#Ill probably come back and edit this since half of it might not make sense but! it is DONE

[kaengeru]

1-15

development questions.

DFGDH YOU

what would completely break your character?

I was gonna doodle the scene that does this but I cant bring myself to doing it so! short of something like an actual post-apocalypse scenario happening in enya’s universe (a complete mental break), the worst is when sarah dies. that does just completely destroys her and it takes her a good long time before she’s capable of. acting a person again.

what was the best thing in your character’s life? ✓

though Id definitely count her meeting and learning a lot from her biological dad. enya frequently mentions how much she hates him, but he’s another really, really good influence on her life. plus, he’s very helpful at teaching her about the whole not human half of herself.

what was the worst thing in your character’s life?

mostly the really vague things I keep needing to detail out in her timeline. though the extended period in animal testing still ranks high on the list.

SO (and this is why Im bad at headcanon prompts) thinking about it, the actual worst thing enya’s been through was not her captivity. granted, it wasnt pleasant, however she would count it as one of her worst experiences because she can easily see the damage from that time. even if there was far worse to deal with in the future, there’s nothing physical she can look at and recall the memory.

what seemingly insignificant memories stuck with your character? ✓

did you know how many types of crackers there are in the store. of cookies? even noodles? because she still cant wrap her mind around it.

does your character work so they can support their hobbies or use their hobbies as a way of filling up the time they aren’t working?

the immediate thought is the latter, because she wouldnt work at all if she could. however, since her hobbies involving buying a lot of parts, there’s definitely some argument to the former.

what is your character reluctant to tell people?

even more so than the inhuman factor is definitely her elemental manipulation ability stuff. sure, she’ll use those abilities more than shifting or most anything else, but largely subtle things. and unless she really trusts someone, or the other person also has similar abilities, she’ll never tell.

how does your character feel about sex?

better than she use to! sex was definitely a sort of necessity for a while and was very not fun, more just a boring, “lets get this over with” activity. now though, after learning that, hey, you can actually enjoy this, and get something out of it beside the most bare bones release? its a lot more fun. if anything, being a weird not person makes finding whats fun even more interesting.

how many friends does your character have?

going off the lengthier “how many does she want”, at least a few. enya sure couldnt tell you more than a handful, and thats really just her remembering random peoples names.

how many friends does your character want? ✓

only the best friends are acceptable here (and that is probably technically about 3 or 4, when she remembers).

what would your character make a scene in public about?

kind of anything, depending largely more on the who than the what. if she’s with someone who, in one way or another, is really getting on her nerves, she has no qualms against anything from throwing a plate or glass, to kicking over a newsstand, knocking stuff off shelves… etc. short of anything that may have the police called (throwing things through windows or extensive damage to private property, mostly). basically, enya doesnt feel any sort of embarrassment, kinda doesnt understand the emotion, but is happy to torture someone else who does.

granted, she’ll do the same if she’s on the phone, too, or if something comes up in her head, or if her emotions take a wrong turn, or overhearing the wrong conversation. rather than lash out physically at another person, as nice as that would be, she’s learned to, at least, enjoy the simplicity of throwing a glass of water against the wall during the middle of lunch.

it doesnt always help, but when it gets that bad, she’ll go somewhere less public.

for what would your character give their life?

if she had to or could die in place of sarah, that she would do. otherwise, not really anyone or anything. one shes debated is whether, if she didnt die, everything shes been working for wouldnt matter, if she would die. its hard to say.

what are your character’s major flaws?

she is way too into herself and thinks way too much of what she does is, actually, the greatest. her stubbornness and absolute refusal to change or accept things unless she completely agrees with it.

what does your character pretend or try to care about?

other people. even with best bud sidney, in the end, enya still cant fully bring herself to feel everything she expresses. for him, she tries to mean it, but for most anyone else, it’s just to keep things going. be it a conversation or an interaction.

how does the image your character tries to project differ from the image they actually project?

Id imagine she’s a lot less charming than she thinks she is. just a guess.

what is your character afraid of?

history (literally) repeating itself, her history catching up to her, and… large bodies of water.

[windblooms]

Hi!! Could you do headcanons of Diluc, Kayea, Childe and Zhongli with a s/o who is touch starved but is too shy to intimate physical affection please? Thank you!💙

decided to answer the two of these in the same ask since they have similar personalities for the reader, and they evolved into scenarios.  hopefully what i’ve written is all right!

edit: to the second anon, i’m sorry, i don’t know how people write more than 500 characters in asks. ㅠㅠ  is it maybe a submission . . . ?

childe:

as a very perceptive individual, childe would pick up on your hesitations relatively soon, however won’t say anything about them outright.  

while he may ask you if something’s wrong whenever you reach out, but self-consciously pull away, or when you’re on the verge of words but can’t bring yourself to speak, he won’t pry into your meekness. 

he knows that some people prefer to keep things to themselves or away from others – he’s a prime example of this himself.  so he doesn’t want to push you, but will continue to keep mental tabs on when you shrink away, or backtrack after you sound as if you’re going to ask him something.

if the trend continues for a while, he’ll eventually sit down to talk with you about it.  he’ll discuss with you patiently, not wanting to invade past things you might not want to share just yet, but he still tries to find the cause of your hesitancies so he can better understand you.

“there’s something bothering you, isn’t there?” he leans forward across the table, and rests his chin on his hand.  “you can tell me, you know.  i’ll try and help you with it.”

as you take your time to answer, he grows increasingly concerned, but still wears a poker face to not influence you as well.  across the table, he’ll slowly reach out his hand as a means of comfort, and clasp yours when you don’t pull away.

you begin to speak about your uncertainties, and childe listens intently.  ah, so that was it – now that you mention it, the two of you don’t hold hands much, or really touch each other.  he had assumed that’s how you preferred it, little to no physical touch.  but now that you’ve explained why you’ve concealed those wishes . . . 

“i’d be more than willing to hold you.”  childe’s words are soft, and he manages a small smile to encourage you.  as soon as your face flushes, though, he can tell that there’s something else you want to say.  so he pauses, expectant, but you still seem nervous.

he takes a gander and speaks.  “we can start off slow, if you want . . .  actually, anything you want, you can tell me.  you don’t have to worry about being embarrassed.”

from there, the two of you work out what you want.  you both agree to take it slow, since this will be a first for you; small touches against each other’s fingers as reassurance, and taps against his shoulder when you’re too nervous to outright ask for his attention.  he also has something of his own to suggest:

“there’s some custom that mondstadtians have,” childe ponders aloud suddenly.  “hm – something about tapping three times, meaning ‘i love you’?”

at his notion, you become bashful, and look down towards your lap.  you know where he’s going with this, and at your reaction, the snezhnayan chuckles, unfolding his hands from atop each other to squeeze yours in demonstration.

“one, two, three.  it’s just gonna be between us, all right?”

diluc:

diluc is arguably one of the most emotionally reserved characters in all of mondstadt.  sure, he’s got a sense of dry humor and wit whenever he feels snarky enough, but when it comes to personal sentiments?  he keeps them behind lock and key, with the exception of passive aggression.

if you’re self-conscious about asking for affection, such as when you’re about to reach out to tap at his hand yet pull back at the last instant, you find him looking at you expectatntly, his notorious half-lidded gaze fixated on you.  if there’s something you want, you’ll ask for it is his mentality, since he assumes that the two of you are both comfortable enough in your relationship to do so.  and relationships are built around trust.  so why are you hesitating?

that is to say, he doesn’t stare at you until you crack.  after a few seconds, he’ll look away, and resume whatever he was doing beforehand.  if it were anyone else, he’d most likely ask them verbally what they want, since there’s no use in prolonging the time, and he’s an impatient man. 

he makes a conscious effort to be more gentle with you.  he can’t quite tell if you appreciate it though especially in these scenarios, since you always chew at your lip and refrain from looking at him afterwards.

diluc will only allude to these instances.  he’ll ask “is there something you need?” or “is something the matter?”  he has no experience with physical affection of any sort, at least since his father all those years ago.  so he’d be quite lost with your circumstance; he doesn’t know at all what you want unless you make a verbal indication as to what it is. 

one day, in the privacy of his office, he senses your fingers just near his forearm.  diluc looks over in time to see you clasp his coat rather shakily, but your hold is there nonetheless.  much like usual, he’ll peer at you with a half-lidded gaze, although this time he addresses how skittish you appear. 

“something the matter?” he’ll say as per usual, but this time he isn’t vague; he’s referring to your sudden committance to reaching out as opposed to pulling away.

“ . . . just wanted to hold you.”  your confession is a mere whisper, but your boyfriend still hears it.  the two of you sit in silence for a bit, before he turns his body and puts his hand on the side of your head, pressing gently so that you lean flush against his arm. 

you’re speechless, however the circumstance doesn’t need words anymore.  content with you hugging his arm, and now understanding your wants, diluc continues to work as you drift asleep against him.  while there’s still a ways to go, as he’s sure that this isn’t the only desire you have, it’s surely a start.

kaeya:

the astute captain that he is, kaeya can hone into your desires with relative ease.

before you can retract your hand after reaching out, he’s already grasped it in his own.  you’re caught off-guard, not expecting his agility, but his grip isn’t firm or unpleasant; it’s gentle, as if he’s caring for glass.

he lowers his face so that the two of you are eye-level.  “no need to be shy.  it’s just us.”  kaeya’s reassurance is playful at first, until your contemplative silence queues him in on the severity of your timidness.

he’s concerned: is there something serious that’s bothering you?  he’d just assumed that you wanted to hold hands, or lean on each other.  for how long it takes you to speak, he’s thinking the worst: is a coworker bothering you?  are you ill with a fever?  kaeya’s eyebrows furrow, and he immediately speaks again.  “what’s wrong, precious?  tell me, please.”

looking up at him, you realize that he has the wrong impression.  tenderly enveloping your cheek with his hands, rubbing your skin with his thumbs, you sink into the affection – but he’s got the wrong idea.  

“i-it’s fine,” you begin, and he blinks rapidly.  “just . . . wanted to, uh,” you nudge further into his hands, and squeeze his arms gently, “ . . . touch you.”

ah.  your meekness makes sense now, although considering your personality, his initial guesses probably wouldn’t have been far off.  nevertheless, kaeya indulges you, even if you both continue the circumstance in silence.  it’s evident that you’ve been holding back this request for a while, and as much as he loves to tease and would like to in this moment, he doesn’t believe now is an appropriate time.

so, kaeya continues to stroke your face, soothing away your nerves.  his other hand clasps yours in your lap, giving you the time and affection you crave.  

he finds your vulnerability endearing, but there’s guilt on his conscience: why have you been nervous to approach him about this, and why did he not pick up on it sooner?  not that he expects you to come for him for everything – kaeya just theorizes that there must be some reason as to why you appear so touch-starved, and he’s thinking the worst about such a reason.

“feeling better?”  he inquires, still cradling your face, and he pulls you into a hug.  his warmth is reassuring to you – the security that you’ve longed for.  if this is what affection feels like, you’re not sure that you’d ever want to pull away.

“yeah.”  hesitantly, you lift your face from his chest, but your arms remain around his waist.  your boyfriend grins slightly, and ruffles your hair, pushing your bangs aside so he can kiss your forehead.

“tell me about it.  we can figure this out together.” 

zhongli:

about three weeks into your relationship is when zhongli receives questions from hu tao: “hey, you and y/n don’t touch each other at all.  i know you’re ‘professional’ and stuff, but jeez – not even hand-holding?  thought it’d get more exciting at this point.”

and while he initially thought of her remarks as rude – your relationship isn’t any of her business – it did prompt him to consider her words.

specifically, she’s right: while he’s generally busy at wangsheng, he strives to make time for you whenever possible.  and in that time, never once have either of you touched each other.  he’s never minded, since he’s admittedly gone without it for so long and is used to life without it – but it’s the modern age, and isn’t it customary for liyuens to . . . ?

so he takes it upon himself to ask you over dinner.  he’s made bamboo shoot soup for you tonight, and as you sit across the table from him, finishing the dish, he speaks so candidly it nearly makes you choke on your last bite.

“would you like to hold hands in the market tomorrow?”

“what?”

zhongli makes a strange face.  he knows you heard him, so why do you also look startled, and are averting your eyes?

he repeats himself nonetheless, and while you do answer him this time, it’s by mumbling under your breath.

“ – odd question,” is how you start, and your boyfriend folds his hands underneath his face, yet doesn’t rest his chin.  “um, sure.  yeah, sure . . . ”

you most definitely do not sound sure, but it’s in a way that further perplexes him.  you look . . . thrilled now?  he can see that you’re refraining from smiling – the corners of your mouth flutter – but why?  zhongli doesn’t recall saying anything that would be good news . . .

“is something the matter?” the archon supplies instead, to which you shake your head.  your hands are in your lap.

“ah, no.  what you said just came out of no where.”  an unconcealed smile from you now, and zhongli finds himself relaxing.  if you’re certain, that’s all he cares about.

he stands up, and prepares to take your dish to the kitchen.  before though, he makes sure to bring you up to your feet, and intertwines his fingers with yours.

“may i kiss you?”  he asks, suddenly, unexpectedly.  he sees you nod, the slight pressing of your lips together, and gives them a quick peck before retreating; zhongli can still taste the slight bamboo left over.

when the two of you draw away, there’s a noticeable flush on your cheeks.  once more, you seem giddy, however this time he doesn’t have to ask why.

“i’ve never done this before.”  there’s trepidation in your voice that causes his brows to furrow slightly.  “so . . . it’s all right if we start out slow, right?”

“of course,” zhongli doesn’t hesitate to respond.  you could mean so many things, and he isn’t sure which you’re referring to: initiating physicality with him, or maybe that you’ve never had a partner before . . . ?  but he doesn't dwell on that.  “your comfort is what matters.”

in the market the next day, zhongli finds comfort in the slight tugs on his coat sleeve from your fingers, and the smile that beams on your visage.

[slut-for-mothman]

Hell is For Children

Requested: Yes|No

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid

A/N: Special thanks to @oliverbrnch for editing this chapter and making it into what is is !!! I hope you all enjoy my first CM fanfiction !!!

Summary: After 13 years of trying to forget the man he was supposed to call his father, Spencer finds his phone riddled with messages from his father trying to catch up on "old times". He's met with criticism and shame when he reveals he has no want to talk to him. Everyone seems to think his father deserves a second chance. Everyone except for him. Aaron Hotchner. Logically it made no sense, Aaron had a kid of his own, would he not sympathize with his father for wanting to have a relationship with his son? Spencer finds comfort in the older man. Everytime his phone buzzes with a notification from William Reid, Aaron is always there to comfort him and distract him from the burning hole in his back pocket.

Chapter warnings: Angst, allusions to physical abuse. descriptions of violence and gore, swearing, and I think that's it.

Chapter One

December 16th, 5:15pm

"Hey son, I haven't seen or heard from you in a while. I hope you're doing okay."

Seeing that message was enough to twist the young doctors stomach in such intricate and painful knots he thought he might become violently ill.

"A while?" Spencer muttered to himself as he reread the message over and over. "it's been thirteen years, that's more than a while-"

A second message interrupted his train of thought.

December 16th, 5:27pm

"Why don't you come over sometime? My wife would love to see you, just something to think about..."

This message made something inside him break, the world shattering as his knees failed him. He swore he felt time stop as he reread those nauseating characters.

Wife? Since when was he remarried?

'Does she even know what he did to my mom, to me?' Spencer wondered, unable to tear his eyes away from his phone.

Does she even know she left a ten-year-old alone with his mentally-ill mother? Did she know what a selfish bastard he was?

Did they have kids?

Were they really that easily replaced?

Spencers mind was spinning, his apartment floor unsteady underfoot as his vision blurred. Tears stung his eyes, threatening to slip down his cheeks if he dared to blink.

His misery was interrupted as his phone buzzed once more in his palm.

Thankfully, it wasn't from the dreaded unsaved number, just Hotch.

December 16th, 7:14pm

"We have a case."

Spencer gathered his things, wiping the tears from his eyes on the cuff of his sleeve. He'd never been more grateful to hear those four words in his entire life.

His ride on the metro felt infinitely slower than normal, much to the young doctors dismay. The extra free time gave his mind permission to run away from his as much as it pleased.

His phone vibrated again and again with more messages from the unsaved number, each one more hostile and manipulative than the next when Spencer glanced at the device.

December 16th, 7:23pm

"Will you at least give me an answer? I know I screwed up, but that was a long time ago! I have a right to get to know my son."

December 16th, 7:25pm

"Imagine how I feel, not knowing my son has 3 PhD's and having to find out from my ex-wifes nurse. You're not the only one suffering here kid, remember that."

Spencer snapped his battered phone shut in frustration.

How did he even manage to make himself out to be the victim in this?

He's the one who left me.

'I don't owe him shit, not after what he did to me', Spencer thought furiously to himself, his knuckles white where they gripped his messenger bag.

'Maybe I should give him some kind of answer, let him know where he can stick-'

By the time the sentence popped into his head, his chest aching, he had reached his stop. Although cases weren't particularly a positive thing, anything was better than thinking about the man who had abandoned him and, subsequently, essentially ruined his entire life.

As soon as he stepped off the elevator and into the bullpen, he could feel his co-workers' eyes pierce right through him. It was almost like they could sense something was off with him the moment he entered Quantico.

Of course, while they were profilers, it's not like they were mind-readers.

He fled to the break room and poured himself a generous cup of coffee. He wanted to focus on what was important, which was certainly not the unread messages from a fetid man on his cellphone.

While pouring practically the entire container of sugar into his travel mug, he felt someone's hand touch his shoulder. He flinched slightly at the unexpected touch, and he turned to see Morgan, his eyebrows scrunched together in a confused and worried look.

"Slow down, kid. Have some coffee with your sugar." He said, his voice half-joking as he, presumably, tried to ease the tension practically emitting off of Spencer.

His phone vibrated once more from somewhere in his pockets, and Spencer's face twisted in fervent discomfort.

"Earth to Pretty Boy. You good?"

Spencer realized he was getting absorbed into his thoughts again and tried to brush it off with a quick sip of the sickly-sweet caffeinated concoction in his hand and a quick nod.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking." as if Spencer ever stopped thinking in the first place.

"Well, I'm here if you need anything, kid. But for right now, let's go find out about this case." Derek clapped Spencer on the shoulder again, which earned an instinctual flinch.

Instead of dwelling on that, Derek and Spencer strode towards the conference room, where everyone else had already begun piling in ad Garcia and Prentiss introduced them to their present case.

"Three men were found dead on the streets of a Nevada strip mall last night," Garcia began, pulling up the crime scene photos onto the screen.

Spencer flipped through the folder that was handed to him, scanning over the photos while distantly listening to the rather gruesome but ultimately unhelpful details Prentiss and Garcia were describing.

All three men had one of their fingers removed, yet their wedding bands were later found in their stab wounds upon closer investigation. They were all three found in close proximity to different hotels and known "lover's lanes".

The incessant vibrations and noise emitting from the dreaded device in his pocket was enough to make Spencer have a brain aneurysm.

He retrieved the phone from his pocket only to switch it off and shove it into the deep depths of his messenger bag. It wasn't necessary for a plane ride anyway.

His sudden movements earned him a few more concerned glances, but their attention was quickly diverted as Prentiss announced, "Wheels up in 30." effectively dismissing the team to get their things.

Spencer was restless the entire plane ride. It was only thirty minutes into the trip, with an hour and ten minutes left.

Normally, he'd be playing chess or even reading, but neither of those things seemed to tempt him, as all he could think of were the numerous messages probably flooding his discarded phone banished to the bottom of his messenger bag.

The last message he'd read replayed repeatedly in his mind like some awful alarm.

'Imagine how I feel...'

It made fiery anger swirl in his chest.

He could imagine how he felt. Because the pain William Reid inflicted before he finally left was enough to make Spencer understand what it was like to be sent to Hell and back, if such a place existed.

The memory of watching his own father leave his house at age 10 was enough to make him feel nauseous. His father leaving was the final stake through the young man's heart.

The physical pain, he could probably forgive him for. He would never forget, but maybe he could understand.

But leaving your young on to care for his mentally-ill mother? After all the pain he put him through, that kick while Spencer was already down was a new low.

For all Spencer cared, the man could rot. It was almost funny, thirteen years of healing down the drain with just a few text messages.

Once again, Spencer was ripped from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder, It was Hotch, with a guarded but concerned look on his face.

"You've been way too quiet; is everything alright?"

'No', Spencer thought to himself. But he couldn't admit he wasn't okay, especially not before a case. More important things needed to be tended for than his own "daddy issues".

"I'll be okay," Spencer settled for. "Just some weird stuff has been happening lately. It's nothing I can't take care of, though."

It didn't dissuade Hotch's concerned look. If anything, it intensified the worry Spencer found there.

"Is it your mother? Is she alright?" He asked, leaning forward with furrowed eyebrows.

"She's okay! I actually just called her the other night," Spencer assured him. He bit his lip and gripped his messenger bag. "It's actually, uh, my dad. He's been messaging me, and I haven't spoken to him in thirteen years."

"Are you okay? Have you messaged him back any?" Hotch asked, releasing the worried lines on his forehead.

"I haven't, yet. I figured I'd wait until the case was over. That way, there's nothing in the way." Spencer explained, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as his eyes darted around the jet cabin.

Hotch must have picked up the signal to wrap up the conversation, because he gently reminded the young man that he could talk to him whenever he needs to, or just whenever he wants to.

Spencer smiled and inclined his head slightly. "Thanks, Hotch."

"It's not a problem, Reid. Now, let's get back to work."

Spencer flicked through the gruesome photos once more, the swirling anger in his chest dwindling for the first time since his phone at first pinged with that dreaded message.

For once, Spencer was able to completely forget about the slightly outdated phone burning a hole in the bottom of his messenger bag.

[bittywitches]

hi bby! hope you're having a great day! for the prompt list, can I have #2 and #35 for grayson? tysm!!!

You’re the sweetest 🥺 As usual I got carried away, but I hope I did alright 😅 Hope you’re doing well too!

#2: “Stay here tonight.” & #35: “You make me feel safe.”

You woke up in a cold sweat, panting in the darkness of your bedroom. Your chest was pounding, the dark only adding to your tension. You scrambled to turn your table lamp on, sighing finally when you could see the warm colour wash over your room. 

Just another nightmare.

You breathed out, rubbing your face to try and ease your tension. The past few weeks had been rough on you. Ever since your mother grew ill, it was like everything else in your life started to spiral out of control. You had to take a few days off from work to take care of your mom, that taking up most of your days now. You knew she’d probably get by on her own, but you knew her. She wasn’t one to work well alone. Your mother had raised you all on her own, but you hadn’t left her side until just last year, when you’d moved out to live in a small apartment that was a lot closer to your job. Things were okay since your younger sister had been living with her up until a few months ago, when she left the state for school. Now it was just her at home, by herself. And once she got sick, she became even more restless, and you didn’t want to leave her alone. You loved her, but taking care of her everyday was adding a lot to your stress. You were afraid if you took any more days off you might lose your job, but leaving your mom alone at her house scared you to no end. That of course was all it took to fuel your ongoing nightmares. 

You sighed, reaching for your phone, knowing that there was no way you’d be able to fall asleep now after getting spooked like that again.

The light hurt your eyes a bit, but eventually you adjusted to it, seeing that it was 1 in the morning. You opened up instagram and scrolled through the posts, but stopped when you saw what Grayson had posted. It was a picture of you from yesterday when you had crashed at the twins’ place after leaving your mom’s house, since it was closer. You were sitting on the sofa, curled up into a ball while draped in a huge fuzzy blanket. The picture was taken from your side, and you remembered Grayson taking that photo of you in the middle of the movie you were watching. You swiped to see a photo of you now looking directly at the camera, tears in your eyes as you gripped the edge of the blanket close to your face. You blushed at that, embarassed that he’d decided to post it. You swiped one more time to see a photo of TV screen displaying a scene from Love Actually. You looked down to see the caption:

graysondolan I had to hug her until she stopped crying 😅

You smiled at that. He was right, but it’s not like he did it against his will. After the movie finished he brought you both a bowl of ice cream and you guys cuddled under the blanket while you watched The Office reruns to help you cool down. 

You loved the twins, they were some of your closest friends, and you were so grateful to have them, especially during this stressful time right now. They could help you relax, wind down, and wouldn’t let you feel bad for it. You’d found, however, that these past few months, you and Grayson had been growing a lot closer. 

Closer how? That was a good question. You yourself were trying to figure that out. You weren’t going to pretend that you didn’t have a small crush on Grayson, but you knew that right now it didn’t really matter if you did or not. You had so much going on in your life, you wouldn’t be able to get into something like that. Sure, spending all that time with him was always amazing, usually the highlight of your week. And as times got tougher, the nightmares seemed to keep finding you each night, and each time you found yourself soothing yourself back to sleep by thinking of being held in a certain someone’s arms... but that didn’t mean he liked you in the way you did him. You knew not to get your hopes up.

You shook your head, going to turn off your lamp again. You flopped down onto your mattress, closing your eyes to try and force yourself back to sleep.

…

…

…

Y/N!

No, no, come back!

HELP ME!

No, PLEASE-

You shot up, your chest heaving like crazy. 

“God, why-” You turned your lamp on again, rubbing your eyes.

“Guess I’m not sleeping tonight.” You grumbled, getting out of bed and pulling on your fuzzy slippers. You quickly tied up your hair into a loose ponytail, then grabbed your phone as you headed for your living room. 

You plopped yourself down onto your couch. You sighed, turning your phone on again to be introduced with Grayson’s post again. Your eyes drifted down the screen, but widened when you saw something. He’d only posted it about a half hour ago.

That meant he was still awake. 

You sat there for a while, contemplating what to do. You really did want to see him, but could you really do anything about it, considering what time it was?

You bit your lip. Fuck it. You pressed Grayson’s contact, then pressed call. 

You held the phone up to your ear, breathing in slowly as it rang.

“Y/N?” His voice sounded a lot clearer than you expected, so you could tell that he’d been awake.

“Hey.” 

“Are you okay? Why are you up?” You could already hear the concern in his voice.

“Um…”

“Is your mom okay?” 

“Yea, nothing’s wrong, don’t worry.” You smiled still.

“Oh.. okay, good.” He cleared his throat. “Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked again.

“I… couldn’t sleep. Wanted to talk to someone.” You started to get nervous when he didn’t respond right away. “You know what, I probably shouldn't have even called-”

“No, no, it’s okay. I was actually just editing a video right now, anyways.”

“Oh, am I disturbing? I’m sorry-”

“Y/N,” He laughed over the phone. “It’s all good. I was just finishing up anyway.”

You chuckled. “Okay.”

“You okay?” Even though you’d said otherwise, Grayson could tell there wasn’t something going on.

“Yea… just.. Got up to make tea.” you decided, then got off the couch and went to your kitchen in search of tea bags.

“You usually have midnight tea breaks?” He laughed again.

“Haha, no. Just today.” You turned the kettle on, then turned around to lean your back against the cool counter.

“Hey, um.” You cleared your throat. “Are you busy right now?”

“Not really, no. Why?”

“Okay, um, this might sound a bit crazy, but…” You rubbed your shoulder. “Do you wanna maybe come over?”

There was a pause. “...Right now?”

“Y-yea.”

“...Did you drink?”

“W- Grayson!” Your face flushed.

“Okay, so no-”

“You know what nevermind I’m sorry I called-”

“No no stop. M’sorry. I’d love to come over. Don’t you think it’s a bit late though..?”

“Just for a little bit.” You felt like you were begging at this point, but you didn’t care. You wanted to see him. “You don’t have to stay long.”

You bit down on your lower lip. “But you’re right, it’s fine-”

“Y/N, no. I’ll be there in twenty.” 

You smiled. “Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

.  .  .

Almost exactly twenty minutes later, you heard the ringing of the doorbell. You gently placed your hot cup of tea down on the coffee table, and scurried towards the door.

“I’m coming!” You said, reaching the doorknob and turning it.

You opened the door to find Grayson standing there, his long hair set free from his usual bandana, wearing a loose black tshirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. He had a big grin on his face.

You smiled. “Hi-” But then your eyes drifted down to see him holding a cute little teddy bear and a take-out ihop bag; your comfort food.

“Grayson..” You brought your hands up to cover your mouth, suddenly finding tears spilling over your face, and you didn’t even know why. You’d been trying to keep your emotions at bay for so long that this one kind gesture was enough to tip you over the edge.

“Hey hey hey, hold on,” He placed the bag on the floor and reached for you, wrapping his arms around you. You buried your head into his neck as he rubbed your back.

“Y/N.”

“Mhm?” You sniffled, fiddling with his chain.

“Are you okay?” he asked one final time.

You breathed out. “No.”

He sighed. “I had a hunch.” He gently took your shoulders and pushed you away from him. “Wanna go eat this stuff?”

“Maybe later…” You said, wiping your eyes and bending down to take the bag. “I’ll put it in the fridge.”

You hugged him again, pressing your cheek against his chest. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for.” You smiled at him. He slipped his shoes off, then walked past you into your living room, and you closed the door behind him. 

“Oh, I made you tea.” You pointed at the second cup on the coffee table. 

“Thanks.”

You nodded, going over to the fridge to put the food away. You made you way over to Grayson and sat down next to him on the sofa. You watched him for a bit as he drank his tea.

Finally he set his cup down. “Okay, what’s going on? Is everything seriously okay with your mom?”

“Yes, she’s fine. At least, not worse than normal.”

“Then what’s going on? Why’d you call me?” He placed his hand on your leg, gently rubbing his thumb over your knee.

“I…” You coughed. “I’ve been having nightmares.” 

He tilted his head at you, a concerned look on his face. “Is it because of your mom?”

“I-I think it’s part of it.” You looked away, embarrassed. “I know it’s stupid-”

“Y/N it’s not stupid. It makes sense. You’ve got a lot on your plate right now.”

You looked up at him. “Yea?”

“Yea.” He paused. “Is that why you called? Because your nightmares wouldn’t let you sleep?”

You nodded, and you could see the actual pain in his face when you did that.

“Y/N…” He wrapped his arms around you again, and this time you let yourself comfortably nestle into his side. He kissed your forehead as he rubbed your shoulder.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but… are the nightmares actually about your mom?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t even know.” He brushed a hair out of your face as you spoke. “Every time it’s always me losing somebody; sometimes it’s my mom, or my sister, or a friend, sometimes it’s just a weird looming entity that doesn’t have a face but.. It still hurts. Still scares me.” You looked up at him, but found that his eyes were already on you.

“Sometimes…” You continued, fiddling with the edge of his t-shirt. “Sometimes it’s you.”

His eyes widened when you said that. “Oh.” He sat there for a moment, thinking about what you’d told him. He turned to face you directly, you now lying on his left arm while his other one came up to wrap around your waist. “Well at least I can relieve you of one worry.” He bent down to kiss your forehead again. “You’ll never lose me.”

You smiled, leaning back into him so you could nestle into his chest and neck, and he rested his head above yours. You both stayed like that for a while, not speaking, but just enjoying the closeness of one another.

“Hey, Y/N?” Grayson finally said, kissing the top of your head to see if you were still awake.

“Mmm?” You mumbled.

“Why’d you call me?”

You looked up at him, brows furrowed. “Hm?”

“I mean- I know why you called me. But why did you call me? Why not someone else?”

“Because…” You faltered.

“Not that I’m not happy you did.” He smiled. “I am. I just.. Dunno. Wouldn’t you call one of your girlfriends for something like this?”

“I guess…” You sighed. “But I wanted to see you.” His eyes seemed to twinkle when you said that. “You… You make me feel safe.”

“I do?”

“Yea. Like, no matter how fucked up everything else in the world is right now, you make me feel like it’s gonna be okay. That I’m gonna be okay.”

He grinned so wide at that, and it made you blush. “That was really cheesy, wasn’t it?”

“No. It was great.” He brought his arm up from your waist to gently caress your cheek with his knuckle. “That means so much to me. Thank you.”

You didn’t know what to think. Here he was, just him and you, snuggled up together at who knows when in the morning. It was perfect. 

But of course, it wasn’t.

You thought about just how bad this situation was. You were falling for this boy, who you didn’t even know if he shared the same feelings as you did. You’d called him in the middle of the night to come over, and for what? You couldn’t get into anything right now. That would be too hard with everything going on. 

But somehow not letting him know was even harder.

You laughed, rubbing your eyes gently.

“What is it?” Grayson asked.

“Oh, I just-” You looked at him again, his hazel eyes connecting with yours sending that wonderful feeling through your body. “It’s nothing.”

“C’mon, tell me.”

You sighed, a smile on your face. “No, it’s just- I shouldn’t have called you.”

His brows creased. “Hey, I told you that I wasn’t busy-”

“No, no it’s not that.” He raised his eyebrows at you questioningly.

“I just- okay. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this either but…” You laughed. “I’m so gonna regret saying this in the morning.” You breathed out. “I kind of have a crush on you.”

His eyes widened, and you could see colour spreading to his cheeks. “...Oh?”

“Um, yea. And getting you to come over probably wasn’t the best idea considering that- well it’s not like anything was going to happen because you don’t even like me in that way but if it were to it just-” You sighed. “It wouldn’t work right now. And I kinda just screwed myself over by getting you to come despite all of that since…” You shrugged. “Well, since I really like you.”

He stared at you blankly, and his mouth had slightly fallen agape about three sentences ago.

“Y/N…”

“You don’t have to say anything though, okay? It’s fine. I just wanted to tell you. Didn’t wanna have another thing just swirling around in my brain late at night.” You groaned. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know what I’m saying at this point-”

“Y/N, relax.” He chuckled.

You brushed a hair out of your face. “Basically my point is, I probably shouldn’t have called. Getting over you has been hard enough right now and… this definitely isn’t helping that.”

“Then don’t get over me.”

“...What?” 

“Don’t get over me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve had feelings for you for a while too.”

Your hands came up to cover your mouth again, shock clearly displayed on your face. “You’re kidding.”

“Dead serious.” He laughed again, brushing his long hair out of his face as he leaned back on the couch. 

“Grayson… why didn’t you tell me?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “I was just so sure you didn’t feel the same way that I didn’t see a point in telling you.”

You stared at him, your hands falling into your lap. “Are you serious?” You groaned, your head falling back onto the couch. “God, if you’d just told me sooner…”

“But why sooner?” He got up now, looking at you. 

“What?”

“Isn’t this good? That we both know now?” He leaned in closer to your, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. 

“Grayson…” You started, but the look in his eyes cut you off.

“I know you said that you wouldn’t be ready for anything but- We don’t need to do anything too serious yet.” 

“I don’t know…” You bit your lip.

“Just, let me take you out for dinner tomorrow.” 

“Gray!”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

He leaned in more, his nose now brushing yours. How badly you wanted to just close the distance between you both but…

You pulled away. “Gray, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

His hand fell away, his face falling as well. “Right. Sorry.” 

You coughed. “You know, it’s late. You should probably…”

He sighed. “Yea, okay.” He got up. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yea.”

He nodded at you, but the look in his eyes hurt you in a way that you’d never felt before. He walked around the couch, making his way for the door. You watched his back as he reached for your doorknob…

“Gray, wait.”

His head whipped around to look at you. “What?”

“Stay here tonight.”

“God I was hoping you’d say that.” He walked backed over to you in two long strides, grabbing you as he kissed you intensely, almost knocking you backwards but his hands steadied you by gripping your back and waist. He pressed his lips firmly into yours, and you gripped his shoulder’s tightly from your head spinning.

“Ooh, Hold on,” You pulled away from him for a second. “Head rush.” You giggled.

He grinned, pecking your lips and then pressing his forehead to yours. Then his eyes suddenly turned serious. 

“You sure this is okay?”

“Yea.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him one more time. “We’re gonna be okay.”

[sepublic]

You know, I really like Amelia’s design. Also she seems pretty chill.

           I love her, I remember specifically pointing this girl out after Hooty’s Moving Hassle aired as a very obvious reference to Saria from Ocarina of Time (which is a game that Dana Terrace herself loves), and that just made her instantly lovable to me! I love her pointy little nose, it reminds me of the beak of a hummingbird, which ties in with the motif of the Plant Track she belongs to!

           I’ve got some headcanons and speculation about her in the past… Specifically, it’s worth noting that Amelia seems to have been playing Grudgby with Boscha, longer than anyone else! We see her playing on the team during the flashback, during a VERY important Island Championship… And we see her continue playing, even now! Meanwhile, Skara seems to be a reserve player, and Cat… Well, either she was a reserve player back then, or she joined recently to fill in the space left by Amity’s absence! Probably the latter, we know Skara has been hanging out with Boscha since they were little kids.

           And given how much Grudgby means to someone as competitive as Boscha, you KNOW she’d only prioritize having the best of the best on her team! She seems like the kind of person who’d put aside friendships to have the most skilled players with her… Which leads me to believe that there’s lowkey a certain trust between her and Amelia, as both are talented players! Hence, my headcanon as Amelia having been a sports kid who introduced Boscha and Amity to Grudgby.

          Even if Boscha and Amelia aren’t exactly close because it’s Boscha we’re talking about here, there’s still a special comradery between the two as veteran Grudgby players who have been around since the very beginning… With Amelia being by Boscha’s side on the field, longer than anyone else! Not to mention, her and Skara were hanging out with Boscha at the Treasure Shack when Cat wasn’t… Which doesn’t necessarily have to mean anything, but considering what little content we have, and the Grom photos- I like to also see Cat as a relative newcomer to the friend group. The way I see it, Boscha met Skara first, then Amity, afterwards Amelia, and finally Cat!

           Similarly, I like to think that Amelia was one of the first to reconsider her stance on Willow; Given how Willow moved into her track, Amelia would’ve likely been the first to see just how skilled Willow actually was! Especially after Willow saved her from that carnivorous plant in Episode 9… While it could just be Willow being kind to a bully, I like to think that up until then, Amelia was someone who never directly bullied Willow, or at least quietly went along with it because that’s what Boscha did! Otherwise she had no ill will towards Willow, and Willow recognized this!

           Of course, then comes Wing it like Witches… Boscha takes Willow ‘stealing’ her fame as a very personal threat, and so Amelia’s internally remarking “Here we go AGAIN,” as she decides to just shut up and not say anything, and let Boscha do her thing and get it over with. Amelia’s not particularly a fan of this, but Boscha is likely the kind of person who forces friends to ‘prioritize her’, saying that friends should support one another no matter what, especially if the alternative is picking the side of some lowly stranger! Boscha is likely someone who’s made it clear in the past that taking someone else’s side, even if Boscha is in the wrong, is tantamount to betrayal…

           Plus, with how threatening Boscha is, I imagine Skara (who we already know can be kind and sweet in her own way), Amelia, and Cat just sort of went with it. Not outright against the bullying, but if left to their own devices, would just let people like Luz and Willow happily exist. On another note, I’m not sure if Amelia is necessarily from an upper-class family or not… Given what I said about Boscha prioritizing victory in Grudgby above all else, she seems like the kind of person who’d ignore class barriers if it meant recruiting a skilled player! Especially since she’s already a troublemaker, doesn’t seem to care much for academics, and is clearly irreverent towards her own mother and is even able to say no to her!

           Also, Amelia being VERY obsessive about fictional book series, to the point where she swears on trashing anything that remotely disappoints her, because she’s staking THAT much of an emotional claim onto it… It’s low-key something I can relate to, albeit not to the same extreme extent as Amelia! I like to think that she developed a grudge against King after he failed to deliver on the Ruler’s Reach sequel… So when King showed up to tell jokes during Grom, Amelia was VERY vocal in her booing of him, and had half the mind to get vengeance for her heartbreak. Luckily, her friends convinced her otherwise.

           I like to think Amelia and Boscha also went to Grom as each other’s dates! I know people have pointed out Amelia talking to the Mouth-Headed girl, and while that IS cute… Technically speaking, we see the Mouth-Head girl intimately close with some other kid beforehand, and I’m pretty sure we see kids who have dates with other talks to different classmates as well. Plus, I think it makes sense- Amelia is likely Boscha’s second-closest friend, and Skara and Cat already have confirmed dates! Boscha cares about social status, so going to Grom without a date would probably be unthinkable… And when Grometheus escaped, Cat and Skara went outside to follow, but Amelia stayed behind to wait for Boscha, who was late, and who she did NOT want to disappoint!

           ...Then again, Boscha going with Bo and Selene is also an option, especially since she takes photos with them before Mattholomule interrupts! Either way, it’s fun to speculate on the lives of these various side-characters and students… There’s not a lot to work with, but it coincidentally leaves a LOT of room and space to make stuff up! And what little we DO get, forms a minor, yet cohesive, narrative! I like to think that Amelia plans to become a professional Grudgby athlete like Boscha in the future…

          Whether or not Cat will join them, I can’t say for sure! Of course, given my past headcanons… Maybe Amelia is also considering NOT doing that, and just getting to play Grugdby on her own terms, for fun! But she’s not exactly fully-considering this idea, it’s mostly a minor thought in the back of her head that sprung up after Luz’s good sportsmanship helped Amelia reconsider things… But Amelia would STILL be throwing an entire future she had already planned for and worked towards for years, and she may not be willing to dedicate her life to some random job in the Plant Coven.

          As far as Amelia is concerned, she’ll probably keep with her original plans to become a professional athlete, and maybe fine time in-between matches and training, somehow, to just have good old-fashioned fun in Grudgby. Like a lot of people in this show, Amelia’s life was lowkey changed when Luz came into play, and like many other students, Amelia has a lot of anxieties and indecision over the final choice she’ll make before graduation. Like I said before, the Coven System is pretty messed-up in how it forces kids to decide the rest of their lives from such a young and formative age!

           (Not to shamlesssly self-plug, but I have a fanfic that includes Amelia as a minor character. Basically it serves to implement my headcanons about her into Amelia’s role in Boscha’s life- It was written prior to Agony of a Witch, and later I edited her name from the placeholder Sarya, to the one Dana confirmed!)

          Amelia is also present during the field trip to Belos’ castle, and she’s present in the crowd during Eda’s petrification… Her and Skara were vouching for Eda’s freedom alongside the rest as well, and cheered when her, Luz, King, and Lilith got away! Given all of the other stuff I mentioned before, I imagine Amelia might have SOME issues with the Coven System… Especially amidst past speculation on its potential impact on Grudgby as a professional career, not to mention how it’s forcing her into that complicated situation I headcanoned about! I don’t recall seeing Cat in the crowd, but I DID see Bo…

          It’d be interesting if Amelia and Skara brought up their stance against Belos later in the future, and how that might affect their friendship with Boscha and Cat respectively. Bo is in the same track as Cat, so maybe Cat would also be convinced to take an anti-Belos stance as well… And Boscha is already pretty anti-authority and ALSO could have thoughts on the Coven System, given my speculation on its relationship with Grudgby. It’d be fascinating to see, but at the same time, I could also see Boscha not wanting to defy the ‘natural order’ and be labelled an outcast and a loser by defying the Coven System.

          Kids like Amelia, Skara, and Bo definitely come across as more compassionate, or at least considerate of others, than Boscha… Hence their more vocal opposition to Belos! And hey- If Luz, who was a total rookie to Grudgby, could wound Belos… Then is this guy really so invincible? Obviously Luz and her team beat Amelia and the others (not counting the Rusty Smide), but it was a narrow victory, and ultimately the point is that Emperor Belos isn’t such an invincible witch, after all. Maybe a successful revolution IS possible…!

         Regardless, I really hope we get to see more of her, Skara, and Cat in the future! Who knows, maybe like Skara, Amelia and Cat will get a little extra spotlight later on... Although given how Dana mentioned how the names were from the crew and not necessarily set-in-stone, we’d probably have to wait until Season 3 for anything extra or substantial, assuming the crew would even prioritize in that in favor of other more important characters and plot threads!

           Also I like to think that Amelia had a close friend named Alrick who died in a horrific dirtbiking accident and now she’s low-key considering necromancy and other morally-questionable means in order to bring him back please watch Infinity Train

[dear-yandere]

—ask collection!

a collection of mostly very old chats and sweet asks that i never got around to answering! thanks for the patience and love!! 

beware, fairly long post... woops....

chat asks.

darling: Eu-jin is best boy. Change my mind.

vanya: i am physically incapable of fulfilling that request, how dare you do that to me... i’m biased since he’s my own oc, but i would die for my (very best) boy eu-jin... who can resist such a gentle yandere that loves you so whole-heartedly?

that reminds me! he’s actually based off of kuroyuki and gekkamaru from the otome nightshade, so if you want similar characters by any chance, do check them and the game out ♡

darling: I was watching the dub for Part 5 of JoJo's Bizarre adventure yesterday...Mista called himself Daddy and I like- sdfghjfgsdhnhnmj!! My heart can't take this--

vanya: WAIT HE DID???? i’m not even big on daddy kink and reading that made me go 😳 this is vital information to know... what episode was this??? for research purposes, of course. gotta perfect my yan! mista, after all~...

darling: for yandere songs, have you heard of the major to minor covers by chase holfelder :O? the way he delivers the lyrics in some songs (betty, all i want for christmas), added with the key changes to minor, is really fantastic, and gives a stalker-ish vibe imo! and he's a really good singer in general

vanya: i have!! a good chunk of them are actually on my personal yandere playlist, so i end up hearing them frequently when i’m writing!! i haven’t been keeping up with his uploads recently, so ‘betty’ is completely new to me and just, wow???????????? this man is an absolute god send for us “romantic” horror fans... ♡

this ask gave me such a lovely idea, though, darling: assigning yandere types/mbti based off each of chase’s minor key covers. i think i’ll do that just for you. ♡

darling @blossomiich​: I reread some of your old character interaction asks and saw the one with Jotaro hugging his Darling after a panic attack and the elephant seal plush reminded me of the iconic C H O N K Y ringed seal plushie that was kinda trending and I can totally imagine Jotaro having one of those >w< that's so adorable!

vanya: i honestly don’t remember that interaction, but then again i don’t remember most things hmghng so i looked it up and

j...just imagine star plat hogging it and not letting joot cuddle with it 🥺 the duality of man...thank you for this cute image...

darling: Umm, sorry for asking this. I'm just curious because of your bio language in your header. Are you Chinese too, perhaps?

vanya: no worries!! i’m mixed guyanese (indian, chinese, & possibly black and/or portuguese), but my family only celebrates (or rather, acknowledges?) our indian descent, since the majority of our family is predominantly east indian. 

my header is actually a quote from a danmei novel (and one of my all-time favorite fandoms), tiān guān cì fú (heaven’s official blessing)!

darling genki stan anon: Omg you're writing for free now, i didn't expect that one lol. It's a cute show innit? Not a nagi stan but I feel like nagisa has that kinda unsnapped personality that would make him peak delusional yandere material lolol like oikawa but less threatening and without his head being up his own ass 😂. Hope you're doing well!! -gsa

Gdjsjs im such a fool, i think my last ask said something about not thinking you'd write for free when i literally just pointed out kisumi on your sideblog LMAO my bad 😅 😂 also ill hold back on the gen chan requests because ive already asked so many in the past! Thank you though 🥺. Also feel free not to post this, it can just dip into my onesided chats with my lil flower 💐 so long as you receive them im fine 😌 -genki stan anon

vanya: nagisa isn’t my favorite (kisumi is), but gods if he wouldn’t make a great yandere. honestly, out of the iwatobi boys, nagi is probably the most unhinged. i wouldn’t peg him as delusional, at least not at first; i think he’s very lucid and knows exactly what he wants and how to manipulate people in order to get it!!! kisumi is fairly similar now that i think about it... i might... have a type...

please feel free to send in gen-chan requests whenever you want!!!! i’m kinda super asocial, so it’ll take me a while to answer, but i love getting asks from you since you’re so sweet and excitable!!! your little flower reads and cherishes them all!! 🥺

also darling genki stan anon: Sorry for spamming you with asks hdjkdks, u dont even need to reply im just kinda brain empty venting here whether you recieve them or not 😂 i just needed to confess that while yes i am #1 gen simp, and he is undoubtedly my fave oc of yours but that Ilya tentacle smut had me very much so highkey kinda 👀, had to re read the genki oral style drabble to bring my head back. He dont even need to worry about luca bc that man a thot. I think therin is a thot too but like lowkey, a classy thót -gsa

vanya: omg i’ve kept this one for forever mnmghngh i might’ve even answered at some other point, now that i think about it... but i just 🥺 gosh i hope i find my muse soon, because i really wanna write you a genki fic 🥺 hhhh

the ilya tentacle smut was so in character for that boy... i have no clue how to write monsters, much less tentacles, but i’d honestly do anything for him 🙏 kinky russian boy...

therin is definitely a classy thot, the kind that only bangs the finest concubines then turns around and slut shames you for banging the very same prostitutes gbfmngnfg rules don’t apply to him, in his kingdom...wish that were me tbh ✊😔

sweet asks.

darling one: i've read almost all of your dazai and chuuya fics and i love them so much!! your formatting is also super aesthetic just a question, i saw on your kofi that you also draw so i was wondering if you drew all the header arts?? bc they're all super pretty :) have a great day!

darling two: Just wanted to say love the writing and the way your format your posts is so aesthetically pleasing. One day I hope my posts looks half as good as yours because I legit can't get over how pretty and organized it looks.

vanya: omg thank you so much!!!! one of my bffs, yue, is to thank for the formatting and aesthetic choices, really! if you wanna see more of her aesthetic formats and posts, she actually runs a few blogs! you may know her as @milkscafe​, formally @milkaaton! i adore her and her aes choices so much 🥺

as for the headers, i don’t draw 99.98% of them! i have drawn a couple, but they’re so few and far in between since i almost never finish my art wips haha... my older posts are lacking proper credits because i’m an absolute idiot, but i’m slowly working my way backwards to credit them all where possible! they’re all indeed super pretty!!!

have a great day yourself, my love!!

darling: THEY’RE NOT BAD CONTENT, I LOVE THEM ALL

vanya: this was in response to a now-deleted lil blurb but i kept it in my inbox because i wanted to say i love u very much and seeing this ask each time i open my inbox makes my heart skip a beat ♡

darling: Listen I love your writing, you inspired me to start it myself! I've always loved to write, and read of course but your style and concepts just stick with me. If you where to write something besides Yandere content/fandom content and started your own series? I would read the shit, out of it. I'm always nervous to interact with my favorite writers because you know, I'm afraid of the impression I'd leave but I just wanted to say this anyway! 💞💞💞🔫😳

vanya: wowowow fgfnmgnfmngfg that’s such a high compliment my brain just gmfnbgmnf go boom fogjfngnfg and thank you for the interaction, us writers truly appreciate it no matter how awkward or nervous you think you may be / come off!!!

darling one: As a writer, your post struck a nerve with me. I don’t send feedback to writers I like nearly as much as I should (and certainly not as much as I’d like in return as a writer). So, as such, I’m going to start doing that when I can, starting with you.

You are an incredible writer. You were one of the first yandere writing blogs I found and you’re still one I check in on regularly to see what you have been working on. You can portray a sense of suspense and intrigue in a natural way that many other writers - published ones included - struggle with. You delve into the darkness without it feeling forced, and you have an amazing grasp on the psyches of the characters you write for (which is a quality I adore in writing and strive toward myself).

I’m not great at ending these things so I guess.. you keep doing you? Because the you is great and I appreciate it.

darling two:  hey. i'm here to tell you that from the bottom of my heart i love you and your writings. i really admire your writing skills. you inspire me. one of your posts once saved me from a nervous breakdown. thank you for everything you do. you're a wonderful person. good luck!

darling three: I wanted to tell you that thank you for writing such wonderful beautiful writings and that you take time to edit and write I hope you are taking care of yourself 💖❤

darling four: Thanks. I was having a hard time and deleted all my apps, but as soon as i opened my phone my first instinct was to look at your blog and i got my motivation back. Thanks (:

darling five: Hi ! I just wanted to say I really enjoy the stories you write and how they are detailed so well ! Stay safe and I hope you have a good day/night ! ლ(╹◡╹ლ)

vanya: ahhhh, these are very old asks mostly dating back to my “tumblr writing community is dying” post, and i’ve kept them this entire time because i’m just so starstruck. i have no clue how to reply to compliments, so i’m not sure what else to say besides that these asks made me very happy and got me through a few insecure moments!!! i’ve actually been feeling a little down about my writing recently, mostly because of lack of motivation / inspiration, so revisiting these really warmed my heart, so thank you truly ♡ i’m certainly keeping the originals in my inbox until the end of time!!

darling @monstrously-obsessed: psst, this local cryptic mom thing send all of their love for you 💕

vanya: your local herbo says she loves you very much momster 🥺 mwah

also, to the anon worried about my safety:

thank you so much for pointing that out!!! it hadn’t even crossed my mind when i made those ocs, so i appreciate your concern! i was contemplating revamping those two as is, so this is a great place to start! thank you again!!

[ghostsofmemories]

Writing My Obituary (context on my weird poetry collection)

I realized today that I very casually bring up my poetry collection all the time and a large majority of my followers have no clue what I’m talking about, so here’s a WMO explanation post thing! I should definitely give a content warning though: this book deals with suicide, abuse (both physical and emotional, by both parents and other people), homophobia and transphobia, allusions to major appetite and stomach issues (which while reading sound a lot like eating disorders), toxic relationships, just a lot of really heavy emotions in general. Please don’t read the book or this post if those things could trigger you. This post also ended up super long, so the rest is under the cut.

So. first thing’s first, this collection is being published by Pure Print Publishing this fall (due to covid there aren’t any exact dates available). I didn’t query it, someone reached out to me after reading my poems on Instagram, hearing that they were in an unpublished collection, and basically connected me with their friend who runs the indie publishing house and is an author himself.

A big part of the reason this book is so difficult to talk about in context is because that requires getting pretty vulnerable - most of this book is just me dealing with everything I’ve struggled with over the last 4 years of my life. So if there’s discussion about the book in the replies, please keep it to the content of the book and not the validity of these experiences or details of things that happened to me.

The collection is about me and my journey from 13 to 17, starting with my suicide attempt at 13. There are several poems from around that time in my life, but they’ve changed a lot over the four years of editing. However, you can definitely still see changes in the way I write and the way I approach poetry by the end of the book - which was the goal. The book is centered around learning about identity, about how relationships should work, about friendships, about learning to handle mental and chronic illness, and above all, growing. There’s really no “breaking point” where everything about the way I write changes all at once, so in context, the change is almost difficult to see. So to sort of represent these changes, I’m putting a poem from the beginning, from the middle, and from the end all right next to each other (and some bonus analysis of my own poetry!).

Call me a monster is probably the most stark change from the past to the present. I almost never rhyme my poems anymore and if I do, they’re fleeting and mostly for rhythm. The lines are also extremely short, which I only do now when it really fits - in general, I make an effort to avoid consistently short lines. I like to tell myself that it’s symbolism I did on purpose to represent how all over the place my brain was, hopping from one thought to the next, but I don’t think it’s symbolism. I think my brain was really too jumbled to have more than five words in a line.

 I also took my own poems very seriously back then - writing a poem was an Occasion, so the first letter of each of those lines is capitalized like I’m some sort of English classics major. Both stanzas are also the same length (I still do that now sometimes, but back then it was in so many of my poems that I think I thought it was a requirement). Basically, I wrote this like I was going to turn it in somewhere.

Still pretty heavy on the capitalization here, but I definitely got more flexible with stanza length and slightly longer lines (7 whole words, yay!). This poem was somewhat of a turning point for me, basically realizing that I could not only vent through poetry, but still make it poetic and artistic in a lot of ways, and also explore contrast in my own emotions and conflicting feelings. For some reason, prior to this, I thought a poem could only be one emotion at a time, but now I think a poem can be one topic and the way multiple or conflicting emotions revolve around it. This is also one of the first poems I wrote that I was proud of from beginning to end.

This poem isn’t totally representative of the last couple changes I want to talk about (especially line length - for being relatively recent the lines are still pretty short), but I don’t want to use too many poems that haven’t been posted online before and this one has been posted and read aloud on an Instagram live, minus one stanza I added, which I’ll get to. I also wanted to choose this one because it has a direct reference to The Universe In You and several other poems, which gives me a chance to talk about how much I love referencing my other poetry in my poetry. Buckle up, this one might be long.

By this point, I had pretty much realized that there actually aren’t any rules at all. I’ve figured out what I want to say and I’ll say it however the hell I want to - I don’t need to capitalize things unless it suits the form, I don’t have to be totally consistent, I can repeat things as much as I want. I reached back into my 15 year old angst for this one, though, so I could more properly write about the relationship in a way that made sense. 

Now, I could honestly write a whole other book about how I reference other poems in each poem, but for now I’ll just break down the ones here.

Sort of a half reference right at the beginning: I have so much to say. I bring that up in different words in so many poems, both about my relationship and my dad. This is probably because, growing up as someone who had a speech impediment (meaning I talked too much no matter how little I said because of how long it took to say it), I always felt like I never had the space to say everything I wanted. It’s brought up in at least 3 other poems.

lost signals: a direct reference to my poem Thread Unavailable:

We’re riding down a dirt road in the middle of a conversation and lost signal. Message failed.

empty spaces: a reference to The Universe In You!! Pretty much the whole reason I included this poem.

burned poems: this one is basically just a reference to all the poems in the collection that are breakup poems, or poems where I directly addressed my ex saying don’t read this, you don’t have to read this, I shouldn��t have written this, etc. Specifically, A Long and Lonely Letter, Tired Eyed (The Homecoming Poem), and The Poem That Shouldn’t Exist.

another July come and gone and I didn’t write about you: this reference is hard to really understand the context of unless you know me in real life, but in two other poems I mention the month of July, in a couple others I reference summer, but there are dozens of poems that didn’t make it into my cut of the collection that talk about July. Basically, in context of the relationship, it was the only time we were actually happy and we split up and got back together over and over trying to replicate that fleeting, 30 day feeling that was overtaken by school, seasonal depression, and our own instability as people. For so long, all I could think about was that one month, and that line was my way of showing how I was done writing about it.

you told me, once, that we’re soulmates: this entire little stanza is directly copied from Tired Eyed (The Homecoming Poem). In order to continue talking about it I’ll throw a piece of that here:

If you want to come back, be sure of me. Be sure of yourself. I don’t want to be a consequence of your impulses.

You told me, once, that we’re soulmates. That once you find a person you want to spend forever with, it feels like nothing else matters. Do you believe that like I do?

That’s just a really short chunk of a really long poem, but basically the re-use of that section goes to say that me truly believing nothing else mattered was not good and extremely unhealthy. I put it there even though the poem was just fine without it because I really wanted to get that message across, especially since most of my target audience falls between middle and high school.

I know love in so many shades and I give it in every color: this references a couple different poems that aren’t in the collection, but in terms of the book, it’s a reference to Red, Like You, which is about color association and love and stuff? I I still don’t totally get it. I say in the poem that I don’t totally get it. No one totally gets it, but all in all I went from loving just one person in just one way to loving everyone in tons of different ways and realizing that those other types of love are just as, if not more, fulfilling to me, and that romance is not the be-all end-all of love and happiness.

All the other references are repetitions so I’ve pretty much already explained those. But anyway, that’s my book! It has 77 poems total, quite a few of them more than a page, and some that are probably several pages once in paperback format because, you know, I never shut up. Since I did my mini beta reading round (I got a lot of necessary feedback but that was so much to keep track of, I’ll probably just get a couple feedback partners next time), I’ve cut 34 poems and added 16 newer ones, edited the crap out of the whole book, and gotten the perspective of a professional editor.

 This book, even though there’s a lot of it I’ve grown out of, is super important to me and it’s so hard to let it go. Part of me wants to keep this book going forever and just keep growing until it has thousands of poems, but all of these “character arcs” in my life are finished. I left my toxic relationship and friendships, I figured out my gender and sexuality, I learned how to love openly, I cut off my dad for good. There’s obviously always more to learn about my relationships with these other people and myself, and I do that unconsciously every day. But in all honesty, I have nothing left to say about these people or events that would change the conclusions I’ve already come to - they would only further prove them to be true.

I absolutely always want to talk about this book, so if you have any questions, send an ask! Also feel free to scroll through the poetry tag on my blog and ask me about any poems I have posted there, there are a few that I’ve written since the completion of the collection that’ll (most likely) end up in whatever I write next. Basically, I’m obsessed with poetry and want to talk about it all the time. Please ask me about it.

[nicolinocolino]

s4 thoughts

Okay so I’ve only watched the season once through and I’m sure I missed some stuff, but here’s my reaction for anyone who cares haha.

I’m going to start with Sana, obviously. Brilliant. Show stopping. Memorable. I never felt like the season was about anyone else, even with the side plots. I think this has a lot to do with the friendships, which skamit does really well. But this season was truly about her. And Bea did fantastic. 

I think the switch to make the Malik drama about Eva worked much better, as Eva is someone who’s kind of... swung from one guy to another and back. It just makes sense. I also loved how they toned down the drama and got rid of the cyber bullying all together. 

Sana’s voicemail on the roof explained it all... and it was so heartbreaking. Honestly, I could relate. I think that’s another big testament to the season — she’s relatable because she’s, you know, a person with feelings and expectations who doesn’t always make the right choices. I never felt like I wasn’t allowed to relate to her just because we come from different backgrounds. And isn’t that the point? Isn’t that the point of it all — to humanize her and not put her on a pedestal or be afraid of her? She hurt her friends who hurt her, and she let it all out. Sometimes we need that honesty to become closer to one another, and, in turn, understand each other better.

My favorite clip was the one of her and Malik talking about religion. The music? Her metaphor to the moon? God, she shone in this clip. I’m not a religious person, but I could feel the passion in her. I think it’s healthy to be challenged sometimes, too. I don’t think Malik saying that you can be a good person without religion is something I will forget.

Overall, her story was so good that I don’t really mind the other parts I was disappointed in. It was a fantastic final season. The music and editing and quality was incredible. She was the true star.

Okay, Marti and Nico. Because you know I love them a lot. And I’m sorry if I have more to say about them than Sana. I know it’s her season. But obviously Marti and Nico are my favorite and ALSO there’s just..... a lot to process regarding what we did get from them. I’m not the kind of person who can look at canon and be like, “I don’t like that so I’m going to forget it!” — no. I see it happen and my brain goes “make it make sense.” Which is what I’ve been trying to do because I really don’t want these two ruined for me. So:

First of all, I’m so, so thrilled that Nico’s “half a thing” long ago with Luai was the real deal. It had nothing to do with his mental illness and added depth to his back story that comes from a place of love and understanding. I cannot even imagine the guilt he must have felt at Virgilio after watching Luai get sent away. It must have been difficult to talk about, so keeping it from Marti (for so long!) is something I can kind of understand.

Which brings me to Marti’s reaction. I have mixed feelings. I definitely do understand Marti, in a way. When you piece together what he knew from Maddalena, that look between them he witnessed, Nico’s obvious lies... yeah. Maybe I’d go a bit out of my mind, too. Essentially, I can see this starting in ep 2 and building to ep7. That’s FIVE WEEKS of hardship on their relationship. FIVE WEEKS of Nico hiding the truth and Marti going insane pestering him. FIVE WEEKS of patience before Marti finally snapped. My big thing is I think Marti has gobs and gobs of patience. Without that real time format, it looks like he has none. But really? It was almost two whole months of... guessing and asking and getting nothing. Of course he was paranoid! Of course he was jealous! His patience, which I believe he had, wore thin. While I think some of what Marti did was out of character, some of it I can see. He gets angry, we’ve seen that. He withdraws, we’ve seen that too. Not saying this is the healthiest thing ever, but if you REALLY loved someone... you probably would be at least a little jealous. We villainize the feeling of jealousy so much — and it’s true that it’s not healthy in this amount — but it happens. And it happened to Marti. My big hangup is that I don’t really think that’s very in character for him, but in a way... I can see it. I think we can argue that what he did to Gio and Eva in season 1 was the result of some jealousy. Love makes you do all kinds of crazy things and feel all kinds of crazy ways. I half think that Marti “left” as a sort of final straw/ultimatum. Like, ‘ah, if I leave him maybe then he will tell me, since there is nothing left to lose.’ But then Nico didn’t, so he was left with that choice. I don’t think he really meant it, at least not for the long haul. If Nico were to text him the next day and say ‘yeah, you’re right, this is for the best’ Marti would be a giant mess. I can clearly see this was a situation of “well, I think he’s going to leave me for Luai, so maybe if I leave him first I can control the pain.” We literally see him reverting back to his old self in eps 7 and 8. He closes off. He doesn’t want to listen to his friends. At Silvia’s birthday, he was honestly being so loud and jokey and obnoxious. I truly think that was a mask. His “I have nothing to say to him” (referring to Nico) REALLY really got to me. That was not in character. But in hindsight, as I try to make sense of it, I think he said it because he wanted his friends to disagree with him. It’s more of a “I have nothing more to add” because, well, he tried. He tried for five weeks to get Nico to tell him the truth. He was left with his embarrassing mistake of leaving Nico, which he knew was wrong, and is embarrassed even more because everyone else knows it was wrong too. Somehow he has to crawl out of the hole that is his own stubbornness and pride. And in this super public space, he wanted everyone to think he was fine. But we know he’s not. We know he had a cliche low point eating ice cream on the floor. We know he’s hurting. In his mind, Nico possibly cheated and lied and might leave him and that hurts him. Because he loves him.

Which brings me to my next point. Marti you dumbass if you opened your eyes you could SEE how much Nico loves you. Everything from wanting to get coffee in the morning with him, wanting to pick him up from school, wanting to dance with him, wanting to help throw him a nice birthday, just the way Nico LOOKS at him... boy he LOVES you. And I bet that hurt Nico a lot to think Marti didn’t feel any of that. Nico shows his love, it pours out of him.

But also: Nico, my boy, why take so long to tell Marti the truth. If there’s nothing to hide, why does it matter that you had half a thing with some guy two years ago? I think what happened was that they didn’t have proper closure. Luai was essentially ripped away from Nico, horribly, in the middle of their half a thing. Did Nico even know that he was okay? And... the guilt? Oh my. I can only imagine Nico wanted to reconnect with him just to get that closure, and, in the process, because he never told Marti, it looked a lot like maybe something else was going on. Not only the night of the fight, but maybe after that there were some texts or phone calls, too. And then how do you tell your boyfriend that you want closure with your ex? How do you explain what you had, which never had a proper ending and, who knows, maybe would have grown or still have been going on if things were better and Luai never left? I think Marti could piece that together, too. He knows Nico learned the Koran for Luai. He remembers the talk in Nel Mio Letto. He knows how deeply Nico can feel. And, he knows that Nico’s feelings are real. Or, were real. And maybe had the possibility of becoming real again now that Luai was around again. 

The excuse that Nico didn’t tell Marti because Luai was engaged and wanted to keep it on the down-low doesn’t fly with me. Maybe it’s partly true, but I also think what I stated above was more of the cause. Nico didn’t know how to explain to Marti without sounding suspicious but needed closure. He tried to do both at the same time and failed. Because, duh. You have to be honest and hiding isn’t right and doesn’t work. I think it would hurt Marti to know Nico doesn’t trust him enough with that secret. So, in sum, they both need to trust each other more.

I was really excited for Nico’s clip and was left feeling kind of empty afterwards. I don’t like how Marti basically interrogated him. I think that if Marti wants that level of honesty with Nico, that’s valid. But there’s a fine line between that and pestering someone about phone calls. Which is what makes me think the thing with Luai was more than just the night of the fight. I think Nico was hiding a little more than a past. He was hiding his reconnecting to get closure. I mean, in the end, it’s a nice clip. The beach is beautiful and their kiss was cute and smiley. And that hug is god tier. I liked how we saw Nico’s meds in a short and respectful way even if just to give the audience some peace of mind. Maybe Marti only used his birthday as an excuse to be so nosy. I do think he was hurt by the lies — and Marti knows that lies can ruin things, he’s seen it happen — so he’s just on guard. I mean, I don’t think Nico’s lie was HUGE... it’s just the fact that it went on for so long even after Marti tried to tell Nico he wanted the full truth. So, even if I didn’t love the clip and am disappointed a bit in it, in the end it really just shows that they can and will work through everything.

So, like, did I want all of that drama? No. Is it realistic? I think so. I romanticize these two so much so it brought me down to earth a bit. Did I already KNOW they would be able to work through hard times? Well, yeah. I didn’t need to see it but in the end I’m glad I did. I truly believe they will face future hard times with the knowledge, now, that they need to do better. And honestly? I think Marti is 18 now and Nico is like 20? 21? And to be tested with something like this and work through it the way they did so young is a lot. Also, they’ve been together for over a year now. It takes about a year for that honeymoon phase to wear off. So in reality they are working through that right now too. Love is something they have to dedicate more time and effort to, and they did! They did do that and it’s nice to see that they’re willing to nurture this very very special thing they have instead of letting it fall away. And they made it out on the other side with, I think, more love and understanding for each other. I certainly love and understand them better now, too.

I might add on with more thoughts later, but this is what I have for now. Most of it is about Marti and Nico but, ya know. I love them dearly. Also, Sana’s stuff was just so good there’s really not much for me to work through with it. If you read this all, you’re a trooper lol

[fleckcmscott]

Bittersweet

Summary: After a little prompting, Arthur tells Y/N about his first kiss.

Warnings: Angst, Past self-harm (Don’t worry - there’s love, too!)

Words: 2,652

A/N: This was an anonymous request! Whoever you are, thank you for sending it to me. Writing this was a joy. A hearty thanks to Karen for beta-ing!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

If you’ve sent me a request and I haven’t responded, it’s because I am working on it and will answer once it’s posted!

Edit: I apologize for forgetting to thank @sweet-nothings04​ for the title! Love you, girl!

As Arthur felt the first periods of genuine satisfaction within his own skin, he discovered which activities he enjoyed the most. Performing for children, seeing their small faces beam in reaction to his magic tricks. When he was doing a comedy set somewhere and his laughter didn't occur. Working on material or listening to music. And every second with Y/N at his side.

Weaving himself completely with another person hadn't been something he'd believed possible. But during the past eleven months, his assumptions had changed. Y/N knew about the difficulty he often had interpreting people, about his illnesses, about each time he'd been remanded to Arkham. Instead of recoiling as he'd feared, she reminded him to take his medication on the rare occasion he would forget. The calendar that hung by the kitchen entrance had both his appointments or gigs and her court dates written in his scrawl. She delved into his interests by watching old comedies he rented or shows he picked out. He'd explored hers by paying extra attention to Action News and asking about the cases she was working on. And they'd gotten in the habit of watching Gotham Tonight before heading to bed. It was the repetitive mundanities of normal life, the routines and rhythms they'd fallen into, that he found most intimate.

Yet, she still had the ability to flummox him.

They were walking in Sheldon Park after dropping off their groceries and his three prescription refills at the apartment. It was a lovely evening, the temperatures balmy even though dusk was approaching. The place was more crowded than expected for a Tuesday. A group of kids were riding their bikes through the winding paths. On a nearby bench, an older man smoked a cigar while the woman he was with chattered about the day. And there were quite a few teenage couples, strolling with arms entwined or their lips locked.

Y/N must have noticed them, too, because she nudged him when they passed a pair making out on a knoll near the duck pond. "If we'd met back then, would we have been doing the same thing? All over each other without caring who saw?"

A light laugh caught in his throat. He gave her side-eye, taking a drag off his cigarette. "You already don't care who hears."

She was chuckling when she asked her follow-up, like it was the most normal question in the world. "When was your first kiss?" He halted, mouth agape as she continued on. The answer made him feel self-conscious before even giving it. It had been embarrassingly late, considering what he remembered hearing around school as a teenager.

Y/N put a quarter in the duck pellet machine and turned the crank. "I was fifteen. My ex-husband. We were at a drive-in, watching some terrible movie - Attack of the Grasshoppers or Ants or whatever." Arthur stepped towards her and put out his smoke in the nearby ashtray as she held out her hand. "I knew he liked me, but I was surprised." After splitting the feed with him, carefully pouring it into his upturned palm, she sat on the grass, legs crossed in front of her at the ankles, and tossed some in the water. "He leaned over and kissed me as hard as he could. I pushed him away, then pulled him back again."

The birds swam hurriedly in their direction, a couple of the braver ones daring to come ashore. Arthur crouched down next to her and threw some of the pellets himself. But he stayed quiet. A few minutes later, she leaned towards him. "You don't have to tell me. I know I'm your first serious relationship." Shrugging, she continued. "I just thought there might have been a high school sweetheart. Then we could share embarrassing tales."

He shook his head, throwing the rest of the food and sitting next to her, one knee up with his arm rested on it. "No," he said. "You're my only sweetheart." Normally she wasn't fond of pet names, but she let out a soft sound and scooted closer. Her arm looped through his, a kiss planted on his temple. As his lips pressed together, he wondered what she expected. She'd been surprised by his inexperience when they'd started sleeping together, seemingly unable to comprehend how he'd been single. If she'd been anyone else, he would have assumed she just wanted to make fun of him. But she'd been open about her history, and hadn't laughed at him once so far. "I was twenty-two."

"What were you like back then? Just as beautiful, I'm sure."

A short giggle escaped him, his forehead rested on the heel of his hand. While he'd never been outgoing, never been half as bold as Y/N, he hadn't yet shrunken in on himself. Though he'd had his condition, his mental illnesses had only partially presented themselves. He hadn't already been committed. Life had had its challenges, having taken care of his mother seven years by then. But he'd still been naive enough to hope it could be different. That Penny might get better. That he could meet his special person.

That was too much for this conversation. She'd asked a lighthearted question and deserved a lighthearted answer. So he gave one that encompassed it all. "Younger." It had been awhile since he'd reflected on the circumstances surrounding his first kiss. His brows drew together as he tried to remember all the details. "Her name was Helen. We were coworkers in Gotham Park. At a summer carnival."

The bit of exaggeration was unintentional. He'd been hired to work as a clown. It had been new for him, but given his natural aptitude for dancing and interacting with kids, it'd come easier than expected. The boss had told him to roam the entire grounds. And he'd tried to. But it had become impossible after seeing her.

Arthur's eyelids fluttered at Y/N tracing the veins on the back of his hand. "What did she do to win your heart?"

Not a lot. They hadn't exchanged more than a couple of words, mostly pleasantries and the odd complaint about the weather. But she could have done anything, frankly. He'd been fantasizing about dating for years. What had originally been an innocent desire for attention and friendship had, as he'd grown-up, become a near constant craving for love and connection.

Helen had worked at one of the games, though he couldn't recall exactly which one. The radiance of her skin was nearly as bright as the smile she met customers with. She always wore cute, short sleeved sweater sets, ones that revealed a sliver of her mid-riff. She was kind. Whenever she talked with anyone, she'd laugh easily and be attentive. She seemed smart, too; he'd noticed the textbooks she took notes in. The moment he'd passed by her and she'd glanced up at him with her deep, brown eyes, he'd thought he'd sensed an affinity between them. It had sparked his imagination. "She was nice. And pretty. We didn't get to talk much."

"How was it?" Y/N asked playfully, her caresses flirty as they traveled to the inside of his wrist, a spot they'd learned made his breath catch.

The carnival had normally stayed open until nine. But high winds and heavy rain had forced it to close early. He'd been sprinting by Helen's booth, when she called out to him. The front closure was stuck, she'd explained. Could he help her with it? After a minute or two of trying to fix it, she'd invited him into the back. It had taken a couple seconds to decide to go for it - he'd hoped his hesitancy hadn't been too weird. Once the rope was untangled from the hook it'd been stuck on, he'd rolled down the tarp and secured it shut. Then he'd turned to her.

They'd been drenched. Probably half his clown-makeup had been washed off, leaving his pale skin exposed. Her sweater had clung to her, the silhouette of her hardened nipples visible through the cream fabric. He'd fought to keep his eyes averted. The pitter-patter of the pelting rain had surrounded them, slightly muffled by the tall trees above and the orange canvas of the tent. It had felt pleasantly hazy. She'd looked up at him and said, in the sweetest voice, "Thank you. I owe you one."

"Yeah," he'd replied lamely, when what he'd meant to say was, "I think I love you. You're beautiful. Let's go on a date." His heart had been pounding, open, plain to see, and he'd thought he'd understood her smile correctly. It was rare they were directed his way - surely it must have meant something. When she'd offered her hand for a shake, adrenaline had driven him to take it, step forward, and press his mouth to hers.

After all this time, only vague impressions remained. Her lips had been pliant, warm, and wet. How he'd imagined a ripe plum would feel if he could ever afford one. There'd been enthusiasm on his part. And he was sure he'd been trembling. He hadn't paid attention to her reactions, having been too caught up in his own nervousness and excitement. Finally, he'd been brave enough to kiss a girl. He'd been proud of himself for not laughing.

He'd attempted to snake an arm around her waist, pull her flush against his skinny frame to feel the realness of her, the softness of her breasts, the dip of her waist. But she'd backed off, pushing against his chest as their lips parted. He'd released her instantly but kept her hand. He'd tried to hold it loosely enough to hide his desperation as he felt his heart break.

She'd cleared her throat before starting in. "You're sweet, Arthur. But... This is going to be my senior year. I have to concentrate on school." White noise had filled his ears. "I think you're a little old for me. And I'm seeing someone. And..."

Halfway through her litany of explanations, he'd tuned out and slowly dropped her fingers. His palm automatically went to his abdomen, willing his diaphragm to not betray him. "I'm- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-" He'd squeezed his eyes shut as he broke off, self-disgust filling him. "Why would you like me? I-"

The reassurances she'd given him hadn't mattered much back then. They'd actually made it worse. They'd meant that in lieu of hating him, she simply didn't want him. "I'm not mad." There'd been pity in her half-smile. "It was a nice kiss."

His anguish as he'd gotten ready for work the next morning was overwhelming and unwanted. But his brain wouldn't stop going to Helen. Seeing her again would crush him. The tightness in his chest, the tension in his arms were acute - he didn't know what to do. And anger was welling in him, at himself and what he'd never have. He'd attempted to find distraction in the radio, tobacco, the nearly scalding hot water during his shower. None of it worked. Instead, as he stood in the corner of the living room by his clothes, he banged his head, smashing it into the mirror hanging on the wall.

It was the cracking of the glass that got him to stop, got him to notice what he was doing. The compulsion he'd felt and given into to hurt himself was new. Frightening. And cemented his abnormality. He'd lifted his fingers to his forehead - there'd been no blood, at least. Then he'd squinted at the mirror and groaned, annoyed he'd have to replace it. Quickly, he took it down and threw it in the trash can, not wanting his mother to see what he'd done.

He didn't return to work that day. Or the day after that. He'd stayed at home, calling out sick and missing a week's pay.

Penny had noticed his lack of absence first. Then his failure to do anything besides smoke and get off the couch to use the bathroom. She'd asked if he was okay for the first time in months. And he'd confessed, rasping softly, "No, mom. I need someone." The humiliation he felt at yearning for such simplicities grew as he went through his list. "I want to take her to the movies. To light her cigarette. To hold her." He'd exhaled sharply and flinched. "I want her to laugh at my jokes."

"Oh, Happy," she'd said, patting his arm. In his fragile state, the nickname's familiarity had both calmed and hurt. "Just smile and put on a happy face. You can't feel bad, then." She'd turned back to the television, maternal instincts quickly forgotten. At least around her, he listened and tried to paste a grin on.

Eventually, he had dragged himself back to the carnival - the bills had to be paid somehow. He'd done his best to avoid Helen. She had spotted him once, though, and given a small, friendly wave from across the way. After briefly freezing, he'd chosen to nod back at her, giving her the acknowledgment he would have wanted had their positions been reversed.

He hadn't seen her again. But he'd clung to the memory of that kiss for ages. Reminisced when he'd ached for another life and wanted to believe it might be possible. And for less chaste longings. It had stopped being a placeholder years ago, when he'd realized he'd always live with Penny. Not alone, but lonely, until he was lucky enough to check out forever.

Until he and Y/N had stumbled into each other. Repeatedly. In this harsh city.

"Kissing you is nicer," Arthur said, slinging an arm around Y/N, meeting her gaze.

She giggled. "Oh?" Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip, only inches from his own. "And why's that?"

"You love me. And you want me." The touch of his fingertips went to her upper arm, guiding her to recline on the grass. "All the time," he scolded mockingly, rasp barely above a whisper. His lips tickled her, just under her ear, and he delighted in the way she squirmed and batted at his shoulder.

She locked her hands at the nape of his neck and smiled up at him, like he was the only man in the world. Eagerness sparked as her fingers slid under his sweater. "I do," she replied, low and throaty. "I won't pretend I don't." Cradling the back of her head, he bent and sealed their mouths together. She was demanding, as though she sought to capture a piece of him and hold it deep within her. He sighed as he brought his hand to the hem of her blouse, not hesitating before going in for another kiss.

Neither of them heard the hooves of the approaching horse. "Sir? Ma'am?" Arthur turned up towards the mounted police officer shining her flashlight in their faces. "Aren't you two a little old for this?"

Wide-eyed, Arthur's head snapped back to look at Y/N, nearly colliding with her as she held her hand in front of her eyes. Thank god she answered straightaway. "Sorry, officer." She sat up, pushing Arthur off her. The blush currently spreading across her cheeks made him snort. "It's such a beautiful night and, well..." she gestured in his direction. Christ, would she never find it inappropriate to brag about him? He turned away and hid behind his palm.

Y/N stood and brushed off her clothing. "We'll behave, madam. I promise." The cop shook her head and rode off. Y/N covered her mouth as she burst into laughter. "I guess this means we wouldn't have cared who saw." Arthur stood up beside her, pulling up his pants and fixing his hair. "Thanks for sharing that with me," she said.

As she reached to remove a leaf from his jacket, he stepped to her and cupped her face, melding their lips once more. "I'll share anything with you."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @howdylilflower​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​ @fallenstarsabyss​ @gruffle1​ @octopus-plasma​ @tsukiakarinobara​ @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​

[cinnaminsvga]

💋 | tlhc!yoongi

the sleep deprived series (n.): drabbles that i write when i’m sad and tired

→ tlhc!yoongi ft. jungkook | 3.5K words → a/n: this was written after an anon sent me a REALLY angsty idea for tlhc and i haven’t stopped thinking about it since. also, this takes place after namjin’s wedding but before yoongi and y/n get together (in this drabble, they’re “dating” but i say that loosely because... well. they’re fucking yoongi and y/n so OFC they’re stupidly, emotionally constipated). anyway... here’s This!! rip!!

Yoongi knows he’s being childish when he leaves your shared apartment with a large pout on his face. He knows that if he just tried a little harder, he could’ve convinced you to let him stay at home instead of going to some godforsaken bachelor party. He hasn’t been to a party involving body shots and strippers since he graduated from university, and he isn’t exactly keen on returning to that particular scene either. He has always been a more wine and dine type of guy, and everyone is aware of this.

It’s a well-known fact amongst his circle of friends that Min Yoongi isn’t keen on attending most types of social gatherings. Birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, casual get-togethers… It didn’t matter what the occasion is because Yoongi is certainly going to hate every second of it. It didn’t even matter if the party was being hosted by a long-time friend; after all, sitting in a room filled with half-strangers and estranged friends isn’t exactly what Yoongi would consider a “fun time.”

It doesn’t stop people from inviting him out of courtesy, though.

Most of the time, Yoongi is able to grit through the pain of human interaction as long as you tagged along with him. You’re kind of like Yoongi’s walking meat shield when it comes to parties, though you aren’t exactly fond of his analogy when he had explained himself to you. Nevertheless, you always did understand him better than anyone else, always being his savior from awkward small talk by redirecting the conversation away from him. Or, you would quietly tug him outside to the backyard so that the two of you could pet the party owner’s dog or something.

Truly, what would he have done without you?

“I still don’t understand why you expect me to go to this party alone. You’re practically feeding me to the sharks,” Yoongi whines, not at all immaturely. He can hear your exasperated sigh through his phone speakers, though he imagines that you hadn’t been aiming to conceal your ire in the first place.

“Yoonie, it’s Jungkook’s bachelor party. You heard what that dweeb said: ‘No girls allowed’ or some shit. Like some sort of toddler. I’m surprised he even asked you to attend.”

“Are you implying that I should be barred entry because of my feminine hips?” Yoongi asks, hopeful. “Cause honestly, I was only kinda offended when Jungkook said I had twink-sized proportions, so I mean…”

You scoff, though Yoongi can imagine you shaking your head with tired fondness. AKA, your default mood towards him on most days. Yoongi doubts that fondness is going to help him convince you to let him get the fuck out of this party, though. “Save it. You’re going to that party or else.”

Yoongi sniffs, offended. “Honestly, you should be the one going instead of me. I’m not as close to that pussyboi as you are.”

“Hey, only I’m allowed to call him that,” you chide. “Besides, you already left the house. I don’t understand why you’re calling me in the first place. It’s almost 8PM and you should be at the restaurant by now.”

It’s true. Yoongi is literally already in front of the restaurant where they all agreed to meet before heading out to the “main event,” or whatever the hell that means. It could only end badly; after all, Park Jimin had been the one to organize this shitshow of a bachelor party. Things will not go in Yoongi’s favor tonight if Jimin can help it.

“I’m only here because you threatened to disfigure Kobe Bryant-sunbaenim! That bobblehead is limited edition!” Yoongi has the strongest urge to stomp his feet, though he restrains himself only so that the hostess by the entrance of the restaurant won’t call the manager on him (again.) He is nearing his 30’s for fuck’s sake! Then again, Seokjin is a year older than him and if Yoongi’s future is anything like his, he shudders to think what might become of him.

“Yoonie,” you say, voice steely and quiet. Uh oh. You’re getting genuinely angry by now, and Yoongi knows he’s pushing your buttons to their limits. However, he wouldn’t be doing it otherwise if he really didn’t want to go to this party. He hates disappointing you, but nothing on this planet could ever make him want to go through those mahogany doors and face that bucktoothed loser with stars in his googly eyes.

Yoongi sighs, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. “I know, I know. I’m being childish. It’s just a party and I should just endure it. Although, I’m not promising that I’ll even try to pretend that I’m enjoying it. That’s beyond my paygrade, I’m afraid,” Yoongi says, picking his hangnails as he gazes at the entrance of the restaurant. The hostess’ left eyebrow twitches slightly, a forced customer service smile on her lips. Yoongi feels a sudden sense of strong camaraderie with this stranger.

“I was just gonna say that if you really can’t stand the party, then I’m allowing you an out. If you can stay there for at least two hours, then you can leave once you’ve––“

You hardly get to finish your sentence when Yoongi cuts you off, a strangled sob of relief escaping his throat. “Oh, thank you, my goddess! You are truly the apple of my eye; I shalt never speak ill of you no longer! You are heaven incarnate, my fair and beautiful mistress, the sun who has chased away the darkness––“

“Shut the fuck up, court jester,” you say, endearment dripping like honey off of your words. But Yoongi is already smiling ear to ear, hopelessly warm for some reason. If Hoseok had been around, he would have gagged at the sight of the two of you.

We’re so whipped, Yoongi thinks idly to himself.

“Now go say hello to Jungkook for me, will you? And please, if either he or Jimin do anything stupid or illegal, try to hold them back a little, okay?”

“Nope, I don’t think so,” Yoongi says, before promptly hanging up. Before he pockets his phone, he texts a short “ily” just in case he actually might have pissed you off. Either way, that will be a problem for future Yoongi to figure out.

Just as he ended the calls, a muffled crash and what sounds like a hyena being forced down a trash compactor from inside the restaurant echoes ominously through the open streets. Yoongi and the hostess hardly flinch at the cacophany, both of them staring glassily at the smoggy South Korean sky with quiet acquiescence.

“Fuck me,” Yoongi says. “Fuck me, indeed.”

*.*.*.*.*

The party is as terrible as Yoongi had imagined. Scratch that––Yoongi doesn’t think his imagination is capable of conjuring such a nightmarish scene. He’s pretty sure at least 99% of the inhabitants of this strip club were doing something slightly to moderately illegal. Case in point:

“Jeon Jungkook, I don’t think you should be doing that,” Yoongi yells over the discordant noise that the DJ is trying to pass off as “music.” Jungkook pauses in his ministrations to turn to face Yoongi, which is a feat in itself, as it appears that Jungkook’s eyes were facing opposite directions. Yoongi chooses to maintain eye contact with his left one.

“Whaaa? Why not, coconut?” Jungkook giggles at his little rhyme at the end, but his laughter sounds garbled, probably hindered by the amount of saliva pooling inside his mouth.

Yoongi points at his hands. “Jungkook. I’m pretty sure that is not salt that you are pouring over your fries.”

It takes a few moments for Jungkook to register anything that Yoongi had said. In fact, Yoongi doesn’t think he registers them at all; Yoongi has to forcefully take away the soiled plate of “mystery powder fries” away from him before Jungkook even realizes anything is going on.

“Heeeey, getchur own food, boomer!” Jungkook whines, making grabby hands at the plate before flopping pathetically onto Yoongi’s lap. Yoongi, ever the gentleman, pushes the younger off until he tumbles off the side of the booth and into a mysterious puddle spilled by one of the scantily clad “mechanics.” Jungkook, to his credit, gets up back onto his seat with some semblance of grace (which is to say, he managed to get his ass onto the couch without any additional injury.)

“I can’t believe I’m literally at a glorified children’s party. And I thought babysitting Namjoon’s little demon was bad enough,” Yoongi groans, grimacing in disgust at the mystery liquid from the floor oozes gently down the side of Jungkook’s face. “Dude. Wipe your fucking face.”

Jungkook, known laundry-fanatic and clean freak extraordinaire, promptly takes off his pristine white shirt and uses it to dab his face away. After which, he throws it somewhere behind him, right into a circle of twinks who proceed to fight over who gets to keep it. “Better,” he mutters, same dopey smile on his face.

“Just 1 hour, 18 minutes and 34 seconds left, Yoongi… I can do this,” Yoongi says through clenched teeth. He takes a deep breath, counts to ten, tries to remember what his therapist told him to do when he’s slowly losing his grip on reality. Then, Jungkook throws up all over his new leather shoes.

“Hyung,” Jungkook mutters sleepily, head lolling like he’s about to drop dead in a second. He grins dopily at Yoongi, a string of saliva dripping down the side of his cheek. “I think I’m sick.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” And so, like the kind person that he is, he drags Jungkook by the armpits, dodging sweaty strippers and drunken guests alike as he tows the younger to the nearby restroom. Yoongi contemplates bringing Jungkook to Jimin to take care of him instead, but that idea is completely dashed the moment he sees the latter drinking shots as if it were water. The risk of having two people vomit on his shoes in one night would have been extremely high, and Yoongi isn’t an idiot. So he takes the idiot draped across his back to the toilet himself.

The restroom is empty when they arrive. When Yoongi slams the door shut, it becomes shockingly quiet as the noise from outside gets dulled to a soft throb. Yoongi immediately dumps Jungkook against one of the chipped porcelain sinks, grimacing slightly when the younger causes the sink to groan precariously from his weight.

“Hyungie,” Jungkook warbles. The sweat on his brow has made his bangs stick to his forehead in strange patterns, and Yoongi imagines he could rearrange his hair to spell out “SHITHEAD” if he so desired.

“What.” Yoongi grabs a handful of paper towels and proceeds to try (and fail) to clean the carnage on his shoes. Meanwhile, Jungkook just stands there quietly, spit long since dried on his face, adding to the sheen already there. The quietness of the restroom is both jarring and awkward compared to the insanity just behind the door, and Yoongi finds himself preferring to look at his black-turned-brown shoes instead of the boy standing just to his right.

“I think I overdid it,” Jungkook admits after a while. Yoongi chances a glance upwards before looking back down at the floor, uncomfortable when he sees the surprisingly sober face of a man who had just finished drinking ten tequila shots. 

“You think?” Yoongi snorts, rolling his eyes. He inches forward towards the sink, gently nudging Jungkook out of the way to wash his hands. Jungkook has still yet made a move towards the faucet himself, but Yoongi isn’t about to offer to clean him up either. He’s already a Samaritan for bringing him to the restroom; he’s used up all his empathy points for today.

“Y/N and Tae always say that I have severely low impulse control.”

True to form, Yoongi’s traitorous ears perk up at the mention of your name, and he finally makes full eye contact with Jungkook through the mirror. “It took two people and ten tequila shots to figure it out? Geez. No wonder you almost didn’t graduate kindergarten.”

“Hey, I told you that in confidence,” Jungkook pouts.

“Not my problem,” Yoongi retorts, indifferent. Yoongi stares at him for a moment. “Jesus. You look like a fucking mess. You sure you’re getting married next week?”

“I’m pretty sure, unless Taehyung changes his mind,” Jungkook shrugs. Well, that was certainly not quite the answer Yoongi was expecting. Yoongi must not have been quick enough to hide his surprise because Jungkook laughs coldly, the sound mirthless and paper-thin––not at all like the ridiculously mirthful manchild he’s always known him to be.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet?” Yoongi had meant to say it like a joke, but his harsh tone doesn’t escape his own ears. God, he wishes he was better at this, but sue him for lacking practice at consoling other human beings.

Luckily, Jungkook takes it in stride, shrugging his shoulders. “Not really. More like… I’m in disbelief? That he’d actually… after all this time…”

Yoongi doesn’t reply at first. For as long as Yoongi has known him, the elder has never quite connected with Jungkook, for whatever reason. Hearing him speak so candidly about his feelings like this is new territory for Yoongi, and it’s strangely making him nervous. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention as he is faced with a side of Jungkook that Yoongi didn’t think he was capable of having. Sure, you’ve told him vaguely about the problems that Jungkook has asked advice about, but never has Yoongi ever thought that he’d be doing the same. The two of them just weren’t… like that.

“I’m sure Taehyung likes––no, loves you. A lot. Anyone with eyes can see that he absolutely adores you,” Yoongi says after a while, coughing awkwardly into his fist. God, he sucks at this. Where are you when he needs you? You always knew what to say in moments like this.

Jungkook laughs again, and it’s just as discordant as the first. He shakes his head, empty smile on his lips. “It’s not that. I don’t doubt him in the slightest. It’s more like… I’m doubting myself.”

Now that catches Yoongi’s attention. Self-doubt, loneliness, fear: if Yoongi had to be an expert on anything, it would be for those three. He… he gets it. “Jungkook, if this is about feeling like you don’t deserve him, then you’re dead wrong. You’re allowed to be loved, Jungkook. Believe me, I know more than anyone what denial feels like. The two of you aren’t going to crash and burn, okay? You’ll be fine.”

Jungkook smiles wryly at that. “Thanks. But it’s not… it’s not that.” Jungkook pauses, and it looks like the words get caught in his throat. He opens his mouth, closes it. Grimaces like he’s swallowed something bitter. He takes a deep breath, looking as uncomfortable as Yoongi feels. “Yoongi-hyung, I have a confession to make.”

Now Yoongi’s confused. “What?”

“I haven’t been… candid. With you. About…” Jungkook takes another shaky breath. “About me and Y/N.”

Yoongi’s blood runs cold. He feels the sweat start to form across his palms, and he clenches them into fists to stop them from shaking. He can almost sense the disaster before it even hits, feels the floor swimming underneath his feet, waiting to devour him whole.

“What?” Yoongi repeats.

“I’ve been thinking about it, recently. It’s been years since I last even remembered it, but then it started plaguing my dreams, and it’s… It’s ruining me. I need––I need to come clean or else I might die with regret,” Jungkook says. Yoongi still doesn’t understand what he means; Jungkook is just saying words without saying anything at all, and it’s making the wait even more terrible.

“Kook, just spit it out already.”

“Hyung, I beg of you. Please don’t think badly of me but…” Jungkook slumps to the floor just then, both the sink and his legs unable to keep him up any longer. Against his will, Yoongi tumbles with him, compelled to follow him down.

“What? What? What?”

“I kissed her,” Jungkook murmurs, voice low. Whispered like a secret. Because it is a secret, even though it isn’t any longer. Not when the words have crawled out his mouth and into Yoongi’s ears, making its way to his brain where it refuses to be understood, to be processed.

“What?” Yoongi can’t seem to remember how to breathe, much less how to speak. He can’t say anything else except, “What?”

“N-not recently. A long time ago,” Jungkook hurries, fear crossing his face when he realizes how he must have sounded. “I would never cheat on––Y/N would never cheat on you––“

His words do nothing to quell the thunderous beating in Yoongi’s chest. He can only stare as the younger jumbles over his words, fat tears starting to dribble out of his eyes like waterfalls. Why is he crying? This is so wrong.

“We––when you broke her heart, all those years ago. Before she ran away to Daegu––“

Yoongi remembers. Of course he does. He doesn’t think he can ever forget.

“––she was so so sad, and it fucking hurt. It hurt seeing her like that, you know? I… I hated you for it. So much, hyung,” Jungkook sobs, hiding behind his hands. He wipes at his face, smearing his sweat, tears, and vomit with shaky movements. “And then she kissed me but it was a mistake because she was heartbroken and she just wanted to feel––to feel something? I don’t know… And then I pushed her away––“

“You pushed her away?” Yoongi interrupts, uncharacteristically calm. He thinks like he should be screaming, maybe. Or feel jealous, even. But then again, this had happened years ago, when you and he hadn’t even been… anything, at the time. Hell, he has no right to be hurt by this. He shouldn’t even be allowed to resent Jungkook for it. Shouldn’t have to feel like he won’t be able to forgive Jungkook. So then why is he..?

Jungkook nods. “I-I did, but that’s not… the whole thing. For a while, I thought that maybe…” He curls into himself, bowing his head in shame. Yoongi doesn’t need to hear the rest to know what he was about to say.

“You used to love her, didn’t you?”  

Jungkook nods again, ashamed. Disgusted with himself. “Pathetic, right?” 

But the thing is, Yoongi already knew this. You’ve told him about Jungkook’s misplaced affections for you; it had happened during a stressful time for the both of you, and you had assured Jungkook that his feelings were just a figment of his imagination. You believed that Jungkook had just been lonely, desperate for someone to cling onto especially after all that drama between Taehyung and Hoseok at the time.

“She kept telling me that I wasn’t in love with her. And for a while, I believed her. But then, when she was about to leave for America, we… we kissed again. Just to… I wanted to make sure,” Jungkook slams his fist onto the dirty restroom floor, clawing at the tiles like an animal in pain. It’s getting harder for Yoongi to understand Jungkook through his sobs, but he is afraid of even moving lest Jungkook stops speaking. It’s like watching a car crash––no matter how much Yoongi is afraid, he can’t look away.

“When we kissed the second time... She laughed. I laughed. ‘No spark,’ was what she said. I agreed because I had no other choice but to,” Jungkook admits. He exhales like his chest has been ripped open, like he’s drowning. Yoongi feels the same way.

“It would be unfair if I said anything. To her, to you, to Taehyung… but most of all, to myself. Because it would never work. It’s not… I’m not...” Jungkook coughs, trailing off. He hacks his lungs out, forehead banging against his knees from the force. He heaves for air once, twice. Then, silence.

“Jungkook?” Yoongi whispers, momentarily stunned. When the younger doesn’t reply, he nudges his shoulder. No movement. Yoongi tilts his head upwards, only to find Jungkook’s eyelids already closed and breathing steadily through his nose. The bastard had finally passed out.

“Jesus,” Yoongi sighs, letting go of the younger and letting him crumple to the floor. Yoongi contemplates passing out as well. “Jesus,” Yoongi repeats.

He sits there in silence for a while, accompanied only by his thoughts and the muffled sounds of the party outside. He doesn’t know how long he sits there for, only thinks to leave the restroom when a young couple (Jungkook’s college friends) burst in while making out, both incognizant of the odd pair slumped on the floor.

Yoongi leaves Jungkook there, but not before sending a short text to Jimin to go check on Jungkook, and sending another one to Taehyung for good measure. Yoongi rushes out of the club without looking back, feeling slightly more empty than he had before the night started.

You don’t comment when Yoongi comes back home earlier than expected. You don’t even scold him for breaking his side in the agreement. Wrapped up in blankets in front of the TV, you wordlessly open up your cocoon to let him slither in beside you, allowing him to wrap his cold feet against your legs. You don’t even complain when he falls asleep without another word, just gently caressing his hair as he descends into fitful dreams. He doesn’t bring up the party the next day, and neither do you.

The following week, the two of you attend Taehyung and Jungkook’s wedding.

[calenheniel]

Queen of the Ashes, a frozen fanfic | Part VIII

Frozen | Alternate Universe | Hans x Elsa | Romance, Drama | T+

They meet as children, each with a secret. Plagued by tragedy, their paths cross again many years later, and their secrets are unraveled.

Follow updates: #QueenoftheAshesFrozen

Read below, or find links to AO3/FF.Net/Wattpad on my Tumblr.

Author’s Note: I didn't intend for this chapter to end up as long as it is, hence the delay in publishing as it required more editing. Further updates are also likely on a biweekly basis as I balance a tight work schedule with this (my true passion). Thanks all for your support and readership.

»»————-　❈　————-««

VIII.

The queen did not sleep well the evening after her conversations with the prince and her sister.

Once her public – and private – meetings with the prince had become common knowledge, even solitude was unbearable for her, and she instructed her steward to pack her schedule to the brim. At first, she managed to keep clear of both the prince and princess for a day or two, and push the inconvenient thoughts and feelings to the back of her mind.

But where purposeful avoidance had been her modus operandi for so many years, she now found it ill-suited to drown out the chorus of whispers, murmurs, and rumors which increasingly pursued her through every nook and cranny of the castle. By the end of the week, she had missed two or three meetings, and instead spent them pacing in her room until snow whipped around her in a blinding flurry.

Her attendance at social events likewise dropped off, as she found that she could not help but stare with undisguised longing at the prince and princess from the other end of dinner tables and large rooms. She was too fearful to approach them publicly, but also too ashamed of her own avoidance to speak with them.

Whenever the urge struck her to try, she was stopped in her tracks by her father’s mantra.

Don’t let it show.

It was not until she received a discreet note under her door one evening that the queen paused to reconsider her current course of action – or inaction, as it were – as the sudden appearance of the small, folded paper stirred her from her endless brooding.

She plucked it from the floor, opening it with bated breath.

I hope you’re okay. I miss you.

She recognized her sister’s flowery script immediately, and pressed the page flat atop her dresser, rereading those two short sentences until the words in them became distorted.

Her face red, she sat down with a thud upon her chair, and belatedly noticed that the snow she had involuntarily conjured was suspended in the air.

She blinked in wonder at the sight, having only seen it happen a few times before; and after glancing at the note again, the snow and ice which had previously stuck to every surface of her room began to disappear.

Her mouth went agape for a moment, and then for an entire minute.

What’s missing for you?

It closed again, and she exhaled.

I miss you.

»» —— ««

Galvanized with a strange sense of purpose, the queen was too excited to sleep, and greeted the morning sun with restless eyes just as it rose over the horizon.

She slipped on her signature blue gloves – defrosted and cleaned – and pressed her crown atop her plaited hair as the final touch before stepping out, walking at a measured pace to the other end of the hallway. Once there, she dismissed the guards nearby and knocked lightly on the door, swallowing the lump of uncertainty that was stuck in her throat.

No answer to her knock came for a few seconds, which then turned into minutes.

Holding her head high, she knocked again, rapping her fingers harder against the wooden door. When she was met with more silence, she sighed, her head lowering in resignation.

In the same moment, the door creaked open, and the groggy, disheveled features of the princess appeared from behind it, the younger woman’s eyes squinting through the sleep that blurred them.

“Who is i—Elsa?” she said, yawning halfway through her question. She blinked slowly. “What are you doing here?”

The queen reddened, looking down. “I’m sorry, I know it’s early. I should’ve come later, but I…” She paused, her lips twisting. “I got your note, and I wanted to speak with you, and—”

“It’s fine,” the princess cut her off. “Just come inside. It’s awkward talking out here.” She gestured for her older sister to enter the bedroom with a tired wave, and the queen complied after a moment of hesitation.

She regarded the room with wide eyes, having not seen its interior in many, many years. It was only a little smaller than her own and had much of the same furniture, with one noticeable difference.

“It’s all very pink, I know,” the princess drawled, rubbing her eyes as she leaned against a bedpost, crossing her arms. “I bet you’re surprised it’s not messier than it is.”

The queen’s nose wrinkled as she tried not to smile. “I suppose Gerda makes sure that the maids keep it tidy.”

The princess smirked. “That’s right. You know it would be a nightmare if I had to clean it myself—just look at the state of my hair!” She poked at the mess of red curls atop her head with a sigh, her white streak still visible at the front.

The sight of it caused the queen’s smile to fade, and at the sudden change in mood, her younger sister’s brow rose. “Anyway, what was it,” she began before yawning again, half-covering her mouth, “that you wanted to talk to me about?” She glanced at her bed, and at the dresser opposite. “Do you want to sit down?”

The queen drew her arms closer to her. “Oh, that’s all right. I don’t mind standing.”

The princess shrugged. “Suit yourself. As for me, I’m just gonna lay back down here for a minute.” She flopped back onto her bed, propping herself up on her elbows, and threw her older sister a questioning look.

“You’re really not going to sit?”

Her older sister’s arms dropped to her sides and she relented, coming over to sit delicately on the chair by the bed. The princess nodded and ran her hands through her hair, trying to smooth it down.

“Good. Now, where were we?”

The queen’s brows stitched together in thought, her fingers interlacing to match. She glanced up at the princess, and then down again.

“I… came here to apologize. For how I left things the other night,” she explained, “and for not talking to you since. I’m sorry.”

The princess blinked. “Oh,” she said softly, her hands dropping to her sides. “I wasn’t expecting you to say that.” At her sister’s remorseful expression, she clarified: “I mean, I’m happy that you’re saying it, of course, it’s just—it’s not like I was upset at you over what happened.”

The queen matched her younger sister’s wide-eyed look. “You weren’t?”

“I mean, I was a little annoyed, sure,” the princess admitted, “but it’s not like this is the first time you’ve ever ignored me, either. Sorry to say, but… I’m kinda used to it.” Swallowing at the small, guilty frown her sister wore, she continued: “It’s like I said that night: I didn’t hear what Hans said to you, but it looked like whatever he said – or did – really upset you, so I figured that you just needed some space afterwards, and tried not to take it personally. I told him the same thing.”

“You… told Hans that?”

“Yep,” the princess said, rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes. “He really wanted to talk to you the last couple of days, but I told him to wait until you came around.” Her forehead crinkled. “Of course, I thought you would’ve done that by now, but you haven’t, so…”

The queen frowned at the comment, and the princess looked sheepish. “Not that you had to do anything, obviously—I’m not saying that. The point is that I could tell he was coming on a little too strong that night, and probably scared you off. Right?”

The queen’s frown deepened. “He didn’t scare me,” she retorted, crossing her arms. “He just doesn’t know when to stop talking. Or what boundaries are. And…” She paused, her eyes downcast. “It’s been hard, with all the rumors.”

The princess patted her sister’s hand. “I know, and I’ve gotten my share of that, too,” she empathized. “I think he gets it, you know? How people see him, and how people see him with you. He knows that it isn’t easy for you.”

“Did he tell you that?” the queen asked, her brow rising.

“Yes, actually,” her sister replied. “But I’m not blind, Elsa. In fact, I’m pretty sure I would recognize sooner than him when you’re feeling upset. That’s why I slipped you that note.”

The queen smiled a little. “It did make me feel better.”

The princess smiled back. “I figured it would, or at least I hoped that it would. I just didn’t want you to feel like you were alone.”

Her older sister’s lip trembled at the statement, and said nothing.

They sat in silence for a beat until the princess broke it, her playful smirk returning. “You know, it’s kind of funny: when Hans is with me, he’s pretty laid-back and easygoing, but when it comes to you, he gets so… intense. I can see why you might need breaks from him.”

The queen’s nose twitched. “That’s one way to put it.” She paused. “Did he tell you anything about that day?”

The princess shook her head. “No, not really. He’s very private about his conversations with you.” She eyed the queen with interest, and noted: “You’re the same, in that way.”

“Well, there’s nothing to say,” her sister snapped, and then collected herself, pinching her eyes shut. “Sorry, that came out the wrong way. I just meant—whatever happened, it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have spoken to you, or ignored you, in the way that I did,” she continued, her tone contrite. “Or in the way that I have before.”

She stared at the princess. “He’s not the reason I’m here, Anna.”

“Isn’t he, though?”

The queen blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s be honest, Elsa. Would you even be sitting here in front of me right now, apologizing like this, if Hans hadn’t shown up at your coronation two weeks ago?”

Her gaze narrowed. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“Just imagine what would’ve happened if he’d never written to us that he was coming,” the princess said, “if he never came to Arendelle, and never stayed in the castle with us. Would we have been able to be together like this?” A slow, patient smile broke out on her lips. “I thought for sure you would’ve snapped by now, with everything going on and all these new people around – it’s so different from what we’re used to – but you’ve actually been handling it all really well.”

The younger woman’s expression grew thoughtful. “I still don’t know or understand what happened, exactly, but it was like something woke up inside of you when he arrived. You just… turned into this totally different person overnight. Someone I haven’t seen since we were kids.”

The queen sat stock-still in the chair, her face pinking.

The princess waited for her to gather her wits, which she did—but only after the room had grown so silent as for the ticking of the clock to become audible in the background.

“It can’t be because of him,” said the queen, her surroundings coming back into focus. “He hasn’t—”

“Been here long enough to affect you like that?” the princess finished. “Yeah… I think you might’ve said something like that a few times already.”

The color in the queen’s cheeks darkened at the comment. “Because it’s the truth. You and I were talking and seeing each other more before all this, while preparing for the coronation over the last few weeks. Him being here has nothing to do with it.”

“Elsa,” the princess began with a sigh, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but all that ‘talking’ and ‘seeing’ we did before he showed up was mostly passing each other in the hallways, or me trying to have a conversation with you and you trying to get out of it.” She added in a more serious tone: “I know it’s hard to admit that he could be the reason it’s happening, but… I don’t think there’s any harm in doing so. It might even make you feel better.”

The queen scoffed. “I doubt that.”

The princess frowned. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I could be right—that him being here is a good thing for us?”

The queen paused, looking away ruefully. “There are things that I wish I could tell you, Anna—things that are hard even for me to understand, or explain. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to do it. But right now…” She trailed off, looking at her gloved hands, and exhaled. “I have to figure it out on my own.”

“But that’s just the thing, Elsa: you don’t,” her sister pleaded, moving closer to her until she was on the edge of the bed. “You have me – and Hans – now. You don’t have to keep your distance anymore.”

The queen smiled sadly. “I know that—really, I do, Anna,” she replied, sounding tired. “But these things don’t happen overnight. You have to let me do them in my own time.”

The princess leaned back at the answer, her mouth twisting. “Thirteen years isn’t enough, huh? Fine. Take your time, then—as long as you need,” she snapped, “but don’t expect us to wait around for that to happen.”

Her older sister threw her a long, mournful look at the comment, but the princess ignored it, crossing her arms and glancing at the door.

“You can go, now. You probably have some work to attend to anyway, right?”

The queen’s hands, tense in her lap, crackled with anxious, cold energy—but she quickly clasped them together, her father’s words whipping across her thoughts like a harsh wind.

Don’t feel.

“I’ll see you later, Anna,” she said, her voice even and formal, and stood from her seat.

She paused once upright, staring at her sister one last time; when the princess refused to return the look, she finally turned and walked to the door, her fingers shaking as they made contact with the doorknob.

A small spark of ice alighted from them on the metal, and the sight caused her to swiftly open and close the door behind her in a panic, breathing unsteadily as she pressed her hands back at her sides.

Thirteen years isn’t enough, huh?

Tears welled in her eyes for a moment – but no longer than that – as the queen faced the endless corridor again, walking back towards the solitude of her bedchambers with heavy footsteps.

»» —— ««

The queen took her breakfast alone in her room later that same morning, declining to answer the curious look her servant had thrown her at the request.

Chastened by the discussion with her sister, she stared blankly at the food when it arrived. By the time she managed to eat a bit of her scrambled eggs, they were already cold; after several more disappointing bites followed in the same fashion, she pushed the plate away, feeling ill, her fingers tapping along her desk.

Trails of ice followed them until the edge of the wood was fairly frosted over, interrupted only by the knock and subsequent entry of the steward.

Her hand snapped back to her lap as she greeted him with indifference. “What is it?”

“You asked me to remind you a few days ago when our guests would start departing,” he said, not meeting her cold stare. “This is the reminder, Your Majesty.”

Guilt stung at her when she noticed his lowered eyes. “Ah, yes,” she said in a gentler way, rising from her desk. “I’m ready. They’re in the throne room, I take it?”

He nodded, finally looking at her. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He handed her a note. “Here is the list of the ones leaving today, for your reference.”

She came to stand at his side, forcing a smile onto her lips, and took the note from him. After scanning it quickly, she handed it back to him, and nodded towards the door.

“Let’s go, then.”

The steward bowed and followed her lead as she walked out, keeping a respectful distance between them, and in a few minutes they arrived in the throne room. A hush fell over the chattering queue as the queen took up her position at the front of it, standing a step above ground level by her throne.

Her smile was still in place even as she noted the looks of apprehension that some of the visitors leveled at her, and she motioned for the first diplomat to approach.

“Queen Elsa,” the Spanish ambassador began, bowing, “it’s been a true honor to stay with you over the last two weeks. We look forward to continuing discussions over the terms of the trade agreements with you and your council in the coming months, and in the meanwhile, I hope you will pay us a visit soon.”

His smile was as smooth as his speech, and she returned it with a strained version of her own. “Thank you, Ambassador. I hope so as well. I bid you farewell and a safe return journey home. Please pass on my regards to Their Majesties.”

He bowed again, moving to kiss her hand out of habit—but, seeing her gloved hands firmly clasped together in front of her, he merely nodded and was escorted out with his retinue.

She hid a frown as the next man came forward, bowing and beginning in a similar way.

“Your Majesty, thank you kindly for your hospitality and generosity in hosting my countrymen and I. We are only sorry that we could not stay longer to see the fireworks this evening, for I am sure they will be spectacular…”

As he droned on, the queen’s attention drifted back to the conversation with her sister.

Why is it so hard for you to believe that I could be right?

Her well-practiced smile dipped, hearing the princess’s voice echo in the room as clearly as it had that morning. The sound drowned out all others.

…that him being here is a good thing for us?

Her lips curled reflexively, causing the man in front of her to blink in surprise.

“Your Majesty? Have I said something—”

Take your time, then, as long as you need—but don’t expect us to wait around for that to happen.

“No, not at all,” she interrupted, her hands sweating inside of her gloves. Her cheeks were hot as she realized the line had grown shorter in her distraction, and she did not recognize the diplomat and his family who stared back at her. “I just—I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“But Your Majesty—”

The protest was no sooner heard than it was forgotten by the queen, who stepped down and walked away from the scene as if held in thrall by a spell of somnambulation. She did not manage even a parting nod or curtsy on her way out, nor did she pay heed to the offended grumblings and whispers of the snubbed nobles and their entourages still waiting to be received.

The alarmed expression of her steward was similarly ignored as she drifted towards the exit, her fingers twitching as her body perspired.

Conceal. Don’t feel.

The words grated on her as she passed through the long hallways and up endless stairways, and she pressed her hands to her ears, wincing.

Don’t let it show.

“Stop it,” she hissed, panting. Seeing the confused look a guardsman shot her, she realized she was already in front of her bedroom door, and reddened.

“You can go, Haakon.”

The older man’s brow furrowed. “But—”

“Please,” she said sharply, her teeth baring with the request. “I won’t ask again.”

He bowed and left his queen, who watched until he turned the corner to burst back into her room in a flurry of uninhibited wind and snow, the doors rattling shut behind her.

She breathed in great gasps and swallows of cold air, trying to calm herself down; at length, the wind quieted to a soft hum, though the snow remained intact.

The queen grimaced at the sight, and attempted to turn her thoughts back to the rest of her schedule for the day, the endless council meetings that awaited her, the books left on her reading list, or anything at all that wasn’t related to her furniture and shelves and window and carpet, all kissed by winter.

But nothing dispelled the chill in her heart, and as she sat upon her snow-dusted bed, she watched with resignation as ice crawled out from under her tired feet and hands and coated the peaks of snow piles.

»» —— ««

She kept to her quarters through lunch, refusing even a tray of food to be brought to her, croaking through the door that the steward should inform her expectant visitors that she was unwell and should not be disturbed.

One effort after the other to occupy herself failed miserably, and she was left either to pace in wide, furious circles, or to wallow on her mattress, her clothes, hair, and hands long since soaked through with sweat.

Every so often, she would pause by the window to watch the guests as they walked through the gates to the docks, boarding their ships, and sailing away. As they faded into the distance over the horizon line, she would return to her pacing, and another crackle of ice would crawl along the floor.

When the call for the final dinner of her coronation celebrations came, she dismissed it, ignoring the pleas from the steward and her maidservant. The queen gathered from their pleas that the guests had, by then, heard of her erratic display in the morning, and were displeased by her long absence since.

In contrast to her usual embarrassment upon hearing such news, however, she was utterly apathetic to it, and stared with a mix of fascination and dread as her ice coated the door, threatening to freeze over the handle and trap her inside.

She had not experienced her powers in such an uncontrollable state since she was a teenager, after learning of the death of her parents. Even then, she had had a measure of restraint in curbing the spread of the ice from going under her door, so that her sister would not catch a glimpse of it on the other side.

At present, she had no idea if the ice remained contained within her room, or if it had crept out into the hallway beyond. Although a part of her wanted to pretend that she did not care if it had, and accept the consequences of her secret being discovered, the sound of the door handle rattling as the ice drew closer caused a twinge of instinctive panic to run through her.

Don’t let it show.

She rose from her bed with a start, a wild look in her eyes as she cleared a footpath through the snow to the door with a burst of icy wind, and then cracked it open, peering into the hallway to make sure she was alone.

Conceal.

Still drenched from sweat, the queen dragged the hem of her dress along the ground as she broke out into a half-jog, her thoughts jumbling to the point that she did not know where one ended and another began.

Don’t feel.

She winced whenever she reached a corner, looking over her shoulder to check for any unfriendly eyes that might witness her frenzied state. However, when she remembered that all of the guests were out on the lawn waiting for the fireworks to begin, she slowed to a brisk walk, becoming less careful in her wanderings and even grabbing a candelabra off the wall to help light her way.

After some time had passed – how much, she could not tell – she came to a stop in front of a tall, dark door, her breathing short and quick.

Conceal.

It was her father’s voice that had said it, it seemed, and she blinked, staring uncomprehendingly at the door.

“The study,” she drawled, her left hand absently slipping into the pocket of her dress. It pulled out her keyring a moment later, still moist to the touch, and she held it up at eye level, fingering through the keys until she reached the one desired. She slid it into the keyhole of the door without so much as a jingle echoing in the hall, and entered the dark room just as discreetly.

Inside, the queen peered into the darkness, eyeing the familiar trappings of her father’s private chambers without her customary hesitation. She rifled through the papers on her father’s desk, creating creases and tears and piles on the floor as she went; took off and examined old, dusty swords from the walls, then sent them clattering to the ground; and pulled out every drawer from every table in sight, allowing them to topple over when she deemed them useless.

Finally, she turned her attention to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and to these she paid greater reverence, merely brushing her hand along the spines. She squinted at their titles, blowing off dust from the oldest tomes in order to make their text legible.

At times, she would remove one from the shelf, and gently peruse its contents—only to put it back in place after a few minutes, increasingly dissatisfied and anxious.

Don’t feel.

“I know, Papa!” the queen snapped at the empty air; several snowflakes followed the echoes of her voice. She sighed, tucking strands of her matted blonde hair behind her ears. “Let me alone. Please.”

The air became still again, and she resumed her search.

As the minutes dragged on and she grew no closer to discovering what she sought, she leaned her head against the shelf in defeat, her body slumping down until she was sitting on the floor, staring up at her grandfather’s portrait through the flames of the candelabra on the desk.

“There’s no use for it,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “I will never be free of it. Papa, Mama, I’m sor—”

Her back suddenly prickled at the sensation of a book pressing against it, and then sliding backwards into the shelf. Her eyes reopened, glancing behind her; shuffling to the side, she rubbed the small of her back with one hand, and pulled out the offending book with the other.

It was thicker in size than the ones around it, and its color a deep red that stood out even in the darkness of her shadow. She propped the book up on her knees, staring with surprise as she realized that, even with her many years of language studies, she could not fully translate the cover text comprised of ancient runes.

Opening the book, she found that everything was written in the same archaic script, and she frowned as she skimmed the pages, only able to make out basic words and phrases. There were a few illustrations included, mostly of natural landscapes. She came to recognize some as ancient maps of her kingdom, wondering at the images of old forests and lizard-shaped fire spirits that no longer inhabited her world.

At length, she came across a picture that provoked her to gasp, her heartbeat slowing to one, long thump.

It was an illustration of an old king lying prone upon a stone slab, his red cape draped over the side and his eyes closed. A small, dark, menacing creature stood behind him with yellow eyes, its strange hands lifted over the king’s body as if in incantation. Smoke billowed out from the king’s forehead and joined a foreboding cloud or aurora borealis above them of green and blue and purple, framed on either side by tall, black, leafless trees.

“Anna,” the queen whispered, still breathless. Her eyes darted all over the page and its accompanying text, and she rose from her seat, laying the book flat atop the mess of papers she had created on her father’s desk.

As she scrabbled and splayed her hands across the pages, another paper slid out from behind the picture—and as she retrieved and unfolded it, the sight within caused a small smile to break out on her lips, her throat choking on a triumphant laugh.

She barely kept her trembling hands from tearing the page in two.

“I—” she said, her breathing quickening, “I have to tell him.”

Without hesitation, the queen refolded it and tucked it into the book to mark the location of the illustration, pressing the tome under her arm as she grabbed the candelabra with her other hand, and fled the room.

»» —— ««

The queen stood in front of the prince’s door, out of breath, her hand raised to knock on it—and then withdrew it to her side, struck by the thought that she had no idea if he was even inside.

Embarrassed, she took a step back, and then another; when her foot moved backwards for a third time, she bumped into the door behind her with an audible thunk from the heavy book under her arm, and she jumped at the sound.

His door opened in the next moment, and his eyes widened upon seeing her.

“Elsa?”

She swallowed, turning halfway towards the hallway. “I’m sorry, I was just going—”

“No—please, don’t,” he said, and opened his door wider. “Do you want to come in?”

She stared with trepidation at the dimly-lit interior, her eyes darting between it and the empty hallway to her right. Eventually, her posture sank a little, bowing her head as she entered.

Inside, his quarters looked like any of the other guest rooms of the castle: a mixture of light and dark blue bedsheets and rugs, and plain white furnishings and walls otherwise. She looked around with a touch of the same interest she had at her sister’s room that morning, noting that the décor had hardly changed since the prince’s first visit to her country, when he was still a child.

The notion caused her face to pale.

“Are you all right, Elsa?”

Startled by his voice, she whipped around to face him, nearly dropping the book. “I—I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” he remarked, drawing closer and inspecting her disheveled, sweat-licked features. “What happened?” He glanced at the book. “And what is that?”

Her mouth grew dry. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled. “I really shouldn’t be here.”

“It can’t be ‘nothing’ if you’ve come to see me, alone, in this state,” he countered, his brow rising.

Another drop of perspiration beaded on her forehead. “Shouldn’t you be out with the others?” she asked, glancing behind him at the window. The first firecracker had just been released, whistling through the sky and popping, causing her to wince. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve never liked fireworks—they’re too loud,” he replied, and crossed his arms. “You’re trying to change the subject. Why?”

She grimaced as the weight of the book seemed to drag her entire body down. “I’m—” she paused, and sighed shakily as she held it towards him. “I didn’t know who else to talk to about this.”

He took it from her gently, examining the spine and cover. “Younger Futhark,” he said, his fingers tracing the embossed runes.

She blinked. “You can read it?”

He shrugged. “Not well. I assume it was the same for you?”

“Yes. I only managed a few words here and there, but…”

She trailed off as she watched the prince find her bookmarked page, his eyes wide – and then intent – as they stared at the same illustration that had taken her breath away only a few minutes earlier.

“Is this…?”

“Yes,” she replied, and pointed to the loose paper tucked in the centerfold. “I found that behind the picture.” As he opened it, she explained: “I think it’s the map my father used to find the Valley of the Living Rock, where the trolls live. The ones that changed Anna’s memories.”

He studied the picture, map, and runes for a time, and then turned to her. “Where did you find this, Elsa?”

“My father’s study. It was tucked away on a bottom shelf, out of plain sight. I only found it by accident.”

“And what were you doing in there?” he asked. “It didn’t seem like a place you spend much time in, the last time we spoke in that room.”

Some color returned to her cheeks as she frowned. “It’s not, but—” Ice pricked at her fingertips, damp and bare, and she closed her hands into fists. “Between our last conversation, and everyone talking about us afterwards, and then this morning, when I upset Anna by accident… I haven’t been able to control it, Hans,” she confessed, her voice dropping to a whisper as snowflakes began to fall around her. “It’s just getting worse and worse, and I keep pushing everyone away.”

The queen’s gaze alighted on the tome with renewed determination. “I thought that maybe I could find something in the study that could help me. And I did, in this book.” She plucked the map from him, holding it up. “With this, I can go back to the Valley, and tell the trolls what’s happened. If they changed Anna’s memories, then surely their magic must be powerful, and they could even help rid me of mine.”

The prince’s expression became unreadable. “Then… what’s stopping you, Elsa? Why come here, instead of going straight into the mountains?”

Conceal.

Her mouth went limp. “I—I just…”

“I’m sorry that I’ve made things difficult for you—truly, I am,” he continued. “I never intended to cause you this kind of distress or pain. And I can assure you that no matter how upset Anna seemed with you this morning, she would forgive your trespasses, because she loves you.”

He paused. “But none of this justifies what you’re planning on doing.”

The queen’s jaw tightened. “How can you say that? If you really understood how ‘difficult’ things are for me here, you would be offering to take me to the Valley yourself.”

He frowned. “If they couldn’t take your powers away the first time, what makes you think they can now? Or that they would?”

“It’s worth trying, anyway,” she said, flustered. She gestured at the snow, which fell interminably. “Anything is better than this.”

“I’m just asking you to think about it, Elsa,” he implored. “Did they help Anna by altering her memories? Did they make your life easier, or better, by leaving yours intact?” His frown relaxed as his tone grew gentler. “Don’t you ever think they might have left you with your powers, and your memories, for a reason?”

She was struck silent by the questions, and looked down, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Don’t feel.

He stepped closer until he was just hovering over her. “Even if it somehow all worked,” he said softly, tipping her chin up to meet his gaze, “don’t you understand what it would mean?”

He tilted his head towards the window, where one firecracker after the other exploded into shades of red and green and pink against the night sky, the applause and “ooh’s” and “aah’s” from the crowd audible from inside the room.

“You’d be just like everyone else.”

She slapped his hand away from her face, pushing him back as her eyes sparked with rage. “And that’s all I’ve ever wanted,” she snapped, her ice streaking out from under her in jagged lines along the floors. “To be like them—to be normal.”

He watched the ice warily, shaking his head. “You just think that’s what you want, because you’ve never been allowed to see your powers as anything but a curse.”

Don’t let it show.

“You don’t know anything!” she cried, snow whipping around her in a furious squall. “You could never understand what this has been like for me—what I’ve done, or what I am capable of, still. You say you’re not afraid, but I can see it plainly right now, in the way you’re looking at me—”

“I’m not, Elsa,” he insisted, and drew closer to the queen, even as her ice began to surround her in thick, tall walls. “If you would just stop this, and listen—”

She thrust her hands out in front of her to keep him away, and her ice followed the movement, shooting out towards the prince in spikes as sharp as knives.

She screamed at the sight, clutching her hands back to her chest and closing her eyes, her chest heavy with terror; but in the same instant, the ice that surrounded her was obliterated, and she was blown back onto the floor by an powerful, pulsating hot wind.

The queen saw black for a moment, her head lolling on the carpet.

“Elsa.”

It was a voice she knew, but it was distant, calling to her as if from across an ocean of fire.

“Elsa.”

It was closer, then—close enough that she knew it was the prince’s voice, and not her father’s, as she groaned, sweat dripping from every pore of her body. She opened one eye, and then another, with herculean effort, propping herself up on her elbows.

She squinted through a haze of dark shapes, feeling the same hot wind as before sweep across her skin, and the scent of burning wood enter her nostrils.

“Smoke,” she murmured to herself as the room came into focus, her eyes widening.

The ice and snow she had conjured were all melting, as if the sun had just returned after a long winter, and she scrambled up until her palms were on the floor, keeping her steady.

“But how—”

“Elsa.”

Her head shot up and found the prince standing in the center of the room, wreathed in flames.

She watched with her mouth agape as his hand reached forward and retracted the fire and smoke through his outstretched hand, standing calm and still all the while. When they were gone, no part of him seemed harmed, for not even a single hair on his head or thread of his clothing was singed—nor was there a single sear or mark upon the walls or furniture in the room.

He approached her with that same, quiet force, crouching down to her level once he was only a few feet from her.

She recoiled from his nearness, pressing herself up against the wall by the door, her knees instinctively curling in towards her stomach. Sweat still beaded on her skin and trickled down her neck in long lines, disappearing below the collar of her dress, and her mind raced.

“I—I knew it,” she stammered, her lip trembling. “It was you, wasn’t it? The boy from the story.”

“Yes, it was.”

She shook her head, her features growing wan from shock and horror. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The prince paused. “I thought I was waiting until I had gained your trust, but I can see, now, that it was the other way around.” He grimaced. “To be honest, I didn’t think there was ever going to be a good time to tell you. So I didn’t.”

The queen’s mouth contorted as she swallowed bile. “Because you killed them—your father, your brothers,” she rasped, licking her lips. “Those were no accidents.”

His brow furrowed. “No, they weren’t; not all of them, anyway. But I can explain—”

“Explain what, Hans? Regicide? Fratricide?” She dragged herself up from the floor to stand, scowling darkly at the prince. “There is no defense for murder, whatever your reasons might be.”

His gaze narrowed at the queen as he stood. “You say that without knowing anything about it—and isn’t that exactly what you’ve been accusing me of, all this time? Judgment without understanding?”

Her ire swelled, though she was too exhausted to summon even a single snowflake as she struggled to stay upright. “Don’t try to turn this on me,” she spat, seething. “You’ve committed criminal acts for which you should be—”

“What—tried? Convicted? Hanged?” he finished. “I showed those bastards mercy with a death by fire, compared to what I endured at their hands.”

“Immolation is ‘mercy’ to you, Hans?” she asked, and shuddered. “How can I believe you, after seeing this? You’ve been lying to me since the first moment you stepped foot in Arendelle, fifteen years ago.”

He grew quiet at the accusation, his hands clenching at his sides; then, they reached up and began to untie his cravat and unbutton the top of his shirt.

The queen flushed. “What are you—”

The prince parted his collar to reveal a deep black scar on his skin—a scar, she realized, which continued down his chest as he undid one button after the other.

He paused a few inches above his lower ribs, and his hands dropped back to his sides. “It goes all the way down to my navel,” he said at length. “One of my oldest brothers, Antoni, snuck up on me while I was asleep and pressed a hot poker against my chest. He said I shouldn’t feel any pain, since I was a demon sent from Hell.”

His hand hovered over the scar, but did not touch it. “As it turned out, I did feel pain – tremendous pain, actually – which came as a surprise to me, but not to him. After all, what did I know, at ten years old? Maybe I was a demon.”

A rueful smile played on his lips.

“Though it was hard to imagine Hell being any worse than the Southern Isles.”

[decimadragonoid]

* Let's read a story. * Yaaaay! Story time! ======== (EDIT, 12/4: Grammatical fixes to the contract were made.) ======== You've always known the world was a messed up place, especially considering the crime rate had recently skyrocketed in this city. And it surely doesn't help that the police are being overrun with thieves, thugs, and assaulters. You just walked into a nightmare with no hint of escape, almost comparably the same as when Alice stumbled into Wonderland and had no idea what she gotten into. Your life continues to flash before your eyes as you run into a seemingly abandoned apartment complex. No voices can be heard from the inside. Either that, or the heavy rain was somehow muffling any other source of human sounds and cues. You figure you have a second or two to breathe, but as you try to ponder on the idea of what to do next... 'There they are! They're headin' into that building!' a voice could be heard from the alleyway close by. A trio of thugs you barely managed to trick off your tail quickly find you about to run inside the complex. One of the thugs direct a bullet from his pistol at you, but due to the distance between you and the group, the bullet barely makes it to graze you. You run inside the complex and don't bother to pay attention to the condition of the inside; the green-lime wallpapers had seen better days and tore apart at the seams, the cracked lightbulbs continuously flicker on and off, dangling for dear life, some doors are unhinged, rusted, and battered like there were endless streams of commotions occurring in each unit, and yet the supports and insulation are luckily stable despite their terrible condition. From what you're gathering so far, the abandoned complex you ran into consists of three floors, but with the state of the rooms, you can't seem to find a half-decent hiding spot. 'Stop running, you little shit!' one of the thugs angrily yelled across the hall. You made it to the stairs. However, given the condition of the stairs, you feel as though they could break down any minute now. You don't care anyway and take two steps per one lift of your legs without taking into account that one or two steps collapsed behind your back. Although it managed to slow down the thugs for enough time for you to get away to the third floor, you still feel unsafe. It comes to a point where you just take cover in a nearby unit where the door was left slightly ajar. You don't bother to take a look around the room and take cover behind one of the couches. The couch you hid behind was next to a broken window pane where droplets of rain and tempestuous gusts trickled their way past the gaping hole through the glass. Just as the lightbulbs in the preceding floors did, the bulbs above continue to flicker on and off, even to the point of sparks flying. You try to keep quiet for a few minutes until the thugs decide to give up and leave. But unfortunately, their presence lingers behind your back as they split up to search the perimeter. 'Scope the place.' the leader ordered, 'They couldna gone too far.' 'Bitch, lookin' fer one kid in this fucked up place is like friggin' findin' a needle in a haystack.' 'Shut the fuck up and keep lookin' before I beat yo' ass!' The leader was livid, red in the face like someone who was about to blow steam after regretfully taking a bet to eat an entire habanero chili pepper in one bite. 'Fuckin' little shit, thinkin' you could get away with pullin' our fuckin' leg, skippin' y'ur debts...! Can't let 'cha play me no more.' Suddenly, a shot from nowhere could be heard. The acrid scent of a shot bullet permeates the room, particularly in your direction - east corner where the broken window pane is. The boss is down permanently. 'Boss??' one of the thugs look behind him and see his leader drowning in a pool of his own blood. 'BOSS!!!' 'Hey! Who the fuck did that?!' 'Wassup, gentlemen?' a wisecracking voice sounds from the west corner of the room, 'Ya got an appointment with me?' 'No way... That voice!' 'Breakin' into my crib unannounced ain't very nice, y'know, especially since I don't play that shit with burglars like you.' Before the last two thugs can make out who the shooter was, their lives flash for one last time as they fall to the ground, their foreheads transfixed by two bullets. The acrid scent of gunshots still won't go away, but you're slightly relieved that the trio won't bother you anymore. However, there's still that unknown shooter to deal with. You hope he hasn't noticed you yet, and that he'll leave to scope the place out for any stragglers affiliated with the thugs who chased you in here. However, no footsteps can be heard. Even more so, your slight moment of relief has ended. 'That's about 93 confirmed kills.' the voice calls, and then a small silence fills the room. 'And, uh... you?' the voice calls again. You tense up almost immediately and barely make it to utter a sound of confirmation, 'Y-yeah?' 'Yeah, you. Get over here.' the wisecracking voice beckons. You can barely get your legs to move, but somehow you're able to get past your temporary paralysis and stand up from behind the couch next to the broken window pane. You try to slide your left leg in the direction of the door, but the voice apparently quickly takes notice. 'Up-up-up-up-up-up-up. Not left, Jackie Robinson. Straight. This ain't Brooklyn. Y'get me? S-T-R-A-I-G-H-T. Straight.' You don't know whether the voice is trying to beckon or prank you, but you decide to cooperate with the supposed wisecracking individual for now and walk straight to the table. Surprisingly, despite the dim lighting, electric sparks, and torn wallpapers, you can see a firm desk in the west corner of the room, which is ironically nicely kept. Not only that, but the knick-knacks, collectibles and papers are neatly organized. You notice a pencil holder with several mechanical pencils, two broken Ticonderoga pencils and an indigo-colored Gameboy Color with a Pokémon Crystal cartridge inside. The porcelain coffee mug with the crossed-out text '#1 Daddy' replaced with 'Killa' is still mostly full. You also find a Pikachu Nendoroid figure standing on top of a Master Ball, both of which were kept properly and showed no signs of wear or tear. Sitting behind the table on a black leather rolling chair is an interestingly built man wearing a fedora with two small decorative feathers wrapped behind a bow ribbon colored similarly to the German flag. He wears a harness behind his back holding two dual Japanese katanas with black hilts, both of which are carefully wrapped behind his black trenchcoat, charcoal-colored vest, light gray wool sweater, black turtleneck, and cashmere plaid scarf. The wraps from his trenchcoat dangle across the table. Below the thick brown workbench table, you notice a utility belt with a buckle colored like his red spandex mask with the black and white eye meshes, probably wrapped around his coat and vest to keep the bottoms of his sweaters from peeking out and covering his red spandex tights and knee-high motorcycle boots. 'Got an appointment with me or somethin'?' the man asks. 'N-no...' you reply, 'I was just trying to get away from those three men you shot.' 'They got a beef with ya?' 'Just some debt I could never hope to pay off.' 'What, from these lowlives? They always come traipsin' around this place. You just brought along the last of 'em.' You feel like this man isn't as bad as you previously made him out to be, but you decide you really have to go back home now. 'Well, thanks for helping me. But I should really get going now.' you say to the masked man. You stand back up and head out the door, but before you can reach the hallway, the masked man takes on a more serious tone of expression. 'What? So that's it?' he says in a colder tone, 'I come to your rescue, and you're already leaving? You just walked right into the lion's den, thinkin' you could leave just like that?' The air intensifies as you watch the man lift up a Wild West revolver in his right hand, three shots still ready and waiting to protrude through human flesh. And knowing the current situation, you might be next. 'Y'know, people usually piss their pants when they see a man in sexy red tights and a trenchcoat. Once they get a look at me, the guns, and my swords, they know shit's gonna get real, fast.' he continues, 'Matter of fact, I got about 87 reasons to slice you up and fill ya with holes. Who knows? Maybe my kill count will reach 180.' You try to aim for the door, but your body is frozen solid with fear. Now, a sense of dread and hopelessness encompasses you as you finally give up and think of one final thought, 'If it's gonna happen, just do it.' As you finish your thought, you shut your eyes and wait for the man to pull the trigger. A fourth shot echoes throughout the room. But strangely, you don't feel any impact from the revolver. You slightly open your eyes to find that the man didn't shoot the fourth bullet at all, but rather made a realistic gunshot sound similar to how Tarzan pointed a shotgun at Clayton and made a perfect gunshot sound before throwing it away. But why? Why didn't he shoot you for intruding his space? A small chuckle slips from the man's mask as he bursts out laughing. 'Pffffttt...!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! What, didja seriously think I was gonna go all bam-bam on your ass??!' he laughs and snorts, 'Aww, man! You shoulda seen the look on your face!' You get the feeling this wisecracking masked man is a nutcase, but he doesn't bear any ill will toward you. 'But... why? Is this some kinda--' 'Ehh, don't sweat it, kid! Trust me, I know every face on these streets. Danger lurks around every corner and the police doesn't do jackshit to keep things in order. They half-ass it 100% of the time.' 'W-well... Just who are you anyway?' you blurt out in the heat of the moment. 'Hehehe... Well, if ya really wanna know...' he directs his left hand towards the seat you just stood up from to get ready to leave. 'Sit down. Take a load-off.' You decide to stay for a bit longer to hear the masked man's story. Everything continues to happen all at once like a bad acid trip. 'Name's Deadpool. Detective. Deadpool...' he says, 'Or, if you prefer... just Deadpool will do.' The masked man introduces himself as Deadpool and proceeds to give a small introductory speech. 'Like I said, the police half-ass their job dealin' with crime and all that shit, so I'm the one who deals with bad guys who slip under their radar.' 'So wait... You're, like... a mercenary?' you ask Deadpool curiously. 'Part merc, part detective.' Deadpool replies, 'I'm what you call "The Merc with a Mouth."' Suddenly, it hits you. You've heard of this nickname before. A lot of kids at your school often tell stories about how they spotted the 'Merc with a Mouth' on the streets running after criminals and killing them in the shadows. 'So... you mean to say--' you begin your thought, which Deadpool quickly ceases. 'Ah-de-de-de-de-de-de-de-de-de-de.' Deadpool quickly stops you from finishing your next question, 'Lemme stop you right there, kid. I ain't a hero.' The way he shushed you mid-question gives you the impression that he's a good mind reader. You decide to carry on with your next thought. 'But... y-you protected me, didn't you?' 'True. But the bottom line is, I’m a bad guy myself. A vigilante would be the politically correct term. And frankly, you shouldn’t trust a word I say.' Deadpool states realistically. But as much of a realist he was, the next comment he was about to make was about to bathe him in a less dim light than most villains in reality and fiction these days, 'But... let's just say there's a loophole of sorts. I think we can understand each other when I say, I’m just a bad guy who fucks up worse guys.' 'However...' He quickly smacks his lips, hidden inside the red matte texture of his mask, 'We ain’t got time to mince words. It’d be stupid to bore you with a friggin’ long ass backstory. That ain’t the reason you’re here. By that look on your face, you’ve seen a whole lotta shit you can’t un-see. And honestly, to think you of all people just found me by chance... I’m actually kinda flattered.' After finishing his last sentence, Deadpool grabs a shoddily-made paper plaque drawn in crayon, which reads 'The Badass Sexy Motherf#king Private Detective Out for Blood and Guts, P.D. Deadpool.' He also grabs a piece of paper, neatly places it on his desk and turns it towards you to read carefully. It looks to be a contract of sorts, stating the benefits of his services, as well as his boundaries. You read the contract carefully while Deadpool eyes you mischievously. The contract reads... 'Upon feasting your eyes on the sexy and immortal merc with a mouth, you understand that he will not take any responsibility for any vigilante activity he might cause while on the case. Who needs the fuzz anyway when you got swords, guns, and combo moves like Ryu from Street Fighter? And you wonder why the man standing before you didn't make it into Super Smash Bros... He would've ran up to Daddy Sakurai's door pleading with tears flowing down his red spandex mask until he at least made a Mii outfit for him rather than giving him an original moveset.' 'By signing this short and sweet contract, you recognize that this world is f#ked up and needs to be turned the hell upside down. Whatever trouble ails you in this town, the all-seeing eyes of the merc will see to it that the worse guys suffer greatly, for their judgment is nigh.' 

  You can't tell if there was a small grammatical mistake or two in the contract, but overall, it looks professional. You don't know what to think. You've always tried to stay out of trouble ever since leaving home to pursue a better life in the city, but things have obviously gone south long before you set foot on the merc's turf. Although, part of yourself feels like you could use an extra set of eyes. Perhaps a little help from the shadows is exactly what you need. And so, you decide to discuss with Deadpool the dangers that have creeped up on your back. And no one else will know but the two of you. 'So, kid... What can your good ol’ pal Deadpool do for you today?' ======== * Nice! Beautiful. Maximum effort. Seltzer water and lemon for blood. Etc. Etc. Etc. Just. Lovely! This is the potential start of a random skit and/or askbox series! This'll probably the only piece that turns out to be extremely unhinged. Or maybe not. Who knows? But I'd really like to turn these random Deadpool doodles into a skit and/or askbox series. So, if you want to give any questions or comments to the merc, feel free to leave some. I'll also flesh out some skits on occasion. Fun, fun, fun! I'm never gonna get sick of Deadpool now! First cosplay, now this! I'm so excited! ======== Deadpool © Marvel, Fabian Nicieza, Rob Litfield

[syubology]

Making a Character Profile

I’m the kinda person who spends hours making a family on Sims then never plays with them, so working on my characters is probably my favourite aspect of writing. 

There are a hundred million ways to make a character profile, including ready-made templates like this one, but I find that it’s better to make your own and tailor it to your story. As with everything, you need to do what works for you, but I tend to take quite an instinctive approach to writing my characters, so I keep my profiles fairly basic.

For the purpose of today’s post, I’m making a profile for Sergeant Iorath, an OC from my WWI fic A Gentle Sound. As AGS is a pretty big project, this profile is much fancier and robust than I would generally make them for a fic. I have a specific aesthetic I’ve been keeping up in my AGS notes, so don’t be daunted by that - you don’t have to make it pretty if that’s not your thing!

🌙

General Guidelines for Character Profiles:

Stick to the point. This profile is for you, not your readers. You don’t need to fill it up with information that comes to you instinctively. Reading through a profile should get you back in touch with who your character is as a person and allow you to envision them more clearly - that’s all.

Most important to least important. Keep the information you’ll need often and quickly up near the top of your document. Don’t put their appearance description at the bottom of the second page, y’know? And I wouldn’t advise starting a profile with a massive block of text detailing their backstory - expand on that further down, if you want, or in a separate biography document.

Don’t overdo it. When you forget your OC’s birthday at 4:00AM, you don’t wanna read an entire essay just to find it! For regular fics, my profiles are only about half a page long. AGS is a Big Project, with lots of research and multiple works likely to be attached to the universe, so these profiles are more like two pages. You don’t have to stick to this, but I think it’s a good guide.

Short and snappy. Keep each individual section short and easy to read at a glance. Avoid large, multi-paragraph blocks of text. Bullet-points and tables are good, don’t be afraid to go wild with the formatting options available to you.

✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧*

1. The Basics:

Edit: I noticed the image quality was pretty bad for these screenshots, so here's a link to the document itself!

This is literally just the most basic information, which will always begin with name and date/place of birth. As you can see, I’ve adjusted this to suit AGS universe with rank, enlistment date and time spent on active duty; if it was a fantasy universe, I’d probably have species in there instead; for a college AU, maybe their major, roommate, etc. You’ll also see that I have the Major Combat heading near the top simply because this is something I often forget, so I want it to be easy to find.

2. Appearance:

For OCs, their physical description is particularly important because it’s often the only real reference you have, but even when you’re writing fic, you’re gonna have to keep track of hair colours and body mods and such. It’s a good idea to have this very close to the top of your page and easy to find. Try not to get carried away with this bit, tempting as it might be. Only include what’s most important/details you really don’t want to forget. If you have a character with a lot of body mods, I’d suggest a separate section specifically detailing those.

3. Short Biography:

I just think a basic character profile is no place for an in-depth, multi-page biography, but a little bio is good. You want to be able to get a sense of who your character is as a person, so you need to know a bit about where they come from. Don’t load up this bio with useless information - only include details which actually had a formative influence on your character. For many characters whose background is important, I’ll write a separate, much more detailed biography for them in another doc.

4. Habits, Quirks & Hobbies:

This section does exactly what it says on the tin: habits, quirks and hobbies. I find these areas are often the most important for making your character into a person, and a unique person at that. You might think right now that you don’t know these things about your new OC, but I’d encourage you to spend a while with this section and try to write a few things down. You’d be surprised what you can discover about your character once you start on the finer details!

5. Extras:

So, I think the basics are pretty much covered under the headings mentioned above. Now comes the part where you really tailor it to your specific AU. For AGS, I have section about their health where I’ll mention any injuries/illnesses they’ve sustained during the war (and before, if relevant), then also a bit about the state of their mental health since most soldiers in WWI suffered some degree of (usually untreated) PTSD.

Most AUs probably don’t need a ‘Health’ heading, so you can switch this up with things like their major, class timetable, relationships, mental health, magical education and specialties - the possibilities are honestly endless. You’ll know what you need here, if you need an extra section at all!

Remember, this is for you. Don’t refrain from adding a section or several simply because I haven’t included them here - you know better than anyone what you need! Just channel your inner minimalist as best you can to avoid creating an overwhelming monster of a document.

I hope this wasn’t too confusing, lads. I don’t exactly have the most refined method of creating character profiles, but this works for me. I hope at least some parts work for you, too! 

As always, don’t be scared to come to me with questions specific to this post (I won’t be offended if something wasn’t clear!) or suggestions for future posts. Thank you for reading, my frens, have a nice Sunday <3

[gaslightgallows]

Jack and Phryne reunite in London and go book shopping and happen upon AZ Fell & Co. I rather not on the smut.

Oh my lord this is the silliest thing ever. ♥

(Read at AO3)

"I don't know if you'll have much luck in there, Jack," said Phryne, as they stood on a street corner in Soho, and Jack eyed the well-stocked windows of the venerable "A.Z. Fell & Co." book shop. "My cousin Guy once got thrown out by the owner."

Jack couldn't help a grin. "That's not too difficult to imagine. I'll wager your cousin Guy's been chucked out of most of the respectable shops in London."

"True, but he wasn't doing anything untoward this time. He just wanted to buy a book."

"...And the owner threw him out?"

Phryne nodded. "Apparently, Mr. Fell is chronically averse to actually selling any of his stock. According to Mac, it's more of a esoterically curated private collection, than an actual retail establishment. She spent a lot of time here, when she was a student, and got to know him rather well."

"Dr. Macmillan knows this Mr. Fell, Guy Stanley knows him... and you, Miss Fisher? Are you acquainted with him?"

"Only in passing. I'm afraid I don't have any patience with people who run shops but won't sell anything."

Jack's grin widened. "Not your type of man?"

Phryne's eyes twinkled, but she shook her head. "Not any woman's type of man, I'd say."

"Ah."

"Mac and I got thrown out, too."

That made Jack blink. "Oh, well, now I have to go in. Any man who has the fortitude to toss both you and Elizabeth Macmillan out on your ears is someone who deserves at least my theoretical patronage. Unless you're banned from the shop?"

"Well... I was... but that was a long time ago. Fell probably won't remember me."

It was wishful thinking, as Jack realized within seconds of opening the shop's front door.

"You! I thought I told you not to come back." A pale, slightly plump figure swirled out of the back and made shooing motions with his exquisitely manicured hands. "I'm a patient person but I do draw the line at shoplifting, young lady!"

Jack swallowed most of a laugh and looked down at the Honourable Phryne Fisher, who had the grace to appear at least a little abashed. "Hello, Mr. Fell, I wasn't sure you'd know me. It's been well over a decade."

The shopkeeper cocked his head slightly with an expression that reminded Jack of a deeply disappointed school mistress. "I never forget a face, especially the face of someone who tries to make off with one of my books, no matter how much they've grown up in the intervening years. Now, I really must ask you both to--"

"Is that an original Morte D'Artur?" Phryne asked, breezing past the owner. "Oh, how splendid."

Mr. Fell blinked.

Jack coughed politely. "I'm sorry to have brought trouble to your doorstep, sir. It was my idea to come into the shop. I'm visiting London and--"

"Oh no, my dear fellow, no apologies needed." Mr. Fell sighed. "There's very little point wasting energy trying to resist Miss Fisher when she's made up her mind, I quite understand that. I learned that when she was a girl."

"You, um." Jack stopped and looked the man over with a professional eye. Average height, a little too well-fed, clothes of good quality, if having seen better days, white-blond curls that seemed to resent being so neatly combed, and suspiciously guileless blue eyes. Jack decided three things, based on his observations: one, that he wouldn't trust this man within an inch of his life; two, that he would absolutely trust this man, when the chips were down, and three, that Mr. Fell was one-hundred percent the sort of bloke who would be taken up in a police raid at a Certain Type of Establishment.

What he couldn't put his finger on was how old Mr. Fell was. Because he didn't look any older than Phryne or himself... but he'd known Phryne when she was a child, probably since shortly after her relocation to England.

It made no sense.

"You've known Miss Fisher long?"

Mr. Fell scrunched his nose. "Oh, yes. Long enough to realize that what she can't pay for, she'll make off with--oh, for--don't touch that!"

Phryne rolled her eyes and waggled the fingers of her free hand. "I'm wearing gloves!"

"I assure you, Mr. Fell," said Jack quietly, not sure of the undercurrents happening but deeply amused, nevertheless, "she can pay for anything she decides to buy."

"Hmph. That's a long chalk from where she was the last time she was in my shop."

"I was fifteen!"

"You were a menace to society. You and that Macmillan girl."

"Well, that hasn't changed," Jack said, with a smirk. "Why did you toss them out?"

"For trying to buy a book," Phryne replied, before Mr. Fell could open his mouth.

"No, I threw your cousin out for trying to buy a book. I threw you and your friend out for trying to steal a book. A first edition of Gray's Anatomy, I believe, or possibly Harvey's "On the Circulation of the Blood. Some important medical title, at any rate. And you're lucky I didn't do more than chuck you out!"

Phryne snapped Le Morte d'Artur shut, making Mr. Fell wince. "Mac had the money, you just wouldn't sell it."

"Those funds were ill-gotten, as you knew perfectly well. It would have been wrong to sell either of you anything."

"How did you know the money was stolen?" Jack interjected, before things got too out of hand.

Mr. Fell made some unintelligible noises, before settling on, "Well, it was obvious! One gets to recognize such signs, in my business! And what would have happened to me, if I'd sold it. I'd have had the police round here after me as an accomplice!"

"Well, she got the book in the end, didn't she?" said Jack. "I've been to Mac's flat, she's got that gorgeous copy of Gray's Anatomy on her desk. Pride of place, too."

"Yes, funny thing about that." Phryne was looking at Fell now with an unfamiliar mixture of amusement and awe. "After we reluctantly went home and, er, returned the funds to their rightful owner, Mac found that very same book in her room."

"She might have said thank you," Mr. Fell muttered, turning away to brush some dust from a nearby shelf.

"How could she? You banned us from the shop."

"Doesn't seem to have stopped you."

"It was twenty years ago! Now, if you're done lecturing me over childhood misdemeanors, I'd like to buy this."

Fell snapped out what to Jack's ears sounded like an utterly obscene price, but Phryne accepted it without a murmur and pulled out her chequebook.

"Cash only," said Fell loftily. "No cheques."

"That's fine, I'll just run to the bank--"

"I'm closing in five minutes. Then I'm going on holiday. Won't be back for months."

Phryne's face fell so sharply that Jack suddenly felt a lump in his throat. "That's a shame," she said, with complete sincerity, and carefully laid the book down. "I was hoping to give it to my daughter as a present."

"Oh, that's... well, that is unfortunate."

Was it Jack's imagination, or did the dapper little man look uncomfortable? No, not his imagination, and nothing that Phryne was doing, either. He'd seen her delicately manipulate people of both sexes into getting her way, and there was none of that tactic here. She simply looked... disappointed.

And Fell didn't appear to be on board with that.

"Right, well... anyway, terribly nice to see you again, do stop back the next time you're on this side of the world. Must close up now." He all but shoved them out of the shop, and in a moment they were back on the sidewalk and halfway down the block before they realized what was happening.

"Silly old fool," said Phryne, taking Jack's arm for the walk back to their hotel.

After the story about Mac and the book, Jack was half expecting something miraculous, but seeing the small oblong parcel sitting on the desk of their hotel room still sent a shiver up his spine. He hadn't seen Fell leave the shop, and there hadn't been any time for him to slip out, let alone...

Let alone what?

"Phryne. The money you and Mac tried to use when you were children. Was it stolen?"

"I'm afraid so, though the only till we'd rifled was my father's hidden stash. But how Fell could have known that..." She sat down at the desk and gently untied the parcel, revealing the beautiful little copy of Le Morte D'Artur and a small card:

For Jane. Compliments of A.Z. Fell.

[mahoikutranslationproject]

MGRP Black: Character Names

So the time is finally upon us (even though it’s cutting it very short thank you very much Monthly MGRP). We now have a name of the Magical Girls from Black.

These are my WIP transliterated names. They may be subject to change (especially one of them since it’s a kanji situation), but here are the names and some interesting opinions I have on ‘em

Calcolo (カルコロ)

Such a cute math girl. Incidentally, Calcolo is also the name of a children’s math board game-ish kinda thing (like Monopoly) in Japan back in the day. 

Tetty Goodniegl ( テティ・グットニーギル)

And this is where the whole WIP name comes into play. Meet our cover girl, with a last name that can be... let’s say taken in a couple different directions. The way I went about it is to figure out what would logically make sense, and with her transliteration being Gutt, I didn’t even use “Good” at first. That is, until Tetty herself saved me. What do I mean by that? I mean that the key lies in her mittens. Each hand spells out “Tetty” and “Good”, so I went with that. Separating Tetty and Good, leaves just Niigiru. For now, it might be Niegl, but I have a sneaking suspicion it could be a morph of Onigiri, a bizarrely applied morph from Onigiri to Niigiru, but a morph nonetheless. (Incidentally, if I were to just Englishize that morph, that would mean her last name is something like Goodrice).

Miss Lille (ミス・リール)

Miss Lille’s little Anime snippet is interesting. It concerns a lady who is very rich who wants to give alms to the poor. I wonder if she’ll end up being that nice in canon? Incidentally, Lille is also the name of a city in France. Whether that’s actually relevant or not is beyond me, though. But it’s a cool fact!

Wrappy Tip (ラッピー・ティップ)

What can I say about Wrappy? She’s covered in wraps, and has probably the best name in Black. I mean, Wrappy Tip. It’s almost Funny Trick levels of best name in an arc.

Drill Dory and Ark Arlie (ドリル・ドリー＆アーク・アーリー)

Double feature! Also it seems Arlie changed her first name (maybe cause she took off that faceplate). We finally have the fourth ABC girl, Drill Dory!!! I gave her that name because the ABC girls in Japanese try to keep the first phoneme similar. Aamaa Aarii, Aaku Aarii, Doriru Dorii. Etc. I figured Dory is much closer to the Drill in spirit. Their Anime snippet claims they’re rivals. Will they fight? Time will tell (in 24 hrs as of this writing)

Mepis Pheles (メピス・フェレス)

Mepis’ name here comes from the demon Mephistopheles, and indeed, she’s a demon in her Anime snippet. Her name is also another case of a purposeful misspelling, メピス・フェレス (Mepis) rather than メフィストフェレス (Mephis). Also, her Anime snippet involves bodyswapping with a boy, which makes me cautiously optimistic that she’s male pre-transformation. I hope. I pray. Maybe? We only have 2 right now MGRP, please.

Kumi-Kumi (クミクミ)

Kumi-Kumi is a Magical Girl with a pickaxe to grind (chop?). Her anime snippet is my favorite of the bunch. It concerns her finding a sword in the stone, and instead of pulling it, she breaks the stone. Thinking out of the box.

Kana (カナ)

Kana. The enigma. Not sure what to make of her. She’s so dead-eyed, and she has a zombie-like appearance to her. There were human forms posted on twitter and I have a slight idea who she might be based on that.

Classical Lilian (クラシカル・リリアン)

My pick for arc villain (if it’s one of the main cast and not another Keek). Her face, it’s the face. She’s gorgeous though. Look at her. Her Anime snippet even casts her in the role of a Goddess in some pseudo-Isekai plot. She’s got a weather theme going on it looks like. Wonder what her powers will be?

Thunder General Adelheid ( 雷将アーデルハイト)

Where do I start with her? I love her. Her design reminds me half of Jotaro Kujo and half of Raido Kuzunoha. She also has that Imperial aesthetic going on which is always a plus in my book. I look forward to see what she can do (please don’t die chapter 1, at least make it past 4, 5 chapters?).

Narakuno Indiko (奈落野院出ィ子)

...

I hate kanji only names because there’s almost no way to tell without furigana. Case in point, @NyanNyan was written as @娘々, which would be best read as @KoKo. But nooo, it’s NyanNyan. For now though, this is how you would normally spell her name, and is subject to change when I get the book. I’m confident in the first one, Narakuno, since her Anime title katakanas her name to Narakuno. The last one is just the proper normal pronunciation of those kanji for now.

Princess Lightning (プリンセス・ライトニング)

I’ll be honest, I guessed Princess Storm at first (since all the Pure Elements seem to be named after disasters), but Lightning ain’t so bad. Interestingly, her Anime snippet paints her as a sort of dark counterpart to the Pure Elements, and has them start in Episode 15 of the PE’s own Anime series. Whether or not she’ll be opposed to the PEs (or if she’ll meet, say, Deluge), is a question for another time. I’d like to see a full-on Princess fight, though. Her appearance does raise some questions as to who made her, and why.

Sally Raven (サリー・レイヴン)

This... I hope... is a Cutie. Her Anime snippet stars her in Cutie Healer Angelfeather, so it’s a good start, but she’s also still a middle schooler. I wonder if she ends up being one. We do know her real name is Sally Torihara, which marks the first real name reveal right now (at least it should be Torihara, grrr kanji names).

Psyche Plains (プシュケー・プレインス)

Of all the names, I did not expect hers. Psyche Plains is just so out there for a water gun girl. Incidentally, her Anime snippet implies that her powers include changing the liquid inside of her gun. Powerful, if used correctly.

Ran Yui (ランユウィ)

Goldfish girl (These are Japanese goldfish), whose Anime snippet reads like a goldfish version of Unmarked. I am also hoping she is an actual goldfish, but I have no idea if that’s what’ll happen. Her name itself is a weird one. As far as I can tell, it’s literally just a name, like Ran Yuui. It could be a reference, if so I’ll be sure to edit it about later on.

Snow White (スノーホワイト)

Needs no introduction. She’s tired. She’s been through a lot. She lost Fal. An interesting tidbit about her Anime snippet is that she gets a new mascot named Hyoropon. Who is that? I don’t know. Is that canon? I don’t know. BLACK, COME OUT ALREADY!

Well, those are all the main casts of Black and my short opinions on them!

Now here’s hoping Black pulls another proper two-parter (and leads into White for the true Snow White finale).

[sculptorofbeginningslibrary]

Black Eyes & Bloodlust - Chapter 15

My Masterlist

Black Eyes & Bloodlust Masterlist

Summary: Dean has never met his Omega, never even thought there could be one waiting for him–but she’s out there, and they’re connected in ways they could never have imagined.

Characters: DeanxReader, Sam, Cass, a few OC’s

Warnings: Eventual smut so typical A/B/O warnings,Slow burn (and I mean it. SLOW BURN GUYS.)Language, depictions of mental illness, Gore and Violence, (Warnings will apply to all chapters just to cover all the bases.)

Word Count: ~3,140

A/N: New aesthetic/header by @tumbler-tidbits​ and I loveeee it! Thank you so much! ALSO! Chapter 16 WILL NOT be the last. The end is in sight, but it’s not here yet ;) 

Unbeta’d for reasons, but heavily edited by me, so if you find mistakes that irk you PLEASEEEE  message me so I can fix them :)

Enjoy!

__~*~__

Halfway to the hospital Sam broke the silence, taking a quick scan of the poor Omega girl, Carrie, to make sure she was still fast asleep before speaking. “Cas, we can’t let him do this.”

“It’s done by now, Sam.” Castiel didn’t miss the clench of Sam’s jaw, but with what he now knew, this had been inevitable. In this particular fight against Fate, they’d lost miserably. “It was done the moment we let him take her. Getting between an Alpha and his Omega is never an intelligent decision, but I felt their connection, Sam. When I healed Y/N I sensed her soul and it was--” Castiel huffed, frustration seeping through as he came to terms the new information in his head, then tried to form the words to make Sam understand. “--Her soul is damaged similarly to Dean’s. It’s whole, I think, but I don’t believe either of them will ever be the same. The Mark is--”

“I know, Cas.” Sam whispered, “I know what the Mark does.” A long silence stretched as Sam attempted to sort out what this all meant for his brother. “You know...this is the worst time for Dean to shove off into some--some, extra jacked up Bonnie and Clyde murder act. I mean Cas, she killed like nine people, and that’s only what we know of! She killed a hunter, you said so yourself. We’ve killed monsters for less, and Dean’s barely holding on as it is--”

“--It’s not her fault Sam. Y/N is not a monster, she’s a human. I would think that you of all people--”

“--It’s just that throwing himself into an Omega just as messed up as he is--” Sam’s knuckles whitened where he gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“--Is a recipe for disaster, yes, I know, but they are true mates. There’s nothing we can do.”

“There always something Cas.” The silence resumed, loaded and heavy, and continued even after the girl had been properly dropped off at the hospital. 

__

Sam didn’t quite understand why Castiel hadn’t flitted off to somewhere less stressful, normally he’d be gone by now. Instead of leaving, Castiel stayed by his side as they walked back to their own motel from Lane’s.

“True mates, huh?” Sam asked after a while, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The concept was so foreign; he wasn’t sure either him or Dean had ever even believed in any such thing, especially with the lives they lived. The side streets were dark and empty, devoid of anything interesting enough to keep Sam from overthinking. The Alpha knew the Angel was right about one thing, atleast: it wasn’t Y/N’s fault she’d gotten wrapped up into this mess they’d created. Castiel nodded solemnly.

“That must be the source of their psychic connection.”

“I thought that was just some fairy tale...or just genetic compatibility or something.” Castiel shook his head.

“Not at all. They’re rare, but it is a soul connection. You probably have one waiting somewhere as well.” 

Sam avoided Castiel’s last statement. “Did you see anything else while you were in her head?” The side-eye Castiel gave him before looking away spoke volumes. “What? What did you see? Anything that could help us figure out the Mark?” Sam found he was almost afraid of the answer as Castiel inhaled deeply.

“I saw...everything Sam, but there’s nothing inside Y/N that can help us find a cure.”

__~*~__

Dean’s thick fingers kneaded into your shoulders, lazily exploring the dip and curve of your muscles. Your smile was soft as you let his tingling touches wander your skin while your fingers trailed over the keys of the cheap keyboard, playing ‘See You Again,’ the song that had been haunting him. When he’d explained how you had followed him in that way you’d had to giggle. It wasn’t your favorite song like he, and apparently Lane, thought--oh god, Lane, you thought, but pushed it away-- it just happened to be the one you’d been playing when you had collapsed the first time. It had haunted you too, you thought. It was hard to be sure.

Memories were still surfacing and rearranging inside your head, forcing you to sift through the mess. However, the night everything had begun had been clear as glass since it had come back.

An average day in your average life had ended with a glass of wine and your piano, grumbling about your shitty workday and contemplating yet another dating site until suddenly you’d found yourself in searing pain and curled into a ball on the floor. From then on it had been nothing but nightmares and sleepless nights until you’d been committed.

Telling Dean that part of the story was equal parts cathartic and painful, but you hadn’t been able to explain past being released from the facility. Those memories were still too much, but Dean knew enough to fill in the blanks on his own.

He’d dreamt your experiences as you had his.

Dean connected the timelines for you carefully, and realized you had been connected since he’d taken The Mark. Then he’d managed to explain what the Mark of Cain even was, and how he’d come to recieve it. That story had culminated with your tears but ended with you on all fours, just like every snippet of conversation the two of you had attempted since mating the first time. His bite mark throbbed deliciously, igniting the heat still simmering under your skin.

He couldn’t keep his hands off you, even when he wasn’t fucking you. The need for your skin on his was almost a physical presence it was so intense, and your scents had long ago combined into something intoxicating that kept you both on the edge of arousal for what had seemed like days, though it had only been overnight. The sunlight peeking through the curtains and spilling onto the shitty carpet was mesmerizing as you tapped the last key and held it, letting the sound linger. Behind you, Dean raised up and planted a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

“It’s so much prettier when you play it.” He mumbled, his mouth settling over his bite to worry his teeth at the healing scar.

“Mmm, yeah. I’ve had some practice...but I think I’d rather hear you sing it.” Dean knew you’d heard him sing before, while you’d been sleeping, but he groaned at the thought of having to do it again.

“Not today sweetheart.”

“Oh come on,” you turned around and pressed against him, forcing him onto his back so you could crawl over him. “I love it.” When you pecked your lips teasingly against his, Dean grabbed your hips and pinned his erection between your bodies, following your mouth up as you tried to pull away.

__~*~__

Sam hadn’t slept well, spending all night after Castiel explained what he thought had happened to you doing research. He’d sent the Angel to the bunker for some books he thought might help, but in the end Sam had fallen asleep at the little motel table, drooling over the ancient tomes until the shrill ringing of his cellphone dragged him from the fitful rest.

“Agent Betts?” Officer Bishop asked the second his call was answered.

“Hm?” Sam grunted, sleep leaving him confused for a moment. “Oh, yeah. Yes. Can I help you?” The voice was familiar, and he shook the grogginess off quickly when he realized it was Bishop.

“One of Y/N’s doctors is back at the station, and uh...he says he has information about her he needs to share, but he won’t talk to anyone but you.”

“I’ll be right there.”  After hanging up, Sam checked his messages. He hoped there would be one from Dean, but there were only three missed calls--all from Lane--and a text from Castiel about having some business to take care of. The latter worried him, but not as much as not hearing from his brother.

Half an hour later, Sam was sitting across from a seemingly different man than he’d met the first day they’d arrived. Instead of bristling when the giant Alpha walked through the door, Doctor Cameron slouched his shoulders and shifted his gaze down to the table. Sam frowned, immediately realizing the man had been through the ringer. His initial theory that both doctors were in on Y/N's situation was revised upon seeing the doctor was disheveled, sporting a deep black eye with a giant knot beside it.

“Morning, Doctor,” Sam said evenly as he dropped to the chair across from Cameron.

“I know you’re not FBI,” Cameron conspiratorially leaned forward and whispered, his normally flat voice holding a frantic edge.

“That so?” Sam raised an eyebrow, only mildly surprised at the turn of events. Maybe this doctor knew more than Sam was giving him credit for.

“Yes. I know Doctor Mara wasn’t human. And I know your name is Winchester.”

Sam didn’t like the sound of that, and leaned forward menacingly. He kept his eyes locked to the other Alpha’s and his shoulders squared. Cameron bristled when Sam’s scent strengthened, dominating his own. The hunter’s voice held a dangerous edge, telling Cameron to tread carefully as Sam growled out,  “I’m listening.”

__~*~__

“Do you think it was the hypnosis or the magic?” You asked breathily, right hand stretching over Dean’s ribs at the spot over his heart. The thick thumps were just as frantic as yours, but slowing down as he recovered from knotting you the umpteeth time.

“Huh?” He grunted before realizing what you meant. Dean shifted lower on the pillows and tucked you closer into his left side. He was enjoying these moments too much, and held you tighter for fear you could disappear at any moment. “Oh, that connects us? I dunno. Hard to tell when you mix magic and science like that.” Your unsure ‘hm’ had him pressing his lips to your forehead. Rationality was starting to creep back in as the adrenaline ramped down, leaving your bodies all but useless for the time being. “I’m sorry I did this to you.”

The apology was unexpected and you pulled away, propping your head on his bicep to look him in the eyes. “What do you mean?” The greens seemed alive as he stared at you with new intensity, guilt hiding transparently behind the vibrant colors. You couldn't recall anywhere in the story where he'd personally inflicted you with the Mark, and your confusion was obvious.

“If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t be in this mess. You wouldn’t have--”

“Don’t say it,” you snapped, body stiffening against his. You held your Alpha’s gaze for a moment before burying yourself back to his chest.

“Omega,” Dean warned, but you sat up in a huff to glare at the wall, unable to meet his gaze if he was going to force the conversation.  

“I know what i did, but I don’t wanna talk about it, okay?” When you turned to look at him, for the first time you didn’t see lust...not in the way he was looking at you, nor in the way you were seeing him.

For the first time you were reminded that you were strangers. Connected in two very important, disturbingly strong, ways, yes, but still completely alienated from one another. He’d been inside your mind and your body, but the lives you’d lived were lightyears apart. Tears pricked at your eyes as you forced yourself to look back at the ugly wallpaper across the room.

Would it be possible to ever close that distance? You didn’t even know yourself any longer, how could he?

The venomous thoughts whirled in your gaze, and Dean saw them clearly because he’d seen that look in the mirror a thousand times.

“Hey,” his voice was quiet but firm as he sat up beside you, his giant shoulder bumping against yours playfully. “I’m gonna sort it out. All of it. The Mark, your...case. You’re not gettin’ in any trouble for this, sweetheart, I swear it” Your own guilt slammed into you as he wrongly assumed what you’d been thinking; the lives you'd taken, the things you'd said...you knew those weren’t your fault, but under the confusion it was still a heavy weight. 

When you looked up into his earnest gaze however, you were lost again, the chill of moments before being replaced by the familiar warmth emanating from your arm.

He hissed when you did as the warmth increased to painful levels, and a moan escaped your chest when you were forced to shake off the quick flashes of blood and eyelids. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, pulling your arm close to inspect the vague rash. When the angel had healed you it had gone away. Disappointedly, you realized you should have known it was too good to be true. Everything was going to crash down around you soon, you could feel it as well as you could smell the coming rain. “I guess even Angels can’t fix us.”

__~*~__

“Something highly unnatural is going on with Y/N,” Doctor Cameron said around a mouth full of croissant. After verifying he wasn’t full of shit, Sam had brought him to a diner for breakfast before heading to the motel to see Dean and his Omega. They needed to arrive with arms full of refreshments for the newly mated couple or risk being torn apart by Dean for even knocking on the door.

“You think?” Sam scoffed, but kept his voice low as he continued. “You let a demon fuck with a psychiatric patient. What did you think was gonna happen?”

“I didn’t know what she was!” Cameron defended. “I thought we were conducting--”

“--Highly unethical, unauthorized, treatments on mentally ill patients? Yeah, much better.” The Doctor balked at Sam’s interruption, but Sam ignored it. “In another life, I would have been the one making sure you ended up behind bars for pulling something like this, but I’ll just have to settle for fixing your mistakes instead.” Sam beckoned with two fingers toward the spiral notebook Cameron had kept on his side of the table. With a glare he slid “Doctor Mara’’s notebook across to Sam.

“We were conducting unprecedented research in the field of Omega Psychiatric Studies, I don’t deserve jail time, Mr Winchester, I deserve a Nobel!” Cameron snapped indignantly. “Doctor Mara didn’t tell me what she had going on, but it’s all in here. Very disturbing. Explains why she never let anyone look at her notes, not even Doctor Adams.” Cameron grudgingly dug back into his food as Sam flipped through the pages of a demon’s journal. He knew Cameron wasn’t lying, but he was disquieted with how easily the hypnotist had accepted this new knowledge of the supernatural, like demons were no big thing compared to the fact that his research had been compromised. It was disgusting.  

“Who’s Doctor Adams?” Sam frowned at the name, thinking it sounded familiar.

“Oh, he was Y/N’s psychotherapist. In charge of her meds and all her therapies, but Mara was always sticking her nose in since she was the lead on the case. Shame, really. Seems like he’s one of the few that actually cares about their patients in that place.” That’s where Sam knew the name from, Y/N’s file.

“Why didn’t he come when Y/N disappeared, if he cared so much?” The poor excuse for an Alpha just shrugged and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Had a full case-load when we got the news I guess. I didn’t ask because he’s a nosey asshole.” Cameron cleared his throat as he finished his food and spoke up again. “If you’re thinking about calling him, he can’t help. Only I can. You see, Y/N is still technically hypnotized.”

Sam’s head snapped up from where he’d gone back to looking through the notes in his hand, long hair whipping him in the face. “Come again?”

“Yes. When she attacked me I tried to release her from the session, but whatever dream she was in had her locked inside. Something about a man named Lester,” Sam blanched, but Cameron didn’t notice. “Then Mara pumped her full of drugs, which probably made everything worse despite all appearances. You’ll have to look in there--” he motioned to the cursed notebook that contained nothing good, “--to find out which ones, but, technically speaking, Y/N could still be locked inside a dream. I need to see my patient, Mr. Winchester.”

Sam growled, his unexpectedly protective hackles rising. It suddenly dawned on him that if Dean had marked Y/N, she was family now, and after what he’d done, Cameron would never touch Dean’s Omega again. Especially now that they had another option. “I don’t think so. We’re done here. Breakfast on me.” Sam dropped a $50 bill on the table. “Thanks for this,” he said dismissively, tilting the notebook toward Cameron before standing to his full height. Sam used all 6’4” at his disposal as he loomed over the doctor who’d assisted in the mess they were in. The atmosphere in the restaurant shifted as he did, the challenge made clear for anyone to see, or smell. “You need to go back to wherever you’re from. Today. Now. And if I ever see you again, especially near Y/N, I’ll shoot you.” Without a backward glance Sam left the smaller Alpha glaring at his back and coming to the realization that everything he’d worked for was effectively leaving with the hunter.

__~*~__

Cold showers were a staple of Omega life, but having an Alpha in there with you brought the experience to a whole new level. Dean’s fiery hands contrasted perfectly with the freezing water, soothing and exciting you simultaneously. Your nipples were sore from the constant attention, but thankfully your Alpha had realized this and softened his touches to a light caress.

The bruises littering your skin made you smile as you examined them in the dim lighting, physical evidence that you finally had the Alpha you’d always pretended not to dream of. Part of you thought maybe you’d set feminism or the Omega rights movements back a few years, but couldn’t find it in you to care as you turned in his arms under the spray. It had come with a hefty price, but when Dean’s body slotted so perfectly against yours better than anything you could have ever imagined, you knew it was worth it. He was worth it.

The dead eyes of your combined victims dancing in your nightmares begged to differ, but that could wait until reality set in.

__

A knock on the door pulled Dean from the nap you’d both succumbed to late in the morning, and he groaned as his shoulder protested the awkward position your upper body was pinning his arm into when he tried to sit up.

“Go away,” Dean grunted, already knowing the scent of his brother before he’d fully woken up. Sating his rut had helped the immediate rage he held for his younger sibling and his angelic friend, but all wasn’t completely forgiven.

“I have bacon,” came the muffled response, and a quick sniff confirmed Sam was telling the truth. He’d brought greasy diner food, which went a long way with Dean in the moment considering neither of you had eaten in almost twenty-four hours.

“Alright, hold on.” The conversation had already woken you partially, and Dean finished the job by rolling into you and snuggling his nose close to your ear. “‘Mega,” he whispered, “we’ve got company...and the company has bacon. You might wanna put some clothes on before I let him in.” He smiled when you cracked one eye open.

“Bacon?”

__~*~__

Questions? Comments? Incoherent screaming?

Bring it on!

🖤

__~*~__

Black Eyes & Bloodlust Tags: 

@allaboutbailey @alligator210 @alyssa6marie @amarokofficial @anjiep24 @antiscocialfanwarrior​ @bodhi-black @deanna-s-winchester @deliciouslydisturbed365 @edensparks​ @erinmcd1234 :(  @faith901t-blog :( @fangirl-and-medstudent-help​ @fangirlanotherjust​ @flamencodiva @gabegirrl86 @getnaildbyme @hennessy0274-blog @hotterthanfire-colderthanice @jodibullock1 @karouwinchester​ @katkit73 @kbl1313​ @kittenofdoomage​ @lostdarksoul6 @mannls​ @mbbevans @mistress-sassafras @ne-gans @pickleporkupine @rainbowkisses31 @secretlysage​ @shatteredabby @spnskinnyballs​ @starfirerules​ @tamtamlov @tgwge @thatrandomredheadchick @thefaithfulwriter @tumbler-tidbits @ultrahviolent @violentmommabear42 @weepingwillowphoenix @whisperingwillows @wildsageleon @winchesterprincessbride @witchyhoeski​

4ever&ever Tags:

@ain-t-bovvered @bamby0304 @dean-winchesters-bacon @justcallmeasmodeus @ldyhawkeye @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @mogaruke @mrs-meghan-winchester @stormy-skies-1997 @supernatural-teamfreewillpage-d @waywardbaby

Dean Tags:

@adoptdontshoppets @akshi8278 @bobasheebaby @paranoiadestroyah