#all about what is going on. it’s an imperative part of the process

[i-do-not-even-know-why]

Some people were talking about Vi's "hypocrisy"...

(Spoilers below. Read at your own risk.)

And nope. Those are lies. Slander. And here are receipts proving the same...

Saw a few folks calling Vi a hypocrite because she prevented Caitlyn from taking the shot at Jinx. Since there was a kid in the way. Even though, APPARENTLY, Vi was all for it during season one when Jayce was concerned.

Jayce didn't want to kill the boy. He was aiming for someone else. The shot hit the little man because Jayce didn't even notice him there. He thought there was no one in the way.

That's why it hurts so much. That's why it stings and breaks Jayce's resolve. That's why he is disillusioned. He just wanted to do magic. Make the world a little better than before. And instead, he is now playing politician and soldier. And claiming lives.

This is Jayce's reaction when he sees the boy who died because of him...

And this is Vi, realising how much it's affecting him...

It's the intent that matters here.

Jayce didn't mean for the blow to land on the boy. If he knew the kid was there, Jayce wouldn't have taken the shot.

Caitlyn on the other hand wanted to shoot at Jinx while knowing Isha was in the way. She wanted to do it despite a kid literally acting as a human shield for Jinx.

I don't care how great of a shot Caitlyn is. When you risk a child's life, even if it is for the greater good, that's already taking it too far. And considering the fact that Vi clocked Caitlyn going in for the kill, you really think Isha wouldn't have?!

Once the bullet is out, no one can control it. Not even Caitlyn. And that very well could have led to Isha's death.

That kid wants Jinx around. And she is willing to die in the process.

Another point to note is the context.

Vi and Jayce were trying to dismantle the distribution of Shimmer. And when Jayce saw what it took, he pulled away. Vi didn't want to.

Silco's death was important to her. But it was now even more imperative because a kid died in the process. His demise would have been in vain if they didn't finish what they set out to do.

Vi and Jayce almost come to blows over it. And once Jayce lets her keep the gauntlets and walks away, there is Vi mourning the needless loss of a life...

I don't really understand what part of all this is hypocritical on Vi's end.

In the first instance, the kid had already died. In the second, Vi was making sure that didn't happen again.

And you know what? Even if it was hypocrisy, people are allowed to alter their motivations and decisions in the face of such fucked up and traumatic experiences.

Or in general, even! That's essentially the whole point. It's the push and pull of everyday occurences which help us evolve. Either for the better, or the worse.

Here's Jayce. Broken over the life he took...

Vi sees it. And of course she wouldn't want for it to happen to someone else. Especially Caitlyn.

Vi knows Cait is not the kind of person who would go through with it in her right mind. And that's the thing. She isn't in her right mind. Grief has overtaken her and now she will make sure it becomes everyone else's problem.

Also, if not being hypocritical is so important to you... How can you still stand with Caitlyn? What she is doing goes against not only who she is as a person, but also what she set out to do.

And that's the kicker, isn't it? Change is the whole point. They are undergoing tremendous amounts of irrevocable damage that will leave lasting impressions.

Caitlyn is so blinded by her desire for revenge that she doesn't even register any remorse. She is adamant on going after Jinx, no matter the cost. Even when it's at her own expense.

And for the people limiting Caitlyn's arc to nothing more than a sexy lady telling the world to go to hell...

Please open your eyes, or at least allow the others, to understand the layers of oppression she represents now. Not only to Zaun and the people of the Undercity, whose only fault was being born in the wrong place at the wrong time, but also for Vi.

That blorbo has gone through so much already. And obviously she has made mistakes. The whole premise of the show revolves around this facet. 'Cause that's what people do.

However, it's how you deal with it that counts more. And maybe it's just me, but holding your favourite characters and people accountable does not really lessen your love for them. Being blind in your devotion will definitely. 'Cause the disillusionment which follows is not pretty.

Know that I don't mean to offend anyone. Nor do I wish to criticize your perspective. If you feel attacked by my points because you made a joke or something over the issues I talked about here, that's not my fault. Nor my intent. Don't take it personally.

At the end of the day, it's just a show. You do you. I just cannot sit back when people spread misinformation or make baseless ignorant comments that are NOWHERE close to the truth.

It just takes a few minutes to fact check yourself. Seconds even, if you know how to do it. Maybe it's my fault for expecting better.

Anywho, that's it on this from me. Enjoy the show! And live and let live!!!

[fingertipsmp3]

I’ll be like “I should go to sleep” and then 10 minutes later I’m looking up a friend of a friend and discovering that he lost a court case and also is now a member of the electoral college?? Apparently???

[libraford]

I have a lot to say about the decision our BOE made about Lifewise, but I'm going to go over the useful information here first and then the shitshow in a later reblog.

Last night, the board of education in my city decided to rescind allowance of Lifewise in our public schools.

Lifewise is a non denominational Christian youth group that operates during school hours, and only during school hours. Their mission is to bring Jesus to public schools, and they are able to do this legally because the education happens off-campus. They typically do this during lunch, recess, or electives. The program is voluntary.

They were allowed in our school system through a former board member, two years ago. The program has come under some scrutiny, which I will cover in a reblog. So the topic of rescinding their decision came up this year.

This was a huge debate. I will get into it later.

But I wanted to state the reasons why our board chose to rescind the decision and end business with LifeWise, so that if they (or others of this type) come to your school system and you don't want them there, you have a model for what has worked in debate.

1. An important aspect of the decision to rescind this particular decision does not restrict religious learning before or after school, or on weekends- and only applies to religious programs during school hours.

2. Unlike accommodations made for Ramadan (an example that was brought up in debate), LifeWise is not a core observance of religion.

3. The social times of school, such as lunch or recess, are just as much part of the learning process as structured class time. Play is imperative for a growing mind, and playing with kids from other religious backgrounds is especially important.

4. While Lifewise supplies their own buses to and from locations, transition times in schools (getting children to and from lunch, recess, bathrooms, electives) are some of the most stressful times for teachers. Adding another, for which only some of the students are part of, is a strain on resources.

5. Entrusting your students to a third party who has not been vetted by the schools is an intense liability. Not just the obvious danger of a dangerous person, but- are the trained in first aid? What do they know about seizures, autism, allergies, diabetes...what are their policies on conflict resolution... there are a lot of variables to think of when you leave your students in someone else's care, even for just an hour.

That's all the notes I have for that meeting. If one of these programs is courting your school board, it's probably a good idea to have these points in mind now, rather than later.

I'll talk about the rest later.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 (part I) | frater imperator x reader

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 | when the newly-appointed head of the clergy decides (or, has it decided for him) that it is time to marry, he neither has time for nor has to worry about the stress of dating... he can just take his pick.

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 | 5.2k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 | for the series overall: smut (18+ only!!), arranged marriage, extreme religious themes, shy!reader, and lots of pining/slow-ish burn. for this chapter: mention of death and mostly just reader having anxiety... and a hint of my glove kink coming through but that's neither here nor there

this is probably not worth saying when it's already in the title but uh, rite here rite now spoilers. so sorry but it's literally what the fic is based on so I couldn't help it.

Frater Imperator… Frater Imperator…

He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the title, still.  It was a shock already when he first read the letter from his mother— on top of the shock of losing her, which was more than enough— but it still hadn’t quite sunk in.

He was so shocked by the promotion, in fact, that he’d been entirely unable to process the paragraph afterwards:

And please, do as I’ve been asking for quite some time and finally take a wife.  Or husband!  I’m not picky.  But you need someone beside you to keep things in order and keep you in line.

Yes, Copia’s mother had been encouraging him towards marriage for quite some time, even before he knew she was his mother; in some ways, it made more sense once that element came to light, though it did change the tone of her request quite a lot.  It also made him take it much more seriously.

And now, it could be argued that this was basically her dying wish.  He really had no other choice: he couldn’t put off a marriage any longer.

See, he’d never had a problem with the idea of it— he’d always imagined getting married some day, like most people seem to— but he wasn’t the luckiest in love.  A broken heart or two (or five) had convinced him to focus more on his work with the church, and to be fair, no one could deny that the work had paid off.  But, as they say, it gets lonely at the top: and now, he was the leader of the whole church, and he had no prospects or even romantic interests to speak of.

Fortunately, he had realized that because he was the leader, he didn’t need all that: all he had to do was say the word.

~

The announcement spread through the congregation like wildfire: the newly-minted Frater Imperator was going to get married.  The part they neglected to mention— and the part everyone wanted to know the most— was to whom.

There were already plenty of rumors, which you avoided because you felt they were all baseless.  Even within one day you’d heard three different stories about this mysterious future spouse, each more preposterous than the last: that he had a secret lover in the ministry he would wed, that he met a fan at a ritual and swept her off her feet, and that he had some previously unmentioned long-term girlfriend who wasn’t even in the church.

The wedding was less than a week away and all anyone knew was that everyone would be there.

Unfortunately, it was hard to ignore the gossip, even if you weren’t participating in it.  The night when it all began, you were trying to read while several of the other Sisters were giggling amongst themselves over their various theories.  “I wasn’t sure he’d ever marry,” someone admitted, “even though he could probably have anyone he wanted.”

“Not me,” one Sister announced smugly, “I never thought he was all that good-looking.”

“Oh please,” another scoffed incredulously, “you’d be on your knees in a second if you saw him at a ritual.”

“Besides, his looks aren’t the most important thing: this is the head of the clergy.  Whoever he marries is probably going to be spoiled rotten!”

They laughed excitedly, and though you’d been trying to tune it out, you couldn’t help but wonder about it as well.  The announcement had left so much unanswered, but the timing of it seemed too important to ignore.  Perhaps the clergy had forbidden the Papa to marry— you weren’t aware of any rule against it, since to your knowledge none of them had ever tried— and so he’d had to wait until his time was complete to be with the person he loved.  Perhaps it was the death of his mother that triggered it: at best, a renewed desire to find happiness and family when faced with a reminder of mortality; at worst, his mother hadn’t approved of his lover and only now was his final obstacle removed.

Ironically, after all those times you failed to ignore them before, it took the other Sisters several attempts to tear you out of your train of thought now: you blinked quickly and looked up from your book as you realized they were saying your name to get your attention.

“Hm?” you mumbled hazily when you looked at them.

“A message for you,” Sister Agnes informed you, leaning over to hand you a rolled parchment.  You weren’t sure if it was private or not, but everyone was staring at you in anticipation— in fact, you noticed then that their entire conversation had died down to silence— and so you awkwardly unrolled it and read the writing inside.

MESSAGE FROM THE CLERGY:

Frater Imperator and the clergy request your presence in the upper sanctum imminently.

~

As soon as you descended the stairway back to the mail halls of the abbey, a gaggle of Sisters descended on you, wide-eyed and desperate for gossip.  “So?!” Sister Lilith asked expectantly, like the rest of her question should be obvious. “What was it about?”

“Was the whole clergy there?”

“U-uhm, all but Frater,” you replied shyly.

“What did they say?”

“Don’t be silly, ladies,” Sister Agnes scoffed, “it was obviously about the wedding.  What else would there be meetings about today?  They must want her to help in some way: communion, maybe?”

“Ooh!  A bridesmaid!” another in the group suggested excitedly.  “Do you know who he’s marrying?”

“Of course she knows!” someone answered for you.  “Who is it?  I was right, wasn’t I— it’s someone in the church!”

“Well… yes, I know who it is,” you mumbled, “but I… I’m not sure I’m permitted to speak on it.”

That was a lie, but you were too busy trying to process it all yourself to share it with anyone.

“Just tell us,” they begged.  “You won’t get in trouble!”

“The wedding’s only a few days away,” Sister Lilith pointed out, “so there’s no point in it being a secret now— and if I’m right about who it is, Sister Magdalena owes me a fifty.”

“I’m sure you didn’t guess it,” you promised her.

But the questions just kept coming: “It is a woman, though, right?” “Is it someone you know?  Wait, is it someone we know?” “

You realized that if you didn’t tell them now, they would either figure it out soon or be entirely blindsided at the ceremony.  Not to mention that if you refused to answer their questions, they’d just keep grilling you until they got something.  Your voice was actually quite feeble in that moment, not loud or strong enough to cut through all that chatter— but your words were enough to stop every question being thrown at you in its tracks.

“It’s me.”

You waited for them to react, but for a moment, they didn’t.

“I was asked to— to take the position,” you specified, putting it as vaguely as possible.  I’m going to marry Frater Imperator was just as true but was just as hard to say as it was to wrap your head around.

They erupted into a variety of reactions, all of which at least had some element of shock involved.  “I had no idea you were so close!” Sister Agnes exclaimed.

“We’ve… never even spoken…” you shyly replied, and the excitement quickly died down.  You weren't offended by their quizzical stares; if anything, it was a relief to see some of them looking as confused as you felt.

Why did he choose her? you caught a few whispers in the back of the group.  They're strangers? What makes her so special, then?

You wish you knew the answers to those questions.

That night as you laid in bed, you couldn’t do anything but replay the clergy meeting in your mind.  You’d felt so small across the table from all of them; you had no idea air could feel so heavy and stiff, matching the tense energy as you waited for them to explain why you’d been summoned.  As it all happened, you thought you would never forget every detail— but already you were losing your memory of what was said in what order, when exactly you realized you weren’t in trouble, how long it took you to believe what you were hearing.

Should we not court first?  Or have a meeting, maybe? You had suggested.  Frater does not feel it is necessary, a clergyman firmly replied.

And he’s not here now, because… you trailed off.

We all feel you should make this decision privately— in case his presence would sway you one way or another, a high Sister answered.

You could see the logic in that, and appreciated the concern for your uncoerced consent… except, of course, that this was an offer already impossible to say no to.  They’d successfully convinced you that you wouldn't be punished for turning down the proposal, but the marriage itself had already been announced: if you rejected the offer, someone else would surely take your place.  And for some reason, though the idea of going through with this terrified you, passing it up sounded even worse.  Even just imagining another woman taking her place at his side… why did it bother you so much? 

Because you will take your husband's title, but will not have decision-making power over the clergy, your title from henceforth shall be Sister Imperator Consortia.

It had a ring to it, but it didn’t feel like you— at least not yet.  It felt too… formal, too important.  Generally, people don’t join a convent and put on a habit because they’re intent on standing out, Satanic or not.

You told yourself that you needed to rest while you could, you had a busy week ahead starting with a dress fitting first thing tomorrow.  But still, you hardly got a moment of sleep that first night; part of you thought if you shut your eyes long enough, you would wake up to learn this had all been some bizarre dream.

You couldn’t decide, though, if you’d be relieved or heartbroken if you awoke.

~

In some ways, the wedding mass was quite similar to how you’d always pictured yours would be… except for the attendance.  You were sure you’d never met this many people in your life!  Even tonight, you wouldn’t be able to meet them all!

But, of course, this was the social event of the year, if not decade, for any church member or Satanist: it only made sense that there were throngs of people not only in the church but outside, waiting to see the new couple.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, face obscured by the black veil, your eyes widened with the thought that you might be basically the Kate Middleton of Satanism in this moment…

Trading your opaque veil for one of lace, your loose and simple dress for a form-fitting and extravagant one made of dark red silk and sporting an over-the-top train, you wondered if you were going to be swallowed up by all this overwhelming intricacy, all this… pomp.

Taking a shaky breath, you tried not to imagine that everyone else watching you walk down the aisle would agree with you that you were horribly out of place.  You wished you’d had a chance to understand why you were chosen— to even just meet the high Frater, but the clergy had insisted several times that he was too busy with his new duties and planning the wedding.  Yes, your fiance was too busy planning your wedding to speak to you.  It was all horrifically ironic, and irritating.  So, as you turned and stepped out of the bridal suite, taking your bouquet of Dahlias from one of the Sisters assisting you, you thought to yourself if nothing else, at least I’ll get to finally try to understand all this by the end of the night.

The doors to the main hall opened for you, and there was no turning back.

It was a massive room, with easily a thousand people between you and the altar, but the very first thing your eyes fell on was Copia all the way at the other end of the aisle: the all black suit was no surprise, yet even from so far his white eye stood out prominently, and it was fixed on you.

Walking down the aisle took quite some time— you’d been reminded to take slow steps, as if you were just going to break into a sprint or something.  You tried to keep your eyes ahead, and ignore all the eyes on you: people seated on the furthest ends of the pews leaned and stood on their tiptoes to try to get a glimpse, but between all the encouraging smiles you caught an occasional glare of disapproval… it seemed plenty of your siblings were jealous of or disappointed by you one way or another.

Adjusting your clammy hands slightly, you realized you were unintentionally holding a concerningly tight grip on the Dahlia stems and the ribbon they were wrapped with; that said, you were very thankful for something you do with your hands.

Your heart was pounding by the time you reached the front of the hall, where the priest, the clergy, and your betrothed waited for you at the altar.  A Sister took your bouquet away to free your hands just as you passed the front row, and when you looked forward again there were only a few carpeted steps between you and… everything.

Copia surprised you by reaching forward— at first you weren’t sure what he meant by it, until you realized and quickly took his hand, letting him guide you up the stairs.  He was wearing those leather gloves you hardly ever saw him without, but even still, it was the first time you’d ever touched him; was his hand shaking?  You couldn’t tell, yet it almost felt like it.  Not to say that his grip wasn’t a strange sort of comfort in that moment; as he helped you up the stairs, you felt yourself relaxing slightly, despite being far from over with the hardest parts of this.

The first few minutes were just a matter of standing and waiting while the priest spoke: you wish you could say you remembered a damn word of it, he must’ve said something about love or marriages or… you know, all that.  Whatever it was, you were relieved when it was over and you could move on to the communion and prayer— the more familiar parts, and the parts where you got to kneel.  You were actually amazed that your legs hadn’t been noticeably wobbly so far, but they definitely could use a break.

In the time that your head was meant to be bowed in your prayer, you carefully opened your eyes and turned your head— just enough to take a peek at him quickly.  Well, your intention was to be quick about it, but once you started looking, you became distracted rather easily.  It was just that you'd never seen him so up close, you were sure: you'd never noticed the slope of his nose before, or how long his eyelashes were, or the shape of his lips in this profile—

Suddenly, as if he sensed your stare somehow, his eyes popped open and glanced over to return it.  He gave you a half smirk as your eyes widened and you snapped your gaze back down to your clasped hands.

“...and may they be joined in unholy matrimony for all eternity,” the priest ended his prayer: “Nema.”

“Nema,” you and Copia and the rest of the congregation replied.

The penultimate step of the ceremony was the exchanging of the rings, which were extended towards you both on a little velvet pillow— it was actually kind of adorable, you thought.

You figured he might take his gloves off for you to put the ring on, but it was apparently designed to fit around them; alternately, you had to suppress a startled reaction to your own ring as he gently placed it on your finger.  It was a massive ruby surrounded with onyx and black diamonds, intricate and completely unsubtle.  You knew Copia had expensive taste, and it was certainly in keeping with such a lavish wedding, but you wondered if it would look entirely out of place on you for daily wear.

I’ll wear this ring every day, forever, you reminded yourself; you breathed out shakily as his hands held yours so tenderly for one more moment after your ring was in place.

And then there was only one thing left.  The thing you’d been preparing yourself for since this morning— or perhaps since that fateful meeting with the clergy: the kiss.

It felt pretty melodramatic with him lifting your veil over your head, and it felt surreal to be in the part of this that you’d been imagining in hopes of preparing yourself.  Of course, it was a little different than how you’d pictured it, most of all the look on his face: it was subtle, but he didn’t seem as serious or muted as you were used to.  It wasn’t like he was grinning or anything— that would’ve actually been sort of creepy— but there was a small smile on his face.

You heard the priest say something about husband and wife but you weren’t paying attention, it all sounded distant somehow.  And maybe you sort of psyched yourself up for this moment too much— maybe you wanted to get the wedding over with, maybe you were afraid if you didn’t commit fully that you’d end up instinctively backing away when he came closer and you’d both be humiliated in front of all these people.

There were other possible explanations for what you did, but for whatever reason, you all but threw yourself onto him and kissed him.

It only lasted for a few seconds, but that moment may as well have been frozen in time; it took him a second to react, his hands settling near your waist— and it took the crowd a moment too, but they began to clap and cheer for you both at some point.

Truthfully, you weren’t thinking much about how it felt to kiss him… you couldn’t, really, without losing focus on the point of all this.  You weren’t here to have a nice kiss or meet someone you might like— you were here to serve a purpose, to fill a role.  And that’s not to say you weren’t grateful, but you weren’t going to let yourself be distracted from your duty to the church.

You backed away as suddenly as you’d latched onto him, and when you opened your eyes after scrunching them shut during the kiss, you saw him looking at you with a bit of shock in his expression.  Only then did you wince to yourself and wonder, was that too much?

He took your hand and turned to face the congregation, so you followed suit of course, and as he smiled and waved at them politely you were a little surprised to see them all standing and applauding.  It definitely felt like a bigger crowd from this side of the cathedral…

You were almost frozen for a second, until you felt his hand guiding you down— he was already on the first step down, so you quickly picked up your skirt and followed him.  You had wondered before if you would feel different walking back down the aisle with him, compared to when you processed on it alone.  You weren’t sure if you really felt married or something— what would that even feel like?— but you did feel different.

You felt better, actually— relieved, happier, you even caught yourself smiling at the crowd, but it was hard not to with how… energetic they were.  Despite not really knowing what to do with all that attention, you at least appreciated it, though it surely had little to do with you.  They were cheering for him because he’s Copia— Frater, the former Papa, heir of the Emeritus bloodline— and they were only cheering for you because you’re his wife.

And no, just because you understood that logically didn’t mean it felt at all real yet.

Frater Imperator and Sister Imperator Consortia! you could hear the announcement echoing through the hall, though it was distant compared to the claps and hollers.  You dared one glance at him by your side, thinking it might be easier than looking at this massive crowd around you, and found him already smiling at you; and with a warmth beginning to spread on your face, you let him guide you out of the doors, into the rest of the church submerged in nightfall. 

~

After a crowded spectacle like that, the quiet of his chambers was quite a relief.  So much so, actually, that it dampened some of that eerie, anxious feeling of being alone with Copia in his bedroom; it wasn’t quite as spacious as you would’ve assumed someone with his level of importance would have, but the ornate and luxurious furniture made perfect sense.

You were so caught up in taking it all in, almost entranced by the beauty all around you, that when he spoke it slightly startled you. 

“That kiss,” he said suddenly.  “Wow.”

It was just that his voice sounded so different like this: no microphone, no massive chapel, just one small room with stone walls.  There was a brief pause as he ran his gloved hand over his hair, blowing air quickly out of his mouth, and you realized you should probably respond somehow: for some reason, your mind struggled to accept that he was speaking to you directly.  “I’m sorry if I was too forward, I just—”

“No!  No, not at all,” he laughed thinly, “no, you did very well.  I’m sure today was… overwhelming for you.”

It felt good to just hear him confirm that: up until now, everyone in the clergy had been sort of acting like this was normal, never really acknowledging (let alone validating) your stress.

“If it’s any comfort, it was for me, too.  And I’ve had a lot more experience with large crowds than you,” he added.

You smiled a little; “Yes, that’s true— but it must be different here, at home.”

“Mm,” he nodded, pondering that for a second.  “It is.  But it’s preferable in some ways, too— like now, being able to come back to my own space.”

You envied that a bit; you were likely never to return to your chambers across the building, and while you didn’t necessarily enjoy sharing that space with a dozen other Sisters, it was probably easier than sharing a bed with just one man.

Before you could get a little too caught up in that train of thought, he spoke again.  “I can’t believe I haven’t already told you how exquisite you look in your dress,” he offered.

“O-oh, thank you,” you hummed, “I’m very fortunate, it’s a beautiful gown.”

“Of course it is, I picked it out,” he informed you proudly.  “I have excellent taste, no?”

“You do,” you agreed with a small laugh.

“And you liked the ceremony, I hope?”

“Yes, Papa,” you answered dutifully.  “I-I mean, Frater.”

“Force of habit,” he noticed, “literally.  But, I'm not Frater to you anymore, I'm your husband.”

That certainly made your heart skip a beat, even though you couldn’t imagine you had forgotten it in the last ten minutes.  “So what should I call you, then?” 

“Well, just my name should do,” he laughed slightly, seeming a bit surprised by the question.  “Spouses call each other pet names from time to time, would you like that?”

You might have been able to think about that idea more clearly if his hand wasn't on your waist, petting along the curve of it absent-mindedly.  “I… don't know,” you admitted, “I’ve never really tried it.”

“It will come naturally, I suppose,” he shrugged.

“So, it is a proper marriage then,” you realized.

“Hm?” 

You wondered if you shouldn’t have said it aloud.  “I-I just mean, I wasn’t sure at first… if maybe it was all political, you know,” you admitted.  “A marriage for show, not necessarily of a personal nature, I guess.”

“If it were political, I would have been paired up with someone from another church, I imagine,” he explained, one of his eyebrows raising.  “Did you think I chose you randomly?”

It felt pretty fucking random, you wanted to say, but that would have been a little bit harsh.  Instead, you sat down on the edge of the bed (which was only a little cumbersome with your dress) and he copied you, sitting just a few feet away.  “I’m so honored you chose me, Copia,” you began, feeling a little odd about using his name so casually, “but I just… I can’t imagine why.”

“The clergy asked me the same thing,” he recalled, “but they weren’t satisfied with my answer— I’m sure you won’t be, either.”

“Try me,” you encouraged.

“Well… I saw you once,” he explained slowly, “in a Mass— I gave you communion, do you remember that?”

“O-oh, yes, I think you’ve served me the elements a few times.”

“This was the first time,” he assured, “I know, because I thought to myself she must be new, if I’d seen her before I would’ve remembered it.”

You tried not to smile too wide, but you couldn't help some reaction.  You never imagined you'd left such an impression on him.

“You looked up at me, and you just looked so sweet… I couldn’t get the image out of my mind, you on your knees before me…”

You crossed your legs tightly.  “I mean, I remember that too, of course.  But it’s because it was the first time I saw you in your papal robes— I was just one of hundreds, I didn’t even know you could tell us apart.”

“Well, you stood out to me— maybe it was fate, eh?” he smirked.  But he was the head of the clergy, the most important man in the church: he made his own fate.

“And that’s it?” you realized sheepishly.  “You thought I was pretty, or something, a few years ago and so you married me?”

“Not pretty, no— pretty is cheap, cara mia.  You were enchanting.”

Was this flattery?  It seemed too perfect to be totally genuine, but hell, he was smooth.  

“I thought of you often,” he admitted, moving closer to you, “I imagined if I might have you to myself someday… and now I do.”

His gloved hand rested on your shoulder before carefully moving up to the back of your neck; he guided you towards him, slowly and patiently, looking into your eyes for a moment but taking longer to look at your lips. 

You swallowed nervously once before letting your eyes fall shut.

The kiss was soft at first, but grew more intense with every moment; he breathed a little heavier through his nose and you could feel it against your face.

His arms wrapped around you, and it should've felt nice, like a loving embrace; it sort of did, it just also started to make you feel claustrophobic, forcing you to fight the urge to squirm out of his grasp.

You wanted to give into it, you wanted to let yourself melt into his arms… but as he held you tighter and kissed you harder, your heart started to race in a way that wasn’t pleasant anymore.

Pulling back and pushing against him, you broke away and hoped he wouldn’t be angry with you or hurt by your rejection.  Fortunately, he let you move back as soon as you tried, and looked at you with an expression more of surprise than frustration.

“W-wait, I—” you mumbled nervously, willing your hands not to shake with nervousness.  “It’s not that I don’t— we’ve only just— I do find you attractive, but—”

“We don’t know each other very well,” he finished for you.  “It's alright, you seemed nervous already.”

“Yes,” you sighed, smiling with relief.  “I just thought… maybe we could get to know each other better first, before we…”

“I didn't expect you to be so shy,” he noticed with a soft laugh.  You were keeping close watch on his tone and, from what you could tell, he thankfully didn't sound too disappointed.

“I-I’m usually not,” you assured, “maybe compared to some other Sisters…”

“Well, that's a low bar,” he noted with a raised brow, “but anyhow, it doesn't bother me.  I'm happy to wait until you're… more comfortable.”

You smiled a little, glancing away briefly.  “Thank you,” you began, barely managing to stop yourself from calling him by a title again.

“I just hope you'll stay in my bed tonight— it's your bed, too, you know.  Nothing else has to happen.”

“Of course,” you smiled, “I'd like that.” 

He nodded shortly at you and moved as if he was going to get up, but you opened your mouth impulsively to speak— even if nothing came out right away— and he stopped.

“But, um— you could kiss me again,” you suggested quickly, before you lost the nerve.  He smiled, with a certain sparkle in his eyes that made you squirm slightly against the bed.

His hand brushed under your chin gently, lifting your face until you were forced to look right up at him.  “If it would please you,” he returned with a purr.

Swallowing thickly, you nodded; “Yes,” you insisted softly.

This kiss was slower, but no less intoxicating: he touched you like you were the most fragile thing, and the movements of his lips seemed to gently guide your own.  You heard yourself sigh against him, and his thumb started to pet your jawline tenderly.

You remembered that moment clearer now, the one he described to you before. Taking communion from him, kneeling under him, waiting with an open mouth for him to deliver the mana to your tongue… the cool golden chalice against your lip and the bittersweet wine…

His other hand delicately landed on your lower back, and you opened your mouth wider, letting his tongue graze against yours.

When he pulled back, you found yourself leaning forward just for a second, chasing him for more.  And he obviously noticed, it was clear from the way he smiled down at you.  You wondered if he would indulge your desire for more— for a second, you imagined he might decide that you were more ready than you'd let on and take you right then and there.  A little brutish, yes, but the idea tickled a certain corner of your brain.

But, no, he sat up straight and let out a short breath.  “I'll get ready for bed,” he announced.  “You should too— you've had a long day.”

You nodded back; “Yes, Papa,” you returned compulsively once again.  “Damn it!”

“It seems you have a lot of new things to get used to,” he laughed.

More than you know, you thought to yourself as he walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

[wordsnstuff]

Hello! I just had the realization my original plot just isn't going to work but I'm almost done with my first draft and I'm too married to a lot of my scenes I've already written to feel like i can fully start over. Do you have any advice? Just thinking about starting over is making me want to put the pen down for a while...

Starting over near the finish line

By first draft, I'm assuming you mean that this is the first attempt at putting the your story to paper. What I'm about to say is not to devalue the incredible amount of work that you must have invested up to this point. It is an accomplishment on its own to sit down and put words on that page, let alone reach a point anywhere near a finish line.

The first time you do something (anything) is rarely the time you do it well, let alone perfectly.

If I sat a beginner down with some printouts of blogposts about knitting and a spool of yarn, I doubt they'd make me a sweater without having to undo at least 50% of the moves they make. That wouldn't be because they're stupid or genetically predisposed to suck at knitting. Regardless of how seasoned you are as a writer, each work you approach is like starting a brand new hobby from scratch. You have to mentally allow for space to make errors and to let go of good ideas. This doesn't mean you throw the good and essential core of your story out.

Take significant time to review what you have, identify the bits and characteristics that you find most emotionally and mentally compelling. Write them down, examine the commonalities and congruencies between them, and work out exactly you like about your story as it stands. There is always good amongst the bad. You seem to already have identified certain parts that you cannot bring yourself to let go, so once you figure why that is, you'll be able to trim away what doesn't serve you and move forward.

You aren't starting over. This is not the beginning, and you will never be back at the beginning again. This is process, and process is imperative to making anything. If you continue to visualize writing as an act that starts at point A and ends at point B you will never be done. Nor will you do justice to your ideas. If you don't allow them to waddle around and fall on their face like the newborn babies that they are, they won't develop as they're meant to.

This is not failure. This is writing. It's a necessary part of what you're doing. It's normal. It's good for you. It's good for your story. In fact, it speaks well to your character development and world building and even your plot development that you can recognize there is so much worth salvaging in this first attempt to bring to the next. You're already emotionally connected to so much of what you've made, and plot is only part of that. If you're able and willing to acknowledge what doesn't work, you will be able to trust yourself when you determine what does. A story is a sum of its parts, and this is just one part that you're going to put down, regroup, and reconfigure.

There are several resources that I've created over the many years to assist in plot development and all the problems encountered within, and those are available on my masterlist for your perusal.

I wish you the best of luck and look forward to your triumphant follow up once you finish that second draft.

x Kate

[zer0pm]

Imagine being an undercover agent who once infiltrated Umbrella and grew close to Luis Serra. You were forced to separate from him, never telling him why and broke his heart in the process. When you thought that you have finally moved on, you find him again. Tied up in a sack.

“What’s in Spain?”

“My home. A village, to be exact. And remote. The people there could use people like us to help them. No one would be able to find us there. Not even Umbrella. There, we can disappear.”

“…I’m sorry, Luis. I can’t.”

.

“You seem distracted.”

“What?” you blink, immediately biting your tongue after. But it was too late, you were caught red-handed.

“Case in point,” your partner Leon sighs. “So, what is it? What’s on your mind?”

You reply with a frown, “I’m wondering how deep these tunnels go. Must have something important down here for these… villagers to go through the trouble of trying to lock it up inconspicuously.”

It was such a blatant lie, the blond’s stony expression showed that he wasn’t buying it at all. But Leon doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leads on with his gun and flashlight pointing forward in the darkness. You were relieved that he didn’t press further.

But he’s also right. You were distracted and on a mission where a steady, focused mind is imperative at all times. Mulling over the past on things that were best laid forgotten is meaningless and offered no benefit to the task at hand. So why bother even allowing it to weigh so heavily in your thoughts?

Because what are the odds that this is the same place that he mentioned? The one that he wanted to hide away with you within? Given everything you’ve seen so far, with all these monsters roaming about, you sincerely hope not. Surely this is all coincidental and that he is in some other part of Spain.

.

“You mentioned that you grew up in Spain, right? What was it like there?”

“Oh? For once you don’t want to talk about work or whatever ingenius discoveries I’ve made recently? Pero, you actually want to engage in small talk? It must be a sign!”

“Answer the question or I’m requesting a department change.”

“Calma, calma. I only tease. Hmm… The weather can be unforgiving, especially during the rainy season. The people live day-to-day on whatever resources that can grow or be found under the constantly harsh conditions. Sickness often spreads and the treatment is… archaic.”

“This all sounds awful.”

“It wasn’t all bad. Everyone in our small community had someone to support them. I had my grandfather. He helped shape me to be the man I am today. A very handsome man at that, with both brains and brawn. In case, you didn’t notice already.”

“He must be very proud of you.”

“I hope so...”

“You don’t keep in touch?”

“So interested in my life story all of a sudden. And yet I still know so little of yours.”

“What’s there to know? There’s not much to tell.”

“See, that is where you’re wrong, my friend. A key to a great story is time to gather your thoughts. And I wouldn’t mind making time to listen to yours. How does after work sound? There’s an excellent coffee spot around the corner.”

“…You know what? A drink sounds great.”

.

You should have rejected him then and there. The task was only to gather information and find evidence of the production of biochemical weaponry. Forming attachments was not part of the job. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to deny him then, convincing yourself that it was necessary to reinforce your cover. You were seen as just a researcher forging deep interpersonal relationships with your fellow coworker and not at all a spy for the government sent to infiltrate a pharmaceutical giant for secrets that could topple a nation.

No one suspected a thing- not Umbrella, not your handlers, not even him. It worked. But it didn’t make you feel any less guilty about it, especially when you developed real feelings for him and he reciprocated them earnestly and affectionately. At first, you meant to play along with no intention of taking him seriously. The Spanish researcher expressed himself as a man who talks a big game but settles down or folds over for no one. He had a reputation within the labs as a serial flirt after all.

However, the day he casually asked you out, he surprised you. Beneath all the playful, charming remarks and practiced come-hither smirks belied a genuine romantic. He was a man passionate about his work, driven by a real desire to help others. He cared about other people, evident at how intently he listened to you when your shared bits of yourself to him. Granted, much of what you said then was fabricated to uphold your secret identity, but he showed unwavering interest in you and the image you created as if you two were only people in that coffee shop that mattered. After one date came another, then another, then another until you lost count. You fell for him and you fell for him hard. And before you knew it, at his suggestion, the two of you moved in together.

It was a dream. A wonderful dream. You couldn’t remember the last time you lived a normal life, let alone someone to come home to. It was such a domestic feeling. To go wit him to work by day then go home together by night to fall asleep in each other’s arms and do it all over again the following morning. To fall into a routine was strange and something you grew affectionately accustomed to. And it was all because of him. He made you feel safe. He made you feel loved. He made you feel normal. But it was only a dream. And all dreams eventually come to an end.

It got to a point where you dug yourself so deep that by the time you had to shed your identity and leave him, it left scars that neither of you would ever recover from.

.

“¿Qué? What do you mean, you can’t?”

“I can’t go to Spain with you.”

“Is it the location? We can go anywhere you want,l, but we have to make sure we hide our tracks from Umbrella-”

“I mean that I can’t go with you. Anywhere. Period.”

“¿Mande? Why.”

“I want to tell you, I really do.”

“…Tú no me quieres.”

“No! Of course I do.”

“Then why? Why can’t you run away with me? I can protect us, you just have to trust-”

“This isn’t about trust.”

“Then tell me what it is!”

“…This isn’t going to work. I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“L-Lo siento, mi corazon. I didn’t meant to shout. We can work through this-”

“Just please remember that what we had was real.”

“¡Amor!”

“Goodbye, Luis.”

.

That was the last time you saw him. You broke his heart, the pieces of yours shattered away with every step that you took away from him. Revisiting those memories all caused a single tear to fall down your cheek.

You have to move on. It’s been long enough. It was all to protect him, you told yourself countless times. In your line of work, attachments just do not (and cannot) stick. And you stuck with that choice without an ounce of regret. You only hope that wherever Luis is now, he’s happy and safe. That alone kept you going.

When you finally broke yourself out of your daze, you found yourself facing a wall. You quietly berated yourself for your absentmindedness again and were grateful for the darkness. Luckily, your fellow agent didn’t notice you or your inner turmoil, something else catching his attention at the end of the tunnel.

“Over here. I found someone.”

Your head snaps towards Leon’s direction, your heartache momentarily dulled and set aside. “Ashley Graham?”

“Don’t know yet,” Leon replies, crouching down. “Here, hold the light.”

You hurry over to the blond’s side, taking the flashlight from him and directing it towards his finding. A large sack, big enough for a person, was flailing about. The sound of muffled struggling reaches your ears. Leon unties the top of the thick cloth before pulling it down. You almost didn’t believe what, or rather, who you were seeing. But your eyes were blown wide in recognition before Leon rips the tape off of their mouth. There was no mistaking those rugged features, that dark hair, and those grey eyes that you fell in love with helplessly so long ago.

It was him. The man that haunted your every thoughts and dreams. The man that dug his way into your heart and made a home there.

Luis Serra Navarro.

“Oh no, not you.”

The man merely gazes back at you, momentarily stunned before chuckling in that husky voice of his that you thought you’d never hear again.

“I’ve missed you too, mi corazon,” he says. His eyes glide over your form lasciviously, uncaring that you (and your partner) can see him staring shamelessly. He looked and smiled at you as if the years spent apart never happened. “Te ves bien.”

You had so many questions.

.

.

.

A/N: Part Two can be found right here~

[pukanavis]

[18Trip] Toi Shiramitsu Mayor Novel "The Day I Became an Angel" Chapter 1 | The Ritual Room

Part 1 | Part 2

*Before you choose to continue, please note that the novels contain major spoilers for the main story of the game, and it is recommended that you only read them once you have finished the main story!

There’s a ritual that Grandfather told me about, one that the heads of the Shiramitsu family have passed down for generations.

It’s a mandatory process in order to be blessed with the powers of an angel, apparently.

Subsequently, I was determined to try my hardest. Once the 9 day long ritual ended, they said that an angel—Oshisha-sama—would settle within my body. I told myself without a shadow of doubt, that I would make it through.

“Ah…aah…uhgg…”

When they first locked me away, I felt scared, panicked, I called out for my brother to save me, and wept for hours. When I no longer had the strength to even cry, I finally began to feel a semblance of peace. I was cold, tired and starved, but I promised myself I would persist. At times, I couldn't hold back the strange groaning sounds that slipped out. And yet, and yet…

“Uu…aah…”

The mucous membranes in my parched throat dried out, making it painful to even draw a breath. I was so thirsty that spots began to fill my vision.

I told myself to keep going.

“Aah…”

My fingers, devoid of nearly all their strength, clawed at the ground. There was a strange design painted across the floor. Mother said it was a summoning circle that would bring forth Oshisha-sama.

I scratched at the circle, almost as if I were tracing the lines.

In order to earn Oshisha-sama's favour, it is imperative that one must be near death. Oshisha-sama won’t come otherwise, they say.

“Does...Oshisha-sama like it when...people are on their deathbed…?” 

My voice was hoarse. It didn’t sound like it belonged to me. It reminded me of the wailing ghosts I saw around town, the ones that had suffered miserable deaths.

I thought it was a little strange that Oshisha-sama liked people on the drink of death. He is an angel, after all. I had always imagined angels as beings that saved those in need.

“Ah, ah…aah…”

Even so, Oshisha-sama was going to save me from this pain. He and I would form a bond and then…and then…uhm…?

My head was screaming. I struggled to form a coherent thought. I was trying my hardest not to fall asleep, but my consciousness began to slip away from me. My body was trying to make me rest, but I couldn't. It was the one thing I couldn't let happen.

I leaned against the wall in an attempt to keep myself awake but with no strength left in my frail neck, my head slumped backwards.

My eyes landed on the sole tiny window in my cell, the only thing that allowed light to seep through. 

The dark, cloudy sky beyond it seemed to go on forever.

“...”

They say that the family my brother and I were born into—the Shiramitsu family—have been possessed by angels for generations.

Many of their children showed a sense for the paranormal and possessed clairvoyance, psychic abilities and a talent for divination…they used these powers to provide aid to others and steadily amassed a following of believers.  Mother and Grandfather say that our family is famed within those areas.

“It is the duty of the Shiramitsu family…to help people.”

Just as they had told me, I too had psychic abilities. I could see ghosts and phantoms and even speak with them if they were open to it.

Ani-sama doesn’t have any psychic power…I must have hogged it all to myself while we were in Mother’s tummy.

Instead, all the masculinity and coolness that I lack went to him. Ani-sama has always been my very own shining hero…

“...”

My thoughts were a scattered mess and it began to feel like I may never again be the way I once was.

Maybe I really had been just a step away from reaching my limit. I could feel unconsciousness creeping up the longer I remained in that state. Grandfather warned me not to fall asleep, but what fate would I meet if I happened to faint?

Would I become a failure if I lost consciousness? Would they be mad at me?

No, no, I’m not afraid of anyone being upset with me. What scares me is failing and not being able to become a source of help for everyone.

I have to keep going. I have to do this, for everyone. I have to.

But…but my body, it wants so so desperately to just—

“Toi!”

“...!”

—The sight I saw at that moment…

“Toi, are you okay!?”

The sight beyond that little window—

Before I knew it, the skies had cleared and light began to pour past the glass.

“Ah…”

The shadows cast by the barred window piled onto one another, swallowed by a single silhouette. Backed by the gleaming moonlight, was my brother—

“Toi, Toi…!”

It was as if a new God had just descended onto Earth.

Oh no…what do I do now? I was waiting for Oshisha-sama, but God had shown up ahead of the angel. Maybe I had already died… No, that couldn’t be right.

“Ani…sama…!” I called back.

My brother's face crumpled with guilt. He called my name in a pained voice. Ani-sama was distressed…because of me.

Please, don’t make that face. Don’t feel sad over me. I’m okay.

I wanted to hold him in my arms.  I wanted to assure him everything was okay. I wanted dearly to touch him one more time.

I wanted to take away my brother’s pain, no matter what may happen to me. I wanted to heal his sorrow.

I didn't even need to be the one to do it. Please, someone, anyone—

And then it happened.

“Are you my next host?” a voice echoed in my head.

Part 1 | Part 2

[bizarrebazaar13]

I have been thinkin. lately. about the possibility of May and The King ever reconciling, at least partialy. and i know we both have it as an eventuality in our various timelines. but im still stuck on the how, if ever. [beyond being potentially spurred on by jealousy akdkfkkgkh] so i have come to seek your thoughts and insight into the matter further.

before we go any further it is imperative you know that I am answering this posed like that onion “businessman does his work laying in bed like schoolgirl” article. ok proceed.

I think for this to work at all, the King has to initiate. we know the Manager has been wanting this for a long time now, and we know the King has rejected the idea. the Manager asking for the millionth time isn’t going to change the King’s mind. it has to come from the King himself.

I also think that at the moment, they both want very different things from that reconciliation. May wants everything forgiven in one grand gesture, something you can see in any interaction with him where the King is brought up. his grand gesture of choice as of FL is turning himself into a city; he wants to do one big thing that finally proves he’s good enough for the King to take him back.

the King, though, is understandably over grand gestures of love like that. it has to be gradual. healing from what he went through won’t be instant or easy, and while that’s probably part of why he’s been avoiding it, he does recognize that. we cannot simply sit and stare at our wounds forever, and we also cannot expect them to go away overnight!

and getting more speculative, the Manager strikes me as someone who wants their relationship to move beyond the first city. he wants to show the King what he’s built and what he’s become, wants to visit Polythreme, etc. he approaches the tragedy of the fall of the first city more like “so that happened. what do we do now?” whereas the King is more stuck on the fact that it shouldn’t have happened at all. Polythreme architecture is all in the style of the first city, the King wears first city clothes, he’s recreating the past as much as possible. the King wants things to go back to the way they were before he even was sick.

so for a true reconciliation to happen, May needs to realize that one singular event can’t undo all of their pain, and the King needs to accept that things will never go back to how they used to be. and again, the King has to be the one to initiate. there would need to be some sort of catalyst for the King to start thinking about moving on, and for it to really be effective, it would probably have to come from a clay man. they are the people closest to the King in every sense of the word.

maybe the story of the clay highwayman sticks with the King for a while. and maybe one day, a clay man brings it up, and it makes the King furious, but it also makes him think. not enough to regret what he did to the clay highwayman, but enough to wonder if he did the right thing. slowly, he starts loosening his control over the clay men. he’s still their king, but maybe he doesn’t need control what they think and feel, you know?

eventually, when the Manager arrives at the gates of Polythreme, expecting to find them barred, they’re open. no one greets him there. he doesn’t even see the King at all. but he’s no longer cut off completely.

basically: it has to come from the King. I love the idea of the clay highwayman’s story being the thing that starts this process. and it’s going to be very slow. and painful. but I do really think that they could make it work. they knew each other best once, perhaps they still do. the wounds are always going to be there, but maybe we don’t need to let them bleed anymore.

[mikavlcs]

Breathe

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x asthmatic!fem!reader

Summary: A sudden run in with the Hyde induces an asthma attack. Luckily, Wednesday is there to help you.

Warnings: asthma attack(?), this is kinda rushed and not proofread lol, author does not have asthma but tried their best to research, this also makes no sense with the timeline of the show...ignore that<3

Word count: 2.8k

Notes: late post lol but this was a request from two weeks ago. sorry for the wait anon, but i still hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

Having a partner in her investigation was something Wednesday never planned on.

She had started it alone because she was the only one to see Rowan’s death, and apparently, the only one to believe it actually happened.

Besides you.

The first time you approached Wednesday about what happened that night, she simply walked away. But you kept coming back, kept insisting that your knowledge of outcasts and creatures could help her.

After a week of your attempts, she did spill some of the details to you, only because she was desperate for you to just shut up. 

But you surprised her. Greatly.

Once she showed you one of Xavier’s paintings she stole, you were the one that correctly identified the monster as a Hyde. You confirmed that the Hyde was indeed a person and that Hydes always acted on the whims of their masters.

Despite her initial impression of you, you had provided crucial information to the case and made yourself an imperative part of it moving forward.

Before she knew it, she was spending more and more time with you.

When she found a new lead, you were informed as soon as possible. Your opinions and insight became important to her, though if you asked her she would vehemently deny that. And your presence in her dorm became so normal, that Enid and Thing would inquire about your whereabouts when you weren’t there.

Though she’d love to say otherwise, the two of you had grown somewhat close. Which is why she wasn’t entirely surprised to find out that you were asthmatic.

The time you spent together allowed her to notice many things about you and she noticed the ways your condition manifested itself in your behaviors within weeks of properly partnering with you.

You tended to avoid strenuous exercise, something she never thought twice about because she too had no love for exercise or physical sports of any kind. But that combined with the rather persistent cough you had some days and the vague panic she saw in your eyes whenever that cough got particularly heavy made her aware that something was off.

Your reasoning for not telling her about it upfront was some ridiculous fear that she would kick you off the investigation if she found out about your asthma.

But she didn’t, she only demanded you give her one of your spare inhalers.

Not because she personally cared about your well-being, that would be ludicrous. She simply wouldn’t allow you to die because of something as pathetic as your own forgetfulness.

You were her partner, after all, and you dying would significantly affect her investigation. Which is the same thought process she followed from that point on when she found herself studying you.

Wednesday would observe you throughout the day, taking note of how clear your breathing was or how much you coughed, and if you were having issues, she would try to deduce why.

Weather conditions, she found, had a particularly damning effect on you. Things like air temperature and density affected your asthma greatly, and the moment she realized this, she began making adjustments to her investigation to better suit your health.

During stormy days when the humidity in the air was almost stifling, she would ask you to help put together a crime board in her dorm.

She would insist on doing research in the library on colder days since the frigid air could be a trigger for you.

The spare inhaler you gave her gained permanent residence in her bag, going everywhere that she did in case there was an emergency of some kind.

And this ended up paying off greatly when the two of you journeyed into the forest to find the cave in one of Xavier’s drawings.

Wednesday was very hesitant to let you come along in the first place.

There was a myriad of factors that fed into her reasoning, your asthma being one of the largest. But your arguments were not without their merit.

The weather was clear, the sun shining bright without a cloud in the sky to impede it, and the Hyde hadn’t made an appearance in weeks. And while that was true, there was still an inherent danger in the situation.

You absolutely refused to take no for an answer, following her around and bothering her (more so than usual) all day.

Part of her still wanted to refuse while another wanted to give up and accept your company. Your guidance and knowledge weren’t necessary for this, especially given your lack of knowledge about the layout of Jericho’s forests.

But as much as she wished it was, Wednesday couldn’t deny that the idea of spending more time with you wasn’t entirely unappealing.

So she gave in and allowed you to join her, on the condition that you both brought along an inhaler for you. You agreed with some light grumbling, and you both set off into the woods.

The two of you had been roaming through the forest for about twenty minutes—Wednesday closely reading Eugene’s directions while you leisurely followed, offering the occasional (bad) joke to fill the silence.

You were in the middle of one of those jokes when a sound in the distance made you both freeze.

Wednesday turned, met your wide eyes, and looked in the direction of the sound. She waited, watching closely for any type of movement.

There was a moment of stillness then a twig snapped, the sound closer than the last. More silence ensued and Wednesday quietly inched toward you, positioning herself in front of you. A beat. Then a long scratching sound cut through the air, like something sharp—a claw perhaps was carving through the bark of a nearby tree.

Wednesday’s hand found your wrist, and she barely had the time to properly look at you before a thunderous roar tore through the forest and she was taking off in the opposite direction, pulling you with her.

Trees whizzed past in a blur as she, and in turn, you raced through the forest. Wednesday wasted no time trying to identify the creature following them. She knew that roar. She heard it the night Rowan died.

It was the Hyde, finally reappeared after weeks of inactivity to antagonize you two. Intentionally? Possibly. But she wasn’t going to fully delve into her theories until both of you were safe.

She didn’t dare look back and risk losing her footing on an unseen tree root or rock, but she could hear the monster giving chase behind her, leading her to increase her pace and tighten her grip on your wrist. The two of you ran at a steady pace for minutes on end, only slowing slightly when Wednesday felt you stumble behind her.

Finally, the sounds of the Hyde’s pursual faded but Wednesday only brought you both to a stop once they had long since stopped and she was sure it wasn’t there anymore.

She ignored the fire coursing through her legs in favor of taking in her surroundings, both watching and listening keenly for any sign of the monster and finding none.

“Alright, I think it’s gone, we should…” Her words faded when she saw you stagger in her peripheral.

Confused, she turned to you and finally took in your state. You were unsurprisingly sweaty and short of breath, but the redness of your face was beginning to give way to an unnatural paleness. Again, you stumbled, your pants turning to choked coughs, and only when she saw your chest stutter did she realize what was happening.

Her confusion morphed into horror, and she was by your side in a second.

She guided you to sit against a nearby tree, and you all but collapsed against the raised roots, harsh wheezes escaping you as your hands fumbled toward your pocket. Wednesday watched, puzzled, as you froze, your eyes widening.

The realization hit her a moment later. Your inhaler was in your right pocket, she knew because she watched you put it there and she was just noticing how flat that pocket now was.

“It isn’t there?”

You started to speak but your chest constricted, swallowing your words, so you instead shook your head violently. The tears in your eyes made Wednesday’s own chest ache, and that pushed her into action.

Tearing her bag off her back, she dug around its contents for your spare inhaler, desperately tossing her things out of the way. She struggled for about twenty seconds before finally finding it.

Like you showed her, she flipped the inhaler upright, shook it firmly, then brought it up to your mouth, her other hand moving to gently cup your cheek.

You breathed in as best you could as she gave a puff, weakly gripping her wrist as you watched her mentally count to thirty. Once she reached thirty, she shook the inhaler again and gave you another puff.

She repeated this process three more times before you shook your head, grip on her wrist tightening. Reluctantly, she dropped her hand and examined you.

Your breath was coming in short, deep gasps, but you were breathing again and that’s all she cared about at the moment. Intent eyes watched as your chest fell and rose from her knees in front of you, refusing to move until she knew for certain it was over.

Eventually, your hand released her wrist, and she hesitantly brought her hand back to her side. You looked up at her, the tears from before gone.

“I-I guess you could say…that you took my breath away,” you gasped out, a smile beginning to form on your face again.

Wednesday rolled her eyes so hard it hurt.

You were fine. She ignored the rush of relief she felt at the fact.

A few minutes passed and, slowly but surely, your breathing began to return to its normal pace. Wednesday observed you closely, eyes still focused on the increasingly steady rise and fall of your chest while her own heart rate decreased.

Shakily, you brought a hand to rest on your stomach, a groan falling from your lips. Wednesday inhaled sharply.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, eyes scanning you hurriedly.

You sighed, tired and heavy.

“I’m hungry.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes again, swallowing a quiet scoff. Of course, you were hungry. When weren’t you?

Shaking her head, she dropped the inhaler back into her bag and slipped it back onto her back. She reached over to grab your arm and stood, pulling you to your feet with her. “Fine, then we’ll get you food when we return to campus.”

“Oh? ‘We’ will?” you drawled, and Wednesday could practically hear the infuriating smirk you had on your face. With a sadistic smile of her own, she turned to you.

“I could always just leave you here. I’m sure you know the way back to Nevermore from here, right?”

Pride surged through her at the way you stammered. She didn’t bother giving you the chance to properly respond, snatching your sleeve and pulling you forward with her. “Let’s go, it’ll be dark soon.”

Knowing you were still a bit shaky on your feet, Wednesday walked slower than usual. It would take longer to get back to school, but there were still a few hours of daylight left so it didn’t matter much.

The walk was quiet. You were less talkative than normal, but she supposed that wasn’t surprising given the circumstances. Every so often she’d peer over at you to make sure you weren’t overexerting yourself in any way and find you just admiring the forest around you. She blamed the warmth in her chest on fatigue.

Throughout the journey, she kept a firm grip on your sleeve, valiantly ignoring the way her heartbeat accelerated whenever her fingers brushed your wrist. 

Around an hour later, Nevermore came into view and, as promised, the cafeteria was your first stop upon your return to the school. Dinner was in an hour, so the kitchen staff initially refused to give you anything until dinner.

Wednesday just glared until they gave in.

You ate your food in silence. Wednesday watched your every move only looking away to glare again at the kitchen staff whenever they looked in your direction.

The moment you were finished, she took your sleeve captive again and dragged you to Ophelia Hall. She was bringing you to rest in her dorm, only so she could monitor your state and make sure you didn’t die in her sleep.

When you arrived, she all but yanked you inside, locking the door behind her. She ventured to her desk and set her bag down while you kicked your shoes off and looked around, eyes settling on the other, uglier side of the room.

“Where’s Enid?”

“Doing god knows what with Yoko,” she answered, striding up to you and tugging your blazer off. You sputtered, the beginnings of a question on your tongue but she silenced you with a glare. She hung your blazer on the headboard and pushed you onto her bed.

“Rest.”

You blinked owlishly. “What?”

Jaw clenched, Wednesday grabbed your shoulder and shoved you onto your back. “Lay down and rest. You’re exhausted, I can see it.”

And she could. She easily saw it in the hunch of your shoulders and the way your eyes drooped the moment your head hit her pillow. You looked like you wanted to put up a fight but after another moment of her glaring, you sighed.

“Fine. But only for a bit, I’m not stealing your bed for the night.”

She nodded. “Good.”

Wednesday promptly returned to her desk and sat down, loading a piece of paper into the carriage of her typewriter so she could begin writing. She was already behind because of your voraciousness, she refused to waste any more time.

While she typed her first few sentences, she could feel your eyes on her. She paid it no mind, her focus entirely on her story. Until your voice reached her ears.

“Hey, Wednesday?”

She didn’t even bother to pause her work, addressing you while her fingers moved swiftly across the keys. “What?”

“Do you think you would let me read your novels?”

Wednesday paused her typing, giving you a sideways glance. Her answer should be no. She had never let anyone read her novels (besides incompetent publishers) but the thought of you reading them didn’t fill her with disgust.

She thought about it for another moment, then answered. “Perhaps.”

A soft laugh came from your direction. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see you smiling widely, and it took all of her innate self-control to not turn and look.

She redirected her thoughts to Viper and her current mystery. Thoughts of your laugh were slowly replaced with the bloody crime scene Viper was investigating and just when she was getting back into her rhythm, you spoke up again.

“Wednesday?”

With a sigh, she once again turned away from her typewriter to face you. “Yes?”

“Thank you,” you whispered, sending a sickeningly tender smile in her direction.

Her words caught in her throat, face getting oddly warm at the soft look in your eyes. She forced a nod, taking another moment to just look at you before returning her gaze forward.

Silence overtook the room again, the soft clacking of the typewriter the only sound to be heard. When Wednesday finally gave in and allowed her eyes to drift to you, she found you finally asleep.

You looked relaxed, even the minuscule tension she saw on you throughout the day was absent in your dreamless sleep. The smile you had before you drifted off waned as your muscles relaxed, but the shadow of it remained and Wednesday was still as captivated with it as she was before.

Once again summoning all of her self-control, Wednesday tore her eyes off of you and set them back on her typewriter, still intent on finishing her dedicated hour for her novel.

By the end of her writing hour, she had only managed to finish five pages. Meager compared to her usual daily output, but she couldn’t bring herself to be upset when you were feet away from her, sleeping in her bed without a worry in the world.

She didn’t look at you directly but she did push her chair back a bit and turn it in your direction, quietly grabbing a book she was in the middle of and flipping it open on her lap.

Wednesday placidly skimmed the pages while taking small, occasional glances at you over the book. Just to make sure you were still breathing, of course.

As she read, her mind constantly went back to your question from earlier. Should she grace you with the opportunity to read her work? A brief internal debate gave her the answer she was searching for.

Turning, Wednesday opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out the manuscript for her first novel, setting it on her desk beside her. When you woke up, she would give it to you along with a gruesome threat to your life if you made any stupid comments or told anyone about her letting you read it.

(Begrudgingly, she looked forward to hearing your thoughts on her story.)

Until then, she would keep watch and continue to make sure that nothing brought your demise before she did.

[tanginawrites]

The Marauders didn't stop bullying Snape after the prank. It actually got worse.

A lot of people are surprised to realize that the scene in Snape's Worst Memory happens after the werewolf prank. When first reading OOTP, people generally assumed that SWM showed escalating tension between the Marauders and Snape that up led to the prank. But in DH, we see Snape and Lily talking about the prank before SWM. This means that the Marauders are still singling Snape out and targeting him after prank. Why?

My theory is that the bullying actually got worse after the prank. Because the only way to hold their friend group together was for the Marauders to double down and rally around blaming Snape for what happened.

Think about it: How did that incident not tear them apart? Sirius not only exposed Lupin's secret – he also attempted to use Lupin as a weapon against Snape, and he could have gotten James killed in the process. That's a huge betrayal.

But Sirius isn't mature enough to take responsibility for it. Lupin isn't self-confident enough to confront Sirius about it. "James would-consider-it-the-height-of-dishonor-to-mistrust-his-friends Potter" isn't going to be the one to lay blame on Sirius or break up the group. But it's too big an issue to ignore. The only way they can get over this is to put it all on Snape. It was just a joke, and Snape is an idiot, and James is a hero.

If you compare the two incidents that the books show us of the Marauders bullying Snape, you can see that totally different dynamics are driving the bullying. This shows how and why the bullying got worse after the prank.

The first bullying incident we see is on the Hogwarts Express, when James and Sirius engage in verbal bullying of Snape, with one small attempt at tripping him up as he leaves. This bullying is a form of bonding for James and Sirius and forms the basis of their friend group. This is an example of bullying driven by Peer Group factors (source), and this sort of bullying is generally done to:

to attain or maintain social power or to elevate their status in their peer group.

to show their allegiance to and fit in with their peer group.

to exclude others from their peer group, to show who is and is not part of the group.

What we're seeing here is that the soon-to-be Marauders are in new environment and they're defining their peer group and establishing social hierarchy, trying to establish their status. The Marauders continue in this pattern of Peer Group bullying throughout their school career, as evidenced by the detention records Snape has Harry transcribe in HBP. The Marauders seem to have thrown out hexes in a scattershot way to establish superiority over other students and look cool. This casual, incidental sort of bullying is likely what Snape experienced for the first several years of school.

But what we see in SWM isn't bullying to maintain Peer Group dynamics. This bullying isn't just flinging a single insult or a clever hex. James and Sirius hunt Snape, they deprive him of his wand and ability to escape the situation, and they repeatedly hex him until Lily (temporarily) stops them. This incident is extremely personal. This is an example of bullying driven by Emotional factors, and this type of bullying is done when the bullies:

have feelings of insecurity and low self-esteem, so they bully to make themselves feel more powerful.

don’t know how to control their emotions, so they take out their feelings on other people.

may not have skills for handling social situations in healthy, positive ways.

What we're seeing here is all the fraying edges of the Marauders' friendship. Sirius has just damaged their group, but he can't apologize or address it without accepting blame, so he has to take his emotions out on Snape. Punishing Snape is a way to exorcise his guilt. And it's actually imperative that he bully Snape into silence, because he is the one who has revealed Lupin's secret to Snape and put them all in jeopardy. Lupin can't confront Sirius about the betrayal of trust, and likewise he can't confront his friends here. Not only does Lupin not have the emotional security for handling this situation, he also can't risk putting himself in front of Snape in this moment, lest Snape scream "Werewolf" instead of "Mudblood." James is here trying to work through his own insecurities – in bullying Snape he is defending his friends, but James is also trying to get Lily's attention. James offers to change his ways if she'll give him a chance, because James needs to reassure himself that he is chivalrous, that he is a hero.

Looking at the way the bullying dynamics change and escalate in those two scenes, I think it’s clear that Lupin’s line, “Snape was a special case. I mean, he never lost an opportunity to curse James so you couldn't really expect James to take that lying down,” is an understatement.

Snape was a special case because he knew Lupin’s secret, which would always make him a potential threat. The Marauders would always take any opportunity they could to reinforce that Snape was powerless to do anything to them. And they’d continue to take out all their emotions about the prank on Snape rather than confronting each other.

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

My (non-Jewish) anthropology professor made a really incorrect statement about the idea of Jews as “God’s chosen people”. When I (also non-Jewish but try to keep informed) corrected him, he brought up something else that sounded wrong to me: supposedly only Reform Judaism allows for conversion? I didn’t know enough to contest it at the time, but that really does not sound true to my ear, from the way I’ve heard Jewish people talk about it. Is there any truth to that?

Yeah, the Chosen People thing is often wildly and antisemitically misinterpreted to mean "We think we're G-d's Specialest Selected Elite People and the only people G-d actually loves and cares about" -- which like. Could not be further from the truth. What it actually means is: We were selected to do the project of the mitzvot of the Torah, which is a lot of extra homework that other people don't need to do but someone needs to do it. It's a lot more like "chosen to do the dishes" of the spiritual world than "chosen to be special." Now. Is there definitely some pride of place in doing the extra work? Sure! But at the same time, Jewish eschatology has always made room for non-Jews. We absolutely think non-Jews who live good lives and are decent, moral people have a solid place in the world to come. We aren't angling for a everyone to become Jewish because, kind of by definition, not everyone needs to do the ritual mitzvot. Live ethical lives and be decent to each other and us? Sure. Lay tefillin and daven three times a day and (during the Temple times) offer sacrifices and wave lulav fronds during Sukkot and eat matzah on Pesach and keep kosher and keep Shabbat? Etc.? Nope, that's our task and ours alone.

Now! If you feel personally called to living a life of Torah and believe that you have a Jewish soul and should be made part of Am Yisrael, the Jewish people, you can go through the lengthy process of conversion and (essentially) become a member of the Tribe? Yeah, you can do that. You better be real sure and go into it eyes open. You're going to need to be persistent and dedicated to studying and being present in the community. It's not encouraged, and traditionally rabbis would turn someone asking to convert away three times before accepting them as a student to make sure they were serious. In modern times, most rabbis are a bit more welcoming, but will still push you to seriously consider why you want to be Jewish. If the answer is still yes for you, then you can do it, if you must. Most gerim (converts) describe an experience very similar to how transgender folks describe our gender journeys - we can't be any other way, and wouldn't want to be. I'm both a convert and trans, and my sense of understanding myself as both non-binary and as a Jew are deeply held and equally compelling.

All branches of rabbinic Judaism accept converts. Some have a more strenuous process than others, and some take on very few converts. The more traditional the movement, the more likely it is that the person will be encouraged to explore other options. The reason for this is that the more traditional the movement, the more serious they take the binding nature of the commandments, and therefore adding another Jew (especially one who has so much to learn in a comparatively short time rather than being raised in it) is a risk that the person will revert back to their old ways or find something else later. Since we are judged collectively (Torah is a group project) and the future world to come hinges on us scrupulously observing the mitzvot (according to the more traditional movements) it is imperative that any late additions to the People be very serious and rigorous in their observance.

The liberal movements are a lot less intense about that, although it's also a spectrum. The Reform movement does not hold the ritual mitzvot to be binding, only the ethical mitzvot. They therefore lack the same incentive to avoid failed conversions. The Conservative/Masorti movement and some of the other traditional egalitarian communities do hold the mitzvot as binding, but are a lot more flexible about their expectations that everyone follow them. It's a lot more of a "do your best; we're here to support you" vibe. (That's my branch that I converted through.)

Each branch, to be clear, has their strengths and weaknesses, their merits and their drawbacks. Every Jew brings something to the table. The Reform movement (and similarly liberal smaller movements) are probably the most welcoming to gerim and have the fewest hoops to jump through, but every branch has a process and some amount of converts. Those that choose a more traditional movement typically support, respect, and value the extra hoops of the traditional movements and are willing to work within that system; at least that's how it was for me. I wanted it to be rigorous so that I was prepared and certain; I got that out of my giyur process. Other people have different needs and value systems that are equally valid.

[bleue-flora]

Write the autitic c!dream essay🙏🙏

Why I think c!Dream is Autistic - Part 1

[context]

[Part 1] - [Part 2] - [Part 3]

Welp… I guess while on the topic of neurodivergence now is as good as time as any to do this. So, at long last…

Since every version of this essay ended up way too long I’m going to break it into 3 parts, and I'm going to make more generalized statements for the sake of brevity. So, if there are things about this or autism in general you would like more clarification on or know more about, my asks are always open (though I do ask that you please wait to flood my inbox until after you’ve read all parts). I would also like to add that for the same reason of length, I am not going to go in depth on all of the facets of autism and diagnosing it. I am not a psychologist, and this essay is not about defining autism and going into full depth about what it is, but about the specific aspects of Dream and the dsmp that I think point to autism, based on what I know and more importantly my experiences as an autistic person. Having said that, just so we are on the same page - Autism means that our brains are literally structured differently (also known as neurodivergent), which means we think differently and process the world differently, it does not make us inferior or broken or less than larger society (neurotypicals), it only means we are human beings who are wired differently.

Now, for part 1 I’m going to briefly go into the traits Dream has that I think point to autism, keeping in mind that this is not necessarily all inclusive, these are not necessarily autism exclusive, and some of these can be effected with masking and personal growth. 

Highly obsessive - in general and for specific interest, to the point of not taking care of oneself, like forgetting to sleep, eat, shower, or just not caring enough to do so. 

Strong willed, determined and dedicated - not going to give up easily, willing to stay up training or farming for long hours or put in the work especially for our obsession. Our priorities aren’t always productive, but we are not ones for laziness.

Isolated - outcast, odd ball out, set apart, on the outskirts, loner, alone even if surrounded by people.

Highly intelligent - smart, clever, big brained, skilled, knowledgeable to the point of ground breaking (ex: Einstein, Elon Musk, Michelangelo, Beethoven, Leonardo da Vinci…etc)

Trouble with emotions and feelings - from recognizing them, processing them, letting ourselves experience them, understanding them, leading us to often then lash out, explode, or have a meltdown.

All about the facts and truth - sometimes to an abrasive and candid point where it can become more important than how people feel or the main point.

Logical mindset - making decisions based on logic and strategy rather than on emotions to the point of struggling to understand others when they follow no such logic

“Black and White” thinking - right and wrong, good or bad, yes or no, on or off, love it or hate it, friend or foe. Everything is in extremes.

Rule follower, one to fight for justice and for others - we are stubborn and in our strong conviction we are out against injustice and misinformation, fairness and what is right and true is imperative. 

Unable to forgive and forget - hard to let things go. Often have good memories and are able to remember things with the same detail as if it were happening again and not years ago. It doesn’t really fade with time and that makes us easily hold grudges, and hold things and behavior against people.

Resistant to change -  doesn’t matter how big or small nor whether it’s good or bad, we are enemies of change. We like to understand so uncertainty and new things are often disagreeable.

Able to recognize patterns - able to see the full picture, see history repeating itself and people’s behavioral tendencies, which makes us good at scheming and masterminding. We hate change so we want to predict things to avoid being surprised. 

Trouble articulating our point - stuttering and stumbling over our words, because our brains are moving too fast for our mouth to keep up and it’s hard to explain ourselves because our brain works differently. (we’ll talk about this more in part 2)

Struggle with body language? - I mean it’s hard to say given the Minecraft format, but to me wearing a mask could be to avoid having to make eye contact (which I hate) and appropriate facial expressions and stuff like that, which are pretty important in diagnosis. So while some headcanon that Dream wears a mask because he's too expressive and doesn't like being exposed I actually think it might be the opposite and saves him a lot of effort and brain power to not have to worry about his facial expression. :)

Stimming - (yes an ADHD thing but also an autistic thing and it's very common for someone to be both - like me ;D) vocally and physically often when more stressed, again hard to say for a Minecraft man, but I see him constantly moving like pacing the cell or jumping around and stuff as stimming and he does vocally stim on occasion as well.

Or in other words - Reasons I think c!Dream is autistic:

C!Dream = me, me = autistic -> c!Dream = autistic… boom, shortest essay ever XD lol jk 

But seriously it is a major reason. I read a tumblr c!Dream character analysis (don't remember who's) back before I even joined tumblr and related soo much, which is pretty concerning when you relate to a villain - because like wait does that make me a psychopath? but I have empathy and I care and I'm out to hurt people so why would I relate so much? And that's when I realized I think it is because he’s autistic like me so we think a like... I mean seriously the similarities are scarily uncanny down to things that have happened to me in real life…

Anyways, thank you for reading. I hope I made sense and got the idea across even by not going into super detail on all the points.

[girls--complex]

oh, and to tack on particularly in the realms of the religious influence. It's always been something i wanted to tap into but could never end up clicking with outside your and some others work. tyvm!

I'm working on the first part of your ask [about influences to my visual style] I'm actually letting it sit and cook because my ability to organize and transmit information comes from a big wet sponge made of cholesterol and gatorade that has all these wet projecting tendrils and it works on a basis of like sporadic electrical currents which I think probably come from ghosts or something IDK.

Do you want me to dump a list of theologians and religious texts? That seems rude/unhelpful because learning is discursive and the response you have to a given text is completely dependent on what your own butter sponge is doing. Dietrich Bonhoeffer's theology maybe saved my life but I know people who don't like it because they felt it was being mean to them. Or people who don't like Suzuki-roshi because he's too ambiguous but when I read him his perspective and the content of his advice seems incredibly straightforward. Hehe. (I can dump it though I also started making one because I got scared that someone will ask me for real. I'm also not a huge books based learner so the whole concept of this idea feels really frustrating.)

I honestly don't entirely know what it is that clicks with you as I'm throwing spaghetti around a lot ......

With comics this thing I try to do and that I maybe hopefully do which is that I try really hard not to scold, or have a position of moral superiority, or make any type of moral imperative. I try really hard to limit myself to "here's some journey that I experienced" (maybe allegorized or cartoonified or whatever) and then I also relate it with attention to modulate my natural narcissism so that it doesn't protagonize me in some stupid and disingenuous way. Based on observation I would guess that this thought process is generally rare in artists of all genres, creeds, and backgrounds, which is why I do it in reaction to almost every story I have ever read. Or it might just be that it's funny and the cartoons are cute IDK.

If you don't even care about my comics and are talking about some single illustration or something I really don't know.

Hope you're having a banger day I'm going to eat some purple confections I made with my friend ...

[dreamalittledreamofcopia]

blessed the latter part

papa iv/copia x reader

You could watch the snow falling outside where you sat in the library. Your table and chair was tucked away, in a corner by a window, hidden by a few catacombs and bookshelves. This was your favorite spot to sit quietly and be away from the hustle and bustle of life in the abbey, and days where you received your favorite visitor here were all the more special.

You weren’t expecting Copia to come find you today, however. His pillow talk the previous night had consisted of a few regrettable changes to plans for the week due to some meetings that were an ugly surprise from Sister Imperator. Copia’s break was ending, you feared what came next for your lover-in-secret. What started as a few flirty texts while he was away on tour as a cardinal turned into an on and off affair that had been on since Copia brought you on the first leg of the Imperatour. You didn’t want to tell anyone at the ministry about it, but the ghouls knew. The ghouls always knew, but aside from them, as far as you knew, it was secret.

He had also asked you to do some research for him, so like a good partner, you set aside a few hours to attempt to answer a few of his questions about the book of Job and his peculiar award. You could still see the adorable roll of his brows and the creases in his eyelids as he asked you why Job would name his daughter Eyeshadow in the candle light.

You were started, then, when you heard some familiar footfalls echo off the marble walls towards you. He stopped a few feet away from you, his shadow elongating across the snowy window, and cleared his throat timidly. It was one of your favorite Copia noises and you smiled warmly at the welcome sight of your lover.

“Your bangs are curly.”

You looked up to find him standing above you, his jacket off and cracked in his arms. His frame was hugged by his waistcoat, and the sight was intoxicating. You motioned for him to sit at the table — he obliged after some coaxing.

“Yeah-“ you cleared your throat and watched as he sat besides you, “I didn’t have time to straighten them this morning.”

Copia leaned over and gently tapped the end of his pen against your temple. When you giggled, he dragged it through the front part of your hair, a short curl springing out and framing your forehead. “They look so beautiful,” he hummed softly, his other hand moving towards the back of your head. You felt his fingertips pad against your scalp, someplace between a message and a scratch, sensational through your still damp roots. You had to fight your eyes from rolling back into your head and a moan slipping out of your lips, and your efforts only half worked.

“Papa…” you whispered, knowing you were the only two in this part of the library but still scared of someone finding you here like this. So scared of your secret romance finally being exposed. So scared of Imperator hearing you call him by his name and banishing you on the spot.

Copia, sensing your apprehension, just smiled at you calmly. He kept his hand behind your head but brought his over around your face, his fingers gently running over the little curlies around your eyes. “I like them like this, a lot. Very sweet, amore.” He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss above the tail of your eyebrow, his lips gently grazing over your bangs in the process. “My sweet love, dolce amore.”

Copia loved to whisper to you in public. Little words of affection and terms of endearment sent out only for you to receive, his love declared for you in the most visible of secret places. You knew you couldn’t keep this up forever, but you enjoyed the idea that you could and enjoyed that you were fooling everyone so terribly.

“I’m glad I get to see you today,” you whispered, subconsciously leaning into the touch you craved, “I thought I wouldn’t until dinner, if I was lucky.”

“Things are going smoother than anticipated,” Copia grinned, his papal paint slightly smudged around his lips from biting or pursing or the quick good-bye you snuck in this morning or the latte you snuck him later in the day, “I think the ghouls wanted to rush, for some reason.” He leaned forward and gently leaned his forehead against yours, “But I think I can guess. They’re very compassionate.”

You giggled at the thought of the ghouls cooperating just to get Copia back home to you, even if it was just for a fifteen minute break. “That’s so sweet.”

“Aurora told me your hair was cute today,” Copia mused, twirling one of your curled bangs around his fingers, “your hair is cute everyday but she was right about this one. I never get to see this.”

You tilted your chin up to meet Copia’s lips in a soft, delicate kiss, careful of the remaining paint around his lips. He hummed appreciatively, satisfaction coursing through his soul.

“I love you,” he whispered before reconnecting with you in another kiss.

“When will I see you next?” You whispered back, your breath fanning across his lips.

“Dinner, probably,” he said with a wistful sigh, “but I had to see you for some motivation. Tu mi dai la forza, angelo.”

“Mmm, that reminds me,” you said, a dopey smile on your face as you swam in his sweet scent and his sweet words, “I need another Italian lesson, Papa.”

“But you just had one last night,” Copia mused, tapping your chin lovingly, “I’m a busy Papa, you know. Can’t spend all my nights teaching you the language of love.”

That was a lie, or a half truth, perhaps — Copia would be a busy Papa because of you. He would be busy with you, devoting all his time to enjoying and loving and treasuring you. Copia didn’t plan to spend another night apart from you. He’d gladly give all of his nights to you, if you’d have them.

“I’m sure you can tweak your schedule to fit me in,” you pouted. Copia took the opportunity to press a kiss full and flush into your lips, papal makeup be damned.

“Then I’ll prepare a lesson,” he said softly as he stood back up.

“Oh, please don’t go,” you said, reaching up to take his hand in yours.

“mi dispiace, amore,” Copia replied as he laid his other hand on your face, cupping it gently. His thumb gently brushed your curly bangs out of your eyes. “I have to get back so we can end today before six.”

You nodded, turning your head to kiss the inside of his wrist, between the end of his glove and the beginning of his sleeve. “I understand but that doesn’t mean I like it.”

Copia laughed softly and nodded, leaning down to give you one last forehead kiss. “I know, I know. Find me some answers, okay? I trust you.” He stroked your face lovingly, his eyes staring down into yours and drinking you in before he gently patted your cheek. “I’ll see you soon, baby.” He said, almost mournfully as he went back to his meeting and he left you with his research, which would be filled with his name in hearts by the latter half of the hour, more than the former part.

[rose-of-the-grave]

The Great War: Chapter 2

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Here's chapter two, I solemnly swear that Y/N and Mattheo will actually interact soon. I hope you all enjoy! As always, I'm the author (please don't repost)

Masterlist. Series Masterlist. Chapter 1 Read on Ao3

Warnings: quidditch, Dumbledore, manipulation, Cormac McClaggen, crying in the bathroom, idk what else to add

Word Count: 3126

Description: Y/N receives her mission, runs into an unexpected help, and tries out for the quidditch team.

Taglist: @sylveryfire, @undercover-smutlover

Y/N raised her hand, knocking on the door to Dumbledore’s office.

“Come in.”

She opened the door, walking in. Y/N hadn't been in his office since the year before since everything with Umbridge and dUmbledore’s Army. It hadn’t changed one bit. Except for a shelf covered in vials. She wondered what that was about.

“Ah, Y/L/N. You got my message.”

“You wanted to see me, sir?” She asked, wondering why.

“Yes. I have a favor to ask of you. One last mission if you will.”

She approached his desk, “What do you need me to do?”

“I need more eyes on the students. One in particular in fact. Mr. Riddle.”

“Why not have Professor Snape look after him?” She asked, questioning Dumbledore’s thought process.

“I require his services elsewhere. You, however, I would like for you to watch over Mr. Riddle and report back to me about any suspicious activities.”

“Of course. Whatever is needed.”

“Good.” She started to walk away when he said one more parting word.

“And one last thing, Miss Y/L/N. If you could refrain from mentioning this task to anyone, that would be much appreciated.”

“Even Harry?”

“Especially Mr. Potter. I have a separate task for him that he needs to be focused on. It is imperative that no one suspects what you are doing.”

“Of course, Professor.”

She walked out of the room and down towards the Great Hall, hoping to get some food. Some students were roaming the halls but most of them were probably eating so there were few people around to see her duck into the abandoned girls' lavatory.

She looked around at the very place that she had spent months of time with Harry, Ron, and Hermione back in second year. Y/N hadn’t been back since then. For once Moaning Myrtle wasn’t to be seen. Odd. How on earth was she going to do this? Even if she managed to find a way to watch the Slytherin’s without making them suspicious, her friends would ask questions about her sudden interest in the enemy.

Hearing someone run into the bathroom, she hid in one of the stalls. It was someone crying, loudly. Slowly opening the stall door she came up behind the girl. A Slytherin by the looks of her green accented robes.

“Hey, are you okay?” Y/N asked softly, trying not to startle the girl.

She whirled around, it was Pansy Parkinson. Her tearstained face became apprehensive, suspicious almost immediately.

Wiping away at her tears, smudging her mascara, she asked, “What do you care?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay. I don’t like seeing people cry. Even you.”

“How big of you.” She sneered.

Well, this wasn’t going well. If Y/N was going to spy on Riddle it would make more sense for her to befriend his social circle. She had to at least try to find an in and Pansy seemed like the best option. Draco would bite her head off, Theodore Nott didn’t talk to anybody outside his friends, and Blaise Zabini didn’t exactly have a favorable impression of her after she got him detention in fourth year. Suffice it to say, they all hated her.

“I’m being serious. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

Y/N gave her a look.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Look, I get it. You have no reason to trust me but if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

“What would your precious friends think about you associating with the enemy?” Pansy spat.

“Probably the same as Malfoy would if he knew you were talking with a Gryffindor.” Y/N shot back.

She huffed a watery laugh. “We’re not all that bad.”

“Oh, you are. And worse.”

They stood there in silence for a heartbeat before Pansy spoke, breaking the silence.

“I told someone I liked them and they told me that they didn’t like me back. I put my heart out there for the first time in my life and it got stomped on. “ She said, bitterly.

“I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, it was their loss.”

Pansy gave her a look of doubt.

“I mean it. You may be a Slytherin and you might not exactly be nice to everyone but you’re pretty and from what I can tell, you are also really smart even though you try to hide it. I saw how well you did on your OWLs, it wasn’t that different from what I got.”

“You mean that?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

Y/N nudged Pansy’s shoulder, “You’re not as bad as I thought you were.”

“Neither are you.”

They shared a smile before leaving the lavatory. The two girls went their opposite ways and Y/N grinned. She had found a way in. Maybe this task of Dumbledore’s wouldn’t be as hard as she thought it was going to be.

On her walk back to the common room she did her best to avoid others, knowing that it was close to curfew. She passed near an area of the castle that was very familiar after all of the time she and the rest of them had spent there last year. After sneaking into the Room of Requirement almost daily, it was no surprise that she had managed to arrive back there, her feet carrying her there due to muscle memory.

She had almost passed by when she heard footsteps echoing through the halls. Nervous, she ducked behind a corner to keep out of view. Curious, Y/N peeked around the corner, wondering who could possibly be walking around at this hour towards the Room of Requirement. Then, moving into view, was Draco Malfoy. What was he doing here?

Suddenly the conversation on the train came to mind. Was he really a Death Eater? If so, what was he up to? She waited and watched as he disappeared into the room before continuing on her way.

The next morning she awoke with a smile on her face and butterflies in her stomach. Today was quidditch tryouts. She had spent all summer practicing in her backyard so hopefully she would make it. Y/N spent the entire day feeling like she was walking on clouds, a bounce in her step as she went from class to class.

Everyone had remarked on how energetic she seemed. Even her first Defense Against the Dark Arts class couldn’t undermine her good mood. It wasn’t until her last class of the day finished and she started walking over to the quidditch pitch when the jitters started to set in.

“Hey Y/N!” Ron greeted.

“Hey.”

“You ready?”

She shrugged, grimacing slightly. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You’ll get on the team. I’ve seen the way you can fly.”

“Thanks.”

“Shut it!” Ginny yelled from her place next to Harry.

They all quieted, turning to look at her.

Harry then spoke up, “Thanks. All right. Now, if you had a spot last year that does not guarantee you a spot this year. Is that clear?”

There were a few scattered nods from the group.

“Good.”

Another Gryffindor who was also trying out approached them. Cormac McClaggen.

“No hard feelings, eh Weasley?”

Ron looked puzzled. “Hard feelings?”

“Yeah. I’ll be going after keeper myself. It's nothing personal really.”

“Really, a strapping guy like you? You’ve got more of a beater’s build don’t you? Keepers need to be quick, agile.”

A fly started to buzz around them, its humming loud in Y/N’s ear before it flew towards McClaggen who seemingly managed to crush it between his fingers without even looking.

Ron’s face turned worried.

“I like my chances.”

“Show off.” Y/N muttered, unimpressed.

Cormac glanced over at her as if it was the first time he’d noticed she was standing there in the whole time he had been talking.

“Say, think you could introduce me to your friend Granger? Wouldn’t mind getting a first name basis with her, know what I mean?” He nudged Ron, a suggestive look on his face. He clapped him on the shoulder and walked away.

Drifting closer to Ron, Y/N said, “What a douche.”

“Yeah.” Ron said, unenthused.

“Right. So I’m going to run you through a few drills to assess your strengths.” Harry called out now that everybody had settled down. He went on to detail the first drill but Y/N wasn’t paying attention.

Glancing up into the stands she saw Hermione with the other handful of spectators. Raising her hand, she waved. Hermione smiled and waved back. Good luck, she mouthed.

Y/N mouthed back, Thanks!

Out of their friend group, Hermione was probably the one she was closest with. She loved all three of her friends but Hermione was the first of them to reach out and befriend her. It was towards the start of their first year before she had become friends with Harry and Ron. Y/N hadn’t had the best time with making friends because all of the people she knew were pure-bloods. Her parents were only friends with others like them with few exceptions so all of the kids her age that she grew up with were sorted into Slytherin.

They had started to ignore her once she was put in Gryffindor, saying that she couldn’t hang out with them anymore. Hermione had heard her crying herself to bed one night and the very next day wouldn’t leave her side. Despite everything she had been taught about muggle-borns she couldn’t help but see that Hermione was the nicest person she knew. Their friendship was the final straw for her old friends though. From then on most of them would ignore her but some of them would insult her right alongside her new friends.

Hopefully this history wouldn’t present a problem for her mission. After all, it was six years ago. Then again, Slytherins never forget a slight. Being friends with the chosen one, a blood traitor, and a muggle-born was a pretty big offense.

Oh, well. She would worry about that later. For now her main focus was on the tryouts. Everybody was put into two teams. Y/N and Ron were on one team with Harry, Ginny, and a few others while Cormac and the rest were on the other team.

The quaffle was tossed and they were off, Y/N passed it to a teammate, a fourth year she didn't know that well, only for the other team to steal it. She was in the perfect position to steal it back, and she did. Flying straight into Katie, feinting to the side just in time so she could grab the ball without colliding into her.

She raced over to the other side, wind whipping in her face and people from the other team on her heels. As Y/N neared the goal, she pretended to go for one goal, only to go for the other one, barely managing to get it past Cormac.

A few onlookers cheered and Ginny yelled, “Nice one, Y/N!”

She felt a surge of happiness, a grin on her face. Maybe she had a shot.

The scrimmage continued on, the two teams practically tied. The other team was in the lead by a few points, thanks to one of their chasers being really good at getting by Ron. Y/N could tell he was getting disheartened, feeling like he was letting them down with every lost point. Then something odd happened.

Ginny had the quaffle and was being chased by the other team. She soared through the air and slammed it into the goal. McClaggen was right there, in the perfect position to stop it when he suddenly swerved out of the way. A teammate of his asked him what happened but he just looked confused. Weird.

On the next point, Ron surprised everyone by flipping upside down on his broom, using his head to block the ball. Onlookers started to applaud and everybody looked on incredulously, wondering how that actually worked. From that point on it seemed as if he had regained his confidence and all of a sudden they started to catch up to the other team, scoring goal after goal.

In the end they won.

“Okay everybody, the team lineup will be posted in the common room tomorrow morning. Good job, everyone!” Harry announced.

They all walked over to the locker rooms to change out of their quidditch robes.

“Nice playing Y/N! I had no idea you were that good!” Katie said.

“Thanks! I’ve been practicing.”

“Well, it paid off.”

Y/N smiled. Hearing that from Katie Bell, one of the seventh years on the team, who had been playing for Gryffindor for years meant a lot.

Ginny chimed in, “Yeah, you looked good out there.”

“Thanks, you too. You played really well!”

“You’re going to make the team for sure, then all three of us can play together!” Katie exclaimed.

“I hope so.”

The three of them got dressed and headed out, walking out together.

“Hey, Y/N, nice job!” Hermione said, standing up from where she had been sitting, waiting for them to come out.

“Thanks!”

The four girls walked back to the castle, the sky darkening overhead. Some rain started to sprinkle down on them, the breeze suddenly feeling a bit cold. Once they all made it back to the castle, they all hurried up to Gryffindor tower where Ron sat on a couch, Harry on the ground by the fire.

Katie and Ginny went to find their respective friends while Y/N plopped down on the chair next to the couch. Hermione took a seat between the chair and the couch.

“I thought I was for sure going to miss that last one.” Ron mused. “I hope Cormac isn’t taking it too hard.”

Hermione made a sound, drawing all of their eyes onto her.

She shook her head, “Nothing.”

The boys returned to staring at the fireplace, the light of the flames flickering brightly. Y/N however, kept her gaze on Hermione, thinking through everything that happened. Cormac’s sudden movement out of the way had seemed unnatural. Almost as if he had been influenced.

Her friend looked up at her, feeling her gaze. Hermione raised an eyebrow, silently questioning her.

Did you? Y/N mouthed.

Hermione’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment before she nodded.

Y/N chuckled quietly, amused. She knew her best friend could be a bit diabolical but she never expected her to break the rules like this.

“He’s got a bit of a thing for you ‘Mione. Cormac.” Ron said.

Hermione shook her head, picking up a newspaper. “He’s vile.”

They sat there in silence, Ron looking at the flames, Hermione reading the newspaper, Harry reading a book, and Y/N mulling over her plans.

Harry leaned over to show his book to Hermione. “Have you ever heard of this spell? Sectumsempra?”

She sighed, exasperated. “No, I haven’t. And if you had any common sense you would turn it into Professor McGonanagall.”

“Not bloody likely. Why would he?” Ron asked. “He’s top of the class. Slughorn thinks he’s a genius. He’s even better than you Hermione.”

“I wonder whose it is.” Y/N pondered.

“Yeah, is it signed? Can I look?” Hermione asked, grabbing at Harry’s potions book. He snatched it away, standing up.

“No, the binding is fragile.”

Hermione also got up, the newspaper forgotten. “The binding is fragile?” She asked in an incredulous tone.

“Yeah.” Harry kept on backing up, away from her. Y/N watched as Ginny, who had been listening in from where she stood talking with Dean, walked over and grabbed it out of Harry’s unsuspecting grasp. Staying just out of reach of him trying to get his book back, she opened the book.

“The Half-Blood Prince. Who’s the Half-Blood Prince?” She asked.

“Who?” Hermione questioned.

“That’s what it says. Property of the Half-Blood Prince.”

Harry seized the opportunity to get his book back. “No clue.”

They all exchanged puzzled glances while he walked away towards the staircase that led to the boys’ dorms, wondering who that could possibly be. Hermione was probably already planning to head to the library first thing in the morning to figure it out.

Y/N and Hermione said goodnight to Ron and Ginny before walking up the spiral staircase to their dorm. Once inside they walked over to their beds, both of which were on the far end next to each other. The rest of the girls in their year were already getting ready for bed. The two of them never really paid attention to them though. Parvati and Lavender mainly hung out with the Ravenclaws, ignoring the rest of them. Especially after fourth year when Parvati and her sister, Padma, had gone to the Yule Ball with Harry and Ron only to end up ignored.

The only other Gryffindor girl in their year was Lily Moon. Lily was nice, a red-head who was sometimes mistaken for being yet another addition to the Weasleys. She mainly hung out with Neville, the two of them sharing a love for Herbology. While they did sometimes hang out together during class, outside of that they didn’t have much in common with her.

There used to also be one other girl, Sally-Anne Perks, but she left after Cedric’s death in fourth year, never to be heard from again. Her bed remained empty, devoid of any personal touches, unlike the rest of them with their pictures of family, books, jewelry, etc.

Taking a seat on her bed, she looked over at Hermione. “Did you seriously use the Confundus Charm on Cormac so he’d miss that shot?”

“Yeah.” She admitted, sheepishly.

“Wicked!”

Lavender looked over at them, a bit judgemental. Y/N smirked. She still remembered how annoying she had become last year, gushing over Ron. Surprising really, considering how he had acted when he took Padma to the Yule Ball. All three girls had given him dirty looks, along with Y/N and Hermione by association.

After getting dressed for bed, she lay on her mattress waiting for everyone else to be ready so they could turn off the lights. Soon, the only light illuminating the room was from the moon shining through the window. She was feeling a bit anxious, wondering if this was the year that she would finally make it onto the team. After spending the last five years watching Harry play from the stands along with the rest of the team had been fun but she longed to be a part of it. She had always loved flying but, outside of learning how to in first year there hadn’t been many chances except for during the summer when she visited the Weasleys.

Chapter 3>>

[canonicallyobserving911]

“How I hide my true feelings from others.”

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

New Buddie Fanfic in the "What do you want?" A Series of Fics and Ficlets

The 5th fic in the "What do you want?" Series in now available on AO3. “How I hide my true feelings from others.” - Buck and Eddie return to therapy but they’re both not telling each other about recent events that happened in their lives. Will they finally have an open and honest conversation before it’s too late?

“How I hide my true feelings from others.”

9.6K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

___________

Here's two snippets from part 5. One includes Eddie in therapy with his new therapist and the other is of Buck in his first session with Dr. Copeland in more than 3 years.

___________

Eddie

Dr. Brandon asks, “Why is Buck in your will?”

“Because I know he’ll fight for Chris the same way I do.”

“But you just said Chris left with your parents even though you didn’t want him to, therefore I’m trying to understand. What does Buck mean to you and Chris? I’m asking because he sounds like he’s very important in your lives.”

After a few moments, he explains, “He’s more than my work partner because we have each other’s backs and we’ve been like that since not long after I started at the 118.”

Dr. Brandon doesn’t push him to keep talking, she just patiently waits for him to continue.

“He’s my…” He starts in a low voice but he trails off because he wants to say Buck’s his everything but he doesn’t believe he has the right to use that word. He sure wants it to be but since he isn’t, he won’t. He’s not naïve and he knows he hides his true feelings about Buck from everyone.

~~~

Buck

Dr. Copeland asks, “Does she work at the 118?”

“No but she did for a few months after the Tsunami while I was on medical leave and uh… she was partnered with Eddie.”

She writes down some notes then she flips back several pages and asks, “Are you and Eddie still work partners?”

“We are but…” He responds and he follows it with a loud exhale.

“But what?”

“I think he’s moving on too. Not from the job… well at least I don’t think he is but he’s moving on with his life as he should be but I think I should be focusing on myself like everyone else.” He replies but the words feel like gravel on his tongue because he doesn’t want to ever leave Eddie Diaz. Also, he’s been hiding his overwhelming and all-consuming feelings for him deep down in his heart for years and he’s afraid if he doesn’t go before Eddie makes things official with Chuck, he won’t survive it.

___________

"What do you want?" - A Series of Ficlets

Currently 5 works completed; 30K Words: Rated; Teen and Up Audiences:  This is a series of “Fics and Ficlets” that I’ll be writing over the course of the next few weeks and my goal is to keep them under a certain number of words. I’m challenging myself to do it this way for multiple reasons but mainly because I want to see if I can write a full Buddie story by including smaller fics in a series in comparison to the multi-chapter fic I’m still in the process of writing titled, “I’m still in love with you but… I needed to learn how to love myself too!” I only have 9 chapters left before I finish it but once I’m done, I’d like to continue writing Buddie fanfics. However, this time I’ll start with my dislike for the way season 7 ended instead of the way season 6 did. Finally, I have a lot of WIPs that I want to finish and I figured I can turn them all into one shot fics or ficlets to build the full story for Buck and Eddie.

Since these ficlets will be posted in order, it’s imperative to read them one after the other. Each part ends at a specific point with a cliffhanger and the next part will begin with the ending of the previous part. Therefore, parts 1 - 4 should be read prior to reading part 5 and the series will continue in that manner until it’s complete.

"You don't know math!" - 3.3K Words; Rated Teen and Up Audiences: Buck is forced to choose while Eddie might be presented with another option.

"Math is a universal language." - 5K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Eddie reconnects with an old acquaintance and they spend a lot of time together. However, now that Buck’s single, he finally tries to understand math is a universal language but when he sees Eddie talking to another guy, he wonders if it took him too long to figure it out.

“You know, it’s like that thing when you meet somebody and you just… click.” - 5.1K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: When Buck comes face to face with Eddie’s new friend; he hates it but since he’s only told Maddie about his breakup with Tommy, Eddie’s still under the impression he’s taken. Therefore, Eddie makes plans to spend even more time with his new acquaintance.

"I can't stop thinking about him." - 8.1K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Buck and Eddie are trying to move on but they can’t stop thinking about each other.

“How I hide my true feelings from others.” - 9.6K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Buck and Eddie return to therapy but they’re both not telling each other about recent events that happened. Will they finally have an open and honest conversation before it’s too late?

Now Available on AO3