#( character study. ) A WALKING PLAGUE OF A MAN.

[talentforlying]

this hand — cool, damp, with a nervous pulse. this man's hand. i held it all the while he talked and i'm still holding it now. must be going soft. these days we all need a hand to hold — in the dead of night, when the rain dashes itself in blind waves against the windows. when fear seeps, pooling in every vague depression — diluting and dissolving us, diminishing us — suspending us, drifting, in a submarine world. when you're drowning, any hand will do.

see this is the part that the new 52 writers always miss about constantine's characterization: he doesn't lack compassion or empathy, and he's not innately selfish. he has always cared more than he probably should. the conflict and tragedy at his core comes from being forced to act against his nature, not from being unable to contain some inherent cruelty. by late hellblazer his ability to show how much he cares is all but burnt out of him, but it's still there.

[talentforlying]

gwendolyn face-eater soul-sucker: HRRR constantine, about to get his grubby little hands on the agricultural equivalent of a hydrogen bomb: oh noooo, doooon't, i'm just so YUMMY, look at me standing here, all alone, stoooop

gwendolyn: hrrr~ constantine: no! no — stop! do me! l-leave them out of it. clarice: you heard the man.

and WHO is doing it like clarice sackville, i ask you. WHO on planet earth is out there SERVING like this!!!

[jtargaryen18]

His Inheritance: Chapter 29

Part 29: There for the Taking

Series Masterlist

Words: 7.8k

Pairing: Mobster Steve Rogers x Mobster daughter reader

Warnings: References to mob crime families, strong language, physical violence, character death. (No this isn't a carryover from Chapter 28) This is a dark fic. Please read responsibly.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but archiveofourown and tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission.

Summary: For @alexakeyloveloki. Your father is the head of one of the most powerful crime families in Boston but he’s protected you from that life. In your quiet home outside the city, you’ve been cared for and protected. When the desires of a more powerful man with the will to dominate bursts into your life, all your illusions are shattered as he comes to claim what is his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve had just wrapped up his meeting with Murdock when someone knocked at his study door.

“Thank you, Matt,�� Steve told him. “My driver will take you wherever you want to go.”

Murdock finished stowing his items away in his briefcase, rising from the chair with the help of his walking stick. His new consigliere paused.

“Thank you,” Matt said. “Good luck on everything.”

His lawyer opened the door to let himself out, Luca allowed him to pass before peering in. And Steve could tell from the look on the cook’s face that something was off.

“Boss, we have a situation,” Luca said. “I’ll see Murdock out first.”

“Thank you,” Steve muttered.

Steve stayed in his chair, tired. He had only spent one night away from his wife, and he hadn’t slept. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was the hurt on her face when he told her they’d continue their marriage when her birth control shot was no longer in effect.

It had been a shitty way to handle the situation and he knew that. He let anger conquer his head. He tried to justify it to himself with the idea that isolating her in their bedroom would keep her safe. At least until their plans with the families were complete. Once that was done, it would be him trying to earn her forgiveness. Trying to earn his way back into his own bed.

The sooner they could deal with Barnes and the other families, the sooner he could mend things with her.

For fuck’s sake, they had to. Steve shook his head.

Women had been an addiction of his to this point in his life. A love-hate relationship. Steve loved the beauty of women, their softness, their smiles. He loved them dressed up so he could show them off, one conquest after another. Sex was his fix, the best way to get high and out from under all the things that plagued him in day-to-day life. Steve was always up for it. Any time of the day, anywhere.

Like any addiction, like alcohol or drugs, there was a dark side. The women were a problem with their needs for validation and ownership. If they tried to hold onto him, he walked. If they tried to manipulate him, he ran. And considering who he was, there wasn’t a damn thing any of them could do about it.

When he decided to marry, his wife had everything he could have hoped for in his position. Young and naïve, sheltered. She had an innocent beauty, ballerina delicate. And for his dark world, she had a bonafide motherfucking pedigree. Steve would be the envy of every man, not just for his position but for his beautiful young bride, the daughter of the man who led before him. And behind closed doors, he’d teach her to please him…

How had it come to this?

A man could learn to live without alcohol, without a drug. It wasn’t easy but it could be done. His wife was neither of those things. Living without her now was like trying to live without air or water. It scared him and that fear pricked at his anger, made him lash out at her.

The fact that he couldn’t control her, couldn’t even contain her, made him want her even more.

Luca’s heavy tread let Steve know he’d returned, closing the door behind him. The edge of desperation on his man’s face brought his focus back to the present.

“What’s up?” Steve asked, watching Luca drop heavily into the chair his lawyer just occupied.

“Look, Nat got a call from Clint,” Luca said slowly. “Said we’ve been ratted out.”

Steve knew he wouldn’t like what Luca had to say but he didn’t think it would be that bad. “What?”

“Clint called Nat and told her we been ratted out,” Luca said again. “Told her to get your wife and go to the sewing room. They’re both up there.”

Steve’s mind spun. He checked his phone and saw he had nothing from Clint.

“He hasn’t tried to call me,” Steve said.

“Nat said things didn’t sound so good on his end. We don’t have a location on him.”

It wasn’t going well at all for Clint to go so far as to ask Nat to go to the hiding place his father set up years ago and take his wife with her.

Steve had always hated being hidden in there with his mother and sister. He felt small, helpless. The last time he’d been fourteen years old. Once they got past the feds, Steve had complained to his father about being put there. He’d loudly told his father he could have helped. His father had given him a solid beating for that outburst. His father had taken his pride down a peg or two that day.

Now that he was older, he understood why his father had placed them there when the situation called for it. His father had come from a place where he wanted to protect what was most valuable to him.

They didn’t know where Clint was. They supposedly had a rat. And his sister and his wife were in the sewing room. Nat would stay there just like Clint wanted her to.

His wife? Steve just knew she would hate it. He knew she’d be bristling before long just like he used to. Probably for the same reasons.

“Think Barnes got to Clint?” Steve asked.

“Nah,” Luca replied. “he’d let them kill him before he’d bring Nat into things in any way.”

That rang true.

“But he said Barnes knows everything now. That we’re all in danger,” Luca went on. “He didn’t say who.”

“He wouldn’t tell Nat,” Steve said, trying to wrap his mind around this turn of events. “It protects her… Where’s everyone else?”

“We’ve been trying to reach Dyson but he ain’t answering any of us,” Luca explained.

“Even my wife?” Steve had to ask.

“You have her phone,” Luca pointed out. “He ain’t answering Nat’s phone.”

That wasn’t a good sign.

“Scott’s fine. He’s on his way here.”

His cook left someone out. “Neal?”

“I don’t know,” Luca told him, his expression grim.

“You think Neal is our rat?” Steve asked.

“Your wife does,” Luca told him.

The tap at the door stopped their conversation. Luca rose and went to the door, opening it to find Scott. Steve motioned him in, Luca closing the door.

“Scott, I have a question for you,” Steve said as his men took seats across from him. “What happened that day when I brought my sister home? Specifically, what happened between Banner and my wife?”

Scott blew out an exhale, nodding. He explained that he caught Mrs. Rogers before she went down to confront the angry lawyer and tried to send her back to her room, to let him handle it. When Scott explained that she wouldn’t agree to that, Steve nodded. It was what he expected.

“I told her to stay behind me,” Scott told them. “But she really didn’t do that either. Banner came in yelling about you taking his wife. He blamed you. He blamed Mrs. Rogers. He turned a scary shade of red. Right before you came in, he reared back like…”

“Like?” Steve asked.

“Like he was going to hit her,” Scott finished. “Like he was going to hit Mrs. Rogers. I pulled her back, but it wouldn’t have been enough. Belova came out of nowhere and blocked him, got him under control.”

Scott’s story matched his wife’s so far. Steve felt his anger rise.

“And Neal? What was he doing?” Steve wanted to know.

So did Luca, he was staring Scott down hard.

Scott shook his head. “He didn’t try to protect her, boss.”

Scrubbing a hand over his beard, Steve looked at Luca. ‘What are your thoughts?”

“Dyson beat the bejesus out of him right here in this office,” Luca said.

“Because he threatened Belova,” Steve reminded him.

“You ever known Dyson to beat the shit out of someone as a warning?” Luca said. “I’ve known Dyson a long time. I’ve seen him warn people lots of times. But not like that. He has a problem with Neal just like your wife and Belova has a problem with him. If they think he’s the rat, yeah, so do I.”

“Scott?” Steve asked.

Scott nodded. “Neal doesn’t talk to me. I just know I didn’t like how he acted that day with Mrs. Rogers. I don’t like how he treats Yelena either. I could never tell if it was because he didn’t like her or he didn’t like her because of her loyalty to your wife.”

Neal had been a loyal soldier to Steve, someone he trusted. Neal had even saved his life. How could it be that everyone else in his house didn’t trust him? How?

Jesus.

“If Clint is right and we’ve been ratted out,” Steve told them, “We have to call everything off. If Neal is our rat, Barnes and whoever is working with him knows exactly what we’re planning. Fuck.”

Rising from his chair, Steve began pacing. “Dyson is supposed to be going with Neal to deal with Hansen. I thought by sending them together, they could mend fences. Bond over taking care of shit. And it would prove Neal isn’t a liability. Now… hell, Neal might kill Dyson himself for that beating. If he hasn’t already. We have to find Dyson, now.”

“Unless we have reason to believe otherwise, we have to assume Dyson will meet Neal as planned,” Luca said. “And that’s not long from now. We need to be there before Neal is.”

“Luca, I need you to dial back orders. If Barnes knows any of this, our people are walking into a trap. I need you to talk to everyone. Personally. Call it off.”

“You got it, boss,” Luca said.

“Luca, I want a small goddamn army around this house,” Steve instructed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Luca said.

“See if anyone knows anything about Clint,” Steve went on. “I want a status on him ASAP. Scott help Luca.”

Both men nodded.

“Otherwise, my sister will lose her fucking mind.” Steve thought of her in the sewing room with his wife.

Luca and Scott left his study to do his bidding. Steve went to the bar behind his desk, poured himself a scotch. He needed it for what was coming next. Pulling open his desk drawer, he fished out his wife’s phone.

Once he finished his drink, Steve headed up the stairs, passing his bedroom. When he reached the linen closet, the façade that hid the sewing room, he took a deep breath. Quietly as he could, he opened the door, pushed the button that opened the door to the hidden room within.

Nat was huddled on the bench looking miserable, physically and emotionally. Her green eyes filled with tears when she rushed to him. Steve caught his sister in his arms, hugging her tightly. She was cold, shaking.

His wife? She sat on the floor under the window, eyeing him warily.

One thing his wife wasn’t? Afraid. No, she wasn’t showing any fear.

Easing his sister back onto the bench, Steve smoothed a hand over her red hair. “Nat, I’m going to have Luca bring some blankets and a space heater up here with your dinner, okay? You’re freezing.”

Nat wasn’t letting him go. “Is Clint on his way home?”

Steve met her gaze squarely. “We’ll find him. I promise.”

Nat didn’t look convinced, but she sat back down on the bench, her hands wringing. Steve walked over to his wife, held out his hand. She took it, allowing him to help her off the floor.

“I’m going to talk to my wife for just a moment out here, okay?” Steve asked carefully.

Nat nodded. His wife followed him through the linen closet and out into the hall.

“We need to talk,” Steve said slowly, trying to keep his tone even.

“I’d like to help you, Steve,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “But we don’t resume our marriage until 29 days from now, so…”

“I know, I know,” he said. “Everything’s so fucked right now between me and you. And we will deal with that.”

“Yes, we will,” she said, way too calm standing before him.

“But right now, we have to deal with the threat to this family,” Steve told her as he would one of his men. “Were you with Nat when Clint called?”

She frowned. “No, I was locked in my room.”

“Nat came and got you,” he said. “What exactly did she tell you about that phone call?”

Surprise flashed across her beautiful face for just a second. “She said that Clint told her we had been ratted out. That Barnes knew everything and that placed us all in danger. He told her to come get me and to bring me to this room as soon as she got off the phone. And she did just that.”

“He didn’t tell her anything else?” Steve asked.

She shook her head. “I wanted to see if she had left anything out or could tell me if she heard anything in the background. She’s too upset about the fact that he’s in danger. She’s barely holding herself together right now… Have you heard from Clint? Or Dyson?”

“No,” he said simply. “Luca’s doing his damnedest to find anything on either of them.” Speaking of Luca… “You have Nat’s phone. That’s how you got Luca.”

“Yes,” she told him. “It was obvious you hadn’t heard from Clint if you were still meeting with your lawyer.”

“You didn’t call me,” he had to say it.

Her chin tipped up in challenge. “If I had known what to expect from you, I would have.”

Steve earned that. “Is there anything else you know, Sweetheart? Anything at all?”

Oh, she did. He knew that look.

“What?” he asked.

“It involves Yelena,” she said, holding his gaze.

“This is not the time to bargain with me—”

“Oh, I’m not bargaining for anything,” she informed him, anger hardening her expression. “Yelena will be back where she belongs when this is over. She’s loyal to me and it was out of that loyalty that she told Clint where he could find Banner.”

“Excuse me?” Banner was supposed to be gone. Long gone, off to the west coast.

“He was still here,” she told him. “On Stark’s turf. He needed to be dealt with and Clint deserved a go at him.”

The way his wife spoke, the fire in her eyes. It mirrored the anger he was struggling to keep down right now.

“Think about it,” she said. “Yelena gave him that information. Then he calls Nat, tells her we’ve been ratted out and Barnes knows everything. We’re all in danger.”

Steve stared her down. “You think Banner is the rat?”

She shook her head. “Banner’s involved, but he’s not the rat. He didn’t know what you had planned for tonight. And he had no access to that information unless it was from the rat who did. But he was still here. Banner was hoping for something, and it wasn’t Nat.”

She had a point. Banner had sworn to Steve he’d be gone.

“You think Stark is involved?” Steve pressed.

“No,” she said. “I don’t really know him. But from the impression I got, he wouldn’t be that stupid.”

It was his thought exactly about Tony Stark. Jesus. Who was this woman he married?

“Barnes?” She shrugged. “Well, that remains to be seen.”

“You’ve talked to Belova,” he said.

“And she is on her way to the location she gave Clint,” she explained.

“Alone?”

“No, she’s with friends,” his wife explained.

“What friends?”

“All I know is that they are friends of Dyson,” she said. “And if he trusts them, and she trusts them, then so do I.”

Not a hint of doubt or hesitation. His wife stood toe to toe with him, talking about the dangers of his world with authority.

“But we have no idea where Dyson is.” Now her expression softened. The smallest trace of fear in her eyes. “I tried to call him from Nat’s phone, Luca called. There’s no answer. He’s supposed to be going with Neal to deal with Hansen. Steve, we have to find him.”

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Steve nodded. “We do. We really do… Dyson didn’t take it well that I pushed Belova out.”

“I’ll bet he didn’t,” she said bitterly.

“You got in his head about Neal,” Steve told her. “Neal said something about Belova Dyson really didn’t like. He beat the shit out of him last night, right there in my office.”

Steve saw the flash of excitement in her eyes at that. Just as quickly, it diminished.

“Jesus, Steve. Dyson’s walking into a trap between Hansen and Neal.” His wife shook her head, her teeth tugging at her lower lip nervously. “He’s dead if we don’t do something.”

Steve knew she could be right. If Neal was who she thought he was.

“You really think Neal is the rat here?” he asked.

“I know he is, Steve.”

It was then he realized something. The conviction, the certainty in her voice? It was all too familiar.

It all very much reminded him of her father. Every bit of it. And her father had been a hell of a leader in his time. He would never have found himself in the shit situation Steve let himself fall into.

Could he put aside who he thought Neal was? Did he have a choice?

Pulling her phone out of the pocket of his slacks, he handed it to her. “Try to call Dyson. One last try before I start making hard decisions.”

She took the phone without hesitation, hitting Dyson’s number with haste and putting the speaker on so he could hear. It only rang once before someone answered.

“Hi there, Princess,” Hansen drawled.

Fucking Hansen?

Steve tried to grab the phone, but his wife pulled it away, putting a finger to her lips. A signal for him to be quiet.

How was he supposed to be quiet when the slimy bastard had his mentor?

Why was the fucker calling his wife ‘Princess?’

“Are you there?” Hansen taunted.

“I’m here,” his wife said finally, taking a deep breath.

“Nothing to say?”

“Why are you answering Dyson’s phone?” she demanded.

“Dyson’s a little occupied at the moment,” Hansen went on in.

“He’s alive?” she asked.

“For now.”

“Is Neal with you?”

Hansen laughed at that. It was the moment Steve realized his wife was right.

“They’re working through a few things,” Hansen said casually. “It’s going well.”

“I want to speak Dyson,” she told him. “Now.”

“Think I’m lying to you, Princess?”

“Now, Hansen,” she said with more force.

Hansen’s sigh was loud and there was the sound of movement. Another voice mumbled in the background, Steve thought it was Neal. Then they heard Hansen say, “she wants to talk to you.”

“Hey,” Dyson said, sounding out of breath.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” Dyson said slowly. “Don’t you worry yourself about me.”

“You know better than that,” she said. “But I need you to come home.”

There was a loud crash and the sound of Dyson’s yell. His wife gazed up at him wide-eyed. Now she was afraid. Steve wanted to grab the phone, but it was better for Hansen to think she was alone.

“You want Dyson back home?” Hansen’s tone was a little impatient. “Let’s talk.”

Her eyes were still on her husband. Steve nodded.

“Okay.”

“I’ll give him back to you, but I want something in return,” Hansen said.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“You know what I want,” Hansen told her. “You.”

The thought that the ruthless bastard wanted his wife so badly had Steve choking on his fury.

She snorted. “And what do you think is going to happen? You’re going to show up with Dyson and Steve will make a trade?”

“Steve’s running out of time,” Hansen told her. “If he was the man you deserve, I wouldn’t have his top lieutenant, would I? I wouldn’t be so easily able to reach his wife. Steve can’t hold his own family together, much less lead the other families. When he falls, have you thought about what that means for you?”

It was all Steve could do not to start ranting at the arrogant fucker. Especially as he watched worry creep into his wife’s expression.

“How would it happen?” she asked.

“No!” Dyson yelled in the background. “Don’t you even think about—”

A sharp crack cut off the rest of what Dyson was about to say.

“Please don’t hurt him,” his wife whispered.

“You can stop it,” Hansen told her.

She looked to Steve, big eyes filled with so much emotion.

In his head, Steve narrowed down his choices. The fact that Hansen had Dyson, cut down his options. Neal was with them, confirming his wife’s suspicions. Neal would have told them all their plans. Fuck. Neal knew lots of things about Steve, how he ran the family.

If something happened to Dyson, and he had to admit at the moment that it was a very real possibility, the family would survive it. They already appeared to be struggling and that was Barnes’ intention, he knew. Losing Dyson would make them look even weaker. Blood in the water to put doubt in the minds of Odinson, Stark, and Wilson.

If something happened to Dyson, his wife might not survive. Especially with Hansen making her believe she could personally save the only father she really had. Hansen’s cruelty forced his hand. If Steve denied her now, he’d lose her.

With a fear shooting through his heart he’d never known, he nodded. His wife’s eyes widened in surprise.

“How will it happen?” she asked Hansen again, not missing a beat.

Hansen muttered his instructions in his wife’s ear. Steve didn’t catch most of it, gripped by the seriousness of the situation. Hating that he had no other choice. Hating the risk that he could lose both his wife and Dyson.

“I’ll see you soon, Princess” was all Hansen said when he ended the call.

And just like that, leading the families wasn’t the most important thing to Steve. Leading his family, having everyone’s respect didn’t matter. Not nearly as much as the man they held hostage or the woman he loved, watching him with the phone clutched in her trembling hands.

“Steve, what are we going to do?” she asked, sounding as scared as she looked.

Wrapping his arms around his wife, Steve pulled her close. She trembled in his hold, and he knew she was afraid, but she was brave. Steve was proud of her for that.

“He said I needed to be there, at his house, within the hour,” she told him. “Or they’ll kill Dyson.”

“I know,” he said low by her ear. “So we need to move fast.”

Moving past her, Steve went to the sewing room, leaning down to kiss his sister’s forehead. “I’m taking my wife with me,” he said. “Stay here and stay hidden even though I’m going to do my best to keep the fighting away from here.”

Nodding, she said, “Be careful.”

“We will,” he told her. “Luca will still be here if you need him.”

His wife hugged her quickly. “We’ll be home soon. With Clint.”

Steve just hoped his wife was right.

***

Your heart raced as Luca and Scott arrived at Steve’s office, closing the door behind them. Both of them looked startled to see you.

“What’s up boss?” Luca was still staring at you. “I’ve got the men setting up around the house.”

“We’ve had a complication,” Steve told them. “It’s Dyson. Hansen has him.”

Scott’s mouth dropped open. Luca scowled at Steve. “How the fuck did that happen?”

“With Neal’s help,” Steve said calmly. Glancing back at you, he blew out an exhale. “My wife was right.”

You couldn’t even enjoy being right. Not with someone you loved in danger.

Leaning against his desk with his heavy arms across his chest, Steve looked deep in thought.

“Barnes found out just in time that we were going to hit him and hit him hard,” Steve said. “We were going to strike his turf, his holdings. Hansen. By now, he knows we figured out we were betrayed. He’s going to do one of two things. He’s going to try to hit us here, which we’re ready for and he would know that… Or he’s going sit tight and see what our next move is.”

Luca shook his head. “Barnes ain’t going to do shit right now. If he’s smart.”

Steve nodded. Scott looked as lost as you felt.

“Why not?” Scott asked.

“We can’t prove the hits on us were Barnes,” Luca explained. “We know they were, but we can’t prove it. Then there’s the other three families. They swore allegiance to Steve. If they find out Barnes is knifing Steve in the back, they’ll rally to our side. But if Barnes can get in their heads, make it look like Steve is paranoid and weak…”

From the beginning, Barnes’ plan was to prove Steve was unfit to lead the families. You remembered the first time you met him in the kitchen, the bitterness of his tone when he spoke to Steve. The belief that he should have been leader of the families – Barnes not Steve.

“Barnes can’t just fight Steve for leadership?” you had to ask, wanting to learn.

“No,” Luca told you. “He doesn’t have the muscle.”

“Why did Barnes have Hansen grab Dyson?” Scott shook his head. “If what you say is true, that move doesn’t make a lot of sense. No one is closer to Steve than him.”

“I don’t think that was Barnes’ idea,” Steve said. “We’d planned for Neal and Dyson to go deal with Hansen. And Hansen has it coming for attacking this house and trying to get his hands on my wife.”

“But Neal and Hansen grabbed Dyson instead,” Scott said. “How is that going to play out?”

“Dyson beat the shit out of Neal right here in this office,” Luca explained. “It’s perfect really. Neal claims he’s having problems with this family and Dyson beat him like a dog. So he defected, telling Barnes things to earn a place over there. Offing Dyson would be seen as just a little bit of payback between two soldiers. That’s how that plays out.”

You swallowed hard. It was all plausible. Complete bullshit and terrifying, but plausible.

“How do we get Dyson back?” Scott asked them.

“He wants to trade for him,” you told Scott. “He’ll let Dyson go if I agree to take his place.”

Scott’s mouth dropped open again. “What?”

“Hansen called my wife. He doesn’t know I was listening. He thinks he’s scaring her into doing what he wants.” Both Luca and Scott looked to Steve. Steve cut you a glance. “I really don’t like this either but that was his condition. And we have just under an hour to decide what we’re going to do.”

“Fuck,” Luca said. “That would start a war. Barnes can’t go around snatching someone else’s wife. The families would never accept that.”

“I don’t think that’s Barnes’ idea either,” Steve replied. “Not his style. But very much Hansen’s.”

“Hansen wants your wife?” Scott shook his head. “Then what? That would start a war between the families for sure.”

“I don’t think Hansen intends on sticking around for the outcome,” Steve said. “He likely thinks he can grab her and go.”

Your heart raced in your chest. You knew Steve wasn’t seriously considering the trade. That meant coming up with a plan where Steve kept you and got Dyson back too. No matter the plan, it was dangerous.

“You up for this?” Luca asked you in a calm voice.

For Dyson? “Yes, I am,” you told them with no hesitation.

Luca grinned. “Okay then. We need an airtight plan because whether or not he can get his hands on Mrs. Rogers, he’s not planning on leaving Dyson alive.”

What?

“Agreed,” Steve said.

“And we have some friends here to help,” Luca went on. “Friends with skills that are perfect for this.”

“The ones Yelena is with?” you asked.

“I know how you feel about Belova,” Steve said, “but she’s not that experienced.”

“The ones with her are,” Luca told them. “There are five of them and all but Aisha were fucking special forces.”

“Maybe so, but I’m not trusting just anyone with her,” Steve told them.

“Well, you can’t go,” Luca pointed out.

“What?” Steve asked.

“You can’t go,” Luca reiterated. “Hansen thinks she’s sneaking out to come make the trade. They see you and they’ll know it’s a trap.”

Color rose from Steve’s collar, darkened his face.

“You have to be here, and you know this,” Luca told him.

“I’m supposed to just send my wife to Hansen’s knowing I might never see her again?” Steve was getting more upset by the second. “Entrust her to people I don’t know?”

Luca put his hands on his hips. “Or we could keep her here. Sacrifice Dyson.”

“No!” you shouted. It wasn’t an option.

“That’s where we are,” Luca told him. “But we can make this work. I’ll call Clay right now, okay?”

After a moment, Steve nodded. “Give us a minute, okay?”

Luca and Scott left you alone with Steve. And Steve looked like he himself was facing the gallows.

Yeah, you were scared. But you had to try and save Dyson. From Hansen. From Neal.

“This is all on me,” Steve said, more serious than you’d ever seen him. “I want you to realize this. Yeah, I lost my temper about that incident, but it doesn’t seem so important now. And now I know Neal was the rat. He instigated all of it.”

Sliding a hand over your cheek, he gazed into your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“We’ll talk about it when Dyson and I get home,” you told him.

You were shaking but you were holding up. You could do this.

“If Dyson trusts the ones Luca is talking about,” Steve said, “then I will too.”

“I trust Yelena too,” you told him. “And she will be reinstated when we get back.”

Steve nodded. “But I fucking hate this. This is exactly the sort of thing I wanted to avoid. I’m going to lose my mind until this is over. Until you’re back here.”

Now he’d have an idea what you went through. The play of anger and fear in his expression kept you from enjoying it.

“I need you to promise me something. I know how you feel about Dyson and Yelena. I know you love them. But if things look to be going wrong or you don’t see a way to get everyone out, you get out of there. Even if it means you’re the only one who gets out. Even if it means you have to leave them behind.”

You just stared at him.

“Hansen wants you,” Steve reminded you. “He’s not going to harm you. Remember that.”

Leaning in, he kissed your lips. A seeking kiss, gentle and slow, almost as if he were asking permission. You answered it, a kiss to remind yourself that Steve wasn’t all bad. You still cared about him.

The desperation in his kiss grew. You could taste it. Steve was kissing you like it was goodbye. You didn’t miss the slight tremor in his hand on your face.

“Come back to me,” Steve whispered against your lips. “Please.”

Easing back, you gaze up at him. “I will. And we have a lot to talk about when I do.”

Both of you smiled at that. Your usual marital fighting seemed like a happy memory next to this.

“I love you,” Steve whispered.

“I love you,” you whispered back, just in case you didn’t see him again.

And just maybe you meant it. The way your heart squeezed in your chest made you wonder…

***

You scrambled down the road like a scared little runaway, trying to play the part as Luca had explained it to you. The sun was going down and according to your phone, you had just under 20 minutes to reach Hansen’s house.

A small SUV pulled up next to you as you walked. Your Uber. When the driver asked if you were Mrs. Rogers, you nodded, climbed in the back.

The driver’s blue-eyed gaze met yours in the rearview mirror. He was a bigger guy with spiky blond hair and round glasses. He smiled before turning his attention to the road ahead.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

It was a strange question.

“I’m… fine,” you told him.

He nodded, driving along.

“I’m Jensen,” he explained. “Dyson’s a good friend.”

That got your attention. “Are you one of the friends Yelena’s been staying with?”

“Yeah,” he explained. “She’s going to be there with us. We’ve got a plan. We’ll do everything we can to get you and Dyson back home shortly.”

“Thank you,” you told him. “Thank you for helping us.”

“Hey,” Jensen said. “Dyson’s helped us out a couple of times. We owe him.”

It was good to know that they cared about getting Dyson out safely as much as you did.

“We’ll be there in about ten minutes,” he explained. “I’ll pull up and you just hop out, okay? I’ll stash the car and take up my position.”

“Okay,” you told him.

“You’ll need to leave your piece in here with me,” he went on.

“What?”

“Your gun,” Jensen said. “Put it in the duffel bag back there. It’s my stuff. I’ll make sure you get it back.”

You’d almost forgotten about it honestly, pulling it free of your jeans. “Why can’t I take it?”

He smiled. “Yelena said you shot him once.”

“I did.” You were proud of that. Having the gun made you feel a little safer.

“There are too many things that could go wrong here,” he said. “I promise I’ll get it back to you.”

You nodded, knowing you had no choice but to trust these people. Dyson trusted them…

Unzipping the bag, you made sure the safety was on and carefully put your gun in. There was another handgun in there among some other ordinary looking belongings. A keyring caught your eye. On it was a small picture of Jensen with a pretty woman and the cutest little girl. On the other side the words “Best Buy” were engraved into the pewter.

“Is this picture your family?” you asked, zipping the bag again.

“Yeah,” he said with a wide smile. “My fiancée and our daughter Charlie.”

“They are beautiful,” you told him.

“Thank you. We have a baby on the way,” he told you. “I’m trying to get her to the altar before he or she gets here though.”

“Let’s make sure that happens,” you told him with conviction.

Jensen nodded.

“Is there anything else I need to know going in?” you asked him.

“Just be yourself,” Jensen told you. “You have friends. Remember that. You’ll know me and Yelena anyway. Dyson. Follow our lead. We’ll get you home.”

Five minutes later, Jensen dropped you off in front of an older house. It was an isolated location with no neighbors in sight anyway. You did just what Jensen told you and hopped out, not looking back at him. You weren’t taking your eyes off the impressive house before you.

You walked along the stone path leading to the front door. Just off to the side of the house you saw Dyson’s Cadillac, Neal’s SUV. It was surreal and you struggled to keep your knees from knocking.

Neal was the asshole you believed him to be. He sold all of you out. He sold you out.

But the worst thing he did was try to take Dyson from you. You focused on him.

Dyson was yours. Your caretaker. Your friend. Your father.

It would be a cold day in hell when you let Neal or Hansen take him away from you.

Before your foot hit the first step, the front door of that house opened. Hansen.

Well, you didn’t want your audience to be disappointed. You took your time climbing the steps, your back straight, your chin up. When you stepped on the porch, only then did you meet his gaze. You gazed at the huge beast of a man as if he bored you. As if he were beneath you.

Hansen didn’t appear to be moving from the doorway to let you in. He grinned at you.

Then you stopped.

“Planning to pat me down and check for weapons?” you asked him.

“Do you want me to?” he asked, his grin widening.

You rolled your eyes. “Take me to Dyson. Now.”

Hansen stepped back, motioning you in with his hand. You walked by him, into a living room with a high ceiling and elegant furnishings. Nothing out of place in the opulent room.

Well, just one thing that didn’t belong there. A tiny purse, its purple leather standing out on the sand-colored upholstery. Why did Hansen have that?

You kept walking until you reached the kitchen. You met Dyson’s gaze first. He was bound to the chair, his face bloody and bruised. He was gagged. The steel in his gaze gave you courage. Told you without words that he trusted you.

Neal stood up from another chair at the kitchen table and he didn’t look much better. The only difference was Neal’s wounds had little time to scab over, to set in. You grinned at Neal.

“You look beaten down. How does it feel?” you asked him.

“Fuck you,” Neal spat, taking a menacing step closer to you.

You didn’t move.

“That’s some big talk for someone whose husband locked her in her room for disobeying him,” Neal said, cutting a glance at Hansen who stood behind you.

Hansen chuckled. “You couldn’t handle her any better than Rogers could.”

You flinched when you felt his hand at your lower back. Not a barely there, tentative touch. No, it was possessive. When it moved lower, you moved before he could touch your ass. You glared up at the bastard, hoping he couldn’t tell you were fucking terrified on the inside.

“The only one allowed to handle me at all is my husband,” you told him, raising your chin. “Now, Dyson goes back home. With me.”

Hansen’s grin didn’t subside. “That wasn’t the deal, princess. It’s a trade. Him for you. The only terms I’ll accept.”

“If you know me so well, you know I have no intention of ever making a trade,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

Hansen cocked a brow at you. “Then what are your intentions? Your husband doesn’t know you’re here not that he ever knows what you’re doing.”

You tried your best to look bored. It was true. But having the enemy reference the fact that you didn’t appear to respect your own husband made you pause. You didn’t like it.

“Belova isn’t here to protect you,” Hansen went on. “You don’t appear to be armed. You don’t have a lot of options.”

Yelena was somewhere close. You hoped.

“We’re wasting time here,” Neal told him, his usually annoying self. You froze when he pulled out his gun, a Glock like yours, and pointed it at the back of Dyson’s head. “She goes to Barnes, we get rid of Dad here, and head over there to finish this. Rogers’ camp is in chaos right now. Let’s hit them while they’re weak.”

“You son-of-a-bitch.” You glared at him. “Steve thought so much of you. I couldn’t convince him otherwise. And this is what you’re doing?”

“It is.” Neal’s finger twitched around the trigger. Your heart raced in fear as Dyson’s gaze met yours, his gaze calm, like he was willing you to hang on. “Once we get rid of your husband, Barnes gets you and for that, he’s going to help me start my own family. I won’t be a soldier anymore. I’ll get everything I ever wanted.”

“Barnes?” You laughed humorlessly at that. “And you believed him?”

The man’s gaze moved from Dyson to you.

“That worked out so well for Banner,” you taunted him.

The gun in Neal’s hand lowered, wavered. Good. You were drawing his attention away from Dyson…

Before you could blink, Hansen pulled a gun and shot Neal in the face. Bone, brains, and gore splattered Dyson in his chair as your ears rang from the shot. Neal just dropped to the floor.

Now you were afraid. From the apprehension you read in Dyson’s gaze now, he was too.

Hansen tucked his gun away as casually as he might a phone or his wallet. He turned what he must have thought was a charming smile on you.

“Does this mean I’m not going to Barnes?” you had to ask. “Was anything he said true?”

“It was true,” he told you. “Barnes has everything carefully planned out. And he can have your husband, But he’s not getting you. That was never part of my plan.”

“How does that work with him being your boss?” you wanted to know. “Or are you betraying him the same way Neal was betraying Steve?”

That grin widened behind his mustache. “That’s just the way this little world of ours works. You’re either born into a family like you and Rogers or you make your own way like Neal here. But you’ve got to be smarter than that.”

“So where does that leave us?” You moved closer to Dyson, not turning your back on Hansen. He could have shot Dyson just as easily.

“You already know the answer to that,” Hansen told you, his gaze shifting from Dyson back to you. “A trade. You can send him home right now. But you’re mine.”

You rolled your eyes. But inside, your fear was escalating. You remember the horrible things Yelena told you. What Hansen did to her. She was brave and fierce, more so than you. You didn’t want to consider what the asshole had planned for you.

You knew Dyson’s friends were with her. But Yelena herself? She was terrified of him, and she was right to feel that way.

Could Jensen get you out then?

Here’s hoping.

“Fine,” you told him. “Let him go. The trade isn’t complete until I have absolute proof that he’s back home.”

“Fine,” Hansen repeated slowly. The look he cut you told you he didn’t quite buy your performance. Pulling a knife from his pocket, he used it to cut through Dyson’s bonds, allowing him to pull the gag away himself.

Dyson eyed you warily. “Don’t do this,” he said calmly. “Whatever it is you think you’re doing, please don’t.”

Before you could say anything, Hansen blew out an exhale, looking more annoyed than anything. When he turned to look behind him, you saw the man standing there. He was tall as Steve with broad shoulders. The man was a little older with threads of white in his dark hair, in his beard. His grin gave him a very roguish charm.

“Oh, I think it’s a pretty good plan,” the man said, his voice deep whiskey. “We’re going to have to change it up though. We’re here to take Dyson and Mrs. Rogers back home.”

“That doesn’t work for me, Clay,” Hansen told him. “Now, I’m going to kill you. Then I kill Dyson. Then I’m taking Mrs. Rogers with me. And then we call it a day.”

From behind the man he called Clay, you saw Jensen step out. Your heart swelled to see Yelena, her concerned gaze on you. Both held handguns, assessing the situation. Yelena looked so small next to the two dangerous men.

Without looking, Hansen reached for his gun. A bullet hit the floor at his feet, had him jumping slightly in alarm before moving to put his hands back up and in view.

Yelena’s expression was pure rage.

“Hey, Lena,” Hansen crooned. “Miss me?”

You shook your head at her. Don’t answer him. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

You inched closer to Dyson until you put yourself between him and Hansen. Yelena’s eyes widened on you. But you knew what you were doing. You weren’t about to let Hansen kill Dyson.

Hansen’s laugh didn’t appear to phase the trio in front of you, but it chilled your blood. “I’m not exactly alone here,” he told all of you.

A tap at the kitchen window behind you got your attention. An armed soldier in body armor was holding an assault rifle outside, his eyes cold as he gazed at you. Two more soldiers crept up the hallway from the opposite direction to the kitchen, also armed with rifles.

Clay eyed them warily as your fear escalated. What happened now?

“They aren’t alone either,” a familiar voice said from behind Jensen and Yelena.

Tears pricked the backs of your eyes to see your husband making his way into the room, his gaze on you. He didn’t stop until he reached you. The expression he wore scared you because you’d never seen that before. It was terrifying. Only the emotion in his blue eyes revealed the relief he appeared to be feeling at reaching you.

You couldn’t help it. You ran to Steve’s side, wrapping your arms around his waist, clinging to him.

“Ballsy,” Hansen told him. “Let me guess. You’ve got this place surrounded.”

Steve’s nod was curt. “We’re done here.”

The smile faded from Hansen’s face. His gaze moved over you as you clung to your husband. It was covetous, angry.

“I say when we’re done here,” Hansen said coldly.

All you saw was the large hand that pulled the handgun out, pointing at Dyson who still sat in the chair where he’d been sitting the entire time. You saw the bastard’s finger at the trigger. Fast as you could move, you jumped in front of Dyson’s chair just as the shot rang out.

The room spun around you violently, as hands grabbed you. Dyson’s. Your husband’s. You saw your blood splatter the front of Dyson’s shirt and tie, more gore on top of Neal’s, as he watched in horror. It felt like someone punched you in the shoulder really, really hard.

There was a blur of activity in that moment all around you, but you weren’t aware of anything but the pain that was starting to come on and the sound of your husband dropping to his knees behind you. Crimson bloomed at the front of his white dress shirt and his hand flew to his chest as he went down.

Yes, you’d been shot.

But fear and guilt choked you to realize your husband took the brunt of it.

“Steve!” you screamed.

PS: Just on my fic posts, I’m adding a tip function. In honor of the kitty we just lost in February, I’m donating everything to our local animal shelter. Tips are not, will never be, and have never been expected. But if you feel so inclined, thank you. 🙏

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[norel-ravenclaw]

Into My Web

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Featured characters: Zestial x gn reader, Alastor

Rating: sfw

Word count: 1300

Description: A soul out of time, you arrive in Hell and make friends with Alastor, who introduces you to the oldest Overlord in the Pride ring - Zestial.

WARNINGS: | gender neutral reader | mentions of murder and brief gore | the plague! no?! yes!! | am I delighted to use my old English knowledge from years of bible study to write for a deeply impure hell show? fuck yes I am -> will used instead of wilt throughout, iykyk |

A walk through the sketchiest part of town means little with the Radio Demon on your arm. Or so you thought, until even he suddenly becomes tense.

A stranger steps into your path, denizens and low ranking overlords fleeing in terror from the glimpse of virulent green flashing beneath his cloak. Tall and slender, a mysterious aura of a sort of passive menace emanating from him.

When he speaks, his low voice and old English pique your curiosity. “Good morrow, Alastor.”

“Ah! Zestial, what a pleasure to see you again.”

The demons incline their heads in a gesture of elegant politeness lost to older eras, stark contrast to the chaos their combined presence is creating on the street.

“Likewise.” Six fathomless eyes emitting a faint neon glow fix on you in a distinctly predatory appraisement. “And who might this creature be who hast gained thine attention?”

Alastor’s smile takes on even more of a strained tint. “Of course.” He introduces you politely, then adding, “And this is Zestial Morde, the most ancient overlord in the Pride ring.”

Having somewhat of an old fashioned personality is what made Alastor choose your company over the other residents of the hotel in the first place, so it’s no difficulty leaning into that here. You dip your head and half bow while still holding Alasor’s arm. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Zestial hums low in his throat. “What year didst thou die, sinner?”

“This year, sir.”

Alastor gestures animatedly with his cane. “Why only just recently! They arrived in quite the state, which I was most pleased to have the privilege of witnessing~”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, biting your cheek at the memory.

Zestial’s eyes narrow in interest. “I am most intrigued. Thou must relay to me the story.”

Alastor glances further up the road. “Alas, I have a meeting in a few minutes on behalf of the princess, but I’m certain my friend would love to entertain you.”

“Excellent.” Moving with quick grace, Zestial moves to your side and captures your arm. “Do convey my well wishes to Carmilla.”

“But of course.” Alastor bows to the both of you with a flourish before leaving you alone with… a demon even he seems wary of.

His presence at your side dwarfs you, hiding you from the meagre light of the hellish sky in his shadow. “Come, I will make thee a drink.”

“If you like.”

You pointedly ignore the scattering demons as he leads you to a warehouse-like building, bowing gallantly for you to enter the elevator first. Once inside, the scenery changes as dramatically as you could imagine.

Heavy stone and sconces mimicking torches line the walls of the opulent space. Dark green velvet curtains, ancient looking Persian rugs, and moth eaten tapestries transform a simple office into a medieval palace.

One of the tapestries catches your eye, your feet stopping as the faded scene captures your attention.

A dark haired man in a green cape holds a long sword in one hand, and a scale overflowing with gold coins in the other. At his feet is a slain dragon in a pool of toxic green blood. The heroic scene is overlaid a classic four square shield-shaped crest, its faint contrast symbols nearly lost to time beneath a layer of deeply ingrained soot, the bottom corner burned away completely as though it was barely rescued from a fire.

Zestial stops with you, making a small sound of surprise. “Ah, my hearaldric portrait… Mm, not even Carmilla has ever asked about these.”

“It sounds as though you are friends with her?”

“Just so. She died in the Spanish old west, a powerful figure already. One of the few to arrive in hell with child.” He trails off in front of another tapestry, this one in an even worse state than the first.

A simple artist’s rendition of a noble family stares somberly from the ancient weave. A young looking woman holds a baby with a tall man behind her. To each side are knights in different regalia.

“…There is something in thy nature that nearly reminds me of her. Though in truth I hardly knew her before the plague arrived.” His monstrous eyes consider you with a melancholic look before he ushers you down the hall. “Forgive mine ramblings, how uncouth,” he half mutters.

“Not at all. If anything, I’d love to hear your stories.” You chuckle wryly. “There’s sure to be more interesting than mine.”

He flicks on the light in the parlour, allowing you a brief glimpse of the smile on his lips. “Well, perhaps I shall accept thine offer. But first, coffee or tea?”

“Tea is fine, thank you.”

He sets to work at the bar while you settle in a well-worn armchair. This room is decorated with weapons and skulls, clearly where he usually entertains, (see: intimidate).

You watch as he uses his power to heat the teapot, then brings the cups over.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Of course. Now, pray tell me the tale of thy arrival.” He smirks knowingly.

You laugh and rub the back of your neck. “Ah, well… When I first, er, manifested here, two cannibals immediately attacked me. I still hardly know how I managed to fight them, much less win. I stole their clothes and… took one of their arms as a makeshift weapon. Alastor found me trying to catch my breath after running all the way from there to the hotel.”

Zestial laughs heartily. “Ah, I see why the fiend wast amused. I am impressed by thy strength and reason in the midst of unfathomable new circumstances.”

You blink in surprise at his easy praise, saluting you with a raised teacup. You smile bashfully and return the gesture. “…Thank you.”

“Tell me, dost thou posses Sinner Powers, by chance?”

The blood drains from your face. Shit… Of all your talents, lying is not one of them.

The air suddenly grows cold as the demon sets down his teacup. You hardly manage to do the same before he is leaning over you threateningly.

You sink back into the chair, not wanting to meet his eye. “…It’s hardly anything that could be exploited.”

A long clawed finger comes to your chin, deceptively gentle as he lifts your face to look at him. “Thou will show me.”

In the quiet room, your panicked heartbeat is the only thing that can be heard. His many green eyes pin you to the spot, his dark face the only place of reprieve in your line of sight as his outstretched arms reveal the full neon display of his inner cloak.

He stares you down patiently, his power and threat made even more intimidating with his silence. The absoluteness of his authority and inevitably of your compliance a certainty in both your minds.

Unable to look away, you raise a hand and show him a small ball of power coalescing on your trembling palm.

He removes his hand from your chin to tease at it with his claws. “Good. Mm, it seems thy power is not strong. But that can be changed. Thou will return here every week to train. In return for my assistance, you will-”

A visceral emotion rips through you, and you push a hand against his chest. “I’m not going to become a soldier for you! I didn’t survive all this just to fight someone else’s battles!”

He reflexively traps your hand against his chest, his narrowed eyes searching you as he keeps you pinned. “Mm, such fire~”

Your heart clenches painfully as he leans closer, terrified of what he will do. Practically holding your breath as his own caresses your neck… soon followed by his claws.

“Thou will choose to stand by me, in the end. Mark mine words. Thy fire shall be in my hands.” You gasp as his hand trails down your collarbone over your chest. “And so shall thy heart.”

His low voice in your ear makes you shiver, and he chuckles. “Already thou hast willingly walked into mine web, my dear~ Do not look at me with such fear. Mine is precisely the poison you crave, is it not?”

Thank you for reading! I am motivated by interaction, so if you want more content from me, please let me know! I’ll probably post the Angel Dust fic tomorrow. Stay tuned in a few minutes for a poll!

[halosdiary]

somnolent | Mermaid!Choso x Fisherman!Reader | 呪術廻戦

a/n: Aww yeah! Plot twist and part 3! This is gonna STIIING.

contains: Choso being Choso, hypnosis, implied murder, obsession

wc: 2k

You both were just staring at each other, in the middle of the town square. People were coming and going. It felt like time stopped between them. He looked at with those beautiful dead brown eyes. You feel like you were in those silly romantic scenes where the main character has a "love at first sight" scene. You snap out of at and looked at him curiously.

"You..I'm sorry, have we met before?"

The man looked a little hurt. He couldn't believe you didn't remember him. All he did was gently stroke your cheek. His hand was cold and wet, he loved the way you felt. But he couldn't blow his cover, for his family's sake, for his sake.

“No…we’ve never met.” He sadly answered you.

He continued to walk away from you. You stood there curiously, you can't shake that feeling of that mysterious man. You didn't see where he went, but it was like he disappeared. Choso looked back at you from the sea, his appearance changing more aquatic like. Unfortunately, this became an annoying routine for the both of them, you bump into each other, but avoid each other like the plague. This separation was driving then man crazy. Every second he was away from you was driving him crazy. He didn't realize it, but he was slowly growing an obsession with you.

Choso wanted to speak to you, but needed a little help. He LOATHED, seeing you just socialize with others like you. Potential dates? Nope, you'd find out they just vanished, but you did find some gifts left behind, for you. Theu were sweet, kind and from the sea?

You couldn't tell, but you felt like you've seen him before. But you don't know  where. You placed a finger on your chin, tapping it like you were thinking. All he could do was look at you.

"You just look..familiar to me." Was all you could muster.

“Maybe we were acquainted in a past life…” He says to you.

Past life? What did he mean by that? This was the only life you knew of, born on land, still living your best life. There was something off, about him. This man was a bit aloof, but you couldn't deny he was really cute.

"Maybe." You answered.

You two parted ways once again, the next time you two would meet. You'd talk would talk to him again. Funny enough, Choso didn't mind this at all. He was just in high spirits he's talking to you. A week passes back and you two meet again. The awkwardness had to end at some point. You slowly turn to leave,but he gently reached out to you.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Choso asks you.

"Yes?" I look at him with curiosity in my eyes.

“Have you ever been in love?”

"...I have." You said honestly, with a bit of a sad smile.

You then look back at him, seeing as his eyes were very curious for me. You try to make the sad feeling go away, but he can feel it.

"Sometimes, it doesn't last forever. But that's just me."

He’s taken aback by your look of melancholy. Choso can’t help but wonder about the reason behind your sorrow.

“You still seem to miss whoever it is you loved.”

"Not really, only the happy memories. Before they became what they became. Something unrecognizable."

I clenched my sweater a bit, looking off into the distance. Those happy memories on replay in my mind, but I soon snap back to reality.

"I'm sorry, I'm guessing you wanna know what falling in love feels like?"

He studies your face, looking for any hint of deceit, but all Choso sees is a somber sincerity. He nods.

“Yes, I want to know what it feels like. Love and emotions in general are foreign concepts to me…so I’m merely curious.”

"That's alright." You sit by a near bench and offer him a seat.

"Falling in love, well? I don't really know how to put it." You say to him with a small laughter.

He sits down next to you, his gaze unwavering, and listening intently to your every word. He remains silent, inviting you to continue.

"I do know. It feels like you're flying. All you can really think about is that person and that person alone." You continued on.

"You feel your heart skip a beat whenever they're near by." You blush a bit.

You always remembered how this feeling was. It felt euphoric, blissful. I unintentionally lie my hand on top of his.

Choso flinches when you place your hand on top of his, the unexpected gesture causing his heart to flutter. For a brief moment, Choso’s eyes widen before he quickly composes himself, his expression returning to the stoic look he always wore. He felt something strange stirring within his chest, a mixture of confusion and surprise. He was trying extremely hard not to focus on your touch.

“And then what happens?”

"Well? That's up for you do decide. If the feelings mutual it's the most wonderful thing in the world. If not? It will hurt, but it won't damage you if you let it."

He slowly exhales, trying to keep his breathing steady as you continue to touch his hand. The flutter in his chest is only growing more intense each passing second, the longer your hand remains on his.

“And that’s it? Those are the only feelings associated with it? Feeling like you’re flying? Your heart skipping a beat?”

You nod at him. You didn't know this pang you were feeling. Again, something about this man was all too familiar. But he was really nice to talk to.

"It's like finding your other half. That other half making you feel whole."

Each of your words seemed to send a jolt through Choso’s body, as though your explanation of love was creating a physical effect on him. He couldn’t deny the strange reaction your words and touch was having on him. He suddenly wanted to remove his hand from yours, but something was stopping him. His eyes slowly traveled down to where your hand was resting on top of his. He tried to ignore how gentle your touch was, and how his own hand seemed to subconsciously curl into yours.

You finally realized you had my hand on top of his. You slowly removed it and apologized to him. This must've made him feel awkward. You didn't mean to make it weird. The absence of your touch seemed to leave him feeling colder than before. He flexed his hand once, allowing his fingers to spread out like yours previously had. He tried to ignore the strange pang in his chest as a result of the loss of your touch, and also the urge he now had to reach out for your hand again. But Choso kept his hand firmly planted on his lap.

“You don’t have to apologize…I didn’t mind it.” Choso stated.

It was silent, his did feel cold, but it also felt comforting. I could feel my heart skipping a beat. I slowly placed my hand on top of his hand once more. The instant your hand made contact with his once more, it took all the strength Choso possessed to suppress a shiver that wanted to run up his spine. He suddenly found it difficult to look at you, and a light pink blush dusted his cheeks. He slowly moved his fingers to intertwine with yours, his heart thudding so hard within his chest, Choso feared it would burst.

You giggled at how flushed he'd become. It really was a big softie, despite his melancholic look.

"Well, look at that. You're blushing." You teased him.

He scowls in embarrassment, trying to ignore the way your teasing made his chest ache. He wanted to pull away, but that would mean having to pull away from your touch again, and even just the thought of it made him hesitate.

“Shut up…I’m not blushing.” He retorted.

"Are you sure about that?" You raised a brow at him, along with giving him a smirk.

He refused to look at your face now that you were giving him that goddamn smile. It sent a jolt straight through him, and it had his stomach doing flip-flops. Choso let out a shaky exhale, attempting again to keep his breathing from becoming uneven.

“Yes, I’m sure.” He lied.

"Y’know despite these little run ins. It's really nice talking to you." I admitted to him.

He finally musters the courage to meet your eyes once more, though his cheeks had now reddened a bit more from your comment. He subconsciously tightened his grip on your hand, the feeling of your skin against his making Choso’s heart flutter. He tried to keep his breathing steady as he gave you a nod in response.

“I’ve enjoyed talking to you, as well.”

You look down at his hand as he holds onto it a bit tightly. You couldn't help but feel my face heat up as well. You could feel your heart flutter rapidly.

"Can you feel it?" You asked him quietly.

He couldn’t help but notice the color rising to your cheeks, finding it strangely satisfying to know he was able to make you blush like he had been. Choso was fully focused on you now, his gaze unwavering, as his thumb gently stroked the back of your hand.

“Feel what?”

"That floating feeling I told you about?" I asked him.

I didn't let go of his hand, gently rubbing my thumb on his hand. I looked in the distance, seeing trees and leaves being blown away by the wind.

Choso subconsciously held his breath as your thumb began stroking his own, his heart threatening to give out at the feeling. The fluttering in his chest had only increased from your touch, and he suddenly felt more than a little lightheaded. Even so, he didn’t pull away. He just allowed himself to feel the way he was feeling, though it was completely foreign to him. Choso swallowed the lump in his throat, his voice coming out a bit shaky.

“Yes…I feel it.”

"That feeling of feeling completely whole?" I continued to ask him.

He could feel the heat on his face burning up, no doubt causing him to look like a complete fool, but he didn’t care. Not when you were sitting here talking like this to him, while your hand was still wrapped up in his. The feeling of your thumb grazing his skin made every inch of him feel like it was on fire, and the way his heart was wildly thumping in his chest was enough to make him dizzy.

“Y-Yes…I feel it. It’s hard to concentrate when you do that, though…”

"Don't overthink it." You gently take his hand and looked into his eyes. For some reason, you couldn't stop smiling at him.

He couldn’t help but shiver from the feeling he got when you held his gaze. He was hyper-aware of every point of contact between the two of you, and the urge to reach up and touch your face was almost too much to bear. His face reddened even more, and he found himself returning your smile with a small but warm one of his own.

“I’m not…overthinking it.” He said in a shaky voice.

"Alright. I don't want you to feel pressured." You stated.

I continued to look in the distance. Still holding his hand, you slowly leaned on his shoulder.

His brain stopped functioning and his heart stuttered when you suddenly rested your head on his shoulder. Choso felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. But he quickly adjusted, and slowly relaxed the tension in his shoulders. He even let his head rest against yours, feeling a strange sense of serenity wash over his body.

“I feel anything but pressured…” He muttered to you.

This was his dream come true. They're both talking to each other. You're holding his hand, and even accepting his gifts. He looked into the distance as he smiled. Unfortunately all good things turn back, he wanted to love you. He looks into your beautiful eyes. Your beautiful hypnotized eyes.

TAGLIST: @ryomens-vixen @littlemochabunni @littlemochabunni @bleach-your-panties @blkkizzat @buttercupblu

[tired-teacher-blog]

Characters : Tattoo artist Aizawa/ Florist fem reader

Featuring : Eri/ Hizashi Yamada/ Nemuri Kayama/ Oboro Shirakumo/ Emi Fukukado

Warnings and Genre : Fluff/ Romance/ Smut and Angst in future chapters/ Multi Chaptered Story

Summary : In a desperate attempt to get closer to the tattoo artist dominating every speck of your brain, you decide to pay him a visit one evening as a client seeking his service. This encounter will prove to be the beginning of something much bigger between you two, but will this new found passion be enough to stand against the difficulties your future holds?

Notes : Loosely inspired by this/ Art below is by the wonderful @/ael-draw who gifted me this gorgeous piece.

Masterlist|Second Masterlist|Third Masterlist

Chapter Count : Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11

_ "Good evening Miss."

_ "Uh.. yes, yeah good evening!" did your voice just waver as you returned the man's greeting?

It did, didn't it? Why else would he let out a chuckle while his eyes are lingering on your clumsy hands struggling to lock your shop's front door?

_ "Need any help with that?" his smile slowly disappears as he notices your battle against the entrance lock.

_ "Oh no it's fine I got it! Thanks anyway, good night." and with that, you flee the scene after yet another awkward encounter with the tattoo artist whose parlor just happens to be facing your own shop.

Aizawa Shouta, the man in question, is an intriguing guy.

His ink covered arms— coming to light each time he decides to roll his sleeves or wear a t-shirt, probably hint at more hidden art behind the garment.. his long raven locks that usually sit beautifully on his broad shoulders, are flowing gracefully around his face.. the dark circles under his eyes have never been a surprise to you since his working hours start really late every evening.

However, that harsh exterior does not reflect his personality at all, you're certain of it, and even though your short exchanges have never gone beyond the polite greetings and stolen gazes, something about this man simply mesmerized you..

Who is he anyway? What is his story? Why does he only come to work late when everyone else is heading home?

These questions have been plaguing your brain ever since you met the mysterious guy a few months ago, you've always wanted to know more about him, to befriend him, to have a meaningful conversation, to stand closer to him, to touch..

_ "No! This is not it!" you slap your face with a wince of pain as you snap back to reality, you are daydreaming about the handsome man once again instead of focusing on work.

You flip through the countless search results as you struggle to make a decision, "which one should I get?" it is honestly a big deal.. a commitment.

Getting a tattoo is a matter of great importance, even more so when the person branding your skin is the same one taking over your every waking moment.

_ "I don't like any of these." you mumble irritatedly as you couldn't feel any connection to the art suggested.

Maybe it isn't a good idea after all, do you actually want to get a tattoo? Or is it just a ruse to get closer to.. to him?

You place your phone away and welcome your new costumer with a smile, "good morning Sir!"

Work comes first anyway, everything else should wait till later, it has to..

_ "Here you go! Red roses are the perfect gift, they represent love, passion, beauty, courage and respect, so I'm sure your wife will love them."

The man's eyes light up and his cheerful smile grows wider as he hears you reciting the devine meaning behind his choice, he pays for his purchase and thanks you again before walking out of your shop.

_ "A red rose?" you utter thoughtfully as your eyes study the beautiful flowers before you.

Love, passion, beauty, courage and respect.

Fitting.. although it might seem tacky to some, but if you are to have something inked into your skin, then it has to be meaningful and so, your mind is finally set, "I'll have a red rose."

You take a deep breath and look through your giant glass window at the closed tattoo parlor across the street, "I'll see you tonight, Mr Aizawa."

It is as regular as clockwork— your daily encounter with the dashing man, you are locking your shop's front door when you hear him unlocking his own, and as regular as clockwork your eyes meet and you exchange your daily greeting, except this isn't all that happened tonight, because unlike your usual habit of turning around and walking home, you are advancing towards the man who doesn't seem surprised to see you approaching.

_ "Tattoo, I mean, can I get one?" your cheeks heat up instantly while hearing yourself speak, you're being as awkward as always around him, and wish to disappear right this instant.

_ "Oh.. yeah sure, this is what I do after all," his chuckle is intoxicating, and his silky hair glides elegantly as he cocks his head to the side, "why don't you come in first?"

You have never realized it before, but now that you are standing near each other, he is towering over you, it's almost intimidating to be frank, if not for the gentle smile that seems even more dazzling from up close.

You are right, he truly is beautiful.

_ "My assistant should be here in a minute, but in the meantime I'll take care of you," he offers you a seat at the reception desk before removing his jacket and joining you, "this is a first for you am I right?"

_ "What makes you say that?" is it obvious how ordinary you are?

_ "Well, usually people call to schedule an appointment beforehand, some of them even visit my studio and bombard us with questions to make sure they can trust us with their bodies, but you.." he stops for a moment to clear his throat and shift his gaze from you, "you're something else."

Is that a little blush he's so desperately trying to conceal? No it can't be, you're delirious like usual, and being in a close proximity to him is playing with your mind.

_ "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have barged in unannounced, I'll make sure to do it properly and call for an appointment," you're on the verge of tears as you stand up and bow your head apologetically, "good night Sir."

_ "What? Hey hold on! Don't go," he's fast at intercepting you, grabbing your arm and pulling you back gently, "please don't go."

His grip remains on you, a perfect pressure applied, as if he's afraid you would disappear if he lets go, and you would have.

He's standing close, so close, closer than he did earlier, and you can feel his warm breath fanning over your skin, his beautiful smile is replaced with a little pout, his dark hair falls around his face and you almost.. almost reach out to tuck the loose strands behind his ear.

How long have you been standing there, looking into each other's eyes and saying nothing? Apparently long enough for his assistant to burst out laughing after walking in and finding you in that state.

_ "Good evening boss! Sorry for being late but you know how traffic is at this hour." her eyes move between you two, and her amused smirk hints at something that you cannot -for the life of you- understand.

You return the lively woman's greeting and take a step back, you are still going to leave anyway, despite the inexplicable desire to stay.

_ "Ms Kayama, would you mind passing my seven o'clock client to Hizashi? Also Oboro is running late as usual so would you please give him a call? Aizawa speaks to his assistant while keeping his attention on you.

_ "Sure boss, you can count on me." you cannot understand the reason of her mischievous smile, nor why she looked at you while saying that.

_ "Thank you."

Your blush is reaching your ears and a storm of emotions is fighting within you as you prepare to interject and perhaps save yourself from further embarrassment, but he is quicker to speak, "please have a seat." his voice as soft as ever while waiting for you to do so.

_ "Yes, thank you." and so you do.

He pulls out a chair for himself across from you before picking up a notbook that was already placed on the desk in front of him, "shall we begin?"

You shoot up all of a sudden as it finally hits you, "I.. I'm.." you stutter almost inaudibly, squeezing your fists so hard to stop from shaking, you aren't sure about this anymore, maybe you've made a mistake barging in like that with the pretence of getting a tattoo when all you actually want is to see him.

_ "Is everything okay?" he must've felt your uncertainty towards it since he instantly stood in front of you, his warm hands on each of your shoulders, rubbing soothing patterns while anticipating your response.

_ "I'm sorry I'm just, a little nervous." saying those words is more painful than any needles he could use on you, you feel pathetic, squeezing your eyes shut and wishing you're home alone instead of this.

Maybe you should forget about the whole thing and just leave, you've already made a fool of yourself enough for one evening, what else is there for you to do?

_ "That's fine, having second thoughts is totally normal considering that it would be your first time going through the experience, besides, there are some preparations to go through before getting to the actual thing," his eyes are gazing gently at you as he speaks, "let's take it step by step, and if you ultimately decide against it then we'll stop."

You cannot understand his behavior, he isn't laughing at you, isn't mocking you like you've expected, he isn't even showing an ounce of impatience. Who is he? Trully? And why is everything about him just.. flawless?

You nod slowly and take your seat again, a wave of goosebumps is running up your spine at the loss of his touch.

_ "Alright, so tell me, do you have a design in mind? If not I can help you choose, and it should help if you have a theme in mind." he starts right as he sits facing you.

_ "Oh no that's fine, I already know what I want," you answer quickly before pulling out your phone and showing him the single rose you settled on, "I want this.. this red rose."

He takes the device from your extended hand, studying the picture displayed before letting out a chuckle that travels right through your veins, "I like it, it's soft and pretty, just like you," he comments casually before adding, "what size are you thinking?"

_ "Huh? Umm.. I'm not sure but, I would prefer it to be small, I guess..." you're not even sure of the words leaving your mouth anymore as his previous remark sways you, soft.. pretty.

What is he doing to you? Is it perhaps a part of his job to sweet talk his clients? Yeah, that must be it, why else would he do it?

_ "It's okay we'll circle back to that later, now for the placement, where would you want it to be? This can actually help you determine the size better if you're still unsure about that." his smile never leaves him as he speaks, and for a brief moment your delusions lead you to believe that it could mean more than a friendly smile, but it doesn't, and you know it.

_ "I'm not sure about that either," you feel stupid, it is your first time walking into a tattoo studio sure, but you should've been more prepared.

He remains quiet for a bit and you're struggling to understand what he's thinking, your heart is hammering painfully in your chest as you wait silently for him to reply.

He isn't smiling anymore, infact, the look on his face has turned into one of pensiveness, his lips are sealed in a thin line and his head is tilted to the side, and it is becoming unbearable for you to sit there and wait any longer, it's humiliating.

You open your mouth to speak, to -perhaps- apologize for making his work harder than it should, for being so stupid as to make him dump his work on his colleagues so he could take care of you for the evening, you're trying to speak but don't know how to start exactly, settling for hanging your head in shame instead.

_ "Hey look up," his voice is as soft as ever, "I told you not to worry about it didn't I? Tattoos are not an easy commitment to make."

His chair squeaks as he clearly stands up, circuling the desk until he's mere centimeters from you, the subtle sweetness of his sandalwood scented cologne is tickling your nose as he leans closer.

_ "I'll tell you what, how about I make a sketch of the design tonight, and you can drop by tomorrow to have a look at it, I have what I need for now, so take the night to think more about the placement," his eyes are studying your tense frame as he adds, "and remember, you don't have to go through with it, I'll book your session for tomorrow, same time as today, but you can cancel it whenever you want."

You're overcame with a sudden urge to jump in his arms, and for the nth time that evening you are grateful for the secrecy of your own thoughts as you nod in agreement, "thank you that would be great, but, we haven't talked about the payment yet."

_ "You'll find everything you need stated on our website." he replies while handing you his business card.

You thank him again and bid him goodbye before walking out of the studio that is -unbeknown to you- getting busier and louder.

To be continued..

[runawaymun]

Hey! Any advice on writing multi chaptered fics or just longer stories?

I feel like I'm okay for like snippets but have no idea how to write the middle of a story or move a character or story from point a to point b.

And asking you because you're writing is phenomenal and I'd love some advice.

(But if no brain space for advice I totally get that too and feel free to hide this ask or something)

(Anyway great updates on boundless and the one shot Brimbrond)

Sorry for taking so long to respond to this! I just wanted to take some good time to gather my thoughts because oh man oh boy I am a bit of a nerd about plot structure, even if I pants it a lot of the time -- because middles and structure absolutely plagued me when I was a beginner and so I spent a long, long time studying it and breaking it down.

I'm going to start with some very, very basic advice and then get into some more specific stuff. So let's talk first about how to structure a long-form plot first.

DISCLAIMER: this is how I personally structure plots. More often than not I veer off my own track. And this is a very western way of structuring a plot. It's well worth looking into how storytellers from around the world structure their work because it can vary wildly (Miyazaki is a great example of this). Take this with a grain of salt. It's a guideline which I find helpful. This is going to get very, very long. Bear with me:

When I'm first thinking about how to create a plot around a story I want to tell, this is the process I walk myself through, and it tends to work about 75% of the time for the stories I like to tell (I'm not much of a thriller or mystery writer and those tend to have different kinds of structure). Main recipe is as follows:

Status quo - establish the setting and the character. Do this by the middle-to-end of chapter one, preferably. You can get away with drawing it out a bit in sci-fi or fantasy works that require more worldbuilding, but try not to.

Inciting incident - I won't tell you to start in media res, as that varies from writer to writer and story to story. Generally you want to have this somewhere in chapters 1-3. Say we're talking about LOTR - I'd say the inciting incident is when Bilbo goes invisible at his birthday party and leaves for retirement. Everything sort of snowballs from there (Gandalf confirming this is The One Ring, the Ring being passed to Frodo, the adventure beginning, etc. etc). This is where your character can lose something, or be confronted with a huge problem, or gain some new information. This is the point where your story really picks up.

Point of no return - your character has been presented with a problem or is put in a situation and now they have to decide what to do about it. Sometimes characters choose to run away, or choose inaction. It's up to you and your character as to what they do next.

The annoying part - the most helpful way I've ever found to think about middles is in terms of a series of decisions and consequences. Your character must decide what to do (or try to get what they want), and this will then come with consequences to those decisions. I ignore a lot of writing advice because writers seem to be very cagey about how they compose middles and plots for some reason, but the one piece I heard that helped me was: "What does my character want, and what stops them from getting it?" -- and this can be anything, right? Frodo wants (has to) take the Ring to Mordor. Luke wants to learn to be a Jedi like his father. Inspector Poirot needs to catch the murderer. Odysseus wants to return home. Each of these characters are going to make a series of decisions toward their goal, and they may be working from incomplete information, or bad paradigms, or racing against the clock, or against impossible odds. They're going to make mistakes. Over and over and over again. The middle is a series of decisions, consequences for those decisions, and obstacles (more on that later).

Point of no return 2, electric boogaloo (i.e. the actual midpoint to the story) - the part right before the climax -- the climax IS NOT the midpoint of your story, nor is it the end. This is your midpoint where Everything Fucking Sucks. Your character's back is against the wall. They have to change, or fail.

Paradigm shift: your character learns something new, or develops in some crucial way that leads to:

The climax/confrontation: 3/4 - 7/8th of the way through your plot. Frodo decides to keep the ring. Luke uses the force to blow up the death star. Anakin's fear and the manipulation from Palpatine overtakes him and he turns to the dark side. Inspector Poirot gets his last crucial piece of information and gathers everybody together for the Big Reveal. Odysseus gets home and chases the suitors out of his house. Etc. Etc. This is that Big Point in the story we all think as the most important or crucial point (but it's not. That's the key here. THE most important point is the whole middle of how we got here).

Consequences and paradigm shift 2 electric boogaloo: varies from story to story, but this is the fallout of the last decision or confrontation. Your character may reflect on what they've learned. The killer goes to jail. Frodo returns to the Shire and it's saved, but not for him. The journey your character has been on has irreparably altered them, or the world around them -- for better or for worse.

Resolution: the place where you land the story ;) what is the final impression you want your readers to have of your character, or this world?

Alright so that's all kind of nebulous. Let me give you a slightly more specific form of this plot structure that I use pretty often, because I almost exclusively write character and relationship-driven stories since that's what interests me most:

So most of this looks much the same (the inciting incident is some kind of meetcute. The characters then have to decide if they want to have some kind of relationship -- I like to name this part the callback). Then we have a whole weird squishy section of building interest and tension, before once again we have The Big Fight (darkest before the dawn or what have you), before one or both characters have some kind of paradigm shift, they confess their feelings (or resolve the fight or whatever), and the security of the relationship is established -- happy go lucky times, everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.

So the middle here is of course still squishy and nebulous, but the focus here is still on "What decisions are the characters making? What are the consequences of those decisions? What are they learning, and how do they respond to it?" Maybe the tension is in one character being more reticent, while the other is more open. Maybe the tension is a sexual tension (will they, won't they?). Maybe a character is working off of incomplete information, or a misunderstanding, and that needs to be cleared up before the relationship (or even their own personal growth) can progress (both Elrian and Thalionel in Stars and Boundless Sky follow this pattern). The middle is a push-pull between your character's desires and outside forces that are stopping them from getting what they want, or achieving what they want to achieve.

So okay, that's all well and good. That's basic plot structure. Let me get into my thought process about middles specifically:

Begin with your ending in mind. I do not mean that you need to have like the whole resolution to your story fleshed out. If you're that kind of writer, great! But if you're more of a pantser like me, then that can be a big ask. Instead, ask yourself: what do I want my character to have learned by the end of the story? How do I want them to have changed, or grown? Do I want it to be for better, or for worse? Is there a specific plot goal you have in mind? (saving the world, or catching the murderer, solving the mystery, exorcizing the ghost, the couple getting together at the end, the found family finally gelling with each other, or whatever).

Once you have that thought in mind, now start to think about what your character might need to get from their starting point to their ending point. If it's a murder mystery, this is your information gathering section. You can lead your character to wrong or right conclusions. Have them make mistakes. Etc. etc. If it's a romance, this is where you create a string of scenes where the characters have opportunities to interact and learn more about each other (works for platonic slowburns, too). If this is a traditional hero's journey, this is where you plop in your actual journey.

Not to repeat this ad nauseum, but your middle is all about getting your character to your end goal, but in the most difficult way possible lmao. Let them make mistakes. Let them make bad decisions -- and then follow through with the consequences of those bad decisions. Give them bad information. This is where understanding your character's fundamental flaws becomes extremely important. Your entire plot, imo, stems from your character's fundamental flaws -- because ultimately that is what is going to slow them down the most from reaching their goal. Sure, you may have the big bad evil guy (bbeg), but we're not worried about him. That's an external factor and that's easy to drop in when you need a quick problem to place in front of your protagonist -- but that problem needs to be in service to your character or your worldbuilding. Teach them something. Give them an opportunity for growth. Aragorn needs to lead at Helm's Deep so he can inhabit his leadership role. The mountain pass of Caradhras needs to force the Fellowship through the mines so that Gandalf falls fighting the Balrog and comes back leveled up and ready to fight, and other characters in the fellowship have a chance to grow into their roles without relying on Gandalf for leadership. Your middle is all about crafting little opportunities for character growth, always while moving toward your end goal -- whatever that may be.

The paradigm shifts are crucial, and they can shift for better or for worse. It's up to you and your characters and the story you want to tell as to which it'll be.

If you're bored, your reader is bored. Only write what excites you, skip all the rest, and make it make sense at the end -- I'm so serious. Yes you need to add in breaks for pacing (like the whole Rivendell section in LOTR), but in those breaks still make sure that you're either expanding your worldbuilding, or giving your characters and opportunity for growth.

If you want to tell a really long (novel length) type of story, sideplots and alternate POVs are your best friend. They are structured exactly the same as a regular plot, they're just simpler or smaller and generally work in service to the main plot. Maybe there are side characters or side relationships you'd like to develop. Maybe there's a smaller mystery or a part of your worldbuilding you'd like to explore. Action plots can be side plots to romantic or platonic slowburn plots, just as much as it can be the other way around. And this is not something you need to structure out the gate. Just be curious and playful. Find points in your story that interest you, and explore them a bit. You'll find that they expand the story.

Biggest and best tip I can give you, when all is said and done, is to decide what kind of story you want to tell and then examine how other people are doing it. If you want to write a superhero story, pick out your favorites and look at how they're structured. If you want to write a mystery, same thing. If you're writing a romance or a drama, again -- same thing. Look at the pieces of fiction that you like, figure out what you like about it, and then apply it to your own work.

That's all the general advice off the top of my head. IDK how helpful this was lol. If you want more tips on middles I can try to look at it a bit more in depth, but to be quite honest middles are really what defines a genre. Romances have different middles to thrillers. Thrillers have different middles to mysteries. Mysteries have different middles to dystopian sci-fis. Etc. Etc. So take the general advice with a grain of salt and look more specifically at the genre of story that you're looking to tell.

Thanks for coming to my tedtalk <3

[winwintea]

↬ 𝙽𝙲𝚃 𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼

𝚘𝚝7

reactions ✒        first kiss (☆) ✒        walked in on you changing? ✒        bailing you out of jail ✒        helping with homework

imagines ✒        disney world boyfriend (☆) ✒        flight seatmate ✒        meeting their kid for the first time + as a parent (☆)

text reactions ✒        "let's breakup" ✒        "i'm at the hospital"

character study ✒        what they look for in a relationship (☆)

𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚕𝚎𝚎

mark lee vs. the world ✒         social media au, scott pilgrim au, ongoing

↬ mark has never wanted anything in his life. the lead bassist for 'dream on', unemployed, and quite literally a loser, mark expects he's hit rock bottom from here. that is until you, the girl of his dreams quite literally skates out of his dreams and into his life. mark has never wanted anything more. but is love really worth the emotional baggage when you have seven evil exes, who each possess superpowers and are intent on defeating him?

inyun (☆)✒         3.7k words (past lives au, fluff)

↬ when you move into a small apartment complex in seoul, your next-door neighbor, mark lee, seems like nothing more than an ordinary guy. but as the two of you get to know each other more, it suddenly feels like you’ve known him forever. then mark mentions his grandmother's belief in 인연. the idea that every encounter is woven by threads of fate. are these coincidences between you and mark really accidental or is there something deeper going on?

the last hope (old) ✒         2.8k words (angst)

↬ [part of the last love series] you've fallen in love with mark, the soldier who wishes to protect the country. His life is a brilliantly burning flame, whereas yours is nearly completely, gone. no matter how much pain it causes, you'll never love another like him. even as he walks away to his main purpose in life.

𝚑𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚗

the last dance (old) ✒         3.7k words (angst)

↬ [part of the last love series] you've fallen in love with the gentle painter, renjun. though the locals call you a witch, renjun doesn't seem to care. but that all changes when they come to kill you. no matter how much pain it causes, you'll never regret falling in love with him.

belladonna! ✒         social media au, ongoing

↬ you've been tasked with visting and inspecting the grand rose theatre, a theatre that's been plagued with mysteries over the years. all seems well, until a string of murders follows your visit. as you further investigate, you find yourself falling for huang renjun, the beautiful male lead, and your mystery murderer who leaves you love notes and clues about who they could potentially be. will you be smart enough to be a step ahead of the killer? or will you find yourself caught within their trap?

pet names

𝚕𝚎𝚎 𝚓𝚎𝚗𝚘

underneath the tree (☆) ✒         social media au, ongoing

↬  you’ve heard enough of the word ‘christmas’ and it was only the beginning of december! sometimes you’d wish people would just throw their cheerfulness out the window and focus on reality. unfortunately for you lee jeno has just drawn your name for the company’s annual secret santa swinter swap and he’s going to make sure you get a gift you’ll never forget. (and maybe even get you to appreciate christmas along the way?)

𝚕𝚎𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚌𝚔

perfect strangers ✒         4.0k words (smut)

↬ one night, you fell in love with a man who would come to you the next morning as your doctor. unfortunately, you were betrothed to someone else, but you wanted to feel what love really was. "whatever choices we make, just know that my heart is yours."

𝚗𝚊 𝚓𝚊𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗

that's okay (☆) ✒         3.7k words (fluff, enemies to lovers)

↬ you’re determined to outshine your academic rival na jaemin, the campus heartthrob infamous for his frivolous reputation. but when a few too many drinks suddenly ropes you into a fake dating scheme with jaemin, you realize that there’s much more to him than his playboy persona. can two opposites navigate a connection that’s anything but fake?

wicked love ✒         5.4k words (horror/thriller)

↬ his love is perfect. but perfection comes with a price.

pet names

𝚣𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚎

heart to heart ✒         3.7k words (fluff, romance)

↬ what happens when you discover you have the ability to read chenle's mind?

secure that once upon a time! ✒         4.3k words (romance, fluff)

↬ inspired by one of your favorite fairytales, chenle makes you feel just like cinderella for the night. but can you live up to society's expectations as the girlfriend of one of shanghai's most elite? an enchanting night with your prince may answer all your questions.

stop posting about BALLER (☆) ✒         1.3k words (crack, fluff)

↬ maybe your boyfriend's obsession with the sport was a little more extreme than you thought.

my apology letter (☆) ✒         3.0k words, (heavy angst)

↬ chenle always thought that love truly wins all. your relationship with him was filled with joy and connection. but lately, cracks have begun form. between small misunderstandings, unspoken frustrations, and the growing sense that he’s not enough for you, chenle begins to doubt his theory. is love enough to bridge the gaps between you or is letting go the ultimate act of love?

pet names boyfriend headcannons

[6:28 a.m.]

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚓𝚒𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚐

hunger ✒         248 words (mini drabble)

boyfriend headcannons

↫ back

[fablesam]

my angel ;; sam winchester

cw; angst, suicide, character death, overall just sad idk :p  if this isn't good yall mind your business!

step over the edge too far

open my hands that catch your fall

nothing to hear but my very own cry

far below the rocks and sky;;

now;; 

you watch, helplessly, as sam sits on the side of the 101 bridge, the wind seeming to push him closer and closer to the edge. he’s so empty, such a shell of the person he’d once been. 

sam, your sam. he’d always been so full of life, of love, always the one cracking jokes and making everyone else smile. you’d met him your freshman year of stanford, when he was the only man to help you move into your dorm room. he was studying law, while you were in psychology, and it seemed like you just sort of clicked.

you knew, after a while, that there was more to him than he let on. he’d told you he was from kansas, that his brother and dad traveled all over for work, that his mom had passed when he was too young to remember. little fragments of a life, left for you to piece together. you never minded, though. not when it was him. 

about a month before everything happened, you noticed sam acting a little strange. he’d be up late, sweating and out of breath from whatever nightmare decided to plague him that night. he was sneaking off, making phone calls, always saying he was talking to his brother. “my dad’s missing,” he’d told you one particularly bad night, “i might have to go with dean for a while, alright? i don’t know what’s going on yet, but he’ll be here tomorrow for us to talk,”

dean showed up late the next night, looking like he hadn’t slept in days, talking to sam in a hushed voice in the dining room. you had this horrible feeling, then, that this was something more than just their father not returning some calls. 

then;; 

the last time you saw sam winchester alive, he had a duffel thrown over his shoulder and a strangely distant demeanor. “i’ll be back in two days,” he’d told you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “just a couple days, that’s all. i love you so much, baby,” “i love you too, sammy,” you’d smiled up at him, “just be safe, alright? i’m sure you guys will find him,” 

two days came and went, and sam didn’t come home. by the third night, you were sure you were starting to lose it. you kept hearing things, small creaks of the floorboards, or seeing shadows from the corner of your eye. the apartment seemed to be constantly drafty, and you had this unshakeable feeling that someone was watching you. 

you shook it off, assuming it was just paranoia from being home alone. you had to take two melatonin just to be able to sleep that last night, and you still woke up in a cold sweat at 3 am. there was a quiet rustling in the living room, and you forced yourself up out of bed, heart slightly erratic as you peaked around the door frame into the dimly lit hallway. a man stood just feet away, looking you up and down like he expected you to be there, like he wasn’t startled at all that you’d caught him breaking into your house. you took a step back with a gasp, frantically scanning the room for anything you could possibly use to defend yourself.

the door was flung open, and he walked through with an easy confidence that only horrified you further. “well,” he smiled, and only then did you notice the yellow tint of his eyes, “i’ve been waiting a long time for sam to leave you home alone,”

“sam? what’re you-” in an instant, you were pinned to the ceiling, despite the man being at least three feet from yo, having never touched you. “your precious boyfriend’s gonna save me a lot of trouble,” he hissed, “you’ve been causing me a lot of issues, keeping him from his true potential,” 

you tried desperately to speak, to ask what potential he was even talking about, but the force holding you still was pressed tight against your throat. he took a step closer, a falsely comforting smile on his lips,  “you have no idea how much sam is capable of,” he muttered, “how much he’ll do for me. my blood runs in his veins, and soon, he’ll know the truth about who he is,” 

you managed to suck in just enough air to scream, the sound tearing through the silence of the apartment, almost as piercing as the pain that burned through your skin as he slit your throat.

you died looking down at the bed you and sam had shared, a photo of the two of you on the small night stand. you died with a sickening horror sunk deep into your bones, with the feeling of those yellow eyes all over you. more than anything, you died grateful that sam wasn’t there to see.

now;; 

you yearned, ached, to be able to help him. to urge him off the ledge, back to the makeshift home he’d made with dean since you died. back to the hunt for his father, to doing what he was apparently born to do. instead, you were forced to watch as he sobbed, your favorite sweater clutched in his arms. 

ever since that night, sam was like half of a person. he was silent near constantly, and when he did bother to speak to anyone, it was short and tense. he was awake at all hours of the night, rereading the police report from the night you died, tearing through book upon book of these supernatural beings. 

you’d slowly pieced together that you’d been right all that time, there was more to sam than you thought. his dad was missing on a hunting trip, as dean called it, hunting demons and all sorts of things you’d always thought were made up. you knew the first time you saw that yellow-eyed man that it had to be at least partially true. 

sam’s hoarse voice pulled you from your thoughts, crackling through his sobs, “i’m so sorry,” he choked, “i should’ve warned you, i’m so fucking sorry,” this was the only thing he really said since that night; how sorry he was. it was daily, usually paired with tears, usually full of desperation. you felt that you’d give anything to be able to soothe him one last time. 

“i can’t do it without you,” he cried, glaring up at the sky, “i never wanted to do any of this without you, i can’t- i need you to come home, i need to- god, i’m sorry,” he pulled himself to his feet on shaky legs, one hand holding onto the bridge railing behind him, eyes still focused on the sky. “how could you fucking take her?” he screamed into the night, “i would’ve done anything, i just wanted- i just needed one thing,” 

he took a step forward, looking down from the sky to the rocky water below, and you took a tentative step closer, as if you could help anything. “i’m gonna come find you,” he whispered to the night, voice raw from his screams.

with that, he took the final step forward, letting go of the railing and falling to the water below. he went silently, no screams, no more tears. he was getting what he wanted, after all; a chance to be with you again, to make things right. 

strange as she appears to be

oldest friend invisibly

she brushes my hair with a physical hand

lowers my body down to the land;;

a scream ripped its way out of your throat as he fell, and you jumped after him without a second thought, frantically searching through the dark water for him. he was on the rocks near the shore of the river, eyes open, blood and water soaking through his clothes. “oh, sammy,” you cried, at his side in an instant, wiping the bloody strands of hair from his forehead, “oh, what have you done?”

“you’re here,” he whispered, voice thin, “i was looking for you, i-” he paused to cough, blood trickling from his lips as he did, “i’m so sorry i left you alone,” “you can see me?” you ask softly, still smoothing his hair, as if keeping him soothed would keep him alive, “sam, i’ve been here this whole time. i never left you, alright?”

“knew i felt you,” he smiles as much as he can manage, white teeth stained by blood, eyes full of tears, “knew you wouldn’t go without me, baby,” “you gotta get up, sam,” you plead, “gotta find your phone, call an ambulance or something, okay? you’ll be okay, you just need some help,” 

“i don’t wanna be okay,” he grabbed your hand, and you were nearly brought to tears when you could feel the weight of his grasp on your skin, the warmth of him, “i’m so tired, i just- i wanna go, please. i’m ready to go,” “you have so much to do,” you say softly, voice thick with tears, “you can’t just give up, you have dean, you need to find your dad,”

“i have nothing ahead of me,” he whispers hoarsely, his eyelids starting to fall closed, “i’m so tired, baby. i don’t wanna keep fighting. just stay with me until i go, please,”

beneath the ledge in the morning mist

she kisses my eyelids and my wrists

wake to the bleeding of the blade of thе sun

returning to my oxygen;;

you grant him his one last wish, sitting at his side, one hand in his hair and the other enveloped in his own, until the sun starts to rise. he tells you as much about the search for his dad as he can muster, though his injuries make it difficult for him to speak at all. you take it all in, drinking up your last moments with him. 

as the sun starts to rise, the blood on his skin glistening in the light, he pulls you closer, as strong as he can manage. “i hope we’ll be together,” he murmurs, “i wasn’t a good enough man to go to heaven, but i-i’ll do whatever i can to end up with you,” 

“you’re the best man i’ve ever known,” you say softly, kissing the tears from his cheeks, “if you get sent to hell, i’ll come down there and get you myself, hm? you’re gonna be okay, sammy,” you hope he takes it like a promise, that he’ll find solace in it, some last semblance of peace.

sam winchester dies in your arms, the last light in his eyes fading as the first light of day rises. he dies with a peace he’d never known in life, safe and secure, lulled to his final sleep by the woman he loved in life and will continue to love in death. he dies with a fleeting thought of dean, the brother he’d do nearly anything for. the one thing he couldn’t manage was to live without you.

[lostiolite]

Soulmate au; Kai x reader Drabble

Not proof read, wc: 600~ (takes place in college years)

“Dont … say that again?’ were the words etched on your arm. The first thing your soulmate would say to you. You can only wonder how that encounter will go down.

You were returning from your college classes with your friend Fumiko. You two had an art class together and you were hauling some art supplies with. You and Fumiko were planning on studying (moreso drawing) after school. The usual library you two went to was under maintenance so you two were going an unfamiliar route. You had never been to the area before, luckily Fumiko has. She gave you a run down of the precautions to take. Apparently there were a lot more thugs and crime syndicates in the area. ‘Keep to yourself and you’ll be fine’ she says as you are walking. You nod, affirming that you’ll stay safe. The city area is different from what you’re used to, its fine. It's rather hot and humid out as well, you’re wearing a short sleeve to battle the heatt.You take in the unfamiliar scene before your eyes as your practically sweating buckets.

You aren't paying attention when you violently bump into someone. Your art supplies block your general view. You don't get a good look at the man?- you assume due to his tall and bulky stature as you frantically plead out.

”Oh! Im, so so sorry” you apologize clutching your art supplies

“dont-“ you scurry way, catching up to Fumiko and not bothering to listen to the mans response, as you are much too embarrassed.

You and Fumiko get in the study room safely, you set your bags and supplies down and get to work. You converse with Fumiko as you two draw. The two of you are working on a combined art project. Your own world with characters that you create together, the two of you are working on serializing it. While the two of you are still in school with many other obligations, you two always make room for your passion project. The music from your combined playlist playing in the background as the sun slowly sets. The two of you call it a day and pack up. Bidding farewell as the two of you head in different directions.

You step out the building as you the sun is down, meaning there is going to be less people out. You put in your earbuds as the way back home is going to be much longer than usual. Due to this, you fail to notice the man trailing you.

You ran away, you didn’t even bother to look in his direction. He wondered as he laid in bed. Countless questions in his head. He wonders how you didn't realize he was your soulmate. Seriously? Who were you? What were your aspirations? Were you also part of a crime syndicate, were you just some civilian, or worse a hero. He shivers at the thought. Surely he wasn’t cursed with a sick soulmate? The paper report from the man he sent to follow you and another underling to stalk your socials and find out everything about you (though, at this moment only the bare minimum was known) was situated on his night stand. Your name was utterly ethereal to him for no reason. You made it into one of Japan's top art schools, meaning you're rather skilled, no? And oh, you were the most beautiful being he had laid eyes on. It was weird, disgusting.

He as a child didn’t care about soulmates. he wanted nothing more than the yakuza to be brought to glory again. Why was he no plagued by thoughts of you? he felt sick. Does he leave it at that, never to see you again, the logical part of him says so. But he wants to see you once more. he wonders if he should ask the boss for advice.

[the-forbidden-pookie]

Of Reality and Dreams

Tw: SFW, written with a fem reader in mind, some angst followed by fluff, manga spoilers but no more than what's already floating all over the internet, slight use of profanity.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x reader

#FreePalestine 🇵🇸

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sit in front of your computer monitor with misty eyes in utterly shocked silence. The only thing going through your head is a perpetual chorus of "What the actual fuck?!" And "That can't be right??"

After finishing the intense second season of the hit anime Jujutsu Kaisen, you got curious about the source material, and decided it wouldn't hurt to check some spoilers, just a quick peek to find out if Gojo does in fact get unsealed from the prison realm.

What you end up learning from the online discussion forums however, is far too heartbreaking to bear.

"You don't understand," says user gege_hater101 "Gege already mentioned he hates him, this was literally inevitable."

"Still..." User I_miss_her<3 had replied "to just kill off the fan favorite mentor?"

"Fr dude, even Attack on Titan didn't kill off Levi damnit." And the discussion continues.

Some haters try to claim that Gojo was an overrated character anyways but are quickly shut down by fans and simps alike, and while the solidarity warms your heart it doesn't change the fact that Gojo Satoru's Wiki status will now say "Deceased".

You turn off your monitor and lean back against your chair's backrest. You have school tomorrow, you should really go to bed now, but you can't bring yourself to do so. You can feel your sadness deepening by the second. Gojo Satoru wasn't just a fictional character, he was a powerful phenomenon both in the world of Jujutsu Kaisen and in your real world.

"Haha... Gege wrote a masterfully crafted character that balances incredible strength with emotional vulnerability... Yet somehow he hates him? Seriously what the hell..." You wipe at your eyes to no avail, you knew for a fact if a family member were to come in and ask why you were crying you wouldn't be able to answer them. There was just no way they would understand, and that felt isolating right now.

But you knew you weren't really alone in mourning him at least, people from all around the world were commemorating and mourning him too, he has touched so many people's hearts, inspired so many...

You closed your eyes to rest them for a bit. You'll go to bed once you didn't feel like crying anymore, sobbing in bed just felt too miserable right now. You couldn't stop thinking about all the horrible things that plagued Gojo Satoru's life, only for him to not even get to live to see the fruit of his labor, you drift off thinking of how unfair all of this was.

You open your eyes and find yourself in a completely normal environment. The horse headed broom riding man is flying over your neighborhood as usual.

The sky is a beautiful shade of bright brown, what a lovely cloudless summer day this is!

Speaking of summer, a light rain is rising from the ground to the sky in lovely patterns.

Ah yes, just another normal day in your neighb-

You freeze.

You feel his presence before you see him, turning around slowly, you spot the back of a tall beanpole of a man, dressed in all black with a mop of white hair on his head, seemingly busying himself with eating some sort of candy or the other.

Ah, you realize with a start. This is a dream.

You've studied lucid dreaming before, for a school presentation, you did quite a lot of research to make sure you knew everything about such a relatively obscure topic, especially since you knew your teachers liked to ask many questions.

You take a look around your environment once more, but it's already shifted from what it was before. No matter, you focus and anchor the dream into some semblance of reality, and instead of another bizarre scene, you're now in an empty park, on a moonlit night.

You start walking towards the new location of who you hope is Gojo Satoru, it would be of very poor taste if it turned out your brain was playing a trick on you.

While researching lucid dreams, you noticed there were 3 main things of note, amongst all the other stuff.

1. In dreams in general, devices don't quite work how they're supposed to. Be it cars not starting or wall clocks telling the wrong time or even phones missing their buttons, technology just wouldn't cooperate much.

You pass by the swings swaying on a phantom wind, which wasn't of your doing, but you didn't have enough experience to make everything bend to your will perfectly.

2. When you try opening a book or looking at some other form of written content, they would either be blank or only have gibberish in them. What's more, if you were to look away then look back again, the contents would almost always change, if the item itself didn't change entirely.

You're close now, just a few more steps.

3. Finally, there was the matter of people. Studies have consistently shown that for whatever reason, any entity considered as a "person" in the dream, could not be controlled by the lucid dreamer whatsoever; their choices couldn't be psychically influenced or swayed, they acted as if they truly were a separate person from the dreamer. The human brain was quite mysterious and did things like that sometimes.

Finally, you're right behind him. You raise a hesitant hand and try tapping his back. Your hand thankfully doesn't end up going through his back, and instead he simply turns around, candy now gone, and to your immense relief, you are currently in the presence of Gojo Satoru. Or well- dream Gojo Satoru. Anyways.

You can't see his eyes with his signature blindfold present, but you were more preoccupied with his personality at the moment anyways. Did your brain get it right? Or was he just a hollow statue...?

"Oh, what do we have here? Trying to get an audience with the strongest, most handsome, and everyone's number one favourite teacher, Gojo Satoru!?" He asks with dramatic movements and poses, it seems you needn't have worried. "Well, make yourself interesting, then!"

You couldn't stop yourself and started bawling right then and there.

"You- you said you would win!!! You said even if Sukuna was at full power, you could beat him!!!" At first, you're giving him a couple of light shoves, but soon you're hitting him repeatedly, not strong enough to hurt (not that you could anyways, he didn't even bother to turn infinity on) just strong enough to show how upset you were. "Gojo Satoru you liar!!!" Your tears aren't stopping any time soon, but your hits stop short when Gojo grabs your wrists. You loose your steam quickly enough, and all you muster up is a quiet "Why did you die?"

Gojo blinks. "Whoa! Calm down." He lets go of one wrist in favor of patting your head. "Look at me, I am here! Alive!" He announces, pointing at himself with his other hand theatrically.

"Haaah, so you can't tell? This is just a dream, Gojo-san. Neither of us are really here." You say, motioning to the park around you both. "And you're dead, Sukuna killed you."

"Hmph. You're quite stubborn, aren't you? Fine, I'll show you that I am real! I'll remove my blindfold and show you my face! But prepare yourself, and take a good look at my eyes!"

You consider his words. Does it even matter whether or not he realizes the truth? As you said, this is a dream, it would make no difference either way once you woke up. But while you are here, what is it that you want to accomplish? What should you be doing right now, with this rare opportunity?

"Are you ready?!" He interrupts your train of thought, then proceeds to remove his black blindfold, showing off his most gorgeous bright blue eyes.

"Ahhhhhh, it's your pretty eyes!" You exclaim happily. "I swear everytime I see them I think a good chunk of the animation budget had to be spent on them alone." You say with a grin.

"Hehehe! That's right, my beautiful bewitching eyes that capture the hearts of both women and men! No one else has them! Do you understand now? I'm alive and well." With his eyes now exposed, it was easier to see his teasing for what it was: an attempt to hide his worry. To him you were a complete stranger yet he still felt the need to comfort you and he made sure to calm your distressed state. It seems that your brain didn't just recreate what you knew about Gojo Satoru, but even expanded on it.

"You're... so sweet Gojo-san, you really deserved better in life... Strongest or not you're still a human being, I truly wish fate didn't keep trampling on your existence and feelings." Loosing Riko, Suguru, Nanami and Megumi... Just what was the point of putting such a good person through so much? What was Gege trying to teach who?!

You notice Gojo has been silent for a while now and look up, only to see his carefully neutral face, but he must not be used to hiding the emotions in his eyes, because you could tell he was touched. Eventually, he relents and says in a far calmer and more serious tone: "You know... I think this makes top 3 of the nicest and most thoughtful things anyone has ever said to me."

You give him a soft yet sad smile. "Yeah I'm not surprised. You're surrounded by people who love you, but in the kind of world you live in? Everyone is bound to be very preoccupied with their own issues, not to mention they don't get the same chances to see what the audience sees when it comes to your character... Still. I assure you, millions of people love and cherish you, you're our precious Sensei after all, and you make us stand proud to be the generation influenced by your guidance!" You wait for him to say something, but he seems unable to formulate an answer. You also notice his eyes misting up.

"Gojo-san, I need you to understand that even if the person who brought you into existence hates you and wishes you were gone, that has never stoped us and I doubt it ever will. You'll always have a special place in our hearts, Gojo-sensei!"

By the end of your speech, your smile is so bright and genuine it actually hurts your cheeks a little.

One moment you're standing there, smiling at him, and the next you have a set of strong arms wrapped around your form, tight but not crushingly so.

"Thank you." You hear the words whispered, and as your arms reach up to hug him back, your eyes open, and you're no longer in a park, standing, or in the presence of Gojo Satoru.

You quickly turn your monitor back on. You have just had a moment of realization, but if you wait it could get wiped from your memory along with your dream.

On the online forum, you join the discussion.

"I thought about this whole thing for a while, and I think I came to an interesting conclusion. Gege hates Gojo Satoru, right? So much so that he'd eliminate him from his story to not have to deal with him any more. Well that's alright, it's his story after all guys, he has the right to get rid of his least favorite character and try to forget all about him. But y'all know what? Fandoms of popular media can last a long time, a decade, maybe two if we're lucky. Remember this is the internet, Gege's story is one thing, but this here is our domain, not his. So for the next decade, no two decades, let's not let him forget, the name GOJO SATORU!!!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y'all don't understand how much I cried writing this 😭😭😭

From the river to the sea Palestine will be free ❤️💖

[talentforlying]

priest: i don't, ah, quite know what to say to you. if you are in such terrible danger, why are you taking it all so calmly? constantine: hmh! i dunno, father. i had a bloke beaten to a pulp earlier this evening. that sound calm to you? priest: you did what...? constantine: i must've been off me bleedin' rocker. i've never done anything like it before in me life, y'know?

constantine: but there's header gets his guts blown out, and george is stickin' his head in the noose, and helen gets ... jesus, then friggin' sarah bites me head off — ! everything's coming to bits in me hands and it's so easy to just see red and now, shit, they could've killed the tosser for all i know! and now i'm just like the bastards i've hated all me life! kill him! fire him! close them down! piss all over him! screw you, i can do whatever i want! i so much as blink and you're dead, pal! i'm in charge!! ...

constantine: 'scuse me, father. i'm always like this when i don't get me own way. — hellblazer #81, "rake at the gates of hell pt. 4"

babygirl you are just....so, sooooo offputting. (and grieving, and guilty, and terrified, but yeah: offputting.)

anyway, it's issues like this one that remind me why i kind of hesitate over some of the retcons in the recent spurrier runs, like the one with him now having opened dream's pouch of sand and stolen some before they even met. because like, it's easy enough to look at john constantine now — with 70 years of worst possible choices and unresolved trauma crystallizing underneath his skin to cover up all the soft, hopeful bits where he's used to getting hit — and assign him arbiter of ill intentions, magus of wasted potential, saint of shit choices, but man . . . he was new to this, once. he was still new to this 80 issues in.

80 issues in, and he's not used to losing friends yet; he even has time enough between catastrophes to grieve each individual one. still has enough left to live for at this stage to necessitate running and hiding, instead of bodily throwing himself at the problem like he learns to later, or sitting apathetically by to do nothing except smoke and watch the world fall apart when he finally gives up. fuck, he still apologizes.

and you're telling me this guy, this soppy wet cat motherfucker hiding from the devil in a church basement, so guilty over not knowing what happened to the guy that he paid people (paid chas, so chas could pay people) to attack that the bottle he's holding in this scene isn't even his second or third........this guy's past, more innocent self lied right to the face of DREAM OF THE ENDLESS and got away with it?

hm. i just don't know about all that.

[rainynightmoonlight]

For the 100 followers event:

May I humbly request honeysuckle, red rose, and pink rose for Idia Shroud? Fluff please. Man I really hope I did this right *sob*

Not sure if the message part was for the character or you so both lol. For Idia: I love you sm fr 💙

And for you: CONGRATSSSSS! You deserve it 👏

‎‧₊🦋˚✧A Bouquet for you My dear✧˚🦋₊‧| Pt. 4 | I love you till the moon and back

Characters: Idia Shroud

Summary: Sending Idia Shroud Honeysuckle, Red Roses, and Pink roses

Warnings: Just pure fluff

Taglist: @nightshade-clown, @lucid-stories

Sending the chosen flowers to Idia Shroud... Loading now...

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Now sent! Would you like to wait for a response?

[> Yes] >No

...

...

...

Idia was walking back to his dorm, coming back from his club. He was socially drained and so ready to log into his games and do his dailies. That was until his gaze caught a delicate vase full of beautiful colored flowers. He stared at them, unsure as to why they were outside his dorm room. After contemplating what he should do, he just decided to gently pick it up and bring it into his room.

After placing it on his desk, he just stared blankly at the flowers. He studied the vase, wondering if someone pranked it. He memorized each and every petal, leaf, and stem on each of the flowers. The set-up looked gorgeous, he admitted to himself, but nothing in his mind was making sense. He fixed his posture as he brought his head into his hands, so hold it.

Idia was curious as to why anyone would send him flowers like this. His mind couldn’t wrap around all the possibilities. He thought it was a prank, someone secretly recording him just be completely rejected. Suddenly, his eye’s caught a small tag attached to the vase. He turned it gently and softly read it to himself.

“To…Idia…From Y/n? Huh? Why would Y/n send me these? Couldn’t they have just texted me?”

He sighed and gave up the internal fight on whether he should read the note Y/n had sent him. His hands shook as it gently brushed against the soft petals of the flower. They were so soothing, helping him to read the note Y/n had written. His eyes widen the deeper he read, not knowing how to feel about it. All he felt was his face become warm and his heart beat faster. 

I love you so much, Idia! You’re so amazing and captivating. You have this hidden beauty within you that just has me in a choke hold. I have never felt this intense admiration and love for someone before. You’re so beautiful, and I can’t have asked for anyone better. Nothing in my mind could ever drive me away from you. My love for you rivals the love of the sun and moon! I love you to the moon and back.

Honeysuckle: True Happiness

I could only ever wish for your true happiness and for happiness within our relationship. I can only ever think of your gorgeous smile and your cute giggle. I value you and your happiness so much, and I want to make you happy. I would do anything for you to give me your smile every day of every second. Your happiness makes my heart flutter, and I just find it so cute when you get so excited. You plague my mind all day and night, nothing lives more rent-free in my head than you. You just make me so happy, and I hope I make you feel the same.

Red Roses: True Love

When I’m with you, my heart is all a flutter and my mind is stuck in daydreams. I want to live till my dying breath with you. You are my only love that I ever wish to have. You make me dizzy when you’re around, and I love feeling as if I’m floating when you smile at me. Hearing your voice soothes me so much, I can never be sad around you. When I’m with you, everything is bright and full of sunshine. I never feel sad when I’m around you, I feel whole. You complete me, you are my moon.

Pink Roses: Comfort

Tears seem to cease when I feel you in my arms. Your embrace grounds me so when I feel myself spiraling. Nothing makes me feel so much better than cuddling with you. All anxiety just dissipates when I feel your calming aura surround me. You don’t realize how much you make me feel better and how much warmth you give me. I couldn’t ask for anyone better to bring such a calm to the storms I feel. You bring so much ease and stability to my life, and I hope to bring you the same feeling. I hope to be your rock, because you are mine. 

— Your dearest love, Y/n

You sending him this bouquet sent Idia into a full on pink color, from hair to the tip of his toes. He couldn’t process the fact that someone out there loved him this much. He couldn’t process that someone could feel this much about him, in general. Idia managed to walk to Ramshackle without passing out and knocked on the door. You pulled him into the dorm and softly cuddled him on the couch. 

Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome!

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Usual Trouble

Characters: Reader x Jason Todd (platonic)

Warnings: Language

Summary: You come back home to a wrecked mansion and an injured Robin.

You pushed the wide, heavy manor doors and wondered why Bruce hadn’t parked his car under the trees like agreed. Then you remembered that the man was off in Metropolis helping Clark and wouldn’t be back for a few days. Tossing the keys onto the hallway table, you smiled - the manor was yours.

Once you had brought in all the groceries, you locked up and then carried the bags to the kitchen. You unloaded the items that needed the cool temperature of the refrigerator but took a tub of the Neapolitan ice-cream. Packing it in another bag, you grabbed two spoons and walked towards Bruce’s study. On the way, you noticed the Ducati laying on its side by the stairs that led to the cellar and fresh set of scratches on its paint and the wall.

Leave it to Jason to stunt his way through the house while you were out running errands. Opening the secret entrance behind the grandfather clock, you made your way down to the Batcave, elevator doors sliding open.

“You know, Bruce asked me to have a chat with you about the Ducati in the house.” You told Jason as you walked. “But I stopped listening when he started listing why.”

You had almost reached the console when you noticed the dark-haired boy leaning against a pillar dressed in his vigilante costume, bloodied, bruised and exhausted. You quickly set the bag down and jogged over to find out what had happened.

“Shit - Jason, what have you done?” You whispered and began the process to assess the damage. He wasn’t supposed to be out in the field unless you or Bruce were informed. The fact that he didn’t listen pissed you off. “What were you thinking?”

Jason chuckled and then winced. “I thought I handled him well.”

You glared at him for a second before pulling a chair for him to sit on. “You’re broken in about four places.” Lifting his hair gently, you shook your head. “And probably concussed. Who did this?”

Averting his eyes to the floor, Jason made his confession. “The Riddler.” But when he saw your eyes widen, he rushed to explain himself. “He almost broke out of Arkham so I shoved his riddling ass back inside. I saved people I should be fucking thanked.”

Sighing, you glanced at the Batcave console. “Wait here.” You instructed and briefly left his side to retrieve the first aid kit. When you returned, you pulled up a second chair and sat opposite him, looking at his injuries again. “Okay, one thing at a time.”

Carefully, you nursed the young Robin back to health and tended to the open wounds. It had gotten awfully quiet for a long time until Jason finally asked the question that was plaguing his mind.

“Are you mad?”

It asked so gently that you wondered if the same hot-headed boy was sitting before you. Shaking your head, you set the tweezers down on the metal tray after extracting the bullet.

“No.”

“Then why did you freak out?” Jason asked defensively.

“Because I worry every time you go out on your own.”

“Why - because you think that I’m weak? That I can’t handle myself out there?” The young boy started to yell and you saw his temper flare up. 

In moments like these, you stayed silent until he simmered down in his own time. It didn’t take long for Jason to realise that his tone was out of line and his muscles relaxed, breathing evening out. He didn’t apologise and you didn’t expect one, letting him steer the conversation elsewhere.

“I heard Bruce yelling at you yesterday.” He resumed softly. “After you mentioned my idea to visit Dick in San Francisco.”

You picked up a cloth bandage and began unwrapping it. “He’s always pissed about something.”

“Why back me up? You know every reason why I shouldn’t go.”

You looked up. Despite being beaten by one of Gotham’s most cruel, Jason’s eyes still shone with something special. Placing a hand on his cheek, you tilted your head and sent him a small smile.

“The way that I see it is, if Robin is always out there defending the city then who’s defending Jason?” You questioned.

You were just speaking your truth when, quite suddenly, the young Robin leaned forward and wrapped his arms around your waist, engulfing you in a hug that only got tighter by the second.

Jason gripped the back of your jacket. “All I do is fuck things up.” He said, voice on the verge of tears.

You hugged him a little bit tighter. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t care.”

Masterlist here

[youkaigakkou-tl]

(I don't know how to read japanese, and my speech is loosely based on anime, so apologies if I'm completely off target...)

I'm fascinated with etymology and like looking/studying the potential meaning behind the characters name, especially when names are a word play on the nose regarding their abilities.

I looked on an "online dictionary for Youkais", and most of the translations contain the word "Monk" in the name.

Regarding what had been said in YoHaji, about humans becoming Youkais after commiting a crime (sin?), does it means the first Youkais were unfaithful monks?

(sorry for the long ask, unable to word stuff concisely==;)

this is actually something that has plagued me for literal years, words for "monk" being in youkai names. im just not good enough at japanese to read analysis by japanese folklorists myself, and this is perhaps too obscure of a topic for there to be translations of. (an obscure linguistic detail of youkai, an already somewhat niche topic)

to preface, the words that often appear in youkai names and mean "monk" or some other position in a buddhist temple, are:

kozou (小僧): lit. "Little monk"; also just used as a word for "child"

nyuudou (入道): lit. "Entering the (buddhist) way"; someone who has shaved their head and entered buddhism.

bouzu (坊主): lit. "Owner of the monastery"; but later became a general word for monks.

douji (童子): lit. "child"; but in the context of buddhism, this is used as the translation for the sanskrit word "kumāra", and refers to children who become disciples at a buddhist temple and do servant work for the most part.

if i may be so bold, i think there's (at least) 2 layers to this

layer 1: it's a superficial resemblance

this seems to be the most common take i've seen.

most of the youkai that have these in the name have some superficial resemblance, whether they're described as having bald heads, or maybe they're seen walking slowly alone at night, perhaps chanting something to themselves. this is somewhat to the effect of calling something "the bald monster", wherein it gives a superficial image of how to know when you've seen this "thing".

and for some cases, mostly with the word "kozou", the word is just used as a general term for "boy" or "person", much like we have words like babygirl and catboy (which unexpectedly does not have an exact japanese equivalent, now that i think about it. closest thing thats used casually is nekomimi) perhaps just as we find the use of words that mean "boy" but also "monk" in youkai names strange, someone from a different background might find it strange that the combination of "baby" and "girl" refers to a disheveled adult man, or that catboy can refer to an adult man with cat traits even though "boy" clearly insinuates "child".

although, it's hard to tell what the original form of such youkai with these words in the name were or were intended to be, and how much of their visual resemblance to monks by artists who came afterwards was inspired by the fact that a word for "monk" was in the name. chicken and egg problem. (much like how youkai media nowadays, and series that involve humanized versions of inanimate objects use past stories and etymology to inspire their look. the artists of old probably didn't expect the works they left behind to be used as a record of what life was like back then, imagine if future historians use FGO and touken ranbu as historical reference LOL)

the idea of these youkai being something that became of a monk for one reason or another seems to be present in english perspectives on youkai, although not corroborated by japanese authors, so perhaps this is again a case of inferring and assigning meaning that wasn't there, or wasn't meant to be there. (source)

but this all begs the question...

layer 2: what does it mean linguistically?

the word for "child" also meaning "monk" is strange and specific, isn't it? or is it the other way around?

im so mad. its like this every time. when i trace every question about japanese linguistics or folklore back to the source it always goes all the way back to 1500 years ago (about 5th century AD) to the arrival of buddhism and the advent of written records in japan!!!! im not a linguist or historian im not good enough to disentangle all this!!!! or keep all my history facts straight!!!

the long and short of it is, buddhism contributed a large part to the advent of writing in japan, with the importance it placed in copying scriptures. buddhism was largely influential throughout early japan written history, and prior to the heian era was incorporated into the governance system. the heian era saw the founding of enryaku-ji on mount hiei, one of the most influential temples of the time and origin of the tendai school of buddhism, which was the leading school at the time, and founders of later schools of buddhism in japan almost all originated from it. this is all to say, enryaku-ji and mount hiei are two very prominent locations that appear in a lot of folklore and youkai stories.

mentioned in the essay "story of the shinoda wife" by folklorist orikuchi shinobu are "doji villages", specifically mentioned in the context of mount hiei, which are servant villages to buddhist temples, where the children go to work in the temple and are called "douji", which in turn becomes what their villages are called. the fact that he goes into detail about what these are, and also explains the use of "douji" to refer to buddhist child disciples rather than just "child" in general, could mean that these are particularly obscure tidbits.

(i actually came across this essay when i was looking up kuzunoha, and the play where abe no seimei was named "doji" as a child. orikuchi posits that monks started a temple in the village called abeno, and so "abeno doji" became a familiar phrase to locals, and so it became part of stories and plays)

if i may be so bold as to make assumptions, i think its possible that monks, who were influential, literate, and the source of not an insignificant amount of literature from the time, referred to figures in stories with honorifics from the organizational structure they're familiar with, and common folk adopted the vocabulary too. (this is perhaps similar to how you're referred to with honorifics like "sir" or "madam" in letters from official organizations even if you're not necessarily on the same level of importance as the person the letter represents.)

of course, this is just assumptions, and if i had any concrete conclusions this wouldnt have and continue to plague me for years.

resources:

hyakumonogatari.com - a huge blog of translations of essays on youkai

kotobank.jp - japanese dictionary thats particularly good for words with more cultural background

japanesewiki.com - an accurately, manually translated resource of the japanese version of japan cultural wikipedia pages

Shinoda Tsuma no Hanashi by Orikuchi Shinobu - an analysis essay on the play "Ashiya Douman Ouchi Kagami" (which is actually about abe no seimei LMAO and prominently features kuzunoha), doesnt have a english translation

The Artist is Absent (The Beginners Guide analysis) by Innuendo Studios - yeah this one isnt relevant at all. its a literary analysis of the videogame The Beginner's Guide (2015). but i just think anyone who wants to do any amount of thinking about stories and folklore should watch this video and also play this game.

[psychhound]

How to Survive a Haunting now launched on Kickstarter! Running 3/2/23 to 3/31/23!!

ID in Alt

In How to Survive a Haunting, you play as Stranger, an entity plagued by ghosts who try to possess you, and take over your home and your life. Luckily, you have come across a mysterious old journal, written by a man only referred to as The Journalkeeper. He has spent his life studying ghosts, and made it his mission to record everything he knew about how to defend yourself from them, and how to tame them

On the journey to taming your ghosts, you will represent your accomplishments through tokens, keep a magical deck of cards that help you ward off unearthly possessions, and log your adventure in a journal. The Journalkeeper will walk you through each stage of this process, and teach you how to customize the game to fit your specific needs

Haunting is a gamified mental health aid, designed to help people learn more about how their body works, adopt a challenge mindset, and achieve post-traumatic growth. It is designed with a light horror aesthetic (though no actual scares in the game) to meet people in the mental space that they’re at, and not make light of extremely difficult circumstances. It is geared towards the recovery of those with trauma and (c)PTSD

artwork by @prose-n-scripts

Haunting was inspired by my own journey of recovery and exploration with gamification and tabletop roleplaying games as I struggled for years with PTSD, dysphoria, mental health issues, and more. Games were a safe space for me, and allowed me to grow and heal more than almost anything else. With games, I was able to put the power of recover into my own hands, go at my own pace, and focus on what was important to me

I wanted to create Haunting to help all the people who may find traditional therapy unhelpful, intimidating, inaccessible, or unsafe. Or for others who find therapy helpful but need more structure and guidance outside of sessions. Haunting explores many different ways to help your brain and your body, explains the science and psychology behind its advice in cited research, and never breaks character as a helpful old man giving advice on ghosts

It is geared entirely around building self-efficacy, building resilience, and achieving post-traumatic growth

The funding goal is $3500. This original goal funds for consultant Hayley Twyman Brack, a therapist and avid gamer, to go over the game and make sure everything is cited from the latest peer-reviewed research, and make sure all the psychology advice is up to date on the latest therapeutic practices

I am pulling the knowledge in this game both from my own recovery journey, and my last two years as a social worker working with a large variety of clients with disability and mental health challenges

If we can reach a little further than our original goal, the game will be fully illustrated by wonderful artist Vicky @prose-n-scripts

Please check out the Kickstarter page to learn more and spread the word to anyone who may be interested! I believe in the power of the TTRPG community to make this happen! Thank you everyone!!