a doer and a fixer who wants to get into the ring and solve problems, who wants to use his abilities to help, being confronted over and over again with a string of personal failures, manipulation, and betrayal. When he tries to set a boundary about not being willing to help the man who took over his body and forced him against his home in Twilight, he’s told to get over it by his most trusted ally. When his deepest fears are revealed in Only a Dream, we see them having been already realized in Legacy. And when he’s presented with his dream of a peaceful life farming, a family that loves him, and no responsibility to save the world, it’s ripped away from him in For The Man Who Has Everything.

Ultimately, I don’t have a good answer for exactly how he doubles down in JLU S2, because I need to rewatch all of it with this understanding of the character. But I think you can see the shape of a traditional Superman character in there, trying and trying again and again to do the right thing, putting himself on the line - only instead of learning from his experiences and letting them inform his actions, he’s carrying the weight of years of suppressed trauma while trying to hold up the entire Justice League. This long, long run of failure, manipulation, betrayal, and distrust adds up. And there’s only so much weight one person can hold on their shoulders, even if they are a Superman.

(And then as the nice little capstone to his story, in Batman Beyond's The Call, he’s kept under alien mind control for years! With the way Starro clings to his chest, he probably hasn’t been touched in years! Trapped in his own mind, forced to watch as yet another alien species uses him as a tool to hurt his own teammates and invade the Earth! And that’s the last we see of DCAU Clark! What a fun little ending to his character arc that doesn’t make me go insane whenever I think about it. Very very very normal about this.)

[kazumaple]

born to die ꨄ haikaveh

art by @/mezudy678 on twt!!

tw | suicide ideation, death, alchoholism.

word count | 1,424 words ★ genre | angst, mentally ill kaveh, mental illness, major character death, au where haitham dies and kaveh is sad basically, kaveh is delusional, like in the traditional sense, depression/depression-like symptoms, me monopolising on lana del rey's lyrical genius<33

a/n | this has been sitting in my drafts for i kid you not over 6 months i think?!?! so yeah i just thought i should post it before the new year! i ruminated over the ending for so long but yknow new year new me so i just posted it. idk why i always make kaveh suffer but here is he suffering again. enjoy!?!?

link to my masterlist/how to request!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · 

“I’ll be waiting for you in heaven, my love.” 

The firm grip on Kaveh’s hand loosens as he feels his lover’s strength wane, taking not just his own, but Kaveh’s life force with it too.  

No, no… just a little longer, please. 

“But heaven is a place on Earth with you,” the blonde sniffles, embracing Alhaitham for the last time, “Don’t leave me…I still need you.” 

A chuckle erupts from the man next to him, and at that moment, Kaveh wishes he could loop that sound and listen to it forever, to keep Alhaitham in a world of his own design, where they could live together in the grandest of castles, all designed by Kaveh himself. 

He would construct them the most convenient house. Two study rooms for when they want to keep their distance from each other, a private library for Alhaitham, and a garden filled with all of Lesser Lord Kusanali’s creations, the plants being residents of the home just as much as Alhaitham and Kaveh would be. 

Kaveh sees Alhaitham, chuckling as he does now, smiling at Kaveh, his face aged a little with time, small folds of skin wrinkling around his eyelids as he beams, his happiness radiating, forcing Kaveh to smile along with him. If only time would permit it. Alhaitham is smiling at Kaveh, and he thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He wants to sketch this moment to make it permanent. To cherish the final moments he has with his lover. 

“You’ll be fine, Kaveh,” Alhaitham puts a hand under Kaveh’s chin, forcing the older man to meet his deep green eyes, “I love you.” 

By this point, Kaveh’s vision is white, and he barely notices Alhaitham pull him for one last kiss until their lips touch. The kiss is gentle and delicate, too delicate for Kaveh’s liking. The lack of strength only serves as a reminder of his lover’s fading energy. Kaveh pulls away for breath, his golden locks now in disarray across his face, the crimson hairclips that once kept his elegant plait together now in mayhem.

“I love you too.” 

Those are the last words Alhaitham hears before his vision fades, the silhouette of the man he loves the most looming over him, a teardrop the last thing he feels before he slips into the calming embrace of death. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · 

Thoughts race across Kaveh's mind like a marathon, as if each thought had something of utmost importance to attend to, leaving the blonde highly disoriented. Even more disoriented than he would usually be at times like this, because at the moment, Kaveh has downed enough litres of alcohol to provide the weekly water intake of a family of 6. 

It’s at times like this when he can’t keep his thoughts at bay. Kaveh tries his best. He really does. He tries his best to seem okay. To maintain the façade of normalcy ever since that fateful night. He goes to work, completes his commissions on time, eats all of his meals, and speaks to all of his friends. He meets Cyno and Tighnari every Saturday at Lambad’s tavern for a round of Genius Invokation TCG, his thoughts steering clear of the empty seat to his left. The seat which nobody would dare take after the loss of its original occupant. 

Kaveh really does try. 

But on nights like this, he can’t help but crack. When he comes home to nobody, no annoying, shrill voice to welcome him, nobody to nag him about his health or his rent. These are the moments when he feels truly lonely, the only reliable friend he can turn to being a tall glass of wine. 

He sits alone in their usual spot. Top floor, at the back, so that people are less likely to find them. He knows Alhaitham can’t take people coming up to him after his work hours. Kaveh doesn’t mind. But this is just one out of the long list of habits Kaveh has kept after Alhaitham’s passing. No matter where he may be, heaven or hell, Celestia or Khaenri’ah’s ruins, a part of him will always live on through Kaveh. Always. 

At some point, though, Kaveh stopped being alone. He started hearing him again. The gentle words of his lover wafting through his eardrums. At first, it was subtle. A few comments here and there. 

“That client is a jackass.” 

“Go to sleep, Kaveh.” 

“Come on, love, you’ve got a meeting soon.” 

But then it became ubiquitous. The sweet, honey-like voice of his deceased lover followed Kaveh around wherever he went. At first, Kaveh thought he was going insane. Now, he doesn’t care enough to worry.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough, love?” A gentle voice fills his eardrums in an instant, a deep chuckle resounding with it, “Though I’d love to hold you again, I’d like you to live a long, full life before then. Preferably not dying of alcohol poisoning.” 

Kaveh scoffs and crosses his arms, “I don’t have to listen to you! What are you doing to do anyway?” 

The blonde hears a deep sigh, “I suppose you’re right. I can’t force you to go home, but it would make me very happy if you did.” 

Kaveh, in his drunken stupor, actually considers this. With a clear head, Kaveh never would have considered this a valid argument. Kaveh will do what he wants. But alas, the hurricane engulfing his mind causes a lapse in judgment. 

“Fine,” he says, begrudgingly, “Only if you cuddle with me when we get home.” 

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” 

Kaveh then gets up and stumbles out of the tavern, paying the bill off his own tab this time. He supposes a benefit of Alhaitham’s passing was that his wealth and estate were passed on to Kaveh. Though this by no means makes up for the gaping hole in Kaveh’s heart, he is happy with the convenience his newfound wealth has brought him. 

The walk home passes in a daze, Kaveh blames this for his lack of comprehension, as by the time he's come to his senses, he’s tucked into bed, wrapped in the arms of Alhaitham once more. 

He looks into his lover’s eyes. The orange islands in the sea of green standing out more than ever before. Alhaitham’s arms wrap around him protectively, and he feels the safest he has in months. 

“Haitham,” Kaveh sniffles, “It’s been so hard without you here to guide me… I miss you… so much. Every time I think about you it feels as though somebody is ripping my heart out of my chest and stabbing it repeatedly with a knife.” 

“C-Cant you come back to me?” 

The soft sound of Alhaitham’s honey-sweet voice drips through Kaveh’s ears, “I’m here now, love. I’m here with you now, aren’t I?”

Kaveh groans, “I suppose so.” 

“Let’s go to bed now,” Alhaitham whispers soothingly in Kaveh’s ear, “You have a big day ahead of yourself tomorrow.” 

Kaveh lets the diluted voice of his lover lull him to sleep, his eyes getting heavier until they slide shut, and Kaveh surrenders to the deliria of dreaming for the night. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

The sun streaks through the gap in the curtains, its rays hitting Kaveh’s face, illuminating his vermillion eyes as they blink open, the fatigue of sleep dissipating. The first thing he feels when he comes to his senses is the utter lack of warmth in his bed. The very bed itself becomes a black hole, Kaveh stumbling over himself to get as far away from it as possible. The very bed that was once the safe haven of him and his lover, turns into the very thing that seems to trap him. 

H-He was just here.

The soft embrace of death feels more tempting than ever now. It would be easy for Kaveh to sink into it; his thoughts being engulfed by a soft lulling whisper, convincing him to let go of this world and all the pain it has caused. Nonetheless, he gets up. Brings himself to his feet. Walking towards the bathroom, he surveys the empty walls of his once lively house, accepting the soft, lonely numbness that has become a hallmark of his existence. 

[nativadron]

Autumn Breezes (Part I)

pairings: Mick Schumacher/Justine Huysman, Mick Schumacher/original female character (later, as the story goes)

tags: mick schumacher, michael schumacher, justine huysman, corinna schumacher, gina-maria schumacher

disclaimer: this work is going to have several parts that I intended to share with you part by part (I hope I can share it with you sooner since I had it already in my draft and just to find the right time to do it!). At the moment, this is part 1 for you! Enjoy!

warnings: bullying, harsh language, labelling, racism, identity covering, identity crisis, anxiety, mild violence

note: this is an art of fanfiction. all images and lines displayed in this post belong to me as the author and the creator. you can also find me on Wattpad (@Hadiwasito16). feel free to visit my works (Winds of Summer is already published there!) and hit the vote button/comment as you like! Thank you!

--

London, 1958

It was a different time back then when I was still unable to learn what made my family a runaway. Things haven’t changed; I still live in the shadows. Being of German descent still makes me aware enough that I have eyes on me and they never should know who I am.

I am fourteen and never looked like I wanted to be doing my life; growing up and putting things as if they were more than a dream of thousand dreams of mine.

“Mick!”

“Yes, Dad?”

“Come! Help me with the machine, will you?”

My Dad, Michael, was a retired Air Commander of The Royal Air Force. He is now a local mechanic, opening a car shop in town and I will be a helping hand for a whole day at the weekend and I’m not even bored to do it. He is a determined worker, as he always had before. He is also selfless, knowing that a good heart will always bring goodness too.

“Dad?”

“How was it to be an Air Commander?”

Michael is sure that war stories are never a good thing to be told to children, even to his son. “There was nothing special of being a man that grew to lead a thousand men,”

“I was born to be lucky. That’s what I always believe.”

Being a fourteen-year-old kid is not something I would imagine to be some kind of exciting. For the first 13 years, I felt good surrounded by the ones I loved most. Then, I had to embrace the outside world as I started to reach my second year at a local secondary school. It is just about a mile or two from my home, so I will mostly ride my bike in the morning. Mama always packs me lunch and some snacks too, in case I have to stay longer for an extracurricular activity.

Today as any other day, I would be listed as the earlier student to get into school as I hate to be late. On my way to the classroom, I saw a girl who also caught me yesterday and the last year of my life here as a student and wondered why she was mostly spending her time alone and sitting there with her only favourite book. She seemed so content, only there was something that I couldn’t extract from her eyes but I felt sadness other than any I could recognise. If I may meet her again during the break time, I would try to make my first encounter with her and I hope I wouldn’t make it more uncomfortable for her.

“Look at now, a Shoemaker just landed!”

Unbelievable. As I think that my second year will be greater than ever, this boy and his fellow are a complete mess to ruin my day.

“As plainer as any Nazis could ever exist!”

“Even he didn’t know that he probably might be a Nazi!”

Some other students are putting this thing highly over me as they would describe me as someone of a non-English breed. It is true, only I never knew why they had to call me such. As much as I hate it, I’m still wondering too, whether I am of German descent that also got something behind it more than just an identity that made me of a man that walked this earth.

I let them by as if I never heard any mockery got my ears burned. As I turn to look at the same spot where the girl is sitting, our eyes meet and I can sense how much she gets questions about me. She doesn’t stay and walks away as the time for the class comes just right at the time.

Since I recognise myself as a bright-brainer, I never felt any class would be such an annoyance to my day. I would beat everything in a single go and pass it well. If I got stuck or found any difficulties, I would still manage to get through and done. The class is over and I run instantly out from the classroom to the school’s garden where the girl is mostly caught to spend her day there and I hope I can meet her.

As I am breathlessly trying to catch my breath, there she is, reading a book with a lunchbox in her lap. I regain all my thoughts and fix my posture before I finally walk down the path to claim my seat that is positioned across from her.

“Hello! Do you mind if I join you?”

I’ve never really been a good conversationist, but she looks at me hesitantly. She was a little bit tense, but then a welcoming smile reached her lips that offered to me and I couldn’t be more grateful to be welcomed by her. I hope this is some kind of gaining her trust towards me as I wish that this thing would go on since today’s encounter.

I unpack my lunchbox and dive instantly for the pasta carbonara that my mom made for me this morning. I also got an apple and some broccoli inside, which I am grateful for filling up my lunch break.

“That spaghetti isn’t telling much about you, I bet.”

I was about to have my first chew, but she stopped me. “Why is that? Do people measure a person’s identity from their food these days?”

She closes her book and secures it next to her. I reckon that she almost finished her lunch too, “Shoemaker, right? I bet you’re a true Englishman but not from London. You must be from The Isle of Scotland or maybe Ireland.”

I don’t care much about it as I take my first chew slowly. She waits for me, patiently and not even intimidating at all.

“Scotland? Never heard of people telling me that I am Scottish. Even worse, Ireland is far from expectation after all.”

“Really? Your name seemed fit.”

“My accent betrays me.”

“So does your appearance.”

That strikes me deeply. Fewer stings, but deep. If this is another way to get bullied, I would rather never listen to her anymore. “What do you think of me?”

“So, I’ve heard, but I don’t think less of you as any of boys did. You’re probably less English, but I never think that you are of a Nazi. What makes them define you as the lowly subject that earth ever had?”

“I am, too, not coming from here. Being Dutch is never a big thing, only I got labelled as Indische Conqueror, even though I got nothing correlated to my country’s actions.”

Her preaching weirdly touches me. I almost hate that she will be just like any other who throws a mock at my face, but she is turning out to be stuck in the same situation as I am. We are the commoners to the royals of the court, so it seems.

“I am Mick. Mick Shoemaker… as you’ve known.”

It’s always weird to be the one who offers a handshake, but she takes my hand delightfully. Her smile mirrors my comfort upon meeting her as everything began to loosen up and flow better between us.

“Justine Huysman.”

And the conversation goes on until we both realize that time makes us walk again to have another class.

I’ve grown better since I met Justine. I don’t know what it may be, but I haven’t decided any to be called feelings. I think we are fine. And I love to have her around without anything to worry about; which is, our feelings for each other.

“So, Justine… why they nicknamed you that?”

Justine shrugs, but that’s not because she didn’t get any idea of it. “Well, colonialism. Maybe you should listen to the radio daily and not stress about what you did with your Dad in his car shop.”

“Hey, it’s nothing to brag about! That’s my shared hobby with him, by the way.”

“Oh? Contradictive, it seems, considering your last name doesn’t suit your hobby in any way.”

“Stop that!”

“Okay, okay! I’m just being hilarious, that’s all!”

We’ve been riding our bikes together since our first day knowing each other. She enjoyed my company along the way on the way home, and so did myself. Sometimes, we take a different path just to make our ride last longer and feel the time well spent together. Time after time, it feels like I almost can’t think of having my day without her. But, I’m afraid. I’m afraid that she doesn’t call this anything but some kind of passable moment we have.

One day, it becomes harder to contain my burdened feelings about her. I decided to call it love. Her, as everything above stars and galaxies, is my first love.

We walk toward the sea of flowers that noon on Saturday, side by side while pushing our bikes slowly. The sun is amazingly bright but does not sting the skin. Justine brought me here and she said that this is her favourite spot to spend some time alone with her books. After quite a while, we finally sit and talk casually. I’m sharing about my work in the car shop and she tells me about her hometown back in the Netherlands. With such amazing eyes looking at me, she is sparkling with happiness and her precious memories about her past life there and I am touched.

I grow to adore her; her happiness, her sincerity, her selfless mind. And that’s the first time, without any doubt, I decided I couldn’t be a liar anymore. I can’t be hiding as I never know how to call it better when I never said the word.

“Ich hab dich lieb, Justine.”

It’s just blurted out. I don’t even feel any single guilt upon confessing my true feelings toward her.

“You spoke German?”

“What?”

“Did you just speak German?”

I knew that I shouldn’t, I knew that this would be a mistake, “I… I did.”

She holds my hand. I am looking at her, feeling extremely scared and I can feel my cheeks flushed, but then she greets me with a smile. Still, I don’t even know what it means until she envelops both of my hands and holds them all together.

“I’ve loved you first, Mick.”

And my heart never felt the same as the past weeks before; restless and blue. She puts a beat that I never want to trade for another. And I don’t feel insecure or betrayed by my surroundings for the first time.

“How?”

“I guess it just comes as a resolution of meeting someone that had the same fate in an unexpected place, Mick.” 

And I kiss her there, for the first time when the autumn breeze blows.

-

After our last meeting, I didn’t see her at school. I’ve grown weary as if I never got to see her again. What if it’s true? Or, what if she is not seeing through what we had as one?

“Hey, Shoemaker!”

I was in the middle of a hurry when all those bullies called me. I don’t spare my time for them and keep running, but they pull me out of the hallway and slam me against the wall in the bathroom.

“Don’t you dare to call us off, you Nazi!”

“I don’t have time for this, I have to go home.”

“Home? I don’t see why you have to go home early.”

“That’s why you just don’t see it why!”

“So, what? You want to run to the Nazi Dad of yours to find help?”

Nazi.

Nazi.

Nazi.

I am nothing Nazi. I have never been such.

“I am not a Nazi!”

That was the first time I called myself to hit them. I don’t care if I have to be bruised, but I will walk away free and justify how much I hate to be labelled something that I am not even a part of.

“I AM NOT A NAZI!”

I can finally feel how much I loved to stand up for myself, but they still had the upper hand and I am the minor. I have fought for what I believed I was not, yet they are still unbeatable. They knocked me out when I thought I would be the winner. It’s like I don’t have a chance to be alive anymore: to feel equal and free as I have always been.

“Blue-eyed Nazi!”

“Dirty Aryan!”

“Go back to Germany!”

I never thought I would cry wholly when they are beaming at me, madly satisfied that their mockery hits me.

How do they know that I am German?

Why did they call me a Nazi?

I don’t even know that I am an Aryan breed.

I don’t even know if I had a place I called home in Germany.

“Hey! What is going on here?!”

And that’s when the hitting stops. I can taste bile in my mouth, even my eyesight is far from better. I try to get up, but only get to fall again. But at least, I get to see Justine that stands there but still so far to reach out.

And I pass out.

-

The next time I woke up, I saw my mom with a worry-plastered face. Dad is not so different, even. Gina is the worst. I am hurt, but not so deep as my aching pride upon seeing them together here makes me even smaller.

“No, you better lay still, son.”

“Dad, it is—” Yes, it hurts. Even my eyes were barely able to see. But at least, I am not fading.

“I told you. It’s all going to be fine if you lay still.”

“Why you weren’t at school?” I know, I am supposed to worry about my condition, but I can’t let my mind slide and not ask her why she is here instead of school.

“Mick, you were being silly, you know that?”

“I—well, still, you’re supposed to be at school.”

“Stop it. Both of you. It’s not time for arguing.”

“We’re not arguing—” and that sounds weirder than ever to have the same word thrown over at the same time with a person who is not on the same page with you.

“Dad, it is not me who started all—”

“I knew you didn’t, son. You would have not.”

Still, it doesn’t give me the reassurance I want. I’m afraid he didn’t believe me. And I know that I am never good at reasoning.

“My dearest, I’d like to speak with Mick briefly.”

“I will take Gina to the cafeteria. Do you want anything?”

“No, thank you, my love. We’ll be fine.”

Dad takes a spot on the edge of the bed and sits comfortably as he lays one of his hands on my leg. He doesn’t seem to be angry with me or hold a grudge to the recent event.

“I would never ask whom or when the event happened. I just want to know if you are all right,” He knows all too well that asking for details will only ruin everything for me and I did appreciate that.

“I just want to know if our presence here is nothing to make you feel that you are smaller than the ones who did this to you. You are loved. That’s all you have to understand.”

“What if it’s not what it looks like? What if these will only make them consider that I am nothing but a weak boy?”

“You are not weak. You found help and we will always help you. Nothing will ever change that, Mick.”

It’s like time changing. Too fast, barely there to breathe and bask in. It is slipping out of my touch. Now I’m here, looking in the mirror and taking a long deep breath to start another new page of the journey. School is another thing I enjoy as the bullies are moving out. They get a bright future ahead as their parents pursue their goals somewhere better than in The United Kingdom. We made amends, though. That’s what relieves me the most.

Justine is making everything easy, too. I never ask for such a blessing to come right at me, but she sure is. And we grow closer.

“So, what’s in your head at the moment?”

We are staring at the sun above us with our eyes closed, basking in the light, with our hands entwined as we lie side by side in the grass. We never thought that months after our first encounter, it would become a thing that I would adore and nurture. I’m sure I wouldn’t be the same man if I hadn’t met her in the first place.

“I’m thinking of surviving school, of course!”

She laughs as if she didn’t intend to do the same thing. “Well, we both will! But, what’s ahead of everything we had at the moment?”

There, I am sure I haven’t thought about anything at the moment, of what lies ahead of me. It’s almost pointless and to be not disturbed by becoming a hard thinker, is surely peculiar.

“I can only say nothing,”

“Nothing?”

“But surely, I am grateful we are in the present moment. Together. Surviving.”

“Surviving… yes, we both are.”

I hold her hand, beam at the sight and feel silly for being in love with someone I used to call a friend. She smiles, surely sending a thousand watts of happiness that justifies my everlasting love for her. Maybe, in another year, I could look back and call this a fling.

Or maybe, I could let this memory alive and call this real love.

That dusk, we ride our bicycles together, side by side and holding each other’s hands. Justine is smiling all the way home and I don’t even bother to look at it for another year if God allows me.

“See you sooner, Germania!”

“See you sooner, Dutch!”

I swear that she can be the only one who called me Germania.

--

“Mick! Oh, where have you been?”

“You know I won’t go anywhere far, Dad. How’s today?”

“Let me take a look at you.”

I am as red as a tomato, fell in love, and am extremely happy with the person who bought my love back. What is there to hide?

“You are… okay, I suppose?”

“Indeed, I am.” A cheeky one. I can’t even let my Dad mock me for being in love.

“Who’s the other girl?”

Oh, here it comes. “My friend. A dear friend, I could say.”

“And her name is?”

“Justine. She’s Dutch.”

“Nederlander? Are you sure?”

“Yes, Dad. She is.”

“She seems a good companion.”

“Oh, Dad, please—”

“I’m not teasing you! I know she is well-mannered and surely raised in a better family environment.”

“That is the fact.”

“All right, get washed up and be ready for dinner. Your mother is waiting for you.”

“Be there a minute, Dad!”

“So, you met a girl?”

“Seems everyone is conspiring to know about my days recently.”

“No, Mick. I saw you too, don’t you realise?”

“I bet you do.”

Even Gina is not looking less like my Dad. She is digging something. “There is nothing I could tell about her. I am trying to get to know her more.”

“I am convinced that she does the same way as you.”

“I just—I’m afraid I lost her before I knew her.”

Gina walks forward and gently squeezes my shoulders, “I don’t think she will leave you.”

“How do I know she won’t?”

“Believe is not something hard to do, is it?”

“No, it isn’t.” I smile.

“Now, that looks better! So, how about some more tea?”

“Yes, please.”

[goodluckclove]

migration patterns - scott/edgar intimacy: sad child edition

i'm sad so here's a scene i've been thinking about for a week and finally got to write. enjoy. it's a major rough draft so excuse any pronoun fuckups or name inconsistencies.

“Can I tell you something else I want to do?” Edgar asked him, still uncertain – but markedly less so.

Anything. I love you. Talk to me forever. I will do anything you ask of me. You are so safe and good I will shift the orbit of the earth if it would ensure your security. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Scott nodded, without a word. Edgar hummed happily and leaned down again, pressing his chest against Scott’s as he whispered

“I had a funny dream last night, Lark.”

Scott turned in their bed with the covers drawn up to their chin. From beside him on the mattress, Eddie’s wavering golden form sparkled serenely like sunlight over the ocean. He was smiling one of his smiles that were sweet, yet weighed down heavily by weariness and anxiety. Eddie always seemed to smile like new mothers smiled, or older witches who tried to mask how much pain they were in.

“I like dreams,” Scott told his dearest companion. “Sometimes I have dreams that I’m not even in. It’s weird – isn’t that weird?”

Eddie nodded knowingly. He was very smart. Still, he seemed nervous. “It was funny,” he continued, “because you were there. Like – really there. With me.”

Scott grinned and felt warmth seep into their chest. What a wonderful dream that must’ve been!

“It was also funny, because…” Eddie darted his eyes away from Scott and pressed his lips into a straight, hesitant line. “Because in my dream, I kissed you.”

He paused and twisted his face in a cringe. Scott didn’t understand the reaction. Maybe it was from something he was seeing or feeling in his part of the world. Still, the same thought echoed in their heart: what a wonderful dream that must’ve been!

“That sounds nice,” Scott said, their smile softening.

Eddie looked like he wanted to say something, but then he didn’t. He looked up at Scott and teetered on the edge of a frown. “Boys aren’t supposed to kiss boys,” he said.

This was new information to Scott.

“I’m not a boy,” Scott told him.

“But you said you might be in the future.”

“Yeah, but I might not be. I haven’t figured it out yet. I might be a girl, or I might be – something else,” they widened their eyes slightly as they remembered what he confessed to them a few months before. “You said you might be something else too, right?”

Even though their friend was only visible in slightly differing shades of gold, Scott was now able to recognize the glimmer of amber that appeared whenever Eddie blushed. “Uh-huh,” he murmured into his hands. “I think so.”

Scott tried not to look too victorious. “Right! So it’s different. And even if it wasn’t, I think whoever told you that was confused. Boys kiss boys all the time.”

“Sure, but you aren’t supposed to.”

“Why not?”

Eddie didn’t answer. He looked confused. He looked like how Scott felt whenever he watched most of Tenzin’s favorite movies. Eventually he sat up and just stared ahead at something Scott was unable to see.

“You can kiss whoever you want if you really love them,” Scott sat up too, thinking. “Sometimes people do it to people they don’t love. Like in movies! Except I think even then the good ones at least like each other.”

“It’s different for me,” Eddie said, suddenly very serious.

He did that sometimes. He was like a little boat bobbing along, very sweet and light – only occasionally some stronger, menacing force would rise up from the depths and drag him under for a few moments of immense despair.

“Nobody loves me like that,” he said to the empty space ahead of him. “That’s probably the funniest part of all.”

Scott took a moment to remember the speed at which they were directed to blink. The way Eddie said that, the certainty in his voice, made Scott’s stomach churn and ache. Still, they tried to smile.

“I do, Eddie,” they told him.

Eddie looked across at them. There was no specific expression on his face. Scott found that one of the most impressive parts of his faraway friend.

Finally, he furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Because I might be a boy?”

“Because you don’t know me.”

Scott fidgeted his hands very gently, mostly to have something to do. “I know you’re nice. You’re really smart. I feel happy when I talk to you,” he cast Eddie a smile, “I could probably lie in bed and just look at you and never go to sleep again, so I figured it would make the most sense to love you.”

The amber returned to Eddie’s cheeks. If a moth landed in the luminescent mist that made up his body it would be frozen in time for eons and eons.

“I didn’t know that’s what it meant,” Eddie said, a little vaguely. “You know, to love somebody like that.”

“I think it could be. I think it can mean all kinds of things!”

Eddie shifted his body, and Scott mimicked the motion until they were sitting face to face. “Do you think..?” Eddie chewed on his bottom lip, eyes grazing the ceiling. “Do you think that, if you look forward to seeing a person. And you think about – that person – even when you aren’t talking to them. And you wish that you could be around them whenever you wanted,” he paused to draw in a much-needed breath. “Do you think that means you love them?”

Now it was Scott’s turn to feel their face grow hot. “Um,” they said. “I think if you want it to be.”

“What if I do? What if I really, really do?”

“Then I think it is,” Scott murmured with a smile.

The two of them stared at each other for a short while of silence. Only there was something in the silence, a soft buzz of excitement and a sparkle of confusion.

“You know,” Scott said, trying for the first time in their life to be casual, “if you want, you could try doing what you did in your dream.”

It was always when Eddie widened his eyes that Scott was reminded that his friend was a birthright too. A wave of motion passed through his body – not so much a recoil as a sudden swell of life.

“You don’t –” Eddie grinned, mostly out of panic. “I can’t even touch you.”

“We haven’t tried,” Scott reminded him. “Not really.”

Scott was staring down at the wrinkles of the quilt serving as their bedspread. Their mind went someplace wistful, someplace sad and dusty. It would’ve stayed there too if not for this sudden pinprick of comfort and contentment that pierced them on the cheek in a burst of sensation and rapidly filled their small body with light. They shot their head up just as Eddie quickly pulled back his hand.

“I’m sorry!” He said. “Did I hurt you?”

The light of Eddie’s body felt like his touch. Scott’s mind felt a little dreamy and he felt like the heat in his face might now actually have a real, tangible glow.

“No,” Scott said. “It felt. I – I felt it, and it...was really nice.”

Eddie smiled. He looked proud. Then he wasn’t, and then he no longer smiled. His eyes lost focus slightly and he just stared, frozen in place.

Now it was Scott’s turn for movement. They leaned forward slightly and reached out a hand, moving carefully to brush against the glow of his companion’s form without diving straight into it. Immediately there was a reaction. Eddie’s face twisted and his eyes clenched shut. It was a response so close to pain that Scott moved away and waited, suddenly afraid for the both of them.

Eventually, Edgar relaxed. After that, the slightest shape of a smile touched his lips. In some innate part of Scott’s very being they knew this was a good thing that was happening. Some instinct that was forged from materials foreign to Scott’s being told them to move forward. Asked them to touch their palm again to the outskirts of Eddie’s light. Begged Scott to press their face over the sad, golden boy's, right where their lips would touch if they were two physical bodies in the same room.

The feeling was like connecting two wires and lighting up an an entire house – no, a whole city. Scott wanted to stay in it forever. They wanted to surround themselves in the amber glow until any concept of any darkness at all was nothing more than a silly, distant dream.

Eventually Scott pulled away. Eddie did not move this entire time, but when their vision adjusted to the dark of their bedroom again Scott saw he was smiling.

He was smiling, and he was weeping.

“What are you thinking about?” Scott asked.

Eddie swallowed hard and wiped his eyes. “I’m thinking...I-I’m thinking that you just gave me the best feeling I’ll ever have, and I have nothing to give you in return.”

Grief wracked Scott harder than someone of their age and size was fully capable of handling. Tears sprung to their eyes, but for some reason they found themselves starting to laugh.

“Eddie,” they said, struggling to keep their voice calm, “you give me everything in the world every time I see your face.”

“Everything?” Eddie wiped his eyes with the ball of his hands. “What do you mean?”

“Feelings. Thoughts. The moon. Every bird. Warm stew –”

“I love you,” Eddie paused, blushing again, but broke out in another weepy smile. “I-I would really like to be in love with you please, if you don’t mind.”

Scott took what felt like the very first breath anyone had ever taken before. “I would like that very much,” they spoke happily.

They exchanged a mutual grin and another deeply-felt silence. This time, though, what broke it was Eddie touching his ethereal hand to Scott’s. The golden glow fully bathed over the entirety of Scott’s hand, rushing into their bloodstream and staining every inch of them with dusk.

“Do you think we could do that again?” Eddie whispered to them. “Maybe...I start this time?”

Scott met his eyes. Their mind felt fully lucid yet fully eased with calm. They nodded.

[lovelywooz]

Boo Seungkwan - Night Walk

This is kind of a short open letter to him if I’m honest? I see so much of myself in Seungkwan. He’s a wonderful soul. One of my favorite people to have been born on this Earth. I’ve had something in my drafts about him for a while, but I wanted to wait to post it. Here it is now<3

Word Count: 743

Warnings: None, could be a little bit angsty? It’s short which I know takes some people out of the zone.

As you’ve gotten to know him, you and Seungkwan both see so much of yourselves in the other. You started going on nighttime walks about a month ago to let go of your deeply set stress together.

*******************************************************

Everything about Seungkwan is so tranquil. The way he holds your hand gently, but with a loving firmness. The way your pairs of feet make a tiny splash with each watery step on the park sidewalk. The way raindrops pitter-patter so effortlessly perfect you could be fooled into thinking its a studio recording.

You’ve each got one earbud in. The wired kind since Boo says that it’s ‘more intimate’ that way. Your left ear and his right ear both tune into the audiobook you’ve chosen for the night: Alice in Wonderland. It’s actually quite a long book and each chapter is about 45 minutes of blissfully calm narration. Both of you enjoy a little light ASMR here and there. You figured it’s good to start with the classics, since Boo said he’d never read most of them before and frankly it’s been a long time since you had either.

This little habit of yours, walking at night hand-in-hand while listening to an audiobook, has become an essential part of your relationship with Seungkwan. Though it’s only been a few months since you started dating, you’re not sure you ever truly lived without him.

He can see you’re stressed. You can see he’s stressed. And so the earbuds and umbrella come out and you’re out the door. This routine works to serve both of you. Sincerely you hope that you can bring him even half as much comfort as he gives you just being in his presence. His aura is like that of a blanket thats been warmed next to a roaring hearth. Even in the nighttime rain, you can still feel his burning heart through your connected palms. He’s the guy you wished- no, prayed was out there waiting for you.

Suddenly, he comes to a stop next to a large tree. He always looks around in peaceful silence, but he’s never outright stopped during one of your walks before. He speaks in a calm tone, still audible enough to be heard over both the rain and the narrator’s voice in your ear. “I used to walk here by myself a lot when I had thoughts to sort out”, he releases your hand and reaches his fingers out to trace them over the bark, “It makes me so happy that you like coming here too”.

“Any place with you next to me makes me happy” you chirp. A smile blooms across his features as he turns his head to look at you.

“I’m sorry that,” he hesitates, “that I don’t tell you enough. That I can never seem to show you or put into words how I’m feeling”. Knowing that you’re going to deny his words right away, he puts a finger to your lips. “Don’t go saying that it’s not true, because I know it is”. Despite what it seems like, Seungkwan doesn’t sound sad at all. His tone indicates more of a reflective mood than anything else, like he’s somehow collected all his thoughts and is ready to lay them out one-by-one. This is a rarity for him.

He continues, “Part of why I feel so drawn to you is that we are so similar. In some ways I love that we can instantly figure each other out, we know what the other needs without saying anything. It also makes me feel so bad for you at times, because I know how complicated you feel when you’re hurt. It’s hard when we choke up each time we’re asked how we’re doing. Because we honestly don’t know”.

His index finger reaches up from your lips to brush a strand of hair from your face. “When I look in your eyes, I see all the fondness I once begged for, the assurance that I need, a reflection of what I have always wished and hoped would come to me. It amazes me all the time that there is someone who just- gets it. That understands me. As if we’re bound by some cosmic force that I can’t see. Or cut from the same cloth”. He laces your fingers together once again. “I just have to say it, while I’m feeling brave, and I have you here in front of my eyes, I have to tell you what I’ve been feeling”.

The audiobook chapter ends, just in time for you to hear him clearly between the patter of the rain on your umbrella.

“I love you”.

[hydrangeyes]

Rambles as I finally watch ep 5 and 6

I FINALLY FOUND A SITE

Ep 5:

I adore when Alastor is just being the opposite of what a lot of us expected, it's legit funny to me. (reminds me of the livestreams)

OOOOOOOOO so like was someone telling Luci Charlie didn't want to see him and vice versa for Charlie cause this reeks miscommunication?

Oh. Oh no husky.....

curious about who has Alastor on a leash but tbh it has to be someone high up. I don't think it would be Lilith but I can see how if Charlie branched off to be her own person and then started the hotel publicly how she would one the strongest but not directly connected sinner to look after Charlie. (OOOO especially if Lilith knew about vaggie and didn't trust her.)

I've seen folks talk about Eve, cause yeah where are they in all this but I can't see why Eve would want anything to do with the hotel unless to use it to drag Adam down or rise back up to heaven- oooooooooooo

Still unsure why use Alastor for that but eh....

Is eve even in hell??? I'm trying to think back in the bible if she does or not (Not that I'm sticking to the stores there for an exact reference but eh wouldn't hurt)

I don't think Charlie yet understands there's more to being a "good" person than opening up and positivity. Especially if it landed you in hell? tho yeah there are some who can be hopeful, i would think they would travel to stay in the hotel if that were the case (but then again they would have to see proof that it's possible)

Luci boi has a point but i also think his unease/fear of heaven dampening things, that and his general distaste for humans clearly

hell yeah go off little man

mm so like what is up with the divorce couple? like clearly Lilith got Charlie in the divorce but the line that even before that she didn't know him (she looks fairly in her todler years so like)

I very much like loved more than anything the song.

lmao vaggie is STRESSED.

on to Ep 6!

oh vaggie looks exhausted

I have a head canon of Vaggie and Charlie have the same dynamic as Cassandra and Rapunzel if they hooked up.... before the plot twist reveal anyway.

CHERRY BOMB I LOVE HER

God Sir pentious is so pathetic I love him

mmmm that was a design choice for saint peter but tbh Idc much

oooo the designs are prety cool!

MOLLY MOLLY MOLLY MOLLY MOLLY MOLLY MOLLY

Ugh fuckin' Adam

Wait- so legit NO one else knows about the extermination?????

mmm naming reasons a sideeeee Called it

God fuckin' Adam, get this man off my phone screen

I need charlie to spend a month on earth, cause hearing her marvel at rainbow sprinkles is both cute and sad

Oh Sera so like- you're kinda the worse huh?

"He was the first human-" Uh yeaaaaaa cause the rough draft is SO much better than the final product????

Pleaseeeeeee sir pentious be quietttttttttt

12 ROUNDS BACK TO BACK??????

someone save sir pentious

UGH valentino

let's GOOOOOOOO Angel Dust

what ARE the rules to get into heaven??

"A lot you don't know." THEN EXPLAIN IT, LEGIT EXPLAIN AND WE'D BE OUT OF YOUR HAIR IF IT WAS SO HOPELESS

legit if you know the answers please share with the class, then maybe you wouldn't have any issues?? what the fuck is actually going on here

mmm the bad place vibes

ooo vaggie angel reveaaalll

I hope Emily kicks ASS

I wonder if Adam legit has special first child privileges that is stopping him from falling cause HUUUUH there's no way he can get away with acting like that

Also given that only Sera and Adam (and his servants) Knew, word would HAVE to get out, as secrets doesn't seem to be a thing.

I wonder if Emily could take thiws up to someone higher like an archangel or something? I legit want Gabriel reveaal, 1: he seemed the most chill thinking back on old bible studies (Its been a while), and too cause supernatural brain rot made me love the dynamic of angel family drama tbh

[porkinsplace]

Hey, I just wanted to say thanks on what you commented on my post. I'm the Israeli who totally talk the conflict, who goes to protests, who votes left parties. Who works with lgbt youth, palestenian and Israeli. Who tries to end this conflict and talk about peace, even in this cause like this. Even when they killed innocent, even when they kidnapped children. I know the Palastenian people are not like hamas. I know there are people on the other side who wants peace too.

The situation is so awful. I see my country lash out at innocents while rocket alarms go off in my area like twice a day. Everyone is so scared. We have been left away by the west queer community, and as a queer Israeli I feel like I was left to rot by everyone. And honestly, I get it. But I'm not my country, I have to choice but to be here so I'm doing the best I can, where I can. I live this conflict since the day I was born. I'm just scared, and sad. And I mourn us all for being born into this mess.

Thanks for taking the time to read my thoughts on the subject, instead of just ignore it like most people do.

May we live to see peace on planet earth

🇮🇱 🕊 🇵🇸

To bare witness and not look away is quite literally the least I can do. It's people like you whose voice needs to be shouted from summits. Treating any side of a conflict as a monolith has never gone well historically, to make a community pay for the crimes of their government(especially when 3/4's of Israeli's polled are unhappy with their prosecution of the conflict). Folks want a simple answer for this, 'all Palestinians are Hamas terrorists' 'all Israeli's are xenophobic colonizers' its not so simple and has never been that simple.

As you stated you didn't ask for this, you were born into a country and into a culture that you had no say in. you were drafted into a war the day you were conceived, and there are those who would wish you harm simply for not fervently and zealously tow the party line. On top of that to be queer in a country where, you are tolerated at best, where you have to leave the country to get married to have your marriage recognized, I am proud of you for standing in your truth as a queer Israeli and for not hiding your light under a basket.

And that is what makes your voice so important to hear. It is also why you cannot give up hope and why you must continue to stand up against the people in your country who would rather see the world burn than live in peace with their Muslim siblings. I know you are tired and I know you probably feel like its hopeless and if I could lend you even an ounce of my strength from across the globe I would. I want you to know that you are seen and heard and that while I know when you look at everything in media(from any political bent) it can easily seem like you have been abandoned by those who you would assume are your allies, and I'm here to tell you they never were your allies to begin with. We are seeing in real time that racism and the casual disregard for human life is apolitical. Antisemitism and Islamophobia have been rampant across the globe and this conflict has only stoked the flames. Finally I will leave you with this thought I had recently, along with a cheesy quote 'it is always darkest before the dawn' My hope is that the wave of racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, fascism ect that we have been witnessing around the globe is the last dying thrashes of a great ugly beast. They know they've lost and are now simply trying to do as much damage as possible. Godspeed and good luck! Continue to speak out and continue to raise your voice above the braying of the horde. I have faith in you and the rest of those who stand against injustice.

This too shall pass friendo!

[magnus-sm-writes]

WIP (Re)Intro: Hamish

(Image ID: A cropped slice of Van Gogh's Skull with Burning Cigarette focusing on the facial structure.)

Genre: Literary Fiction/Gothic | Progress: Rewriting | World: Earth | POV: First Person Referral (I to You), Past Tense | Hamlet Retelling

Summary

Hamish Herbert Jr. is the son of Hamish Herbert Sr. and Genoveva Machado de Herbert, two prominent politicians, and all he wants to do is abandon his past. Horacio Aiza is a bright university student looking to leave his abusive childhood behind. Their codependent friendship leads them to Hamish's family home upon news of Hamish Sr.'s death. But once they arrive, Hamish and Horacio are haunted by both real and metaphorical ghosts as they attempt to uncover the truth. A Hamlet retelling.

In One Sentence

Upon the news of Hamish's father's death, Horacio accompanies him back to his abusive family, where both of their haunting pasts are just as dangerous as the present.

Literal Logline

"Ride or die" in the most literal sense, featuring ghosts.

Inspirations

Warsan Shire's poetry, NBC's Hannibal, Fransisco Goya's black paintings, "From Now On We Are Enemies" by Fall Out Boy, The Secret History by Donna Tartt

Why am I rewriting it?

Put quite simply, Hamish was my first novel that I took some real risks with. Looking back at the last draft (from 2020, before I was even a man), I can fully identify that many of my literary hallmarks were established in this novel. It was a test of my ability to write unlikable, morally-gray characters in a way that didn't have to be fully-explained, and with little satire, unlike Jeez Take the Wheel. It was the first novel I posted to my writing Insta, so it has some great nostalgia for me. And it feels right to return to now that I've established myself as an author of semi-gothic stories with plenty of fabulism. I feel like now I can elevate Hamish to a level I didn't achieve before, now that my skills are more mature.

Characters

Hamish Herbert Jr. (you) is a neurotic mess of a man, plagued by PTSD and his own dark thoughts. Eccentric, fascinating, and full of philosophic musings on every facet of life, Hamish is the manic pixie dream boy of his own life.

Horacio Aiza (I) is equally as riddled with PTSD, but chooses to focus instead on Hamish's issues than on solving his own problems. Quiet and reserved, he tempers Hamish's more emotional side while also providing the narration for the story. His nostalgia makes every moment bittersweet.

Genoveva Machado de Herbert is Hamish's mother. She is a stern, no-nonsense woman who cares more about her chances of being reelected for governor than her son.

Hamish Herbert Sr. is dead.

Claude Herbert is Hamish's uncle, along with being Genoveva's accomplice and lover. Though once loved, he is now just as cruel as both of his parents.

Pol Bello is Genoveva's lawyer, friend, and accomplice. He believes himself to be more important than he is.

Ofelia Bello is Hamish's ex-girlfriend. Enigmatic and brilliant, she becomes an ally to Horacio, though she does not seem to have good luck.

Leon Bello is Hamish's ex-boyfriend. He highly distrusts Hamish for cheating on his sister (with him) and has inherited Pol's self-importance.

Playlist

"From Now On We Are Enemies" - Fall Out Boy

Dirty Laundry - Bitter:Sweet

Archive - Mal Blum

Grave Digger - Matt Maeson

Wait - The Dear Hunter

Mama's Gun - Glass Animals

Domestic Bliss - Glass Animals

Excerpt

You scraped your ragged fingernails against my skin, the places where the curling script rested on your own ribs. This is where love comes to die. You’d gotten it, you said, when you were high, when you were sad, when you were remembering what you shouldn’t. I’ve always loved that poem, you said, and now it’s with me forever.  “My father— I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle it all.”

Taglist

Ask to be tagged! I'll hopefully be making a few posts about this project.

[i-am-thornqueen]

I've been through three possible starter drafts of chapter 11 for The Monsters of Paris and I've hit a bit of a wall, so I'm going to ramble a bit below the cut to get some random thoughts out.

Been thinking about things. Overthinking other things. Making myself cry. You know, normal writer stuff.

Right now, I've been thinking about Plagg. I don't know if I'll go into full detail in the story why Plagg absolutely despises demons and forbids all low-beings from approaching his holders, so I guess I could say something here.

Plagg is the honorary King of Demons in the story, and once upon a time he loved the title. He took pleasure in being King, particularly because he enjoyed the largest following compared to other kwami - the most followers, the most diverse followers - and he could rub that fact in everyone else's faces. His love for demons and dark creatures went as far as to let some of them slip through the cracks when he should have been destroying them properly. Past holders had difficulty forcing him to fight demons.

That's very different from present day of the story, where Plagg despises low-beings. He hates demons.

The reason he hates them now is kind of sad.

We've already met Prince Ophelia, the demon Prince of Destruction who devoured Lord Plague's heart. Plagg had been bound to Lord Plagg the entire time his holder had been mad with rage and grief. Plagg had been forced to feel everything while Lord Plague was being eaten alive from the inside out. If pain and suffering had been the only things inflicted, Plagg might have been able to bring himself to forgive, or at the very least accept, what had happened as natural - demons are, after all, naturally occurring parasites designed to eat away at the most toxic traits of humanity to prevent them from spreading out of control and infecting others. They are, in essence, necessary evils.

But Prince Ophelia is a Prince, meaning she had eaten the entirety of Lord Plague's heart. He died. Thanks to her, he's dead dead.

Plagg is a god. He knows that every single human he chooses to be his champion will die. There are no exceptions. As a kwami, Plagg will never pass on into an afterlife. His existence is tied to the universe itself - he will exist for as long as the universe exists, and he will cease to exist when the universe finally goes dark. Although it hurts every time he loses one of his champions, he usually takes comfort in the idea that his champions will continue to exist elsewhere after their life on Earth is expired. Somehow. Someway. They are elsewhere in a place he cannot reach. Cannot see them. Touch them. Speak with them. But they are there, and that's enough.

Except Lord Plague.

Prince Ophelia ate his heart. When Lord Plague died, there was nothing left to pass on. He simply ceased to exist. No afterlife, no peace. No hope that Plagg could hold on to that his champion was out there somewhere. Just nothingness.

That loss has festered with Plagg for centuries, growing into hate for demons and low-beings, especially for Prince Ophelia and everything she represents to him. She's the cruelest thing of all - Plagg can't kill her, because killing her would destroy the last vestige of Lord Plague left in the world, but every moment that she continues to exist is a reminder of what she took from Plagg...

So, Plagg is forced to continue being the King of Demons to subjects he now despises while holding on to a festering eternal hatred for demons he has no intention of ever letting go.

Yeah, so that's what I've been musing about lately. Background stuff. I doubt that I'll ever go into detail about this in the story, so it's nice to expand on these little background points here. I feel like it rounds out Plagg as a character a little more. ^_^

[snotsloth]

So, I got into a discussion with someone on the NaNo forums about pacing in a novel and what I learned about it during my English degree. Being a normal person who knows how to write a reasonable response to a simple question, I wrote this whole ass essay about how to speed up or slow down the pacing in a story. Then I realized what I had written was actually pretty decent advice, so now y'all also have to put up with me rambling about narrative pacing. You're welcome/I'm sorry.

Slowing down a Plot

Easiest way to slow down a story? Have your characters slow down. Take a breather. Maybe someone is injured. Maybe they have to wait on something else to happen before they take action. Maybe they just need a cup of coffee. Giving your characters a moment to step away from the plot and reflect can give your readers a bit of breathing space as well.

A great example of this comes to mind from Pride and Prejudice. Elizabeth goes on vacation with some relatives. It gets her away from the chaos of her family and all the drama and she has a chance to really think about everything that’s gone on with Mr. Darcy. This of course ultimately leads to her relatives asking if she would like to tour his estate, not knowing that this was the wealthy man whose proposal she had recently rejected. But the beginning of the trip feels like a little intermission where she has a chance to breathe and recenter herself.

On a smaller scale, elements like setting descriptions, inner monologues, exposition, or dialogue that is more focused on characters’ feelings vs. the mechanics of the plot can also slow down your story and give it room to breathe. I think back fondly to those long overwrought descriptions of feasts in the Redwall books from when I was a kid. They didn’t have much if anything to do with the plot usually, but they were fun, loving descriptions of food, merriment, and characters having a little time to show their lighter sides. But boy howdy did they go on forever and slow the pace of the story down!

Another more highbrow example of slowing the pacing would be soliloquies in Shakespearean drama. I’m thinking of Hamlet in particular. In the middle of all the chaos, political machinations, and personal strife, it’s easy to lose the thread of the plot if you’re not careful. You find yourself wondering, what on earth is this all for, what is going on in this man’s head? And then he steps out on stage alone and just tells you exactly what is going through his head (or is he?). Either way, Hamlet’s soliloquies throughout the play function as way-points, slowing everything down and giving both Hamlet and us a few minutes to think about what’s going on and why. Your characters’ inner monologues or conversations with others can be used to similar effect.

Speeding Up a Plot

Honestly, I still find this harder to do than the reverse, especially in a first draft like most of us are working on this month. However, there are also some basics you can think through if you feel like your story is dragging.

The first rule for speeding up a plot is the oft repeated -and oft hated- adage, “Murder your darlings.” Speeding up a plot often requires cutting the parts of your manuscript that you spent the most time on; backstory, world-building, extraneous dialogue about feelings that doesn’t move the plot forward, etc. Get rid of any passages that are standing between your reader and the plot that aren’t necessary to understanding said plot. I remember reading somewhere that, “Your readers don’t care about the coinage system in your fantasy world, but they do care that your characters don’t have enough money to bribe the guards to get into the city.” Or something to that effect. Basically, only explain what you need to and move on.

Along those lines, I’ll repeat another writing advice cliche, “Show. Don’t tell.” If there’s a way to explain something through the action of your story, do it that way. For example, I could write, “Amelia felt sad because she missed her dog.” Or I could write, “No click of claws across the tile greeted Amelia as she walked through the door.” Even though the second sentence is technically longer, it demonstrates Amelia’s feelings through the action of the story. This keeps the pace up and active, instead of passive and turned inward.

When all else fails, especially in a first draft, just skip over sections that are not integral to the plot. Just stick a note in brackets or something else that says, “idk they went and had dinner then came back.” Maybe you’ll write a dinner scene later if you decide it feels right, or you may just mention they had dinner and then get right back to whatever is more important to the story.

When to Focus on Pacing

Ultimately, pacing can be hard to get right on a first pass, so don’t get discouraged if it feels like your novel is dragging or if it’s moving too swiftly this early in the process. You can always circle back later. Plus, you won’t get a good feel for the overall pacing of your story until you have an entire first draft in front of you.

However there is one thing to be careful of while writing a first draft, and that is letting yourself get too bogged down in the details and losing interest in your own story. If that starts to happen, take a break from the current passage you’re writing and just go write a scene later in the story that excites you more. You can always figure out the connective tissue later.

Pacing can be a really subjective thing and hard to get a feel for, but reading a wide variety of books, trying different types of native styles, and doing multiple drafts of your own story will help you get a feel for what works best for you. The most important thing is to keep working at it and keep trying new things until you find something that works for you. Thank you for reading this giant spontaneous essay, and best of luck this month!