#I can’t rewrite this whole paper in 2 weeks

[shmothman]

im so done with this fucking manuscript 😭😭

[hairmetal666]

Steddie Notes Part 4 (Welcome to Steve's POV)

CW//small instance that could be viewed as internalized homophobia

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

In the bottom of Steve’s closet is a Nike shoe box. It’s full of a year’s worth of torn notebook pages, paper menus, receipts, envelopes, sticky notes, notepad sheets, invoice carbon copies, discarded things from dnd, and whatever else they could find to write on.

It's this box that contains every bit of Steve’s heart. 

✏️✏️✏️✏️

Steve’s at the school to pick up Dustin, Mike and Lucas, but they don’t appear at 9pm on the dot like they promised. Grumbling and annoyed, Steve heads down to the drama club room.

He hears Eddie’s voice even before he walks into the room. The low baritone, all husky and threatening, sends shivers down Steve’s spine. 

Steve strides into the room, ready to berate his kids for their tardiness, but he stops literally in his tracks when he sees Eddie. Eddie looming over the table, all that long curly hair framing his face; his expression uncharacteristically dangerous, his eyes flat and promising violence.

He can’t do anything but stare, mouth shocked wide. Eddie lifts his gaze, locks it on Steve. Eddie’s looking at him with such intense command, such focus, that Steve knows he’d drop to his knees for that look, give Eddie anything he asked, everything.

He wants. So hard and so fast it makes him a little nauseous. 

Eddie’s gaze flicks away, while Steve reels from the striking clarity of feeling that rewrites the year of their friendship frame-by-frame.

Steve hardly listens, still trying to come to terms with his sudden realization, with how right it is, with how obvious it’s been this whole time. He remembers, after Starcourt, the way Eddie made him feel safe, cared for. The way Eddie calling him baby echoed for hours, days, weeks after. 

Of course Eddie doesn’t miss Steve's distraction. He leans into Steve's space, murmuring softly, “You okay, sweetheart? Sorry we ran late. Lost track of time.”

“Just tired, I guess.," he says. And he is distinctly not okay, because Eddie is calling him sweetheart and how did it take him this long to realize how much he loves the pet names? 

He tries to tell Eddie. Can’t. Too afraid of losing his friend.  He keeps going out with girls; nice girls, pretty girls, but wishes that Eddie was the one sitting beside him in the movie theater, in the passenger side of his car, across from him at the restaurant. 

Eddie…I think I really like you

You’re my favorite person in the entire world

Some days you’re the only thing I can think about

I want to wake up in bed with you everyday

I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you

Do you like me? Yes or No

✏️✏️✏️✏️

Steve’s in the Wheeler’s basement, leaning against Eddie's shoulder, waiting for the kids to finish up.

“What are they talking about?” He scribbles at the edge of Eddie’s campaign notes.

Eddie scowls at the note placement, responds anyway. 

“Halloween costumes.” 

“Wanna dress up together, Munson?”

“No way, Harrington, I’m not dressing up as Danny Zuko for you.”

“…obviously you’re Sandy.”

Eddie makes an offended noise. 

“I could do end of the movie Sandy. But face it, baby, you’re the pretty, fresh-faced innocent and I’m the bad boy.” 

Steve strangles back the sound he wants to make when his brain supplies him with an image of Eddie in those black, skin-tight pants.

“I could be a bad boy.”

Before Eddie can reply, the kids start shouting, and Eddie climbs on the wobbling card table, clapping his hands for attention. 

“Jesus, Eds." He grabs Eddie’s ankle to keep him stable. 

“I think a trip to the pumpkin patch is in order, what say you?”

There’s a blip where the whole room stills, every single one of them, aside from Eddie, remembering rotted fields and fetid tunnels filled with Upside Down spores and demo dogs. 

“Oh, yeah, we don’t go to the pumpkin patch anymore. You know, since the tunnels—”

Steve shoots Dustin the most intense silencing looks he’s ever given anyone, which is really saying something. 

They’d agreed, back in July that they would never tell Eddie what really happened at the mall. Eddie is too good, too gentle, brimming with too much pure kindness for Steve to want him anywhere near the Upside Down.

Eddie cackles. “Tunnels, Henderson?” 

Lucas laughs, says, “He means the maze. Don’t you remember? They set it up one time a few years ago.”

“We got really lost. Took us hours to find the exit,” Dustin adds. 

“Mike cried,” Lucas says. 

“Hey! I did not!” 

Mike’s anger at fake crying about a made-up crisis is enough to have them all in stitches, even Eddie who doesn’t know it’s a lie.  

“What about that apple orchard?” Steve suggests.

Eddie pokes him in the cheek, excited. “Ooh, yes, apple orchard!?”

✏️✏️✏️✏️

The orchard is a mad dash of fighting over wheelbarrows, shrieking sprints into the trees, Steve stressing at the kids throwing themselves across branches with zero regard for personal safety. 

Eddie nearly sends him into a coronary at the ripe old age of 19 by walking down a branch like he’s doing a tightrope. 

“Munson! Get your ass down from there!”

“I’m fine, Stevie! I’ve got reflexes like a cat.”

“The hell you do!” Steve shouts as Eddie wobbles. 

“Don’t worry, baby, I know you’ll always catch me,” Eddie yells back. He winks and Steve blushes about all of it. 

“You’ll just get us both hurt,” he says right as Eddie shimmies easily back to the ground. 

“You worry too much,” he scolds. “All this beautiful hair is going to go grey,” Eddie shuffles his fingers through the strands.

“You’re a menace,” he growls. Pushes Eddie playfully away. 

They pick apples and drink cider and it’s the best time Steve’s had in a while. He kids are spread out around him, Eddie and Robin on the quest for an apple that’s perfectly red, like you could poison Snow White with it, and he’s content. Happy. 

He lets himself bask in the moment, but it’s cut short by a familiar whooping yell and the crash of Eddie Munson clinging to his back.

He groans, almost loses his footing, but quickly hoists Eddie’s legs higher against his sides.

He runs and Eddie screams, giggling, and clutches his fists into the fabric of Steve’s sweater. 

“Can’t believe you caught me, sweetheart,” Eddie says once Steve slows to a walk.

“I’ll always catch you, Eds,” he promises.

Eddie makes a little noise, almost like a whimper, pressing his cheek against Steve’s.

And for just a second, the barest hint of a moment in time, Steve swears he feels Eddie’s lips pressed against the sensitive skin right beneath his ear. 

It’s right then that Steve knows he doesn’t just like Eddie. No, he’s positively, totally, and completely in love with him.

(Part 5)

Thank you all so much for your comments and reblogs and likes! I appreciate it more than I can say and am still so honored that so many people like this little series. Please let me know if I missed you in the tag list, and I'll make sure to get you added for future updates (I think we're looking at 3 more)!

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[hopelesslymusical]

Before Graduation, this is how I feel. Nothing is special, nothing is real.

There are 21 days left until (my college) graduation. Why is school so stressful for me? Is it the 40 hour per week commitment? I like to think it’s because I want to be a writer so badly, doing anything except writing feels like a waste of time. It makes me nervous, because what happens when my 40 hours of studying becomes 40 hours of writing. Do I want to spend 40 hours a week doing anything? I imagine the best way to kick my TikTok addiction would be to try to dedicate 40 hours to doing it. 40 hours doing anything will make you sick of it, will make you think every second you spend on it is a waste.

I used to think doing well in school would get me a job, a car, a nice house, etc. It won’t. I’ve kissed up to professors, I’ve done assignments to their fullest, and I’ve excelled in classes only to be given a paper and told once you graduate your GPA doesn’t matter. Missing 1 or 2 questions doesn’t matter, the assignments didn’t matter, learning doesn’t matter, just memorize the answers for an exit exam. The sad part about school not being my whole world anymore is I didn’t even do that well. The assignments don’t prepare you for the real world, the studying and reading, then re-reading got me nowhere. No job, broken friendships, broken family relationships, and an eating disorder that I’m not proud of. What was the point of it all?

I feel like school killed my creativity. Killed my spirit, killed the beautiful things I used to want to write. When I left high school I thought I was going to write a novel that summer, but I didn’t. I thought I would have enough energy during the breaks, but I didn’t. All university taught me was I’m so good at giving the stock answer, giving the answer a professor wants to hear. I’m not prepared to give my opinion, I’m not eloquent enough to even express it. School didn’t teach me how to think or how to find answers. I learned how to rewrite a textbook, how to find answers on quizlet, and how to convince an entire class to fail a midterm so the teacher would have to curve the grades and give everyone an A. I’m pretty proud of that last one. Fun tip, take summer classes especially for finance and marketing classes where the grades get curved; you’re with the retakers that failed the class in the spring, so just getting a C in that group will get you an A..

Now that I am about to graduate, I am stressed about the outcome. I’ve landed a very good internship in film, not music like I originally intended. I am a PR rep trying to find the “spin” on why I shifted from my interest in music, to photography, to film. I have no excuse except I failed. Art is all about NOT giving the stock answer. As the girl, who’s been trained all her life that A’s are everything, I’m not prepared. I like to think of myself as I rebel. A girl who’s been caged into doing well in school. But I only did well in school, not excellent. I never do excellent in anything. 4th place in high school, and the university didn’t even bother to tell me what place I’ll be graduating, probably average. Most people have to live like that. Knowing they did average. Am I above average or below, does it even matter, I’m still average.

I would like to join a creative field, but for most of my life I’ve been told not to be crafty, not to be sneaky, just do what everyone else is doing. Well, everyone else is broke, everyone else can’t afford to pay rent, car loans, and student loans. I chose my school, based on where I would get the most money. It’s a decent school, but it’s not the kind of school your bring up at a dinner party. People usually go to my school for 2 years then transfer. I was going to transfer to UGA, an assumingely more respectable school. I’m just going to graduate from GSU, maybe it will be easier to stand out among the alumni.

This morning I woke up and did 2 shots of tequila. Is $69 dollars expensive for tequila because that’s what I paid. I don’t have any headaches, so maybe I bought the right one. I heard the cheaper ones give headaches. I ate Parmesan bread bites, garlic twist and the brownie cookie plate from dominoes. My stomach feels bloated, but who am I kidding, it’s fat. 2 weeks ago, I had so much hope for staying away from salts and sugars. I crashed. I caved in. I was watching tv and I’ve made a habit to eat when I’m watching tv. I did eat lots of the food in the freezer. I had salmon and fries, and pancake batter, and vodka. That’s a decent meal. I just had to add more calories with the dominos. I’m not addicted to food. I just don’t know what to do, and when I don’t know what to do I eat. I hate that I eat. It’s been like this for a year now. At first it was cute with the pint of ice cream a night, but now my stomach has lost its tone, my legs are stiff, my face sags, and it makes me want to die. I can lose the weight. I’m still young where a weight gain like this can just disappear into the past like a bad hangover. I only have to workout every day, stick to vegies, protein, and fruits. I can go back to being skinny. But all for what? I keep cheating, failing my goal because I don’t have a purpose to do it. Being skinny isn’t enough. I’ve achieved that goal only to be like, what coupon do I have for dominoes.

That felt good to get off my chest, would be nice to slosh the fat off my belly, but that takes time. Or maybe a $5,000 dollar lipo would do the trick. That’s a joke. What is my life? My wants used to be so simple. I wanted a Mac, nice body, and pretty face. That was it. Now I got everything I wanted, and now I don’t want anymore. I just edit photos to make them look pretty. I do school assignments to make me feel smart. If I don’t get a job, it’s back to school. I would need a scholarship or a really good loan to sustain my life, the cost. Life costs so much these days.

I knew being an adult would be hard, but it’s actually quite easy for me. It’s simple really. I want to be a writer all I have to do is write. I went to a conference for film enthusiast, which I guess I am, the panel said there are jobs for film critics in Atlanta that need to be filled. I could be a film critic. I can give my opinions, pick apart narratives, and say which shots are good and bad. The problem is I have to be popular. Why would they invite an unpopular film critic to critique a movie?What about my opinion screams need to be read because it’s so insightful, intriguing, genuine, inspiring? Nothing I do can’t be done by someone else. I’m replaceable, interchangeable, the second they don’t like what I write they can fire me. How do I even get paid? Per views or what standard gives me a standard living?

It’s my dream to just write, articulate the world as I see it, and people think it’s enough. They’ll like it, come back to it, ask for more from me, etc. That’s just a fantasy, right? Everybody wants to live and get paid to do what they love. For it to be enough to guarantee security, stability, tranquility, etc. I’m just 1 out of the million begging to stay in my home, for the comfort. I’ll work, just let me live, let me dream, let me hope.

Thanksgiving is great, but remember Black Friday. Remember when people used to get trampled, get beat, almost die for a good deal. Stores don’t do that anymore. Stores don’t lower their prices like they used to. The poor can’t even fight for a good deal. The American dream, the well of hope, the river of opportunity has run dry. Labor and tariffs and profits are too high or not high enough. I look at the boxes of dominoes, knowing some minimum wage teen who’s just struggling to survive got the tiniest pay bump, and here I am mad that there isn’t a better discount. For me, just 1 person I have to shell out $21 plus $2 tip. The girl who can afford $69 dollar tequila and $45 dollar vodka complains about $21 + $2 worth of food plus delivery.

This post was meant to be everything I’m grateful for. I’m not thankful for school, the stress it’s caused me and inflammation I just want to be rid of. I’m thankful that I’m about to enter a new period without the burden of school. But the real world, I’ve been told the real world is so harsh and cruel. What if I become homeless, what if I go to jail, what if I am worse off out of college then I was in it? As much as I’ve wanted to write, I’ve always cared more about school. Now that school is gone, will I actually write or keep writing about writing. I’ve written more about my desire to write a novel, than words in my actual novel. What if it’s a dream that turns out to be like school, where it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t bring me the things I thought it was going to bring me. Social media is funny. Someone could read this, many people could read this post since it’s public. Or they just don’t. That’s what it’s like to novel. Some people could read it, or not read it. But if they didn’t, if my novel flopped would I be proud of it. This post is the same, I’m not sure if it’s worth it. Worth the time since I should be getting ready for thanksgiving dinner, which I’m lucky to have. I’m lucky to have a family that despite isolating myself to work on school, they’re still happy to see me, be around me, tolerate me, and my self-diagnosed depression.

I just want to be able to drink, write, and know what’s going to happen next. I want to write and people be interested. I want to write something worth their attention and praise, but I know that’s just a dream. Maybe I am meant to be one of the robots. A career university student who just gets bachelors, then masters, then PHD to justify my existence. Maybe I’m meant to be a slave to the university. Work the way they want me to, write the way I’m supposed to. I don’t even know how to write when it’s my own voice, when it’s my own words I’m trying to communicate. I wish to be a writer. I wish to make phrases, sentences, prose, paragraphs, and pages that help people get through life. I wish to build worlds that make this one feel less unberrible. Is it terrible? How I don’t want to work, I don’t want to be part of the machine. Everyone else graduates, joins the workforce, struggles to get by. Why am I any different? Why do I deserve to be a writer when I know so many more deserve to be read, more than me. Everything else is greater than myself. I am nothing. My wants mean nothing. Nothing matters. But I had to do it all for some reason. Why am I posting on social media, this is so personal and so telling of all the things I am. Of how meaningless and worthless my existence is. I feel small, anonymous, like I can say anything and for me it’s everything, for me it’s iconic, it’s special, it’s real. Being alone all the time, makes time not feel real, like the world doesn’t even exist.

I want to write, but would anyone bother to read it. Would I even bother to read my words? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting? Why am I posting?

Why? Is a question I’ll never have the answer.

[stygianheart]

Fear of Sharing

*staring at ao3 as I try to learn how to publish a chapter* how the actual craphorns do I work this? HTML— I dunno how tf to do that—

Warning, very long rant coming up. Highly doubt anyone will read it but still. Short summary is: as a person who is currently in the process of publishing a book, I am paranoid due to past experiences of being accused of plagiarism when it was my work stolen, and being told that my writing is nowhere near good enough for the public eye. But I started to share my stuff again! So thank you to all who like my stuff!!

꧁———————————꧂

I have, like, the weirdest fear of sharing my writing. Which is funny, cause I’m currently physically/officially publishing a book and and hell, that’s definitely sharing my writing to the world.

I love writing. I’ve been writing stories since kindergarten, but I’ve always been afraid of sharing it. I think that’s coming amongst writers, because we don’t want to be told that our writing is horrible. When I got my first rounds of edits and feedback from my Editor, I refused to look at the paper until my friend read it out loud for me. I was so scared about getting possible negative feedback that I didn’t even think there would be any positive. (Which turned out to be wrong, almost all of the feedback was complimenting me and my ability to write flowing and easy dialogue, captivating scenes, a fascinating world and likable characters. Which is absolutely astounding in my opinion, I never thought I was that good.)

But it’s gotten to the point where the only people outside of my editor I share any my writing with is my close friends, who, as much as I love them, have a biased opinion. They’re literally my best friends. And I’m especially paranoid of sharing ideas with people, and for good reason.

Few years back, I had this idea for a story I was going to write for fun and for a school project, and it really was a clever idea. I don’t remember much about it anymore, because that was five years ago, but I do know that I shared it with people because I wanted someone else to be excited with. That was a horrible idea, because someone told someone who ended up stealing the idea as a whole. They stole the plot, stole the characters, stole the setting, and submitted it before I submitted mine. I was later accused of plagiarism because I happened to turn my story in a few days after the other person and I had to rewrite the whole thing from scratch. Being accused of plagiarizing a fellow student, who in truth stole it from me, made me realize I shouldn’t share my book ideas. And I guess that grew to a paranoia to not share my works entirely, because even if I have copyrighted it and everything is legally mine, I have the nagging believe that someone is going to steal it. In which I found was perfectly capable of happening. Just 2 years ago, I made a whole book and published it to an online site that, regretfully, does not offer the ability to copyright. I mean, it IS my own wiki on Fandom, so of course it doesn’t. Silly me. I later found a scholarship for people who submitted their own works—poetry, books, short stories, etc, and as a person who desperately wanted to be a English Major for creative writing, I submitted the book. (I named it You Can’t Go Back Home Again, and it’ll be up on my WattPad some day when I have the time.) However, a few weeks later, I received a email that told me I was disqualified from the scholarship for plagiarizing my book. A few online friends dug into this for me and as it turns out, someone had the audacity to take my book and publish it on their own platform. And they claimed it as their own. This person hadn’t entered the scholarship, thankfully, but the idea that I had stolen someone else’s story was still enough to get me disqualified. I was luckily able to fight back with evidence that the story was in fact mine, but I had still been taken out of the scholarship. (Summary: People who plagiarize are wetsocks and limpnoodles.)

So of course paranoia began to settle into my mind about sharing works online or with people. And since then, I’ve rarely shared something I made, out of fear of it being stolen and out of fear of it flopping terribly. Making the decision to publish my own book was a huge one that induced a lot of anxiety, but in the end, my desire to share my work overcame my fear of sharing it and being falsely accused of pirating. But as mentioned before, I was also afraid of my work crashing and burning.

I have been told once that my writing sucks. That it has no reason whatsoever to be available to the public eye. That it was “overly dramatic” and had too much “forced humor.” And sure, that was when I was in 5th grade and my writing style was beyond dramatic and over exaggerated, but it’s stuck with me since. I do try my best to add some humor into what I write, because a lot of the shit I come up with nowadays is extremely dark and needs some humor sprinkled in there so readers don’t go into a depressed mood (which is what my mom told me, not my words.) I’ve gotten complaints that I write mostly about male main characters and that there’s already enough of that in the world, I need more female characters. I definitely got an angry reaction when expressing the idea of making the only ‘girl main character’ in my book go through a gender-questioning arc later on in the series before coming out as a demigirl, telling me that as a biological woman, it’s my duty to write about women. (I’m non-binary, but I am AFAB.) And it’s been pointed out that a lot of my OC’s are queer and that I need to add some variety to it. I’ve noticed these things, yes, but it’s a part of how I write. Yes, a lot of the main characters in my books are boys/men/males. Yes, 9/10 times the main characters are gay. (I’m gay, what the fuck do you expect, you little judgmental wetsocks.) None of that means my writing and stories suck, but they’re excuses and reasons I’ve been told on why my writing sucks.

So in summary of my last few paragraphs, I’m scared of sharing my writing due to past experiences of being falsely accused of plagiarism and being knocked down by hateful people. So when I got just 1 like on my 3 am KobyLu fic, what remained of my little pride to share my stuff skyrocketed. When I checked on it the other day and saw a reblog and 14 likes, my heart was literally singing. And then I got a fic request from someone who said they loved my writing and wanted me to write a story for them. (I came off as “pffft nah” but Anonymous, that really made my heart cry out in joy.) The fact that people on here, complete strangers, liked my stuff that much meant the world to me. So I decided “hey, I think I’m going to start sharing my shit again.” I reopened my long since abandoned WattPad account and started uploading a story I wrote. I created an official ao3 account just so I could write the fiction request. And while I’m still terrified of sharing, just so much as 1 like or 1 reblog sends my minuscule ego flying up the roof.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still scared shitless of sharing my stuff. I write for the fun of it, really, but getting positive feedback and likes on something that feels like a part of my soul means the world to me.

Basically, this whole damn long post was a call out to the people who’ve liked my KobyLu fanfic and requested for more. You truly don’t know how much that meant to me, that my work so much as even crossed your forum and you liked it.

And thank you to all of the future peeps who will hopefully like the uprise in writing that will appear on my blog!

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

I posted 820 times in 2022

That's 324 more posts than 2021!

384 posts created (47%)

436 posts reblogged (53%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@i-will-physically-fight-you

@sidespart

@ironwoman359

@brain-deadx0

@sandersstudies

I tagged 738 of my posts in 2022

Only 10% of my posts had no tags

#kat talks - 309 posts

#kat answers - 109 posts

#with you i'm always queue - 86 posts

#virgil sanders - 52 posts

#anon - 49 posts

#janus sanders - 46 posts

#roman sanders - 45 posts

#kat reblogs - 44 posts

#werewolf au - 40 posts

#logan sanders - 38 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#but i did think of it in a poetic way as the creature didnt ask to be brought to life in a world that despises him on his outward appearance

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

SvS except Thomas actually can’t remember if the wedding takes place the same day as the audition or not, so instead it’s like

“Thomas, it’s just...the audition sounds really great but aw, jeepers, isn’t that the same day as the wedding?”

“Is it?”

“Patton is right, it is the same day. Look, I have it in my planner!”

“Logan, that paper’s blank.”

“Wait, no, that can’t be right...Thomas, I thought you agreed to a phone planner app to help with productivity and remembrance of important dates.”

“I--well, you did make a very compelling argument! It’s just Roman also had a compelling argument.”

“The idea of blocking out specific times to do specific tasks is very incongruent to how creativity works! You cannot restrain or control creativity--”

“Alright, fine, what about just putting down important dates?”

“I would but--”

“Oh, let me make a deduction--Virgil made a more compelling argument?”

“Listen, a phone planner app...thing...is great and all, but it’s only setting Thomas up to fail. In a perfect world, sure, it would work. But if Thomas is unable to complete a task on his list or even just looking all the commitments he has to fulfill is only going to be more stressful and demotivating than it’s actually worth.”

“And somehow that outweighs the possibility of Thomas forgetting an important date or task that could cause a larger amount of preventable stress?!”

“...Are they hissing at each other?”

“Uh, guys, I don’t think that’s Logan.”

222 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

#4

Normalize the idea that anxiety and depression can often be a life-long issue that can be treated (therapy, medication, healthy coping mechanisms, etc) but not completely cured. Anxiety and depression is something that can be in remission for people, i.e generally unimpactful to a person for weeks, months, sometimes years but it can flare up abruptly and unexpectedly in a person’s life and greatly affect their ability to function and do certain tasks that people without anxiety and depression would otherwise not struggle with.

298 notes - Posted February 22, 2022

#3

Being ADHD means somehow opening up a whole different website than the one you intended and then proceeding to get completely distracted on it until you forget your original intention upon opening up your web browser smh

551 notes - Posted June 27, 2022

#2

Say what you will of Sanders Sides, but I love the fact that the show followed a coherent timeline that was aligned with our irl timeline up until April 2019 and now it’s been ambiguously stuck in April 2019 for like three years now

2,359 notes - Posted January 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Non-writers will assume that you control every action a character makes and will think you’re crazy for saying “I do not control every action my character makes” but it’s true. As a writer you will be writing something where you go “And so Character A does this” and Character A looks at you straight in the eye and goes, “No FVCK YOU IM GONNA DO THIS INSTEAD”, takes the keys and drives away in the plot car on a narrative of their own choosing while you’re just left stranded going, “DAMMIT I HAVE TO REWRITE THE OUTLINE FOR THE TWENTY-SIXTH TIME”

2,755 notes - Posted January 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[bi-bard]

Please Say That You're Joking (Pt.1) - Chuck Shurley Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Please Say You're Joking (Pt. 1) [You can read part 2 by clicking here!]

Pairing: Chuck Shurley X Winchester!Reader

Requested: Nope

Word Count: 2,930 words

Warning(s): mentions of sex, threats of violence

Summary: (Season 4; Season 11) (Y/n) had a single one-night stand while coping with loss in a not healthy way... if only they had a clue about the weight of their actions.

Author's Note: I was recently going back through some of the "lighter" episodes of Supernatural because I wanted to watch something I could chuckle at. That's where this came from.

This might be the most crackheaded thing I've written in a while.

Also, the amount of things I had to bullshit my way through this is actually ridiculous.

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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

Sam, Dean, and I walked into the motel room. We were all confused and slightly scared.

We had gone to a comic book shop to do some work on a case. However, we were then called fans.

Fans of what?

Well, fans of a series of books about our lives.

I was the middle Winchester child. Two years younger than Dean, two years older than Sam. I was beyond confused when I saw some weird, romanticized version of me on the cover of a book.

"This is so weird," I mumbled, plopping onto one of the beds in the room.

Sam jumped onto his laptop and started researching. Dean was holding one of the books, reading through it. I didn't even want to touch it.

"I don't like how he describes (Y/n)," Dean commented. "It's weird. It's like he's in love. Listen to this..."

Dean dramatically clears his throat and starts to read in an even more dramatic voice, "'Even after a hard hunt, (Y/n) could easily be seen as the most beautiful of the siblings. They mimicked the beauty of their mother more than their brothers. There's no bruise or cut that could take the loveliness away from the natural curves of (Y/n)'s face. If only they could see how everyone else would stare-"

"Okay, ew," I muttered, walking to the table. "What'd you find?"

"Well, it seems like Carver Edlund is a pen name," Sam shrugged. "And the fans are intense."

"As in," Dean asked, closing the book and joining the two of us at the table.

"Well," Sam handed me the laptop so Dean and I could look at it, "there's fanfiction. About all of us."

"What's this, 'Sam/Dean'," I asked.

"It's... me and Dean... together."

"They just don't care that we're related," Dean asked. Sam nodded.

"God, this is so weird."

"So, how do we find this guy," I asked.

--time skip--

We managed to find the publisher of the novels and found her house.

"So, you published the 'Supernatural' books," I asked as we walked in.

"Yep," she nodded. "Yeah, gosh. These books... they never really got the attention that they deserved. All anybody wants to read anymore is that romance crap."

"Could not agree with you more," I said. "We're hoping that our article can shine a light on an underappreciated series."

"Yeah, because, you know, if we got a little bit of good press, then maybe we can start publishing again," she replied excitedly.

"No, no, no," Dean immediately shut her down. "I mean, why... why would you want to do that? It's such a complete series with Dean going to hell and all."

"Oh my god, that was one of my favorite ones," she rambled. "Dean was so strong and sad and brave. And Sam... I mean... the best ones are when they cry... like in 'Heart' when Sam had to kill Madison; the first woman since Jessica he'd really loved. When Dean had to call John in 'Home' and ask him for help. Or when (Y/n) went back to the motel room after getting kidnapped and just had to sit in their own head and had to truly process not only the death of their mother but now their father. The mixed feelings were amazing."

"You're a really big fan," I noted. She nodded.

"Gosh, if only real men were that open about their emotions."

"Real men," Dean asked.

"I mean, no offense," she replied. "How often do you cry like that?"

"Well, right now I'm crying on the inside," he muttered.

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"Lady, this whole thing is funny."

"How am I supposed to know this is legit?"

"Oh, trust me," Dean mumbled. "We're legit."

"Well, I don't want some smart-ass article making fun of my boys," she snapped as she sat in her chair.

"Oh, never," I replied quickly. "We actually are big fans."

"You read the books?"

"Cover to cover," I promised.

"What's the year and model of the car?"

"1967 Chevy Impala," Dean smiled proudly.

"What's May 2nd?"

"That's my- uh... Sam's birthday," Sam replied.

"Sam's score on the LSAT?"

"Umm... 174," Sam said nervously.

"(Y/n)'s first hunt?"

"Vampire in Washington," I answered. "Dean was at the motel sick and (Y/n) almost chopped John's head off when he scared them."

"(Y/n)'s favorite memory that's not related to hunting?"

I smiled, "Helping Sam get ready for a date when he was a teenager because Sam didn't trust what Dean had told him."

"Dean's favorite song?"

"It's a tie," Dean replied. "Between Zep's 'Ramble On' and 'Traveling Riverside Blues.'"

She finally laughed and smiled again, "Okay, okay. What do you wanna know?"

"What's Carver Edlund's real name," Sam asked.

"Oh, no. I can't," she shook her head.

"We just wanna talk to him," Sam continued. "You know, get the 'Supernatural' story in his own words."

"He's very private," she shrugged. "Like Salinger."

"Please," Sam tried again. "Like I said, we're um... big fans."

Sam unbuttoned his shirt enough to show his anti-possession tattoo. Dean pulled his shirt to the side to do the same. I rolled my eyes and yanked the arm of my jacket down and pulled up the sleeve of my t-shirt. I don't wear as many layers as them and I had opted to put the tattoo on my upper arm because I thought it looked nicer.

"Awesome," the lady mumbled before standing up. "Y'know what?"

I looked away as she pulled her pants down.

"I got one too."

"Wow, you are a fan," I slapped Dean's arm. The lady fixed her clothing before grabbing a pen and paper.

"Okay," she said. "His name's Chuck Shurley-"

And I stopped listening after that. I knew that name... why did I know that name... oh... oh no. I'm gonna kill him. We're going to meet this man and I am going to end up killing him.

I followed Sam and Dean as they started walking out of the woman's house.

"Excuse me," she called as we reached the door. We looked back at her. "I'm sorry, but you look exactly like how I picture (Y/n) when I read the books."

I chuckled, "Thanks."

"He describes (Y/n) with so much detail," she smiled. "You could play them in a movie."

"Thank you," I waved as we walked out.

"'You could play them in a movie,'" Dean teased.

"I know who Chuck is," I said, ignoring him.

"What," he asked. I nodded. "How?"

I pointed to get into the car. I got in the back seat and Sam and Dean sat upfront. Dean started driving to the address the lady gave us before I started speaking.

"Okay, when you went to hell, Sam's not the only one who ran off," I explained. "I wasn't gone for four months... just two weeks. In those two weeks, I got involved in a single one-night stand. The name he gave me was Chuck Shurley."

"You screwed the man who wrote books about us," Dean asked, sounding angry.

"Do you think I knew he was writing books based on our lives?"

"He had to have known who you are," Sam added. "This isn't an accident. He has to get visions or something."

"Yeah, I know," I nodded. "He made money off of my name and then screwed me."

"Damn," Dean mumbled. "I missed a hell of a lot."

I rolled my eyes.

--time skip--

I knocked on the door loudly. Sam grabbed my arm, shaking his head at me. The door was opened and I smiled obnoxiously as Chuck. He was in a robe, his boxers, and an old white shirt. He looked tired and like he hadn't had a goodnight's sleep in days.

"Chuck Shurley," Dean asked.

"Chuck Shurley that wrote the Supernatural books," Sam added.

"Nice to meet you," I said. "This is Sam... Dean... and I'm (Y/n)... the ones you've written books about."

Chuck sighed and went to shut the door. I stepped in, stopping it with my foot.

"Listen, I appreciate the enthusiasm, I really do and I remember you," he motioned at me, awkwardly grinning before seeming to shake the memories out of his head. I almost slapped him right then. "But please... go get a life."

"You see," Dean followed me, helping to force our way inside. Sam made sure the door shut behind us. "We have a life... and you're selling books about it."

"Okay, this isn't funny," Chuck mumbled.

"You're right," I said. "We just wanna know how you're doing it?"

"I'm just a writer, I'm not doing anything."

"Then why do you know so much about demons and tulpas and changelings?"

"Is this some kind of 'Misery' thing? Ah, it is, isn't it? It's a 'Misery' thing!"

"No, it's not," I shook my head. "Believe me, we're not fans."

"What do you want then," he asked.

"I'm Sam... and that's Dean and (Y/n)," Sam tried again.

"Those are fictional characters," Chuck yelled. "They aren't real!"

Dean grabbed him and pulled him outside.

"Wait, wait-"

"We aren't kidnapping you, calm down," I rolled my eyes. Dean opened the hidden compartment in the impala's trunk.

"Are those real guns?"

"Yes," I nodded. "And real rock salt, real fake IDs."

Chuck let out a laugh at it, "Well, I gotta hand it to you guys. You really are my number-one fans. That... That's awesome. So, I-I think I've got some poster in the house."

"Chuck, stop," I rolled my eyes, grabbing his arm as he went to walk away.

"Please don't hurt me," he begged.

"How much do you know," Sam asked. "Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Have you not been listening," I asked. "The real question is how do you?"

"Because I wrote it," he explained.

"You kept writing?"

"The books never came out because the publisher went bankrupt," he furrowed his eyebrows.

I stepped back, letting go of his arms.

"Okay, wait a minute," Chuck crossed his arms. "This is some kind of joke, right? Did Phil put you up to this?"

"Oh my god," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. I grabbed his robe. "I'm sorry but I'm really tired. Nice to meet you. I'm (Y/n) Winchester, these are my brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester. You wrote and published books about us, probably knew who I was, and then you still slept with me."

He stared at me in shock.

"What," I asked.

"The last names were never in the books," he mumbled. "I never told anyone about that. I never even wrote that down."

"Then I guess we have a lot to talk about," I let go of his robe.

The three of us followed him inside.

--time skip--

"I got a visit from Cas," Dean explained as he walked in. "I've some important information."

After talking to Chuck and getting a draft of what was supposed to happen, we were all panicking. Dean told us to wait here. Lilith was going to come for Sam and we both thought it'd be harder if there was more than one of us here at all times.

Now, Dean was coming back from seeing Chuck.

"And that important information is...," Sam trailed off.

"He's a prophet of the lord," Dean said, smirking at me.

I shut my eyes, letting my head fall forward.

"Please say you're joking," I mumbled.

"Nope," Dean replied.

Sam looked over at me. He only started chuckling after his brother broke.

Dean was laughing his head off within seconds, "You screwed a prophet!"

"Shut up," I groaned. "I'm gonna kill him!"

"Archangel will kill you."

"I'll happily pay that price," I muttered. "I slept with a prophet."

"At least that means he didn't write himself to sleep with you," Sam tried to comfort me.

"Yeah, God just decided I was supposed to sleep with the guy publishing books about my life," I replied sarcastically. "That makes me feel so much better."

"Come on, it could be worst-"

"Sam, love you, but don't finish that sentence if you even kind of value your life," I muttered.

I was desperate for this conversation to just end.

--time skip--

After all was said and done, and Chuck accidentally helped us chase Lilith away for a while, we gave Chuck a lift back to his place.

I followed him up to his door, offering to look around and make sure that he's safe. He shook his head.

"I have an archangel protecting me," he reminded me. "Can't get any safer than that."

I nodded.

"I'm sorry, by the way," he said. "About us. I didn't recognize you until after... it all... and I didn't say anything because I didn't really know how to explain it. The whole event makes me feel all scummy."

"It's alright," I replied with a chuckle. "It's fine, I promise."

He offered me a nervous smile, "Y'know, in all of my visions, you're the most vivid thing."

With a grin, I leaned over and kissed his cheek gently. I stepped back and headed back toward the impala. I made sure to take note of his nervous and flustered face.

"See you around, Chuck!"

"You... You too," he called after me. I got in the backseat and got comfortable.

"So... screwing the prophet wasn't that bad," Dean asked.

I just rolled my eyes, waving through the window at Chuck as Dean pulled away from the curb. Leave it to a Winchester to end up in a situation like that.

--time skip (season 11)--

Sam and I followed Dean with our guns ready. Dean was following the amulet that he had owned for a long time without even knowing it could show us where God was.

Everyone had been infected by Amara only minutes ago but now it was okay and Dean's amulet was glowing.

"Holy shit," I mumbled, seeing who was walking over to us.

Chuck.

He was supposed to be dead. That's why Kevin's prophet powers had been activated.

"No way," Dean said.

"Hey," Chuck... or God said. "We need to talk."

Despite our understandable hesitation, Chuck reached forward, teleporting all of us back to the bunker. I stepped away from him, slightly overwhelmed.

"(Y/n)," Chuck walked over and tried to grab my arm. I instinctually slapped him. I was nothing but confusion and anger. "I deserved that. Just, please?"

I stepped away again.

From behind Chuck stepped Kevin's ghost. My breath caught in my throat. The poor boy had been through so much shit because of us.

Kevin told us about how we looked stressed and that we should listen to Chuck.

Then, Chuck waved his hand. Kevin turned into a ball of white and blue light before ascending beyond the bunker.

"Where'd he go," I asked.

"Heaven, where he deserves," Chuck promised. I nodded.

I listened to the rant about how Chuck had abandoned us all and how awful things were. Then, the conversation turned to the plan to stop Amara. The boys talked about needing Lucifer and Chuck got incredibly upset. In a fit, he went to leave. I stepped in front of him.

"No," I said bluntly. "Even if you want to avoid the subject of your estranged son, you can't just leave."

"(Y/n)-"

"Sam, Dean," I looked at them. "Give us a minute?"

They both nodded, glaring at Chuck on their way out. I tried to ignore the instincts that were telling me that Chuck was just selfish.

"(Y/n)," Chuck mumbled.

"Just answer my questions," I said. "Then we can discuss what to do with Amara without you storming away recklessly. Okay?"

He nodded.

"Have you been God the whole time," I asked.

He nodded.

"You wrote all of our stories?"

Another nod.

"Did you write that I was going to sleep with you?"

I felt manipulated and angry. I was desperate for an answer. I knew that this could've made me feel like dirt, but I needed to know.

"No," Chuck said. I clenched my jaw, ready to call him a liar. "I told you. I had been pretty much hands-off for a long time. Did I know who were? Absolutely. I'm sorry I lied to you about that. But I didn't plan anything between us. We weren't some divine plan."

I nodded, looking down.

"You know how Dean and Amara are connected," he asked. I nodded, looking back at him. "We're like them."

"And that's not a divine plan-"

"I'm not doing a good job explaining this," Chuck shook his head. "It feels like we're like them. Like there's this bond that just happened as soon as we met."

"You lied to me, for years," I said. "Saying we have some bond isn't gonna fix that."

"I know."

We both fell silent. Slowly, I started laughing. Chuck furrowed his eyebrows, "My only one-night stand... and it was God."

Chuck started laughing with me while I really processed what I had done.

I slowly stopped laughing.

I didn't notice until it was too late that Chuck had slowly gotten closer to me. As soon as his lips brushed mine, I pushed him back. Not hard, but enough to get him to step away.

"No," I mumbled. "Not that, no."

Chuck nodded, "Got it."

"Now," I sighed, "we need to actually plan to stop Amara, and if we need Luci-"

"We don't," he said bluntly. "We can do something else. We don't need him. Okay?"

I nodded. In my gut, I trusted him. Maybe that was me being an idiot but I did trust him. For now at least.

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

Masterlist

What I Write For

Request Guidelines

Musical Prompts

Small Moments With…

When Worlds Collide (Doctor Who Crossover Series) Masterlist

Some Original Characters

folklore/evermore Writing Challenge (and Masterlist)

[tlcwrites]

Fall to Pieces- Part 3

Poe Dameron x Reader, Modern AU

“Trauma is trauma. Some people aren’t affected by it and some people struggle with it their whole lives.” Using her finger to jab him in the chest, she emphasizes each word. “That. Doesn’t. Make. Anyone. Weak.”

Word Count: 5179

Tags/Warnings: Frank discussions about PTSD/destructive coping mechanisms, explicit description of a panic attack, and brief implications of suicidal ideations. Angst. Y'all probably know that by now. Finally crawling out of the angst hole. Miss Patty is a BAMF. Finn and Poe Finn-and-Poe-ing. Probably a lot of typos because I had my husband proofread this and he is a wonderful husband but a terrible editor.

Author’s Note: This chapter includes frank discussions about PTSD/destructive coping mechanisms, explicit description of a panic attack, and brief implications of suicidal ideations. Please take care and do not proceed if any of those subjects are triggers for you. Also, please send me a message if you're not able to read because of those topics, and I'd be happy to send you either a chapter summary or a version of this chapter with those sections omitted. I wanted to have this out weeks ago, but I ended up rewriting it I'm not exaggerating four times because I couldn't get it to feel right. I love this final product, and I hope you do, too. And yes, my goddess Octavia Spencer is my face claim for Miss Patty. Thank you to @paper-n-ashes for the beta and for patiently listening to me ramble at all hours of both of our timezones. Love you, boo!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics.

Series Masterlist - Part 2 - Part 4

Goodbye, Poe.

It won’t stop ringing in his ears.

Goodbye, Poe.

His heart is beating so hard and fast he feels lightheaded.

Goodbye, Poe.

He can’t stop staring at the door. You’re going to walk back through any second, he’s sure; he needs for you to walk back in, so that he can fall to his knees and beg for-

What? You’ve said how you feel. What could have changed in the twenty seconds since you walked out the door, possibly walked out of his life, since he finally, finally kissed you and oh god he needs to go after you, he’s got to apologize, grovel, anything-

He’s halfway out of his seat when a hand grabs his arm.

“What in the hell was that?!” Patty is gripping his bicep, dragging him towards the door that leads to the restrooms. “What in the hell was that?”

“I-” Poe can’t make his body cooperate with his brain. “She- I’ve got to-”

“Nuh uh,” Patty interrupts. “What you’ve got to do is sit your ass back down, you crazy-” She bullies him onto the bench outside the men’s room, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips, 5 feet even of disappointment and ire. His head is nearly level with hers, and he’s not an overly tall man; how she manages to still be so intimidating is beyond him. “What were you thinking, Poe?!”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, I have no idea- we just, we were normal and then she asked me…” His voice dies in his throat, unable or unwilling to verbalize what had just happened, because if he does that, it makes it true, and she doesn’t want him, she doesn’t want him-

Patty pinches the bridge of her nose. “Lord, save me from the Dameron men and their idiocy.”

“Hey!” Poe’s not so out of it to ignore that. “Look, Patty, I-”

“If you’re gonna speak to me like that, it’s Ms Kanata to you, kid, and no. I talk, you listen, and then we’ll see if you get a say.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I don’t care what just happened between the two of you, but whatever you did, you fix it, and you fix it immediately.”

“I didn’t-”

She waves a hand. “I didn’t ask if you did, or she did, or you both did, or if the President of the United States did.” Some of Patty’s ferocity visibly ebbs as she sighs deeply, and she looks at Poe with a look that’s tinged with compassion. “You told her.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Poe, refusing to make eye contact, nods once.

“And did she tell you?”

The inquiry makes his head snap up and he gapes at the matron. “You- she told you before she told me?!”

“Of course not.” Patty shakes her head, wearily joining Poe on the bench. “But I’ve been around for a long time, kiddo, and these glasses work just fine. Anyone can see how that girl looks at you.” She pats his shoulder affectionately. “It’s the same way you look at her.”

Poe shakes his head, dropping his gaze back to his hands. He’d touched you, tasted you, finally, the way he always dreamed. And you’d reciprocated, even after you’d insisted things couldn’t remain unchanged.

And then you’d fled.

You’d left him without a backwards glance.

It’s going to play on a loop inside his head for the rest of his life. Talk about watching your worst nightmare come true right in front of your eyes.

The worst part is, he can’t even blame you. Who the fuck would want to be shakled to a man with a freighter full of baggage, when they could have someone like Yeager?

Patty grasps his hand, reclaiming his attention. “What. Happened.” It’s an edict.

“She-” The words are ash in his mouth, the shame overwhelming him until he’s drowning in it, and fuck, this is exactly why he didn’t fucking say anything, because he’s a fucking defective ex-soldier with exactly nothing to offer besides nightmares and flashbacks and a whole lot of baggage, and motherfucking damnit why why why had he let you push him into confessing his gravest sin?

Another sob bubbles from his chest and he feels like he’s going to fly out of his skin. “I fucked up, Miss Patty,” he admits, his voice breaking as his gut starts to twist and his heart starts to race and then the lump in his throat feels bigger and bigger until he feels like he’s choking on it.

He can vaguely hear Patty over the roaring in his ears, but her words are washed away as his body begins to shut down and lock until he’s in agony. He falls off of the bench and lands heavily on his hands and knees. Even the pain doesn’t break him out of his own personal hell, and his nails dig against the linoleum as his breathing speeds until it’s suffocating. The vice around his ribs tightens with each shallow, gasping breath he’s able to suck in, until it’s crushing his lungs and he can’t breath and he can’t fucking breathe and fucking god this is what it feels like to die, isn’t it? This had to be what it felt like for Private Vanik, because surely there’s no coming back from this.

He’s sure he’d be screaming if he could draw a breath, but he can’t make his teeth unclench enough to let out more than the occasional broken squeal. He wants to cry out for help, for you, for his dad, for his mom. Fuck he wants his mamá. Because he can’t breathe, he can’t make it stop, he can’t make any of it stop, and for the love of everything please just let it end, let him die, whatever it takes to make. It. Stop.

Patty is pressed against his back now, taking deep, exaggerated breaths. At the back of his mind, he recognizes what she’s doing, trying to give him something to measure and try to mimic. It’s impossible. He’s starting to get lightheaded, because fucking christ he can’t fucking breathe and his body is holding him hostage and fuck, this is it, this has to be his recompense; for you, for Vanik, for his mom, for everyone he’s ever wronged, motherfucker it hurts so much. This, this is what he tried to spare you from, because the first time you see him like this, you’ll refuse to leave him because you’re so good and loving and he can’t possibly saddle you with a lifetime of this, but it doesn’t matter because he’s sure he’s seconds from suffocating. And maybe it’s a good thing, because if he dies, you’ll be free of the pain he’s caused you with his mistakes, and you’ll able to move on and be happy with fucking Yeager, and fuck if that dosn’t make his chest tighten more, how can his lungs squeeze this much, fucking fuck he’s about to be put out of his misery by his own thorax.

And just as suddenly as it started, it starts to fade.

The bands around his ribs loosen infinitesimally. The cacophony in his ears grows slightly quieter. Now he can hear Patty coaching him through breathing, and he desperately tries to imitate her steady pattern.

“That’s it, honey,” he hears her say, more clearly now. “Deep breaths, Poe. You’re safe, you’re not alone, I’ve got you, okay? In, and out…”

It takes an eternity, or maybe it’s just minutes, even seconds- he has zero concept of time right now- before he’s able to regain enough control over his body that he can fully expand his lungs. Patty carefully moves off of his back, and he half twists, half falls from his knees onto his backside. Resting his arms on his bent knees, continuing to catch his breath, he feels the weight of her gaze, and he’s mortified that anyone, especially Patty, bore witness to his weakness.

“Sorry,” he finally wheezes, still unable to meet her eyes.

“For what?” Her voice is genuinely curious.

He makes a halfhearted gesture with his hand. “For... that.” When she doesn't respond, he risks a look up.

The compassion and care in her eyes are unanticipated, and humbling. “Poe,” she finally says, speaking slowly and softly, “Why would you think you need to apologize for something you can’t control?”

Because my fuckup killed someone and this shit is my karma, he wants to say, but he can’t make himself do more than shrug.

“Here-” Patty reaches for him, “-let’s get you off the floor.” She helps him heave himself back onto the bench, before ordering him to stay right there. He keeps up the steady breaths as she ducks back into the kitchen, returning with a cold bottle of water. Poe takes it without complaint.

She’s silent as he rehydrates his exhausted body, but he can feel her watching him closely; whether keeping an eye out for any sign he’s going to fall victim to another attack, or out of motherly concern, he couldn’t say.

When he finally finishes the water and wipes his mouth with his sleeve, he still doesn’t have the strength to look up. “I’m sorry, because I should be able to control it.”

She scoffs. “Should a sailor be able to control the ocean? Should a pilot be able to control the clouds?” She lays a hand on his knee. “Kiddo, I know PTSD when I see it. It’s not your fault. And how it shows itself isn’t your fault, either.”

“It is my fault, ‘cause I’m the one who caused it,” he insists, his shame heavy on his shoulders. “I’m the one who- fuck, I made a mistake during- there was, I didn’t-” Hell, he can’t even speak clearly now? “I didn’t catch something until it was too late, and a soldier ended up dying because of it, because I didn’t do my fucking job, and I didn’t fucking notice. So, yeah, it’s my fault.” Why can’t anyone understand this? “I’m still here, it was my fault but I’m still fucking here, and he-” He can’t suppress a bitter laugh. “I deserve a lot worse.”

“Bullshit.”

He jerks his head up, his protests ready, but the expression on Patty’s face startles him into silence.

She stares him down with the kind of look you can only possess if you’ve seen some shit, and lived through more. “PTSD isn’t a punishment. You experienced something that would have been traumatic for anyone, and your brain processed it a certain way. You can’t change that. Poe, look at me.” She waits until he does before she continues, “I’m sorry about your friend. Truly. And I’m sorry you feel like it’s your fault. But a mistake is an accident. Punishing yourself for an accident isn’t fair to you, or to your friend’s memory. Making yourself suffer needlessly won’t bring him back.

“You’re not broken, honey. You’re not damaged, and you don’t need to be fixed. You’re human. Sure, getting you some help to handle what you’re dealing with is probably necessary.” She nudges him with an elbow. “But that doesn’t mean you deserve to stay hurting. You’ve got too big of a heart to deserve a hell like that.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t look away (see? Growth!). “I don’t want to feel like this.”

Her smile is sympathetic. “Of course you don’t. Who would?”

“But I’m too fucking weak to stop it,” he scorns.

Patty’s face turns thunderous. “You ever say that in front of me again, Poe Dameron, and you don’t want to know what I’ll do.”

Poe is shocked enough at her fury that his mouth snaps shut.

She continues to glower at him. “Trauma is trauma. Some people aren’t affected by it and some people struggle with it their whole lives.” Using her finger to jab him in the chest, she emphasizes each word. “That. Doesn’t. Make. Anyone. Weak.”

“Miss Patty-”

“Hush!” She slices the air with her hand. “Do you think I’m weak?”

His curls fly as he rapidly shakes his head. “Of course not.” She’s one of the biggest badasses he’s ever met in his life, and he knows Senator Organa.

Patty crosses her arms over her chest. “And if I tell you I had nightmares for almost a decade after I was in a car crash that killed my sister?”

“What?” Poe tries really hard not to gape, but he can tell he fails.

“I would wake up screaming every night for years. I felt like I didn’t deserve to have lived when she’d died. And you know what?” Patty leans forward. “It took a long time, but I healed. I got help. I got a therapist. I still see her every single week, and that was twenty something years ago. And over time, after a lot of tears and a lot of guilt and a lot of pain, it got easier to laugh without feeling guilty, and thinking of her didn’t make me want to rip my own heart out. Poe-” She scoots off the bench and stands in front of him, both hands on his shoulders. “Being affected by trauma isn’t a weakness. And trauma doesn’t make you unworthy of anything.”

“I-”

“No, kiddo. You need to hear me. You’re allowed to be happy. You’re allowed to be in love. You’re allowed to laugh, and have fun, and be happy, and to be all those things with the woman you’ve loved your whole life.” She moves one hand to his cheek. “You owe it to everyone who isn’t here anymore to not live your life like you’re already gone, too.”

For one of the only times in his life, Poe is honestly speechless. He can feel his lower lip trembling. And even though he tries his hardest to hold back the torrent, it overwhelms the levees he’s built around his heart and he crumbles, his sobs coming from a place he’s kept buried so deep he has no idea how they find their way to the surface.

Patty wraps her arms around his shoulders as he weeps out his sins and his shame, not saying a word, just providing the presence and touch he needs to keep him grounded. And when his catharsis quiets, she rejoins him on the bench. “How you feeling, kid?”

“Like hot garbage.” And understandably, he reasons. Fuck, he’s cried more in the last hour than he has since his mom died. He glances over. “...but, thank you.”

She waves him off. “I’m a mom; when I see a kid crying, I’m morally obligated to provide comfort.” She winks. “Don’t think it means I like you or anything.”

“Of course not,” he says with a grin, already feeling lighter. After several moments of silence, he glances back at Patty again. “...so, now that you know my darkest secrets, can I ask you a question?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You just did.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that. I’ve wondered this for years.” He motions towards the doors to the dining room. “This place is called ‘Maz’s Cantina’, and you own it.”

“And?” She raises an eyebrow.

His grin is now devilish. “Is your name Patty? Or is it actually Maz?”

She doesn’t answer, just looks at him serenely.

“I knew it!” He can’t wait to tell you. If you’ll talk to him. Fuck. No, he’s not going there right now. “Okay, then, second question: how the everloving hell did you get ‘Patty’ out of ‘Maz’?”

“Who says ‘Patty’ is the nickname?” she answers, just as cheeky.

Poe tilts his head, considering. “Touché.” He pauses again. “....so, like, is it a middle name, or-”

“Get out of here, you donut.” Patty’s grin is fond.

“-maybe great grandma’s name?” He dodges as she elbows him. “Oh, no, wait, it’s the name of an ancestor who was a pirate queen, right? And she hey!” Poe ducks as she moves to smack him upside the head. “Fine! I’m going, I’m going.” He goes to stand but hesitates, uncharacteristically self conscious as he glances to his waitress-cum-confidante-cum-therapist. “...you think she’ll listen to me?”

“Kid-” Miss Patty, or Maz, or whatever she decides to be named- at this point Poe would call her the Supreme Leader of the universe if she wanted- pushes herself off the bench, pressing her hands on her lower back to stretch. “-if you live long enough, you see the same eyes in different people. Fear, regret, joy; forget wearing your heart on your sleeve-” She taps the wire-rimmed frame of her glasses. “-it’s the eyes that show the truth of a person’s soul. And eventually, you learn to recognize the character of a person on sight.”

She regards Poe steadily through the spectacles perched on the end of her nose. “I could tell from the first time the two of you sat down at my counter: you’re both people who look at the world through eyes of love. The pair of you have hearts bigger than you know what to do with. But the way you two look at each other?” She whistles, low. “There’ve only been a handful of people I’ve ever seen with their hearts in their eyes like you. Love like that is once in a lifetime, and that’s if you’re lucky enough to find it.” Winking at him, she jerks her head at the side exit. “Go get your girl. And tell your dad I better see him in here soon for some cheesecake.”

“Yes, Miss Patty.” Poe catches her hand before she turns to go. “Seriously. Thank you.”

She pats his cheek. “Thank me by not fucking this up. That girl deserves all the happiness in the world.” She squeezes his hand. “Just like you do.” Heading back towards the dining room, she leaves him sitting on the bench, calling over her shoulder, “I better be invited to the wedding!”

As emotionally fried as he is, Poe still can’t help but grin.

His thoughts are still in a jumble, but his heart is finally starting to release from the stranglehold it's been in since you’d left.

Maybe, maybe, he can fix this mess.

He’s got to try.

“I need help.”

Finn doesn’t even look up from the laptop. “Clearly.”

“Seriously, you dick-” Poe pulls the office door shut and drops into the visitor’s chair, “-I fucked up and I need advice.”

Maybe it’s the tone in his voice, or maybe it’s that in the time he’s known Finn, he’s never, ever asked for help before. But something makes Finn look at him, really, truly look, and whatever he sees is enough to have him closing the laptop and giving Poe his full attention.

“I-” Fuck, admitting this to his brother-by-choice is going to be harder than he realized. “I told her.”

Finn laughs. “I’m sorry, I must have zoned out. It sounded like you said ‘I told her’.”

Poe doesn’t respond.

It takes about fifteen seconds for it to sink in. “Wait, you told her?!”

Poe scooches further down in his chair. “Yes?”

The look on Finn’s face is the perfect combination of disbelief, incredulity, and exasperation. “You told her. What the hell. Man, she’s engaged.”

“Shockingly,” Poe replies without malice, “I am aware of that fact.”

“You sure?” Finn crosses his arms over his chest. “Because it sounds like you waited to tell your best friend that you’ve been in love with her your whole life until after she found happiness with someone else.”

“I know.” Boy, does he know.

“Which probably made her feel like absolute shit.”

“I know.”

“Because you waited to tell her until-”

“I know, okay?!” Poe finally explodes. “I fucking know. And, for the record? I was prepared to go to my grave without telling her, because nothing in this universe matters to me more than her happiness.”

“You have a pretty fucking strange way of showing it, then.” Finn scrubs a hand down his face. “How the hell did it even come up?”

“She asked me, point blank, at dinner last night.”

“Wait, she brought it up?” Thoroughly confused, Finn blinks stupidly. “I don’t- why?”

“She said-” Poe has to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry. “She said she doesn’t think it’s fair for us to stay like we are, to be so- that we need space if we’re not…” Goodbye, Poe. .

Finn is quiet for several long moments before he speaks, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “...she’s not wrong, you know.”

Poe sighs. “I know.”

Clearing his throat, Finn hesitates before standing to join Poe in the visitors chairs. “Do you want to tell me all of it?”

“Honestly? No.” Poe shrugs. “But it’s not like you don’t know most of it already.”

Finn exhales deeply. “Yeah, I do.”

“I-” Now that he has the opportunity, Poe doesn’t know where to start. “I know I told you when we were over there that I was going to tell her when I got back. And I was. Until- when Vanik-” He breaks off and makes himself take several deep breaths, refusing to hyperventilate for the second time in twenty-four hours. When he feels steady, he continues, “You know how fucked up I was when we came back.” Finn might be the only person in the world who knows.

His friend solemnly nods.

“I didn’t want to taint her with my bullshit.” He shakes his head as Finn goes to interject. “No, I know. I get it now. A very wise person knocked some sense into me last night.” He fiddles with his badge reel as he wryly smiles. “But that’s what held me back then. Before-” Running a finger through his inky curls, he huffs a sarcastic laugh. “Before that, I was just a coward.”

“I mean,” Finn concurs, “yeah.”

“Yeah.” Poe smiles sheepishly. “Sorry for being an idiot.”

“Hey, man. We all fuck up.” His brother-in-arms and closest friend- besides you, of course- shrugs and chuckles. “At least you two got it out in the open now. And it’s not like you guys hooked up or anything.”

Poe feels his ears start to turn pink.

Finn’s face is instantly wary. “Oh, God in heaven, please tell me you didn’t.”

“No!” Poe vehemently shakes his head. “Of course not.”

Sighing with relief, Finn clasps a hand over his heart. “Oh thank God. I knew you weren’t that much of a-”

“-we kissed.”

“You-” Finn’s face would be comical if the situation wasn’t so serious. “What.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Poe doesn’t say anything.

“Dude. Dude.” Finn looks like he might pass out. “What the fuck were you thinking? You’ve done some stupid shit in your life-”

“Love you too, man.”

“-but this takes the fucking cake.” Finn tips the chair back and covers his face with his hands. “You kissed her.”

Poe settles in for the (deserved) dressing down he knows is coming. “Yep.”

“I can’t believe you.” Finn shakes his head at the ceiling. “Actually, no, I am entirely unsurprised that you kissed her. Kissing her is the most you-thing I can possibly think of you doing. Because only an idiot would have kissed her in that situation.”

“Uh, hi,” Poe interjects, raising a hand. “I’m sitting right here?”

“Yeah?” Finn finally looks at him, clearly unimpressed. “And?”

“Helpful.”

“No-” Snapping the chair forward again and jabbing a finger at Poe, Finn is practically apoplectic. “Helpful would have been you asking her what she wanted to do-”

“-I did-”

“-and not fucking kissing- what the hell, man?!” Finn shakes his head so hard his dreads dance.

“I said, I did ask her what she wants.” Poe’s irritation is starting to rise. “I asked what she wanted, and she said she didn’t know.” The look on your face when you said that will be burned into his memory forever.

Finn’s eyebrows shoot up as he gapes at Poe. “She said she didn’t know? She didn’t tell you to go fuck yourself?”

“Not in so many words.” The same desperation he felt yesterday starts to rise in his throat. “She said she’s loved me the whole time, too.”

“Well, duh.” Finn snorts as Poe’s jaw drops. “C’mon, buddy, neither one of you was very good at hiding it. The two of you were probably the only two people alive who didn’t see it.”

“I-” Poe fiddles with his badge reel again. “...I asked if she was still going to marry him.”

“And she… fuck.” The look on Poe’s face is enough for Finn to guess the answer. “I’m sorry, Poe. That one I didn’t see coming.”

“No, it’s okay,” Poe says, and he’s both stunned and mollified to realize he’s telling Finn the truth. “It’s- it’s her choice.”

Finn’s already crossing his arms before Poe finishes speaking. “No. Nope. She’s out of her mind, yes, she is, Poe! I get it, she’s hurt, you’re both hurt, she feels like she can’t go back on her word, whatever-”

“Yeah, cause it’s not possible she actually loves Jarek.” Poe’s sarcasm is thick.

“I’m not saying she doesn’t love him. I’m saying she loves you in a way so profoundly different it probably terrifies her.” Finn leans forward, bracing his arms on his thighs. “Look- I’m sure she cares for Yeager. I hate to say it, but he’s a solid guy. And he clearly adores her. But that doesn’t mean she wants him more than she wants you.”

Poe blinks. “This sounds like the plot of a Hallmark Christmas movie.”

“You shut your dirty whore mouth about Hallmark Christmas movies, they’re art and I won’t be debating this topic.” Finn’s love for cheesy holiday romcoms is well established. “Now, focus.” He’s dropped into the tactician mode that earned him copious accolades during his military service.

Poe knows better than to interrupt again, and with a deep exhale, gestures for the good doctor to continue.

And continue, Finn does. “I would bet you anything that she doesn’t necessarily want to stay with Yeager. I would bet-” He counts each point on his fingers, “-she’s beyond hurt that you lied to her for so many years. Two, she’s ashamed that she’s also lied to you for so many years.”

Poe bristles and has to suppress the instinctive need to defend you.

“I’m not saying you both didn’t have your reasons, so stop looking at me like that, but it doesn’t change the facts. Three, if she calls off things with Yeager, she’s basically admitting she knew there wasn’t a future with him so long as you’re in her life, so now she feels like she’s lied to both of arguably the two most important men in her life. And four-” Finn levels a significant look at Poe. “She might not feel brave enough to take the risk of giving up a pretty-much guaranteed happy future with Yeager if she’s not absolutely certain that you’re in, no doubts and no reservations.”

Feeling his chest start to tighten, Poe digs his fingers into his thighs and breathes deeply, trying to force the feeling down. “There is nothing in my life I regret more than not being honest with her as soon as I realized how I felt, how I feel about her. I was scared, man, I didn’t- fuck, I didn’t- I couldn’t lose my best freind, Finn. I couldn’t lose her.”

He’s pleading and he doesn’t care.

“Being with her the way I dreamed wasn’t worth the risk. I didn’t, I still don’t care how she’s in my life. Okay? If she’s my friend, if she’s more, I don’t give a fuck, as long as she’s there, I just, it doesn’t fucking matter. I want whatever makes her happy. And if she-” His voice breaks and he has to take a moment to collect himself. “If it makes her happier- if she doesn’t want me there at all anymore, that’s- she gets to make that decision.” It’s hard to swallow around the words, but he knows he’s speaking the truth. “I’ve made enough decisions for her.”

Finn listens, ponders for a few moments, and then takes a deep breath.

“You are, without a doubt, the biggest fucking moron I’ve ever met.”

Okay, now he’s getting pissed. “Fuck you, man, I-”

“Will. You. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. And. Listen?!”

The edge in Finn’s voice makes Poe do just that.

“You say you don’t want to make decisions for her,” Finn continues, “but that’s exactly what you’re doing if you don’t give her all the information before asking her to choose.” His face is serious. “All the information, Poe.”

Shit.

Even if Finn’s right, it’s a conversation Poe hoped to never have with you.

“You both need to talk, and not while wound up and in the middle of a restaurant. Let each of you get your side of things out, and then, and only then, either let her make the choice, or come to a decision together.” Finn regards him impassively. “If her friendship means as much to you as you say it does, don’t you owe each other that much?”

The same fear Poe felt that day at the creek fills his heart. “I’m scared,” he finally admits, knowing there’s no hiding his vulnerability from Finn.

Finn nods. “That’s how you know it’s the right thing to do.”

You words won’t leave his mind. Isn’t it time to be honest with each other?

He chews on his lip. It’s not like he could fuck up the situation any more that he already has.

Isn’t it time?

Several minutes pass before Poe looks up at Finn, who is waiting patiently, like always. “Thanks.”

Finn shrugs. “You’d do it for me.”

“Yeah,” Poe agrees, “I would.” He reaches towards Finn. “Hands.”

With an eyeroll but accompanied by a grin, Finn clasps Poe’s offered hand. “Hands.”

“I mean it, Finn.” Poe nods, sincerity etched on his face. “Every single one of them has the exact same plot.”

“Okay, one, fuck you, and two, no they do not!”

“Someone always comes back to their poedunk little town-”

“It’s called sentimentality!”

“-and there’s some tension with an old flame-”

“Romance, you dick, it’s called romance!”

“...uh, fellas?”

The two men glance towards the office door, where Rose is watching the show.

She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “There’s a whole clinic of ankle-biters out there, in case you forgot?”

Poe stands and hefts Finn out of his chair as Rose heads back to the reception desk. “Better get cracking, Doc.”

“Just make sure you remember the Bluey bandaids today, okay?” Finn loops his stethoscope over his neck. “I cannot hear one more kid complaining that you gave them a Paw Patrol one instead.”

“Duh. Everyone knows Bluey bandaids make shots hurt less. God, what useless crap did they teach you in med school?”

Poe’s grinning, but Finn must read something on his face, because he pauses halfway to the door before turning back and clasping Poe on the shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay, alright?” Finn assures him. “She loves you. She’s going to listen.”

God, Poe hopes he’s right.

Series Masterlist - Part 2 - Part 4

A/N: Poe's panic attack is an almost exact description of how my own manifest. They're terrifying, especially when you're alone, and for me, include hyperventilation and feeling like I'm going to die. If you also suffer from panic attacks, I am sending you the biggest hugs I have. They are awful and I wouldn't wish them on anyone.

If you or someone you know suffers from PTSD, please seek help.

[hangovercurse]

Thesis

After a bad day, Colson comes over to take care of you, only to find out about a secret you’ve been keeping from him.

Request: “I was wondering if you could do a Kells fic where he's dating the reader and finds out she is c*tting, and helps her. Its total ok if you aren't comfortable writing this though 🖤”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: discussion and depictions of self-harm, cursing, angst

A/N: Gonna get really serious with this one: If you are struggling with self-harm (in all forms, not just those discussed in this text) or issues with your mental health, please reach out to someone! Family, friends, anyone. I know it’s hard and you may feel like no one cares, but I promise someone does. If you don’t feel comfortable telling someone you know, message me. My page is a safe space and I will never judge you. I promise you, the world is a much better place with you in it and you deserve to take up space, you deserve to be happy.  

On that note, do not read this if you feel it may be triggering to you, please.

Word Count: 2457

 You sighed as you read the email subject Re: Y/L/N Final Thesis Revised 2. Every time your doctoral advisor sent you an email in response to any work on your thesis, it wasn’t good.

Ms. Y/L/N,

I regret to inform you that the corrections that you have made are still not adequate enough for submission to the board. Please read my notes attached for further work to be done.

You didn’t even bother reading the rest of the email, instead choosing to slam your head down against your wooden desk. “Fuck!” You yelled to your empty house.

You had rewritten your doctoral thesis 4 times already and submitted for approval twice, both of which were rejected. Your advisor was trying to be patient with you, but you could tell his tolerance was running low. “What am I doing wrong?” You whispered to yourself, closing your eyes as you let your head rest against the wood.

Maybe you’re just not smart enough. That unhelpful voice in your mind chimed in, making you groan. Seriously though, if you were smarter, then you would have been approved already.

Your chest started tightening and you felt nauseous, tears coming to your eyes. You reached around for your phone, hearing Colson’s voice in your mind. “If you have a bad day, text me. You can always talk to me.”

Hey

You texted him, hoping he would respond soon. Your breathing was getting heavier and you just wanted to talk to someone that wasn’t the voice in your head.

Hey, I’m in the studio rn, everything ok?

My thesis got rejected

Again :(

I’m sorry babe

Wanna see you

Colson didn’t answer for a few moments, and you had a feeling he was letting out a frustrated sigh. You hated bothering him at work, it always made you feel like a nuisance to him.

I can’t leave right now

:(

You’ll be okay

It’s just a paper

Now it was your turn to let out a sigh. Colson didn’t exactly understand why this was so important to you. Every time you got upset after it didn’t turn out well, he told you the same thing, “It’s just a paper, you can just rewrite it.”

But it’s not just a paper. It’s currently the only thing standing between you and a doctorate degree. And you’ve rewritten it four times before.

He’s just sick of you whining about it.

You annoy him

He doesn’t care about you

You got up from your desk and made your way to the bathroom, not sure if you were going to throw up or do something worse. The voice kept speaking, her incessant words running through your head.

You know what’ll make you feel better.

And you did. You had been trying to stop, and you were doing pretty good until a few weeks ago. Up until that point it was rare, a few times a month. Now it was 4 times a week; more days than not.

You reached under your bathroom counter, pulling out the small, inconspicuous makeup bag. You brought it over and set it on the edge of the bathtub, sitting on the floor next to it.

The zipper felt familiar under your fingers as you pulled it, the metal coming into view. Your secret stash of hellish paradise.

You pulled one of the razers out, feeling the coolness on your skin. Pulling up the sleeve of your sweater, you placed the sharp edge against the fragile skin on your wrist. You took a deep breath as you slid it across the skin, not even wincing at the pain. The blood rolling out of the wound was beautiful to you, a therapy in itself. You laid the arm over the bathtub, taking another slice at your wrist.

You had to be careful not to go too close to the hand or else the sweaters you wore could ride up and expose you, and you couldn’t make too many cuts or someone would be bound to notice.

Once you had made 4 slits in your skin, you stopped. The razor fell to the edge of the bathtub as you watched the blood drip down your arm, gravity pulling it towards your hand to pool in your palm. As fucked up as it was, you liked the view. The pain barely registered to you anymore.

It felt like all the fears were draining from your body with the blood. You knew it would all come back eventually, but in this moment, you felt peace. Your stomach stopped turning and your chest loosened. And for just a little while, the voices in your head were gone.

You laid there for probably 30 minutes, the peaceful silence engulfing you. Eventually you came back to your senses, realizing the mess you had made. You sighed, standing up and turning the faucet on. You watched the blood that sat in the tub wash away before running your arm under the water. It stung a bit, but the blood disappeared from your arm, leaving you with the visual of 4 dark red cuts.

Once the tub was clean, you moved to the cabinets under the sink again, this time grabbing a package of band-aids and covering the marks that were bleeding slightly after the water pressure opened them up again. You ran the blade under water from the sink to clean it before throwing it back in the bag and hiding it. Satisfied that all evidence of your sins was gone, you pulled down the sleeves of your sweater and made your way to your couch to watch a true crime documentary.

A little over a half hour later Colson texted you.

Picking up your favorite food :)

Be over in 10

You smiled at your phone for a second before guilt crept into your mind. How could you think that he doesn’t care about you? He’s never done anything but love you.

You are the world’s worst girlfriend.

You bit your lip, trying to make the thoughts go away. You didn’t want to be upset when Colson got there, it would spoil his whole night.

It didn’t quite work, but you were able to put on a fake smile when he got to your door. He set the bags of food on your coffee table before flopping on top of you on the couch. His face buried into your neck, pressing soft kisses onto the skin all over. He did this whenever he knew you were sad, it made you laugh.

He sat up, looking down on you, “how’s my girl doing?” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Better now that you’re here.” You mumbled, throwing your clothed arms around his middle and pulling him back against you. He chuckled and flipped you around so his back was against the couch and you were resting on his chest.

You smiled at him, you don’t deserve him, the voice screamed. You ignored it, burying your head into his shirt, the smell of him filling your nose. “What’re we watching?”

Your voice was muffled by the fabric, “The Vanishing of Elisa Lam.”

He looked up, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “of course we are.”

“We can watch something else.” You mumbled. Colson chuckled and sat up, pulling you with him to rest in his lap, your back against his chest.

His long arm reached to grab the food off the table, setting one box in your hands. “Your weird true crime show is fine, babe. You choose tonight.” He kissed your cheek, making you smile and sink further into his chest.

A little while passed and you had both finished your food, placing the empty boxes on the table. Colson’s arms were around your waist and you moved to hold his hands. You had tried wrapped your palm over the back of his hand, but he flipped his hand so his palm encased yours. As the documentary played, he began to rub circles into your skin subconsciously, moving down your wrist slowly.

In his arms you momentarily forgot about your session in the bathroom from earlier, but when his thumb brushed against the bandage on your arm you were shocked back into reality. “What’s that?” He mumbled, chin resting on your shoulder and looking down to the shirt sleeve.

“Nothing, I cut myself doing dishes earlier.” You lied, it being second nature at this point.

Colson’s hand moved to the edge of your sleeve, moving to roll it up. “You’re so clumsy sometimes.”

You yanked your arm out of his hand as you felt the fabric moving up, “what are you doing?” You asked, holding your arm closer to yourself subconsciously.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “I was gonna kiss it better.” He mumbled.

“It’s fine, you don’t need to.” You sighed, turning your attention back to the TV. He didn’t like that answer and based off of your reaction, he could tell something was up.

He reached to hold your arm again, and you relaxed into his touch, thinking he would just hold your hand. Instead, he dragged your sleeve up your arm, exposing four band-aids on your wrist and older, exposed scars.

“Colson!” You yelled, standing up and wiggling out of his grasp.

He had a shocked expression on his face that slowly turned into a mixture of concern and hurt. He tried to form words but was struggling. Finally, he got out a whispered “why?”

You bit your tongue, arms wrapped around your body as you faced away from him. Your breathing got heavy and you could feel tears coming to your eyes. He’s definitely gonna leave you now.

When you didn’t respond he stood up slowly, walking towards you and wrapping his arms around you. His lips met the top of your head briefly before replacing them with his chin.

The feeling of his embrace was enough to send your walls crashing down, tears finally falling down your face. You shook in his arms, your knees buckling under you. He whispered as he held you up, “hey hey hey hey, I’m here, baby. I’m right here. You can talk to me.” He led you back to the couch, pulling you back into his lap. You turned towards him and buried your face into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tighter than they ever had before.

Your sniffles filled the room, followed by your quiet “I’m sorry.”

Colson shook his head, taking your face in his hand and moving it away from his skin so you were forced to look at him. “You don’t have to be sorry.” You nodded and he slowly wiped the tears from under your eyes. The soft motion made you calm down ever so slightly. After a few minutes of being held, your sobs stopped, tears not falling as hard. “Can we talk about this.”

You sniffled but nodded your head, your eyes not meeting his. “I’m not gonna be upset with you, or angry. I just need you to be honest with me, okay?” He asked, his blue eyes searching your face. You simply nodded again, turning your head all the way down so your nose was parallel to the floor. The top of your head pressed against Colson’s chest.

“How long?” His voice was a whisper, but it held an infinity of emotion.

You mumbled out a response, “a while.” You could feel how fast his heart was beating, “Before I met you. It’s just gotten a lot worse lately.”

He nodded, sucking his lips in. “Why didn’t you talk to me? You know you can always talk to me, darling.”

New tears fell from your eyes. “I tried to.” You whispered, feeling guilty. His hand moved to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear.

He took a few moments to remember what you were talking about before he sighed. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you were so upset. I didn’t know.” He whispered, “But I know now, so from now on you gotta tell me if you feel like doing this to yourself.”

You nodded against him. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that. Don’t be sorry, why are you sorry?” He asked

You shrugged, “sorry you have to deal with me.”

He grabbed your face again, this time forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Don’t ever say that again. Okay? I fucking love you. You’re going through some shit right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop loving you. I don’t want you to ever think that.” As he spoke his harsh tone got softer, quieter.

“I just don’t feel like I’m good enough, for anything.” You slumped into him, your head laying on his shoulder.

His arms pulled you further into him, “Y/N, you are the smartest, most amazing, most beautiful person I’ve ever met. You’re literally about to become a doctor! That’s fucking incredible. I am so proud of you.”

“’m not really gonna be a doctor.” You mumbled, “I can’t get this fucking thesis approved.”

He sighed into your hair, “You are going to get through this. You have worked your ass off to get here, I know you’re not gonna let a stupid paper get in your way.” He pressed a kiss into your hair and you looked up to him, a pout still on your face. “Baby you aren’t just good enough, you’re better. I know it feels shitty right now but you’re gonna get through this. And I’m gonna be right here with you.”

He leaned down and pressed a deep kiss to your lips. It took a second, but you kissed him back. “Thank you.” You whispered when you pulled away, reaching up to wipe your tears away with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“I love you.” He whispered, “do you think we could throw your blades away?” He asked softly.

“I might need your help.” You whispered. He nodded, lifting you off his lap and standing up. He grabbed your hand and you led him to your bathroom. You found the bag and handed it to him. “I can’t…” You whispered, trying to stop the tears you felt behind your eyes.

Colson nodded, taking it from you and opening it, frowning at the metal inside. “I don’t want to throw them away here, because you could get them out of the trash later. So, I’m gonna take them back to my house tomorrow and I’ll throw them out there.”

You nodded, hand squeezing his. You moved closer to him, resting your free hand on his shoulder, and pressing your cheek against his chest. “I love you.”

He smiled down at you, wrapping his arm around you, “I love you too.”

[bqstqnbruin]

4 times he wanted to come over + one time he did

Ok, we’re going to ignore several things here, like the fact that this was an 8 page Google Doc that I put together in a few hours, the fact that said document had been blank since June, t y p o s, and the fact that it’s nearly three am and I have my first day of classes technically today (aka at 2 pm).

But here I am, with my second fic of the day? IDK but since classes are starting, my posts are going to be a lot less frequent, so hopefully you guys like this! -------------------

one

Your apartment was finally put together just the way you liked it; all your stuff had its place, it was decorated just the way you liked it, you even had a pantry full of food, a rare feat when you were in college even with living with three other girls. Your first morning in your new, fully set up place was going to be celebrated by yourself. You had planned to make yourself breakfast that would probably last into lunch, order Chinese food later that night, drink coffee and watch Seinfeld on Hulu until you felt like going to sleep. There was no better way to break in a new place than by just relaxing in it. 

You turn on your TV, setting your coffee and plate down on the table in front of your couch, and walk over to the huge windows you were lucky enough to have in the apartment. It was a picture-perfect day, and the sun shined right into your apartment, not a single cloud in the blue sky. You felt like you were in a movie like someone had curated the scene and that with the touch of a button, the green screen would be gone and so would the magic. 

Sitting down, putting your feet up on the table, you dig in. This was actually perfect for you. Your new job was going to be stressful and you knew it. The more you could find ways to relax in your home, the better the job would be. 

After three episodes and nearly spilling your coffee all over you twice, you decide to get up and move around. You were drawn back to your windows, still in awe at the scene on the other side of them. Across the street, it looks like someone was doing the same in their apartment. He was tall, handsome, shirtless, and covered with tattoos that you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of. 

He waves at you smiling in a way that made you melt. It took everything in you to wave back and not do something stupid, mentally thanking yourself that the pajamas you had been wearing were athletic shorts and a tshirt from your sorority, and not something more embarrassing. 

You go back to your couch, knowing that he could still see you and probably what you were watching. You couldn’t focus on the episode, feeling as if he were still there watching you. You tried to force yourself not to steal glances at him but failed, every so often seeing him mirroring your actions, watching TV on his couch. You didn’t know that the entire time, he was also stealing glances at you. He couldn’t help it; never before had he seen someone look so naturally beautiful, so in their element and carefree while just sitting and watching TV. 

“Fuck it,” you say to yourself, pausing mid-episode and getting up to find the paper, markers, and tape you know you had stashed somewhere.

Messily scrawling ‘I just moved in, nice to meet you,’ on a piece of paper, you tape it up on the window, praying that you wrote it big and dark enough that he could see it.  Sighing when he wasn’t still on the couch, you get back on your own and press play on the TV again. 

Where could he have gone? And why were you more invested in the handsome stranger on the other side of the street than you were in the show about nothing that you had grown up watching? 

Your stomach growls, not quite late enough to order dinner, you wander into your kitchen to get a snack, looking over to the window of handsome man to see that he had left a note, presumably for you. ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Pierre-Luc’ was written in print messier than that of a doctor’s. Thank god your best friend growing up had the world’s worst writing, having to ask him to rewrite it would have been demeaning and embarrassing. 

And so it began: you would write a note, watch an episode, then check to see if he left you anything back. He always did, 

His name was Pierre-Luc and he played hockey. After a quick google search, unbeknownst to him since you were assuming he couldn’t see what was on your phone, you found that he was a professional hockey player, player for the Blue Jackets. Great, as if he weren’t already being sweet, asking you questions, leaving you charmingly flirty messages on his window for you, now he was an athlete? Quite possibly one of the sexiest types of men in your opinion? Great. Amazing. 

‘What’s for dinner?’ he leaves on his window, disappearing somewhere into his apartment. 

‘Ideally Chinese food, where do you suggest?’ is what you leave for him, scrolling through Uber eats to see what was cheapest and nearby. You look up, seeing him writing on a notepad his answer, taping it to his window before sending you what you could swear was a wink. 

‘Best place to eat out is here at my place,” you read, bursting out laughing. Confident, this one. 

You roll your eyes, leaving a cheeky message about sticking to Chinese food and just ordering it from the first place that came up. 

The night went on, you not realizing you had spent the whole day flirting with a window stranger. He had liked talking to you, too, but it was pretty bad for the environment to be wasting all this paper when he could clearly see the phone that was in your hand or on your table. Writing his number on what he hoped would be his final piece of paper, maybe you would invite him over. Or he could invite you over. There was something about you that he wanted to spend time with you, not flirt with you while a city street separates you. Taping the paper up, he can see you, fast asleep on the couch, your TV screen asking you if you were still there. 

Closing his curtains, he hoped that you would use the number soon so you could actually spend time with him. 

 Two

You had been feeding that cat every morning for over a month. You loved that stray cat; there was a weird sense of satisfaction in feeding her even though you knew your apartment building wouldn’t allow you to take her in as a pet. But of course, the day you had your friends coming over for dinner was the day you had to run to the store to buy more cat food because you ran out the day before and forgot to get some yesterday. You didn’t know who put food out for the cat at night, or even if anyone did. 

You go to the bowl sitting in the alley way, seeing that it was empty, confirming your suspicion that no one else fed the poor cat. You would have to start feeding it at night, too. 

“Sorry, you don’t have to do this,” you hear someone say behind you. You get up to see him, the man from the window. 

“Pierre-Luc? Why don’t I have to do this?” 

“Because I’ve been doing it.” 

“No, I have,” you argue, knowing that this would lead to a never-ending circle of ‘me, no me.’ You had been texting each other for a few weeks, constantly trying to figure out when you could spend time together, but much like you and your best friend during senior year of college, your schedules never matched up, going a year before finally seeing each other. 

“When?” he asks, a cocky smile dancing across his face. 

“Every morning before work, what about you,” you ask, getting closer to him. You text relationship was flirty, you were sure of it. Every time you passed by your window when he was home, he made a point to check you out, he winked at you, he smiled. He exuded a welcome confidence that you weren’t used to.

“Every day when I get back from practice.”

“What about the days that you’re away for games?”

“I figured someone would feed him for me.”

“The cat’s a girl,” you say, the little feline coming up to you. “You would know that if you didn’t just assume other people were doing what you set out to do in the first place.”

“Well, my assumption was correct, wasn’t it?” he says, a devilish twinkle in his eye as his tongue runs along his bottom lip. 

“You know what they say about assuming,” you tell him, breaking your eye contact to put out some food for the purring animal.

“What’s that?”

“It makes an ass outta you and me,” you tell him, looking up at him towering over you as a laugh leaving his lips. Given his demeanor, you wouldn’t expect him to look as, what’s the right word, jolly? As he did. 

“How come you’re feeding her now if you usually do it in the morning?” he asks, bending down to help you.

Feeling your phone buzzing in your pocket that signaled your friends were already there waiting for you, you tell him, “I ran out of food yesterday and didn’t have the chance to get more until after work. Plus, I needed to pick some stuff up for tonight, anyway.”

“Tonight?” he asks, his head snapping up. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit, ran through his head.

“Yeah, my friends are coming over for dinner. It’s the first time they’ll be seeing my new place.” You pause for a minute. He was here, obviously with some free time, but did you want his first time over your place to be surrounded by your nosy friends? They knew you were talking to an attractive neighbor, but you knew they would say things to him that would mortify you and send you running before he got the chance. 

But like the night you first moved in, fuck it. “Are you free tonight? I would love for you to come over,” you tell him, the smile on his face disappearing as soon as you asked.

“I have a game tonight, I can’t. I was actually about to change and then leave,” he says, looking sad. He wanted to come over, and as soon as you said you were having friends over, he knew that you were going to ask him. 

“Oh, that’s fine. Now I have a reason to watch a game, though,” you tell him, smiling. You had to admit, you were a little bit upset, but again, it was probably for the best that he didn’t meet your friends just yet. 

“If the game ends early enough, I’ll stop by, yeah?” he suggests, running his hand through his hair.

“Yeah, sure. I’d like that.” 

Three

“Babe, you’ve lived here for like, what? Almost six months? You have a hot as fuck neighbor who you actually talk to, and he hasn’t come over yet? Why haven’t you asked him to come over?” Amy says with food in her mouth. Your friends were over, again, this time to hang out before they went out to the bars. You were originally going to go, but you were too exhausted, and having already promised to host the pregame, you weren’t going to back out now. 

“You call me babe more than any guy I’ve met, you realize that right?” you ask her, getting up to go over to your window. You knew he wasn’t home; you had the Columbus game against the Flyers playing on your TV, Pierre-Luc was on the ice as you absentmindedly went over to the window to see if he was there. “Plus, our schedules never work. Look, Aimes, he’s literally on our TV, meanwhile as soon as all you hooligans leave, I’m going to bed. 

“Come on, stay up for the man,” Jeff said. The only male in your group of friends, he always entered the girl talk, encouraging you to get with a guy just as much as the others. 

“I’m going out to breakfast with you guys in the morning, how cranky do you want me to be, Jeffy? You know I will not hesitate to throw a potato at you,” you say, the rest of the group laughing even though they know you’re serious. You have thrown stuff at him and only him during breakfast before, him never thinking you’d have the guts to cause a scene in public, but doing it anyway. 

“We all know you’d be less cranky if you got laid,” he says through a mouthful of food. Why did everyone talk with their mouths open?

“Tomorrow I’m ordering two breakfasts; one to eat and one to throw at you.” 

You tune out your friends for the rest of the night. You only paid attention to the hockey game, your eyes trying to stay focused on Pierre-Luc every time he was on the ice. You did really want him to come over, but again, the first time couldn’t be with your friends, not when they were full psychopaths when it came to any boy that you were talking to. What would you have done if Pierre-Luc was there when Jeff commented about you being cranky and needed to get laid? 

Why did the cute guy have to have such a complicated schedule? Every time you were free, he was to jet off somewhere in the country for a few days for games, then he would come back, sleep, go to practice, and then go to a game. From what you could tell, he never stayed up past maybe 10 pm on the nights he didn’t have games, he napped nearly every day after practices, and he really was only home to eat.

Not that you were stalking him. Or memorizing his schedule. You two talked all the time, having evolved from notes in the windows to texting, from texting to calling, from calling to him falling asleep before you while on Facetime. He was one of your best friends, and you had never actually hung out with him at your or his apartment. 

“So how long will it take for him to get home now that the game is over?” Amy asks, snapping you out of the trance that you didn’t know you were in.

You didn’t even know that the game was over; the Jackets beat the Flyers 2-1, the game apparently ending about five minutes ago. You never timed how long it took between the game being over and him getting home since it was different pretty much every night. You think. Again, it’s not like you were stalking the boy. “Uh, I don’t know, half an hour?” you guess, giving them what you hoped was enough information for them to not ask you more.

“So has he sent you any like sexy pics?” Tanaka pips in, you nearly choking on the water you were drinking. 

“What the ever living fuck?” you nearly scream, all your friends laughing at your reaction. “There is no way I would ever tell you. Guys, we’re friends. Yes, he’s cute, hell, he’s fucking hot, but we’ve never physically spent time together, so can we just drop it?” 

They change the subject, going back to the conversation from this afternoon that involved them trying to get you to go out. You loved your friends, they were your found family, but dammit they wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

“Wait, sorry, which apartment is his again?” Jeff asks in the middle of you telling them yet again why you weren’t going out with them. 

You all snap your heads to the other building, the one directly across from you now with lights on. “That one,” you say, Pierre-Luc appearing in the window, all of your friends running up to go wave to him. This was mortifying. Your phone started buzzing on the table, and with Pierre-Luc having his phone out for his friends to see, they knew it was from him.

“What did he say!” Tanaka yells, trying to grab your phone from you. 

“He said get your creepy friends away from the window,” you lie. If you told them he was asking to come over, they would steal your phone and make him come. “Guys, shouldn’t you be going by now? It’s almost 11, the deal at the bar ends at midnight and all of you are still sober,” you point out, praying that it would work.

“Let’s get drunk!” Amy says, grabbing her bag and marching out the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” 

“Yep, I’m going to sleep. Text me when you’re all alive!” you say, pushing them out the door.

Your phone buzzes again, Pierre-Luc asking again if he could come now that your friends were gone. You wanted to say yes, but you knew that as soon as he came over, you would be asleep. Plus he just came from a game, there was no way he wasn’t also exhausted. ‘I’m about to pass out, I’m sorry. We’ll hang out eventually, I promise’

Four

You should be back in your apartment by now. You had told Pierre-Luc that you would be home by 11 pm. You had an early day the next day and staying out late wasn’t something you wanted to do, no matter how good your date went or how attractive you thought the guy was. 

Much to Pierre-Luc’s dismay, you had told him that your friend Amy had set you up with someone she knew from school. You were going out with him tonight, you Facetiming Pierre-Luc while getting ready. He should have just been over there, watching you get ready. No actually, he should have been the one taking you out, but at this point in whatever the hell relationship you had, the first thing that you were going to do in person with each other, besides that one time you fed the alley cat, was hang out in each other’s apartment. 

He was pacing, checking his phone to see if you had sent him anything about your whereabouts. You should have been home by now, why weren’t you home? If you weren’t home in ten minutes, he was going to call the police. No, they wouldn’t do anything. He would figure out how to hack your phone, try to find Amy on social media, something so that he would know you were safe. 

Sitting down on his couch, he positioned himself so he had a direct view of your apartment. As soon as you walked in the door and turn on the light to your living room, he would know. He needed that light to go on right now. 

‘Maybe I should go over and wait outside her door? Would that be creepy?’ he thought to himself, ‘I could say that I was just checking on you, which would technically be true. It’s not like you were going to bring the guy home, right? But what if you did and then I was there sitting outside your door. I can’t ruin things for you.’ 

Why has it taken him so long to even get over to your place? Or for you to come over to his? He hated that your schedules were just different enough that you couldn’t meet up. You were always running out the door when he was just getting home and vice versa. He couldn’t even fathom what he would do the first time he saw you in person.

He should have just kissed you when you were feeding the cat. He knows that he wants to date you, how could he not someone who was sweet enough to do something like that for a random cat but also unafraid to chirp him like his teammates? 

Your light goes on, him doing everything in his power to not jump up and go to his window, but that doesn’t stop him from watching what was happening.

Your date went well; you and David had really hit it off, leading to making out in the elevator ride up, stumbling into your apartment with your lips practically glued to his. You look across to Pierre-Luc’s apartment, him sitting there. You make eye contact with him, smiling because of David. David comes up behind you, starting to kiss you down your neck. You send a thumbs up to Pierre-Luc, closing the curtain as you let David do as he pleases.

Pierre-Luc sits on his couch, dumbfounded by what he just saw. That should have been him. He should have been the one in your apartment with you right now. 

+one

Saturday morning, sitting on your couch, watching Seinfeld. A cup of coffee, your phone, and a plate with some fruit on it, much like the first full day when you moved in. The sky was cloudless and blue, but you weren’t admiring it in the same way as you were that day. You were out with David last night, one month after your first date. You thought everything was going great, until he told you that he wanted to see other people. You shouldn’t have been surprised, he had been saying that he wasn’t sure he was ready for a relationship, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt when he officially broke it off with you. 

‘You’re crying,’ a message from Pierre-Luc pops up on your screen. For a moment, you forgot your curtains were open, giving him a full view into your apartment. 

‘Yep,’ you reply back, not sure what else to say. He could see you, it’s not like you could lie to him. 

‘Need to talk about it?’ 

‘I don’t want to Facetime right now.’

‘Got it,’ was all he said. You look over at his apartment, just in time to see him shutting the door behind him. What the hell was he doing that he could ask you to Facetime and then leave right after? You let out a sigh, deciding to focus on the TV and try to force yourself to eat the fruit. You weren’t going to feel any better if your hunger turned into hanger, so you might as well eat the food that was in front of you. 

You didn’t know where your phone ended up; somewhere in the couch cushions maybe? On the floor? You didn’t even care, you just wanted to wallow and be dramatic for the day. What you weren’t expecting was the knock on your door, interrupting your favorite episode of the show. Getting up, not expecting anyone, you debated even opening the door when you hear his voice on the other side.

“Y/N, it’s me, open up.” You see Pierre-Luc standing there, a bag from the donut shop down the street in hand, a bunch of take out menus in the other.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, him pushing past you and plopping down on the couch, obviously already knowing the way around. 

“You were upset so I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he says, taking out the donuts, putting them on the plate with your fruit, popping a piece in his mouth. “You don’t have to talk about it, but at least this way we’re finally hanging out in person.”

There was something about seeing him sitting on your couch that just felt right. He looked so at home, his feet already up on your table in the way you sat pretty much all the time. He had already started up the episode, replaying it from the beginning so he could see it when you sit down beside him, tucking your feet underneath you. 

“Come here,” he says, reaching his arm out. You cuddle up next to him, your head on his shoulder as he plants a kiss on the top of your head. It felt so right. So much better than with David, so much better than with any of the other guys you had been with. 

“He dumped me,” you tell him, even though you were sure that you had already texted him that last night when you were on your way home. 

“He didn’t deserve you,” you hear him say. He mumbled something else, something you couldn’t quite make out. If he wanted you to hear it, he would have said it louder, you figured.

“He said I play hard to get?” you ask, unsure if that was true or not. Were you hard to get? You slept with the guy on the first night, Pierre-Luc had seen the beginning of it through the window. 

“No, you’re not hard to get, you’re hard to earn. Any guy would be lucky to have you. If I had you, I’d,” he stops himself, mentally kicking himself for opening that can of worms that he really didn’t want to dive into yet. You hadn’t even been out on a first date. If anything, maybe, this was your first date. 

“You’d what?” you say, sitting up, hoping he would continue. This was his first time in your apartment. Something you had both thought about a lot. You wanted to hear what he would do if you were together, hoping whatever he said would actually happen. 

“I’d feed the cat with you in the morning and then do it by myself in the afternoon if I didn’t have a game or something,” he starts, laughing, “I’d go out to breakfast with your friends even if we didn’t go out with them the night before. I’d even hang out with them whenever you did, even though they are a little crazy. You love the people around you, the animals that aren’t even your own pets. You deserve someone who will love you back the way you love everyone and everything.” 

You sit there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. “I should have been the one that night in here with you, not him,” he says, finally admitting it out loud. 

“Do something about it now, then,” you tell him.

“What?” he asks, stunned. 

“Forget that night you saw me with David, and do something now,” you insist. You had wanted this just as bad as he did, so why were either of you waiting?

He starts slow, sweet, his hand on your cheek as he presses his lips to yours. His lips move with yours, his tongue swiping your bottom lip as his other hand snakes it’s way around you back, picking you up from the seat next to you and placing you in his lap. Your hands go through his hair, your mind blank. This was what you had been waiting for since you first saw him.

He pulls away, his cheeks now red, a smile on his face, “I really hope I’m the only one who ever looked through your window.”

“If anyone else is looking then at least they get a little bit of a show,” you say, kissing him again. 

[waveypedia]

geez, you’re something to see

Rymin Week Day 2: Love Song

1 4 5 6 7

Ao3

tw for a small amount of implied homophobia and miscommunication

~

As the late afternoon sun pours in through the van’s windows, Ryan scribbles frantically on the piece of paper spread on the dashboard in front of him.

He’s crouched on the driver’s seat, the heels of his feet digging into the back of the chair. It’s not the most comfortable position, but after a long day of driving, Ryan can’t stand to stay sitting like he was the whole day. Besides, he needs to focus on the task at hand. On the paper, so innocuous and unassuming, that consumes his waking thoughts.

It’s creased and crumpled from days of hiding it away as fast as possible whenever Min comes in the vicinity (which is often, given how small the van is). But now that Min is away, out fetching his and Ryan’s dinners, the paper lays pressed open painstakingly.

I’ll rewrite it to look nice once I’m done, Ryan promises himself. Min will like it better that way.  

That begs the terrifying question of whether Min will like it at all.

Ryan drags a hand through his messy hair, tugging on the ends. It’s growing out much more smoothly since Min started trimming it every month or so. Ryan pretends to complain that it ruins his rough-and-rugged rockstar look. But in truth he’d sacrifice much more to keep those nights where Min sits behind him, so close Ryan can feel Min’s breath on his neck. Ryan can’t lose the nights where Min cards his hands through Ryan’s hair oh-so-gently. He can’t lose the nights where Min holds his hair like he’s holding something valuable, instead of strands of hair his family members would disapprove of in length, rife in split ends. Ryan revels in the closeness, the domesticity, of it all far more than he should.

Ryan takes a deep breath and shakes himself out of it. Now is not the time to zone off, to find himself lost in his daydreams of Min (though heaven knows he’s good at getting off track - his parents had been sure he knew). Back to the task at hand.

Ryan picks up the pen he’d subconsciously lost when he started dreaming of Min (again). He twirls it. He caps and uncaps it. He taps it against the wheel.

Nothing new comes to mind. Of course.

Ryan’s never had this much trouble with songwriting before! As he’s famously said before (read: Min constantly teases him about), “You just gotta make it rhyme.” Out of the duo, he’s always been the songwriter of the two, although, like in every aspect of the band, they do their best work when they’re collaborating contributing equally. Hell, he’s been writing songs since he was five. (Whether the lyrics consisted of simply “I’m gonna dress my dog in a toque / I’m gonna dress my cat in a toque” is irrelevant.) Regardless of how nonsensical and wacky his lyrics can be at times, Ryan Akagi is an experienced songwriter with a touring band playing songs he composed for small to medium venues. Writing one single song should not be this hard.

Except he knows exactly why this particular song comes so difficult. While Ryan would never dream of putting anything less than his all into all of the music he writes for Chicken Choice Judy or even just Gage, he’s never held them to the same literary standard. Ryan’s performative music is wild and free, just like himself. It’s his way of expressing himself, of quite literally putting everything he has out into the world and letting it run free.

While Ryan and Min have both been consciously working to reach a middle ground since they got off the train, Min has always been the more reserved of the two. Ryan knows he can’t give Min the same unrestrained beauty in chaos he puts into his band. If Min’s been trying not to limit himself as much, Ryan can compromise. This is his way of not letting himself go so far he’ll leave Min in the dust.

This song is all about being honest with Min, after all. Miscommunication has always been their greatest enemy, and Ryan is loath to fall into the same trap yet again. Past issues aside, Min just… deserves to know. It’s too big of a secret to keep to himself. Ryan is many things but he isn’t a secret-keeper. Not when it comes to big issues.

He just needs to tell Min. It doesn’t matter how it’s received. He just needs to let him know.

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.  

Ryan lets out a frustrated groan, dropping the pen again to tug at his hair. If it’s not already messy, it’ll be positively cluttered by the time he’s finished. His mother would have a field day if she saw him like this.

The door handle jiggles.

Ryan’s head snaps up. He’d been completely caught up in writing (or more accurately, thinking about writing) he hadn’t noticed Min walking back to the car.

Through the window, Min waves sheepishly and holds up a bag of food. Ryan leans over the second seat to let him in.

Min slides inside and sets the bag in the space between the two seats. “Sorry about that,” he says, scratching bashfully at his beck with his free hand. “I forgot my keys.”

Ryan smiles mechanically, waving him off, and shoves the paper into the pocket of his leather jacket. At this rate it’ll be creased beyond recognition by the time he’s finished, even by his own standards. “It’s fine. I do that all the time.”

He will definitely need to rewrite it in a nicer script when he’s done.

(That is to say, if he ever feels confident enough in his work to call it done. Ryan’s sister had called Min a “perfectionist” once, citing his need to keep working on their school projects right up until the deadline because he never felt satisfied. Ryan didn’t understand the sentiment until now.)

Min gives him a curious glance, but says nothing otherwise. He’s likely written it off as just one of Ryan’s quirks. “Yeah, well.” He unhooks his keys, complete with the Dumpy keychain from his days before the train, from the dashboard and tucks them safely in his pocket. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Ryan frowns at him. “Min, it’s fine. I know it’s not something you usually do, but everyone messes up sometimes.”

“Yeah.” Min digs around in the bag for their meals, avoiding his gaze. “Right.”

“Are you okay?” Ryan asks, slightly worried. For a minute, all thoughts of the paper burning a hole in his pocket are forgotten in lieu of caring for his best friend. “You’re acting weird, man.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Min slips his hand into his pocket, but pulls it back out empty-handed after a minute. Odd.

They eat in silence for a couple minutes. Without the distraction of talking to Min or worrying about Min (although he’s doing plenty of that, don’t worry), Ryan is right back to worrying about his love song.

Well, it’s a good thing Min seems so nervous tonight. Unless he asks outright, Ryan has an excuse not to give him the love song tonight. He won’t add stress to… whatever has Min so worried (and Ryan, by extension).

“So…” Min fists his hands in the fabric of his shorts as if he’s nervous, except that can’t be right, because he has no cause to be nervous. Ryan is the nervous one here, obviously. Except it’s not obvious, because Min can’t know.

Min glances at Ryan, biting his lower lip. “Have you written any new songs lately?”

Ryan chokes and fumbles with his food, nearly spilling it. He knows. He knows. He knows. How could he possibly know?!  

Well. It looks like he asked outright after all. Only one thing to do now, no matter how much Ryan would rather dump his food onto the seat, ruining the upholstery beyond what he and Min can pay for cleaning, and run away into the night. Never to be seen again, leaving behind only his precious guitar, van, and a confused friend.

As dramatic as Ryan is, that’s unfortunately out of the question. He wouldn’t do that to Min.

“Min, I…” Well, Ryan is a man of his word. He knows all too well how badly a lack of communication has messed them up before. He can’t keep this secret any longer.

With shaking hands, Ryan pulls the crumpled ball of paper out of his pocket and presents it to Min in a gesture that he hopes is put-together and elegant but is likely more akin to shoving it ungracefully in Min’s face. “Here.”

Min’s face had been glazed over with a sort of set determination, but that mask shatters as soon as he notices the paper. He blinks, mouth slightly agape, hands hovering near his own pocket. “O-oh. Um. Thank you, Ryan. I bet this’ll be totally rad.”

Slowly, as if unsure or confused (or maybe even disappointed? Oh man, that can’t be it, can it? Ryan’s fully prepared for Min’s disappointment, hell, he’s had the same experience with his parents, but Min doesn’t even know the context of his lyrics yet), Min takes the paper and unfolds it.

Time seems to pass much slower than normal, seconds sludging by, as Min reads the lyrics. Ryan tracks his eyes darting across the paper, his mouth opening wider and closing again as he reads and processes the meaning behind Ryan’s grand gesture.

Ryan twists his fingers together. It hurts, but not as much as watching Min read his writing. “Sorry it’s so messy. I was going to rewrite it when I was done, but…”

“Ryan.” Ryan’s mouth snaps shut as soon as Min speaks, and he jerks his head up. Min is staring at him as if he’s a new person, in a new light. “Is this… a love song?”

Ryan nods mutely, his heart pounding in his chest like the drums of an established rock band at a sold-out concert.

Min takes a deep breath. “For… me?”

Ryan nods again, sharp and jerky.

Min stares, frozen in shock, for a moment before bursting out laughing.

Ryan chokes, surprised, and whips his head away. He curls up (or as much as he can manage while sitting in the driver’s seat of his van), pressing his side against the seat and fisting his hands in the seam of his jacket.

He’d been prepared for a negative response, but deep in his heart he hadn’t expected Min to react this badly. Even after his parents had reacted worse.

Of course.

“Ryan,” Min chokes out between peals of laughter. “Ryan, Ryan, oh man. I’m not laughing at you, I promise.”

Ryan turns around slowly, hesitantly. Hope is already building in his chest before he’s even processed Min’s words.

When Min comes into his sight again, Ryan can barely meet his eyes before a piece of paper is thrust into his face. Puzzled, Ryan takes it and reads it over.

It’s… a love song.

It’s a love song, penned in Min’s neat handwriting, with classical notation instead of chords because Min learned music through his viola teacher and not as a self-taught guitarist like Ryan. Min was worried it would be a problem when they started collaborating, but their combined skills in multiple disciples has become one of their greatest assets as a musical group.

But Ryan can’t focus on the notes, however beautiful they may be, because the lyrics are telling a story he’s only dared to fantasize about in his wildest dreams.

“Sorry for laughing,” Min says, still chuckling quietly. “I just… I was trying to create a natural segue into giving this to you, and I… Wow. We’re idiots, aren’t we.”

Ryan doesn’t realize he’s crying until a teardrop lands on Min’s songsheet. He wipes it away and starts to giggle. “Yeah. We are.” He glances up, meeting Min’s eye for the first time since this whole debacle and gives him a wide, teary smile. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t think we’d be us if we didn’t pull some convoluted scheme to get our feelings out. Y’know, seeing as it took getting kidnapped by a magical death train the first time.”

Min snorts and rubs at his eyes. “Don’t remind me.” He crawls across the middle of the van and curls up next to Ryan, wrapping his arm around him. “So, are we good?”

Ryan lets out a wet laugh. “Oh man, we’re better than good. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been hoping for this?”

“Not as long as me,” Min says, grinning mischievously. “I’ve been pining since high school. Take that!”

Ryan lets his head drop onto Min’s shoulder, relishing in the affectionate closeness and warmth of him. “Man, we were such repressed nerds in high school, huh?”

“Yeah, maybe so.” Min leans his head against Ryan’s, chuckling softly. “I’m glad we’re okay now, though.”

“Me too, dude.” Ryan lets out a contented sigh. He still can’t quite believe they’ve gotten here, after all that worrying and stressing over every little detail. “Me too.”

They stayed like that for a little while, half-eaten plates of food forgotten in the back of the van. Through the open windows, the sunset lights up the sky in a fiery glow, with colors gradually shifting from pink to fiery red to deep blue.

Min hums contemplatively. “So, what now? Should we perform these onstage or what?”

Ryan toys with the paper between his fingers, absentmindedly tearing off a corner. “No, I think… I think these should be kept between us.”

“I agree,” Min says, intertwining his fingers with Ryan’s. Ryan’s heart leaps into his throat, and he’s sure his face is burning up.

“I think it would be nice if we… if we maybe wrote a love song together,” Ryan says, a little nervous.

Min smiles. “I’d like that too.”

~

day 2 is in the books! this one is half me projecting my experience with writer's block while writing this fic and half exploring the love they feel about each other. in their own words, what repressed nerds. love them

a whole lotta headcanons in this one c:

i didn't mean to bring sunsets back again, even for just a small detail, but i guess it's a rymin motif now. maybe i'll try to stick it in the rest of my rymin week pieces, but i won't try to shoehorn it in if it feels unnatural. god i love sunsets this is just more projection isn't it.

title is from home by edward sharpe and the magnetic zeroes! this song, just like its title implies, feels like home. it was a stigma of the songleading group i was in at camp a few years ago so it's very special to me. i'm happy to pass its lyrics on to rymin and give it a new significance for me personally!

i've been really enjoying all the rymin week content so far! good job, everyone! it's so nice to see everyone come together in support of these lovely characters

if you ever wanna talk infinity train, writing, these amazing characters, or really anything hmu here on my tumblr or my twitter! thank you for reading, and please leave a like/reblog/comment if you enjoyed it!

@ryminweek

[pearl-blue-musings]

Perchance to Meet pt. 2 REWRITE

Hi y'all. I'm really sad I have to do this all over again because tumblr goofed up big time. I went to edit this for tags and cleanliness and then next thing I know boom it’s gone. I know it won’t be as good as it was when I first wrote it but I will do my best to recreate what I had. This is what I get for not saving it or not doing so when I TOLD MYSELF TOO 😤 again i’m so sorry and here’s my rewrite

Warnings: suggestive language 18+, i think that’t it!

Part 3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Aizawa Shouta is a simple man. Wore clothes that were best for him, always did his duty as a teacher and an underground hero. He was always able to do the right or best thing when it was necessary. Never afraid to back down from what needed to be done.

So why is he standing across the street on his day off from a place he’s been meaning to check out for weeks? He studies the business card in his hand that has the name and address of the building he’s currently staring at. Just for good measure he triple checks the address and store name-

“Personally Yours, Book boutique!”

Black almond eyes widen as Aizawa’s thoughts are perturbed by the loud blond next to him. He’s not sure why he allowed his best friend (don’t tell Hizashi that) to accompany him today to meet the intriguing bartender and bookstore owner. (Y/n) (L/n). That name and face has been plaguing him over the last three weeks from when they first met. The way her hair matched and reflected her personality, her amazing quirk, her willingness to make people’s lives better... 

The way her lips looked incredibly kissable and fuckable at the same time had left him with his hands down his pants many nights.

Aizawa looks to his friend as he sees Hizashi grinning widely from ear to ear, eager about what’s about to happen. It’s been far too long since the blond has seen his friend this worked up over anything, let alone a person! But he knew, deep in his friendly heart, that Aizawa would have done nothing if he didn’t intervene and tell him to go visit her.

“It’s about time you decided to go see her ‘Zawa. It’s been what, like three weeks?” 

“You don’t have to remind me.” Yes, he knew. Aizawa knew we waited two weeks and six days too long to finally reach out or do something. But could the world blame him? He’s a teacher and underground hero already looking for the next class of heroes for U.A.; the man hasn’t had a day off in far too long and now he has one. He can only hope that the lady he kept waiting would understand. But she had to, right?

With what seemed like forever, he finally managed to place one foot in front of the other and cross the street to enter the building. The outside looks quaint, almost too perfect for a bookstore in his opinion. It appears to be one story but there might be living quarters on top of it? Aizawa rolls his shoulders to relieve himself of any tension, turns back to his friend before he promptly goes inside…

And immediately regrets his decision. 

The loud sound that bombarded his ears was something he did not expect. Children. Toddlers maybe, but obnoxious nonetheless. He begins to question whether or not he should stay based on the loudness in the store. However despite the noise, he feels a sense of calmness and home-ness that he felt when he had talked with (Y/n) at the bar. The bookstore smells of cinnamon and vanilla, a combination he thinks he can get used to. The layout seems to be welcoming as well. In the middle, which he assumes is the check out and help desk, is a circular module that has different pathways leading to other parts of the store. Each pathway leads to shelves lined up with all kinds of books, lit above by medium sized lanterns that give the store its unique glow. 

Aizawa surmises that the store is an accurate representation of the bewildering woman he met a few weeks ago. Everything about the size, the layout, the aura reminds him of their plethora of conversations from just one night, and maybe more to come.

He approaches the middle desk in hopes that she would be near. Taking in his surroundings, he realizes that the bulk of the noise is coming from the back, which looks to be a cozy reading nook with bean bag and other comfy chairs surrounded by end tables and ottomans. He can feel the chaotic energy from where he stands.

Hesitantly, he pushes the bell near the cash register. 

“I’ll be right there!”

Stunned at the sound of her voice, he waits patiently but also impatiently for the woman that has been haunting his thoughts for almost a month now to appear. His eyes wander to the counter, however at that moment the sound of sneakers hitting linoleum comes closer to him.

“Hi,” she pants out, holding up a finger. “How, whew, how can I help you…”

She drawls out the last part as she finally sees who had called her attention. Seriously, couldn’t this person know that today was extremely busy? But her thoughts come to a halt when she’s met with deep almond eyes and scruff, even though she’s seen it once, could recognize anywhere.

“Aizawa-san?”

“Just Aizawa is fine. Looks like I came at a bad time?”

“Hah, that’s an understatement,” (Y/n) puffs out. Her eyes must be deceiving her. There’s no way he’s actually here. They had met almost a month ago and it was a meeting she’ll never forget. The hard-working woman is never one to make small talk with her patrons but something about him caught her focus and for the rest of the night and the most of these three weeks, was all she could think about. “Once a month we have a local daycare come in and bring their students to look and explore in the store! Helps them get better at reading and finding out what other things they may like.”

The man before her nods in understanding, unsure of what else to say. He had practiced this moment over and over but now that it’s here he’s unsure of what to do.

“I thought you were never gonna show up. But I’m really glad to see you not in a club, it feels more real I guess?” She paused briefly before beginning again. “I honestly thought I made up the whole thing, or that something was wrong with me…”

“No,” Aizawa interrupts, afraid to hear more. “It’s my fault. I’ve been busy with teaching and being a hero.”

“No I get it. I work two jobs too so I understand how busy you are. I’m glad you’re even here.”

The two of them smile at each other, taking in each others features in that present moment. The feel of familiarity reaches them once again, as if everything around them doesn’t exist and it’s just them. Most of the reason he’s never considered meeting anyone is mostly because of his schedule. Many would find it ridiculous how busy the man is but he cares deeply for what he does and bringing someone new into it would be a whole new level of stress he doesn’t think he needs. He’s married to his job essentially, and so it seems is (Y/n).

Their moment is broken when small hand tugs on the pant leg of (Y/n), stealing her eyes away from his. She looks down to see one of her daycare toddlers staring up at her. The little girl, Yuki, unfaltering in her gaze is clearly demanding attention.

“Oh! Hi Yuki, did you already pick a book to bring home?”

The little girl nods and proceeds to lift her arms above her head, making a grabbing motion with her hands. (Y/n) slyly rolls her eyes and picks up Yuki. Holding her in her arms, (Y/n) turns back to Aizawa.

“This is Yuki. She’s a little shy, soft spoken, but absolutely adorable. She’s also one of my favorites because she’s so quiet.”

Aizawa looks down to the toddler in her arms and doesn’t make any moves to approach. The toddler’s eyes widen at the strange man in front of her, eyes boring into his figure to take him in.

“Hobo.”

“Yuki!”

It takes all of the woman’s strength to not drop the child as her shoulders shake in laughter. Aizawa struggles to hide the embarrassment on his face by looking away from the scene before him. It’s not his fault he prefers to wear all black; it’s slimming and makes him feel comfortable. He’s starting to think that maybe he should have shaved and put his hair in a bun for his day off.

Once his heart has calmed down, he faces the toddler again only to see her being swayed back and forth by (Y/n) as she hums a soothing melody. He knows it’s not a possible thing but his heart skipped a beat at the sight. It was the most domestic thing he’s seen that actually makes him happy.

But at the same time he thinks about having one of his own with her and wanting to fuck her senseless against-

“So I’m guessing this is your day off?”

He stammers, “Uh, yeah. I was hoping we could do something today.”

“Hmm, do something as a date or do something as friends?”

He smirks at her sass, “I’m hoping for the former.”

“That can be arranged. I close early today so, meet me in front of the store at 7?”

“That sounds great, let me give you my number and-“

“Hobo.”

“Yuki!”

She promptly takes the child to the back and excuses herself from the desk. Aizawa searches around him for a spare piece of paper and luckily finds an unneeded receipt and a very purple pen. Once he’s done writing he sees her come back without the child.

“Sorry about that. But, ah, is this your number?”

“Yeah clearly.”

“Well geez, maybe I will put you as hobo in my phone just for that.”

“Please don’t.”

“Oh it’s happening.”

He rolls his eyes at her antics and smiles at her. He doesn’t know what it is, but something about being around her just makes him calm. “Listen, I don’t want to hold you up any longer than I have. But text me when you’re ready. 

“And maybe I’ll give you a night to remember.”

***************************************** He winks at her as he walked out and (Y/n) is left with her heart pumping in her ears. Did she really respond to what Aizawa said with “Oh yeah? Well I hope you do ‘cause maybe I’ll make those fantasies of yours come true. It has been three weeks after all.”? What was that?! She can’t just say she knows what he was thinking by the way his pupils had dilated a couple time, that’s too crazy.

Too weird, nope, she’s not weird at all.

Slapping her cheeks to re-center herself, she approaches the back of her store to meet with the children and her co-workers.

“Finally you’re back,” her co-worker, Kona, sighs. “Who was that? You were gone for a while so I know it wasn’t just another customer.”

“It was, um the guy.”

“Shut up!” he practically shouts, “he came here? After three weeks? Are you gonna see him? Please tell me you’re gonna see him?”

“Kona hush, not in front of the kids.”

He shrugs, “Oh sure, when it’s your sex life it’s all secret secret, but if it’s my sex life everyone has to know!”

(Y/n) slices her hand across her neck. “Shut. It!”

“Fine fine,” he whispers. “But you gotta at least tell me if he gave off daddy vibes at least. Big dick energy? Most guys like that do exude it.”

“You are so lucky I love you or you’d be fired.”

“You didn’t say no,” Kona whisper sang back to her. She did her best to hide the way her eyes widened at that but failed miserably.

Closing time couldn’t come quick enough.

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

here’s the rewrite! @kiribaku-queen @therealwalmartjesus @prk-pyo

[sintreaties]

What’s your writing process like? Do you get inspired by random stuff and start writing on paper or do you type it on your phone? Our have a set schedule on when to write and get randomly inspired? Maybe have a goal to write at least this much in a day and get a boost of inspiration along the way?

There are times in which inspiration hits and I write the whole thing out on paper, or there are times in which I get some very vivid scenes and I jot them down first before moving on to an outline, then to a first draft on Google Docs and so on.

Writing the remaining chapters of OTAP was easier this time around, because in the past months I kept coming up with random scenes and writing them down whenever. One instance in particular I was at work during a night shift and I came up with a whole ass chapter. For two hours I kept every detail in mind, until I could finally go on break for ten minutes at 2am and write as much as I could on my phone.

I keep my notebook on a shelf by a window, so that when I close the window on my way out I can still jot down whatever random idea I get. And it works wonders! In most cases, all I had to do what copy those bits onto the document and flesh them out, making my first draft much easier to write. I have another smaller notebook used for simple (original) prompts, the ones that I keep for when I’ll actually let myself write original works.

There are only three things that remain constant: 1) If an idea isn’t appealing, I can’t force myself to write it, because the result will probably disappoint me 2) if I’m using a screen, I get up, stretch, rest my eyes for 10-15 minutes every 45 minutes of writing 3) I hate, I absolutely detest being forced to write every day and having a word count to reach.

A lot of professional authors tell you that writing every day is the key to becoming a good writer, because practice makes perfect blah blah blah. That advice is good for the kind of writers that don’t like writing as much as they should (or that have other kind of issues), and thus have to force themselves to sit down and get it done.

After the 57k I wrote in the past few weeks, I simply feel mentally drained. There were days in which I wrote more than 4k —because I genuinely enjoyed what I was writing — but during the last day I could barely reach 88 words. I can’t wait to go on hiatus, I struggle even to reply to the comments because I just feel fed up with OTAP and I want nothing to do with it.

Resting is terribly important. I would have probably been able to hit more than 2k every day, if only I had let myself take some time off (but I really really wanted all the Nanowrimo badges and still somehow didn’t get one jfc). In general, ten minutes of work in which I’m inspired and energized can be much productive than wasting hours trying to barf up 1.656 words. It makes editing much easier too, because one thing is adding stuff to 500 words written in ten minutes, one thing is rewriting a whole half-assed chapter. For me it works just fine, or else I wouldn’t have written like 500k in the past three years. It preserves the pleasure that I find in writing — ensuring that the quality doesn’t plummet because of my exhaustion.

[annies-marvel-imagines]

Dusk Till Dawn (Peter Parker x Reader)

Part 1

Summary: After a mission gone slightly wrong, Y/N hears something she never expected from her teammates and learns something that changes her relationship with Tony.

Warning: swearing (probably), violence, angst, hurt!reader, sad!reader, Peter being bad at flirting, 

A/N: This is a collaboration with @rosaliestark01. Part 2 will probably be posted on her account by next Friday. Credit for the GIF belongs to owner.

Read Prologue Here 

“Okay, we need to get in and get out.” Steve had been explaining the mission. We were supposed to look for a crate of weapons with a red wax seal on the lid. “We can’t let them know we were here at all. Got it?”

You all nodded your heads. This was the first mission you had been in two months. You were glad to be back on the field, but it was a little weird to be around so many of the Avengers at once. Nat, Steve, Peter, and your dad were all there. The rest were at the tower.

“Hey.” You were snapped out of your thoughts by Peter taking a seat next to you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Looking at Peter, he looks a bit different. He’s still handsome, but hair is longer and he is a bit taller than you remember. He just looks older in general.

“Thank for helping me and Ned out earlier,” Peter says. Earlier that day, Flash was being an assbutt and spilt chemicals all over Ned and Peter’s Chemistry notes. You didn’t have that class today, but you were still able to help them rewrite them.  “You’re really smart.”

“Thanks, Pete.” You couldn’t help but blush a little every time he complimented you, which has recently been more frequent. “You’re smart too.” Peter smiles, but then he becomes serious.

“So, are you still friends with Eloise Day?” Ellie had invited you to her house the other day. You didn’t understand why Peter didn’t like her. She was always nice to him. A part of you thinks that it was because she figured out his secret within a week after moving to Queens. Since they’re neighbors, she probably saw him sneaking back into his apartment or something.

“Yeah, why?” You still couldn’t figure out why he dislikes Ellie of all people. She was already one of the smartest students at your school. If Ned and MJ were able to figure it out, Ellie could too.

“It’s probably nothing,” He says as he fidgeted with his mask.  You could tell he was nervous about what he was about to say. “I feel like there’s something-”

“Alright. Get in, get out,” Steve interrupted.

Steve is the first to leave the jet. You try to follow, but you’re forced to sit back down and wait for the others to pass first. You figured that they just didn’t see you. Finally, Peter offered you his hand and the two of you were the last off the jet.

The base was bigger than you imagined it would be. Everyone decided to split up in order to make things easier. Not only would it be easier to remain undetected but it would make finding the crate a lot easier too.

You noticed a door that was left slightly open. After making sure that no one was there, you quietly entered the room. It was littered with boxes and crates. One of them had to be the one you’re looking for. After a few minutes of searching, you came to the conclusion that none of these crates was the one that you needed to find. Not a single one had a red wax seal on the lid.You were about to go look for it when something caught your eye. 

In the middle of the room was a fairly clean desk, but that was not what caught your attention. It was the giant red folder on top of it that had the word “classified” stamped onto it. Upon opening it, you realized two things. First, Hydra shouldn’t have any of this information. Secondly, finding out that an organization like Hydra has a file all about you is nothing short of frightening.

“What the-” You were too immersed in the fact that Hydra had any of this information to realize that you were no longer alone.

“Didn’t your dad teach you it’s rude to touch things that don’t belong to you?” You jumped, not realizing how long you had been standing there. Turning around, you inspect the man. He is definitely a lot bigger than you, but Nat had taught you what to do in situations where your opponent was bigger than you. Bucky had also given you a few tips. Unfortunately, none of those tips prepared you for situations when a fucking skyscraper was pointing some weird space gun at you.

The more Hydra soldiers you meet, the more you think that Hydra is just picking them up off the streets. You were lucky that this man was horrible at aiming. You dodged the blast, however, you weren’t expecting another guy to shoot you from behind.

“Y/N?” Peter asks through the earpiece. You don’t answer right away since you’re dealing with not one, but two Hydra soldiers. You use your knife and throw it at the man who snuck up behind you. The first guy tries to shoot you again, but something (or someone) stops him. Peter webs the guy up pretty good after taking his space gun away.

“Peter,-” You want to tell him about the file you just found, but you can’t when he interrupts you.

“Y/N are you okay?”

“Yeah.”You say.  “I was shot but-”

“You were shot!” You refrain from rolling your eyes because let’s be honest here. If he had been shot you’d probably lose your mind.

“Peter, I’m fine. Look.” You hand him the file and wait while he looks through it. Although he is wearing a mask, you can imagine the look he probably has. You also notice the way he tenses up the more he looks through it.

“This is all about you” He states.“This is your whole life.”

“Alright, got it,” You both ear through the earpiece. It sounds like Nat found what you were supposed to look for.

“Come on, let’s go.” Peter turns to leave, but you stop him.

“What about this?” He looks between the file and you. You can tell that he is unsure about what he is about to say.

“We can’t let them know we were here.”

“Its a little too late for that, don’t you think?” You motion to the guy you threw a knife at and the guy who Peter had webbed to the wall. Whether you take the file or not, they would still know that you were there. Peter looks conflicted for a few seconds before he realizes that your right. Taking the file won’t make a difference now.

“Fine.” You quickly take the file and put it in your backpack. You didn’t know why Hydra had such a big file about you, but you couldn’t deny that you were curious about what they know about you. 

Peter had insisted on taking a look at your injury. You knew that he knew that you would be able to take care of it yourself, but it was nice to spend time with him. Today had been the first time you really talked in over a week. 

“So, it’s been a while since we hung out,” Peter says as he fixes you up.

“Yeah,” you agree. The last time that you and Peter hung out was two months ago when you went to the movies with him and Ned. Peter had left halfway through the movie because his Peter-tingle was telling him that something was happening. 

“Do you want to go see a movie next weekend?” 

“Sure,” you look up at him excitedly. There was this new movie that was out that you really wanted to see. You were sure that he and Ned would like it too. “I can pick you guys up this time.”

Peter looked at you a bit nervously before he spoke again. “Well, I was hoping that it could just be the two of us.”

Was this a date? You really liked Peter, but you had always figured that he just thought of you as a friend and that he harbored feelings for MJ. You could have sworn that you’ve heard him talking about how smart and pretty she was. 

“That’s fine.” Although you had a fairly calm exterior, you were internally freaking out. You were about to say something else when Peter’s eyes widen. He looked both confused and worried which made you think that he thought you were getting the wrong idea.

“How many times have you been shot?” You watch as his worried expression became stern. Although you were not expecting that, you realized that you should have expected it. 

Lately, you’ve been patrolling by your self. Peter was always busy, as well as everyone else, so you didn’t want to bother them about it. You hadn’t realized how used you were to patrolling with someone. You’ve been injured more times in the last six months than you had in your whole life. 

“That was the first time I’ve been shot. I’ve been stabbed three times.” Peter looked like his head was about to explode. You didn’t think it was that big of a deal. You knew how to take care of yourself. Yeah, you’ve had a few slip-ups, but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t have handled.

“You really need to be more careful,” Peter sighs. “None of us want to see you hurt.”

“I know.”You squeeze his hand that you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding. “I’m gonna go take a shower.” 

You stood up and Peter gave you a gentle hug so as not to put pressure on your wound. 

“Okay, I’ll see you at school.” With that, you made your way out of the medical wing. As you passed the common room, you couldn’t help but hear that the other Avengers were having what sounded to be an important conversation.

“You know I’m right about this,” Rhodey said. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but heard what he was about to say nonetheless. “The missions would be a lot easier without Y/N.”

“I know.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You couldn’t believe that your own dad would so quickly agree with him. You and Rhodey had never exactly been that close, but what gave him the right? It was just one mistake! You hadn’t messed up on a mission in five years. Even then, it wasn’t that big of a mistake.

Nobody heard you slam the door to your room shut. Six months of letting them do their own thing and not trying to be a bother and this is the what you get? You wanted to hit something but instead settled for kicking your backpack. You knew it was your fault when a few papers spilt out, but it only further angered you. 

You began cleaning the mess when you remembered about the file you stole. You took it out of your backpack and decided to really look through it hoping it would take your mind off of the feeling of betrayal that you felt.What you hadn’t noticed back at the Hydra base was that there was a USB taped to the inside of the folder. You plugged it into your laptop and was shocked at what you were seeing. 

They knew everything about you. They had your medical records, your school transcripts, everything you’ve done for Shield, and where you worked. They knew where you were born, where you lived, and the route you took to school everyday. 

That wasn’t even the worst part. You though you knew everything about yourself. What you were now seeing made the betrayal you felt from Rhodey’s words seem like child’s play. You felt lied to and angry.

Tony Stark was not your real dad. Tag list:

  @eridanuswave, @drishtisikarwar

[classified-bluerose]

WANDAVISION S1E5 SPOILERS ( & COMICS SPOILERS TOO ) !!!

—

here we go. this is very long, so. buckle up.

my original theory had wanda trapped within westview unknowingly - later episodes disproved that. however! i believe now that parts of my original theory are true. wanda is not in control. someone else is. she can alter certain aspects of her reality, and probably believes she’s in total control. she isn’t.

she notes that she can’t remember how it all began. she seemed taken aback during some of the episodes when the sitcom faltered and allowed reality to blink through. she didn’t summon pietro/peter - so who did?

behind every show is a writer, a director. wanda may be starring in her perfect sitcom, but who is directing it?

- agnes? is she mephisto? or perhaps she’s agatha, married to mephisto. her husband is mentioned several times but never shown.

- pietro/peter himself is mephisto in disguise. though why he would choose this particular iteration of pietro is uncertain.

- dottie is mephisto.

1. the sword director is shady a.f. why not share the information about wanda’s break in when he first sent monica out into the field? and, if part of vision’s will was to not be ressurected OR made into a weapon, then what the hell was sword doing with his corpse in the first place?

consider: the security footage from wanda’s break-in. vision’s body was disassembled. sword director immediately labelled wanda a terrorist. which was always going to happen - i mean, pre-endgame/infinity war, wanda was a wanted felon on the run from the government. which gives sword exactly the right ammunition to use against her. of course, monica was having none of it, and stepped up to defend her. hayword decided to use monica’s drone to launch an attack on wanda. he had no qualms about killing her - and potentially her children. he also chose to keep this information from monica, because he knew she would never have agreed. he is not to be trusted; and i think monica knows that now.

2. onto vision’s enlightening moment with norm. now, norm doesn’t ever name wanda as the one inside his head. instead, he refers to this person as ‘’her’’. not naming her has to be intentional. which means he may not be talking about wanda. of course, vision is going to assume it is wanda, having noticed how strange his life with her is. monica was shaken when she began to remember her life before westview. herb, when trying to tell vision about why monica was there, is visibly terrified. norm grows agitated and upset when vision lifts the manipulation. even dottie becomes freaked out when woo’s voice comes over the radio. who in the town doesn’t act disturbed or scared when the sitcom falters? agnes. she acts like a professional actor on a soap or sitcom. she looks to wanda for direction; but could it be she is the director of this whole thing? or perhaps she is an agent of mephisto, (or master pandemonium) who could very well be her unseen husband, ralph. that is, if she’s not mephisto herself.

3. now. the twins. the twins, whom i do not trust. they know too much. their powers and wanda’s powers combined could explain the aging up process. but i believe the twins are a product of the same thing as the comics: fragments of mephisto’s soul. while this storyline was rewritten to swap out mephisto for master pandemonium, it’s more likely that it’s mephisto behind this. regardless of mephisto’s identity within the show, it the twins were created using fragments of mephisto’s soul, they may be more like him than wanda or vision. i know in the comics they get reabsorbed into mephisto/pandemonium. i lowkey want that to happen because i don’t like them lmao. sorry wanda! but, we know that wanda is using whatever is around her to rewrite reality. so if mephisto is nearby, his soul would be powerful enough (even fragmented) to create two (semi) human children. agnes says you can’t control kids. maybe that’s why there’s no other children in westview?

4. and finally, the big moment. the introduction of evan peter’s peter maximoff. she calls him pietro, of course, as this is the name he used in this universe. there are plenty of theories to explain his sudden appearance. if mephisto is a resident of the town, and controlling wanda, they may be using her desires to keep wanda in westview. her mentioning him in the past 2 episodes would have had him in the forefront of her mind. mephisto may be aware that vision is beginning to fight the reality he’s in, that he’s ‘’waking up’’. so he/she/they bring in her brother to solidfy wanda’s fight to remain in her new home. what good does this do for vision, though? how will it convince him to stop fighting? he doesn’t even remember his own universes’ pietro. perhaps mephisto is hoping that with wanda now having her family complete will urge her to fully control vision. perhaps mephisto had to bring this version of pietro over from the x-men universe due to an inability to revive the mcu’s pietro? and another big question; is vision alive? if wanda was reanimating his corpse and making it seem as though he was alive, wouldn’t he just be whatever she made him be? surely he would have no independant thought, no capability to question the world around him. if he is alive - how?

working theory: wanda discovered that sword had taken vision’s body. heartbroken that the man she loves won’t get to rest in peace, she breaks into sword and ‘’rescues’’ his corpse. whatever her plan was following that, something happened that we haven’t seen yet. mephisto appeared, drawn to wanda by her pure grief, rage, and loneliness - and made her a deal she couldn’t refuse. bring vision back to life, place her in a familiar, comforting world where nothing changes (ex. a sitcom) and they can live a normal, happy life together. mephisto does not go into detail about wanda’s new reality; when she agrees, she isn’t entirely aware of what she’s signing up for. mephisto wipes her memory (and visions?) of the deal, and sits back in wait. the more wanda starts to realise that she can control aspects of her reality, she does what she can to protect it, not fully understanding what’s going on. only knowing that she isn’t willing to let go of her home. sword are panicking, because they’ve lost vision to a woman with exceptional abilities (who happens to be labelled, unfairly, a terrorist). hayward uses this to turn all heads in wanda’s direction, desperate to vilify her and keep the attention off of sword’s vision project. back to the deal - what would mephisto get in return for this exchange? my best bet is the children. although why he would want that, to lose 2 fragments of his soul for their creation. unless his soul was already in fragments and lost, and wanda’s creating her kids was one way for him to retrieve them? agnes is there to either help wanda, to take care of her, or to keep her in line.

the parts in italics and bold are linked to the evidence in the first paragraphs.

THE COMMERCIALS:

each commercial seems to link to wanda’s past; essentially retelling her path through the mcu.

1. first up, the toaster by stark industries. it was stark weapons that destroyed wanda’s childhood home and left her and her brother orphans. this is the inciting incident in wanda’s story.

2. the vonstrucker watch. following her parents demise, she is radicalised and volunteers for hydra, alongside pietro. she is experimented on by a hydra scientist named von strucker.

3. hydra soak soap. this could be another reference to her history with hydra. it could always be a hint that hydra is somehow involved in wanda’s current situation.

4. lagos paper towels. with no commercial in episode 4, episode 5 advertises paper towels by the brand name of lagos, the tagline is ‘’for when you make a mess you didn’t mean to.’’ at the beginning of civil war, wanda is part of an avengers mission in lagos. the mission goes wrong when wanda accidentally redirects a bomb and kills civillians. this incident is partially responsible for the sokovia accords - and we should also remember that wanda’s intentions with ultron were not the same as his. she didn’t mean for sokovia to be destroyed, or for her brother to die. she most likely blames herself for all of that.

the commercials are, essentially, a shortened walkthrough of her trauma, and there is plenty of it.

note: wanda is the defintion of traumatised. she has lost everything. she is alone. she has had no time to process the death of vision; those five years post IW never happened for her. she blinked, and five years had passed. she was then immediately thrown into a battle against thanos. for her it’s been about five minutes since she witnessed thanos crushing vision’s head for the mind stone. she then finds out natasha and tony have died, and that steve is out of commission for good. everything has been ripped away from her. there’s no avengers. no family. no boyfriend. no one. i want to see what happened in the three weeks between endgame returning the dusted and the beginning of wandavision.

[maddrmatt]

A Beautiful Future: A Premonition or a Punishment? (SoKai Week 2021)

New to this fanfic? Click here to properly begin!

Greetings, readers and fellow SoKai fans!

Let’s continue on with the show as our favorite MIA Keyblade wielder reflects on what was seen in the last chapter!  Enjoy!

________________________________________________________________

Chapter 2: Ponderings of the Lost Hero

Quadratum

After opening his eyes, Sora suddenly leapt to his feet.  He summoned his Keyblade and surveyed his surroundings.

Fortunately for him, he wasn’t currently in any danger.  But much to his dismay, he was not in a chapel in Radiant Garden about to kiss the love of his life.  Instead, he was standing next to a large dumpster in an alleyway between two tall buildings.

‘I must’ve been so tired from running that I fell asleep when I stopped to rest,’ he thought as he dismissed his Keyblade.

Sora’s current location was hardly an ideal place to take a nap.  But the Gigas and the various adversaries that inhabited this world had kept him on the run since his arrival.  Also, even though he had yet to encounter him again, he feared that Yozora would find him and try to ‘save’ him again.  So, he couldn’t be picky about where or when he could sleep.

It still mystified him that he was now in a world that he had originally thought only existed in a video game.  When that girl in the Final World had mentioned she was waiting for a Yozora to find her, he had assumed that she had been talking about someone with the same name.  But his encounter with Yozora and the very real existence of this world had certainly raised a few questions.

‘I may have been here for a long time now, but I still can’t believe it. How can this world be real and also be a video game in a world back in my Realm?  And why is ending up here the penalty for misusing the Power of Waking?’

But the biggest question was the one that had bothered him the most.  ‘And will I ever be able to leave?’

Sora’s thoughts now turned what he just had witnessed in his sleep.  ‘That was some dream.  The first dream I’ve been able to have since I got here.  But I wonder if it wasn’t just a dream.  What if it was a premonition?  A vision of the future?  Dreams can do that, right?’

Sora began to pace around the alley.  ‘It certainly looked and felt like one.  I mean, we all did look a little older.  Not to mention I saw that Pinocchio wasn’t a puppet and the Beast wasn’t, well, the Beast anymore.  And there were so many guests at the wedding that I didn’t know.’

He thought back to the part of the dream where he walked down the aisle toward the altar.  Now that he was awake, he realized that there were indeed quite a lot of unrecognized faces among those he knew.

‘Let’s see.  When I saw the group from Atlantica in the crowd, Ariel was human again even though the last time I saw her, she was a mermaid.  Also, it seems that some magic was needed for Flounder and King Triton to attend since they were hovering in the air as if they were still underwater. And then there was that girl who resembled Ariel but with black hair.  Did Ariel and Prince Eric get married and have a daughter?’

‘It also looked like there had been some big changes in Arendelle too. Anna had been wearing an outfit similar to what Elsa had been wearing when Donald, Goofy and I had first met her. And speaking of Elsa, she was not only wearing a different snow gown and had let her hair go, but she also looked more at peace with herself then I last remembered.  Plus, she also had a small blue lizard on her shoulder.  I wonder if she’s taken on Rapunzel’s taste in animal sidekicks.’

‘Woody, Buzz and the rest of the toys we met were there and they had all been enlarged to human size.  And there were some other toys with them, probably their friends they’d been separated from when the Organization split their world.  Like that redhaired cowgirl and that woman with the pink bow in her blonde hair and dressed in blue.  Strangely, she looked like she was made of porcelain which is an unusual material for a toy.  They both seemed to be pretty close to Buzz and Woody respectively.  Also, there was that unusual toy that looked more like a child’s art project.’

‘Little Chef was definitely in some unfamiliar company.  He was with that redheaded man with that woman with brown hair as well as that older man with glasses.  And there were also two other rats: one with gray fur and that pudgier one with brown fur.  Maybe they were Little Chef’s relatives.’

‘I’m glad that Cloud finally made it home because he was among Leon, Yuffie and the rest of the committee and it seemed that he and Tifa had hooked up. And they weren’t the only ones. Leon had his arm around a woman with black hair and Aerith was with a man who looked a little like Cloud only with black hair.  Even Cid apparently had a date: that woman with auburn hair and glasses.  And then there were the new faces: that big, muscular guy whose hand appeared to be made of metal and the little girl in pink on his shoulder as well as that strange catlike creature with red fur.

‘It also looks like I ended up in meeting them in Shibuya after all since I also saw Neku and his friends there as well.  But there were some missing from that group.  Rhyme and that boy she called Beat was there.  But Joshua wasn’t.  And neither was Shiki.  Instead, there was only that girl with brown hair and glasses.  I hope nothing bad happened to them.’

‘There were even some unfamiliar faces among Queen Minnie, Daisy, and the rest I remember from Disney Castle.  There was that unusual pair who looked like a rabbit and a cat with a whole bunch of little rabbits with them.  And then there was that female duck who looked like she could be Donald’s twin sitting near his nephews.   There was also someone who looked like a younger version of Goofy accompanied by a female dog with red hair and apparently, some who looked like a younger version of Pete.’

Then Sora realized it was not just the unfamiliar guests that stood out in the dream.  His own thoughts during the dream contained information that he had not known before.

‘How could I have known why Xion looks the way she does?  And though Master Yen Sid mentioned that Aqua saved Kairi long ago, my thoughts implied that she played a big role in our meeting. I’m sure I would’ve learned it all if I hadn’t disappeared.  But is it possible for your dream self to know something that you don’t?’

Sora leaned against the wall of the building and gazed out into the empty street.  There was still no sign of incoming trouble.  He was glad that nothing had shown up during his pondering on account that he still had more to do.

‘All in all, it certainly was quite a show.  But still, I can’t help but wonder why a dream like that would come to me now?  And if it really was a vision of the future, does it mean that I’m going to make it back home?  And Kairi and I really are destined to live happily ever after?’ Sora thought as a feeling of hope came to him.

Unfortunately, the hope faded as a troubling thought took over.  ‘Or maybe it’s a future that isn’t going to happen. Maybe it’s nothing more than extra punishment for breaking rules I never knew existed.’

Sora thought back to when he returned to the Final World after Xehanort’s defeat. He recalled how Chirithy had told him about what he was risking using the Power of Waking to restore Kairi.  As he remembered that conversation, a feeling of anger at the unfairness of it all came to him.

“I never meant to break any nature taboos.  I didn’t even know they existed.  I thought I was just rescuing my friends from that Lich Heartless.  I didn’t know it would end up rewriting time and giving us another chance to fight.  And I especially didn’t know that it was the wrong thing to do,” he said out loud not caring if anybody heard him.

That’s when Sora realized something.  “If I’m being punished for doing that, does that mean that we were supposed to lose no matter what we did?  Well, to whoever or whatever decided that, I’m sorry but if following your rules meant letting Xehanort win after everything he did, then I was happy to break them.”

His thoughts then turned to Kairi.  “And I definitely was not going to leave the girl I love more than anything in the worlds as she was: shattered, split and scattered.  If there was any chance to save her, I would have taken it no matter what the consequences.  Because a world without Kairi is one I never want to live in.”

That’s when Sora realized the sad irony.  ‘And yet, a world without her or any of my friends is exactly where I ended up anyway.  I guess the punishment really did fit the crime in the end.  And as if that wasn’t enough, it seems I’m now being tormented with visions of a future that may never be.’

Then a feeling of determination came over Sora. ‘No. I can’t think like that.  I won’t ever think like that.  If whatever forces sent me here sent that dream to punish me further, then I’m not going to give them the satisfaction.’

Sora gazed up at the dark sky and cried out, “It’s not going to work!  You hear me?  It won’t work!  Instead, I’m going to use what I saw in that dream to further fuel my desire to get back to my home!  Back to my friends!  Back to her so we can have a future like that in the dream!”

The young hero then reached into the pocket of his jacket nearest his heart. He pulled out a folded piece of paper which he then unfolded revealing the lucky charm that Kairi had given to him before he and Riku left for the Mark of Mastery Exam.

Taking the charm into his hand, he clutched it to his heart.  ‘We may be worlds apart, Kairi.  But our hearts are still connected.  I realized that when I was suddenly able to fight for you. Even though I didn’t know exactly what was going on, especially how somehow Xehanort was still around, I knew you needed me.  And I know that connection will bring us back together someday.’

“They can take your world.  They can take your heart.  Cut you loose from all you know.  But if it’s your fate, then every step forward will always be a step closer to home. And it will be my fate.  And whatever that dream’s true purpose was, I will do all that I can to make it our fate, Kairi.  That’s a promise and I always keep my promises to you.  It’s my oath to return,” Sora said out loud.

After gazing once more around for any sign of trouble and seeing that there was none in spite of his earlier outbursts, he figured that he had time to do one more thing before moving on to a new location in the city.  Leaning against the wall with the lucky charm in one hand, he then looked at the paper that it had been wrapped in.  

He began to read the words written on the paper.  Words that no matter how many times he read had always managed to touch his heart because they came from the one who his heart belonged to.

“Thinking of you, wherever you are.”

________________________________________________________________

On the edge of one of Quadratum’s tall buildings, a man in a black coat gazed downward into the alley.  He watched the spiky-haired brunette boy read from his letter.  Under his hood, he smirked and let out an amused chuckle.

“You might wish to keep it down, Sora.  You never know who or what may be listening here in Quadratum.  But it sounds like that was a pretty good dream you had with the way you were going on about making it a reality.  Your determination to get back to your home and your devotion to your girl are pretty admirable.  They will serve you well when the time comes for you to play your role,” said the Master of Masters.

The very first Keyblade master gazed up to the sky. As he had done before, he brought his hands together into a heart shape and held them up so he could view the full moon through them.

“Soon, all the pieces will fall into place, Sora. My apprentices.  The Union leaders and Dandelions who still exist.  The Darknesses.  Yozora.  Your friend Riku and the rest of your Guardians of Light over on the other side including your little girlfriend.  All of them have their roles to play in my grand plan and once they are fulfilled, we will finally see the absolute end of the true Keyblade War,” he declared.

Then his voice took on an ominous tone.  “But after all is said and done, will all your devotion pay off?  Will the dreams of a ‘happily ever after’ with your beloved Kairi come true?  Or will the fates conspire to pull you apart once again? And if that should happen, will it be the ultimate separation, one that is impossible to undo?”

The Master then parted his hands and shrugged his shoulders.  “Who knows? I may be the author of a very large compendium of future events.  But the Book of Prophecies never accounted for everything. So, in the end, who can really say?”

The Master then returned his gaze back to the young Keyblade wielder in the alley.  Sora had finished reading his letter and was now staring to leave.  The Master’s gaze followed the boy as he headed out into the city.

“Things may have taken a… slight turn from my original plans.  But the more I think about it, it actually makes things more interesting.  After ages of watching events unfold the way I had foreseen; I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to actually be surprised.  And I have a feeling, Sora, that you are going to be full of surprises.”

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Notes from the Mad Doctor:

Went rather heavy on the internal monologuing in this chapter, huh?

Sharp Disney and Square Enix fans will likely know the unfamiliar guests Sora was talking about.  Feel free to let me know if you did recognize all of them or some of them.

I think we can understand the anger Sora’s expressing here.  After everything he did to protect the worlds from Xehanort, this is his ultimate reward?  I know he doesn’t regret doing what he did to save everyone especially Kairi. But I wouldn’t blame him for being upset.

Although I have mentioned him in my other stories, this is the first time the Master of Masters has actually shown up.  I really hope I wrote his mysterious yet eccentric demeanor well.  And I have a feeling, given the Master’s presence in Quadratum, that Sora’s arrival in this world was no coincidence.  Then again, is anything a coincidence in Kingdom Hearts?

I give my thanks to whoever reads this chapter.

I also give my special thanks to @fandomchanger, @dreaming-in-seams, and @sakuranekogirl​ for their likes on the previous chapter as well as @sokaiweek, @phoenix-downer​, and @the-secret-place​ for reblogging the previous chapter.

The next chapter still needs work so it should be posted on Thursday if all goes well.

Comments, likes and reblogs are much appreciated!  Stay tuned for we’ll be dropping in on the other half of our favorite couple next chapter!

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Onto the next chapter!

[aesudan-kholin]

If Kaladin had actually given Elhokar hero lessons, how do you think those sessions would have gone?

so... i made a post recently about how i understand (i know lots of things, but not understand) literally nothing about them whatsoever. so answering this ask isnt going to keep in line with what i usually do of only saying something if im confident in it and reasonably sure it wont change later. AKA me from the future might not agree with what i think and say now. so just putting that out there.

so the thing about this is it probably never could have happened. elhokar was desperate, and in his desperation, whether this idea of kaladin teaching him was something that he had been stewing on for weeks to months, or something he thought of while drunk (i imagine it would be the former, though he probably didn't think about it in specific, accomplishable ways), he finally worked up the courage with the help of some alcohol to ask kaladin to do this completely un fleshed out plan of figuring out how to make elhokar not be a shit king. now, this was doomed to fail for a few reasons.

number one: elhokar had a very very good chance of legitimately being incapable of being a good king.

maybe he could have ended up (with some guidance) as a good leader at some smaller scale, like a small town, but even that is debatable. kaladin instinctively knows things, and while i definitely think he had a negative bias against elhokar and his King Skillz in that moment due their relationship being at a low point, his instinct saying 'yeah thats never gonna happen' was probably completely correct.

number two: kaladin probably would not agree to it.

2a. in that moment where he did ask, kaladin thought he was being weird as hell and was so fucking confused. he didn't know at all where this was coming from, because he is blind to how other people view him a lot of the time, and by extension how elhokar had been idolizing him. they probably hadn't seen much of each other ever since elhokar tried to execute him and throw him in jail. from kaladin's perspective, elhokar tried to kill him, then is coming to him like he has all the secrets to life, which is very baffling to him. unrelated sidenote i need to rewrite this stupid coppermind article on elhokar i did not write it but i want to fix some shit in here. so kaladin in that situation is like WTF????? in his head but out loud he's like 'um.. i dont know if thats possible for you' which is a rejection. i don't know if he would have said the same words if he was at a relative high point in his opinion of elhokar rather than potentially the lowest point that he got in wor that he was in that chapter (thinking about it the chapter where he was in prison might have been the lowest but this is a low point is what im saying), but thats probably an opinion he would have kept throughout the bumpy road of whatever tf their relationship is.

2b. kaladin has shit to do, man. dude was working double triple shifts in words of radiance, got into urithiru and was like the only windrunner, and was training overtime to train some windrunners to have some squires ready for the expedition to kholinar. after he got back he was made a highmarshall and we dont see too much in the ob-row timeskip but he wasnt getting much sleep either, and he probably had a lot of shit to do when he was awake, battles aside. when would he have had the time to even begin to think about lesson plans for this goal that in his head is sort of unachievable, let alone find time for actually talking to elhokar about shit.

so like even if elhokar did ask at a point where kaladin felt less like he was absolute crap and more like [??????? but more positive than the absolute crap thing], kaladin would still have been like dude what. and kaladin also would have been like dude i do not have the time. even in an elhokar lives au (because the first time kaladin would have potentially had any time whatsoever for that is post-kholinar), shallan would probably be the radiant he was interacting more due to lightweaver reasons. and elhokar has a great deal of respect for shallan as well, certainly not as much as he has for kaladin, but he does value shallan's skill and opinion, and shallan would not only be a lot more willing to give elhokar some support and advice, they would be working closer together anyway because of their shared order. he wouldn't be getting this nebulous "secret to life" stuff that he wanted to get from the guy who survived a highstorm, almost single handedly saved an army, beat shardbearers with nothing but a spear, and fell into the chasms only to crawl back out again even after a highstorm, but, and my future self might disagree on this, but he might have just been looking for advice on how to live his life.

but, all of that aside. lets say that kaladin for some reason decided that it was personally important to him to train elhokar to not be a shit leader, that he potentially thought it was not a lost cause, and if he did then he cared enough to try anyway. postponing kholinar (which he would have the power to do in this case, since elhokar would be listening to whatever he said*) might have given him more time for that after that request, or else he might have had to think about it and agree post-kholinar, which would involve an elhokar lives au, which i dont want to deal with all the implications so im going to say in this scenario he accepted after elhokar asked in wor 80, or maybe directly after urithiru was discovered (aka later that night) with a promise to start teaching him right after he got back from hearthstone. god i feel like alternate history hub. the later that night thing would have been more likely because that is after his whole 180 about elhokar. that way, the weird intense commitment to help elhokar be a better leader was baked in to all the other weird dramatic shifts about how he thought about elhokar.

what i think kaladin would do?

possibility 1: he would have elhokar start small. i think he would have elhokar teach a single person to do something. he would get a new recruit, and tell elhokar to teach him to be a soldier. maybe the new recruit is one of lopens cousins who saw elhokar blackout drunk and being pushed around by lopens mom to eat his food, so he's not intimidated by him. the new guy not being intimidated is key, because he can't just do what elhokar says because he's the king. after the day, kaladin talks to the new recruit then elhokar, seeing what went right and wrong, then tells elhokar what changes to make. if somehow everything went right with that, kaladin would next give him a group of 5 to lead in some way, and if that worked, a group of 50.

possibility 2: a job shadow. either kaladin job shadowing elhokar, watching all his fuck ups happen in real time, and constantly whispering advice which is offputting to the people elhokar is meeting with but its funny. the issue here comes with kaladin not knowing a lot of political theory. as good of a leader as kaladin is (which is insanely), elhokar is more well versed in political theory (as an example think of the time kaladin was like 'why is beating sadeas in a duel going to wreck him its literally just a duel' there would be a lot of situations in elhokar's work as a king that kaladin would probably be similarly confused on), even if he doesn't apply it well. either that, or elhokar job shadowing kaladin, watching kaladin train the windrunners, and breaking to explain some things to elhokar every once in a while, which elhokar would theoretically learn from. the issue here of course comes with how both of these guys both have sort of incredibly important jobs that they could probably only carve out a few hours at most for something like that. unless elhokar abdicated.

abdication.... no i shouldn't go into all of this this should be a separate 2000 word post. but abdication could come into play and is related to that *asterisk earlier.

i can not think of a third possibility, although there probably is one. i would think that possibility 1 would be more likely in my opinion.

some meme possibilities i came up with:

- kaladin lets elhokar borrow syl and elhokar wears a hat and syl is in the hat pulling bits of his hair like ratatouille and basically operating elhokar and she makes him be an ideal windrunner whenever she feels like he's fucking up

- kaladin presides over the document signing meetings and whenever elhokar is about to sign a document he thinks isn't good he slaps the pen out of his hand and has a disapproving glare. elhokar has to do the walk of shame across the room to get the pen everytime this happens

- training montage with "Gonna Fly Now" in the background where there is no dialogue and it just shows elhokar visibly failing and he tries to lift a rock with a piece of paper on it that says "kingly responsibility" and fails and kaladin shakes his head, then there's a training montage of idk him learning the spear or training other bridgemen or other kaladin-y things and wearing a bandana for no reason then by the end of the montage he successfully lifts the kingly responsibility rock

- they just completely switch jobs for a while while elhokar gets his shit together. all hail king kaladin

(+ my first thoughts)