#anyways maybe i'll write it............ because i've had this idea for a really long time and i really want to write it hehehehe

[whatsupsonnyboy]

the first time || Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: The first time you and Joe meet, something clicks—quiet but unmistakable. Like the start of something that doesn’t need to be explained. And really, who were you trying to fool?

wc: 7.3K

warning: smut (mdni!!), p in v sex, protected and unprotected sex, fluff, midly slow burn (but not really lol), there's just lots of sweet boy joe and amazing sex

a/n: hey, so as i've already post about, i've been writing a bunch of one shots of how it might feel (in my mind ofc) to be in a relationship with this golden boy... so here it is, the first one. I'll post more eventually, it’s not really a story with parts but more like a collection of scenes that pop into my head (find the rest here). They’re not directly connected, but they all belong in the same universe. Hope you enjoy it! 🫶🏾

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

You hadn’t planned to stay long.

Just a drink or two. Say hi to Wes. Smile politely, maybe sneak out before midnight with the excuse of a fake early morning.

But then he was there.

You didn’t even notice him at first—just another face in the mix, half-shadowed by the glow of string lights and the low thrum of music. But then he laughed. God, that laugh. Low and rough and golden around the edges. And when you turned to look, really look, he was already looking at you.

That was the first hit. The first crackle of something electric and new.

Wes introduced you. Casual. Effortless. And suddenly you were standing closer than necessary, drinks in hand, eyes locked, trading names like they meant something more.

He was funny. Way funnier than he had any right to be. And warm. Charming in a way that wasn’t performative, but lived-in. Like he didn’t need to impress anyone but couldn’t help doing it anyway.

You asked about his work—half curious, half testing. He didn’t dodge, didn’t show off. Just smiled, scratched the back of his neck, and said, “I love it. Even when it’s a mess. Maybe especially then.”

You nodded, because you got it. Because you were already thinking the same thing about him.

Time blurred after that. Drinks refilled. Conversations spiraled—music, books, worst dates ever, the best breakfast food after 2 a.m. You laughed so hard at one of his stories you had to cover your mouth with your hand, and he just grinned at you like you were his new favorite thing.

When people started leaving, neither of you moved. You were leaned into each other now, shoulders brushing. His fingers drummed absently on his glass. Yours curled around the edge of the sofa like they wanted to close the space.

So when he offered to walk you home, it didn’t feel like a decision.

It felt like the natural next breath.

You walked through the quiet streets, city humming softly around you, your conversation dipping into silences that weren’t awkward, just charged. Your arms bumped once. Then again. And neither of you apologized.

By the time you reached your building, the air felt thicker somehow. Like it knew.

You paused outside the door, keys in hand, heartbeat tapping like a warning or a dare.

“Do you wanna come up?” you asked.

And he—of course he did.

The elevator was quiet, slow, and small enough that your shoulder brushed his again. This time, he didn’t pretend it was an accident.

He looked at you—really looked at you—and that was it.

You kissed him.

There was no hesitation. No awkward pause. Just the sharp inhale before your mouths collided, hot and eager, like you’d both been waiting for permission all night.

His hand cupped the back of your neck. Yours slid into his hair. You kissed like the elevator could betray you at any moment, like you only had seconds, and every one of them mattered.

When the doors slid open on your floor, your lips were still touching, your breath caught between kisses.

And you have no idea what you were doing, but it felt so right that questioning yourself about it wasn’t even an option. 

-

The door clicked shut behind him, but he barely registered the sound. Your hand was still in his, and your smile—soft, a little crooked—was the only thing anchoring him.

You tugged him gently into the apartment, fingers laced with his like it had been that way for years.

No small talk. No tour. No hesitation.

Just the unspoken hum that had been building all night, finally breaking the surface.

When you turned to face him, your lips already parted, he didn’t wait. He kissed you like he needed to. Like the moment he’d felt your mouth in the elevator hadn’t been nearly enough.

You tasted like wine and something sweeter he couldn’t name. Your arms circled his neck, pulling him closer, and he groaned into your mouth when your hips pressed into his.

It hit him all at once—how good this felt. How easy. The way your bodies seemed to move in sync, like instinct, like muscle memory from a dream he hadn’t realized he’d been having.

You gasped into his mouth, and that sound—sharp and breathless—lit him up like a live wire.

His hands found your waist, then your back, then slid lower, gripping your ass as he pulled you closer. He was hard already, pressed up against you through his jeans, and when you shifted just right, grinding into him with a little roll of your hips, he swore under his breath.

“Fuck, okay,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded, mouth dragging down to your neck. “You—god, you feel insane.”

You laughed, but it caught in your throat when he bit gently just beneath your ear.

Then everything sped up.

Your jacket hit the floor. Then his. His fingers were under your shirt, warm and demanding, tracing up your spine as if memorizing you. You didn’t hesitate—you lifted your arms, let him peel the fabric off you like a second skin.

He stared.

Because shit.

You stood there in a bra that barely held you in, chest rising fast, eyes blown wide. You looked wrecked already—and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

“You’re...” He exhaled hard. “Jesus, you’re unreal.”

And when he kissed you this time, it wasn’t sweet. It was starving.

He backed you into the couch, hands everywhere—pushing, pulling, gripping, needing. You tugged at his shirt until it was gone too, and your hands ran across his chest like you couldn’t decide where to touch first. He loved that. The urgency. The want in you.

When your mouth landed on his jaw, then slid lower, biting down on the edge of his collarbone, he groaned—loud, filthy.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he panted, rutting against your thigh without even meaning to.

Your hand dropped to his waistband, teasing. “Yeah?” you whispered, voice wrecked and dangerous.

He nodded, helpless.

“Then let me.”

The way you said it—it wasn’t a question.

You palmed him through his jeans, slow and confident, watching the way his breath hitched, the way his eyelids fluttered. He wasn’t used to being this undone this fast. But you had him—already.

His hands slid behind your back, unclasped your bra with practiced fingers, and when the straps slipped off your shoulders, he barely gave you time to react before his mouth was on you. Tongue and teeth and lips, worshipping, making you moan—fuck, that sound, he’d chase it forever.

The way you arched under him, like every touch was too much and not enough.

The way you gasped his name like it was the only word you remembered.

It was pure heat. Messy and fast and real.

And when you whispered, breathless, “Come to bed,” your lips swollen, pupils blown wide, he didn’t even hesitate.

He didn’t care about tomorrow. Or what this was. Or where it might lead.

All he knew was that he needed to feel your body under his. Needed to hear you fall apart.

And if he was lucky, he’d get to wake up beside you.

You led him by the hand, your steps quick, your breath even quicker. The apartment wasn’t big, but every second it took to reach the bedroom felt like an eternity stretched tight with want.

The moment you were through the door, you turned to face him, pulling him in again like you couldn’t stand the distance. Your back hit the edge of the bed and you kissed him like you meant to steal the air from his lungs.

He smiled against your lips when you fumbled with the button of his jeans, your fingers slightly clumsy in your rush. You cursed softly, laughed under your breath.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“Don’t be.” His voice was low, rough. “It’s perfect.”

And it was.

Every little misstep, every shaky inhale, every wide-eyed second of wonder—it was perfect.

His jeans hit the floor. Then yours. You tugged at each other’s underwear with a mix of eagerness and surprise, and when he finally kicked his off and you stood in front of him completely bare, his breath caught in his throat.

You were stunning. Not just beautiful—though, fuck, you were—but alive. Lit up from within. Chest rising fast, lips parted, looking at him like he was something you couldn’t wait to taste.

And god, he wanted to be tasted.

You lay back on the bed, pulling him with you, and he followed without hesitation, settling between your legs, both of you skin-to-skin for the first time. It was overwhelming. It was right.

Your hands roamed his back, his shoulders, your mouth brushing along his jaw, and he felt everything. Every inch of contact. Every trembling breath.

And when he dipped his head to kiss your chest again, slower this time, your fingers tangled in his hair, your hips lifted into his without thinking.

“I don’t have—” he began, breath hitching.

“In the drawer,” you whispered.

He reached blindly, found the condom, tore the wrapper with shaking fingers. You helped him roll it on, your touch so tender it nearly broke him.

He looked at you once more, one hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“You good?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want this.”

Fuck. So did he. More than he could admit out loud.

The second he pushed into you, slow and deep, your mouth fell open with a gasp that echoed straight through his chest.

“Fuck—” he groaned, breath catching, head dropping against your neck. You were tight, so wet around him it was almost unbearable. His fingers dug into your hips, like anchoring himself was the only way not to lose it too fast.

And you—you arched into him, legs curling higher around his waist, nails dragging down his back.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, voice already wrecked. “So fucking good.”

Joe swore under his breath. He could barely think. Could barely hold back. The heat between you was blinding, raw, something feral clawing at his insides.

He pulled back, thrust in again, and your body met his with such perfect rhythm that his control slipped a little—hips snapping harder, breath rough in your ear.

Your hands roamed down his back, fingers brushing the dip of his spine, then slipping between your bodies until they were there—on your clit, teasing yourself as he fucked into you.

“Oh fuck, yes,” you moaned, back arching, head thrown back. “Right there, just like that—”

Joe looked down at you, eyes dark and hungry, and the sight of your hand moving against yourself while he was buried deep inside you… it undid him.

“Jesus, you’re gonna kill me,” he growled, grabbing your wrist, replacing your fingers with his own. “Let me.”

You whimpered, hips jerking as he rubbed slow circles, watching you unravel for him. Your face. Your breath. The way you bit your lip to muffle the sounds that wanted to break free.

“Let them hear you,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Don’t hold it in. I want every fucking sound.”

You obeyed.

You moaned like the world was ending. Like no one had ever touched you right until now. His name on your tongue, over and over, like a spell that made you shake.

He was losing it.

You clenched around him, again and again, dragging him deeper, and he couldn’t stop the filth that poured out of him.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he muttered, voice shaking. “So perfect. Taking me like you were made for it.”

You whimpered beneath him, hips rolling in rhythm with his, and then your hand was on him, cupping the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss you like it was the only way to stay grounded.

You kissed him open-mouthed, messy, tongues sliding together, both of you panting, slick with sweat, chasing something neither of you could name.

When you broke away, your voice was hoarse, breathless.

“Harder, Joe. Please—fuck, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

He grabbed your thigh, lifted your leg higher over his hip and started thrusting harder, deeper, until the sound of skin against skin filled the room.

You cried out, high-pitched and desperate, and your walls tightened so suddenly around him he swore.

“Oh my god—” you gasped, and then you were falling apart, shaking, clenching around him so tight it pulled a raw, broken moan from his chest.

Your orgasm hit you like a wave, and he felt it—watched it—his fingers still working your clit through it all, not letting up.

“Fuck, you’re so—so fucking perfect—” he stuttered, barely holding on. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—”

Your mouth brushed his ear, breath hot. “Come inside me, baby. Come for me.”

And that was it.

He came with a groan, hips stuttering, pulse racing, holding you so close he thought he might crush you. You took every second of it—his shaking, his panting, the broken way he whispered your name like it was salvation.

Then silence.

Then breath. Tangled limbs. Sweat. Skin against skin.

And the most beautiful fucking quiet.

He stayed inside you, forehead resting against yours, both of you trembling.

You exhaled a shaky laugh. “Holy shit.”

He smiled, dizzy and wrecked. “Yeah. Holy fucking shit.”

-

Your breathing was still uneven when he collapsed beside you, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. His skin was warm and damp, and yours probably wasn’t any better. But when his arm instinctively reached for your waist and pulled you closer, it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

There were no words. Just the soft rustle of sheets and your fingertips drawing lazy, invisible patterns over the curve of his bicep. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head—gentle, almost reverent—and you let out a quiet sigh, one of those that come not from tiredness, but from fullness. Overwhelmed in the best possible way.

And you stayed like that. Breathing together. Letting your bodies cool down but your connection settle in deeper. There was nothing awkward. No pressure. Just warmth. Familiarity. His thumb brushing your side. Your knee nudging his softly under the sheets.

You didn't mean to fall asleep. But you did.

And somehow, when your eyes blinked open hours later, he was still there.

The light was pale and golden, sneaking in through your curtains. Your bedroom looked dreamlike, still hazy with sleep and the remnants of the night before. You turned slightly and found him already looking at you, face resting on the pillow, eyes still heavy-lidded, hair a mess of curls flattened on one side.

And it didn’t feel weird. Not at all.

“Hi,” you whispered, voice still raw from sleep.

He smiled, lazy and crooked, and it made your stomach do something ridiculous.

“Hi,” he echoed, voice low and warm and sleepy. “You drool a little, you know.”

You gasped, pushing at his chest with the back of your hand, laughing despite yourself. “You liar.”

“Swear on my life.” He grinned. “Just a little. Cute though.”

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow, but he only laughed, that soft, raspy morning laugh that already felt too intimate. Too familiar.

Like you’d heard it a hundred times before.

When you peeked out again, he was still watching you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize something.

“I usually hate sleeping next to someone,” he murmured.

Your heart skipped.

“But with you…” He shrugged slightly. “Didn’t even notice. Slept like a baby.”

You smiled then—slow, genuine, a little unsure. Because what were you supposed to say to that?

He shifted closer, his forehead gently bumping yours, and you felt his hand stroke slowly up and down your arm. His thumb brushed over a spot on your shoulder, then traced lazy circles on your skin.

Neither of you said anything else. There was no need. 

Eventually, you turned, slow and careful, until your back was pressed to his chest and his arm slipped around you without hesitation. His hand settled on your stomach, warm and still.

You let out a soft sigh and nestled into him, your legs tangling under the covers. For a moment, everything was quiet—breath and body, shared warmth, the steady thud of his heart against your spine. Then his fingers shifted, just slightly. Slid lower.

The first thing you felt was heat—his chest pressed against your back, the slow roll of his hips, still half-asleep but already there, already hard. Your breath caught as his hand skimmed your stomach, fingers brushing lower, exploring like he hadn’t had his fill last night. Like he’d only just begun.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick, scratchy with sleep. “You’re already—”

“Yeah,” you whispered, shifting your hips back against him, shameless.

He groaned, the sound low and desperate, and you could feel it vibrate through your spine. His lips found the spot behind your ear, open-mouthed, warm, lazy like everything about that morning, but hungry in a way that made your pulse spike.

“You sure?” he murmured, fingers sliding between your thighs now, stroking through the wetness he found there, drawing a sound out of you that was all need. 

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes, and he looked wrecked already—his curls a mess, his gaze still soft with sleep but blown wide with want.

“Yeah,” you breathed, not hesitating. “Just finish outside.”

He stilled for a moment. Just a beat. Long enough for the gravity of it to flicker in his eyes. But then you reached back, guided him to you, and that flicker turned to fire.

“Fuck—okay. Okay.”

The first push inside was slow, careful, but deep—achingly so. You both gasped, your body stretching to take him, his hand gripping your hip like it was the only thing anchoring him to the planet.

“Jesus… you feel amazing” he whispered, half in awe, half in disbelief. 

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, forehead dropping to the pillow as he began to move, drawing back, then pressing in again with that maddening control. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

And he didn’t. He couldn’t have even if he tried.

It wasn’t frantic—this wasn’t a race. But it wasn’t slow either. It was deep. Focused. Like he was trying to memorize every inch of you from the inside. His hand slid under you, fingers finding your clit, stroking in tight circles as he thrust, eyes fixed on the spot where your bodies met like it might disappear if he blinked.

“You take me so fucking well,” he muttered, voice shaking. “So good like this. So—shit—warm. Wet. Fuck.”

Your mouth dropped open, hands gripping the sheets as the pressure built, deep and consuming. Every snap of his hips sent sparks up your spine, every stroke of his fingers wound you tighter.

“Joe—”

“Say it again.”

“Joe—oh my God—”

He bent over you, his chest flush to your back, lips brushing your shoulder, your neck, your ear.

“Feel how deep I am?” he murmured, cock pulsing inside you. “I can feel you gripping me, baby, fuck—don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”

You came with a strangled cry, your body locking around his, muscles fluttering, your whole self unraveling in waves. He thrust once, twice more, desperate now, but then pulled out with a groan—messy, hot, and helpless as he came on your lower back, one hand braced on the mattress, the other gripping your hip like it might keep him from flying apart.

His breath was ragged, your name half-formed on his tongue, and for a second, all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears and the high-pitched whine of satisfaction in your bones.

You lay there, both of you trembling, panting, your bodies still joined, sweat cooling between your skins.

There were no words. Just the beat of your hearts, too fast and completely in sync.

He kissed your shoulder, once, twice. You reached back to touch his thigh, his hip—anything to anchor him to you. To keep him right there.

And for a moment, neither of you moved. No guilt. No fear. 

Just skin. Breath. Fire. Somehow, trust.

You lay there, breathing together, warm and safe beneath the quiet weight of morning. Your legs tangled again. His hand resting on your hip. His thumb started drawing circles along your arm as he could memorize you by touch.

And when you finally started drifting off again, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, he pressed one last kiss to your temple.

Soft. Unthinking. Like second nature.

You smiled against his chest.

Neither of you meant to fall asleep again. But you did.

And somehow, that felt like the most intimate part of all.

- 

The second time you woke up, it was to the scent of coffee and the quiet sound of someone humming off-key in your kitchen.

For a moment, you thought you’d dreamt the whole thing—until you stretched, and the ache between your thighs reminded you vividly that you hadn’t.

You reached for a hoodie, padded barefoot into the living room, and there he was—standing by the stove in nothing but his boxers and one of your oversized mugs in hand. His curls were still a mess. His back was turned, but when he heard your footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

“Morning, again,” he said, handing you the mug without missing a beat.

You took it, fingers brushing his for a second too long. “You made coffee?”

He shrugged, modest and smug all at once. “Well, I didn’t burn anything, so technically I made magic.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and sat on the edge of the couch as he poured his own cup.

It was easy. Too easy.

The kind of morning where you both felt like you’d skipped a few steps. Like you were already past the awkward stage. You talked about nothing in particular—your mutual distaste for early mornings, how Wes never mentioned either of you to the other (the bastard), the fact that you both hated people who didn’t rinse their dishes before putting them in the sink.

He made you laugh. A lot.

And at some point, still barefoot, hair wild and shirtless, he leaned against the counter and said, “Last night was… not what I expected.”

You looked up from your coffee, raising an eyebrow. “Disappointed?”

“God, no,” he said immediately, then softened. “It was just—better. More. You know?”

You nodded. Because you did know.

There was something about it. About him. About this. And you could both feel it pulsing under the skin, but neither of you tried to name it.

Eventually, the time came. He went to grab his things—shoes, phone, jacket—and you trailed after him, not quite ready to say goodbye, but not wanting to be that person either.

He stood by the door, pulling his jacket on, one arm still half out of the sleeve, when he turned to you with a smirk.

“So… am I allowed to ask for your number, or is this one of those magical one-night-stand rules where I disappear like a gentleman and we pretend we don’t exist?”

You blinked, then laughed, genuinely caught off guard. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Flattering,” he replied. “But I’ll take it as a yes?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your phone. “Give me yours. I’ll text you.”

He rattled off the digits, and you sent a simple “Hi” before he even finished spelling out his last name.

He looked at his screen, smiled, then looked back at you like he was about to say something else—but didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed your cheek. Soft. Warm. Familiar, again. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“See you around,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the edge of your jaw.

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut, and the silence he left behind was anything but empty.

It was full.

Full of something unnamed but very, very real.

-

You never had the talk.

No labels, no declarations, no drawn-out conversations about what this was or where it was going. It just was.

He texted you that same afternoon. Something dumb and funny. A meme you still had saved in your camera roll. You answered. And he answered back. And suddenly, you were talking every day. Not constantly, but consistently. Steadily. Like the kind of tide that always comes back to shore.

The first time you met up again, it was spontaneous. He was nearby. You had an hour to kill. You grabbed coffee and sat in the park. He stole your cookie. You punched his arm. He kissed you mid-laughter, with your cup still in hand, and just like that—there it was again.

That thing.

And then came the nights. The way his hand would slide against the small of your back as you opened the door. The way he’d kiss you like he’d been waiting for days, even if it’d only been hours.

You’d fuck on the couch. In your kitchen. Sometimes barely making it to the bedroom.

It was intense. Messy. Addictive.

But never rushed.

He made you laugh mid-moan. You pulled his curls just to hear the sound he made when you did. He always made sure you came first—sometimes second—and then held you like he couldn’t stand the idea of leaving. Sometimes he stayed. Sometimes you did.

You shared breakfast. Showers. Bad TV. Inside jokes. His hoodie. Your leftovers.

Somehow, he learned how you liked your tea. You learned what cologne he wore. He kept a spare toothbrush in your bathroom. You found one of your scrunchies on his nightstand once.

And none of it felt like a big deal.

It was just natural.

You’d text him something random at 1AM. He’d reply with a voice note that made you laugh out loud in bed. You'd call him when your day sucked. He'd show up at your door with snacks and that face that made everything easier.

You never talked about exclusivity. You never needed to.

Because even if no one had said it aloud, you both already knew.

It wasn’t casual. Not really.

And still, neither of you used the word "relationship."

But it didn’t matter.

Because every time he kissed your forehead before leaving, every time he whispered “sleep tight” like a secret, every time you caught him staring like he was still surprised you were real—something in your chest softened.

Something in you knew.

And maybe you weren’t officially together.

But your hearts hadn’t gotten the memo.

-

He didn’t really notice when it started to change. Maybe that was the point.

There was no sudden shift, no dramatic realisation. Just a quiet accumulation of small things that began to matter more than he expected.

Like the way his phone would light up and he already knew it was you. The way your name on the screen felt like a hit of dopamine—something in his chest unclenching without him even realizing it. The way the days stretched a little too long when he didn’t hear from you.

He started keeping snacks you liked in his apartment without thinking. He started recognizing your routines—how you stole his hoodie when it got cold, how you took your coffee with oat milk and exactly one sugar, how you always asked if he’d eaten after a long shoot. He noticed the way you hummed softly when brushing your hair, and how your laughter lingered in his apartment long after you'd gone.

He hadn’t planned to stop seeing other people. It just happened. Not out of obligation. Out of instinct.

You stopped replying to those flirty messages. He stopped swiping right out of boredom.

It wasn’t something you ever discussed. There was no awkward conversation, no labels. Just a quiet understanding—like turning down the volume on a song that didn’t hit the same anymore.

One night, Wes texted him asking if he was going out to their usual bar, and Joe found himself replying, “With her tonight.” He didn’t even think twice.

“You seeing her now?” Wes asked.

He stared at the screen for a while. Not officially. Not technically. But yeah. Yeah, he was.

And maybe the most surprising part was that none of it scared him. Not like it used to.

There was this night—you were curled up on his couch in his shirt, eating cereal at midnight, laughing at something stupid he’d said. And he watched you, spoon halfway to his mouth, thinking, Fuck. I really like her.

He didn’t say it. Of course not. But it was there. In the way he touched your back without thinking, or the way he waited for your laugh to fade before kissing you.

He got used to you without realizing.To the way your shoes sat by the door when you stayed over. To the way you wrapped yourself around him in your sleep, like his body was where yours belonged. To the way the silence between you didn’t press down—it settled around you both, warm and easy, like a shared blanket.

He hadn’t realised how much space you'd taken up in his life until he was scrolling through his photos one night and found more of you than anything else. Pictures you didn’t even know he’d taken—your head thrown back in laughter, curled up with a book, sleeping against his chest.

He remembered waking up before you one morning, the light slipping through the blinds, your arm thrown across his stomach, your hair a mess, your face half-buried in the pillow. He just laid there, watching. Not because he was having some big epiphany. Just because it felt nice.

Then came that Tuesday. You were in the bathroom, hair up in a messy knot, brushing your teeth with one hand and scrolling on your phone with the other, wrapped in his old t-shirt like it belonged more to you than him. Joe sat on the edge of the bed and watched.

Not in a creepy way. In a shit, this feels good kind of way. In a please don’t let this go anywhere kind of way.

You caught him staring—of course you did. You always did. Mouth full of toothpaste, you raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He just grinned. “Nothing.”

But he meant everything.

Because it wasn’t just the way you looked in the morning, or how you always denied stealing the blanket.It was the way you’d become his soft place to land. It was the cardigan draped over his chair. The mugs in the sink with your lipstick on the rim. The playlist on his Spotify titled hers.

The lines between you and him had blurred so gently, it didn’t even feel like change.

It just felt right.

And no, he hadn’t said it out loud yet. But when you fell asleep with your head on his chest and his arm pulled you closer like instinct, he didn’t need to.

You probably already knew.

-

He’d been pacing around the apartment for most of the afternoon, fingers stained with ink from scribbled notes, corners of scripts folded and dog-eared, empty mugs lining the coffee table like some modern art installation of a man losing his grip. The flat smelled faintly of coffee, highlighters, and the Thai food box he had grabbed in that small local in front of his gym and barely touched.

His phone buzzed earlier—your name lighting up the screen like a small calm in the storm.

“hey, out for a bit but I’ll swing by around eight?”

He’d smiled when he read it. A quiet kind of smile, the kind that tugged at the corners of his mouth even as his eyes were half-glued to a page of dialogue he couldn’t get right.

“Perfect. I’ll order pizza.”

And then he forgot about it. Not you, exactly. Just the time. The waiting. The worrying about whether you’d show or not. You’d said you’d come, and that was enough. You’d always done what you said so far. He trusted that. Trusted you. It was himself he didn’t quite trust lately.

The new script was a minefield. The director intimidating. The pressure building behind his temples like a storm he couldn��t quite outrun. Somewhere between scene fourteen and seventeen, he pulled his hair back into a tie and rubbed his face with both hands, muttering something half-human under his breath.

He hadn’t even realized the sun was already setting when Wes’s name lit up on his screen.

“you bailing on us tonight?”

He blinked, thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Had plans. Next time i swear”

A beat. Then another buzz. Wes had sent a photo.

Dim pub lighting. Clinking glasses. And you—laughing. Head tilted toward someone familiar. Keith. A friend of a friend. All easy charm and textbook good looks. The kind of guy who always had too much confidence and not enough shame. His arm wasn’t touching you, not exactly. But it was close.

“well… maybe you should reconsider”

And that—that—was when it hit.

A flash of something ugly and electric shot straight through his gut. Not quite anger. Not quite panic. Just that instinctive, animal sting of I don’t want anyone else that close to her.

He tossed the phone onto the couch, harder than necessary.

Fuck. He didn’t want to care. Hadn’t planned on caring. You weren’t his girlfriend. You hadn’t talked about exclusivity, or commitment, or any of that. You were just… seeing each other. Spending time together. Sleeping together.

But still.

He ran a hand over his mouth and stared at the photo again.

Just a few hours ago, he hadn’t had a single thought like this about you. You were the one thing not stressing him out.

Now, you were burning a hole in his brain.

He flipped his phone face down. Then face up. Then picked it up again. He’d stared at the photo so long it had burned itself into his vision. The way you were laughing, the exact curve of your shoulder leaning toward Keith. The lighting didn’t help. It could’ve been a casual moment, an ordinary conversation. But in his head, it had already become something else. A whole story.

Keith. That charming asshole with an ego bigger than his biceps. The kind of guy who calls waitresses “princess” and still manages to get dates. It wasn’t jealousy—at least, not exactly. It was a sharp, nagging sting of insecurity. Of fear. Fear that you were out there realizing you could be with someone easier. Less complicated. Someone who didn’t have their brain split between you and a script that read like ancient code.

He stared at a fixed point on the floor, leaning back on the couch, arms crossed, legs tense. The script beside him felt more like a threat than an opportunity. The notes he’d taken—now scattered across the table—looked like pieces of a mind that didn’t know where to begin.

He went to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, stared at himself in the mirror. Didn’t like what he saw. Came back to the living room. Sat down. Stood up. Turned on the TV. Turned it off. Checked the time: 8:04 p.m.

Not late. Not really. Four minutes was nothing. But to Joe, it felt like a century.

He walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge without knowing what he was looking for, then closed it again. The pizza he’d ordered—maybe a little too early—was already getting cold. Like him. Like everything.

He forced himself to sit back on the couch. Put on an old record—one of those he used when he needed to focus. But the needle barely hit the first chords before he got up again, restless. He went to the window. Pulled back the curtain. You weren’t there. Closed it. Opened it again. Closed it once more.

8:11.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. He didn’t want to be that guy. The one spinning drama in his own head. The one building stories before the movie even started.

But there he was.

And the knot in his chest was pulling tighter by the minute.

Everything about the new film was overwhelming him. He wanted to scream at the ceiling. Throw the script against the wall. Nothing made sense. And the only thing that did—was you. It was you, goddammit. The one thing that didn’t need decoding. That felt simple, and somehow, impossibly huge at the same time.

That’s why it hurt. Because exactly for that reason, the idea of losing you—or worse, realizing you weren’t as in it as he was—felt unbearable.

And then, at 8:16, the doorbell rang.

His heart did this stupid little jump. He got up too fast. Felt that ridiculous urge to pull himself together, to act normal, to pretend he hadn’t been falling apart on the inside.

He wanted the sound of your arrival to reset everything.

But it wasn’t enough to quiet the noise. Not when the doubt was already echoing in his throat.

And when he opened the door… he didn’t know if he wanted to pull you into his arms or put you on the spot. If he wanted to kiss you or yell.

And that—exactly that—was what pissed him off the most.

-

You knew something was wrong the moment you saw his face. 

It wasn't the kind of wrong you could smooth over with a kiss or a joke about the pizza going cold.  It was the kind of wrong that sat heavy in the air, thick in your throat.

"Hey," you said, stepping inside. Smiling, out of instinct, even when your gut already knew better. "Sorry I’m late. I stopped by the pub for a bit, lost track—"

"Yeah," Joe said. Short. Sharp. Already turning away.

You shut the door behind you, heart picking up speed. The living room was a mess hunched over, papers scattered around him like a small, personal storm. 

He laughed, low and humorless. "I didn’t know if you were still coming."

You blinked. "I told you I was."

"Right," he muttered. "But maybe you were grabbing pizza with Keith instead"

You stared at him. "What?"

He grabbed his phone from the couch, tossed it onto the table. The screen still lit up with the photo: you, standing close to Keith, laughing over something stupid, a drink in your hand. Frozen mid-smile.

"Are you checking up on me now?" you said, a little sharper than you meant.

"Wes sent it." He raked a hand through his hair. "He was concerned."

Your stomach twisted. "No. You were concerned."

He laughed, but it was hollow. Bitter. "Yeah, well maybe I was, especially when I saw you smiling at him like that."

You stared at him, anger flickering up, hot and defensive. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to throw that at me when we never—"

"I know!" he cut you off, standing up suddenly, voice breaking. "I know we never said anything, okay? I know we were both just... assuming things and pretending it was all casual and cool and whatever the fuck, but it's not. Not for me."

The words hung there, raw and electric.

You stepped back, heart hammering, because it was true for you too. You just hadn’t said it. Hadn't dared.

"I’m not seeing anyone else," you said, almost without thinking. "I haven’t even thought about it since you."

He stared at you like you’d just said something unbelievable. Like maybe he didn’t deserve to hear it.

You swallowed hard. "And yeah, I was talking to Keith. Didn’t realize that’d be a fucking crime”. 

Joe closed his eyes for a second, like the weight of it physically hit him. When he opened them, he looked wrecked. And beautiful.

"I’m sorry," he said, hoarse. "I’m fucking scared, alright? I’ve got this project that’s swallowing me whole and half the time I think I’m gonna fail, and you’re the only thing that makes me feel like maybe I won't. Like maybe I’m not a complete fuck-up."

You felt your chest tighten, emotions crashing all over you.

"Then don't push me away," you said, stepping closer. "Don’t look for reasons to doubt this when I’m standing right in front of you."

He shook his head, almost helpless. "I don't want anyone else," he said, voice rough. "I don't even see anyone else anymore. It's just you."

You could feel your throat tightening, that sting behind your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay steady.

"It's you for me too," you whispered.

The silence felt thick and heavy and full of everything you hadn't said before tonight.

Then Joe moved — fast, almost clumsy — closing the space between you, pulling you into him like he couldn't bear the distance for a second longer. His mouth found yours in a kiss that wasn’t soft or careful — it was desperate, claiming, full of everything that had been burning between you for weeks.

And you let him. You let yourself fall into it, finally, completely. Because you knew. He knew. It was real.

You didn’t make it to the bedroom. You barely made it past the couch.

Joe kissed you like he meant it now. Like every inch of his mouth on yours came with a promise. No more holding back, no more ifs. Just you and him, here and now, and whatever the hell this was that had already swallowed you whole.

He pressed you against the wall, hands threading into your hair, breath hot and ragged against your cheek. "Fuck, I missed you," he groaned, like the hours apart had been unbearable.

"You had me yesterday," you gasped, tugging at the hem of his shirt, needing him bare, needing him now.

"Not like this." He pulled it over his head and dropped it to the floor, eyes hungry and tender all at once. "Not after hearing you say it."

You stilled for a second, chest rising too fast. "Say what?"

He leaned in, mouth brushing your jaw, your cheek, your ear. "That you wanted me. That you weren’t going anywhere."

You cupped his face in your hands, staring into those stupidly beautiful, frantic eyes. “I didn’t say it tonight, Joe.”

He blinked.

“I’ve been saying it every time I’ve come back.”

And then he lost it.

He picked you up, hands under your thighs, your legs wrapped tight around him, and carried you blindly through the apartment until you crashed into the edge of the bed. He didn’t even bother pulling the covers down.

Clothes disappeared like they were on fire.

His mouth was on your neck, then your chest, then lower—devouring, tasting, worshipping. You were already shaking by the time he slid inside you, both of you gasping like it hurt, like it healed.

“Jesus—fuck—you feel like home,” he choked out, burying his face in the crook of your neck, thrusting deep, slow, relentless.

You grabbed at his back, his hair, anything to ground yourself. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop.”

He didn’t.

He moved like you were the only thing keeping him together. Like if he stopped touching you, he’d fall apart entirely. The rhythm grew rougher, faster, but still so full. Not desperate. Claiming.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You gasped, eyes wide and wild. “I’m yours, Joe—fuck—I’ve been yours.”

He groaned into your mouth and slammed into you harder, and it wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It was real. It was raw and feral and exactly what both of you needed.

Your orgasm hit like a wave you didn’t see coming—hot and electric and blinding. And he followed almost instantly, moaning your name like it was a sacred word, collapsing on top of you, chest heaving, heart pounding against yours.

Silence.

Just the sound of breath and skin and the world finally slowing down.

You felt him shift, just enough to look at you. His eyes—open, vulnerable, like he’d just been cracked wide.

And then, softly, so softly—

“I love you.”

You blinked, breath still uneven.

And smiled.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I love you too.”

And just like that, there were no more questions.

Only answers written on skin, on sighs, on mouths still swollen from too much kissing.

[dandylovesturtles]

Using a random number generator for the angst prompts: 20 Starved + 30 Dangerous Temperatures

... and Leo, of course.

OH GOD OK

uh so. I had an idea. and I decided to write it for this ask I got forever ago. And then, uh.

it really

really got out of hand.

This is a pretty dark fic (even for me) and at the current moment in time it is hurt/no comfort. I do intend to write a part 2, probably tomorrow, but as of the time I'm typing this author's note I've been writing for around 5+ hours straight and I need to take a break! So please, if you don't want to read all this without the comfort included, feel free to wait for the next part before reading! I'll link it and the end once it's posted.

Content warnings: Kidnapping, confinement, psychological torture, nonconsensual voyeurism (I guess this is the best way to put this; Leo isn't doing anything sexual but it's still violating), mild violence, HEAVY ANGST, Leo just having the shittiest time possible.

I HOPE?? YOU ENJOY??? hahahaha....

btw this is set between S2 and the movie (though tbh its canon compliance is... /waves hand)

-----

When Leo imagined himself getting captured by some kind of shady, quasi-governmental agency intent on imprisoning mutants, it was never anything like this.

When he let his mind go there, he always pictured that he would be strapped to a table. Maybe muzzled. That scientists would stand over him, scalpels and drills in hand, and start to take him apart. That they'd examine him piece by piece, and wouldn't give him any anesthesia while they did it.

But there is no table, no muzzle, no restraints at all. He's just in a room.

Well, a cell, technically - the steel door is locked, and there are no windows, no furniture but a bare cot in one corner and a lone toilet in another. But it doesn't really look like a cell. It looks like a room.

A very, very white room. White walls. White ceiling. White tiles (with white grout, even). The toilet is white, a roll of white toilet paper on the floor next to it. The only things that aren't white are the cot and the door and Leo himself.

They took his gear and his weapons, because of course they did. Since the door is steel, he already knows he's not breaking it down; he gives it a half-hearted slam anyway, just to say he tried. He should be able to just portal out, except he hasn't learned how to use his portals without his swords to channel his ninpo through, and there's nothing in here with him that he can use to make new ones.

So he's stuck. He's going to have to wait until someone opens that door for some reason. Or, of course, until his family swings by to pick him up. Though, if possible, he'd like to escape before that happens. The image in his mind, of sitting outside his cell and grinning at them as they arrive to rescue him, is too cool to pass up.

He's not sure how long it's been already. He knows that they knocked him out after ambushing him, and he doesn't know how long he was unconscious. The heavy molasses feel of his head and arms when he woke up suggests that he was drugged. It's wearing off now, though, which means he has a clear head to take in the all of nothing that's in the room with him.

He sits on the cot he woke up on and waits for something to happen.

There's no way for him to tell time, but he thinks it's an hour or so later when there's a sudden beep, and then the sound of a metal panel sliding up. It's a slot near the door that has just opened - inside the revealed alcove is a bottle of water.

He comes to it curiously, taking a long look around the bottle. The slot doesn't open straight through, and even if it did, it's not big enough for anything more than his arm or a foot to fit through. He thinks it must function like an airlock, or maybe they slid the bottle down from somewhere above - he feels around just in case, and finds that the slot is enclosed on all sides but his. Probably his airlock theory, then.

As soon as he removes the bottle, the panel slams shut again.

"You're really determined to keep me in here, huh?" he says to whatever hidden cameras are watching him. He carries the water bottle back to his cot, but doesn't open it, instead setting it down on the floor by the wall. The paranoid part of his brain, the one that doesn't miss a trick, is reminding him that drinking the water is probably a bad idea. Who knows what they might have put in it?

He sits on the cot for awhile longer. Still, nothing happens.

"I'm getting pretty bored in here," he says for the audience that must be somewhere. "Come on, you have a one of a kind turtle in here, and you don't even want to talk to me?"

Time passes, slow and quiet. Leo goes through periods where his anxiety spikes and he starts to wonder if he's been abandoned by whoever brought him here, before the boredom eventually numbs the anxiety back out. Another bottle of water is eventually delivered, and this one he keeps in his hands after retrieving it. It's completely unlabeled, not even a "Use by" date printed on the bottle itself, so it doesn't provide much mental stimulation. He spins the bottle to make little whirlpools inside, because it's something to do.

He's trying to make the fastest whirlpool he can when he hears a sudden click, different from the beep of the water bottle hole, and he looks up just in time to see a large section of the wall in front of him turn black, and then light up to show the room beyond his cell.

He jolts, setting the bottle aside. He knew they must be watching him, but somehow he didn't catch that part of the wall was a whole window.

His audience isn't very large - five people, unless there are others he can't see. Two wear lab coats, two wear fatigues... but the one who comes to stand directly in front of the window is wearing a black suit, with steel rimmed glasses. He leans forward, and speaks into a small microphone.

"Inmate 24365," says the suited man. "I am Agent Bishop, of the Earth Protection Force. My subordinates tell me that you can speak and understand the English language. Is this correct?"

"Qué?" Leo asks.

Bishop does not look amused. "Inmate 24365," he says, "you have two options. You can cooperate with me, answer my questions, and we will make your stay here more comfortable. Do not cooperate, and we will make your stay uncomfortable. Do you understand?"

Leo pretends to hem and haw over this. "How comfortable are we talkin'?"

"I'm sure you would like some dinner."

"You know, I'm not really hungry." He says it to be difficult, but it's actually true - the uncertainty of the situation has put his stomach in too many knots to want to eat anything. "Maybe if you offer me some comic books? Or a TV?

To Bishop's credit, his face doesn't so much as twitch. He keeps his steely eyes locked on Leo. "Answer our questions, and you will receive food. Do you understand?"

Leo stays noncommittal. "What are the questions?"

He's expecting Bishop to ask about his family. He's not expecting what comes next.

"How many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave?" he asks. "How are these gateways accessed? What kind of defensive capabilities do the yokai have?"

Leo keeps the surprise off his face. Bishop thinks he's a yokai.

This is, overall, a good development. Bishop might not know about Leo's family, then, or at least not know that they live on the surface. This means the Earth Protection Force likely isn't pursuing his brothers, which means they will be safe until they can help Leo get out of here.

He doesn't let the relief show through, either. Bishop doesn't know anything, and now Leo just has to ride out the next few hours until the calvary arrives.

"You know," he says, "I think I'm good with my current levels of comfort."

If Bishop is mad or frustrated or dismayed by this choice, he doesn't show it. His expression stays stony as he stares in at Leo, sizing him up.

"Very well," he says after a few more seconds. "I will see you tomorrow, then."

The window goes dark, and then turns stark white to match the walls. Leo wants to go over and tap at it, see if it feels different when he touches it, but knowing that Bishop is surely still there, watching him, keeps him rooted to the cot.

He goes back to making whirlpools with the bottle. If they aren't going to entertain him, he isn't going to entertain them, either.

-----

Another water bottle comes some time after his talk with Bishop. He finally opens this one and takes a cautious sip. Nothing tastes off or strange, so he drinks more. They don't want to feed him, but they're fine keeping him hydrated. No reason to stay thirsty, then.

He wishes the water calmed the anxiety still roiling in his stomach, but if anything it just makes him feel even more energized. He bounces his foot and surveys his room again, looking for any weak spots or access points. He can't see anything, though, other than the areas where he knows the water bottle hole and window are; even the vents that relentlessly blow cold air into the room are well hidden.

Knowing that there are people standing just outside his cell watching him, like some kind of zoo animal, puts him on edge. The window is so big that he's pretty sure the only blind spots are either directly underneath it or right by the door on the same wall. After debating it, he leaves his cot and sits on the floor underneath the window, surveying the room from a different angle now and still coming up empty. At least they're going to have a harder time staring at him.

His eyes catch on the toilet in the corner, directly across from the window. It's not in the blind spot, and realizing this makes his insides lurch uncomfortably - hopefully he has a chance to bust out before using it becomes necessary.

Though, he's not sure when that chance is going to come. If they have a slot to pass him water, they could use that to pass him food, too, so it's unlikely that anyone is going to open the door unless they need to take him out.

So maybe his fantasy of being outside when his brothers arrive isn't going to happen. Well, that's okay; he'll just be sure to make some other part of their escape totally rad. That will make up for the embarrassment of getting kidnapped a block from Run of the Mill.

(Seriously, some kind of ninja he is, to let a bunch of human soldiers sneak up on him.)

He drains the water bottle, then starts to roll it back and forth across the floor, like a cat batting at a toy. Leo's not sure what's worse right now: the worry or the boredom. There's nothing to look at and no one to talk to, just an empty room with him and his water bottles.

He's too keyed up to sleep, and the fluorescent lights are still on, anyway. He has no way of telling what time it is, so maybe it just isn't that late yet. And even sitting here, in the blind spot, the idea of closing his eyes while people are watching makes unease crawl up his spine. Staying awake is the easy choice. He'll sleep after he's out of here.

So he sits under the window and rolls his bottle back and forth, back and forth, with only the sound of plastic on tile to keep his thoughts company.

-----

The first three water bottles came pretty regularly, but now there is a very long stretch where nothing is delivered. Leo is starting to think maybe it really is night now. They don't turn off the lights in his cell, though, and he has no controls to do it himself. At least it helps with the whole "staying awake" thing.

Just in case they've decided to suspend his water privileges along with the food, he holds off drinking any more for now.

Speaking of food, his appetite has finally decided to return. His stomach starts to growl at him after several hours (he thinks) of sitting in the floor, an annoying emptiness in his stomach. Knowing there's no food accessible just makes the hunger sharper, but he puts it out of his mind the best he can with nothing else to focus on. He can eat once he's free.

Which should be soon. Seriously, his brothers have to be on their way by now, right?

He's pretty sure it's been the better part of a day, if not a whole day, since he was kidnapped. And, okay, he's willing to give them some leeway; it's understandable if they got a late start. He did storm out of the lair after his latest fight with Raph, and no one ever came to check on him when he did that. Understandably, he thinks, because who wants to be around Bad Mood Leo? Not even Leo wants to be around Bad Mood Leo!

But he'd already turned back into Good Mood Leo by the time he left Hueso's, so surely they knew it had been more than enough time. They would have noticed when he didn't come home. They would have realized something happened. They would be looking for him.

And if they're looking for him, they'll find him! Obviously.

His stomach growls again, and Leo leans his head back against the wall behind him. Maybe he shouldn't think of being at Hueso's. Now he just wants pizza. Pepperoni and mushroom, maybe, or Hawaiian. Mix it up a little with the barbeque chicken.

Another growl. He groans out loud.

He stays awake, twisting and crinkling the empty bottle in his hands, until another full one finally arrives.

-----

No chance to escape comes before using the toilet is necessary.

He tried to hold out, he really did, but he ended up drinking more water to stave off the growing hunger, and it's lowkey cold in here, which doesn't help. Still, the issue of the window sends an uneasy shiver up his spine, doubting that any people outside will feel the need to turn away and give him some privacy. Maybe he should have gone while he suspected it was nighttime.

(Maybe he shouldn't assume they ever aren't watching him.)

He stands up and walks over to the cot, giving it a light nudge with his foot. In a stroke of luck, it isn't bolted to the floor, and it's light enough that he can lift it. The black mesh it's made of is tightly woven, enough that not much is visible through it. It will have to do.

He picks it up and drags it over in front of the toilet, propping it up on its legs so it makes a small wall between himself and the window. It's hardly ideal, but the semblance of privacy makes him relax somewhat.

(He can't think about how there are surely cameras in the room watching him from all angles, making his attempt at a barrier moot. He knows better than anyone that sometimes pleasant lies are necessary.)

After he does his business, he leaves the cot propped where it is; it's not like he's sleeping on it. There's no sink for him to wash his hands, but he's never been the strictest about it, anyway (much to Donnie's disgust). He returns to his spot under the window, squeezing the water bottle to the rhythm of the first song that comes to mind.

Only two verses and a bridge later, the window above his head turns black, then goes clear. Thinking that Bishop might have been watching him just now makes a cold, slimy feeling roll down his spine. Creepy!

"Inmate 24365," comes Bishop's voice through the unseen speaker. "Stand."

Leo doesn't. He stays right where he is, under the window.

Bishop waits only a few seconds. Then Leo hears him say, "Temperature down two degrees."

He gets up at that, turning and leaning his arm against the window. It strangely doesn't feel like glass, even though it must be. "It's already cold enough in here," he says. He wonders how they can hear him, when he doesn't see a microphone on his side.

"You were told your conditions would only be made comfortable after you answer our questions," Bishop informs him. "The same as before: how many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave? How are these gateways-"

"How about you answer my questions first," Leo interjects. "You keep calling me "inmate," but I haven't been charged with anything. Pretty sure you can't detain me without cause."

"The EPF is authorized to detain non-human inmates for as long as deemed necessary for the security of the United States," says Bishop smoothly. "Probable cause doctrine does not apply in this case."

"That's gotta be unconstitutional."

"The constitution does not recognize the rights of yokai. You have no right to counsel, no right to a speedy trial, and no right to protections from cruel and unusual punishments." Bishop's stare is colder than the temperature in the room. "But I am not an unfair man. Answer my questions, and I will provide you with food and clothing."

Leo tosses a glance over his shoulder. "How about a private bathroom?"

Bishop's expression stays ever in place, unimpressed and stoic. "Food and clothing," he repeats.

Leo gives his head a shake. "Then nope," he says, popping the "p". "I plead the fifth."

"As I have already explained, the Bill of Rights does not apply to you."

"That's such crap." Leo bangs his fist on the window. "You can't just keep me here forever for no reason!"

"I do have reasons." Bishop leans closer to the window, his eyes narrowing. "Let's try a different question. What is your relation to Baron Draxum?"

The surprise is fast and sharp, but Leo just manages to keep it from showing on his face. "Who?" he asks innocently, even as the panic sets into his chest. If they know about Draxum, what else do they know?

"We know you are acquainted with him," says Bishop. "What is the nature of your relationship?"

Leo knows they aren't bluffing - why would they bring up that very specific name otherwise? There's no lie he can tell that won't reveal something.

So he doesn't say anything. Instead, he turns his back to the window and sits down, staring resolutely at the opposite wall.

Bishop clicks his tongue. "Very well," he says. "I am a patient man. I can wait." Then, more muffled, like he's facing away from the microphone, Leo hears him say, "Temperature down two degrees."

The window goes dark, then turns back to white. Leo doesn't move for a long time.

-----

The third water bottle arrives, so he guesses that's the end of day two.

He's shaking as he gets up to retrieve it, adding it to his growing water bottle hoard. He's gone through three and a half by now, but he's trying not to drink them too fast.

As promised, no food is delivered, and his stomach growls and rumbles in protest. The water helps, but only slightly. He needs to eat.

He also needs to sleep.

The panicked adrenaline spikes that have kept him awake this long are starting to die down, with more and more long stretches of exhaustion between them. The shaking is near constant, bringing with it the weird jittery feeling he gets when his insomnia gets particularly bad.

The window is still unnerving him. The idea of sleeping while they're watching him feels staggeringly unsafe.

But he doesn't think he can hold out now until his family gets here. Sure, they're probably getting close (they have to be getting close), but they're sure taking their sweet time. And he's just so tired.

After a long internal debate, he lays down on the cold tile floor. It's not at all comfortable, but somehow he doubts the cot would be any better. Besides, even if he moves the cot under the window, he thinks it would be easier to see him if he uses it. So on the floor it is.

He presses as close to the wall as he can, curling up into a ball for warmth. He wishes he had a blanket.

He wishes he was home.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight and forces back the sudden wave of overwhelming homesickness. There's no reason to feel this way. It's only been two days! What is he, a baby?

It's fine. It's all fine. They're definitely on his trail now. Raph is leading the team. Donnie is using some kind of invention to blah blah blah nerd stuff. Mikey is razzing his tazz. April is using her investigative journalism skills to find clues.

They're on their way. He just has to hold out a little longer. He can do this.

He sleeps, and in his dreams, something grabs him tight and drags him down and down and down where he can't escape.

-----

The same routine plays out over the next two days.

Leo gets two water bottles delivered, spaced, if he had to guess, about five hours apart. Bishop comes to visit him some time after the second bottle. Leo refuses to answer his questions. Bishop turns the temperature down and then leaves. A few hours later his last water bottle comes. Then nothing for the whole night.

They still don't turn off his lights, but exhaustion is starting to win over the brightness.

More than a few times, Leo tries to summon a portal on his own, without his swords. If his family is going to take their sweet time in coming, he might as well try to help them out. He tries to summon his ninpo (without glowing), tries to feel the tug inside of him that he always does when he teleports, tries to envision the place he wants to go and tunnel through space to get there.

Nothing. Always nothing.

(Donnie can make his constructs independent of his bo staff. Raph can send his projections away from his sai. Mikey's learning to use mystic powers without his nunchucks. So why does Leo need his katana? Why is he the only one this useless?)

It probably doesn't help that he's so damn hungry. It's a constant companion now, a low and hollow ache that chooses inconvenient times to turn into white hot stabs of urgency, into seizing cramps that steal his breath. The water only helps so much - it keeps him alive but doesn't satisfy, doesn't soothe. In some ways it just makes the feeling worse.

And he's always shaking, too, but he doesn't know if that's the hunger or the cold.

Maybe the cold wouldn't bother him so much if it were at least still. But the vents blow fresh air inside relentlessly, and no matter where he goes he can't seem to get out of the direct stream. The cold wind batters his tired body, and there's places his skin is starting to turn dry and flaky. His nose won't stop running, and he's allowed himself a small section of his one roll of toilet paper to blow it, already stiff and congealed and disgusting.

It's miserable.

And there's still nothing to do.

He stacks a pyramid out of his empty water bottles, knocks it down, then stacks it up again. He tries to come up with some new and exciting ways to demolish it, but it's only new and exciting for so long.

He spends a few hours of day three singing karaoke as obnoxiously as possible. He hopes everyone outside enjoys the performance.

He recounts every issue of Jupiter Jim he knows to himself, then the plot of every movie. Then he goes through Lou Jitsu films, then anything else he can think of. That eats up a good chunk of day four.

By the time he gets his first water bottle of day five, he's out of ideas to entertain himself. He's never been good at this. He doesn't know how introverts like Donnie can go multiple days without talking to someone.

But when Bishop comes back with his daily offer of conversation, Leo once again impolitely declines.

-----

Something new happens on night five.

It's been a long time since the last water bottle. Leo has been trying to sleep, but it's not coming easy; he's exhausted, but the floor is so cold and he's so sore from staying on it night after night. Not to mention, his nightmares have been getting worse, and he isn't eager to return to them.

Add on the hunger, and sleep is elusive.

Suddenly, there's the telltale shadow of the window above him turning dark - this time, though, it doesn't light up as much as normal. Confused and curious, Leo sits up and takes a peek.

The room beyond is dim, only the glow of a green EXIT sign and a small desk lamp lighting the space. But it's enough for Leo to see a man standing there, looking inside. It's not Bishop - in fact, he doesn't recognize this person at all. They're wearing fatigues, but it's not anyone he's seen in the room during Bishop's normal interrogations.

The man catches sight of Leo, and the grinning leer on his face makes Leo regret looking.

He beckons for Leo to stand up. Warily, Leo does, unable to help but keep his arms folded tight over his chest. Not for the first time, he wishes he had some clothes - his gear, at the very least. Anything to not feel quite so exposed.

The man reaches down and picks something up, holding it aloft for Leo's inspection. "Want a sandwich?" he asks into the microphone.

The sandwich looks like white bread and bologna. No cheese, no other toppings that Leo can spot. Maybe some mustard, if anything. Overall, the most boring possible sandwich he could have been offered.

Leo's mouth is watering.

He has to swallow hard before answering. He doesn't trust this. Even if his stomach is slamming up and down at the promise of food, food, food.

"I'm not hungry," he lies.

The man laughs. It's not a kind sound. "Sure you ain't," he says. "You spend every night curled up on the floor like the dumb animal you are. Can you even eat this?" He waves the sandwich for emphasis.

Leo doesn't answer. He takes a step back from the window, like that will put any kind of distance between them. Like that will save him.

The man watches him with a sleezy grin. He waves the sandwich again.

"You want this," he says.

Leo shakes his head.

"You really sure?"

Leo shudders. Stands tall. Nods.

The man watches him for a long, long moment. Leo fights the urge to hide.

Finally, with a shrug, the man says, "Suit yourself."

Then he starts eating the sandwich. Right where Leo can watch.

Leo's stomach growls, loud and angry in his ears, and he has to physically hold himself back from crumpling.

After several bites, the man suddenly reaches out and taps the window, indicating the cot stood up in front of the toilet.

"That," he says, giving another tap for emphasis, "doesn't do shit."

Leo wants to crawl out of his own skin.

The need to hide is suddenly too great. He rushes to the cot, grabbing it and dragging it back to the blind spot under the window. He sets it down on all four legs, so it's as close to the floor as possible.

Then he lies down on his belly and wriggles underneath. It's a tight squeeze, and the cot ends up pushed up by his shell, suspended in the air, but he doesn't care.

He curls up in his pleasant lie of privacy and bites his hand to keep from screaming himself hoarse.

After an eternity, the window above him turns white again. It doesn't matter. Leo knows he's still there. Still watching.

-----

"You look tired," Bishop greets him. Leo answers with a dead-eyed stare.

"I keep telling you, if you want your conditions to improve, all you have to do is answer my questions."

Leo says nothing. He just stares, arms wrapped tight around himself to try and keep his body heat in.

"How many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave? How are these gateways accessed?"

For a moment, Leo considers just... telling him.

His family doesn't live in the Hidden City. The yokai have never exactly greeted them with open arms. What does he care if these military guys go after them? At least then, maybe he can finally eat something.

That's not what a hero does, Leo! echoes Mind Raph disapprovingly. Innocent people will get hurt!

Right. He's a hero. And heroes don't give into the demands of shitty guys like Bishop.

Leo swallows hard. "No comment."

Bishop's face changes ever so slightly: his brow creases. Leo wonders if that's good or bad for him.

"You understand that Baron Draxum is a known threat, don't you?" he asks. "We are aware of his plans to commit mass murder on the human population. We also know that he has been dormant for some time, and we need information on what he is planning."

Leo thinks of Barry's ambitions to be recognized as the best lunchperson in all of America and can't help but laugh. It comes out cracked and wheezing.

Bishop's furrow gets deeper. "Do you think this is funny?"

"Little bit," says Leo.

Bishop has a chasm to rival Raph's now. Leo knows he shouldn't, but he grins. It's his one moment of triumph - only he can be this aggravating.

And then Bishop says, "Temperature down seven degrees," and that wipes the smile right off Leo's face.

-----

The plastic of the water bottles is soft and pliable and feels weirdly good under Leo's teeth.

He chews the top of the bottle, gnawing at it until it's completely flattened out, pockmarked with little tiny indents from his incisors. It's not eating - it won't fill his belly or ease the persistent hunger pains. But something about the motion is soothing. The place-bo effect.

Pla-ce-bo, corrects Donnie's voice in his mind, sounding testy.

Where are you? Leo thinks back.

There's no answer.

He's gnawed his way through four water bottles. There's eighteen in total now, two and a half still full of water. He thought about using one to wash up a bit, but decided against it in the end. He knows he stinks, but the last thing he wants right now is to be wet. Not when he's starting to see his breath.

Oh well. It's not like he has anywhere to be.

He turns his attentions to the lids next. These are harder and thus tougher to chew. Still, if Leo uses his molars, he can eventually crack the lip, and then bend the plastic in and in, chewing until he ends up with a flat disc.

It's just small enough that Leo could swallow it, if he wanted to.

He thinks he remembers watching some kind of wildlife documentary. Or maybe he didn't watch it himself, but Mikey told him about it. Or maybe April? He doesn't know. His thoughts swim in and out and get lost on the way.

Point is. Sea turtles in the wild die all the time because of plastic in the water. They cut open their stomachs and find trash inside.

Well, Leo is a turtle in captivity. Maybe that means he's immune. Maybe he could swallow this plastic lid, and then he'd finally feel full and the pain pain pain of his empty stomach would go away.

He does not swallow the plastic lid. But it's more tempting than he'd like to admit.

It's going to be okay. When his family gets him out of here, they'll have a big pizza to celebrate. Maybe he can even talk them into letting him have the last slice.

It has to be any moment now, right? It's been a week. They have to be closing in. Any moment now, the door will open, and there they'll be to take him home.

The air conditioning blows relentlessly against his skin. He sneezes, then rubs the snot on his arm. He's given up on the tissue paper.

It'll be over soon. It has to be. Just hang in there, Leon, just a little longer.

He picks up another bottle and starts chewing.

-----

He's playing a mindless little game with his flattened bottle lids the next time Bishop comes.

"I'm surprised you still have any energy at all," says Bishop, and Leo wants to punch him.

(Really, he wants to do more than that. But those kinds of thoughts always make him feel weird and bad, so he pushes them away.)

"You should have learned by now," he says, pushing to his feet and trying not to show how badly he's trembling, "you can't keep me down."

"This is all unnecessary," says Bishop. "I'll feed you as soon as you answer my questions."

Leo barks out a laugh. "Sure you will."

"I will," says Bishop. He turns and says over his shoulder, "Bring it here."

One of the men in fatigues steps forward and hands a tray with a covered plate over to Bishop. Bishop uncovers the tray and holds it where Leo can see.

Baked chicken, broccoli with cheese, mashed potatoes.

Leo's stomach twists and cramps so painfully he has to bend at the hips and clutch his midriff.

"This is yours, as soon as you answer my questions."

Leo pointedly keeps from looking at the food. He shakes his head. He can't. He can't.

"Such persistence." Bishop's voice is scolding now. "You understand that you are a known accomplice to a terrorist, don't you? But if you become a cooperating witness, you will be granted some leniency."

Leo barks a laugh, lifting his eyes to look at Bishop's face, and pointedly not the food. "What's the point?" he asks. "If I'm not... protected by the constitution, or whatever. Are you going to let me go?"

"No," says Bishop. "But as I have told you, your conditions will become more comfortable." He waves the tray of food.

Leo stares at him, before a manic smile splits his face.

"You... stupid bastard. I can't even answer your questions." He slams a shaking hand against his plastron. "I'm not even a yokai! Do you get that? I'm not a yokai!"

Bishop looks skeptical. "Obviously you are."

"I'm not!" Leo rages. "I'm a mutant! I'm from New York! I don't even live in the Hidden City!"

Bishop's eyes flash. "I see," he says, "so you do know of it."

Leo falters, his body going slack.

What an obvious, stupid mistake.

(Some face-man he is.)

It takes Leo a long moment to answer. Bishop stays right where he is, holding the food so tantalizingly close and yet still out of reach.

"...I don't know about the gateways," he says finally. "I don't know about their defensive capabilities. I don't know what Baron Draxum is planning."

"Your lies are obvious," says Bishop. "You really don't want this? It's your last chance today."

Leo stares at the food. His mouth is watering so hard it might start to drip. Would it really be so bad to answer? They don't live in the Hidden City. And Draxum dropped him off a roof.

Draxum is trying to change, says Mind Raph. You see what these guys are like. You can't turn the yokai over to them. They'll hurt them!

What about me? he asks. Is it okay if I get hurt?

You're a hero, Leo, says Mind Raph. You can deal with it for a little longer. It's just a room. Just a little cold. Just some hunger.

He's a hero. He can deal with it. He can. He can.

He'll make them proud. Show them they can trust him.

It takes everything he has, but he shakes his head.

Bishop tuts. Then he throws the entire plate in the trash.

"Tomorrow, then," he says. Then the window is gone.

Leo collapses on his cot and tries not to cry.

-----

After his third water bottle on day eight, one of the fluorescent lights over his head flickers and then dies out.

It's not surprising, since they keep them running twenty-four seven. The blessedly dimmed lighting is actually nice, for once. Leo thinks maybe he could get some sleep, if the gnawing hunger and the constant shivers don't keep him awake.

He's just closed his eyes and snuggled up under his cot when it occurs to him: they may come in to fix it. If keeping the lights on day and night is part of their plan to torture him, to keep him exhausted and anxious and on edge, then they have to.

Which means his chance is finally here.

He has to be careful about this. He has to be ready to move, but he can't let them know he's ready to move. He has to let them think he's too weak, too exhausted, to make an escape attempt.

(He can't let himself think that, though. He can't give up before he tries.)

So he stays under his cot, but subtly shifts it so it won't restrict his movement. He has to be ready to burst out as soon as he gets a chance. Get past whoever comes in, then get out the door. It's after the last water bottle, so it's nighttime. There will be fewer people. He can do this. He can do this.

Find his swords. Make a portal. Get out.

Just as he was thinking, after a long time has passed, there is a loud warning beep, different from the water bottle beep. An automated voice says from somewhere unseen, "Inmates clear the door. Security personnel entering. Stay still and you will not be harmed."

Then the door slides open, and someone comes in.

It's a man wearing fatigues. Leo thinks this is the one who "offered" him a sandwich the other day. He's holding some kind of gun with a long barrel. He does a sweep of the room with his eyes, coming to rest on Leo under his cot. He gives Leo the same leering grin, and waves the barrel of the gun in his direction.

"Now you behave, and we'll get along just fine," he says.

He steps to the side, and another man enters, this one wearing the kind of jumpsuit Leo sees janitors in on TV. He's carrying a stepladder in one hand and a long tube in the other. Is that what fluorescent lights look like? Leo didn't know.

The man walks to the middle of the room and sets up his stepladder. Then he walks up and pulls off the light casing. When he unhooks the old bulb, it causes the other bulb to flicker, just for a few moments.

Leo explodes out from under the cot, grabbing the man in fatigues by the legs and yanking as hard as he can. The man yelps in surprise, and Leo hears the sound of the gun going off in a random direction. The janitor shouts and drops the light bulb - the sound of shattering glass joins the cacophony.

Leo jumps to his feet and runs out the door they had been too stupid to close, sprinting toward the EXIT sign. He's exhausted and shaky but he's coursing with adrenaline, and he leans on it hard to keep him moving. Don't stop, don't stop, get out of here. He'll figure out what to do next once he's free.

Past the exit sign there's a large open room with desks and computer monitors. Most of them are off, but one lingering woman in a lab coat, seated at her desk, screams when she sees Leo dash through the middle of the office space.

"Security!" she screams into a device on her chest. "Inmate is escaping! Inmate is escaping!"

Leo doesn't have time to shut her up, he just keeps moving. He pushes through the next door and arrives in a hallway; he only has time to glance one way and then the other before scrambling to the left, hoping it was a good choice.

He rounds a corner and sees another green EXIT sign up ahead. It's not where he meant to go - he meant to find where they're keeping his swords first. But he hears shouting behind him and doesn't stop. Fine, so no portals - he'll figure out something else once he's away from here.

He throws himself forward into the exit door, which leads him into yet another hallway. Another long sprint, with shouting and slamming doors at his heels, and then finally, finally, a third EXIT sign, and he crashes outside.

Where there's snow on the ground, snow on the trees.

It steals his breath away. There shouldn't be snow. It's May.

Where is he?

He takes a breath of air so cold it seizes his lungs, then takes a step forward. He'll worry about that-

BANG!

A piercing pain in his shoulder nearly sends him toppling over. Leo shouts, grasping for the wound and feeling something sticking out of his skin. He grabs it and yanks, pulling it free.

It's a dart.

Damn it, he thinks, before his vision goes woozy, and he collapses into the snow.

-----

"Are you proud of your little escape attempt?" comes Bishop's voice.

Leo looks up from his cot. Bishop has to get so close to the window to see him that his nose is pressed flat against it. It should be hilarious, but Leo doesn't really have the energy to laugh. Or to do much of anything.

He's hungry. He's tired. He's cold. He's still sluggish from the drugs.

And they threw away all his water bottles. Fuckers.

Leo rolls over on the cot and covers his ears.

"What a childish response," says Bishop, and that's funny, too, because Leo literally is a child. Or a teenager, anyway. He doesn't feel like it will help him much to point that out, though.

"All you have to do is answer my questions, and all this will be fixed."

That's the funniest thing of all. The idea that he spills his guts and Bishop treats him to a five course meal to make up for all the pain up till now. Hilarious.

He says nothing.

Bishop sighs.

"You are likely still affected by the tranquilizing agent. I'll return tomorrow."

Before he leaves, he says, "Temperature down five degrees."

-----

The same man is back that night. He opens the window and looks down at Leo with the same leering smile. Leo can't even take satisfaction in the bandage on the side of his head.

"Neat little trick you had yesterday," he says. "Almost got me fired."

Leo wishes it had gotten him fired. But he clearly has no luck in this situation.

"You know, I respect the attempt. And you probably would have gotten farther with a little food in your belly." The man reaches down, then retrieves a sandwich, as mouth-wateringly unappetizing as the last time. "You sure you don't want this?"

And Leo knows he shouldn't trust this guy. Leo knows he should say no.

But he's just...

so...

hungry.

So he gets up. And he turns to the window. On shaking limbs that can barely hold him upright anymore. With a body that is laced with pain and aches and cramps.

And he nods.

The man's smile gets wider. "What do you say?" he asks, in the sing-song tone of a parent scolding a child.

It makes a sick nausea rise in Leo's throat. But he wants the sandwich.

"Please," he gasps out.

"Mmm... not good enough." The man waves the sandwich. "You want this? You beg for it."

Leo stares, eyes wide. But the sandwich... the sandwich...

He gets down on his knees. Feels a searing flush of humiliation. His stomach is rolling and gurgling and cramping with pain, a hollow, empty chasm inside him desperate to be filled.

He lowers his head.

"Please," he says. "I... I want the sandwich. I'm... begging you, please."

The man laughs, loud and long. When Leo finally finds it in him to raise his eyes, the sandwich is already half eaten.

"Hey, good job," says the man, licking a bit of mustard off his thumb. "That was real convincin'."

And then he takes another bite.

Just like that, Leo forgets about the pain, the aches, the cold, the hunger. All that's left is pure, white hot, screaming rage.

Leo lunges at the window and slams his fist into it so hard it cracks. Not enough to break the glass. Not enough to free him. But enough that the man startles and steps back.

And Leo starts to laugh. High and manic and unhinged even to his own ears.

"I'll kill you," he says, and his voice sounds almost joking, and yet- "I'll kill you. You're dead. You're dead, as soon as I get out of here, you're dead, I'll kill you, I'LL KILL YOU!"

The man has dropped the rest of his sandwich. He fumbles for his gun, left somewhere on a table to the side. For one satisfying moment, Leo sees a flash of genuine fear on the man's face.

"Shit," he says, his voice far away the further he gets from the microphone. "Pretty scary, frogboy."

Then he slams a button, and the window goes black, and Leo gets a glimpse of his own reflection.

His face is gaunt and drawn. His eyes are ringed by deep circles, so dark they look like bruises. His body is shaking like a leaf.

And his stripes...

His stripes are lit up like when he uses his ninpo, but they aren't their usual Neon Leon bright.

They're almost black.

Leo gasps and stumbles back just as the window goes white. The full body quakes he feels now aren't from the cold or the hunger or the exhaustion.

He turns and sinks onto the cot. Puts his face in his hands and tries to breathe. Tries to will his ninpo to stop rolling and snapping and to go back to normal.

This isn't what he wants. This isn't him.

This place is breaking him. He's letting it break him.

He pulls his legs up onto the cot and buries his face in his knees. Wraps his arms around them and rocks gently, the way Donnie used to do when things got overwhelming. Maybe he understands that better, now.

This isn't him. He's Leonardo, Neon Leon, the face-man, the jokester! The one who's always ready with a quip and a laugh. The one who can do anything!

Except portal out of his room. Except escape from this building. Except resist begging for a sandwich like he's a dog.

Leo's breath hitches, and for once he doesn't stop himself. He knows the guy outside is probably watching. He knows there are cameras recording this. He hates giving them the satisfaction.

But he's tired, and hungry, and he...

He wants to go home.

He cries, silently, until he's completely rung out.

-----

Maybe they aren't coming.

That's the thought that pops into his head, just a bit after the first water bottle of the day.

He knew they would have gotten a late start, because he stormed out. And he knew it would take them awhile to figure out who took him - he hadn't heard of the EPF before, so why would they? And he knew it would take them time to figure out where he had been taken, which must have been pretty far out if it's snowing outside. But the EPF got him here within a night, he's pretty sure, so unless they have a super fast jet, he must still be on the continent somewhere.

So... so surely they must have figured it out by now, right? Raph is leading the team. Donnie is doing science things. Mikey is razzing his tazz. April is using her investigative skills.

Unless they aren't coming.

Maybe... maybe it's true. Why would they want him back, after all? Leo took Raph's leader position, and since then all he'd managed to do was piss Raph off. Mikey and Donnie hadn't been happy about it, either, and he'd noticed that they'd been avoiding him more and more. April claimed she wasn't taking sides, but she always seemed to be on Raph's anyway. And Dad... well, he was probably disappointed that he made Leo leader only for him to do nothing and then get himself kidnapped.

He doesn't bring anything to the team. He doesn't bring anything to the family. And no one likes his jokes.

So. Maybe they just... aren't looking. Maybe they aren't going to come.

Maybe he's held out this long for no reason. Maybe he's been cold and starving for no reason at all.

Maybe it's time to give up.

---

Don't give up, says a new voice in his head.

You are not alone.

-----

He has no energy left to stand when Bishop comes. The man looks down at him, lips pressed into a thin line.

"You don't look well," he observes.

No shit, Leo wants to say.

"This has gone on long enough. Answer my questions, and we will provide you with food, clothing, and medical care."

The list is getting longer. Leo's fuzzy eyes stare up at Bishop. Medical care. Does he need that?

"You already know what I want to know." Bishop has a furrow between his eyebrows now. "Will you talk to me?"

He could. He could do it. He could finally have some relief from all the pain. All the hunger. All the cold.

But they might hurt the yokai in the Hidden City.

They might hurt Draxum.

They might hurt his family.

And maybe, if nothing else... if Leo could just keep his mouth shut, just this once...

Maybe that would finally make Raph, Dad, and everyone proud of him.

Maybe they'd finally trust him.

Maybe, at least, he can have that much.

Leo shakes his head.

Bishop scowls.

"Temperature down ten degrees."

-----

Leo isn't shivering anymore. That's probably a bad sign.

He can still see his breath, each time he exhales. It rises like smoke, before disappearing into the air.

He doesn't have any energy left, not even to chew on his new water bottles. He hasn't even collected the last two, and they sit crowded together in the slot, untouched.

He kind of wishes they had just dissected him from the beginning. It would have been faster. Freezing to death, he's decided, is a real zero out of ten. Starving to death isn't any better. No stars.

Even though the damn lights are still on, he feels extremely sleepy. It's probably the cold. He wonders what will happen if he brumates. He's never done it before, not like his little cousins, and he has no idea if it's even safe.

Probably not, given he has no calorie reserves left. All it means is he won't be drinking water, either.

But he's so sleepy.

It's going to be time soon for Bishop to come back. Leo doesn't know what the point is anymore. Maybe he'll just sleep through it. Yeah, that would really make him mad. And making Bishop mad is all he has at this point.

And he'll get to sleep. It's a win-win.

So thinking, Leo rolls himself over onto his belly. Then, one by one, he pulls his limbs into his shell.

He doesn't do this much anymore, not since he started growing. His body just doesn't seem to fit his shell like it should - a side effect of the mutation, probably. It's not really comfortable to be inside for long.

But Leo is sleepy. And his shell feels like the best place to be.

So he pulls in his legs, then his arms, and then, finally, his head.

It's not any warmer in here. But at least it's dark.

At least he's not shivering.

Leo sighs, content, and closes his eyes, and drifts to sleep.

-----

(Outside his cell, there's a bang, and shouting, and a gunshot.

The sound is muffled, and Leo sleeps on.)

-----

Part 1 (here) | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Part A |

[mercurial-chuckles]

I loved Subdue so much. I was wondering if you had an idea if it was switched and Bucky and his Omega in a situation of sorts.

That's my girl!

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!F!Reader Warnings: Mature Content | Minors DNI | Dialogue Rich | Fluff | Smut | Unhinged Alpha!Bucky | Posessive! Bucky | Wall sex | Edging!? | Language | Good friend Sam | one non-descriptive bruise | Omega!Reader to the rescue of another omega | One punch to a misogynistic pig (Bucky didn't get his hands on the said pig yet) | Lemme know if I'm missing anything | WC: ~2.6k A/N: Eeeee! I'm so glad you enjoyed Subdue. Thank you for sending this ask, my sweet anon! I'd like to think that Steve has a rebellious streak while Bucky tends to handle things more subtly. This is how, I believe, Bucky would go about it. I hope you enjoy reading! I'm going through a weird case of 'trembles before publishing,' you see. Kindly be gentle with me. Some validation would mitigate fears (so I've heard 🙂‍↕️🥹) This is my submission for the 108th Birthday Celebration of our dearest Sgt. I was so excited for this event, and I really, really, really wanted to write for his birthday, but things didn't pan out the way I'd anticipated. Anyhoo, don't mind me MARCHing into Madness! I'll try and finish as many squares as I can. 🩷🥹 Thank you for hosting this event @avengers-assemble-bingo 🫂😘 Prompt: That's My Girl! (Being too creative with my title now, aren't I? 🤭) Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

****

Thud.

Sam closes his car door and straightens up, his gaze scanning up and down the street before turning to you. His car is parked along the curb on the two-way road before the small convenience store. He's carrying what surely looks like a first-aid kit, and you audibly groan.

"I'm fine, Samuel." You call out from where you're sitting on the sidewalk. Sam rolls his eyes. At least, that's what you gather in the dusky lights of the empty streets. He checks both ways and crosses briskly.

The weather's turned awfully cold since last night. A sharp gust wafts over the bruise on your hand, and it stings.

Ouch!

But you won't admit that to Sam. He's a worrier. Plus, a high chance he'll dramatize the extent of the situation and relay it to Bucky.

He lowers himself beside you, cuts through the sealed wrapper, and pops open the latch on the first-aid kit.

"Brand new?" You muse. Another gust of wind has you flinching, and Sam's frown deepens.

"She's fine. She says," he mutters under his breath. You roll your eyes but let it slide. You need first aid, but you definitely don't need the fuss.

"Are you gonna tell him?" You ask, voice barely audible. Sam doesn't immediately answer. He tips the isopropyl alcohol over your bruise.

"OWW!!!" You yelp, jerking slightly as the sting shoots up your arm. Sam stops for a second, giving a little respite before he's tending the bruise.

After a painfully long minute of hissing as he applies Neosporin, you ask again. "Sam," you say, watching as he secures the gauze around your forearm. He simply hums.

"Are you gonna tell him?" You ask again, firmly this time.

"And what? Tell him his girl went Karate Kid on some alpha who happens to be a cop? And that I came in time to intervene but didn't finish the bastard off? Your man will kill me. So, no, thank you." Sam says, his tone resolute.

You sigh in relief.

"You'll do it, anyway," he adds casually.

"What do you mean I'll do it?" You narrow your eyes.

"We both know you will," he says in a sing-song voice, annoyingly so, which very much gets on your nerves because he's right.

It's hard to keep things from Bucky. A minute shift in your mood, and he knows. Maybe it's the bond. Maybe you're just a simp for him. And now, you're kinda fearing the consequences because you just beat an alpha--albeit a conceited, misogynistic pig--and a cop. And you're afraid of what fate Bucky will decide for him.

"I could just tell him I fell, you know?" You insist indignantly.

"Uh-huh," Sam deadpans as he rises to his feet. He eyes you carefully. "How's that leg? You good to walk?"

You nod. "You'd make an amazing chiropractor as a side gig, Mr. Falcon." And it's not a lie--your leg feels much better now. You take his extended hand and slowly stand up.

"Who knows? Maybe that's what I'll retire with," Sam muses.

"Sure," you joke. Sam can't stay away from saving the world--that's a fact!

"I'll tell Steve we'll have to postpone the lunch plans for tomorrow," Sam reminds, gesturing toward your bruise.

"Oh. Yeah. Also, do not tell Steve about this…"

"I won't," he assures you. "I'll make up some excuse. We don't need two angry alphas on the loose." You agree.

He helps you into your car and waits. "Sure you can drive alright?"

"Like I said before, I'm fine," you smile.

He nods. "Now, get home safe and shoot me a text. Alright?"

"Alright."

Sam turns, walking to his car across the street. "And Sam?" You call after him. He pauses mid-step and turns.

"Thank you," you say sincerely. And you mean it. Because if Sam hadn't been there, things might've turned into a real mess.

Thank god for Sam needing groceries at this deserted hour. Thank god for Sam choosing this particular store. Thank god for Sam's vigilant eyes.

Sam nods once. "Don't thank me. Just think about whether you can manage to not poke the Bucky bear?"

"Oh, I will," you assure him with conviction.

Bucky's supposed to come tomorrow around noon. As for how you're gonna break it to him, you'll have enough time to practice. You could totally make up a story and say you stumbled and fell. Will he buy it? You're just gonna try really hard. Maybe that blue lacy number will come in handy.

Yes.

You got this!

You totally got this!

~

You don't got this!

You should've known better.

When Bucky calls you a couple of hours later, you don't immediately pick up. He calls again, and you do answer the second time--but not before taking a few deep breaths, psyching yourself up not to spill your guts.

Half a minute into the conversation, he's asking--demanding--what's wrong. And for a fucking second, you thought you were doing an amazing job.

Ugh!

So, you do tell him in bits and pieces, trying to say it as smoothly, as passively as possible--hoping, nay, praying that your alpha isn't about to go on a bone-breaking fest.

'There's this man, Bucky. He was misbehaving with a poor girl--seemed to me like an unmated omega, you see. I had to tell him off. But don't worry, Sam was there, too. We also ensured the girl got home safe.'

'But I hurt my hand in the process, though. Nothing deep.'

'Just a bruise,' which hurt like a bitch. You don't tell him the latter part, of course.

'But Sam had an ointment, and it's almost healed.' Lie. You'll probably go see a doctor if the pain doesn't subside.

Technically, you didn't lie. Right?

"I love you. Stay home, and don't move your ass," Bucky growls into the phone.

"Bucky, I'm home. And I'm perfectly fine, okay?" You assure him.

You hear a sigh. It's an angry sigh. Marred with frustration and helplessness.

"Alpha, I love you," you say gently. And you can feel the shift in his mood through the phone. Then, Bucky purrs. You feel an instant soothing calmness wash over you. He chuckles, low and deep, and you smile.

"I love you so fucking much," he rasps.

"I'll see you in a few hours." He adds. This part sounds more like he's assuring himself.

"I'm eagerly waiting," you whisper.

Post-mission sex is usually unhinged. In fact, Bucky's a very touchy person with you, and any distance makes him antsy. He rarely takes long missions, but this one just needed his expertise.

You glance down at the neatly tied gauze on your forearm. Maybe you should switch it out for a smaller bandage and make it look less intense.

Anything to convince him that you're fine.

Before you fell asleep, you texted Sam, saying, 'The bear is poked, Sam. The bear is very much poked.' Little did you know, Bucky had called Sam to drill him with questions and got all the details he needed. To be fair, you both didn't stand a chance with Bucky Barnes. Now, did you?

****

Bucky's got a list.

Not the amends list.

A priority list. A simple one, too.

First? You. Always you.

Second? The assholes who mess with you.

And he makes it a point to rearrange their guts in whatever way he pleases. No one fucking harms you and gets away with it.

'I handled it, Bucky,' You'd told him on the call, and Bucky knows you did.

You're capable. Smart like a whip.

'Bucky, he's a cop!' Sam warned him earlier, which meant, 'Don't dare be stupid about it.'

Cop or not, that fucktard of an alpha messed with you. His omega. His mate. His girl. He's absolutely going to pay that shithead a visit! It's customary.

~

Bucky likes to think he did heed Sam's words, 'Be rational, Bucky.'

He walks down the elongated, winding paths and knocks on the door at the far end of the hallway. The water dripping from the faulty water cooler at the entrance down the hallway is achingly loud to his enhanced ear.

No response.

Bucky understands it's 3 AM, but he's got a jet scheduled to take the team home in 5 hours. With the pretext of going for a walk--which is what Bucky told Steve--he drove half an hour to get here. Bucky's in a hurry and impatient. He knocks again, more forcefully this time.

"Hold on!" he hears the frustrated voice, followed by some curses, and then footsteps approach.

The door creaks open.

"Wha…" The green-eyed man stops mid-word, eyes widening in shock, clearly taken aback to see the former Winter Soldier standing at his doorstep.

Rhodey Mitts looks just as lanky and pale. He reminds Bucky of Steve before the serum. Except taller. And definitely paler.

Bucky doesn't miss the way Rhodey stiffens, shoulders twitching as he rocks back on his heels, trying his absolute best to look casual.

Subtly, Bucky takes a step back, just enough to avoid spooking the omega, who looks like he might faint.

"I need your help," Bucky says evenly, leaving introductions aside, knowing fully that Rhodey knows who he is. At least the tactile suit and metal arm are a dead giveaway. The last time he visited the kid, Bucky was just out of Wakanda and sporting an entirely different look.

Rhodey scratches his neck and clears his throat. He finally looks Bucky in the eye, "Look. I don't wanna get into any trouble…"

"You won't," Bucky pipes in, assuring.

Rhodey seems to think for a painstakingly long minute, and Bucky adds, "I just need to see security footage. Pike Street in Brooklyn. Around evening."

That piques Rhodey's curiosity.

"Look, a cop's involved, and I can't be snooping around on official channels being an…Avenger." Bucky begrudgingly explains.

It's fucking annoying how every little thing gets flagged, and then HR sucks his soul like a dementor. Hopefully, Tony and Steve quicken the process of breaking the Avengers' coalition with SHIELD protocols.

Thankfully, that explanation seems enough for Rhodey, who opens the door wide.

Bucky follows him through a narrow, inconspicuous door set into the false wall, stepping into a small, dimly lit room lined with countless monitors. It's barely big enough for one person, and the damp, overworked air conditioner croaks in protest. Bucky crouches slightly, leaning against the empty side wall to avoid hitting his head.

"Address," Rhodey asks as he boots up a monitor.

Bucky repeats the location, adding an approximate time. After a few attempts and tapping into various commercial surveillance feeds, he finally sees what he's here for.

"You… you can sit and watch… I'll… I'll just…" Rhodey gestures vaguely before stepping aside and standing to make space for the supersoldier.

Bucky doesn't mention that he can see the screen just fine from across the room, but he takes the seat anyway, rolling out the tension in his neck.

The video zooms to an empty street, and then he sees movement. A girl is walking down the street, and not far behind her, there's a guy.

The asshole, Bucky thinks.

Bucky switches to another angle, his breath hitching when he sees you stepping down from the car and hastily walking toward the duo. You interfere, and although Bucky can't hear a word, he comprehends you threatening the man, and the man loses his grip on the scared girl.

Though he already knows you handled it and made it home safe, his chest tightens, and his pulse spikes the moment he sees the man grab your forearm. In the next second, you land a sharp punch, catching the guy off guard. He stumbles but quickly regains his wits, then lunges, trying to choke you.

Big mistake.

You let him get closer, twist sharply, and using his waist as leverage, deliver a brutal kick to his gut and groin.

Bucky stares at the screen, surprised, a breathy sigh escaping him. His cock twitches. Thank goodness for the tactical pants.

"Who's the Wonder Woman?" Rhodey's breathy chuckle snaps him out.

Though Bucky can't help the pride swelling in his chest, he exclaims a little too pointedly, "That's my girl," and Rhodey quickly shifts his gaze away in an apology.

"Need his bio." Bucky nods toward the screen.

Rhodey gets to work, and in less than five minutes, Bucky knows all he needs to know about Trevor Gallar.

And now, Bucky knows exactly where to find him. He'll deal with him once he gets back home. But first, he needs to see you and feel you to make sure you're alright. He's gonna have to hurry Steve up to get home.

****

It's a mild morning, unlike yesterday. The clock ticks a quarter past eight. You've just made a cup of coffee and go to take a sip when you hear the shuffle at the door.

Your stomach clenches. Bucky isn't supposed to come until the afternoon. Then who the hell is it?

You don't waste time overthinking. Placing the coffee mug down, your fingers curl around the handle of a knife nearby.

Just in case. You can't be too careful.

Where the fuck is your phone? You tremble, scanning the room, trying to recall where you left it in your half-dazed state after waking up. But no sign of it.

Your pulse pounds against your ribs as you take a slow, deliberate step into the living room, knife steady in your grip.

The door swings open, and your gasp catches in your throat in relief and surprise

"Bucky?"

He stands there, in the doorway, looking unrealistically gorgeous in his dark, tactile suit.

He looks lethal.

Feral.

You know you're weak for him in that suit.

Actually, you're weak for him. Period.

He knows you're weak for him too.

His deep blues entrance you, and you blink, smiling at him. A second later, he's on you.

With dizzying speed, he disarms you expertly, the knife slipping from your grasp as you're pinned against the wall beside the door. His cold lips are chasing yours, hungrily devouring.

You feel all his emotions. Frustration. Relief. Claim. Everything. His metal fingers sneak up your top, his winding arm pulling you closer and upward. You're barely standing on your toes.

When you gasp for breath, Bucky breaks the kiss. He doesn't pull away, though. He's searching your eyes, and then his eyes rake over you, scanning you from head to toe, his grip shifting to your wrist as his thumb skims the skin there, your pulse dancing to the rhythm of your heart. He places a soft kiss on your cheek as you try and even your breathing.

"Where are you hurt?" He rasps against your skin, his sharp nose against your cheek, sensually enlivening your senses.

You lift your arm and spread it slightly away from your body to show him. When you feel his grip tighten around you, your eyes take in his angry stance.

"I'm okay," you say softly, with much-needed delicateness.

His jaw tightens, "I'll be the judge of that, doll," he remarks.

After careful examination, his touch feels wanting, and you're squirming. You need his hands on you. Now.

"I can smell you…" he growls. His scent intoxicates you, driving you to the brink of misery if he doesn't touch you.

"Bucky," you moan, desperately. He's pinned your injured hand away from your body in his metal arm beside you.

"That stays there," he commands.

Before you can squirm an inch, he slips his right hand into your shorts and dips it further into your panties. You let out a breathy moan, and Bucky groans in your ear, nipping it. He moves onto biting and kissing the length of your throat and jaw. You're very well on the way to falling apart without much friction.

"What's gotten you all riled up, alpha?" you ask, voice turning into a high-pitched squeal as he cups your slickened heat.

Your free hand holds his shoulder for leverage while you try squirming in his grasp for friction, and he's kind enough to let you have it.

"You," he answers, pulling you into another breathtaking kiss. And when he retreats his hand away, you all but wail in agony.

Bucky chuckles darkly. "My sweet 'mega! I'm gonna fuck you, and you'll take it, won't you?" He rasps, unbuckling his belt and deftly pushing his tactile pants down enough.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asks, and you shake your head almost dizzily. "Just my hand," you breathe out.

He expertly pulls you into his arms, discarding your shorts and panties. Wrapping your bare legs around his torso, he spanks you hard and you let out a lewd shriek, surely scaring your neighbors.

Bucky chuckles, pleased with himself as he squeezes your ass in a tight hold and inches inside you slowly, grunting curses and then, with one long thrust, he's fully sheathed.

For all his hurry, you thought it'd be a quickie before he took you to bed, but no. He sets a languid pace making you feel every inch of him, "Now…I'll let you cum if you tell me all about how you beat the shit out of Trevor Gallar without leaving a fucking thing out," Bucky orders.

"Who… OH FUCK!" You squeal as he pounds into you making you feel every veiny inch of his cock, and you see the whole bloody galaxy at the way pleasure lights up through your body.

You're not allowed to cum? Excuse me? That's just mean. What's he talking about...Oh, fuck!

"The guy you hit yesterday outside the store," Bucky grunts in between the thrusts, fondling your tit in a firm grip. When the realization dawns on you, the reaction is instant as you clench him tightly. He growls, baring his teeth warningly, and your eyes widen.

You never mentioned that prick's name because you don't know the prick's name.

How the fuck does Bucky know then?

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[artobotsrollout]

TfP Starscream is trying to be something he's not and it's the reason his plans tend to fail

Idk if it's just me but I've always thought this so I had to write all my thoughts on it haha.

Anyways it's been awhile since I talked about TfP Starscream but here we go. Long text below readmore.

I haven't watched TFP in a hot minute so I'll probably have to revisit this post after a rewatch so I can add more concrete examples. Some of this is definitely my own ideas and interpretation so don't take this as 100% unbiased. If I remember right, at the very beginning before Megatron is in the picture, it's mentioned or implied that the Decepticons have been not super active, meanwhile we see the Decepticons with a great number of followers and energon mines and slowly but smartly and reliably thriving. Then Megatron comes along and immediately wants to go for something bigger than that, which ends up costing them energon mines and soldiers.

I know the show tries to say that Megatron is smart and cunning which, in some respects like in battle, I would agree. However, in others I think his greed, ego, and love of taking major risks for the potential of a high reward makes him both extremely dangerous but also extremely vulnerable to major losses. That's where Starscream is supposed to come in (If Megs let him). Megatron is the brute force his way through problems guy. (Not always but a good chunk of time he is) And because he is undeniably one of the strongest characters in the show it often works in his favor. Starscream however is not the biggest or strongest physically (which Megatron frequently likes to remind him of) but the Autobots still describe him as unpredictable and dangerous. I always felt like he's the planner, the backstabber, and ultimately the clever one who is more insidious in his methods. I feel like his strength would be small but reliable and continuous gains. THAT'S where I feel his strength is. That's who he is. And if the Decepticons weren't so focused on sheer strength and power, and intimidation, and Megatron was more accepting of feedback maybe he would actually help Megatron's plans have greater chances of success. However, throughout the show we regularly see him bullied by the more physically imposing characters, which I feel honestly really made serious dents in his ego, to the point where he wants so badly to be just like Megatron. To be viewed as strong and powerful like Megatron is. To have that respect, power, and charisma. As a result, he keeps trying to brute force his way through problems and gain more and more power. He keeps trying to be showier about it. Obviously, his own ego, greed, and habit of backstabbing DOES play a part in why he fails but there are several moments in the show where I feel he could have come out on top if he played it smart instead of trying to brute force it. He's trying so hard to be what Megatron is that he essentially isn't using his strengths as much as he should. He becomes more and more desperate over time to be something he isn't, and it really shows in how often his attempts to gain power fail.

While RiD(15) was much hated, especially Starscreams return for a multitude of reasons, I actually don't think that it was way out of Starscream's character arc. To get his frame changed to a bigger stronger body and once again try and brute force his way to victory but still ultimately lose despite getting so close feels like the end of the line for him. And the fact that Starscream is caught by Optimus and not straight up dead could legit have been an opening for, maybe not a full redemption but a redemption or change in general. It would essentially be his rock bottom at which point, he could either double down or finally realize that this isn't the right way to do things for him. Do ya'll remember that one TfP comic where he has to fight off stronger vehicons in this like Pseudo gladiator pit made by Megatron and he comes out on top because he uses his smarts? I think about that comic a lot when it comes to Starscream haha.

I also think about the fact that Starscream came to Breakdown's aid when Megatron refused a lot. I know he did it largely for a favor but idk... maybe I'm reading too much into it. I feel like Starscream isn't a good guy doing things out of the goodness of his heart per say but I do think he values his people more. Megatron is very "if you're not strong enough to save yourself then die since your useless to me" about things.

TLDR; Starscream was nerfed by Megatron.

ANYWAYS!! Listen, this post isn't also to say that Starscream is perfect or that he would have succeeded if he played to his strength all the time. And I do still think his hunger for power and habit of gloating when he has the upper hand instead of acting quickly is a major reason why he fails but idk. I felt like his desperation to be Megatron was pretty essential to why he acts the way he does.

And I could totally be wrong about some of my points, this is just what I remember thinking when I did watch. ANYWAYS thank you for reading.

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

I absolutely ADORE your characterization of L like you write him so well!!!! How do you do it I'm so jealous 😭

Also, a request... L with a very transparent reader! Like, blunt and honest and will basically spill her life story to a stranger, no secrets, completely the opposite of him. Also a bit gullible, even if she knows he's a liar she can't tell when he's lying.

Love you love this let's kiss

This is just a short thing, so if this ends up being something a lot of you love, I'll definitely write more!

"O. M. G. Hey! It's been so long since we've talked!"

You sat on the couch, facing the window and twirling your hair as you chatted on the phone with an old friend.

L sat beside you, absorbed in his work as usual.

"Yeah, I was just at the gyno last week, and she was like "omg you're so fertile," and I was like "omg thank you so much," but it's not like I can do anything with it 'cause my boyfriend- I have a boyfriend by the way- doesn't want any kids, but it still kind of works because when I'm ovulating I'm ovulating, y'know? So the sex is super good...but yeah, it sucks your husband needs those pills. Where have you been, anyway?"

He sighs. You were very distracting.

"Ohhhh a cruise, that's so cool! I'm actually going to spain this weekend."

L turns to look at you.

"It's for my man's work..."

He speaks your name, softly.

"He's doing some important investigation-"

His hand finds your knee as he says your name again, this time with more urgency.

You smile, put your hand on his, and keep talking. "Yeah, it's to meet some fancy politicians about this whole Kir-"

"Darling."

You turn to look at him. He never calls you pet names.

He plucks the phone from your hand, and snaps it shut. "You can't talk about things like that," he chides gently.

You put your hand to your forehead, and pout. "Oh, I did it again, didn't I? I'm sorry, I just...wasn't thinking."

"It's alright."

"No, I'm such a ditz, this is just like that time you got me that dress," you whine.

He remembers that day.

You were walking through the To-Oh campus, at his side. A girl had stopped you to compliment your brand new dress.

"Thank you! It's Versace," you beamed. The conversation should have ended there, but you couldn't help yourself.

"My boyfriend got it for me, he's got a real important job, like super important, as a-"

L grabbed your waist, and tugged you closer. "I work as a financing partner for V and C law," he explained cooly.

"What? Since when did you-"

"I've told you numerous times, my love."

The girl sort of awkwardly excused herself, and walked away.

"I didn't know you worked in finance, too."

L shakes his head at the memory. "You got carried away. It's nothing I cannot handle."

You lean back, and press your cheek to the couch. "I make such a mess for you."

He smooths a piece of your hair back. "I...appreciate your respect for me. You only need to contain it."

He's right, it's really just that you love to gush about him. Your boyfriend was the greatest detective in the entire world, all three of them. How could you not talk all about him?

"Maybe you should stop telling me things."

That wasn't a bad idea. "If...you'd like me to stop-"

"Well no, I like knowing things about you."

"...then, I'll continue to keep you updated on the progress of-"

"But I reallyyyyy don't want to screw it up again!"

Your vacilation was endearing, in a way. He patted your thigh. "How about any time you feel the need talk about me, you talk about...kittens. You like kittens."

"You and kittens aren't the same."

He shrugs. "It may assist you. Whenever I feel the need to talk about you, I talk about sweets instead. It has helped on many occasions."

[olliesallamericanbitch]

And I’m Still Sick of Maybe

Synopsis: in which, she finally gets herself together and goes for what she wants.

ollie bearman x black! reader

final part of the 'crybaby' trilogy

in hindsight, charlie has no business doing this. i mean... what guy would go through lengths to see his ex happy. No guy would, and if a guy says they would... they're lying. but charlie and y/n were friends before they got together, and an unsatisfactory run as boyfriend and girlfriends would never change that. which is why he's doing his part as a good friend and sliding into oliver bearman's dms.

y/n was so gonna kill him later. but it's worth it.

y/n was nervous, like sweating bullets and the scanning the room nervous. She had told ollie that she’d meet him at the restaurant because she wouldn’t survive being his passenger princess.

A few moments later, Ollie arrives. He's sweaty, like the awkward "i've never seen a woman before" sweat.

He takes a seat across from y/n, "sorry, i'm late. i'm extremely nervous."

y/n cracks a smile, "it's alright. i contemplated texting you and calling this off before i even got ready."

ollie laughs, "that makes me feel a litte better. i hope you weren't too mad at charlie. i was really close to texting lewis and asking him, which would've been disastrous."

"i didn't get on him too bad. his heart was in the right place. anyway, um... tell me about yourself. who is oliver bearman?" y/n inquired.

ollie winced, caught off guard. "well, i am 20 years old. i was born in london and raised in chelmsford. i'm an f1 driver for Haas and i'm currently on a date with a beautiful girl. what about you? who is y/n l/n?"

y/n chuckles, "i'm also 20 years old. i was born in miami, florida. although, the press love to believe that i'm british because of my uncle, but i am 100% american-bred. i'm an actress and singer and i'm currently trying to keep my cool in front of my very handsome date."

she and ollie laugh.

2 month time skip

the first date went well... really well. y/n and ollie have been talking ever since and even though nothing's been made official, it's definitely headed in that direction.

y/n & ollie's phone call transcript:

hey, ols. i watched the race. congrats on your points.

thank you, love. you sound impressed?

i am. admittedly.

ollie laughs.

so... i was thinking.

ooh, that's dangerous.

ha ha. anyway, how do you feel about going public?

y/n sighs.

i don't know, ollie. i would love to but i don't want it to overshadow my release.

well... how about releasing the music video along with it. then, we don't have to make a whole hard launch post.

i mean... i'll think about it, ok?

that's all i ask.

yn/ln i have no idea what an album with only 2 songs is called but i made one!! both of these songs are very near and dear to my heart and i hope you all love them as well. stream 'crybaby' and 'one of these'!!

p.s. mv for 'one of these' is also out!

view comments

lewishamilton didn't think i would ever see a co-worker of mine making out with my neice. very tasteful.

↪️ y/n l/n ill be sure to give u a heads up next time

charliebushnell you give me a writing credit on crybaby and one of these?! oh im sick!

↪️ y/n l/n they would've been a thing if not for you

↪️ charliebushnell does that gratitude extend to godfather privileges?

↪️ olliebearman woah! we aren't there yet

isackhadjar god has a fave and it is not me! olliebearman how?

↪️ olliebearman fate, man.

↪️ charliebushnell it also helps that im the best bestie/ex ever

olliebearman ❤️❤️❤️

comments are disabled

cara's paddock: sorry for taking so long but it's finally here and i hope you enjoy reading this series just as much as i enjoyed writing it! taglist: @multifantasic70

[doctor-dusk]

𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 | 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐭.

your first time on omegle wasn’t that bad.

warnings: male masturbation, a bit of exhibitionism and voyeurism.

word count: 2.2k

the idea came to my head when i was working, lately i've been struggling with writing. maybe i'll turn it into a little series, idk. hope you enjoy it :3

you never thought about joining omegle ever. you saw compiled videos of people who entered, a simple platform that connected people from different parts of the world. it seemed fun, a perfect pass time. besides, you could meet someone nice. not that you're looking for it in the first place, but it was something you would accept if it came along. 

but you were aware of the cons. your friends used to say that it was a trap, especially because of the perverts on duty. for every 10 people you find on omegle, at least 7 are men masturbating in front of the camera. a proper “hello, nice to meet you”.

anyway, you decide to take a shot. friday night, your parents went out for dinner and you had the whole house to yourself for the night, or at least until 11pm. it was the perfect opportunity, you didn't want to be interrupted or that your parents knew that you were talking to strangers on the internet.

you were in your bedroom, the dim lights of the lamp bring a more comfortable environment to your room. you closed the curtains, then went to your small table that you used to study, picked up your laptop and placed it on the mattress of your bed, right between your legs.

it didn't take long for your laptop to turn on. your eager fingers typed on the browser's search bar to access the website. you wondered if it would be a good idea to show your face on camera. maybe not at first. so, you took your laptop from between your legs, placing it next to you while you pulled the covers up to cover yourself up to your nose, leaving only the area around your eyes visible.

you didn't really know what to expect, if you could stay there for just 1 minute or 1 hour. but you were determined to try. because, besides being curious, you were bored.

without wasting much time, you clicked to enter the website.

almost 30 minutes and you only had a five minute conversation with a girl from wisconsin because she saw your poster on your wall. the rest, just disappointing, even disgusting. it was really impossible for you to skip to the next conversation with someone else without a cock appearing on your screen, almost slapping on your face, if it were possible.

at this point, your finger was glued to the mouse, just clicking to skip the chat, without even introducing yourself or letting others introduce themselves. then, when you clicked on the next one, already thinking about passing, you came across something a bit unusual, but not so different from what you had seen before in previous "conversations".

yeah, it was a guy masturbating, naturally. but in a way, it was different. it wasn't as explicit as the others; it was something more shy, more subtle. the lights in the room where he was were like the ones in your bedroom, dim and cozy, but they didn't leave much to the imagination because his monitor screen illuminated what was in front of you.

he must have had a laptop like you, but it wasn't in a bed, but on a desk, perfectly positioned so that he could sit in a comfortable chair on his side. his toned body wasn't very lit, leaving little to your imagination. his left hand was on the desk, probably to use the mouse or keyboard, while his right hand was lowered.

oh, you were mesmerized, even though you hated to admit it.

the way he was moving his right hand torturously slowly, showing so little. you could only see its pink tip glistening, his thumb sliding easily there in a caress while the other fingers were wrapped in the rest of his length that you couldn't see. and just like you, he wasn't showing his face. he was just there, touching himself slowly, his chest rising and falling in the same calm rhythm. somehow, you liked that. you didn't know if you should say something, if you should leave.

you felt like you were interrupting the moment, but hey, if he was there on omegle, he wanted to be seen, right?

your eyes watched him intently, until you saw his left hand typing something on the keyboard. soon, the message popped on the chat.

''too stunned to speak?''

you blinked a few times, shaking your head and deciding to answer him without typing on the chat.

''kinda.'' you replied shyly. he chuckled lowly.

''i can show you more if you want.'' he replied back, his voice was low too, a bit rough.

''i think it's good like this.'' you said and he hummed, not showing more than you wanted to see. well, at least he was respectful. you thought he would move on to the next chat, but he just kept doing his thing, aware that you're watching him.

‘’you have pretty eyes." he said at one point. you raised your eyebrows. you weren't expecting a compliment at that moment.

''thanks. uhm... you got a nice... well...'' you said, trying to compliment him somehow, but you didn't know exactly how. a nice cock, definitely. at least from what you could see.

‘’a nice cock?’’ he chuckled, as if he were reading your thoughts. ‘’yeah, most people say it.’’

''you've shown it many times, i suppose.'' you replied, and he chuckled again. there was something about him chuckling that left you with a pool on your lower belly. something warming inside you.

''well, not that often. i'm a shy guy, ya' know?'' he said, his thumb pressing right on his slit, making him hiss and you shifted on your bed.

''a shy guy who shows his cock to the camera but doesn't show his face.'' you said, feeling bolder.

he hummed, his head lowering a bit so you could have a glimpse of his chin. besides having a nice cock, he also had a perfectly shaped jaw.

''guilty as charged. but what can i do? 'm just some guy trying to have some fun for free on the internet, don't mind me.'' he said, his forearm flexing a bit when he closed his fist on his tip, sliding down, the foreskin also coming down to show the tip more.

you're lucky he couldn't see your face from the nose down, or else he would see you licking your lips like you were looking at a full meal in front of you. you couldn't help yourself. he was teasing you, and he knew it.

''what about you? what are you doing here this friday night? no slumber party with friends?'' he asked, snapping you out of your reverie.

“i'm bored. i just wanted someone to talk to.'' you shrugged. you weren't lying, actually.

‘'kind of hard to find someone to talk to around here, huh?'' he asked, chuckling about the situation.

''yeah, but... we're talking now, aren't we?''

''while i'm jerking myself off, yeah.'' he added. ''hope you don't mind.''

''i don't mind, don't worry.''

''and why don't you mind?'' he asked, genuinely curious. not even you knew how to say that. at the moment, you were actually enjoying talking to him. especially since you could also see what he was doing.

you didn't need to lie, you were strangers to each other there. at worst, you could just skip the chat and he would be gone forever.

''i kind of liked watching you touch yourself. you're not like the others, explicit and stuff. i like how you do it.'' you replied, watching how his grip on his length seemed to tighten a little. he seemed to like what you said. fueled something inside him.

''yeah, you liked it, eh? that's good to know. i'm glad i'm being able to fill your boredom.'' he said, his hand moving up and down in a controlled rhythm. oh, you wish he could fill more than your boredom. ''you know, i like your voice. can you keep talking to me?''

''what do you want me to say?'' you asked, his left hand gesturing for you to say anything you wanted.

''anything. tell me what you like to do.'' he said, his hand keeping the pace, his breathing a bit ragged. fuck, you thought that it was so hot, you barely could think on tell something about you when you saw him touching himself like that.

‘’i like to read, to take some lazy afternoon’s strolls, listen to some old tunes from the 80’s and…’’ you listed, but you could barely concentrate. the sight of him was lingering in your mind more than you cared to admit, making you feel warmer and warmer, rubbing your thighs together under the blanket to get some kind of relief.

''mhm, keep talking, darling.'' he said in a whisper, his head was back against the back of the chair, his adam's apple was protruding even more as he swallowed hard, his chest moving up and down at the same pace as his hand.

you could praise him. you should praise him.

''and i like your body. the way your hand moves. pretty endearing and...'' you said, biting your lip slightly.

''oh fuck, i bet you wished that it was your hand here, eh?'' he hummed, his voice had a deep tone, a bit ragged from his breathing.

“maybe. i think i could take care of you in no time.” you countered, his hand moved faster, letting out a strangled moan as he came, the thick and slimy release hitting his chest, making a mess on himself.

“oh, fuck, fuck…” he panted, standing still for a few moments, his chest rose and fell rapidly, his hot and fresh cum running down his chest like tears of pleasure. 

you couldn't help but feel mesmerized by the scene. not that you've never seen it before, but somehow it was different. he was different.

“gotta clean this mess.” he muttered to himself after regain some of consciousness, looking at his own mess on his body. you watched as he got up, catching a brief glimpse of his boxers which were pulled down to mid-hip.

you kept silent, somehow thinking you should wait for him to clean himself up before you could say something. 

“just for the record, that never happened before. i mean… it usually only happened when the person was also doing something, touching herself, anyway..." he said as he sat again, holding a tissue on his right hand. he seemed kind of embarrassed that it had happened, and you felt sort of proud. you didn't needed to do anything more.

“it's okay, i liked it.” you replied, reassuring him as he wiped the last restraints off his stomach. then, you could see his face since he was looking down. 

he might not have even realized you saw his face, he was too worried about cleaning himself and you were too worried about seeing how handsome he was.

“you’re pretty.” you let it slip out your lips. he widened his eyes slightly, his eyeballs glanced at the screen, and soon he let out an awkward laugh.

“you weren't supposed to see my face, you know?" he chuckled, crumpling the tissue into a little ball, throwing it directly into the trash can where it was. 

“you faltered, i guess.” you shrugged. he repeated your motion, adjusting his camera so you could see him properly. pretty eyes, pretty lips. such a pretty and big nose. “pretty handsome.”

“yeah, too bad i can't say the same to you.” he teased and you frowned. “you're not showing your face, silly.”

it was a good move. you chuckled, wondering if it would be a good idea to show him your face. it wasn't like you were going to see each other again, was it?

you pulled the blanket off the other half of your face, showing yourself to him. he let out a low whistle and you rolled your eyes, slightly flattered.

“nothing special here.”

“how dare you? your face is as beautiful as your voice.” he complimented you. you couldn't help but feel the butterflies in your stomach do a flip. “i'm alex, by the way.”

right after you said your name back to him, you listened to the sound of your parents' car pulling into the garage of your house. you sighed, muttering a "shit" that he couldn't help but hear. 

“your parents arrived, hm?" he deduced and you gave a crooked smile, nodding with your head. 

“yeah, i have to go.” you gave a slight pout and he mimicked your gesture, eliciting a chuckle from you. you didn't want to leave, you wish you could talk to him more.

“yeah, don't worry. it was nice to talk to you.” he said, giving a slight and shy nod as if he wasn't jerking himself off a few minutes ago in front of you. 

you could listen to the footsteps of your parents around near the house, your father's heavy footsteps contrasting with the dry thud of your mother's heels as she came closer to open the front door.

“um, before you go…” he said before you could exit the site. “i'm here every friday night.”

“is this some kind of 'see you later', alex?” you raised your eyebrows, a smile tugging your lips. he shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, but you could notice the flicker in his eyes, like a silent hope.

“only if you want to, love.”

[slashire]

you and me? maybe.

Rodrick heffley x reader

Summary: During a late-night hangout, Rodrick is finally able to do something he's been wanting to do ever since you became friends.

wc: 3277

an: first time writing again so i made it kind of first person. hope you enjoy, I'm open to tips of writing better!

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

I should've just gone through the front door, only if it wasn't one in the morning. Remembering my promise to Rodrick one day to surprise him by spontaneously hanging out somewhere random in the middle of the night, so i thought why not tonight? 

I was bored and awake and my parents were asleep so I went quietly out my window cracking it slightly so I could get back in and make my way down. It wasn't that hard, considering I've been doing it for a long time, although i have no clue how i will make it up the side of the Heffley house but I'll figure it out as i get there. 

—

I overestimated how hard it was.

Why did he have to live in the attic?

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

I really didn't think he would answer but to my surprise I heard frantic movement in his room and then he slowly opened his curtains, watched as his body relaxed as he saw who it was. I managed my way up onto the roof through sheer force of will. In the future I will plan better than going into it with no idea how to get up or down. 

“What are you doing?! Get in here before you fall off.” grabbing my shoulders and yanking me inside. It's a surprise the way I fell in the window was so loud that no one woke up.

“No wait-” he didn't even let me speak, he was more concerned to see me so high up on the roof i guess.

“Are you possessed, or just crazy in general.” 

“Crazy part. Anyway, I've kept my promise. I'm here to sneak you out where we can hang out like I said , remember?” he really had to process what i said cause he looked so dumbfounded sitting down across from me. Then his face lit up when he recalled what I said before.

“Right!” shooting up to cover his mouth cause he just had to slightly yell that and to be honest i didn't want his parents waking up because how would i tell them i just climbed up the side of their house all the way to the attic just to hang out with their son? 

“Sorry, sorry..” I shake my head but then gesture to follow me out the window.

“Be careful when getting up here it's slippery, also crack the window.” 

As we made our way down the way I came up I made sure he got down first so he wouldn't mess with me and just make us both fall off the roof for fun. I unfortunately miscalculated how far the ground was but noticed when he just made the jump, I however had to figure out where the spots I used to climb up were to safely climb down without slipping. All I heard in the background of me trying to figure this out was him trying not to laugh at me cause we both know that his laugh would wake up everyone in the house.

“You're not helping shut up!” I whisper shout at him as I get my foot on one of the ledges again and make my way halfway down the side.

“Just jump it's not that high you know?” mocking him under my breath but ended up jumping the rest of the way down cause it was indeed not that high from where i was halfway down, i just didn't want to give the satisfaction but i just wanted to get off the wall. 

“Told ya.”

“Shut up.”

+—-+

We finally made it to the spot I found a few months ago for this very reason. I wanted a spot where me and him could hang out away from everything and everyone else. It's a secluded place near a group of trees but a large field with a giant flat rock that I thought was perfect to sit on. On the way here I found where I hid the bag of things i was bringing for the night cause i knew if i had brought them on the way to his house all the snacks i bought us would have already gone, so it's a good thing that no one knows about this spot. 

Rodrick being so excited to hang out like this was so cute.

I know his parents would be so furious if they knew he was out this late and that he snuck out but hopefully they won't find out. I've told Rodrick so many times that I come here all the time. It's like my sacred spot at this point so now I'm just showing it to him, I have to we’re best friends. 

I keep thinking I'm going insane with how many times I think he keeps stealing glances to look at me, sometimes out of the corner of my eye but that's just normal.thats been happening for as long as i can remember but i know it wouldn't be that type of just looking at me since he's head over heels in love with Heather Hills, everyone knows it to.

He talks about her all the time and is borderline obsessed with her and takes almost every chance he gets to be near her, i help him most of the time anyways. But I can't help but think of him more as a friend sometimes with the things we talk about or when we hang out all the time, we are basically conjoined at the hip. I could never admit to anyone that I thought about him in more ways than one, I would rather die than to lose him.

“Is this it?” snapped me out of my thoughts when I realized we stopped at the rock.

“Yes, isn't it just a cool place to hangout? It's even pretty during the day.” 

“You're even prettier during the day…Anyway let's get up there!” 

“I didn't catch that first part?” he didn't answer instead he kept walking up the rock to where i was standing. I grabbed a blanket from the bag I brought and laid it out in the time it took him to get up the rock. Setting the other things out, most of our favorite things in between us where we can grab them.

“This is the coolest thing ever.” 

“If only we had music, that's the one thing i dont have here.” 

It didn't seem like that matters anyway to him; he just sat down next to me and started picking at the snacks as predicted. 

I laid back on the rock staring at the stars like I always do,it's just the most peaceful thing you can do. This time i can share this peace with him instead of by myself cause sometimes it gets lonely out here, but i can stay here for hours at a time just laying here. 

Him being here makes this a bit better though.

He eventually joined me in laying down next to me and silently watched the stars. I glanced over at him and he just looked so content at this moment. Normally he's all over the place but right now he's just silent, not that it's bad I love every side of him but this one is...adorable. 

The way his hair was sitting, the way his eyes danced around looking at every possible thing he could see before closing them for a brief moment before looking over at me causing me to quickly look away.

What was I thinking?

I need to clear my mind of these thoughts.

But how can I when he's right next to me and all I can think about is him? Then i remember he wouldn't feel the same all because of Heather, i still don't know what he sees in her but I cheer him on nonetheless. 

Testing my luck I looked back over at him but I shouldn't have because he was already looking at me.

“Why are you staring? Is there something on my face?” brushing at whatever it is that is there but he just grabs my hands to make me stop, and just looks at me. 

I take this chance to scan his face once again even though I know every one of his features by heart, and I still find him so beautiful. It was all interrupted by the wind picking up and blowing my hair everywhere.

“Oh come on, really.” i sat up abruptly searching if i bought a jacket but just as i grabbed my bag he put his jacket around my shoulders. 

“I swear I grabbed my jacket from my room this morning,and plus you are going to be cold in a second.” I ate my words as my bag did not have the jacket I swore I grabbed off my desk as I left for school.  “You did but you put it in your locker,” adjusting it as he helped move my arms into the holes as I stubbornly remember I did do that and scoffed as he knew that. “And no, I won't, I'm perfectly warm.”

“Whatever.” His jacket was slightly bigger on me but still warm, zipping it up and hopefully he didn't notice when I held it up to my nose to smell it. 

I sit with my knees pressed to my chest as I rest my chin on top, but I can still feel him staring.

I don't look at him because I feel like I would say something I shouldn't and I don't want to ruin anything over him just looking at me like that. But I take my chances and turn my head to the side still leaning on my knees to look at him.

“What are you cold now?” 

“W-what no. just thinking.” 

“About?” He looks like he has a lot on his mind even though i took him to a completely secluded peaceful place but he's always like this, mind going through millions of different thoughts a second. Finally he says something, “Something I probably shouldn't.” 

“What do you mean?” 

That's when he reached out and brushed some hair that fell into my face, wishing deep down he would just lean in and kiss me already but were both too scared to do so. I take another chance and look down at his lips and then back up just to give him a subtle hint that I'm okay with it, knowing he doesn't take hints. I can't quite read his expression on his face. It's different from his normal ones I see, this one is..softer it seems. His eyes stared back into my one just not saying a word while caressing my cheek. 

I can feel the air shift.

And next thing I know his lips are on mine.

It feels like this is right, the way his hand on the back of my head pulls me closer, gently like he doesn't want to let me go. I don't hesitate and I reach for his shirt, curling my fingers into the fabric to pull him closer. This feels like everything that's been building up between us, and it all comes out as this and I couldn't be happier. It wasn't planned just in the moment, his other hand glides up to cup the other side of my face as mine goes higher, over the top of his shoulders tangling in his black hair like you've done a thousand times.

I gasp into his mouth but it gets drowned out by the wind picking up.

He slows down a bit, just slightly. Enough to breathe as he rests his forehead against mine, no words uttered as we bask in the moment. I don't open my eyes just yet in case this isn't real but I know deep down this is happening right now at this moment and not a figment of my imagination. 

He leans back up to kiss me again but this time just slower than before to relish in the moment, it was slow, unhurried, each movement intoxicating. Our surroundings blurred into the background as it was no longer real as this was happening it was like this was dreamlike. Every touch and every breath we both share feels so right but my mind takes over, sliding my hand to rest just over his heartbeat.

“we sh-”

“no, please. just - just let me have this. just for a minute.”

His breath warm against my cheek, and every inch of my body aware of the closeness between us, the way his hand rested on my shoulder just holding the peace a little longer. I could feel his  heartbeat quickening under my palm, caught in the stillness of the quiet understanding and that unspoken chemistry. 

“I messed up, didn't i..?” he leaned back almost instantly, removing every once of closeness we just had. “No, no it's just..i'm going to hate myself for bringing this up but, don't you like heather?” 

“you're so oblivious aren't you. Do you know how long I've been waiting for this?”

“you've been waiting to kiss me?” 

“yes.” 

All the times I recall me helping him try and get with the girl he would never shut up about just to find out he just secretly wanted me all along. All the lingering stares, the whispers between him and his friends while I came around are all starting to make sense. The way he shushes Greg sometimes whenever he says something weird,which I didn't mind. 

To ruin the moment, it started raining, of course. We both looked up as it gradually started pouring and laughed but then it started getting worse. 

“I just have bad luck today huh?” 

We gather up everything we got out and just shove it back into the bag, forgetting to grab the blanket as we try not to slip off the rock going down it, that's when we start running through the field. There is no shelter until we get out of the grass. I remember there's a little house that's abandoned. Maybe we can stand on the porch of it where we can catch our breath.

“Over there!”

The porch roof had a few leaks but apart from that it was fine to stand there for the moment while we caught up with our minds. I looked over at him and realized that I still had his jacket. I felt so bad but it's already so filled with water to take it off, so I'll just keep it on. 

“I didn't know it was going to rain tonight.” trying to lighten the mood back up after everything even though it wasn't bad just it starting with the rain and interrupted everything. Im kicking myself with that heather comment but it did let me figure out that he liked me, i will consider that a win. 

“Are you ready to make a run for it?” he laughed like this was a funny situation to be in, and it was but that's besides the point. 

We both take a deep breath and start booking it back to town.

There's not a single stop along the way so far, but we are so close to his neighborhood. We got  to the back of his van as he yanked the doors open that apparently he didn't lock earlier today and we got in. 

“I am so glad I'm forgetful.” he started laughing but stopped alot to just catch his breath, i never want to repeat that run.

 Ever.

A nice silence fell over the van, except for the occasional intake of air and the continuous rain pattering on the roof of the van, it was peaceful. 

He has his eyes closed and i'm just looking at every part of him i can, for one he is soaked head to toe but therefore so am i so im not judging. Against my better judgment i can't stop looking at his face every time he wipes his hair out of the way when the water is falling and it just makes me look at his hands..what am i saying, i need to go home where i can sleep cause i'm thinking way to much.

“How are we making it back in?” 

“We? I have to run back home and figure that out too.” 

“I know. But like couldn't you stay?” for a second i consider it but then i think about how his parents would react to me being there in the morning, and what my parents would think about me disappearing in the middle of the night and reappearing at their doorstep with wet clothes.

“What about your parents? Better yet mine?” 

“We can come up with something tomorrow.” 

knowing his excuses never go well, preparing for the worse my parents give me tomorrow.

“Fine, but we have to be careful getting back up there.” 

—-

The rain slowed down alot and my shoes are now full of water. I got to where I climbed up before and helped him up first. This is going to be challenging. I'm just hoping we both don't start sliding and fall off the roof. 

“Give me your hand.” everytime i look up i get rain in my eyes so i had to put on the already wet hood to cover my eyes as i reached blindly grabbing his hand as he struggled to lift me up a little but i helped as i had a hand on the gutter and lifted a little to help in his favour. I held his hand so tightly when I stood upright, thank god it's not as slippery up here as I thought it was.

The window part was easy as we just climbed in, having to be quiet? Not my problem, his though? He slammed the window shut.

“Rodrick!” 

“Sorry sorry, forgot” 

I finally got to take the wet jacket off but I realized I had no clothes to change into.

“You got anything I can wear?”

He looks like a loss for words as he walks towards the closet and picks though at least a couple of outfits before he lands for one I could actually wear. Motioning for him to turn around where I can change, he does and I'm so glad that I can get out of these clothes into something warm. He handed me some sweatpants and one of his band tees, which I love and he knows that I tell him that anytime he would wear it. Throwing the wet clothes into a pile behind the door I turned around and he was already changed so I guess he took that time and changed himself.

“So what now?”

“I'm so tired.” 

I sit on the edge of his bed as the pain in my legs creeps up on me from all the running while he arranges pillows. “I'll sleep on the floor while you get the bed, okay?”

That completely caught me off guard.

“No sleep up here with me, weirdo.”  The blankets feel so warm I might not be able to stay awake that long once I get fully comfortable. 

He's standing there awkwardly as if he didn't just kiss me like an hour ago. He sits down and I grab his hand to signal that he should lay closer. I decided to be bold like he was and lay my head directly on his chest that made him put his arm around me as he got comfortable. 

“I had fun, sorry for the rain.” he ran his hand through my hair.

“Love to be rained on with you.”

“Go to sleep, rodrick.” 

 I leaned up to kiss his cheek before falling asleep.

[goodoldmila]

Since the Crow Succession War is always rotating in my mind, I've developed enough of a picture in my head to see it fold out but it was always missing something and ooh, have I just had that one idea that makes the story in fall into place.

We know that it was house Velardo that killed the Dellamortes and that Catarina had 5 children and 8 grandchildren.

There's been tension between the two houses for a long time, a constant battle for power (perhaps they were an influential house) for support from the other houses... and the last time tensions got high they ended up agreeing to truce through marriage - Catarina's eldest child and the child of the Talon of house Velardo. It seemed a good power move at the time, as it seemed logical that they will be the next first Talon and it would raise house Velardo up (or they could find a way to flip the script and make house Velardo the house of the first Talon). It's not neccesarily an unhappy marriage but it's not one based in love.

For some reason I imagine Lucanis' mother to be the youngest - it's just burnt into my head for some reason, I could not change that if I wanted - but that she is very much Catarina's favourite. After some years it becomes an issue as people start to wonder if Catarina wishes to give the title to her you gest instead, and she is still vague about it but perhaps not as vague as with Lucanis and Illario (because she knew how that went the first time round). She never directly confirms, but she really makes it clear.

So house Velardo gets rid of Lucanis' mother, which starts a series of events that lead to the near eradication of house Dellamorte, and complete eradication of house Velardo.

The boys are saved because of Illario's parent realising there is no way they can protect them anymore, and they are the youngest.

I also imagine it to be a rather dragged event, not necessarily a one awful night kind of deal.

One of the Dellamortes definitely decides to side with house Velardo because they have had enough of Catarina being willing to kill them all to keep her seat. And they have to face their other siblings who side with their family. Nobody is having a good time, it's a tragedy no matter who does what, there are no winners.

I also have a very very dear to me dynamic for Illario's parents, where actually had they not died, he (and his siblings) would have the happiest, most healthy upbringing out of all the Dellamortes. So him completely spiraling is more a mirror to the family and the struggle for power and how it shaped Catarina and them, rather than what he saw as a boy, and that the memory of sweet childhood haunts him and he is not sure if it was real or if he just saw things through the eyes of an innocent child.

Anyway, I'm not sure my writing skills are on par with the idea as I haven't written in years and years and I'm not sure how good were they then bit maybe I'll manage one day.

[dunmeshistash]

Greetings, Mr. Meshi!

This is perhaps a bit of an unorthodox question, but one that has been bothering me for an unreasonable amount of time.

Now, here's the thing: I OBSESS over Marcille outliving everyone she holds dear. It's a theme very close to me, but even beyond that I just find it to be one of the most interesting elements of Dungeon Meshi's story for me personally. I've written an embarrassing amount of lengthy essays on it that will never see the light of day - that's how obsessed I am over this specific element of her character. But, there's something that bothers me...

A lot of poignant stories and artworks that tackle this topic get comments on 'em whenever Falin is the subject of aging, each one some variation of "Everything points to Falin having an extended lifespan after her revival!" which... Seems weird to me?

I don't know why this bothers me so much, but setting aside my personal annoyances, I don't remember anything pointing to this at all. At least, nothing concrete.

I don't know if this is a question you'd want to answer or not, but since your blog is a hub for all sorts of opinions and headcanons, I'd love to know where this line of thought could originate from.

I really wouldn't blame you if you didn't answer this question, though. Part of me feels I'm just asking this because I want to see if others share in my confusion or not.

Rrrregardless, though! Lemme take the opportunity to say that your blog is delighful. Love it! Also, that mushroom man with the funny face that sometimes responds to you with lengthy essays is also really cool. Everyone is cool. At least here on the northern hemisphere! It is smack dab in the middle of fall, after all! Coolness all around! Stay frosty! Or don't! Maybe warm up at a fireplace. I don't know!

Hi there! Thank you for the kind words, I love reading other's opinions on what I post so I also love the additions by the mushroom <3

It's quite hot over here in northeast Brazil, send some coolness my way please I'm dying.

Your question isn't strange at all! And I don't mind answering anything (unless it's rude or sounds like shipping war bait) so don't worry.

(Decided to put the rest under a readmore, TLDR: Kui said "maybe so, right?" about Falin having a longer lifespan but I have arguments why I don't think this actually confirms it. Anyway if you're someone who likes the headcanon you might want to skip this post)

To be honest those type of comments bother me too because I also LOVE Marcille's struggle with mortality and sometimes "Falin will live much longer!" feels undermining of the lesson she had to learn. I don't mind it in the headcanon sphere where everything is allowed and happy endings grow on trees but when it becomes intertwined with canon it starts to make me a little disappointed.

Just a reminder of the lesson she has to learn

She has to come to terms with the cycle of life and death, that something she wants (everyone to live longer) shouldn't be forced upon others just because it causes her grief. So, to me at least, Falin being made into something that will end up outliving other tallmen would undermine the message? In a canon sense ofc, if you're writing a wish fulfillment story then her living longer would have a different meaning, I just wanna be clear I have nothing against it in that sense, it all depends on what story you're trying to tell.

Anyway, actually answering your question that idea comes from the fact she was fused to a Red Dragon, and the fact her body has been affected by it, her sight was fixed and she grows feathers for example, so people theorize maybe her lifespan has been affected too. But we don't really know how long dragon's live so it's hard to say how much it would have been affected if at all.

It also comes from this answer Kui gave in a QnA

Q: Would Falin have an extended lifespan after the whole chimera thing? A: Maybe so, right?

To me this reads as the usual non-answers Kui gives, like, "I'll leave it up to your imagination" but for other people this read as a confirmation of the headcanon, in another questions she answers "I hope so" about Thistle leading a happy life after having his desires eaten and it's even debatable if Thistle survived at all so I don't think those comments indicate much of canon (I'm that way about most QnA answers tbh, unless it's something inconsequential like confirming Mithrun's Brother's name or stuff about very minor characters)

Another argument I have against her having a different lifespan is Izutsumi, Izu has been mixed with a monster but continues to age at the same rate a Tallmen would, even tho she also has different biology because of the Great Cat she's fused with (ears, reflexes, eyes etc etc) she is still a tallman

Falin isn't really the same thing as Izutsumi tho, I understand, but it's the closest example we have, if we believe the AB descriptions and demi-humans are really mixes between humans and monsters that's also another argument about it not affecting lifespan, since all of them are short lived and have an average lifespan of 55.

All of this *can* be dissmissed tho, the other demi-humans and beastmen are all mixed with mammal monsters and nothing nearly as powerful as a Dragon, so there is arguments to be made that Falin is different and that she *might* have an extended lifespan, all I'm saying is that there's no solid confirmation of it, it's fine to believe it but going around "correcting" other people saying it's a fact wouldn't be right I don't think, especially if you're saying that in a conversation about Marcille journey of death acceptance.

Death is a touchy subject and everyone is at different stages of their own journeys with it so I really don't want to judge those who would rather have Falin or even Laios live longer. I'm not really sure how to talk about this in the proper way, but I hope I didn't make anyone upset!

[jjkamochoso]

I finally think I've come up with a request for Shalnark! Actually, it was an idea for Feitan first because requesting for Shalnark feels... odd. Anyways, could I request a Shalnark x Female Reader who's doting? Like she isn't overbearing or anything, but if she's not busy in her own world, she's by his side tending to the slightest of injuries or complimenting his appearance that day. I'll probably go right back to Feitan after this hahaha... Thank you for your time and effort, take as long as you need!! <( ´▽` )>

Ahh this was so much fun to write!! I hope I was able to capture Shalnark’s personality okay here since it was my first time writing for him🥰 and I’m sorry this took as long as it did, I really hope you love the story!!🫶❤️ thanks for all your support and kind comments💕

My Love for You Shall(nark) Never Cease

Fluff

Shalnark x f!reader

Warnings: mentions of minor injury, one small mention of killing

The hideout was quiet, which makes sense since you were the only one there. Pakunoda, Uvogin, and Shalnark were sent on a mission a few days ago while the rest of the Phantom Troupe were off doing… you weren’t sure what, but you figured they were keeping busy. You decided to enjoy the rare moments of peace by indulging in your favorite hobbies while everyone was away. You often found yourself daydreaming, an activity that was easiest for you to partake in when there was nothing but silence around you. You thought of spectacular worlds and created countless scenarios in your head.

Though the topic always seemed to circle back to a specific blonde haired man.

Over the time you had known him, you’d began to harbor a crush on Shalnark. His big green eyes and contagious laugh made your heart flutter every time you were near him. You would do anything to be blessed by the sight of his radiant smile which meant you often showered him with compliments. Your train of thought wandered into the depths of your memory, your mind replaying a treasured moment with the man.

“Good morning, Shalnark!” you had greeted warmly as you ate breakfast one day before a mission.

“Good morning, y/n!” he said back, just as enthused. Even though it was early, he was bright eyed and bushy tailed as usual. He grabbed the open box of cereal from the table and poured some into one of the few chipped bowls the Troupe had lying around in the hideout. Your group had been there for a while and it was nice to have a place like that to call home for as long as possible. Shalnark took a seat next to you, ready to dig into his meal. You took the time to really admire him up close; your eyes traced over his facial features, committing them to memory (you swore that if you died, his face would be the only one you’d want to see in your final moments). The slope of his nose, the upturn of his lips—he was stunning. There was no way you couldn’t compliment him! He deserved to know he was being noticed by others for his beauty and you hoped maybe one day he would take notice of yours as well.

“Your hair looks really nice today,” you told him, a kind tone to your voice. You heard him slightly choke on his cereal.

“Who? M-me?” he asked, sputtering and coughing. You tilted your head, a bit confused by his reaction.

“We’re the only ones out here,” you remarked, a small giggle filling the awkward silence.

“Oh! You’re right.” His cheeks were a bright red and it didn’t seem like it was from his previous lack of air. He cleared his throat. “Thank you. Yours does, too. Look nice, I mean.”

Shalnark’s spoon went immediately back into his mouth, crunching away on the cereal. You couldn’t contain the smile that took up residence on your lips, your heart thumping in your chest. If there was one thing you knew about Shalnark, it was that he was brutally honest and he wouldn’t compliment you if he didn’t mean it. If there was one thing you didn’t know but just learned about him, though, it was that he gets easily flustered by compliments.

Since then, you always made sure to compliment him to no end.

You loved to dote on the man and after his initial reactions of embarrassment, he’d started to embrace it, eagerly beaming when he heard what sweet words you had for him whenever you saw him. It became a regular occurrence for you to compliment him, from physical appearance to nen ability, and, on occasion, his driving skills. It was your favorite part of the day and quickly turned into his as well.

Since he had been on this mission, though, you hadn’t had the chance to talk to him at all. You liked this alone time, sure, but you missed your interactions with your favorite blonde.

You sighed, picking up a book. Maybe this time you could read a couple more chapters without getting distracted by your heart’s desires…

All of a sudden, you heard loud noises at the hideout entrance. Before you could even worry, you heard Shalnark’s trademark laugh and you grinned from ear to ear.

They were back!

You quickly stood to welcome the trio home, but your smile faltered at the scene in front of you. Shalnark locked eyes with you and let out a pained sound, which didn’t surprise you with the way he looked extremely banged up. What had gone wrong on the mission?

“Well? Aren’t you going to say how amazing I look?” he said, laughing before grimacing, holding a hand to his ribs.

“Shalnark! Are you alright?” you asked, hurriedly racing to his side. Pakunoda and Uvogin shared knowing looks as they left the common area, most likely going to treat their own injuries or sleep for the rest of the day; whatever would lead them to not be involved in any of the lovesick antics between the two of you.

You guided Shalnark to a chair at the kitchen table.

“I’m getting the first aid kit. I’ll be right back, okay?” you told him as he nodded in understanding.

“Show me where it hurts,” you said when you came back, opening the kit.

“My ribs are bruised but they’ll be fine,” he explained. “I have a cut on the back of my arm, though.”

“I’ll clean it up, don’t worry,” you replied, sending a gentle smile to him. He returned the gesture until you cleaned the wound, causing him to hiss in pain.

“I’m sorry! It’ll be over in a second, I promise,” you consoled him. You figured it would be best to talk him through the pain. “How did you end up in such bad shape?”

“I got… distracted,” he confessed. “I got hit from behind. Not to worry, I killed them really fast!”

“That’s my boy,” you teased, applying a bandage over the cut. “There, you’re all good to go. Here’s some pain medicine for your ribs.”

He thanked you for the medicine, swallowing the pills with a gulp.

“So what causes the great Shalnark to become distracted in the first place? You’re one of the most disciplined men I know,” you wondered. You spied the tips of his ears turning red.

“I was thinking about you. It was early in the morning and I had been missing hearing you compliment me during the past few days,” he admitted. Now it was your turn to blush.

“O-oh,” you breathed out, not sure what the correct thing was to say. “I would’ve called you but… I wouldn’t have wanted to bother you.”

“See, you’re always thinking of others and I like that about you,” Shalnark remarked. You weren’t used to being on the receiving end of the compliments between you two and you kept your eyes downcast on the table until you felt a hand lightly touch your own. You glanced up to see his green eyes glittering as he smiled.

“I don’t compliment you enough and that stops today. Y/n, I think you’re caring and kind, and I love how you always take care of me. I think you’re very beautiful and it’s amazing how you brighten up any room you walk into.”

You felt your heart swell up with love and your eyes well up with happy tears. “Shalnark, I… don’t know what to say.”

He chuckled. “That’s alright, you know exactly what to say every other day.” After a few moments he stood, not yet moving his hand from yours. “How about whenever I wake up next, we grab a meal together?”

You shook your head. “I’d like that very much.”

“Cool!” Shalnark gave you a thumbs up and a wink. “I’m going to get some well needed shut eye.”

You stood too, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Sleep well, Shalnark. You worked really hard and deserve good rest.”

He brought his fingertips to where your lips previously were, wearing a stupefied grin. “I never want to go that many days without hearing you say things like that again.”

[redwryvernwrites]

Hiii :D

Can I ask for another one shot from you?? You see I had been thinking of this a long time ago when I saw your post about Alex, and yeah I can't help but feel happy when I first saw Alex from Earthspark because YEYYYY!!! Filipino rep! He is incredibly proud about his identity and culture.

If you have the time, can you write him celebrating his birthday together with his family and friends? Filipino parties are incredibly fun especially when there is 'karaoke' or a 'kamayan' feast, but nothing beats being surrounded by the people you loved the most.

POV can be Alex' or an any character who observes the event (can be a Transformer 😳), but everything really is all up to you anyway :D

YES! Omg you have no idea how much Alex being Fillipino makes me happy and proud! The fact that he's from around the same place as my mum's side of the family is just the icing on the cake! Bohol represent!

I'm so glad that they showed him being proud of his Fillipino heritage because all my Aunties and Uncles have that same vibe. I suspect that someone on the team maybe be Fillipino because they got a lot of the family 'vibe' that Fillipinos have with each other especially in huge family gatherings.

I can definitely write this from personal experience because I have the same upbringing as the Malto kids, Half Filipino and Half Western (Australian). My Artist name (Baku) comes from Visayans folklore of the Bakunawa. It's literally the first Artwork on my pinned post.

It was difficult growing up because it's such a unique family dynamic and it's hard to explain to others how unique and special it is. The dynamic is hard for others to understand how two very different cultures can merge. I wouldn't trade it for anythings else.

I think that's why I gravitated to Earthspark so heavily, is because the Malto Family is in a way, something I experienced growing up and I've never seen that before in media.

Philippines Independence Day is coming up really soon (literally a week) so I'll base it around that and try to have it up on the day. Don't know which character's are going to feature but if anyone has any suggestions, I'll be happy to hear them.

Show off those traditional tattoos Alex, show them proudly <3

[tgirlmechanicock]

Posting this in the dead of night but I've had an idea in my head for a long long time about wanting to write like, an on-and-off series that I update whenever I have time. It'd follow three trainers with specific goals, ideals, and skills, and be kind of in the style of the anime but with a lot more smut. I dunno! I have no idea if it'll be any good, but I finally wrote the first chapter of it, and if it's something people like maybe I'll write more? I'm rambling but it's just something I'm kind of self-conscious about people not liking, really, lol.

Anyway! Enjoy the tentative first chapter

Pokemon: Wishing Stone

One

The ceiling was leaking again.

Amber had been halfway through brushing her teeth when a fat drop hit her in the forehead, causing her to grimace and tense, nearly biting through her toothbrush. Just another thing she didn’t fucking need, honestly. Her day was already going shitty, but this was icing on the cake. There’d been a fucking Hoothoot pecking on her window all night, staring in with those big, glowing eyes, and even when she’d tried to shoo it away it kept coming back to stare at her. Typical.

Now, as she draped her apron over her shoulder and trudged out of the apartment, not bothering to lock up – as if there was anything worth stealing – she was furiously typing on her phone to her landlord. Not one of those fancy new Rotom phones, just an old basic smart phone. The kids at the store made fun of her, but what did they know? All trust fund kids and trainer school students.

She rapped hard on the door to the apartment above hers, tapping her foot for a long moment before the door opened, frazzled woman inside meeting her eyes.

“Amber. Hi.” She blinked. “Fuck. The water-?”

“I told Joe it was a broken pipe,” she grimaced. “More issues with Buizel?”

“Yes,” she groaned, head in hands. “I’m always sleeping when Ben finds the ball and lets it out and then they’re in the bathroom and just…”

“I know,” Amber sighed, shaking her head. “Just… may want to clean it up before Joe comes by. You ought to pass it off to the old folks outside of town.”

The young mother sighed, deflating. “If they hadn’t just put out a notice about how many drop-offs they were getting, honestly I would. I’m just… going to raise a Buizel. Alongside my kid.”

Amber nodded, turning to leave with a wave and a smile over her shoulder. “Ought to see if there’s any more of those Rocket freaks around to sell it off to, sure they’d take it.”

“You’re awful, Amber!” she laughed, leaving the girl in silence as she descended down the old stairs. There used to be an elevator, but it’d been out of service since Amber moved in. One of those things Joe was “getting around to”. Still, the walk had its perks; at least living on the ninth floor meant she got her daily steps in.

The walk to the Goldenrod Department Store was grueling, and by the time she was there she had to collapse in the break room. It was her daily routine – walk down 9 flights of stairs, halfway across town because she couldn’t afford a bike, and then get to work 20 minutes early for a brief, unpaid nap. It was awesome. Really cool.

She threw her apron on, pulling her hair up and putting on a service worker smile as she clocked in. Just another eight hours and she could be done.

It wasn’t all bad. They’d hired her pretty quickly after she let slip she flunked out of trainer school. It was the perfect middle ground that places like this loved: enough experience to know what they were selling, but not good enough of a trainer to actually go off and leave the store to go battling, or whatever. She knew the practical applications of X-Speed, how best to utilize a Lagging Tail, which Pokémon learned TM-54; but she was never going to use that knowledge. This gave her at least a minor opportunity.

 “Ohmygosh,” a woman said, bouncing up to the counter with two girls flanking her, a Snubbull wrapped up in her arms. “This is so cool, look at this!” The girls began to peruse the various sundries, leaving the Pokémon on the counter. Amber could feel her body tense, trying not to look at it. Every once in a while, she’d glance over, and the thing would be glaring daggers into her. It went on far too long, the girls ooh-ing and ahh-ing over every single thing as she felt her body get more and more tense.

The Snubbull stood up on the counter, sauntering over as she froze up. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Pokémon she just… wasn’t good around them. She had a bad track record, and that aside, whenever she was around them, wild or not, Pokémon just seemed to-

Snubbull bit down hard on her finger.

Amber shrieked, jumping back and yanking it from the Pokémon’s mouth, swearing and nursing the bleeding digit as the girls gasped and cried out.

“What the hell happened?!” the woman asked. “What’d you do?”

“Nothing!” Amber retorted with a scowl. “Your stupid thing just fucking bit me!”

“How DARE you call Princess stupid!? Princess is the most precious, amazing, most special-“ She snapped at Amber again as she stumbled back, knocking into the rack. “Princess! What has gotten into you!”

A passing manager finally came by, giving Amber a look that told her she was relieved, and she scurried off as he was talking calmly to them, offering refunds and free items. To the person whose Pokémon bit Amber. Fucking hell.

She cleaned the room in the breakroom sink, wrapping it and groaning, leaning against the counter. She was so fucking tired. Not just physically exhausted, but mentally. She worked in a store that sold items to Pokémon trainers, and day in and day out, they’d come in and bring their Pokémon.

And Pokémon fucking hated Amber.

It was a universal constant. Since she’d been little, the family Zigzagoon didn’t like her much. It was more apathetic than anything else, but one time she’d gotten run down by a Beedrill and all it had done was watch and yawn. Like it didn’t care if she’d gotten skewered. That feeling in her gut had solidified, and it was a strange feeling between resentment and ambition.

If she could be a trainer, then maybe she could connect with Pokémon. If she could figure out how to reach across the gap, then she wouldn’t feel so… out of place. She’d been partnered up with a Charmander who was headstrong but studious. They’d gotten along fine, but as time went on, everyone else evolving their partner Pokémon and moving into advanced battle techniques, she and Charmander just… stagnated. She offered to let a new student raise him for a bit, and he evolved into Charmelon near immediately.

She dropped out shortly after.

She hissed at the antiseptic, shaking her hand and groaning as she collapsed at the nearest table. She knew it wasn’t going to be long before-

“Hey, Amber,” the manager from before said, coming in with a placid smile. “Your hand okay?”

“Oh. Yeah, it’s just-“

“I’m sorry to hear that. How about you take the rest of the day off, okay?”

“I’m not in trouble, am I-?”

“I’m going to talk to some of the other managers and we’ll see what we can do.” He just kept smiling. She yanked her apron off and stormed out. Fuck. She hated as tears sprung to her eyes, hated as she stormed out of the building and down the street, down the path out of town, crumpling against the fence and screaming out her frustrations. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fucking fair.

She wiped her tears, collapsed to the grass, and just… watched passerby. The entry to Goldenrod was pretty busy, lots of people coming in and out from the forest, or little trips to and from Azalea. It was a bustling port town and the new track over to Kanto was just installed not too long ago. People walked by, alone, but more often, with their Pokémon.

She just didn’t get it. As she sat there, occasionally a Pokémon would make their way by, a squirming Caterpie or a curious Pidgey, and she tried to smile, relax her body, and let them approach her, but they would always fly off in a huff. What made her so unapproachable to Pokémon?

That… wasn’t quite it. It wasn’t just Pokémon.

She didn’t have many friends growing up, and in trainer school barely anyone talked to her at all. She was the loner with her lonely Charmander, trainers taking on friend groups, traveling buddies, hell even rivals. But when it came down to battle training, she was always picked last. And even then, no one in her group bothered to remember her name.

It was like… she was cursed. Cursed to be loathed by man and ‘mon alike. She knew her managers hated her, she didn’t have any close coworkers, and she couldn’t even draw in a Pokémon. Even wild, friendly ones like Pikachu avoided her. Just… cursed.

She trudged back into town, throwing her hood up over her head as the sun began to dip lower into the sky. The tall skyscrapers became bathed in beautiful oranges and reds as she walked her way down to the docks. She wasn’t even sure where she was going, just… wandering. Maybe she’d find a Krabby to finally break her of her melancholy spell, or maybe a Tentacruel would pull her into the water and eat her and her nightmare of a life would be over.

People passed her on their way off work, and by the time she got to the shipyard, it was basically abandoned. She ducked under a “Private Property” chain, down a set of stairs, and into the sandy area beneath the docks where the tide occasionally met the shore. She came down here to hide sometimes, to feel some sort of kinship with the washed up, abandoned Staryu, or just to pick through trash that had washed up.

She kicked at a can, took a picture of a dirty magazine someone had left to make a funny post about later, a selfie with a small pocket of used needles. Fun stuff. And then… something caught her eye. She frowned, picking her way through the detritus over to it. It was half-buried in the sand, and glittering amongst the rest of the dull, boring trash. At first she thought it was a shiny stone, which would’ve been nice, something to sell back at the Department Store at least, but… no. This was different.

A crystalline chunk of rock, roughly the size of her outstretched hand, and oblong. It was a pale yellow, reflecting the light of the sunset as it slowly made its way beneath the docks. Inside the strange crystal was a stone even deeper, a shade of deep emerald, or turquoise. As she turned it over in her hand, it seemed to have a strange iridescent quality, and the stone in the center felt like…

It was like an eye. Almond-shaped and peering back at her with a single, stoney pupil. She dropped at the realization, wiping her hands on her pants but then pausing. She picked it back up again, turning it over in her hands. It wasn’t like anything she’d ever seen. It wasn’t a crystal, or an evolution stone, it seemed organic but also… manmade. Like, nothing could trap the sphere inside of the bigger thing, unless maybe it was like, those ancient Pokémon trapped in amber? That could happen, she supposed.

She took out her work apron, gently rubbing the grime off the surface, polishing it to a shine and simply holding it in her hands. She felt a deep pang in her soul, some strange instinct bubbling up inside her. There was a wistfulness, a draw to this gemstone, that she couldn’t describe. It was drawing something out of her, and until it tumbled from her lips, she didn’t realize what it was.

It was her greatest wish.

“I wish I was wanted,” she whispered, pushing her forehead to the stone. “I wish people and Pokémon wanted to be around me, fuck, I just… I wish I was wanted.”

A deep, resonating force pulsed from the stone. It wasn’t a sound, or a feeling, but it wracked her body just the same. Like a sudden migraine or a disorienting change of pitch, it pulsed through her, and nearby she saw the water ripple outward from the force. It was as if something had been contained in the stone and was… discharged.

And then, it spoke.

“A wish, understood,” came the whispering, strange voice. Genderless and high pitched, like when she’d heard psychic Pokémon speak into her mind. “A wish, taken. A wish, returned. A wish, granted.” The stone began to crack, eventually turning into dust, slipping through her fingers, inner sphere and all. She was left alone and stunned as the sun dipped down below the horizon, oranges and pinks turning to deep purples and blues as night finally fell.

“What the fuck?”

---

Amber didn’t tell anyone about the stone. She didn’t have anyone to tell. Nor was she confident that anyone would actually listen to and believe her. Sure the world was full of weird and super unexplainable things – she heard that there was a group off in Sinnoh that was trying to… capture spirits of willpower and emotion or something? – but this felt like it took the cake. She’d searched around for a while but nothing turned up. No wishing stones, no strange eyes, no mysterious voices.

Maybe she dreamed it. That thought made her feel a bit better. It wasn’t like she’d never succumbed to stress-induced psychosis before. She worked retail, for Arceus’s sake. Who hadn’t?

She pushed it from her mind and slept on it.

And in the morning, her ceiling was leaking.

“For fuck’s sake,” she groaned, banging her fist lightly against the mirror. “I swear to fuck, if this shit doesn’t stop.” She grabbed her apron, her bag, and stormed upstairs, not even bothering to text Joe. She was going to take the ball for that damned Buizel and snap it over her knee if it was the last thing she did.

Before she could even knock, the woman opened the door, looking apologetic. “Amber, I am so sorry, I know I said it wouldn’t happen again but-” She gasped as her kid ran past her, the Buizel squeaking and chittering as it chased her. “Ben! Buizel, both of you-!”

“Hey,” Amber said firmly. Both skidded to a stop, looking up at her with wide eyes. “What���re you two doing?”

“Playing?” Ben said, pressing his fingers together.

“Were you two playing in the bathroom?”

He huffed, folding his arms and looking away. Buizel mirrored his movements. “Uh huh…”

She took a knee, getting down to their level. “Look. When you were playing in the water, it got down into my bathroom and got all over.” Ben’s eyes widened, looking mortified. “And it can make the floor really weak too, and then Joe’s gonna have to come by and your mom might have to pay a lot of money. Meaning no more toys for you and Buizel.”

Ben looked to his mother with increasing horror, and she simply nodded. “B-but-! We just wanted to play-!”

“Can you two just play when your mom is up?” she sighed. “Like, can you save bath time until she’s awake? Or, hell, you could get a little pool to put down in the terrace if you really wanted.”

Ben lit up. “Mom! Can we get a pool for downstairs?” She paused, as if she hadn’t thought about that.

“As long as you two don’t make messes in the bathroom anymore, we can get a little pool.”

Ben squealed, Buizel chittering loudly, both running around Amber as she pushed herself upright. They ran inside and his mom sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “Thank you, Amber. Really. I’ve never seen anyone handle Ben like that.”

Amber blinked. “Oh. Yeah, no problem. I was kind of ready to come up here and kill the wet rat, but… I dunno. He seemed like he wanted to talk.”

She laughed and smiled, hugging her arms to her side. “Well, thank you for not killing the rat. I think your talk really helped.”

Amber felt her cheeks flush and she turned away, scratching the back of her neck. “Yeah, sure. Don’t mention it.” She paused at the stairs. “If it floods again I’m throwing it off the roof.”

“I’ll be there to help.”

The walk to work was… less arduous. People smiled in her direction, and a few Pokémon gave her little chirps and chitters. It felt… weird. Nice, but weird. She finally clocked into work and threw herself onto the counter when there was a gentle ding from the bell. She glanced up to see a gorgeous woman with long, dark locks, blue cardigan, flowing skirt, a little green bow. She was watching her with interest, cocking her head. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Amber croaked, pushing herself upright. “Sorry.”

“It’s no problem,” the girl chuckled. “I have a few things I needed, could I get your help finding them?”

“Oh, sure,” Amber yawned, stretching. “Didn’t wanna use the directory?”

The girl laughed again, soft and tittering. “I like the human touch. And you seemed very approachable, and a bit under the weather. A walk around the store might help?”

“Maybe,” Amber smiled, beginning to guide her.

“My name is Roo,” she smiled, holding out a hand.

She paused for a moment before tentatively shaking. “Amber.”

“Well Amber, I very much appreciate your help.”

Several notebooks, plant presses, some berry pots, cookware. “What is all this stuff for?” she frowned, cocking her head.

“Oh, I’m a botanist,” Roo smiled. Then faltered. “Well, not exactly a botanist. I’m a… tea expert?” She frowned, humming and tuttering. Her hand went to her waist, an ornate white and purple Pokéball releasing a strange, saucer-shaped Pokémon that hummed as it floated by Roo’s head. “I run a blog about tea, and I found that most teas online are simply using berries or very simple things like Tropius fruits.”

“What’re you wanting to make tea out of?” Amber chuckled.

“EVERYTHING,” Roo’s eyes sparkled. “Have you ever thought about steeping an autumn Deerling’s head flower? Or- or a Gloom’s Spore for a nice, calming sleeping tea?”

Amber grinned, handing her another on her list. “Can’t say that I have. Honestly not much of a tea girl.”

“You just haven’t found the right tea!” Roo gasped. “All of these trainers are out here putting together ‘battle dexes’ or encyclopedic knowledge on every Pokémon, I’m hoping to make a tea dex. It’s a new way to explore our culinary horizons while bonding with Pokémon! Pokémon can drink tea too, you know.”

“What about this little guy?” Amber asked, gesturing toward the floating saucer. It perked up and made a quiet laughing sound when she noticed it.

“Oh, Sinistea? It’s a Pokémon native to Galar – they love tea over there – and it’s a frankly very acquired taste, would you like some?”

Amber paused, looking the Sinistea down. “I- n-no, I’m good,” she smiled. “Pokémon don’t really like me, I don’t want to upset it.”

Roo frowned, cocking her head. “Really? Sinistea seems to like you quite a lot.” She opened her mouth to protest but the Sinistea made a humming purr and came to rest in her open hand after a moment, clinking its porcelain. “I think it wants you to try!”

“You said it’s an acquired taste?” Amber chuckled nervously, taking the handle. “It won’t be mad if I don’t like it?”

“Oh, few people do!” Roo laughed. “Even I barely like it sometimes. I honestly take mine with a nice hefty amount of sugar.”

Amber lifted it to her lips, taking a sip and… hm. It was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. She wasn’t really sure what tea was supposed to taste like. Bitter, sure, but that seemed like par for the course.

“It’s not bad?” she smiled, setting it back down.

“Oh! I think Sinistea must really like you!” Roo grinned. Amber found herself blushing, handing the Pokémon back as it floated to rest on the girl’s shoulder. “Gosh, you made a friend today, huh?” The Sinistea gave a little tinkling laugh and Roo put her hands on her hips. “Well, I think I’ve got about all I need! Thank you for the help, Amber, want to help me check out?”

“Yeah, sure.” The experience was so… strange. Roo was sweet, and Sinistea seemed to get along with her, and… it was just nice.

Halfway through ringing up Roo’s items, it hit her like a truck. Her eyes went huge, everything clicking into place, holding up a slotted spoon and pointing it at Roo. “You want me,” she blurted out, before going bright red. “N-no. Wait, that’s not what I meant to say-“

Roo laughed hard, head tilting back and wiping tears from her eyes. “Goodness, Amber! I mean, not the most forward I’ve ever heard, but definitely bold!”

“N-no!” Amber replied, shaking her hands. “I just mean-! Y-you, um! You don’t hate me!”

Roo’s eyebrows went up. “My we’re going on a real journey with this conversation.”

“It’s just-“ She groaned, rubbing her eyes. “You don’t hate me. And Sinistea doesn’t hate me.”

“I would say that’s accurate, yes,” Roo smiled, gently petting at Sinitea’s saucer with one finger. “We both think you’re very pleasant.”

“That’s- that’s crazy,” Amber breathed, running her fingers through her hair. “I mean. I guess it’s not that crazy, especially for you, but… wow. Fuck.”

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Roo chuckled.

“Amber!” She winced at the loud bark, turning to see a manager approaching with a far wider smile than normal. “We’ll finish checking this young lady out. Why don’t you go into the break room so we can have a chat?”

She felt her heart drop. Fuck. “Hey,” Roo said, smiling and passing her a scrap of paper. “Here’s my number. Not that I ‘want you’, but you seem to be going through a lot. We can talk over more tea.”

“Y-yeah,” Amber sighed miserably, taking the paper. “See you around, Roo.”

She shuffled off to the break room, ready to take her lumps. It was about as bad as she expected – a series of being late due to the walk and a run of various customers and Pokémon leaving bad reviews had accrued just enough marks to put her over the edge, and “regretfully” they had to let her go. She turned in her apron and stepped out of the store and into the world. It felt… different, somehow. Changed. Whatever the bizarre stone was had worked. People didn’t hate her. She was… accepted. Her curse had lifted.

She headed back out of town, taking the same seat she had yesterday. This time, the Caterpie that passed by rubbed against her hand, the Pidgey came closer to examine her. People waved and smiled from the street as they passed into town. She was so overwhelmed she could almost cry.

The trees behind her rustled, and a pair of eyes peered back at her.

“Oh, uh, hey,” she smiled. “You’re not, uh, like a big scary Ursaring are you?” Instead, the curious face of a Furret poked out, paws gently padding across the grass. “Hey little guy,” she chuckled. It was ruffled strangely, and panting. For a second, she considered taking it to the Pokémon center and then- “Oh-!”

Poor thing. She’d taken the requisite breeding classes and went up to the advanced classes, hoping she could fall back on that barring her poor battle technique in being a trainer. She knew what it was like when a Pokémon was in heat. And this poor thing had it bad.

“Furr…” it whimpered, padding closer.

“Oh, no, little guy, you should be looking for a girl Furret,” she frowned, scanning the treeline. It kept coming closer, eventually whimpering and looking up at her, pawing at her hand. She went red, scooting back toward the foliage, the tall grass keeping her from being seen easily by passerby. One thing that they taught very early on was that trainers and Pokémon have strong bonds, and sometimes you have to help Pokémon out. There were limits, of course, but by and large, most Pokémon were knowledgeable enough to know what they were doing. “Humanlike intelligence”, some Pokémon professors called it. Not quite human, but humanlike.

She and Charmander had both made the attempt once, but it didn’t work well for either of them, it was clumsy and awkward, and both decided not to do it again. That was the one and only time she’d ever tried to touch a Pokémon. Until, well…

“Furr…?” it whined.

“Okay, just…” she huffed, holding out here hand. “C’mere. Just… make it fast.” It purred and chirped, climbing into her palm. Beneath the thing’s furry body, she could feel the long, thick shaft in her hand, a small knot at the base. It whimpered and chirped, rutting into her hand, slick with juices as it panted and whined. The thing was large, coming up to about her hip, and its cock was… reasonably sized, as far as she was aware. At least, comparing it to videos she’d watched online. She felt a bit of a heat in her chest that she bit down on hard, pushing it down as the thing humped and rutted and whimpered and eventually.

“Furret!” it whined, cum shooting over her side and the ground.

“Oh, fuck,” she whispered, wincing as she finished it off with her hand before looking to the mess she’d made. “Shit. Buddy, you got me all dirty, I’m gonna have to walk home like-“

She froze. There were more eyes in the woods now. Dozens of eyes. She wracked her brain for trainer school knowledge – were Sentret and Furret heats by the individual, or was it an entire pack thing?

Amber shakily got to her feet, the Furret purring and rubbing against her leg. “I, uh, really gotta go,” she grimaced, starting for town at a jog. She heard a cacophony of cries and chitters, but didn’t look back, and it didn’t seem like they were following her. She didn’t stop or turn around until she’d made her way to her apartment, slamming the door shut behind her.

As she slumped against it, the words began to form in her head. “I want to be wanted”. “Oh Arceus fuck,” she groaned, banging a fist to her temple. “You fucking moron.” She’d have to find another one of those weird rocks. She’d have to… she didn’t know. Make a reverse wish? Was that how it worked? Even though… She squirmed. Part of the attention was… nice. Maybe not jerking off Furrets in heat in the woods, but Roo and her Sinistea, and the people that wanted to be near her…

She picked up her phone, fishing in her pocket for the scrap of paper. “Hey, Roo. Do you, uh, wanna do that tea?”

---

 “A wishing stone,” Roo hummed, sipping her tea. “Fascinating.”

“Or, I dunno, I guess that’s the best way to describe it,” Amber huffed, waving a hand. On a napkin she’d scrawled a picture of it, and it sat between the two as they enjoyed a cup of tea at the Department Store, much as she was loathe to come back to her former place of work within a few hours of being fired. “And you’ve never heard anything like it?”

“Oh no, not a clue!” Roo laughed. “That’s kind of exciting. I wouldn’t say I’m the world’s foremost archaeologist, but I like to keep up to date on strange goings-on. And this is a very strange goings-on.” She tapped a pencil to her lip, humming. “So humans and Pokémon are finding themselves attracted to you now that you’ve made your wish.”

“Y-yeah.” She paused. “Are, um. Are you…?”

Roo laughed softly, shaking her head. “No more than I would normally be, no. You’re not quite my type, you’ve got the whole…” She gestured to her. “Frumpy sort of shut-in vibe. No offense.”

She snorted. “Sure.”

“You’re cute, but I’m not about to throw the table aside to jump your bones or anything, no. And Sinistea here doesn’t seem to be madly in love with you either. Just the run of the mill good first impression.”

“Sinis!” it agreed with a gentle bounce.

“I wonder how much of your new condition is psychosomatic… Thinking you’re going to be wanted, and so you’re able to interact more freely… or perhaps your interacting better is a part of the wish, hmm…”

“What do you think I should do?” Amber sighed. “Should I reverse it?”

“What are you feeling right now?” Roo asked, pointing the pencil at her. “Gut instinct. Would you give it up?”

“N-no,” she stammered. “Or… maybe? I don’t know.” She groaned, pulling at her hair. “I dunno! I just got fired from my job and I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing and now I’ve got some weird fucking wish? Thing? Going on? It’s a lot to process, Roo.”

She nodded and hummed, taking a pensive tip from Sinistea, and making a light face. “I think you ought to think on it,” Roo finally said confidently. “There may be facets of the wish you don’t know about. Perhaps it’s more positive or negative than you know, and you can’t know it shut in that apartment of yours all the time.”

“Yeah, but I just got fired,” Amber grimaced. “Not really much to do other than job hunt I guess.”

Roo grinned mischievously. “That’s not entirely true. There is one other option.”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“Well, I’m headed out of Goldenrod soon to work on my tea-dex, and you need a change of pace, and there are a solid handful of trainers that pass through here from Kanto or abroad, and I think it would be quite easy for us to find someone who’d be willing to escort us and keep all of the big nasty Pokémon away as we… maybe traveled Johto?”

“What, by foot?” Amber laughed. “Like…?”

“Like a trainer, yes,” Roo hummed, sipping her tea. “You did go to trainer school, yes?”

Amber blushed furiously, looking away. “Yeah. Flunked out, like, year three. Was a whole mess.”

“And that was because you couldn’t bond with Pokémon?”

She paused. “W-well… yeah-?”

“And you wanted to be a trainer, and wished you could bond with Pokémon?”

“Roo, this is a lot,” Amber groaned. “We’d need… like, camping supplies and a whole itinerary and money for food and-”

“Leave that to me!” Roo smiled. “I know my way around the trainers that pass through here, I’ve got more than a few connections. All you’d have to do is travel with us as a specialist on both technical specs and…” She chuckled behind her hand. “And Pokémon breeding.”

Amber went darker red. “That wasn’t my fault-!”

“I know, I know!” Roo laughed. “It’s alright, really.” Her expression fell more serious. “Honestly, though, Amber. I’d really love to have you along. If you ever feel out of place, you can always get a ride back, I’m sure we could find someone willing to fly you home.”

She fidgeted, huffing and groaning. “I’ll… think about it.”

Roo smiled, nodding. “Tomorrow morning, meet me at the gatehouse to Route 35. If you don’t show up by noon, I’ll assume you don’t want to come. How does that sound?”

Amber groaned, letting her head fall to the table as Roo laughed.

“I’ve got the tea covered, see you tomorrow!”

---

Amber stared at herself in the mirror for a long while. She studied every strand of blue hair, every minute detail of her purple eyes above deep, bruise-like bags, every pore of her face. She’d seen herself a million times, why did it feel so… different now? Did the wish affect how she saw herself, too?

She saw… a once prospective trainer. Someone who wanted to connect to Pokémon, who truly loved them, and fell off hard when the going went rough. She saw someone who couldn’t connect to anyone, human or Pokémon, for years. Her parents said she’d grow out of it. The people at school didn’t like her very much. Teachers pitied her. She saw a woman who couldn’t hold down a consistent job for more than a year or two at a time. She saw… no. She didn’t see that person anymore.

She saw someone who’d made a friend.

She saw someone who’d talked to Pokémon, who’d had a Caterpie crawl across her hand. A few days ago, she would’ve seen someone who would’ve closed and locked the door and went back to sleep after scrolling her feed for hours. Maybe she was still that person, maybe she would always just be a shut-in. What was she expecting, to just get out there and make an impact? Make friends? Meet Pokémon and people with a smile and just… get along?

She winced, and with a start, she realized she’d been waiting for water to drip from the ceiling. It wasn’t leaking anymore.

She grabbed her bag, stuffed it full of clothes and her phone and sprinted out the door, taking the steps two at a time. She’d wasted so much time trying to figure out what she wanted to do that she missed the deadline – it was past noon now, by about fifteen minutes, and if she ran fast as hell she could maybe catch them down Route 35 before-

She skidded to a stop as Roo laughed, waving her down.

“Told you she’d make it,” Roo smiled. The redheaded boy beside her gave a scoff, rolling his eyes. “Amber, this is Kai; Kai, Amber.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” Amber smiled, holding her hand out. Kai rolled his eyes and turned toward Route 35.

“She doesn’t look like an expert trainer, Ms. Ebos,” Kai grumbled.

“Roo, please,” she urged. “And I promise, Amber knows a lot about Pokémon! She studied for years in trainer school and she can land you that acceptance no problem.”

He turned, red-faced, but didn’t say anything, huffing and folding his arms. “Fine. Welcome onboard, Amber. Did Ms- did Roo explain the journey?”

“Nope.”

“Splendid. Well, in order for my father to give me the money I need for trainer school, he wants me to have passed the Johto gym circuit. We’re heading up toward Violet City, they have the Johto league headquarters there, as well as the first gym.”

“Wait, your dad wants you to the gym circuit first?” Amber balked. “That’s so backward, most of the trainers I studied with weren’t even CONSIDERING the gym circuit until way after graduation-”

“I am a Locke,” he scowled. “We do not do half measures. I will finish the Johto gym circuit, and prove that I am ready for a prestigious trainer academy, like my older brothers-”

“Okay, okay!” Amber said, throwing her hands up. “Yeesh. Didn’t know it was such a touchy subject.”

He glared at her for a moment before turning back to the road.

“Awesome, so we’re all in agreement,” Roo smiled, clapping her hands. “I think this is going to be a wonderful adventure!”  

---

Also, included are what Amber, Roo, and Kai look like!

[ecstarry]

author interview!

thank you @orchideous-nox , @emlovessid , @pretentiouswreckingball , @star4daisy , @angel-daydreams for the tag <3

total works: twenty-four! (mostly one shots oops) total wc: 76,784

your top 5 stories by kudos/likes?

mine

parallelos

home

tripping over air

invisible string

do you respond to comments? it might take me a little bit but yes!! i try to reply to all of them

what's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

one of these three:

'the one with the breakup'

'essential'

'maybe someday'

(they were all about a diff breakups lol i dont think i'll reread to remember which one is angstier oops)

what's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

absolutely any other fic outside of those three i swear, it's absolute fluff

do you write crossovers? not yet but it's not something i'm closed off to

have you ever received hate on a fic? i don't think so? some weird comments maybe

do you write smut? oh yes, it's very yummy

have you ever had a fic stolen? not to my knowledge

have you ever had a fic translated? nop

have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes! very recently, with @star4daisy and it was for @v7lgar birthday it was so so fun. very yummy fic if i say so myself: apartment 26

what's your all time favourite ship? reg and james

what's a wip that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

god i really wish to finish past lives but i fear it will hurt too much

what are your writing strengths?

i think i have a lot of ideas, especially scenes like just snippets of their time together. i think i'm good with small moments

what are your writing weaknesses? can't stick with a story to save my life lol

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i don't think i've added yet but i would talk to someone who actually speaks the language. i think if you're using google translate better to not use it at all (at least with latino james pls free my man)

what's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

i must write more wisestar !! and i'm working on my itafushi fic so that's fun

what's your favourite fic you've written?

i'm doing top three because no one is even reading to this point and if you are then damn i appreciate you, i will write you something, go text me u read up to here and claim ur prize lol i truly think not even my besties are actually reading up to here, like goddamn i forgot how long this was or am i just tired? idk anyway here's the list:

dearly departed

dare to stay

same boat

open tag! + @moon-seas @v7lgar @lavenderhaze @ultravioletbrit

@sixlane @velanavis @del-stars @futurequibblerjournalist

@staringathesun1 @pressedink

[johaerys-writes]

Ok just a general writing question: how do you EVER manage to finish your works? I’ve been writing fics and books for a few years and I’ve only every managed to finish one and I felt like the quality just…decayed. Like your works stay invigorating throughout the whole thing and you like,,,,actually finish them. Idk what I’m even saying I’m like 8 days sleep deprived. Anyway,,,,

Okay first of all I'm sorry you're sleep deprived, my sleep schedule has been all over the place lately and I know that feeling like that is NOT conducive to writing or being creative or anything at all lolol.... and thanks for your question, I'm not sure I have a concrete answer to your problems but I'll do my best.

I don't think I'm the best at finishing works honestly lol, especially longer works.... I have a few longer fics that are either on hiatus or abandoned and they haunt me to this day, but as you already know writing is hard work and finishing a story is even harder, so I've sort of accepted that I won't be putting the effort into finishing them any time soon. So I guess a part of writing a longer work is sometimes needing to accept that not all stories are going to work, not all stories need to be finished, or they might actually need a long time of being away from them in order to be finished. There's absolutely nothing wrong with shelving a fic you're no longer interested in or that doesn't really work for whatever reason.

But let's say you absolutely, 100% want to finish a fic but you keep running into obstacles? I think first of all you need to recognise why you're having trouble finishing stuff. If you take long breaks between writing sessions and you end up losing interest or forgetting where you were going with something, then maybe you need to be more consistent with finding time regularly, even 15mins, to write (a little goes a long way). If you are someone who starts a fic without an outline and then ends up getting stuck halfway through, then maybe you could try deciding the important story beats ahead of time so that you know where you're going. If you're someone who plans too much and ends up getting bored, you could try leaving room for more for discovery during writing, like leaving certain sections largely unplanned so that you can figure it out on the spot. So I think it's important to identify what exactly is your problem with finishing fics, and try to find a writing process that works for you.

You mentioned that in the one fic you finished, the quality decayed as you kept going. That's definitely a problem that a lot, if not all, writers have encountered at some point. It has definitely happened to me, and I know that I have that thought at least once during any kind of fic I've written lol. When you start a story you're excited for that new idea, you want to explore it, it's all very invigorating. As you keep going, that enthusiasm dampens usually because you have to think about cohesion and connecting the dots and making the plot work and laying the foundations for later things to come etc etc and other kinda not so exciting things like that lol so I think it's normal to lose a little bit of steam midway. As for the quality of the writing getting worse, it's also part of it because as you reach certain points in the story that need to be more "technical" it feels little bit more forced and not as fun as it was at the beginning.

But I feel like a) quality is subjective, especially when it comes to your own writing, and something that reads kind of mid to you might just be perfectly okay for the reader, and b) you just need to keep going!! Push past that feeling, ignore it, go to that friend who always encourages you with your writing and whine about it. Don't let all those "my writing sucks and is horrible" thoughts get to you, every writer I know has had them at some point, so do your best to ignore them and keep going. Your story will have flaws no matter what you do, and if finishing your fic is your goal, a flawed story that's finished is better than a great one that isn't.

One thing that's always stuck with me is something a friend told me a long time ago, which is that if you're looking for perfection you're never going to be happy with what you put out, but if you say "this chapter/fic isn't 100% how I want it to be, but it's 80% or 70% okay, so we're good to go" then that takes a lot of the pressure off you to make things "perfect". Leave some room for yourself and your stories to be just okay sometimes instead of great, I feel like it makes a lot of difference.

And most importantly, remember to have fun with it! Writing is supposed to be fun, so don't be too hard on yourself for not finishing longer fics, sometimes banging out a short one shot and posting it is the way to go.

Hope this helped!

[the-inkwell-variable]

author ask tag

thank you so much for the tag, @the-golden-comet! ooh this is gonna be fun!

i'm going to focus on my current wip, Why Should I Be Careful? I'm Going To Die Anyway! because it's still very much in the planning stages (despite how much I'm writing for it) and I have Thoughts

What is the main lesson of your story? Why did you choose it?

I'll be honest, I haven't really thought that far ahead. I suppose, if there is a lesson to take from WSIBC?IGTDA!, it might be that you should always chase your goals and desires, and screw what other people think. Maybe put a little more thought and planning into yours than Aura does hers, though. I mean, she almost dies due to her recklessness. Don't be like Aura.

What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding?

Well, it's a zombie book - I love zombies, in case you can't tell - so the world is an amalgamation of zombie stuff I love. The zombies are based off of the Train to Busan zombies. This is a self-insert mess, so I'm using the town and people I know in the town as location and characters. Little tropes here and there that I love in movies and books alike. It's just a big chimera of stuff that I grab from stuff I remember and shove into it. It definitely needs polish when it's done, but I'm having a blast so far, so I'm'a keep doing it :3

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, or help the reader grow as a person?

Uhhhhhh this is a tough question. Right now, Aura is trying to make it to Roger's Grocery Mart to save her girlfriend, but most of the time, she's just trying to have a good time in the zombie apocalypse and hopefully not die. She does eventually grow into a character that (mostly) thinks things through and takes other people's situations into account, so I suppose the lesson is "the world doesn't revolve around you - be kind and helpful to others"?

As for what I'm trying to achieve... mostly, to be honest, I just want people to pick up my book and have a good time reading it. I want to write a zombie book because it's my passion and because there aren't enough zombie books out there. I guess I'm trying to inspire others? To show them that you can survive an impossible situation if you work hard and think things through?

How many chapters is your story going to have?

The only time I've written a full-length book (sorry, the only two times, forgot about Zero: ALPHA), it had about twenty-odd chapters. Z:A had...uh...thirty? That was a long time ago and I sadly no longer have that draft. This one is going to go until it's done. Hopefully more than thirty though!

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

Original content! I have no idea where I'm going to post it. I'm torn between Draft2Digital (originally Smashwords) or Substack. Thing is, I'm really bad at marketing and keywords and all that technical stuff that goes into publicizing, so I'm really hesitant to share it at all. I'm the type of person that gets absolutely morally devastated if my own self-inflicted goals aren't met, and I'm not sure if I can handle that kind of crushing heartbreak with this one lol

So yeah. Might publish, might not. Unsure right now.

When did you start writing?

My dad set up a Windows 95 computer for me in his office, his old one, and taught me the basics of using it. I was five, about to turn six. I immediately sat down and wrote a story about unicorns. I've been writing ever since.

I didn't start writing fanfiction until I was thirteen and had just binge-watched Lord of the Rings for the first time. We don't talk about those works. They were awful.

Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow writers of writeblr? What other writers do you follow?

Write it. Oh it's cringe? Who cares? Write it. Oh, it's a rare pair? Write it. You're worried people will hate it? Fuck the haters. Write it. Writing is about having fun. Writing is about pouring your soul onto the page. Writing is about getting those ideas out of your head so they don't drive you insane. It's about reaching that one person that finds your work and loves it. Even if no one reads it - you still accomplished something. You still wrote it. And no one can take that from you.

I have so many writers in my follow list. Uhh. I have no idea how many are still active, so I'm just going to tag who I know and hope for the best lol

@idyllicocean, @keeping-writing-frosty, @bloodtiesnovel, @asher-writes, @kitswrite, @theink-stainedfolk, @karkkidoeswriting, @lavender-gloom, @orphanheirs, @aquixoticwrites, @alinacapellabooks, @marlowethelibrarian, @flock-from-the-void, @dyrewrites, @storycraftcafe, @writer-imagination, @toragay-writing, @inseasofgreen, @stephtuckerauthor, @thatndginger, @finickyfelix, @eternalwritingstudent, @drchenquill, @paeliae-occasionally, @the-golden-comet, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @watermeezer, @goldfinchwrites, @winterandwords, @badscientist, @clairelsonao3, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @leahpardo-pa-potato, @mjparkerwriting, @rowanwriting, @oliolioxenfreewrites, @emelkae, @rita-rae-siller, @rebelxwriter, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @stesierra, @francineiswriting, @sunset-a-story, @chauceryfairytales, @hollyannewrites, @jaydenswaywrites, @captain-kraken, @violets-in-her-arms-writes, @romy-thewriter, @pure-solomon, @writingmaidenwarrior, @koiwrites

go, go follow them. they're all so good and make my timeline glow.