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[iwasntstable]

n.s. | if i'm there

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➔𝐢𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞➔➔　𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦!+　　[𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐀𝐎𝟯]

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I didn't want to believe how much you needed help / And I just left you to be all by yourself / And now I wish I had seen that you weren't doing well / But I just came back to see how hard you fell Well, if I'm there to catch you when you fall / You'll have a friend down in Hell after all 　　— If I'm There - Bad Omens

summary: when things start getting bad, you withdraw. ignoring calls and texts, and descending into bad habits as you self-isolate. but noah knows what you're like and he loves you too much to let you suffer alone.

content tags: angst, emotional hurt/comfort, poor mental health, mentions of disordered eating, discussions of food, self-destructive behaviour, fluff.

word count: 3.8k.

note: having a rough time recently so enjoy the self-indulgent product of my stressing. 　　PS: please tell me if the layout of this post is fucked up so I can fix it for you.

Things are getting bad again. You find your sleep schedule sliding later and later, falling asleep in the early hours of the morning and waking in the afternoon, bypassing the day altogether. Meals are becoming infrequent and poor in quality. Appetite dwindling and opting to eat half a bag of microwave rice at 3am rather than dedicating time to creating a nutritious and satisfying meal. Truth be told, you didn’t have the energy to cook anything more, and the malnutrition itself likely played a part in that lack of energy. The trash was left to build up, and the laundry hadn’t been done in weeks.

The progression of all of this was gradual. So gradual, that by the time you recognised what was happening, it was all but too late to stop the rapid descent into your depression. And as the days go by, you start to withdraw into yourself. Messages from friends begin to go unanswered. You tell yourself you’ll reply later, when you have the mental bandwidth to engage in conversation. But later ends up being not at all. Too many days have passed, and you feel like it’s too late to reply now; you don’t know how. That includes your boyfriend.

　　　　　　　　　　　[Noah 💘]

　　　　　　 　　　　　Tuesday 　　　　　　　　　 　　10:45AM

— Morning! Do you wanna call later?    Miss your voice 

          morning! I have a headache —             right now and I feel like it's             not gonna go away :( I'll let                you know though.                 I miss you too ❤️ —

— Aw I'm sorry :( — I hope you feel better soon — Text me later and let me know    how you are ❤️

　　　　　　　　　 　　02:27PM

— Hey babe how are you feeling?

             my head still hurts :( —

— Want me to come over and look    after you? — Have you eaten yet?

       you don't have to do that, I'd be —            shitty company anyway                   just wanna sleep —

— Okay :( — I'll text you later tonight so    you can sleep

　　　　　　　　　 　　10:09PM

— How are you feeling? — Are you sleeping? — Hope you’re resting well. Text    me when you wake up so I know    you’re okay — I love you ❤️ — Goodnight ❤️

　　　　　　 　　　　Wednesday 　　　　　　　　　 　　08:41AM

— Morning, how’re you feeling?

　　　　　　　　　 　　09:13AM

— Are you awake? — Babe, are you okay?

      hey! sorry I was still asleep. I feel a —       little better but my head still hurts :(

— I’m gonna cancel today and come    over — I don’t want you to be alone when    you’re not well 

       no don’t do that, i’m okay really —              you know this happens          sometimes. I just wanna rest,            you don’t have to cancel for        me. not when work is important

— You’re important too — Please let me look after you

          I love you and I love that —           you want to be here for me,         but all I want to do right now                   is sleep

          I don’t want you to cancel —           important schedules just           to watch me sleep all day                I’ll feel better soon.             just need to give it time. —

— I’d cancel to sit and watch you sleep    in a heartbeat — I love you, I just want you to be okay — I have to go, I’ll text you later okay?

         I’ll text you back when I can, —            if I don’t reply I’m probably          asleep so don’t worry have a                good day I love you —

　　　　　　　　　 　　10:26PM

— Hey babe sorry I didn’t text all day I    was so fucking busy — How’re you doing now? — Are you sleeping again?

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 10:31PM]

— Text or call me when you wake up,    even if it’s the middle of the night I’ll    leave my sound on — I love you ❤️

　　　　　　 　　   　　Thursday 　　　　　　　　　 　　08:41AM

— Hey, are you awake?

　　　　　　　　　 　　08:55AM

— Hello??

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 08:59AM]

— Message me when you wake up

　　　　　　　　　 　　12:20PM

— Babe?? — I’m worried — Even if you don’t wanna talk can     you please let me know you’re okay?

　　　　　　　　　 　　12:46PM

— Babe please answer me

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 12:48PM]

　　　　　　　　　 　　01:20PM

     hey, sorry I missed your messages —         I’m okay sorry for worrying you —

— I was just about to come over — I still might — I’m worried about you

           please don’t I just don’t —          wanna see anyone right now

— Even me?

                  I’m sorry —             I’ll text you tomorrow — — If that’s what you want — I love you

　　　　　　　 　   　　　Friday 　　　　　　　　　 　　03:47PM

— I don’t want to bother you, I’m     trying to give you space if that’s    what you need — But I’m worried about you — You haven’t messaged me all day — Did I do something wrong?

　　　　　　　　　 　　04:10PM

— Babe please answer me

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 04:12PM]

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 04:15PM]

　　　　　　　　　 　　04:18PM

— Your friends said they haven’t heard    from you in days — What’s going on? You can talk to me. — You don’t have to talk to me if you    don’t want to but text someone back,    please — I just wanna know that you’re okay

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 04:23PM]

And that’s how Noah ended up outside your door. Banging incessantly and shouting your name through the wood. You could hear him from where you were wrapped up in bed, but you were half hoping he would just drop it and go away. Realising quickly, however, the futility of that hope when you heard another voice join the sound of his. That of your neighbour, the nosy one from the house on the right.

You groan and throw the blanket off yourself, flinching a little when your feet touch the cold floor. You have no choice but to go downstairs, and no time to change your appearance. Hoping to whatever God will listen that Noah doesn’t make a comment on the clothes you’d been wearing for the past week before you can get in the shower and change.

“I’m just really worried about her,” you can hear the unmistakable tone of Noah’s voice through the door before you even open it.

Hesitating for a moment with your hand on the door handle, you decide to eavesdrop on the conversation. “I haven’t seen her for, ohhh let me think... has to be about a week now,” despite the man’s voice wavering with age, it came loud and clear through the door. An unfortunate side effect of his hearing loss.

“A week?!” Noah exclaimed. Having enough of the old man sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, you unlock the door quickly, wrenching it open and taking a surprised Noah by the arm.

“Oh! Nice to see you, dear. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The old man sneers.

“Yeah, nice seeing you, Trevor,” you barely extend him a glance as you drag Noah in through your doorway, slamming the door closed and turning the key. You let out a deep sigh, your palms and forehead resting against the cool wood.

Noah calls your name softly. You squeeze your eyes tight and take in a breath before you turn to face him. Putting on the best phoney smile you can muster.

“Sorry about him, he’s always in everyone’s business. What are you-”

“He said he hasn’t seen you in a week,” he says matter-of-factly. There’s no hint of a smile on his face. “Your friends said they haven’t heard from you in days either, and you’ve been ignoring my texts. And calls.”

Your heart seizes at the sadness in his eyes. He stands there in your front room, his usual sweatpants and hoodie, but he just looks so defeated. You always tell him he looks like an upset puppy when he’s sad, and the puppy-dog eyes are working overtime on you right now. “I told you, I’ve just been busy, and I-”

“And you had a headache, and you missed my texts, and you didn’t want to talk,” his voice was as stern as his expression. You knew he wasn’t an idiot. That there’s no way he’d believe your—at best—flimsy excuses. You stand frozen to the spot, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. Picking at the stitches, trying to distract yourself from the lump forming in your throat. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” Noah questions.

You swallow roughly, “I don’t know what you... I don’t-”

He says your name firmly and takes a step towards you, “I’m going to ask you how you are, and I would like you to answer me honestly.”

Feeling your heart begin to race in your chest, you swallow again, but it does nothing to get rid of the tightness in your throat. Or the dizziness creeping up on you.

“Are you doing bad again?” He sounds softer this time, and you almost wish he would just scream at you because when he’s kind and attentive like this, you can’t help but crumble and shut down.

You clench your jaw as your breathing gets quicker, shallower, and you feel the unmistakable burn of tears in your eyes. “I’m fine,” your voice comes out cracked and weak, not at all the sound of someone who's fine. 

“Don’t pretend you’re okay. Please don’t lie to me, because I know you’re not okay!” Noah crosses the room to meet you, holding his hands outstretched towards you, “what can I do for you? Please, I want to help.”

You cover your mouth as you choke back a sob, wrapping your other arm around your middle; you can’t hold it in anymore, and the floodgates open. Gasping for breath that seems to never come, you grip the front of your shirt tight in your fist, the clothing suddenly feeling suffocating and stiflingly hot.

“Oh, baby. Come here,” Noah takes you by the shoulders and pulls you into his chest, where you fall into him and cling onto him like he’s your only lifeline. “I need you to breathe for me, okay? Slowly, in and out,” he strokes soothing circles against your back as he demonstrates to you how to breathe. “Come and sit down here, yeah? The couch is right here.”

You barely register your legs moving for the numbness extending across your entire body, from your fingertips all the way down to your toes. Your tears are hot on your face, and every time you try to wipe them away, they’re just replaced by more in a never-ending stream. The room feels like it’s spinning around you as you move, only worsening the feeling of nausea rising in your throat. The plush cushions of the couch are a welcome relief.

“You’re holding your breath, I need you to breathe. Just how I am, that’s it,” he cradles your head to his chest through your shaky attempts to take in a breath through your nose and let it out slowly through your mouth. Your breath hitches uncontrollably with every inhale, taking in tiny bursts of air at a time. Noah, though, has nothing but praise on his lips: “That’s it. You’re doing so well, just listen to my voice.”

You missed his voice. As you worsened and withdrew, you found any excuse to avoid going out to see him, and you had been ignoring his calls for days. You knew you were doing it, and you missed him desperately, but with every day that passed, you found it harder and harder to reach out. It was hard for you to reach out for help in the first place, hard for you to admit to anyone that you needed help. Hard to admit it to yourself. Opting instead to suffer in silence and just push through it until you finally broke. You didn’t know any other way.

The familiar presence of him by your side eases the pace of your racing heart, allowing each breath to come a little easier. A little calmer. “I hate to see you hurting like this,” he whispers into your hair, his hand stroking through it gently, working to soothe the seemingly unquenchable anxiety. “I want to help you, please let me help you.”

It broke your heart to hear the pain in his voice. You never wanted to hurt him, but that’s all you seem to do. That cold hand of dread tightens its grip on your chest again, panic filling your lungs and replacing all the air. “I’m sorry,” you barely choke out, gripping onto Noah tighter. Warring with yourself, wanting to hold him close, but feeling like you need to push him away.

“You don’t need to apologise, ever. I’m here, I’m right here,” he runs his hand up and down your back, cradling you close. He can’t help but notice that through the fabric of your shirt, the bones of your spine are ever so slightly more prominent than before. He keeps his mouth shut. Focussing instead on quelling your distress and holding you tight in his arms. 

“I just- I fuck everything up. I can’t do anything right, I don’t deserve your love, I don’t deserve you-” Once you start talking, you can’t stop, finally letting it all out until Noah cuts you off, incapable of hearing you degrade yourself anymore.

“No. No, that’s not even remotely true. Don’t say that about yourself,” he says firmly, holding you just a little tighter. 

You shake your head against him, “all I do is hurt people and push you away, and I don’t know how to stop. You don’t deserve that, you shouldn’t have to put up with me.”

“I don’t ‘put up with you’. I love you, and I want to be here for you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

“You shouldn’t have to drop everything to come deal with me when you’re so busy. You deserve someone that isn’t so fucking hard to love.”

With that, Noah pushes you backwards by the shoulders, holding you there so he can look into your eyes when he speaks. “You are not hard to love. Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever had the privilege of doing. You just…” He takes a deep breath, cupping your cheek and brushing away the tears from under your eyes. “You just need to let me in, and let me show you you’re just as worthy of love as anyone else is.”

The image of him blurs when the tears overflow from your eyes again, your face crumpling as you bow your head. “You’ll leave me," your voice shaking with the force of your sobs.

"Why would you ever think I'd leave you?" he asks, dismayed by your fear.

"Everyone always leaves," you tell him, voice brittle and quiet, shaking your head. "It's only a matter of time before you leave too."

"I love you," Noah feels tears prick at his own eyes. "I love you so, so much. And I'm not going anywhere." He lifts your head, once again brushing away your tears so he can look into your eyes, "please trust me to help you."

"I'm just so tired," you confess, and he pulls you into his arms again. 

“I can't promise to fix all your problems, but I can promise you won't have to face them alone. There’s nothing you could do that would drive me away. And the things that would, I know you’d never do,” he runs a comforting hand through your hair as you cry, his other arm secure around your waist. Your tears soak into his shirt, but he doesn’t mind. He wants you to give it all to him—all your sorrows, all your grief—so that he can bear it with you.

You desperately want to believe his words. To lean on him when you need him the most, but that insecure piece inside of you won’t let you yield. You don’t know how to open up to anyone without feeling like a burden.

Noah stays right there with you until the tears subside and your breathing evens out. Your head resting in his lap as he reassuringly strokes your hair, you feel the beginnings of a dull ache in your head that makes you drowsy. He rubs soothing circles into your back with his other hand, shifting slightly to get a better look at your face. “Have you eaten yet today?” He asks tentatively. Feeling your throat constrict under the pressure of guilt, you know you can’t lie to him. You know he sees right through you, so you decide to try being honest by shaking your head. “Want me to cook something for you? Or we can order something? My treat.”

You know he means well, but you don’t know how to say you don’t have an appetite without worrying him. He won’t let you go the entire day without eating, but all you want to do is sleep.

“Please talk to me,” he pleads, “I need to hear you.”

On a shaky breath, you settle for a half truth. “I don’t think there’s anything to cook.”

“That’s fine, we can order food then. What do you want?”

Chewing on your lip, you freeze. The silence stretches on far too long for you to be deciding what restaurant to order from, it’s clear you’re unable to answer.

Noah sighs your name, “you have to eat something.” 

“I know. I just… I just don’t want to,” he remains quiet, waiting for you to continue. “I don’t feel hungry. Thinking about it is overwhelming. I just want to sleep so I don’t have to think about it.”

“What have you been eating these past few days?” He asks cautiously, his tone light. Conscious to not sound accusatory.

You sigh, knowing there’s no way of escaping this. “Microwave stuff, mostly,” you play with the fabric of his sweatpants, feeling his leg underneath, fidgeting your anxiety away. “Rice, oats, ramen. Stuff I don’t have to wash up after.”

“Have you been eating every day?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, the tension only thickening when you answer "no,” barely above a whisper.

You feel him nod. Quiet for a moment until he too speaks so quietly, you almost didn’t hear it. “You can’t go on like this.”

“I know,” you confess.

“Please let me help you.”

The desperation in his voice is what does it—the final straw. You sit up straight, turning to face him. Wiping the residual tears from your cheeks and looking him in the eye. You know it’s time to really be honest. 

“It’s hard for me-” Your voice catches in your throat as the threat of crying again creeps up on you, not quite realising how much your body would resist. Taking a second to compose yourself—a deep breath in, eyes closed, releasing it slowly—your resolve strengthens and you continue. “It’s hard for me to open up to people. To admit when I’m struggling. I’m so used to feeling like I’m burdening everyone with my problems, so I just keep it all to myself. And by the time I realise I’m going down that road again, it’s too late to stop it.”

“It’s never too late,” Noah says reassuringly, tucking both sides of your hair behind your ears—the left first, then the right. “I mean this in the most loving way possible, but you don’t get to decide whether you’re a burden. You don’t get to take that choice away from me. The choice to help you. Your problems will never be a burden to me, no matter how big or small. You will never be a burden to me. I love you. I choose you. And I’ll never think poorly of you for needing help, ever.”

You don’t know what to say. Your eyes fixed on his. One of your favourite things about him is his big brown eyes. Always so full of comfort. So full of love that even you, with all of your self-doubt, can’t deny it. “I’m sorry. I know you said not to apologise, but I think I need to. I’m sorry for making you worry and for pushing you away. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Noah takes your hands in his. Large palms enveloping your own entirely. “Seeing you hurting is what hurts me the most. I love you so much, all I want is for you to be happy and healthy.”

You squeeze his hands in yours, “I love you, Noah. I’ll try harder, I promise. Feeling so unwanted for so long before I met you, I think I didn’t realise just how lucky I am to have you until now.” Noah raises one of your hands, kissing the back firmly and holding it there, savouring the feel of your skin against his lips. Timidly, you ask, “can we get pizza?”

He breaks out into a smile, “of course we can! But you have to text your friends back first," he bargains, "even if it’s just something short.”

“Deal,” you can’t help but return his smile. “My phone is upstairs, I’m just gonna go get it.”

“Wait!” he calls as you stand, pulling you back to the sofa and into him with a hand on the back of your head, “can I kiss you first?”

Without a word, you lean into him, closing the gap between you and feeling his lips on yours for the first time in weeks. That familiar burn of tears threatening to escape your eyes returns, and when you pull away, those beautiful brown eyes are full of concern.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, laughing awkwardly, “happy tears. I just missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” his smile taking on a more solemn appearance this time. “But I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I love you, please don’t ever forget that.”

“Don’t forget that I love you too. No matter what happens. No matter how stupidly self-destructive I act.”

Noah pulls you in for one final embrace before letting you retrieve your phone. You spend time texting back each of your friends, apologising for your absence and telling them you were okay, that Noah is here, and you’d explain more later. Noah, sitting at your right, creates your pizza order, periodically asking what else you’d like adding.

The two of you spend the night watching trash TV, settling into your usual comfort and hurling insults at the characters for making stupid decisions while you eat your food. Only realising after it arrived just how hungry you really were. And when you’re finished eating, Noah and you head upstairs.

You feel like a new person after you shower, coming out of the bathroom to find Noah relaxed against your headboard. The sheets on your bed changed, and a fresh set of clothes lay waiting for you to change into for bed.

Accepting finally how much lighter everything feels when someone is around to help you. You slide under the clean sheets, comforted by the warmth of Noah’s body beside you for the first time in too long. And just as you fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat and the feeling of his hand stroking your back, you’re determined to never let things get this bad again. Knowing you need to trust him, because trust is the foundation of love, and you love Noah with every fibre of your being. And despite how hard it is sometimes, you need to let him love you back.

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[twstbookclub]

Inked Blossoms

Summary: Jamil didn't think much of you when he received a flower basket. You were his new neighbor running a flower shop—nothing more, nothing less. So, why can't he stop coming by after visiting you once? POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Tattoo Artist x Florist AU, Tattoo Artist!Jamil, Florist!Reader, Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Mentions of Blood and Self-harm, Use of Flower Language, Jamil's POV Word Count: 4, 025 Main Reference for Flower Meanings: Boeckmann, C. (2023, November 17). What does each flower symbolize? The Old Farmer's Almanac.

And I thought the Riddle fic I wrote is my longest one 💀 I actually had this plot in mind in the same month as I thought of the Riddle fic, which was back in April of last year. I only put in one link here, but I fact-checked every flower I used in this fic with other sources. Admittedly, when I wrote this, I received some heartbreaking news that morning and I cried my eyes out. I may or may not have projected those feelings into this and incorporated my previous experiences here. To all the Jamil stans, I'm so sorry that my first fic of this guy is long and angsty. I hope you all enjoy, though 💕

Jamil stared at the flowers on his parlor’s doorstep. Pink peonies and coral roses filled the twine basket, along with a purple flower that he didn’t know the name of. The arrangement emphasized the purple flowers, while there were a few peonies mixed in with the roses. What piqued Jamil’s curiosity were the leaves that lined the edges of the basket. He squinted, subconsciously leaning down to peer at the blooms at his feet.

“... Is that basil?” He mumbled, confused about the inclusion of a familiar herb. It was something he often used in his cooking, particularly when he was roommates with Kalim back in high school. That boy’s palate was too refined for anything bland and ready-made, so Jamil always had to cook with spices and herbs. It came to the point that the smell stuck to his clothes, even after a thorough wash in the laundry. Not just his clothes—even his hair. He already had a meticulous process with his hair care and bejeweled braids, so it was a nuisance.

He shook his head, before he took the flower basket in his hands. The blooms jostled a little, and a gentle hand pushed a peony back in place. Something nagged at Jamil to look to the left, for some reason. When he turned his head, the sign of the shop next door caught his attention.

“A flower shop, huh.” That was new. Jamil vaguely remembered this lot being sold recently, but he never thought it’d be turned into a store like that. It used to be an antique store owned by an elderly woman. She minded her own business, despite the weird and judgmental looks he received for the henna tattoos that decorated Jamil’s tan hands and arms.

Jamil’s eyes darted from the cursive letters of the sign to the flowers and plants displayed behind the glass walls. The name of the shop was painted on one of the walls in gold—above some of the artful arrangements of red roses, white carnations, and calla lilies. There was a shift of color behind them, and he narrowed his eyes again for a better look.

Someone was tending to the flowers. He could vaguely make out the color of their hair and the verdant apron over a white polo shirt. With the large bouquets in the way, Jamil couldn’t see a face. Sighing and shaking his head, he walked into his tattoo parlor with the flower basket in his arms.

If all his time in the city taught him anything, it was that nothing in this world was free.

Still, Jamil couldn’t help but wonder what the purple flowers were. They reminded him of tulips, but the petals were thinner and pointed at the tips. The stamen was visible, too. It was a stark contrast to the blooming tulips he knew: blunt-tipped and oval petals without the stamen being visible. He made a mental note to search about them once he went home.

Jamil found out that the purple blooms were called crocuses, and he wound up finding a website detailing the meanings of every flower imaginable. The flowers replaced the lamp that used to be on the table next to his bed. Every morning, he’d wake up to the colorful arrangement in a vase with his mind stuck on the meaning of each flower.

Maybe he should see what the florist was like. If they were like the antique shop owner from before, then Jamil would just remain polite and ignore them whenever he could.

On a slow and quiet day in the parlor, Jamil flipped the sign and locked the door. He shoved the key in his pocket, while his eyes drifted to the flower displays and bouquets through the glass walls. A blur of white and green moved behind them, but he still couldn’t put a face to the florist.

Jamil would have to see if he was curious enough to put a name to that face, too.

A chime echoed in the store once he stepped inside, and an onslaught of fragrance hit him. He noted that it wasn’t as powerful as the smell of spices, ones that he can taste from the scent alone. Still, it was strong enough to leave him a little lightheaded.

“Ah, welcome!” A voice rang through the back, behind an open door that led to what Jamil assumed was a small greenhouse. Sacks of fertilizer and clay pots filled with flowers peeked out of the metal shelves. The sight was obscured by a green apron, stitched with the same cursive letters of the store sign.

Charcoal gray eyes met lively, cheerful ones. The gloved hands that gripped the door frame were smeared with soil, maybe even fertilizer. Dirt smudged your cheek, but his gaze drifted to your lips. Your smile—too bright to be natural—was difficult to look away from. Something churned in his chest the longer he looked at it.

“Oh,” you mumbled, which made Jamil look back into your eyes again, “you’re my next-door neighbor. Hi! I hope you like the flowers. I’m, uh…”

A sheepish chuckle left your lips, making Jamil’s heart lurch. He resisted the urge to scowl at the feeling. He just met you, and he’d rather not make a bad impression. The tattoo artist came to your store to meet you like a proper neighbor, not to antagonize you.

“I came by to say hi, and you weren’t there. I had to get the shop ready and all, so I decided to leave the basket and hope that it stays there—” You sighed, took off one of your gloves, and ran a hand through your hair— “and I’m rambling. Sorry about that.”

Jamil watched you, anxious and fidgety, and he suppressed a smile. There was something amusing about how you acted like a mouse: squeaking and retreating at any sign of danger. Although, he highly doubted that you saw him as a threat.

You were just… shy. You talked a lot, but you were shy.

“It’s fine,” Jamil raised a hand and smiled, practiced and polite, “and I appreciate the flowers. Thank you. It’s a beautiful arrangement—you have a way with bringing out their natural beauty.”

He probably laid it on too thick. It was a habit at this point: butter up people to ease them, to let their guard down. Jamil merely planned to meet this florist to satisfy his curiosity. He never considered the option of befriending this person, much less engaging in a long conversation with you.

Your face lit up, as if something dawned on you in that moment. Chuckling, you stretched out the hand without the glove and gave him your name. It was followed with a cheerful, “It’s nice to meet you! I hope we can get along, um…”

“Jamil,” he shook your hand with that same, practiced smile, “Jamil Viper. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He noticed your eyes dart towards his hand and arm, inked with the traditional motifs and patterns of his homeland. Under the sunlight that streamed through the glass, your eyes seemed to sparkle. Your mouth parted in a silent, “Oh.”

“That’s so pretty,” you blurted out and continued to stare at the henna tattoos. Jamil simply watched you with wide eyes, but the surprise disappeared in that same instant. Your voice, loud and happy, filled the silence of the room.

“The amount of detail here is amazing, and—Oh, there’s even more tiny patterns inside another pattern. That’s so cool!”

Even though this much praise usually annoyed Jamil (it reminded him too much of Kalim), he found himself flustered. A faint warmth spread across his cheeks as he watched you marvel at the tattoos. You raised a hand, probably to trace the design with a finger, when you paused.

Your smile was frozen on your face, as if you caught yourself doing something embarrassing. Your own cheeks flushed in shame, before you pulled away with a nervous giggle. Jamil almost laughed at how ridiculous you looked at the moment.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that called you cute.

It was supposed to be a one-time encounter. Jamil only visited your flower shop to see the person who opened a new business next to his tattoo parlor. He wanted to see whether this new neighbor of his was going to be tolerable or otherwise. One meeting was enough to deem you tolerable; someone that Jamil could politely wave to if you two happened to pass by each other.

So, why was he looking at a bouquet of irises and white jasmines right now? Why was he standing in your store on a Sunday morning?

“You’ve been coming a lot here lately.” Your voice rang from the back, much like how Jamil first met you. He looked over his shoulder to see you admiring the other flowers with a small smile.

“I don’t mind, really, and it’s nice to have you here. I just didn’t expect you to come here almost every day,” you clarified with a chuckle as you approached him. The telltale flush of your cheeks already told Jamil about how embarrassed you were to confess that. He watched you caress one of the petals of a hydrangea with a gentle look.

For a weekend, it was surprisingly quiet here. People flocked to your store during its first week, and Jamil observed all this in the comfort of his parlor. The window provided a clear view of what was going on, so he didn’t need to go outside. You became frazzled in a matter of moments—running around and arranging the flowers yourself—and that amused Jamil. Just a bit.

Still, you smiled throughout that hectic week.

Me neither, Jamil wanted to say. Instead, he answered, “It’s another slow day in my shop, so I decided to visit. I suppose it’s become a habit whenever I have nothing else to do.”

You chuckled, and Jamil pretended his heart didn’t skip a beat. He ignored the twitch of his lips, curling into a small smile. Oblivious to the look the tattoo artist gave you, you continued to admire the flowers.

“That’s fine with me. Besides, I like your company.”

Your shameless honesty was going to be the death of Jamil. The tips of his ears grew warm, and he tugged his hood over them. He already concluded that you were a thoughtful and considerate person after spending some time with you. You prepared tea and cookies, ones you yourself baked, every time he visited. Careful hands arranged the flowers by meaning and color, which already said enough about you. Being a florist sounded just right for someone like you.

Jamil briefly wondered what flowers you’d give him if you wanted to give him a bouquet.

He cleared his throat, mimicking a cough, before he shifted his attention to the irises and jasmines again. Ever since he searched the meanings of the flowers in that basket, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Can you tell me what these mean in flower language?” He asked, glancing at you from behind his hood. Whether you found this action odd or not, you didn’t comment on it.

With a curious hum, you leaned over to look at what Jamil referred to and smiled wider. You replied, “Ah, irises can mean wisdom, faith, trust, valor, and hope. As for white jasmines…”

You raised an eyebrow at Jamil with a mischievous grin. He didn’t dare entertain the thought that you were being adorable from the action alone. He didn’t dare hope that the gesture actually meant something.

“They can mean sweet love, and the person who receives them is seen as friendly and pleasant.” You paused, before you suddenly left Jamil’s side and reached for the adjacent wall of flowers. Before Jamil could say anything, you already extended a white bloom under his nose.

Wide-eyed and bewildered, he stared at the flower in your hand. It somewhat resembled a rose in full bloom, but the petals were shaped differently. Another amused laugh echoed in the room. You took his hand, inked with intricate patterns that crawled his skin like vines, and placed the flower in it.

Jamil realized that it was a gardenia. This species of flora grew in some part of the botanical garden of his high school. He was only familiar with it because he used to pass by the area to relax, preferably alone.

“I think this suits you, though.” You hummed and returned to the counter with a spin of your heel. Jamil watched you wordlessly as you disappeared into the greenhouse. From where he stood, the tattoo artist saw pink and white camellias peeking through one of the shelves. He nearly jumped when your head popped out of the door frame.

“Oh, and can you help me carry some of these pots around? They’re pretty heavy, thanks!”

It was only until Jamil got home that he searched for the meaning of the gardenia. The bright laptop screen glared at him as he entered the keywords in the search bar. He clicked on the first result and—

Jamil stared at the words with darkening cheeks. His mouth became dry, and his tongue was tied into knots. His hand slammed the monitor shut, before he abruptly stood up and left for the kitchen. He needed some water. He needed to not think too much into things. You were going to be the death of him, Jamil swore to that.

Still, the words were already seared into his memory: you’re lovely.

Jamil found himself visiting you whenever he could. You always asked for his help whenever heavy labor was involved. If it was anyone else, he would’ve felt annoyed. With you, it was just an excuse for Jamil to stay longer.

Fleeting touches, subtle glances, and shy smiles—it was like your own language. Not a single word was exchanged, yet it felt like you said more than Jamil could comprehend. He didn’t miss the moments when your hands lingered too long over his. He would be a fool not to notice that a cookie jar and a box of teabags sat on the counter each time he visited.

For the past year, you’d give him a single flower every day without fail. One time, after the usual tea, it was a morning glory. Another time, when you were particularly homesick and Jamil stayed to chat, you gave him a hydrangea. When he visited your house and took care of you when you became sick, you gave him a yellow lily the next day. He always brought them home, but it came to the point that a mishmash of flowers in a vase brought color and life to his workspace. It sat under the window, where it bathed under a patch of sunlight. He even considered buying another vase due to the sheer amount.

You gave him all kinds of flowers, but he’d never forget the first gardenia he received from you.

“That looks out of place,” one customer pointed out while Jamil prepared the needle. He already knew what he was talking about, but the tattoo artist still followed his line of sight. A soft smile stretched from one ear to the other, and he didn’t bother hiding it.

Without looking away from the flowers, he answered, “They’re gifts from a friend. It’s the only place I can think of where they can be cared for.”

He ignored the sly, knowing grin on the customer’s face. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Jamil gestured towards the chair and continued to prepare everything he needed for this job.

One sunny day, your storefront was crowded more than usual. Jamil paid no mind to the crowd as he pulled his hood over his head. Inked hands grabbed a bundle of flowers, tied with twine, from the table. They were placed far from the vases that decorated the parlor; just to avoid confusion. His eyes fell on the gardenia he drew on the back of his hand. Jamil added that some time ago, maybe around the past month. Still, it made him smile.

Jamil locked the door, then he instinctively looked at the flower shop. His heart stuttered at the sight of the flowers amongst the crowd. The vibrant and lively blossoms were like a splash of color against the dull tones of the city. What used to be gray pavement and monochrome buildings seemed to come to life with just a few flowers.

He blinked his surprise away, before he gripped the bouquet in his hands. The thrum of his heart and the sweat on his palms weren’t something foreign to Jamil. He always felt like this at the thought of you, even Kalim noticed the change in his friend when he visited once. Your smile flashed in his mind, and his own lips curled into a small one. His feet led him to where he knew you were.

Past the flower shop; past the crowd that lingered at the storefront; past the fresh flowers that gathered against the glass walls. Jamil’s feet grew heavier with each step, as if lead hit the concrete and left faint cracks behind. He stepped through the iron-wrought gates with a soft exhale. His grip on the flowers tightened. He considered going back to the tattoo parlor.

In the end, he thought he’d regret it if he backed out now. Blades of grass grazed his sneakers as he walked through rows of stones. Names were etched into each one, a reminder of who they were to the loved ones left behind. Charcoal gray eyes looked straight ahead. He didn’t bother looking at any of them.

It had been a year since that day, but he still remembered where you were.

Grass crunched under his feet as he stopped in front of an unassuming headstone. Engraved in the stone was your name—funny how he never knew your surname until the funeral. You never told him when you introduced yourself, and he didn’t pry. He even imagined you with his surname at some point, but…

Jamil swallowed the lump in his throat. He crouched on one knee and laid the bundle of flowers on your grave. The tattoo artist made the effort of arranging the colorful blooms in a way that you would. At least, how he remembered that you would.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, and he stared at your gravestone with that same lump in his throat. A sigh rang in the empty cemetery. A cool breeze carried the hustle and bustle of the city. The laugh that used to plague Jamil’s everyday life here was missing. It was gone for months now, but he could still hear it clearly in his head.

“Hey,” Jamil mumbled, clenching his hands into fists, “it’s been a while. I’m sorry I only visited today. It… took me some time to come to terms with what happened. Regardless, you deserved an earlier visit.”

No answer, Of course, there was no answer. You’ve been dead for quite some time now. That was an understatement, considering that a year has already passed.

Jamil’s stomach churned, and an insufferable heat filled his chest. His eyes stung. His nails pierced into the skin of his palms. The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger, and he found it hard to breathe. Memories of your smile, your laugh, and the time he spent with you and your flowers overlapped in his mind.

He dug his heels into the dirt as he gritted his teeth. The sting behind his eyes grew worse. It was hard to breathe, and he found it harder to speak. He somehow forced the words out with a broken heart, pieces scattered along the ashes of what was left of you.

“You idiot,” Jamil choked out as his vision blurred with tears, “you could’ve called me to help you. How was I supposed to know you were still sick? How was I supposed to know you needed to carry that ridiculously huge flower display across the street? How was I supposed to know that car would lose control and—”

Jamil looked up to the sky with a clenched jaw, teeth clacking and shaking his skull from the force. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse whatever deity existed in this world. He wanted to forget how you looked, pale and bleeding on the street, that day. He wanted to erase that memory of you until his heart bled out and his voice croaked its last scream.

“—they haven’t found the driver. Everyone who knew you petitioned to keep the shop in your memory. Someone else took over, too. You don’t have to worry about your flowers anymore.”

Since that day, whenever Jamil looked at the ink that adorned his hands and arms, all he remembered was your loud voice and bright smile. Your praise and astonishment echoed in his head like a broken record player. He couldn’t count the amount of times he tried to scrub them clean from his skin. If that didn’t work, he scratched at them until he bled and the patterns were hidden under that shade of red.

In hindsight, Jamil thought that was idiotic of him. Love turned anyone into idiots, anyway.

Sighing, Jamil forced the tears back and looked down at your gravestone. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine you smiling and laughing again. The image of you, lifeless and still on the road, would become a scar that faded with time. He hoped it would be.

“I thought of giving you baby’s breath,” Jamil began as the lump in his throat returned, “along with forget-me-nots, and blue salvia. It would be a horrible contrast, but I also thought of adding pink carnations.”

He paused, before bitterly chuckling to himself. “I don’t have your skills, though. You were always amazing with flower arrangements. I couldn’t hold a candle to you, and I rarely tell anyone that. I didn’t want to give you something that was less than perfect—you deserve more than that, so I settled with sweet peas.”

Jamil knew he was talking to himself. He always found it ridiculous how anyone talked to the dead, even if he understood the necessity to respect the ones who passed. This one time, he understood why people did this. Jamil just couldn’t bring himself to accept the circumstances that led to that revelation.

“They mean goodbye in flower language, but I prefer the other meaning. Maybe, in another life, I would’ve bought you flowers for a date. I was thinking of asking you on a date before. Did you know that?”

Another bitter chuckle. Another shaky breath.

“I was supposed to ask you that day. I finally found the courage to try, and what did I see? You…” The words were stuck in Jamil’s throat. He couldn’t force the words out this time. The clamor outside and the harsh slam of his parlor door echoed in his memories. He didn’t want his last memory of you to be your dying breath. He’d rather not remember that at all.

Jamil shook his head and continued, “I apologize for that. What you need to know is that I like you. I may even go so far as to say I love you, and I’m sorry I never told you earlier. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

The tattoo artist sat down in front of your headstone. He didn’t care if dirt and grass stained his jeans this time. He reached out to trace the name etched into the stone, with the same hand where the inked gardenia peeked out of his sleeve.

“I like your flowers. I like all of them. I still keep them with me. I wish I told you that sooner,” Jamil mumbled, voice cracking at the end. A tear rolled down his left cheek and dripped into the soil. His shoulders shook in a silent sob as he breathed his last words to you.

“Thank you for a lovely time. I’ll never forget you.”

[daz4i]

My fic preference is character focused long fics :D Thank u king ur saving me some of the soul searching work 🙏

ah ofc!!! ^w^ i don't have a lot of those on hand i think 🤔 but lemme link the ones i do, and in the same breath i'll encourage my followers to reblog with their own recommendations for you 🤲

skk + platonic dazai&atsushi, dazai backstory, p lighthearted even tho it handles topics like trauma and other regular dazai related angst!

apologies for the weird link^ i think it's bc it's only available for logged in users (i just hope the link works properly 😭). very sweet t4t skk 👀 warning for heavy topics like self harm and suicidal thoughts. also in case that's a dealbreaker, this one has a lot of smut so heads up for that! 🫡

i'm gonna be so fr with you it's been a year since i read that one so i don't remember much. but i remember it was good 👍 and overall character focused! and i remember liking chuuya's characterization which i assume is what you're looking for rn :P

also idk if this is what you're looking for exactly but:

i can't not rec this one bc it's my favorite. and i looove chuuya there but i'd call this one more plot focused than character focused really 🤔 also please mind the tags!

aaaaand i think that's it 🙏 i hope these suffice at least as a start! and i once again encourage my followers to give you their own recs in the notes c:

[lunarriviera]

heihua prompt: hei xiazi caring for xiao hua in between the final scene in the tomb in mystery of the abyss and the final scene of them together the film, perhaps? i am a glutton for some h/c sprinkled with angst.

OH NO, I...already wrote it? but I could write it again! with more hurt, maybe?

•

only feels this raw right now (7238 words) by lunarriviera fandom: 重启之深渊疑冢 | Reunion: Mystery of the Abyss rating: E relationships: Hei Xiazi/Xie Yuchen tags: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Fluff and Angst, hei xiazi is unbelievably stubborn, but so is xie yuchen, First Time, no beta we die like Nagas, they're so in love it makes them look stupid series: Part 6 of untitled heihua project summary:

Xie Yuchen is finally well enough to get out of the hospital, but not yet quite well enough to go back to Beijing and renew his search for the cure to Hei Xiazi's incipient blindness. Yes, that would be the same Hei Xiazi who, if he keeps pampering Xie Yuchen like this, is going to get punched in the mouth.

[etherealeeknow]

like always

• it’s rated a for angst, peeps~

• pairing: chan x y/n (jisung cameo ahaha)

• wc: 500

• tw: chan is a jerk, explicit language, mention of sex- i think that’s all, please do tell me if you find more c:

• note: the setting, characterizations, and plot of this story are purely fictional. i adore chan and have no intention to put him in a bad light or anything. also, please kindly note that english isn’t my first language. therefore, i apologize for any mistakes.

—

“what are we?” you ask, shaking as you try to fight back the tears from spilling by biting your lip. even the pain and the metallic taste on your tongue are far better compared with the look on his face. “i- i don’t know. i’m sorry.” is all he said before walking away. “cut! woo, superb acting, y/n and chan! let’s take five- no, no, let’s take fifteen because you all deserve it!” says jisung, your classmate as well as the director for your mini series project. wiping your tears, you thank everyone involved and follow chan’s footsteps—like always.

“chan,” you call once the two of you reach somewhere secluded, but he doesn’t answer. “chan,” you repeat, still no answer. “chan!” this time he turns around, pupils dilating and jaw tensing in surprise, looking around to make sure no one’s present. “tone it down, y/n!” he replies though not moving an inch and let you come to him instead—like always. “so now you’re talking? seriously, what is wrong with you?” standing right in front of him, you make sure to look at him right in the eyes, searching for something, anything, at least the slightest sense of longing from the man who would usually utter flowery words to please your ears and leaving butterfly kisses all over your body. “what do you want me to say?”

“wha-” “that i’m sorry? that i’m confused? that i’m bored? that it’s not you it’s me?” his words hit you right there and then and the fact that he’s finally staring into your soul after weeks of ghosting your midnight calls and texts is what strikes you best. “cut the bullshit, chan. you’re not going to give me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ talk after all we’ve been through.” you manage to let out without stuttering despite fighting the urge to keep your lips from trembling.

he scoffs, running his hand through his hair, messing it up as he looks away. “what have we been through, y/n? we fucked, that’s all.” you hold onto his face and pull him down to meet your eye level. the memory of doing the exact same thing, yet it was to meet his lips lovingly and not to confront him seems to have done something to your chest—it’s suffocating. “if that’s all, then look me in the eyes while you say it, coward.”

“we fucked, y/n. we fucked a lot of times and that’s all.” before you have the chance to respond, your phone rings. the fifteen minutes break is over. looking up, chan has already made his distance; away from you—like always. 

“what are we?” you ask, letting your tears spill down to meet your wound and it stings, but the pain doesn’t do justice. it’s nothing compared to the way chan is soullessly staring at the wall.

“nothing, y/n... i’m sorry.” and there he goes, walking away, leaving you the back view of his figure growing smaller and smaller—like always. 

—

tagged: @formidxble did i do the tagging thing right- aAA

[space-blue]

Relationships : Vi & Powder - Vi & Silco - Powder & Silco - Vi & Sevika

Additional tags : Father-Daughter and Sister-sister relationships, found family, family fluff, angst, emotional H/C, mentioned Vander, Banter, Swearing, POV Vi, backstories galore, set in time skip, Vi needs a hug

Summary :

Vi is freed after only two months, without explanations. Back to the Lanes, she heads to the Last Drop in search of her sister. She's only got two goals now: to care for Powder and get even with Silco. Things get complicated when she realises she might have to pick and chose. Or how Silco ends up with two daughters, one somewhat less enthusiastic than the other...

[weallsimpfordabi]

Switching Sides (Part One)

Find the other parts here

A/N: ahh I’m so excited to share this with you guys 🥺 I hope you enjoy it!

Pairing: Dabi x Reader, Ex!Bakugou x Reader

Word Count: 1,652

Warnings: Kidnapping, cursing, choking, mentions of death, threats, angst, Dabi being Dabi

Tag List: @platinumbelle @sweet-bunny-writing @bunbunsblog

———

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.” Dabi’s deep voice called out as his long legs started to carry him towards you. You were frozen in place, fists clenched. You weren’t sure if it was fear or shock, but either way, your feet were planted to the ground, keeping you in place. His footsteps got closer, and you could only muster up the courage to look into his almost electric blue eyes. He smirked, reaching his hand out to your face. You flinched, turning your head away, but he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him once again. “Poor little kitten, already terrified before the fun even begins? What a pathetic hero you are.”

“Dabi, we don’t have time for this. Since she’s here, the pros are probably on their way. We have to move. Get rid of her and come on.” A harsh tone hurried him, but Dabi just raised his free hand to hush the other villain, keeping your chin in his grasp with the other. His eyes dropped down to your shirt, something seeming to catch his eye as his eyebrow raised.

“You know, Kurogiri, she could be useful.” He leaned in close, eyes scanning your face before locking gazes with you again. “What do you say, doll face? Wanna help us? Or do you wanna die and take all of your friends with you?” He chuckled before grabbing your wrist tightly, spinning you around and clasping his hand over your lips to keep you quiet before you even had a chance to speak. He dragged you towards the warp gate that had been made, his breath heavy with excitement in your ear.

Your stomach twisted with nausea as your body was transported to what you assumed was their headquarters. Dabi sat you on the couch in the corner of the room, unbuckling his white belt. You watched with wide eyes as he just stared you down, the belt slapping lightly against each loop it slowly passed through.

“Don’t worry, it’s just to keep you quiet, kitten.” He chuckled as he squatted down in front of you, wrapping his belt around your face, effectively turning it into a gag. You just watched as he looked over you, something dark taking over his eyes. “You look pretty with my belt in your mouth.” He tucked some hair behind your ear, and you flinched away. A growl bubbled up his throat, his hand finding its way around your neck. “Don’t fight me, baby doll, you’ll lose.”

“Dabi! You mind explaining why there’s a hero in our hideout?” A blue haired man, covered in hands appeared. You looked over, your heart dropping. You knew exactly who this was. You had seen the aftermath of his trials, almost completely destroying Kamino. You also knew that he had cut off the arms of the Yakuza leader of Shie Hassaikai, Overhaul.

“Shiggy, don’t worry so much.” Dabi spun around on his heels, his back now facing you as Shigaraki kept his exposed red eyes on you. “She overheard Kurogiri and I talking about our plans. I could have killed her, but then we wouldn’t have the leverage we need.”

“Leverage?” Shigaraki tore his eyes away from you, looking at Dabi with a glare that sent a shiver down your spine. “We don’t need leverage, Dabi, we already have a plan. Don’t forget your place in our organization.” As he spoke, he started towards you. “If you won’t get rid of her, I will.” His hand reached out to you, your squirms quickly becoming desperate scrambles for escape. You knew his quirk, and you could feel the fatality of his touch as he got closer.

“Don’t, no one touches her except me.” His voice got deeper, as if the other man had taken something that was his. He changed his tone almost immediately, his dark eyes lighting back up as quickly as they had dimmed before. “Shigaraki, trust me on this. She goes to UA, look at her uniform.” They both took a glance, and that seemed to interest the red eyed man. “We could use her, get inside information.” You made a noise in protest, trying to argue with them. You could never betray your friends and the teachers you held so dear to you. You shook your head, glaring at the men towering over you. Dabi sighed, working the belt off of your face.

“Be nice, kitten, or we’ll have to use this belt for something else.” He sent a smirk your way before putting his belt back on, Shigaraki shaking his head and sighing.

“Are you sure this is a plan to get intel and not some weird sexual fantasy you have?” Dabi looked over at his colleague, rolling his eyes lazily.

“I’m not helping you.” You tried to project your voice, remembering what your mentors had taught you before. You always had to at least seem brave, even if you’re terrified. Dabi hummed, crossing his arms.

“I don’t think you understand the position you’ve been put in.” He crouched down in front of you, his black painted nails resting on his bent knees. “See, you have a way in to get the information we’ve been trying to get for a while.” His hand ran up your thigh, making you jump. He looked up at your face, holding back the smug smile he wanted to let free. “And we have the power to make sure that everyone you’ve ever loved and cared about dies in a horrible, burning, decaying death.” His hand continued up your body, the surprisingly soft skin of his palm tracing up your arm. “What do you say, sweetheart? We have a deal?” His hand stopped at your shoulder, his fingertips digging into the skin hard enough to make you wince. You shook your head, keeping your chin high.

“There’s no way in hell I’m gonna be a mole for the League of Villains. I’d rather die than help you.” His brows furrowed, anger taking over his features. His hand, in one swift motion, grabbed your throat and squeezed with an impressive amount of force. He stood just as quickly, your body being pulled up with him. His face was suddenly uncomfortably close to yours, his warm pants moving your hair with every breath. Your eyes widened, pure fear numbing your body. You started struggling to breathe, choking gasps the only thing you could muster.

“Let me make this perfectly clear. You’re gonna help us, you know why?” He smiled wickedly, the look in your eyes making him feel more powerful than he had in a long time. “Because if you don’t, I will make sure that everyone you know dies. I’ll even make you watch as they burn to death. So, are you absolutely sure about your answer? You can change it now and I’ll let go.” You could feel your head spin, black starting to slowly take over your vision. You tried to pull his large hand off of your throat, but to no avail. You knew you needed to answer soon unless you wanted to pass out with them around. You nodded, wheezing out that you would help.

You were let go of, your body immediately crashing against the ground. You took a few deep breaths, coughing in between as your vision slowly returned to normal. You looked up at Dabi, your breath still a little shaky. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t stop your hands from trembling. Of all the years you had patrolled and even fought against strong villains, this one had you terrified. You heard a low chuckle vibrate his throat as he took a short stride towards you. He crouched down again, leaning in so his nose was less than an inch away and his insanely bright eyes were boring deep into your soul.

“Aww, what’s wrong, kitten? You scared of me?” He smirked deviously as he straightened his back, helping you up and lifting your chin so the gaze you two shared never strayed. “Don’t get scared now. We’re just getting started, baby.”

———

You had gotten back to the dorms around eleven at night. You felt as if your brain had been deep fried as you stumbled through your door. You weren’t really sure where you were going, but your body seemed to know exactly where to go. After a few minutes of aimlessly wandering, you found yourself in front of your ex boyfriend’s, Katsuki’s door. You knocked gently, hoping he was awake. You heard cluttering before the door opened, Bakugou squinting at you.

“Y/N/N? Where the hell have you been? You know you aren’t supposed to be out after curfew, idiot.” He blinked, rubbing his eyes before taking your appearance in again. He then got a worried look, opening the door wider. “C-Come in, hurry before someone sees you.” He helped you inside, sitting you down on the edge of the bed as he searched for spare clothes for you to wear. Luckily you left some of your own from a few months ago when you two had broken up and you “moved out” of his room. He handed you your clothes, turning away so you could change.

Once you were done, he tucked you in to the bed, wrapping his toned arm around you. “You don’t have to talk, Y/N. Just don’t tell anyone I let you sleep in here.” You nodded, closing your eyes as you instinctively cuddled into him. Your body was shaking as the events from the day replayed in your head. The plan they had told you to follow was almost impossible to keep a secret. But you didn’t want to think about it even more than you already knew you would. For now, you just wanted to sleep in Katsuki’s arms. You had no idea it would be the safest you would feel for a long time.

[ruby-whistler]

(quicksandblock) hi! I just left you a giant wall-of-text response on your Dream post, and though I think it came across well enough, I just want to state my lack of hostile intent over here as well lol. I know stuff like this that people feel strongly about can get very tense so I just wanted to make doubly certain you know I'm not trying to pick a fight or anything. it kind of sucks that I feel like I need to clarify that but that's fandom culture for you sometimes :P

also, I would love to talk to you about Dream characterization. I think I disagree with you on a lot of different points and I love his character, so I'm very interested in understanding your perspective!

hey, hello! found a c!dream enthusiast/enjoyer, that’s cool, hi! :]

[copied part i put in front of each reply, hence different capitalization]

Alright, so first as a quick disclaimer, I’m going to put a summary of the original post’s points, just to ensure that we’re on the same page;

The post does say:

- don’t dehumanize c!Dream because it continuously hurts people who relate to and/or sympathize with him, also dehumanization in general is an inherently wrong mindset

- don’t attack people who sympathize with him because he’s a victim of abuse besides other things

The post never says:

- you cannot hate c!Dream and not sympathizing with him is wrong

- the things c!Dream has done are to any degree excused

- don’t dehumanize c!Dream because he’s a good person

- people who dehumanize c!Dream are real life abuse apologists

If you read the post and didn’t get these points from it, i advise you to reread it as I made pretty much all of these abundantly clear.

[end of disclaimer]

i never said anyone could infringe on his human rights! i… literally never said that! i said “they ignore” when characters do it, but that was a run-on sentence, i get how that might’ve been easily misunderstood. but yes, he’s a fictional character, i’d never said people could actually hurt him or anything in that sense.

the thing is, i still find them saying they enjoy it… wrong? the people yelling in tommy’s chat for c!dream to hurt him more were freaking victim blaming pricks, and if what they did was the widespread fandom opinion it would be hurting actual people with trauma. i ask people to look at the c!dream situation with the same severity, because it’s actually happening and it’s highly disturbing, not just from principle, but because of what it leads to within the community.

sorry for comparing his situation to c!tommy, but narratively i believe the prison arc is a deliberate parallel to exile, and comparing his situation to someone they’ve not dehumanized seems to be the only way to knock sense into some people.

i am happy you don’t seem to be one of the people who dehumanize him. you’re not the target audience of this post - neither are abuse victims who project onto him. i know people who c!tommy reminds of their abuser (because of personality traits), or even c!quackity, that’s fine. they’re totally free to hate their respective character, of course, without being,, actually right about them. that being said, majority of this fandom is dehumanizing c!dream and being mad at people sympathizing with him “on behalf of the abuse victims”, not actual victims themselves, and by doing this they are unknowingly hurting other people rather than helping anything, and spreading misinformation as well as making a lot of fans in general uncomfortable. i believe this is something that needs to change in the community.

hating him is fine, but group-based dehumanization in my mind is not. if you go on twitter and search “c!dream” and see 100 people saying they wish the abuse victim you project onto is hurt more (this is not a twitter thing, c!dream tag is the same thing, a majority of the crit is untagged but it,, doesn’t really matter because even tagged hate riles up more people) that freaking sucks and is something that the community needs to work on, not shoved under the rug and pretend it wasn’t there because some people tag it.

“the abuse victims who are hurt by people saying they should be sympathetic towards Dream are in fact just as hurt as the abuse victims who relate to Dream and are hurt by people saying his evil.”

this is not wrong. it’s right actually, but i’m not talking about this fandom calling him evil/unable to be sympathized with/irredeemable. i mean, that’s hurtful dehumanization as well, but this community doesn’t “say he’s evil” it “says he deserves to keep being horribly abused and/or die”.

and… i wasn’t talking about/saying abuse victims should sympathize with him either? i’ve said like five times that people can hate him as much as they want, but dehumanization is another thing. it’s the majority of this community (this post wasn’t targeting abuse victims in the slightest) taking away his positive human qualities, hence believing he doesn’t deserve human rights, and turning him into some sort of punching bag or personification of evil, which i find deeply disturbing since he’s being related to by abuse victims, and also blatantly incorrect to the character.

so, you’d be right, if the situation was what you described. it… really isn’t. the dream smp fanbase isn’t populated by abuse victims in any corner. it’s two small groups, one of them hurt (undeservingly) by a few and the other one hurt (no more or less undeservingly) by a majority of the fandom without anyone batting an eye.

and this post isn’t even about abuse victims in the first place; it’s about dehumanization. while its impact plays a big role in why i wrote this, things like these being widespread in the fandom makes so many people uncomfortable or pressured not to sympathize with a recently made sympathetic character that they might (but could not) relate to. relating to him myself, i might not have a say in this, but my compassion in general made me switch over to the c!dream sympathetic people, not anyone in the community or projection.

the results i relayed here weren’t the only results of the survery. people mentioned pandora’s vault as their reasons for being dream apologists,, over and over and over again. a lot of them mentioned the fandom response specifically.

it’s making the fandom not only unsafe to a small group of traumatized people, but also fans in general, who are equally as important to feel comfortable. hell, the reason dream apologists are such a tight-knit community that accepts little to no outside feedback is because of the hatred that is endlessly nurtured outside, that makes people feel anxious or not safe just for sympathizing with a victim of abuse.

i myself find this a problem that people should attempt to change beyond using crit tags more. feel free to not agree with that, but a lot of affected people do.

i agree the disc finale was actually cathartic! well, that’s a lie, i used to hate c!dream’s guts before that but that was the very instance where i saw a person behind the mask and went “oh, this is a whole mess isn’t it”, but it was,, cathartic to a lot of other people that didn’t use to have intense empathy to inanimate objects as children djskdjsk (i was a weird kid and still am, don’t mind that)

do you know what is cathartic? when a dog terribly bites a child, gets kicked away and gets put in a cage. do you know what isn’t cathartic? …that dog getting repeatedly beaten, starved and abused while trapped in said cage. even in fiction, and i say that as someone who was terribly bitten by a dog.

i don’t mind fictional characters suffering - frick, angst is my jam, i’ll write a character dying over and over again and have fun, but people justify that or make fun of people who don’t by saying openly that they enjoy it,, because he’s done bad things.

here comes the double standard. the exile arc wasn’t cathartic just because tommy burnt down a house, because hell, that wasn’t fair retribution. same goes for dream.

there is a difference between enjoying dark media (something i do frequently and is something i like doing) and open dehumanization and often normalized harassment of people who don’t do the same or condemn that. that is something that in my mind shouldn’t be a mainstream thing in the community.

to be fair, people saying an abuse victim no longer being hurt is “bad writing” or “insensitive” as i’ve seen people say would probably piss me off, but i’m,, not going to harass them. maybe a passive-aggressive vague-post if enough big accounts do it, but i think that’s justified. feel free to disagree - i still respect abuse victims who wouldn’t like that, but people who just don’t want the writers to humanize a character they’ve dehumanized will probably grind my gears.

this community,, isn’t working like this. i wrote this because people are repeatedly being hurt by the community or feel bad in it because of widespread opinions and dehumanization of a character that is as of late written to be sympathetic to the audience. that’s not a disagreement, the people who are actually sympathetic are a minority in the fandom, which would be fine with me, if they weren’t constantly invalidated, triggered and harassed as a direct result of the dehumanization discussed in this post.

besides the fact that the principle of dehumanization applied to c!dream is wrong - and if people find themselves doing that, it’s good for them to find a way to realize that, such as this post, because projection =/= dehumanization, and this post is targeting one, not the other - this is why i wrote this post. i still believe my points are valid and important for this fandom to consider.

you know, we could talk about the characterization right now - but after this i’m going onto a two month long hiatus for the sole purpose of studying the character. i’m not joking, this is what i’m dedicating my summer to. since i���m also closing my asks because of this, i can write this down and @ you when i’m done? :D i’d love to talk about him but i’m going to have so much more evidence after this, so maybe we can put this off for a while if you don’t mind! of course feel free to continue the dehumanization debate in a string of reblogs since it’s pretty much a different debate entirely.

( @zrenia @caketexturepack just tagging some people who responded to your response and might be interested in the continuation of the debate - also curious anon i saw your two asks i was just busy djsjdks please don’t spam about people who replied to me, i have a bad memory but i write this stuff down, actually )

[muwur]

haikyuu x otome: masterlist |  prologue

» synopsis:  a haikyuu x reader au where you, the player, are bound for university in a metropolis several hours away from home. hope and excitement are replaced with dread as you come to realize that juggling life as a student and a part-time employee takes a toll. from demanding classes to a ruthless manager, life just can’t seem to give you a break. that is, until you meet a certain someone who reminds you how to live and follow your dreams. somehow, when you’re with them, time stands still. maybe things are finally starting to look up. if only you could stay in those moments for just a little longer. 

» disclaimer: i do not own haikyuu or any of the pixels in this post (i simply made collages out of them)

edit: it’s been brought to my attention that another HQ writer may have written something similar to this idea in the past and I was unaware. Though I haven’t seen this particular type of thing written yet, I don’t mean to claim this event idea as my own bc I feel a lot of events that ppl put up may have some overlapping themes n such (tho this idea would def be more specific and be cause for concern of plagiarism) and bc I would never want to steal ideas/not ask other writers first/not credit other writers (that’s not cool fam). If you have any issues with this event, pls bring them up w me, and if you know any other writers who’ve done smth similar, pls share w me their URLs! thank u for ur understanding :) I hope u can still enjoy haikyuu x otome :’)

» how to play:

I. you can refer here for the general rules of my blog. also, for this event (and it’ll say in the descriptions below), i’m only accepting one character per request. also the word count limits i wrote here may change as im getting started on actually writing requests lol

II. essentially a collection of x reader one-shots, drabbles, and smaus in which you are a busy college student whose only break seems to be spending time with friends who actually get you or the 15-minute lunch break during which you get to ignore annoying customers

III. since this is otome-inspired, i have several options you can choose from. these options are essentially types of requests:

» everyday is a new start 

» drabble about how you meet the character of your choice  

» it is not guaranteed y’all are gonna gel (get along) when you first meet,, warning: if the character is usually a bitch, i may write them as one LMAO jkjk but fr

» usually light, fluffy, and/or silly

» hmm tbh,,, idk word count,,, probs anywhere between 700-1k words (i edited this word count after writing my first thing bc HNNN)

» the only characters you can’t request this for is yamaguchi, tsukki n hinata,,, bc you meet them in the prologue AHAHA sry it’s nothing too spaicy since it’s just in the intro

» it’s all in the little things

» one-shots about normal, daily interactions with the character of your choice

» in other words, these include what can go on in a day in the life of y/n and the character of your choice (after they’ve already met). in the city, the possibilities are endless

» give me a word (or several, cuz writing is hard lmao. also legit any word, like ‘orange’ or ‘nostalgia.’ i may choose only one or do a combination from your list :3) as a prompt and ill somehow make something of it lmao

» medium relationship development + exp

» 700-1.5k words

» hmmm what should i get today?

» very short drabble with a character of your choice about various scenarios and thots i have in my head

» a complete surprise, totally random, may have no context

» may be serious, fluff, crack, etc. 

» if u choose this u basically told me ‘surprise me’

» 100-300 words, depends on my mood

» when i see your name pop up on the screen, i can’t help but smile 

» short smau with a character of your choice 

» fluff or crack, ur choice or leave that up to me (if unspecified, ill just flip a coin)

» you can either give me a word(s) as a guide or leave the topic of convo up to me

» 2-4 panels

» you’d be surprised how much can happen in a day 

» BMO has nothing to do with this, i just found a cute pixel of him

» spaicy relationship development, the scenes in which you actually make progress in the game

» one-shot with a character of your choice

» order from the following:

» macaron: when they realize they’ve fallen for you

» banana bread: when you realize you’ve fallen for them

» iced americano: when they feel a tinge of jealousy 

» hot chocolate: when they see you crying  

» matcha latte: when they have a longing to be around you

» cupcake: love confession (may be intentional or accidental)

» major relationship development + exp + sometimes confusion

» 1-2k words

» these will probs take me longer

» all good things must come to an end

»  not as angsty as those bolded words above sound,,, unless you want it to be >:)

» drabble or one-shot with a character of your choice. the final interaction before finishing the game

» you have three options: good end (fluffy, romantic & the like), bad end (angst), or crack end (surprise)

» word count will be super variable, from 300-1.5k words

IV. this forces me to write one-shots, drabbles, anything but hc’s, and also forces me to limit my word count. that said, this will take me a hot minute, y’all. word counts may change too bc i am,,, indecisive n untalented AHAHA

V. search for ‘haikyuu x otome,’ ‘haikyuu x otome special,’ ‘haikyuu x reader otome’ tags! i will tag each work under these c:

got it? have a request for me? send me an ask or submission! 

request example: ‘start new game with akaashi’ or ‘love challenge with yachi in the empty lecture hall at night’ or ‘continue story with noya. words: tired, mangoes, music’ 

feel free to ask me if ur confused about anything and have questions! thank you so much for reading <3 im excited for this heh

inspired by recent haikyuu otome teasers i keep seeing online and the fact that i dropped my summer class and am taking on personal projects (like painting my room LMAO i gotta manifest my inner buff daddee ushi to move shit in my room bc i kid u not everything is rlly heavy in here. and i also delved back into otomes on my phone,, does anyone else play midnight cinderella or mr love LOL talk 2 me)

haikyuu x otome masterlist

[dragonofthedepths]

29/100 (29th of June 2021)

(29/100) Written/posted for the #100daysofwriting challenge by @the-wip-project

I spent several hours today filling out a survey on my fanfiction reading habits! This was not supposed to take several hours, but my inability to answer any free form question without writing multiple paragraphs dragged it out much longer than it was supposed to be! Considering that this was done around baking, having a friend over, and finishing a drawing that according to the timer on my art program took me a cumulative 22.5 hours to complete, I figured I would just copy and paste some of my more interesting answers here for today!

Here’s the link to the survey if you want to take it yourself, apparently it’s part of some kind of collage study: 

https://robertgordonuniversity.onlinesurveys.ac.uk/fanfiction-questionnaire

Question:

What type(s) of library/libraries do you use? What activities or purposes do you use them for?

Answer:

The local library. I go there every now and then when I’m looking for an actual book to read, I usually have what I want already in mind, but might end up picking up something new from the same section if anything particularly catches my interest. Very occasionally I grab a few reference books, usually on things like religions that are harder to find a comprehensive reference for online beneath all the sensationalism and opinions.

I almost always spend at last a couple hours there, looking through my selection and reading a chapter or two. the only reason I’ll leave without sitting down and beginning at least one book is if I’m already late for something somewhere else.

Tldr: I use my local library, I do not go very often but I take my time when I do.

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Question (fanfiction.net):

If possible, please explain your typical process for finding fanfiction to read.

Answer:

Whenever  I get interested in a new show I’ll latch on to a concept or particular character interaction eg. Villain!hero, ensemble finds out secret, character A needs a hug, character A adopted by character B, character C & character D friendship & hurt/comfort. Sometimes (especially if it’s a lesser known thing/has a small fandom) I’ll be as vague as favorite character, timetravel, wingfic, or soulmate AU. Whatever it is that I’ve latched onto, I’ll enter it into the search bar on whatever browser I’m using, and open whatever links look most appealing in a new tab, giving preference to stories from any website except Wattpad* over any king of collection, and links to Ao3 preference over links to anything else.

From there I work my way through everything that was offered, and as I do so I eventually come across new things that capture my interest, and —in general terms— follow them.

On ff.net I’ll follow the link back to the page for whatever franchise this is, then open the filter menu, select "all ratings" and begin using the filters to look for whatever character or pair of characters (seeing as looking for idea is not really possible on ff.net) interests me most in either the family, hurt/comfort, or angst genre depending on which has the most stories, unless one of them has stories in excess of 3 or 4 hundred, in which case I’ll pick whichever has the least stories. I’ll then go through the offerings, opening any story that look is interesting in a new tab. If I make it through all of that and somehow haven’t found something better to do on Ao3, then when I’m done I’ll go back to the genre filter and pick whichever had the middling number of stories, then after that the one on the opposite end of the spectrum from most to least. If at any point I’m offered more than 1,000 stories I’ll add additional filters until the results drop below 1,000, because I am not dealing with slogging through that much ff.net at once. If there is that much written for whatever I’m looking for, then either there’s some on Ao3 and I can leave, or I’m actually looking for something more specific and was just over-estimating how vague I’d need to be to get results at all. This is very methodical probably because I do not like this site and am putting up with it only to find what I’m currently looking for, I never get new ideas prompted to me or am enticed to wander off the beaten track. I don’t use ff.net very often, though still more often then I go to the library.

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Question:

Are there any search features or filters you wish fanfiction.net had for readers and searchers?

Answer:

Fanfiction.net is not a functional website, it’s a particularly shitty ghost town that is actively crumbling to pieces around its few remaining inhabitants. I it’s a hassle to read on and I only do so because I’m a fan of rare pairs, and have to take anything I can get, and because I’m a fan of a particular kind of low-brow overpowered-hero fanfiction that tends to be more common there then on Ao3 or Tumblr.

I wish it didn’t have adds in the middle of a page, every time I hit next chapter, ect.

I wish it didn’t have pointless captchas every time I  start a new session.

I wish it had a visually pleasant format for presenting the stories for you to select from. Whether they’re search bar results, the results of a filter search, stories in a collection, or stories on an author’s page. It’s the same aggressively bad format and makes it hard to tell them apart from eachother and hard to pick which one(s) I want.

I wish stories could have longer summaries. They are so short that it forces everyone to sound same-y and rushed, and if an author want to include trigger warnings they have to be even shorter.

I wish there was a way to exclude/search/mark trigger warnings.

I wish you could select more than four characters in the filters, I wish authors could TAG more than four characters.

I wish there was a way to search/mark platonic relationships instead of only romantic.

I wish there was a way to search/mark a single character in multiple separate relationships eg. [A/B] and [A/C]

I wish there was a way to search for certain tropes or cliches without relying on pure hope that either the author used part of their limited summary space to mention it, or that someone else already made a collection for that trope and managed to find at least a few (they never have all) of the fics containing it.

I wish you could copy and paste the text without having to switch to the mobile version of the website. I don’t personally know why you can’t do this on desktop but I’ve heard other people say it’s because it’s actually generated as a pdf instead of genuine text.

I wish there was a way to open the whole story in one tab instead of being forced to go through it other by chapter.

I wish there was a way for authors to include author’s notes without it being part of the chapter.

I wish there was a way for authors to respond to comments without doing so in the author’s notes.

I wish the formatting wasn’t so aggressively bad as to be actively harming the quality of the story. I have found stories that were posted on both Ao3 and ff.net and read them on both websites, no differences in text, in punctuation, in anything at all, but on Ao3 it flowed much better, was much easier to read, and I’d have given a higher estimation of the author’s skill level if asked. All because it wasn’t actively being dragged down by ff.net’s formatting.

There are probably a fair few more things that I’m just not managing to think of at the moment, but considering there’s no way ff.net will ever be fixed and is in fact very likely to completely implode and die in the near future, I think this is good enough.

Sorry for the essays every time I’m allowed to write an answer but you’re asking loaded questions.

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Question (Ao3):

If possible, please explain your typical process for finding fanfiction to read.

Answer:

Whenever  I get interested in a new show I’ll latch on to a concept or particular character interaction eg. Villain!hero, ensemble finds out secret, character A needs a hug, character A adopted by character B, character C & character D friendship & hurt/comfort. Sometimes (especially if it’s a lesser known thing/has a small fandom) I’ll be as vague as favorite character, timetravel, wingfic, or soulmate AU. Whatever it is that I’ve latched onto, I’ll enter it into the search bar on whatever browser I’m using, and open whatever links look most appealing in a new tab, giving preference to stories from any website except Wattpad* over any king of collection, and links to Ao3 preference over links to anything else.

From there I work my way through everything that was offered, and as I do so I eventually come across new things that capture my interest, and —in general terms— follow them.

On Ao3 I’ll head back up to the top of a fic I really enjoyed and click on the tag for whatever little bit of it I enjoyed the most, and begin browsing again from there, refining with filters and following links and tags from new stories.

I will filter out reader inserts, original characters, y/n, or notps if I keep seeing too many of them in my results, but otherwise I’ll just scroll past them. Sometimes if I’ve been reading for a specific idea for a while I’ll sort by word count and begin going through it from least to most to see if there’s anything I’ve been missing because it’s not been updated recently. And sometimes if I feel like reading fanfiction but don’t have anything particular in mind I’ll just head to the Ao3 page for the main character (more reliable then a fandom tag, if a franchise exists in multiple forms of media they’ll usually each have their own tag the fanfiction will be scattered accordingly) of one of the bigger fandoms I’m in and start trawling the page for anything that looks interesting.

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Question:

Please use the box below to write any thoughts or opinions on this questionnaire or the subjects within it that you did not get the chance to share.

Answer:

On how I find fanfiction to read on websites that are not ff.net or Ao3, copy-pasted from the original all-encompassing answer I wrote before I realized you were looking for answers only about the website you’d just been talking about:

Wattpad (which I did not select when asked what websites I search for fanfiction on because I never willingly go looking there I just end up on it sometimes to my great frustration.):

Whatever idea it is that I’ve latched onto, I’ll enter it into the search bar on whatever browser I’m using, and open whatever links look most appealing in a new tab, giving preference to stories from any website except Wattpad* preference over tags or other collections, and links to Ao3 preference over links to anything else.

(*If links to Wattpad make it onto the first page of results, I’ll take whatever meager scrapings I was offer from other websites, then give up the search as a lost cause and pick a new idea as a I mourn the lack of the content I want to read. Only if I am already very attached to an idea and very desperate will I follow a link to wattpad. That website is the only one I have ever encountered worse then ff.net and it is an absolute unnavigable MESS.)

Tumblr:

If I’m on tumblr (mobile, I’ve never used tumblr on the computer but I don’t think it works the same) then once I find one thing to read that I like, I’ll begin tapping my way through the suggested posts on the bottom based on whatever looks the most interesting from what little I get to see of it. Sometimes I’ll end up on a specific blog or a specific tag, and I’ll just scroll through reading anything that looks even mildly cool regardless of whether it has anything to do with what I was originally searching for or not, until I click on a specific post for some reason (usually a “read more“), and then I’m back to navigating by suggested posts again. I tend to wander through fandoms and subfandoms a lot faster here, trading one interesting idea for the next as they’re presented to me. It’s a lot of fun and I sometimes discover completely new stuff! I’ll often end up following Authors I really like so that their stuff will end up in my feed, and this is really the only site on which I do that.

Just another couple comments on my general media consumption habits that I didn’t really see anywhere else to put:

Everything I stated about my fanfiction habits when getting into a new show applied if it’s a movie or book or game too, it’s just that 90% of the time it’s a show. My favorite movies are documentaries so I’m not sure what fanfiction for them would even look like, I prefer video essays and theories for games, and I just don’t read as many books as I used to. About half of the remaining 10% of the time is actually probably musicals.

It’s not unusual for me to have seen only three or so episodes of a show, but to have read insane amounts of fanfiction for it. I have difficulty sitting down to actually watch a show, and I usually only expend the effort for my absolute favorite series, so most of my interaction with most shows ends up being fanfiction. Getting into a new show because I came across some really good fanfiction for it is not uncommon either.

[iwasntstable]

♱₊⁺ 𝗡.𝗦. | 𝗔𝗡𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 ❯ 𝗛𝗨𝗠𝗔𝗡

| WORD COUNT: 845 | RATING: SFW | CONTENT TAGS: angst |

𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗜𝗧 𝗛𝗔𝗗 𝗧𝗢 𝗕𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗡𝗘𝗗, 𝗕𝗨𝗧 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗘 𝗜 𝗪𝗔𝗧𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗗 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗢 𝗜𝗧 𝗔𝗡𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡 𝗛𝗨𝗠𝗔𝗡 𝗪𝗘 𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗢 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘, 𝗧𝗢 𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗘, 𝗧𝗢 𝗚𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗩𝗘 𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗔𝗟𝗪𝗔𝗬𝗦 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗛 𝗜 𝗡𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗡𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗘𝗗 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗧𝗢 𝗕𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡 𝗛𝗨𝗠𝗔𝗡

➔𝐢𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞➔➔　𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦!+　　[𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐀𝐎𝟯]

When she started to change, all he could do was watch. They chose to walk down that road together, but deep down, he knew their fate was predetermined. Inevitable footsteps leading towards disaster. No matter how much love he held for her, it would always be incompatible with reality. He tried so hard to fight it, defying the path and desperately holding on to her, but fighting for her turned into fighting her. Tears shed and tender embraces, words softly spoken and promises sealed with kisses, turned into fierce altercations, biting back in anger, things that couldn’t be unsaid, backs turned and promises broken.

Grief had found him early, settling itself into his heart while she was still there. It watched him beg despairingly all the while still holding onto her and stubbornly refusing to let go, carrying her dead weight. It watches his life cease, his hopes and dreams forcefully pushed aside, allowing her to take centre stage. All of his efforts though were a waste, and his precious time was squandered. It watches as words fall upon deaf ears; his family beseeching him to let her go, to unshackle himself in order to live again, but pleading with her to come back to him, to be who she was before. And when he finally accepted it as a part of him—the grief—he knew the last of their finite time was up.

On his knees, he cups her face in his hands, pulling her close and resting his forehead against hers. “I love you,” his voice cracks, his tears falling onto her cheeks. “I love you so fucking much. That’s why I have to do this. I’ve tried so hard, so fucking hard. I’ve put so much on hold to be here for you, and I did it gladly, but it’s clear to me now that I’m not the one you need. I tried to be. But I can’t watch you slip away anymore. Nothing I do is helping, you need real help, someone that can stop you from withering away,” taking in a shuddering breath, he pulls her in closer. She’s limp against him, but he holds her ferociously tight, like she’d slip away if he let go. He knows, after all, that she will slip away when he leaves.

Her head against his chest, his heartbeat is the backing track to his words. Arms so secure around her, she can scarcely breathe. If she died here in his arms, she thinks, she’d die happy. “I’ve been putting you first for so long. You’ve always been my priority, but... you can’t be anymore. It has to be me. I have to let you go,” his breath catches in his throat as he cries into her hair. “I have to live for myself now. And you do too, you have to live for yourself. You have to be yourself again. I never needed you to be anything but you.”

He holds her there, for how long he couldn’t say. Until his legs stiffen and his back aches. Until his tears subside, and finally, he feels he can let her go. He takes one last look at her when he releases her from his arms. Her face betrays no sign of emotion, her eyes, no signs of life, devoid of the light he fell in love with. And he knows he’s making the right decision.

Brushing her hair out of her face for the last time, he tucked it behind her ears like he did on their first date. Like he did when they’d cook together. Like he did when she was engrossed in a book. Like he’d do before he’d lean in to capture her lips with his. He does that one last time too, salt-stained lips brushing against hers; cracked and cold. “I love you,” he whispers, for the final time.

EPILOGUE; The sun was high in the sky when he saw her again.

Her.

As she was.

He prayed the night he left. For the first time in years, he fell to his knees, hands clasped in front of his heart, and he spoke to God. He prayed for her—for her health, for her mind, for her life. He prayed that she’d survive and that He would give her the strength she needed to live. But most of all, he prayed to see her again, if not here on Earth, then on the other side.

Her skin was vibrant and full of life, hair long. Longer than he’d ever seen it. She smiled ear to ear as she spoke on the phone—that very same heart-stopping smile that captivated him all those years ago. She’s just as she was. A familiar warm glow emanated from her, as though pure light itself was radiating from within. Her heart being the power source, or maybe her soul.

He was frozen to the spot, and when she sees him, she too halts as though time had stopped for them both. The only two people in the world, hearts beating in unison.

“Noah?” She smiled at him.

🗀 C:/PROJECTS/MYWORK/BLURB/ANYTHINGHUMAN [projects] ﹂ [my-work] | in-progress | favourites 　﹂ all | series | one-shot | [blurb] | head-cannons | ask 　　﹂ when-i-miss-you | [anything-more-than-human]

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[princecupcakee]

Park Bench | Reddie

Read on AO3

Rating: E

Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

Word Count: 3,112

Chapter: 1/8

Next Chapters: Chapter 2 (AO3), Chapter 3 (AO3), Chapter 4 (AO3)

Summary: Recently divorced and ‘incapable of love’, Eddie Kaspbrak moves to Los Angeles for work and a small, small hope of a fresh start. Broken up and never dated again, Richie Tozier tries to get back into love with help from his love of music. Quickly meeting eyes and one concert later, they think that maybe love isn’t that bad. So they try it one more time.

Chapter 1: Richie Tozier’s Plan, Eddie Kaspbrak’s First Vinyl & Beverly Marsh’s Plan

Tags/Warnings: Angst / Unhappy Ending / theres only one sex scene but this is explicit anyway / Bisexual Richie Tozier / Gay Eddie Kaspbrak / Post-Divorce / Implied/Referenced Cheating / Inspired By Remembering Sunday (All Time Low) / Inspired by The Book Ninja by Ali Berg / Implied/Referenced Child Abuse / Implied/Referenced Abuse / Implied/Referenced Manipulation

Tag-list: @richietoaster, @s-s-georgie, @mikeuris​, @gazebobullshit, @that-weird-girls-blog, @tozierking​, @thoughtfullyyoungduck, @s-onora, @bellarosewrites, @lermanslogan, @ambitiousskychild, @ghostnebula, @vanillaredvelvet, 

(Ask if you wanna be on the tag-list!!)

Chapter 1

Richie Tozier’s Plan

If Richie’s love life was written into a song, it would be called ‘Disaster’; named after his sad attempts at everything even just slightly involved with it. It would be a ballad, slow at first, some depressing line about how dreams don’t become reality. The chorus would hit loud, deafening if rock music wasn’t something you’d find yourself listening to, ‘He loved the sound of their romance’ is the loudest line in the chorus followed by: ‘But he messed up the steps to the dance’  then a sudden melancholy beat, ‘He failed his audition and he lost his chance.’ Toward the end of the song, as the sounds of the drums faded, and a slow guitar was the dominant sound, ‘It’s hopeless’ and the song would close.

Richie’s love life was an utter disaster if you tried to put it to words. He hadn’t had a single normal date in a very long time (he wonders if he ever did, really.) It wasn’t as simple as, ‘I spilled my drink and now there’s going to be a stain and that embarrassing’ those dates wouldn’t stand a chance on his. A few from his museum of failed dates:

Exhibit A -

James: Hey, I saw that you live in Los Angeles

Richie: Yeah! What about you?

James: I just got out of jail and my ex changed the locks. I really need a place to stay?

Exhibit B -

“I love this band so much,” Abigail gushed.

“Me, too! I’m really glad we were able to catch them here.”

And later that night on the news: ‘Woman arrested for jumping on stage to pull a strand of hair from a celebrity in a Los Angeles concert.’

Exhibit C - Connor. Connor Bowers was perfect with Richie, at least as Richie thought. The two had been dating for 2 years until Richie proposed, only to be rejected. Connor confessed that he was cheating, that he didn’t even actually like men. The night they got together, Richie had bought him a drink. Connor really only wanted to try it, but it clearly wasn’t for him. The next morning though, when they woke up in Connor’s bedroom, Richie decided that they were together. Richie wasn’t really thinking, he was just in desperate need for love. After Richie was kicked out of Connor’s apartment, he ended up in Stan’s house, unable to stay alone his own.

Richie never really moved out of Stan and Patty’s house. They didn’t really mind Richie living there, but they did mind that Richie was still bitter about the breakup. Stan and Richie have been friends since they were kids, he’s seen Richie in every way. Patty and Richie became close friends right when Stan introduced them. They would try to set Richie up with a few of their friends but he would just sulk in his room. He claims to be ‘done with love in the most chill way possible’ but the sad love songs, the bitterness on Valentines, and the sulking would beg to differ.“Love isn’t that bad you know, you could try”

“I don’t need to try. I’m fine,” Richie countered.

“There’s a lot of fish in the sea,” Patty said, kindly.

“Not anymore. All I get is plastic bags now,” Richie said bitterly.

Stan sighed, “you’re just gonna be alone forever?”

“Yes,” Richie replied immediately, standing up to get ready for work. Aside from a few comedy gigs, he works at a little record store a few minutes from where he lives. The store had the best speakers, phonographs, Walkmans, discs, headphones, everything. Richie loved it there, always being surrounded by music. The store was always pretty empty, aside from the occasional customer, it was just him. Like its always been.

He took his car from the driveway, heading for the city.

~~~

“Morning, Ben, Bev,” Richie nodded at them, smiling.

“Good morning Richie,” Beverly greeted with a wave, “How have you been?” Beverly was Ben’s wife, she has always been nice to Richie. ‘Nice’ didn’t compose of only greetings and coffee and being professional, they were close friends who went out to movies and heard each other’s lives play. Beverly designed clothing lines, while Ben was an architect. They don’t spend much time in the store, usually just leaving it with Richie.

“Pretty good, you?”

“Fine, but this one forgot to fix the thing on this table yesterday and was insanely worried all night,” Beverly pointed to Ben over her shoulder.

“It could break!” Ben argued, continuing to fix whatever was wrong with the table. Beverly walked over to Richie, who is sat down on the sofa. “So… I have this friend. He’s smart, good-looking, and really nice-“

“No, Bev, I’m not going to date. I’m single and unwilling to mingle.”

“More like, single and afraid to mingle,” she tiredly rolls her eyes, “Richie, there are good people out there, you just have to try.”

“I don’t see that. All the good people are with the other good people. Look at you and Ben! Both of you are like, super hot and nice. Guys like me got no chance- not saying that I want a chance, because I’m fine being alone.”

“You just have to keep looking.”

“Its a waste of energy to ‘keep looking.’ People who like me are not okay. Remember Abigail? Not to mention, people have shit taste in music.”

“You’re such a music snob,” She weakly laughs and shakes her head.

“Alright, its good. The screws were just-“ Ben says, getting up and walking to them.

“Ben, we love you but I don’t understand a single thing you say about architecture and furniture, and whatever else there is,” Bev jokes.

“I try. I’m out for today though, I have meeting, and I’m not sure if I’ll be back,” Ben says to Richie.

“Thats fine, I’ll just sit back here,” Richie smiles putting his hands behind his head and leaning further into the sofa.

“See you then.”

Richie picked up a vinyl and put it in the player. He had been playing around with cassettes, and a few of his own vinyl for a few hours now (‘few’ probably not being the case) and thinking and writing. After he’s finished a chunk of the script he was working on for his Friday performance at a local bar, he had gotten bored and just casually sat by the sofa. ‘Love’ the word danced around his head, taunting him. Or at least, to him, it was taunting. ’He woke up from dreaming and put on his shoes’ sung the player.

The song carried him around as he sang, “Forgive me I’m trying to find, my calling, I’m calling at night. I don’t mean to be a bother but have you seen this girl?” The lyrics took him strongly, his heart tight and loose at the same time, feeling each beat. He drums his fingers on the sofa, following the beats, “She’s been running through my dreams. And its driving me crazy it seems. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“you’re such a music snob,” rang in his ears, and he knew what he was going to do. He ran to his collection of vinyl seated by the left of the speakers, under the small table and began to search. He had his own few pieces of vinyl in the store, his own music that he listened to on the empty days of work. The Beatles, Green Day, Aerosmith, he took all the classics in his hands and grinned.

~~~

“Explain to me your plan again?” Stan asked, shocked.

“I’m going to get the best vinyl, write my number or email- whatever, and see who calls. Go on a date, see what happens. I’m gonna leave the vinyl all around the city’s subway all that, ” Richie explains excitedly.

“That might actually work!” Patty says, joining Richie’s excitement.

“This can get you more crazy dates than the ones you got before, Rich,” Stan says, unsure.

“Then, its material for my shows! Like Abigail and James!”

“See, Stan? Its great! Richie tries to go back to dating and he gets show material, win-win!” Patty hopes.

“Where will you get all the vinyl your leaving?”

“Thats the only downside, I’m going to use my own vinyl, maybe beg Ben to let me use the ones at the store?”

Stan sighs, softly smiling and nods, “this could work.”

~~~

‘Hot Fuss’ sat on his lap as he traced over the letters. Richie was in doubt now, his heart racing as he sat in the train. This was the first vinyl he would be leaving for this project of his. His stop was in a few minutes, so he pulled out the Sharpie from his pocket, bit the cap off, and wrote: ‘If you’ve enjoyed listening to this, would you enjoy a date too? Email me, Richie Tozier, @Remembering_Records.’ Richie set the vinyl down subtly and walked. “@Remembering_Records?” Stan asks.

“I was listening to Remembering Sunday, it was influenced,” Richie replies, hopping over the gap, he takes a deep breath and looks over at Stan, “Let’s hope this works,” he smiles, dashing away.

Eddie Kaspbrak’s First Vinyl

“I can’t believe we’re not using our cars,” Eddie mumbles, grumpily.

“Says the New Yorker,” Mike jokes.

“I drive there! Bill’s from there too! Subway stations are so unsanitary, so many people-“

“P-please! Enough with the com-complaining!” Bill says, frustrated, “M-Mike’s car broke down, and there’s no other way to get to B-Ben and Bev’s shop.”

“Its your day off! You landed in LA at midnight, and now we’re going to meet up with old friends,” Mike says happily, walking into the train.

“Exactly! Midnight. I shouldn’t be running around in this germ-infested-“

Mike looks at him tiredly.

“—I’m doing this because Ben and Bev are great and they’re our place to stay, Florida,” Eddie rolls his eyes.

Eddie doesn’t fit in LA. At all. He’s not used to the weather, the lifestyle, everything. He doesn’t like it here and just wants to go home. And Los Angeles seems to not want him here either. He lost one out of three of his suitcases the moment he got down, he had to wait an hour for Mike and Bill to pick him up from the airport, Mike’s car breaks down on the way to meet a friend, and now he’s taking the dirty subway.

He’s only really here for work. All three of them are. Bill and Eddie are from New York, and Mike is from Florida. They were transferred to the Los Angeles branch as a way to teach and help the new workers there. Bill’s ex-girlfriend, Beverly, lives in Los Angeles with her husband. They’re all good friends and Ben and Beverly offered to let them stay at their house (scratch that- mansion) for as long as they’re there. Of course, they took the offer instead of some crummy hotel, too far from their jobs.

Now here he is, on a train, heading to EighthNote to meet Ben and Beverly. But something isn’t right in this train, Eddie doesn’t know if this is just Los Angeles, but there, two seats away, is a light blue, paper casing, with the words ‘The Killers Hot Fuss’ sprawled across its center.

“Look, its Hot Fuss,” Mike points, “someone must’ve lost it.”

“We could put it in the l-lost and found,” Bill mumbles.

“Do not touch that. Who knows where its been?” Eddie says immediately, grabbing Bill's wrist and lightly pulling him back.

But Mike was already on his way to the seat, hand already about to grab the record. Until some guy in his late twenties took the record and sat on the seat. “Oh, is this yours?” He asks Mike.

“Oh, no, it isn’t mine,” Mike says walking back to Bill and Eddie.

~~~

On a street corner, a glass door, big windows, and a small wood sign that says EighthNote hanging above, Ben and Bev were talking inside when Bill, Mike, and Eddie walked in. “Ben! Bev!” Mike smiles, arms open wide.

“Its been so long!” Beverly sings, piling them into a group hug.

“It really has. I didn’t even know you had this shop,” Eddie says, admiring the speakers.

“At this point, it isn’t even ours, one our friends who work here basically one the place at this point,” Ben explains.

“You guys have a whole staff for this?”

“Nah, its just one of our friends. We pretty much just lay around here, the few customers here and there,” Beverly smiles, “he’s got comedy gigs though, he should honestly be a star now.”

“What’s his name?”

“Richie. We met him through Patty—one of my friends who model for me— her husband, Stan.”

“I’m probably pulling at strings here but are you talking about Stan Uris?” Mike asks, surprised.

“Yeah! How do you know him?”

“Best ex I ever had.”

Beverly laughs cheekily, “do tell.”

“Nothing! I just know from college, we dated a while, then he swooned for a girl, Patty Blum.”

“Thats her alright. Gorgeous.”

Eddie had moved on from the speakers by then, knowing they’d be reminiscing college in the next few minutes. Eddie only knows Ben and Beverly through Bill. Bill and Beverly had dated in college, but broke up and just stuck to being friends. Nothing is really awkward between them, all still close. Ben and Eddie both get along with architecture. He really just wanted something to do, he didn’t know what anything in this store was. “Its the thing from the train,” Eddie points, not exactly talking to anyone.

“Oh yeah,” Mike says walking over to Eddie. Mike’s reply startling him.

“Train?” Ben asks.

“We found a vinyl in the train on our way here,” Bill explains.

The conversation didn’t go into the details anymore, as Beverly took the record and put it in… Eddie didn’t know what that was. Was he supposed to? He saw Walkmans from his classmates when he was in middle school, but he never paid too much attention to it. He simply didn’t have the time or energy to care. Its just music. The song started oddly, in Eddie’s opinion. ‘Save some face, you know you’ve only got one’

“What the fuck is this?” Eddie wondered as the song continued.

“You’ve never heard ‘Smile Like You Mean It’?” Bill asks making Eddie slightly uncomfortable.

“I- No?”

Beverly cheekily grinning, “Well, since you’re in LA with us, you’re gonna finally see what good music is.”

~~~

The day took longer than Eddie had hoped, but now, he was in a car (thank God) heading the Marsh’s house. Grateful that Bill and Mike were just as exhausted and quiet as he was, he finally caught up with his thoughts. He was finally able to think again, about how the shop looked, how much he disliked the album Beverly basically threw at his ears, how cute the boy who walked into the shop earlier- no. No. Not what should be running threw his head right now. “Do you guys know the guy who walked into EighthNote earlier?”

“The tall, Hawaiian shirt guy with the glasses?” Mike asked, not looking at Eddie as he turned the wheel.

“Yeah.”

“I th-think that was the guy who works there. Who would randomly bring food into a store and y-yell ‘I brought Chinese, fuckers!’ If they didn’t work there?” Bill answers.

“Right,” Eddie says, his mind wandering away from the topic. He found himself opening his phone and searching ‘Hot Fuss’ into Spotify’s search bar. As much as he’d hate to admit it, it wasn’t that bad. And the guy at the store was cute.

Beverly Marsh’s Plan

“I brought Chinese, fuckers!” Richie shouted as he walked into the store. He instantly dropped his hands when he saw a man right in front of him.

After a quite lengthy moment of staring, “Excuse me,” he said, moving to the right of Richie, out the door, two men following after.

“Who were they?” Richie asked, setting the food on the table in front of him.

“Old friends of ours. They’re gonna be staying at our place,” Beverly explains.

“Okay,” Richie drags the word, “anyway, I have an amazing plan that was already put into action before any of you two hets try to stop me—”

“Uh-huh,” Ben cautiously nods.

“— so. Here’s how it works. I’m gonna set out a bunch of vinyl and shit on subways, with an email written on the back, and see how calls. I write if they wanna go on a date on the back, and if you’re worried if that'll be a bunch of people like Abigail and shit, I’m not saying you’re wrong. But if it is, it’s show material. It’s gonna be great.”

“This is amazing! You should’ve told us earlier, I totally would’ve come with you!” Beverly laughs.

“Wait. Did you start today?” Ben asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“Which?” Ben smirks at Beverly, as she returns the look.

“Hot Fuss,” Richie smiles. Ben and Beverly snicker. Richie rolls his eyes, “Yeah I know I played Mr. Brightside to a girl before, but I didn’t know the song was about cheating!”

Beverly’s laughter doubles, “That’s not it but okay.”

“Whatever. But, anyway, who was the short guy earlier?”

“We told you, old friends. Why?” Ben says.

“Dunno. He was kinda cute I guess.”

“See? I told you you’d like him. That was the guy I was telling you about,” Beverly smiles knowingly.

“You tried to set up Eddie and Richie?” Ben wonders. Beverly sneaks a wink at Ben, “There’s a concert next weekend, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Think you could get us three more tickets?”

“Sure?”

~~~

Beverly walked into to her and Ben’s room, grinning. “Are you gonna explain why you’re so happy?” Ben asks.

“We’re gonna get Richie and Eddie together.”

Ben gives an unsure look at her, “Richie’s going back to dating with this vinyls-on-trains thing he’s doing. Are you sure you want to set him up? You know how unhappy he is about love and stuff, its surprising enough that he’s willing to try again.”

Beverly takes a moment to think. She knows Ben is right, but she also knows that this will be good for both Eddie and Richie. Well, the second one, she isn’t so sure of. “I guess,” Beverly says, slightly disheartened, “but, we could ask them and, y’know, try?” She says hopefully.

“As much as I worry about this, I also think that it could be good. We’ll take them both to the concert and see where they go from there. What do you think?”

“Perfect,” Beverly smiles.

[strawberry-skies-xx]

a million reasons to let you go

C H A P T E R   T E N

word count: 2701

tags:  eventual hiccup/astrid, slow burn, fluff, angst, happy ending, feral hiccup, hiccup whump, bamf hiccup, protective astrid, protective hiccup, interrogation, aftermath of torture, implied/referenced torture, hurt/comfort, stoick’s a+ parenting, stoick’s bad parenting, hiccstrid fluff, hiccup and toothless friendship

main masterlist | story on ao3 | next chapter >>

Sunlight shines through to the cove three days later when Astrid walks into it, sitting on a rock nearby and opening Fishlegs’ second edition of the Book of Dragons in an attempt to banish the sound of Hiccup’s dragon-call echoing from the prison, filled with so much vivid, animalistic pain and grief that it hadn’t stopped plaguing her since that night, echoing in her dreams and all her thoughts. She starts reading it, shoving down the guilt and fear and pain and replacing it with the memories of when she first met Hiccup, a month and a half ago. Talking to him, being saved by him, being brought back to Berk. His crooked half-smile, the way he and Toothless moved so fluidly together, when he told her Toothless’s name.

She flips through the pages, scanning all of Hiccup’s neat annotations. Most of them are feeding habits, things the dragons love, and there isn’t much he adds about how to hurt them. Typical, she thinks, as she flips past the Night Fury page.

And then she finds more words there, an entire page that isn’t officially titled, but is scribbled with notes.

None of the food is eaten, she reads, pausing to focus on the notes.

Toothless led me to the island. There’s some sort of call the Queen gives out to lure the dragons in.

Toothless seemed to be unable to resist the call.

There were lost Viking ships all around, broken into splinters from where they’d crashed. Toothless was able to sense the sea stacks where I couldn’t.

Astrid frowns, rereading the notes.

There’s some sort of call the Queen gives out-

She inhales sharply, realization dawning on her. Hiccup found the nest. The Nest. The one her tribe has been searching for for centuries.

She glances back down at the page, skimming the notes once more for any other clues. The Nest can only be found by a dragon, she gets that, but there’s something else that seems off.

None of the food is eaten.

They drop the food down a hole, and if a dragon doesn’t provide enough, they get eaten themselves.

Astrid looks up, flipping the book closed in her hands, mind racing. This- this could solve all their problems. If they defeated their Queen, then the dragons wouldn’t need to steal food. Berk wouldn’t have to fight them - Stoick could see that dragons weren’t evil, and could let Hiccup and Toothless go. The war between Berk and dragons could end. For good.

She stands up, a new determination in her step. If she tells Stoick, all they need to do is find a way to kill the Queen and then Hiccup and Toothless will be free. Stoick has no reason to keep them - the only grudge he has against them is that Hiccup is friends with a dragon, and he doesn’t know whether there’s more of them, if they’re friend or foe. And Astrid knows Stoick doesn’t want to kill him, otherwise he would have and this mess would never have existed in the first place.

Astrid grins and starts her run back to Berk.

“Chief!”

Astrid skids to a stop in front of Stoick, who turns and looks down at her with confusion and irritation on his face.

“Astrid? What are ye doin’ here?”

She looks up at him, eyes wide and Fishlegs’ Book of Dragons held in her hands. “I found a way to stop the dragons. We don’t have to fight them anymore, Chief, we can end the war!”

Stoick’s eyes widen now, and he turns to face her full-on, all his attention focused on her. It’s a little intimidating, especially with the stakes and consequences of what she’s suggesting, but she has to keep going. “Explain,” he says.

She takes a breath. “You know the dragon-boy locked in the prison, right?”

Stoick’s face darkens at the reminder of his failure to figure out anything about Hiccup, and he nods.

“He got Fishlegs’ Book of Dragons, and he made notes in it. One of the pages talks about the nest,” Astrid continues. “The Nest. The one we’ve been searching for for centuries.”

She can’t help the grin that spreads across her face as she continues almost breathlessly. “Only a dragon can find it, and the Queen controls them all. She’s the one sending all of the dragons on raids. They don’t eat any of it! They bring it all back to her, and if they don’t bring enough, then they get eaten themselves.”

Stoick catches on, a sort of awed joy entering his voice as he finishes her thoughts. “If we kill the Queen, then the raids will stop.”

Astrid nods, her grin widening. “Yeah.”

Stoick looks up, projecting his voice and catching the undivided attention of every Viking in the vicinity. “Ready the ships! We’re going to the Dragon’s Nest!”

Hiccup looks up from where he’s curled in his cell when he hears the prison door open, and there are two pairs of footsteps. One stops only a few steps in rather than going to the end where he is, and another pair is familiar, walking towards his cell. He uncurls, rising to a crouch, watching the shadows elongate in front of his cell, until Stoick appears, his eyes dark as he glares at him. Hiccup glares right back, green eyes fiery with defiance and stubbornness.

“You’re so friendly with dragons,” Stoick growls. “Now you’re going to help me kill one.”

Hiccup’s eyes widen as Stoick unlocks the cell, but he’s not close enough to run out before he closes the door, or save Toothless while he’s at it. He’s stuck in the corner as Stoick stalks forward, but he growls steadily and gives a low hiss when Stoick gets a foot away from him.

“Come with me, dragon-boy,” Stoick rumbles, an unmistakable threat in the way he moves and talks that makes Hiccup’s entire body tense, poised like a cornered animal - which is exactly what he is.

Hiccup lashes out at Stoick when he reaches out, pulling a thin leather cord by his wrist and releasing the sharp claws from the leather pad on the back of his hand. Stoick gasps in surprise as the points cut shallowly along his arm, before he yanks it back and his glare grows darker and more threatening.

Hiccup pulls the other cord, releasing the other claws and balling his hands into fists, letting the sharp claws curl over his fingers and crouching defensively, his glare matching Stoick’s.

Of all the things Stoick has done to him, and made him do, he will not kill a dragon. That is something unthinkable, something so wrong that Hiccup hasn’t imagined himself doing it for eleven years, even when he was pinned against a rock with a Night Fury’s jaws roaring in his face and thought he would die right then and there.

He will not kill a dragon.

Stoick growls in frustration, his hand reaching for his axe on his back and unsheathing it, hefting it in one hand and looking down at Hiccup.

Hiccup’s eyes widen at the threat - this he cannot beat. His claws won’t work against an axe, and neither will his blade if he had it. There is no way for Hiccup to defeat Stoick like this, unarmed and defenseless except for eight small pretend-claws.

Stoick raises the axe. Hiccup shrieks fear like a dragon, ducking and covering his head, curling into a protective ball, heart racing and eyes closed.

The blow never comes, but instead Hiccup slowly looks out from underneath his hood to see Stoick watching him, sadness reading in all his body signals and in his eyes. The axe is embedded in the ground next to him.

Hiccup tilts his head at the sudden change, but only for a second. Stoick wipes the expression off his face, his body shifting to that of threat, and moves fast enough to catch Hiccup by surprise, taking his arm and pulling him upright.

Hiccup yelps and struggles, kicking and fighting enough to get annoyed grunts of effort out of Stoick before his arms are pulled behind his back and he feels rope tie around them, in a complex knot that’s tight around his wrists and unreachable by his claws.

Stoick doesn’t say anything, only puts his hands on Hiccup’s shoulders and roughly steers him out of the cell and towards the doors of the prison. Hiccup doesn’t see Toothless in the cell by the door, and a cold fear settles into his stomach, more permanent than any other time he’s been scared here before.

He blinks at the bright light as Stoick leads him out and down towards Berk’s dock. Hiccup looks around, at the mass of humans carrying weapons and other machinery to the docks, and feels himself shrink away from them. All his instincts are screaming at him to run, to get away from so many people, especially Vikings, that for only a moment, he forgets it’s his father and tormenter behind him and he cringes back, pressing into Stoick’s stomach.

Stoick doesn’t stop, almost pushing Hiccup forward, and Hiccup’s body tenses, heart rate picking up as they weave through the crowd.

A Viking bumps into his shoulder and Hiccup lets out an involuntary whimper, quiet and half-bitten off. The stress of the past two weeks is pressing down on him now; being injured and unconscious in Berk’s healer’s house, and then being trapped in the prisons and interrogated, along with the pain of Astrid’s betrayal, and then being separated from Toothless, even if only for three days, while still interrogated. And now this, being forced into a throng of Vikings bigger than him and stronger than him and being unarmed and incapacitated during it, with no idea of where Toothless is.

Hiccup sees the boat, sees Stoick’s path towards it, and his fear increases. His breaths come short with the sudden weight of where he is, of where he will be - stranded with Vikings on a boat in the middle of the ocean, without Toothless, for as many hours as they want to keep him there. No escape, and it’s all too easy for them to simply throw him overboard and let him drown. Then they’d have Toothless, they’d have his other half and he’d be alone in the world, without Hiccup, and it’s wrong, it’s lonely and bad and wrong.

His eyes dart panicked around the docks, meeting the curious gazes of Vikings as he passes by, and shrinking away from them, flinching whenever a Viking passes too close.

Then there’s a shriek, a familiar shriek of heart that means Hiccup, and all other thoughts flee his mind as Hiccup’s head snaps up, gaze flicking frantically around the docks for a flash of obsidian scales.

Toothless, Hiccup whistles, except it really means self to other dragons, but Hiccup and Toothless don’t care. They’ve long since accepted that each other’s names sometimes come out as heart and love and self, because they’re each other’s self as much as they are their own, and the same with their hearts and souls.

Hiccup spots Toothless, strapped and muzzled and still growling and shrieking heart and self at Hiccup through the leather, and he growls himself, kicking back against Stoick and renewing his fight, whistling his own calls for Toothless all the while.

Stoick grunts and moves his hands down Hiccup’s arms, tightening his fingers there and giving a low growl when Hiccup turns his head, green eyes filled with vehement fire as he keeps struggling as hard as physically possible. The Vikings around him, already curious, are now openly staring, glancing between the dragon and the boy fighting to be near each other.

Hiccup smiles darkly as Toothless tosses his head and knocks a Viking down to slide across the docks and into the water, while his tail swings back and forth, smacking into any Viking that gets close to it. Stoick grunts again with the effort of holding Hiccup in place and not letting go as he twists and kicks, and then his fingers slip.

It’s the slightest movement, but Hiccup feels it like he feels every human touch like a brand on his skin, and he wrenches himself hard, away from Stoick, whose hands slip and let go. Toothless, he whistles as he runs, hands still bound, and gets an answering chirp as he stops by him.

Toothless nuzzles his head into Hiccup, both of them letting out a low purr at being with the other again, but only for a moment. Toothless growls at a Viking coming up behind Hiccup, and Hiccup turns, pressing his back to Toothless and giving his own growl at the advancing crowd of Vikings.

Stoick’s voice rises from the back of them, catching the attention of dragon, boy, and all the Vikings. “Let him be,” he says, walking forward through the crowd. He meets Hiccup and Toothless’s matching glares with a look that isn’t his own glare, but rather just sadness and a slight tinge of annoyance.

“I’ll take care of him,” Stoick says, dismissing the Vikings, and he stalks forward towards the dragon and boy. Hiccup glares up at him, fiery and defiant, but Stoick only takes the chain Toothless’s wooden cart is attached to and pulls it, wheeling it down the docks. “Come on, dragon.”

Hiccup follows - he has no other choice, outnumbered and outmatched as he is. That’s a bad thing, this is not at all what Hiccup and Toothless are supposed to be, trapped and defenseless, but they’re together again, and that’s better than they were before. They can take on anything as long as they’re together.

Toothless’s platform is hooked onto a chain and lifted, and Hiccup yelps no-mine at the threat and climbs onto the platform, locking his legs around Toothless’s leg and hanging on as the platform rises. Toothless turns and pushes his hood back to nuzzle into Hiccup’s hair with a purr, an answering one coming from Hiccup as he presses back.

The platform sways and Hiccup yelps as he leans outwards, caught only by Toothless’s teeth in the collar of his shirt. He looks back at Toothless, then down at the gradually fading ground, and whimpers softly, moving further towards Toothless until he’s nearly bent beneath his front and tightening his legs around his paw.

The platform lands on the ship, rocking it, and Toothless hisses at the Vikings who chain down the wood, giving looks at Hiccup as he hides in the shadow of Toothless that range from curious to disdainful.

Hiccup glares at them all, shoving down the fear and ignoring his racing heart. He sees Stoick step on the ship just as it starts moving, and both Hiccup and Toothless glare at him as he walks past them and leans in, gaze dark and his voice a hiss.

“Take us home, devil.”

Astrid watches the two in front of her, the Night Fury muzzled and chained and the boy curled around his front paw, and she wonders what she’s done. Of all the things she meant to happen by going out to kill the nest’s Queen, this was not it. Hiccup and Toothless were supposed to be safe back on Berk - imprisoned and separated, but safe. They were supposed to be let go after this, not brought on the boat with them. Astrid doesn’t know what she’ll do if they drown because the ship is set on fire and they can’t escape.

She doesn’t want to reveal herself to them, yet. She has no idea if the dragon can smell her, but it will be riskier if they know she’s here than if they think she isn’t. Astrid can’t risk the Vikings finding out about her relationship with them.

So she stays at the back of the ship, strangely calm despite the fact that this is it. The thing Vikings have been waiting and searching for for centuries, the thing that may be the freedom for Hiccup and Toothless, the event that will change Berk forever.

Astrid straightens her spine, watches the horizon, and leans with the ship as it turns into the dense, cold fog of Helheim’s Gate.

next chapter >>

[booksbea]

Chance Meeting

Chapter 44: Work Rating: E - this chapter is T, however Relationship: Qrowin Tag: Slice of Life, Adventure and Romance, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comedy, Slow Burn, Pre-Canon, Military, Canon-Typical Violence, Age Difference, Canon Compliant Author’s note: Qrowin Week 2020 Day 6 Submission; I decided to continue my Chance Meeting Fic and used the prompts as inspiration. So...most will not stand only fics - sorry. However, the AUs will be! c:

Winter frowned at her half-finished signature on her paperwork. The black ink in her fountain pen ran out sooner than she thought. She got up with the intent of looking for a disposal pen when she glanced up to the clock. It was well past eight in the evening and the sun had long sunk into the horizon. She had relieved her subordinates at five, never expecting them to stay as late as she does. It was Friday night. They all had loved ones to get to or personal social engagements to attend, and she strongly believed in a work-life balance. If only she could feel comfortable committing to that sentiment as well. Her paperwork for the day was completed before noon but she decided to work on other projects. There was an upcoming intel mission in the north she and the Communication Department were collaborating on. In the following month, she had a scouting mission in the south of Argus. She had a report due the following Monday for General Ironwood on an investigation of a drug ring in Mantle she led. She needed to prep for a search and destroy mission at the western coast of Mantle next week. So, she worked. Her mind won't let her rest if she tried to leave early. She had so much to prove not only to her superiors and colleagues; but, to the Atlas and Mantle communities. She heard the whispers and read the headlines. 

Read the rest here. Start the fic from the beginning here.

[emma-nation]

Thinking Of You (Mona x MC Fanfiction) - Chapter 7

You said move on Where do I go? I guess second best Is all I will know

Summary: Years later, Allison has everything she wants, a brand-new internship as a doctor, a handsome boyfriend… but her first nightshift won’t go as expected…

Genre: Romance, Angst

Tag list: @zoe6111, @simsvetements, @mvrinettes, @whoinvitedalx, @scarlet-letter-a0114, @abunchofbadchoices, @kamilahmademedoit, @janurary, @talkinlikeateen, @eagle-one-1, @andreear17, @tia-bi, @monagf, @monahott, @fal-carrington, @crazzyplays, @honorablebicycle​, @teja-desai​ (let me know if you want to be tagged!)

Notes:

- English is not my first language, forgive me for any mistakes.

- Choices July Challenge starts tomorrow and I’m more than excited to share some other MonaxMC fics with you. Stay tuned!!

"I still don't like this idea," Mr. Wheeler grunted.

"Neither do I," Mona responded, scowling with arms crossed. "Do I look like I'm happy?"

"Will you two ever stop?" Allison finished placing her things inside her purse.

"I hope you're not doing this, ruining your life, because of her again."

Mona rolled her eyes.

"Look, I only accepted this damn plan because Allison tends to do some stupid things. I know she'll get in trouble."

"For the first time we agree, Mona. Though this behavior is more usual when you're around."

"Are we good to go?" Allison interrupted, trying to put an end in the discussion.

As expected, Mr. Wheeler wasn't happy. He protested, accused her of throwing her entire future away because of Mona but, in the end, he threw the towel, knowing it was useless to try to change her mind.

Mona nodded, waiting for her in front of the door.

"Before we go," Allison pulled out her cell phone, "one last thing."

She snapped a picture of Mona.

"Mona's first day of college. We need to save that moment. Your mom is going to be so proud!"

"Don't you even dare to send her that!" Mona angered. "If she knows I'm playing the bait for a serial killer, she'll kill me and your father together."

Allison laughed.

"Don't worry, but we'll show her when all of this is over. She’ll be proud anyways."

Mona sighed and shook her head.

Outside, they were about to enter her car when she stood still, staring at a luxurious car parked at the opposite side of the street. Noticing their presence, the car drove away. Mona scowled.

"Who was that?" Allison asked, curious and worried.

"No one," she answered. “No one that matters.”

Ignoring the tension in the air, Allison changed the subject.

"I can't believe we're actually doing this!" She giggled as Mona started driving. "I'm so excited."

"You're the only person I've ever met that would want to catch a serial killer to run away from your life. And I've met some weird kinds in prison."

With the mission, Mona was finally being more open around Allison. Her mood also improved, though she fought hard to hide it. She was always smiling and making jokes. The night were Allison confessed her feelings was never mentioned again, but she planned to bring that up again soon, when she was finally able to break her engagement.

Griffin had been unreachable lately. The internet signal was very poor in the area he was volunteering. Mona would often tease her, about him having a second fiancée in Africa.

They parked. Mona wouldn't leave the car.

"Let's go," Allison called.

"I suddenly feel nauseous again."

"Don't tell me Mona, who doesn't give a damn about anything, is actually nervous?"

"C-Can you blame me? Do you have any idea of how long ago was the last time I was in school? And trust me, it wasn't good."

"Okay... I'm gonna do something my dad always did, in my first school days," she kissed Mona's cheek. "A good luck kiss! See you at lunch."

Mona froze and then blushed. Allison left the car, leaving her alone. She hid herself behind a tree and observed at distance as she followed her own way.

----------

The day passed quick, but it wasn't any easy for Mona. As she entered her first class, she felt a lump on her throat.

"So this is how it feels like," she thought, remembering her past and how she was supposed to have attended to NYU or Columbia. Both of them granted her full scholarships, over a science project she developed in High School and she perfect GPA.

She picked a seat at the most hidden corner she could find in the auditorium. In that moment, Mona completely understood Mr. Wheeler’s feelings towards her. She acted so stupid, throwing everything away for a girl. Searching her name on Google, she found out she was in jail again. Drug dealing this time. And she didn't even look so pretty or cool anymore.

The classes were easier than she expected. For someone that got a GED in prison, she stood out, being the one to answer all the questions teachers asked. Of course, not without attracting some jealousy from her classmates.

Anyways, it was lunch time and she was ready to reunite with Allison.

"Any news?" Mona asked, as soon as she joined her at the table. "I can't wait to get the hell out of here."

"No, there wasn't any creepy guys selling drugs in my classroom," Allison joked. "But come on, was it so bad?"

"Bad? My classmates have started spreading rumors I was in jail for murdering some dude. The only person who actually interacted with me was this Christian girl, saying she'll help me to find redemption."

Allison couldn't help but laugh.

"What about you? How many Graysons did you meet in class?"

"Griffin. But no, there was no one like him."

"Obviously,” Mona finally grinned, ironically. “Because he's the most perfect, handsome and also, good in bed."

"No, actually it’s because most of my classmates are women."

"Oh! Any like me? I doubt it."

"Of course not! You're one in a million, Mona."

Mona suddenly stop laughing, wondering if Allison was still joking of if she really meant that. Before she could ask, her expression changed and she became serious.

"I'm breaking up with him," she told.

"Oh, my condolences."

"Can you just be serious and listen to me? I mean, I like talking to you. You don't judge or put any pressure on me."

Mona inhaled deeply, thinking of what to say, without sounding sarcastic or thrilled about the break up. She tried to remember the therapy sessions she was forced to attend in prison, where the therapist taught her to be more empathetic.

"Listen, Allison. You know I'm not the most appropriate person for heartfelt conversations or to offer comfort but..." she placed her hand on top of hers. "You gotta do what's the best for you. If you're not happy anymore, just do it. You're smart and pretty, besides having some impressive hot wiring skills and being a great driver. I’d say you still can have a lot of fun before settling down with someone."

"That was the sweetest thing I've heard in years," Allison smiled. "Thank you."

Mona didn't immediately removed her hand, Allison didn't bother moving hers either. They stayed like that for a brief moment, enjoying each other’s touch.

"But I'm worried about you," Allison spoke again, in a serious tone. "About that guy who was parked in front of home this morning. You're not in danger, are you?"

Mona sighed. She didn't like sharing, but since she was staying in Allison's house, she deserved to know the truth.

"That's my..." she cleared her throat before saying the word, "father. Though he's the ultimate douchebag, he offers no threat. I hadn't seen him since I was fifteen. I have no idea why he suddenly became obsessed with me."

She told about his famous dealership, with all the stores he had around the country and how he had been keeping her car for the last few years.

"Maybe he's trying to make it up for the lost time and bond with you?"

"No, it's something else. I just don't know what."

Allison checked her watch, concluding it was almost time to go.

"I had a really nice time chatting with you," she said before leaving. "I hope we can do this more often."

"Yeah, me too..." Mona whispered, but she was already gone.

----------

After lunch, Mona had a freshmen orientation in the library. Checking her phone, there was already multiple messages from Detective Wheeler, asking if she had gotten anything. She rolled her eyes and started to examine her surroundings.

"Remember what you're here for. This life isn't for you. You're only playing a role."

There was this young male, Brian. She had been watching him since the early hours in the morning. Mona knew his type very well. Big biceps, small brain. He was a Jock, what made her the suspect number one in her list. Discreetly, she took a picture of him, sending to the Detective.

Passing through one of the library sections, she saw a perfect opportunity to confront him, when he was pestering another freshman girl.

"Come on, gorgeous. Let me give you a tour of the campus. I'll show you the most interesting spots in this place."

"Leave me alone!" The girl ordered.

He didn't obey. Preventing her from leaving the aisle.

"At least give me your number. So we can get to know each other better."

"No!

"Come on..."

Mona decided it was the perfect moment to intervene.

"The girl said no," she calmly said. "Do you even know what 'no' means or... your muscles have overgrown your brain?"

"Get out of here, chick," he angered. "This is between me and... what's your name, gorgeous?"

Mona placed herself between them, frowning at him.

"You're crossing limits here, dude. So it's my business too."

"Do you have any idea of who you're messing with?"

"What about you? Do you have any idea of who you're messing with?"

"Oh my god!" The girl yelled in that moment. "S-She's that girl who was in jail for stabbing a man."

Brian's expression suddenly changed.

"T-Those are rumors. She's only playing the bad girl act."

"Are you willing to test me?"

"I could break you in half if I wanted," the intimidating look was back on his face. "You've been warned. Stay out of my way."

As he went way, Mona glanced back at the girl. Who looked away, avoiding to face her.

"You're welcome," she said upon her silence.

She began to walk away, when she called her back.

"Wait! I'm so sorry, I just wanted to scare him away. I don't even know if these crazy rumors are true."

"And you don't want to find out."

Mona continued her way, but she heard the girl yelling 'thank you' at distance. She didn't care, she had gotten what she wanted. One first suspect for Detective Wheeler.

At the parking lot, she waited for Allison, when Krista, the Christian girl, came to her direction, making her wince in displeasure.

“The Lord is testing me.”

"Mona!" She greeted. "How was your first day? Well, I hope."

"Fabulous," she replied with sarcasm.

"Good. Listen, I really meant it about redemption. If you prove you're willing to follow a new path, you're more than invited for our weekly Bible studies."

Mona didn't answer. She didn't want to sound disrespectful or offend her at all.

"Wow, is that your car?" She asked looking at the Halberdier EVX. "I-It isn't stolen, is it?"

"Probably," Mona sighed deeply. Kaneko had given her that car when she moved to Los Angeles, so it was very possible.

"Oh my god!" She covered her mouth with her hand. "Listen, the first step for your redemption is to get rid of these things. Things that keep you attached to your sinful past. Will you be getting a new car?"

"Maybe, when I have money."

"I could get you a job, if you want. We do charity work for people like you, that served time in prison. But first you need to prove you're willing to reborn to a new life."

"I'll think about it," Mona lied, trying to end that conversation.

As she watched Krista entering her own car, she let out a laugh. She had the most expensive car of the moment. The same model as Dr. Carlson and her father.

"Snob."

----------

Allison was never good at socializing, in school her only friends were always Darius and Riya. In college it wasn't very different. All the friends she made, she met them through Griffin. He was the popular one. But the situation demanded desperate measures. There was going to be a hot party in the weekend, to welcome the freshmen, and she needed to get invited. What place could be better to catch a drug dealer than a party?

During a break between classes, she found a group of girls reunited at the bathroom. She remained silent inside a stall, to listen to their conversation.

"Are you going to the 'Welcome Party'?"

"Sure I am! It's one of the best parties of the year!"

"Do you know where I could get tickets? I tried to buy from Aaron, but he said they're expired."

"Don't tell anyone, but I bought some extra. You know, there will be some desperate people searching for last time tickets and I really could use some extra money."

"Perfect," Allison thought.

She followed them to the corridor, her wallet in hands.

"Hey! Did you say you have tickets for the 'Welcome Party'? I need two."

"You gonna have to pay double for them, honey. I was saving for some friends."

"I have this friend, who's a freshman too. After having such a hard time in life, she could really use some fun. I'll pay the triple."

In the end of the day, she was grinning ear to ear. Mona was waiting for her, leaning against her car's hood in the parking lot. As usual, she had a scowl on her face.

"What happened?" She asked. "I have the most awesome news."

"Is it related to the investigation?" Mona asked. "Because I don’t know how longer I can’t take without telling these dickheads to screw off!"

"Whoa, someone has definitely pissed you off."

First she told her about her suspect and her encounter with him at the library, where Mona saved a girl from him. In the end, she also misjudged her, repeating the rumors for everyone around to listen.

"And then there was this Christian girl, the one who wants to save my soul. She wants me to get rid of my car, but she has that brand-new European model all the douchebags have. My father and Dr. Dickson."

"Hey, your dad is a creep, I agree. But Dr. Carlson is a good man. Have you seen all the humanitarian projects he does?"

Mona looked at her and sighed.

"Anyways," Allison changed the subject. "I have great news. Something that will help you to relax."

"Please, tell me it's my one-way ticket to New York?"

"No, you're not going away so easily. Not before we attend 'The Welcome Party'."

[marvelheaux]

T’challa’s Outside Daughter (Chapter 2)

T’challa x BlackDaughter!Reader or O/C

A/N : Here’s chapter 2! Sorry I didn’t upload this earlier, I was really busy :( I hope that you like it! Be sure to check out the story links below or search the “Zyra Udaku” tag for stuff pertaining to the fic. Enjoy! - Lanna xx

Description : Zyra is the first born of King T’challa. She moved to the states and grew up with her Single mother with hardly any contact with her father. Queen Mother Ramonda decided that with all the drama and secrets going on, that it's time to bring the family together .

Story Links:

Main Character + Faceclaim

Character List

She met one of her father's  Exes (oneshot)

TOD Prologue , Chp1

Warnings: Possible Grammar Errors, Angst, Strong Language

Words: 2K

FLASHBACK (one year ago)

        The king and the royal council gathered for a  meeting (more like a parent meeting) was in effect to discuss a verbal feud that had been going on between the King’s daughter Sariyah and the River Tribe Elder’s youngest daughter Kailee. According to Princess Sariyah, it was alleged that Kailee ‘purposely’ bumped into her at the mall and didn’t ‘properly apologised to her’ . This matter turned ugly when Sariyah’s friends were egging her on causing them to both exchange insults. Kailee’s insult ; “I’ll beat yo ass like your daddy should! Don’t play with me” is the main reason for this meeting.

“She started it!” Sariyah whined, whilst standing next her her father’s throne. “She had the nerve to threaten me!” She was trying to explain her side so she can validate her ‘innocence’ to her parents.

Kailee rolled her eyes.

“When I said I’ll beat yo ass, I mean that shit”

“Kailee watch you mouth umntwana!” the tribe leader shouted sternly to his daughter.

Kumkani DID NOT have time for this. He actually had to handle some business with the UN officials and hoped that this silly disagreement would be resolved quickly.

“SILENCE!” The room stood still as the King spoke.

“ There is no proven evidence that my daughter started this fight. Kailee, I assure you if you insult my daughter like that again, there will be consequences.”

“WHAT? I didn’t do anything to her! She called my sister a slut!”

“Meeting adjourn-.”

“If only you put as much energy into Zyra like you do with her..”

“Eh?”

Everyone in the room stunned and shocked by Kailee’s wild statement. Who didn’t clutch their pearls, threw their hands dramatically on their heads. This cause the King to jump out of his royal seat.

“EXCUSE ME? IF YOU KNOW WHAT IS GOOD FOR YOU REPEAT WHAT YOU SAID!”

Queen Ramonda attempted to plead to  her son, but she failed.

“Kumkani-”

“Ndicela uphinde! KAILEE!”

Kailee smirked with satisfaction as she gracefully stood up from her seat and projected her voice.”

“Ahem. I SAID! IF YOU PUT AS MUCH ENERGY INTO ZYRA, YOUR DAUGHTER, WHO LIVES IN NEW YORK-

“KAILEE PLEASE LEAVE! NOW!”

“Gladly. Have a great evening Kumkani.” Kailee flashed a snarky smile at King T’challa and left with her father, who was very angry at her for her rude outbursts.

The King's wife Nicolette stood up, confused. “T’challa what is she talking about? Who IS Zyra?”

During this time, The three remaining tribe elders and leaders, quickly made their way out the door, trying to avoid questioning from the Queen. Flashbacks of Zyra’s toddler laughter, and her heartstopping smile, played in his mind as he struggled to avoid his wife’s needy gaze. He stood at the place window overseeing Golden City as a distraction.

“Ramonda?” She looked to her mother-in-law for reassurance, but all she got was a solemn glance.

“Someone answer me!”

Queen Ramonda decided to leave the room promptly instead of getting in the middle. She had been quiet about her estranged granddaughter for years, solely because she wants her son to learn from his mistakes. Anything that happens between now and the future, HE has to fix it.

On the other hand, Nicolette was tired of her husband dancing around the truth and a throbbing pain in her head was brewing.

“T’challa, is it true? Do you really have another daughter?”

More images of Zyra popped up in his head; when he held her as a newborn for the first time, ‘Dada!’, her first words, the tears in Raechella’s eyes , the look on Zyra’s face whenever he pushed her away- It all was starting to consume him.

He turned slowly to face his wife, who is clearly not pleased with him.

“Yes”

Nicolette broke a cold sweat as she was trying to take in what was going on.

“When were you gonna tell me this? When she pops out of nowhere?”

“This was not how you were suppose to find ou-”

“Do better!” she spat bitterly, as she stormed out of the throne room with tears in her eyes.

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Nicolette slumped over the balcony of the Queens’ quarters, taking in the glorious wakandan sunset, as she recapped this afternoon’s events. She turned off her kimoyo beads, because she doesn’t want to hear T’challa’s ‘apologies’. ‘How could he? After all these years.’ She questioned herself. ‘How can he keep such a secret from me?’ Everything makes sense to her now. Why she was never allowed into the King’s office before T’challa was crowned King. Why T’chaka and Ramonda spoke in codes about calls to and from New York. Why the photo of a little girl that she found was snatched from her hands from T’chaka’s personal assistant. It confirmed all the media blogs, wakandan theories and rumors of a “Bastard child and a Secret Baby Mama” that she was encouraged by T’challa to forget about.

Her busy thoughts were interrupted by a touch of someone’s hand, which caused Nicolette to jump out of her skin.

“A penny for your thoughts, My sweet?” Queen Mother sang sweetly while handing her a cup of chamomile tea.

They both sat on the balcony chairs. “I just can’t believe T’challa would hide this from me, from us.”

Nicolette took a sip of her tea. “Can I ask you something Umazala?”

“Mhmm”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s not my place. Period.” Queen Ramonda stated, as she sat back in her chair with her legs crossed.

“He is a King now, and he need to act like a man and stop running from his past like a coward. This was a life lesson for him.”

Nicolette glanced at the view over the balcony in deep thought.

Her mother-in-law sat her teacup and saucer down and stood up.

“Come with me my dear.”

Ramonda led her to T’chaka’s old private archives stored in her quarters. Nicolette’s stomach churned as Queen Mother brought out a large photo album along with letters and some of Zyra’s belongings. She started to feel desperate for answers. As she browsed through the album, Nicolette’s face lights up. She came across baby photos, some with shuri and action photos of her at competitions. Zyra’s high school photo, and her graduation photo from Spelman College made her smile.

“She’s beautiful”

Her mother-in-law nodded in agreement. “Yes she is. I miss her so much.”

“...and she looks just like him.”

Ramonda and her daughter-in-law had long discussion about Zyra and her mother, and their experiences in the house before she came into the picture until the moon rose.This was all new to Nicolette. T’challa never striked her as the type to lie. But anything goes at this point.

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Nicolette woke up to an empty bed after a restless sleep in the guest bedroom. After yesterday’s events, she was still mad at her husband and she was not in the mood for him to be trying to get on her good side, so she decided not to retire in the matrimonial bed last night. She was just about to freshen up when she heard a soft knock on the door. She sighed annoyingly because she knows who was on the other end.

“Good morning entle.” T’challa said softly.

“Hi” she said dryly, as she ushered him through the door and fold her arms. Her dry demeanor threw him off. She was obviously still mad at him .

“I’m sorry if I hurt you my queen. I didn’t mean to keep this from you.”

T’challa sat on the bed and looked up at his wife, like a dog that disobeyed his owner.

“ Keep the sorry ass apology! You owe it to your daughter, not me! You hid a whole child for years and you never told me anything! Do you have any idea how this is gonna make me look?”

“I did it to protect our relationship and the throne’s legacy.”

Nicolette’s blood boiled as she heard her husband chat shit out of his mouth. She felt like she didn’t know this man anymore.

“T’CHALLA DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF? You abandoned a your child and harassed her mother and all you care about is a legacy?” She paced back and forth.

“You robbed your child of a relationship with you and her siblings. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“ You sit there and be a horrible father that you are, but I am going to get to the bottom of this.” Nicolette shot T’challa a nasty look before storming out the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

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T’challa was desperately trying to win back his wife’s affection and her trust but she was not having it. He couldn’t hide Zyra forever . He knew that the day would come when he had to finally face his daughter head on and he was dreading it. It was all his fault. He was still guilty of the way he treated his daughter and her mother. ‘She would never forgive me’ He frequently thought. ‘I’m pretty sure she hates me.

Meanwhile, Queen Ramonda loaned Nicolette the late King T’chaka’s archives so she can do research on her own; watching her Youtube videos from her channel, past cheer performances, as well revisiting past photos and her contact information.

After careful deliberation, she decided to contact Zyra’s mum Raechella. She was very sceptical about calling her, cause she know how  “baby mamas” can have a negative reputation at times, but she thought it was the right thing to do. Plus Ramonda reassured her that Rae was the opposite.

Back in New York, Raechella was at work and receive a phone call from “Queen Ramonda” and quickly excused herself to answer, thinking it was an issue of high urgency. She was confused when a strange female voice responded on the other line. She introduced herself as Queen Nicolette, T’challa’s wife, and Rae was quickly on edge, bracing for a detrimental response. However, her tone seemed positive, explaining her reason for the phone call and apologising about the situation. With that, she agreed to have a sit down with Nicolette at her house.

IN NEW YORK

In a couple of days, Nicolette made an impromptu visit to New York to have this, much needed sit-down. She showed up in hopes of seeing and meeting Zyra for the first time,but was disappointed to hear that she was away in Atlanta Georgia, for a cheerleading competition. Rae welcomed her with opened arms which surprised her, because she had no idea what was about to transpire. She was also stunned by Rae’s maturity, substantial intelligence and of course her beauty. During the sit down, Nicolette was very inspired by her story- being a single mother and also being an independent working woman and bonded over motherhood. She looked through even more photos and achievements of her stepdaughter’s childhood and was in complete awe.

While they were both saying their goodbyes, Nicolette noticed something as she grabbed Rae’s hand.

“Oooo that’s a mighty gorgeous ring. Hitched?” as she giggled.

“Yes I’m engaged” Rae responded with a cheesy smile. Raechella had been recently engaged to her boyfriend Dr. Reed N’kosana, and couldn’t be happier.

“Congratulations I’m so happy for you! You deserve it!”

“Thank You so much! Take care!”

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BACK IN WAKANDA

Nicolette and Ayo stepped out of the quinjet , and T’challa was speed walking in a distance, trying to greet his wife.

“My love how was your trip?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Nicolette said harshly, as she ignored her husband’s attempt of affection and headed into the palace.

--------------------------END OF FLASHBACK-----------------

Ndicela uphinde - please say that again

Umntwana - child

Umazala - mother-in-law

Entle - beautiful

** HEY GUYS SORRY  IF THIS SUCKED. BUT IF YOU DO LIKE IT, BE SURE TO REBLOG AND COMMENT. YOUR FEEDBACK MEANS ALOT! - LANNA xx :)

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