#but how do we not talk about how PASSIVE fic reading has become??

[elialys]

Sitting there trying to find a non-confrontational way to talk about how the lack of engagement with the fics we write is depressing as fuck. Not coming up with anything since the mood on tumblr these days is to shame writers who feel sad that 99% of their readers don't interact with the stories they share yet still read everything.

How do I explain how incredibly heartbreaking it has been to see the community aspect of fic writing/sharing DIE over the years?

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

You know, if I have to read another take or fic that treats Ed ordering that racist French captain skinned with the snail fork as proof of Ed's anger issues, or, somehow bizarrely commonly, has Stede talk down to him about it, I'm gonna lose it. Both Ed and Stede indirectly cause some pretty major violence in s1e5, but only Ed's seems to be proof of a violent nature. Strange.

And I'm honestly a bit tired of talking around this, because when you look at what some portions of this fandom can excuse and what they can't, it becomes very obvious how this is really just a racism problem. I mean, in this episode:

Ed responds to racist abuse by ordering the French captain killed. It's in the context of him having already given the captain a chance to back the fuck off ("what's that supposed to mean," said very calmly considering we all know what "your kind" means), has to visibly hype himself up to start yelling, and is responding to being called a donkey. It's vile and Ed deserves to be upset, not to mention he knows he can't just let that slide when senior crew members like Fang are right there watching. Ed is visibly upset and shaken by this whole situation and what he thinks it says about him as a person.

Stede, upon learning that the party guests were cruel to Ed (in a passive-aggressive but undoubtedly racist way), is angry on his behalf, and also wants to retaliate, just as Ed did earlier. It's sweet that he's defending Ed, but this is surely also personal for Stede, who felt mocked and belittled earlier and has had to deal with a lifetime of that. We see the results of Stede's playing the crowd here, with the boat burning in the background and the screams of people jumping out into the open sea, and Stede is also visibly pretty stoked about the whole thing.

There's no way around it, I think: we have been conditioned to think it's morally superior for someone to "turn the other cheek" and "be the bigger person" in the face of racist abuse, and Ed doesn't do that, so that's why this is still such a big issue for some people. When Ed gets upset again at the party, unlike earlier when Stede was put off by Ed ordering the captain skinned, Stede validates his feelings and is the one to respond, and that's the difference in reactions, I think. In the second case, Stede has validated Ed's anger and pain - Ed's feelings have gotten White Permission to exist.

OFMD does something really very unusual in the current media landscape, and that's how it treats racism in itself as violence. It doesn't expect characters to look away, turn the other cheek, or try to make amends with racists when they're cruel to them. And the only problem here wrt Ed is that some viewers of the show, bringing in the biases of the society we live in, will get uncomfortable when Ed acts in accordance with the show's philosophy - it doesn't matter that Stede is much more gleeful about being the one to respond in a similar situation, it matters that Ed is brown, and we therefore expect him to have to put up racist abuse. The show doesn't ask us to pass judgment on Ed in this episode, and I think that if you're automatically more inclined to believe Stede's actions more "reasonable" and "justified" than Ed's, you just might need to unpack that.

[all-pacas]

i read all your house fics over the past few days and i love your style of writing. the dialogue fits the characters and show so well, idk what it is about it but it just clicks in my head and i can hear their voices while i read it. and all of their internal monologues are just perfect. i love the grasp you have on the ducklings' backstories and motivations its seriously inspired :))

now im trying to work on the oneshot idea ive been stewing over for an entire year, about chase being house's only fellow pre-canon, which seems like a weird and absurd situation to me. the idea is that something must have happened for him to basically be secured as house's fellow, but he also has to realize himself that he passed house's mysterious criteria. any specific tips for writing him? especially younger him?

Oh wow that’s so flattering! And SUCH a good idea for a fanfic, I’m also lowkey obsessed with the mysterious year (!) Chase spent with House pre-series lmao. Like I think we all agree, there’s no way House would have kept him just because his dad called, right? I actually can’t think of a way to get someone fired faster than telling House he has to employ this kid.

I have no idea for tips, because I feel like I still kind of am like ??? when it comes to Chase. But I’m also always happy to yell about god’s least favorite princess:

Chase is kinda passive-aggressive! He will do his best to avoid and freeze out his problems. When everyone is trying to talk to him about his dad, he ignores, refuses to engage, literally walks away. When House confronts him about the nun in S1, Chase doesn’t actually confirm that he’s Catholic, even: he just changes the subject to “I bet the nun’s boss knows about her.” By implication, he confirms House is right, but he never says shit. He’s private as hell. Likewise, he gets touchy when people “pry.” We also see it in his relationship with Cameron, to an extent: it bothers him for a long while that she never makes him feel welcome at her apartment, but he doesn’t say anything, just lowkey makes sure they’re always at his. 

He also tends to be conflict avoidant. When Cameron and Foreman are fighting over the “stolen” article, they both try to get him on their side, and he tells them both what they want to hear. He doesn’t defend himself against House’s bullying, Foreman tells him to his face a couple of times that he doesn’t like him and Chase says nothing. However, this doesn’t mean he’s that easy going. We see with his dad he will hold a fucking grudge forever — even in S5 he’s talking about how much he hated him, and in S8 and how he talks about his mother, we see he hasn’t stopped hating her, either. Also he calls out Foreman a couple of times, either by just being a little bitch (telling a patient “Foreman doesn’t like me either” while Foreman is right there) or by just laying things out for him (S7′s “oh, you think you’re better than me?” stairway rant). It also doesn’t mean Chase is totally spineless and has no boundaries. With Cameron, he actually dumps her when she tries to avoid him over the engagement, and has no problem calling off the wedding over sperm-gate. When things matter to him, he’ll stand up for himself; he just prefers to freeze out or avoid conflict. He also has no problem in confronting House when he feels like it. He’s not very scared of House, House just doesn’t bother him.

He also gains more… let’s call it confidence… as time goes on. Chase always seems to be pretty secure in his self-worth and idea of himself (and NEVER willingly opens up to other people), but over time he definitely becomes a little punchier. In S1-3 he’s willing to just sort of roll his eyes and take it when things happen, but by S4-5 he’s happy to call House or Foreman out and argue instead of just letting things go (passive-aggressively). He never gets any better at emotional honesty (his “punch House instead of talking about his divorce” thing is straight out of his S1 daddy issues playbook), but he does grow something of a spine. I imagine before the show started, he was even less prone to fighting back beyond snarky comments.

He genuinely finds House funny. He almost always laughs at House’s stupidest jokes, and as much as he’s accused of being an asskisser, he. Really just does think House is funny. Foreman and Cameron hardly ever react to House’s little comments, Chase is always grinning along. This is important. Chase’s sense of humor sucks! He is an idiot! He likes House. In S1 he says he likes how direct House is, there’s the way he always laughs at House’s jokes, he is absolutely a huge suck up also but he also likes House. I think pre-canon this was absolutely still the case. House comes in all prepared to make this little nepo-baby cry and instead Chase not just imprints on him but thinks he’s so funny and admires how mean he is and how smart he is. Chase really likes his job. He says it a lot, but I don’t know if it gets focused on all that much. He ratted to Vogler because he wanted to keep his job, he makes comments many times about how he won’t risk his job. He likes working for House, he wants to keep doing it, he will ass-kiss and work hard and throw people under the bus to keep it: with the Vogler situation, he was pretty willing to fight Cameron for it, and he and Cameron usually get along!

He’s very observant when he wants to be. He gets House; from his little monologue to Wilson in Private Lives we see he basically can analyze “House is looking at a book” and figure out it’s a fake book and that House is really invested in it. In S3, he’s able to pick apart House and Foreman’s resignation drama over like. Two sentences. In ‘Nobody’s Fault’ in S8, Chase is pissed with House (for really the first time ever), but also sees through his excuses to do differentials in the OR as excuses for House to check in, he knows House is worried: in S5, Chase realizes House is broken up about his father’s death without even seeing him. This is also something House appreciates about Chase, a lot. He says in S3 it’s why he hired him; House also tends to “reward” Chase by being pretty honest with him. When Chase asks him something, House usually answers him honestly. (with Foreman’s resignation, as soon as Chase calls him out, House admits it and they have an honest conversation on what House should do next; in S5, House wants a surgery done for personal reasons and admits it and why when Chase asks.) 

I think part of this is because Chase actually very rarely does ask House anything, and he never makes demands on House or his feelings. He accepts at face value that House is “fine” during Detox, he doesn’t try and fix or change him, in “Half Wit” when the others are scheming to get House tested or make amends with him, Chase tries (and fails) to act normal, and then just wants a hug. Compare like. Cameron, who keeps trying to change or push House into acting how she wants him to act (blackmailing him into a date, for example). I’m not saying House doesn’t care about her, just. House is more open with Chase than he is with a lot of people who aren’t Wilson. Also, Chase does not return the favor. He literally ran up the stairs rather than tell House about his daddy issues, lmao. It’s kind of crazy that House is arguably more open and honest with Chase than vice-versa.

Finally, despite all his secret seething passive-aggression and daddy issues, and the fact that honestly Chase could really benefit from therapy and anti-depressants? He is not a sad uwu baby. This is sort of a general rant, but. You see it all the tiiime in fanfic. And yes, he’s super fucked up. But he’s cheerful most of the time! He likes doing crazy things, he is often pretty sarcastic and makes bad jokes! He’s a flirt, even before his S7 manwhore days — in early seasons we see him check out girls in the hallways, flirt at parties, with residents and nurses. He has hobbies (he’s fairly sporty, if Cameron’s “your apartment was decorated by a drunk rugby player” comment is anything to go on), he likes to read and do crossword puzzles and surfs and skis. He tells bad jokes. He tends to be fairly self confident — he doesn’t just take it when he’s accused of making mistakes, he has no problems with social situations or interactions, he hilariously thinks women are attracted to his personality and not his looks, like, he thinks he has a winning personality, that’s incredibly funny. He’s not arrogant in that he doesn’t really have much of a need to prove himself (he’s pretty fucking unambitious, actually), but he definitely has the Good Looking Rich Kid mentality where he thinks he belongs in any given situation and that people like him. He also has the social skills to back it up. Because he represses and avoids and seethes instead of expressing emotions, he comes off as generally cheerful and laid back, you know? Why be sad when you can just repress everything and flirt with nurses instead!

Finally finally: he's a huge fucking crybaby. Have you seen how red his eyes get. He might try to be stoic and repress but he tears up at the drop of a hat. First time House bullied him he probably started to cry.

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

hey sorry if this is a weird question but you’re the same person who wrote that really incredible Better Jeremy post-canon fic right? Sorry I’ve never met anyone that matches my enthusiasm for the Better Jeremy ending and how much it hurts my soul, I was wondering if you had any further headcanons about that ending? how ‘far-gone’ is Jeremy do you think?

HIII HI YES THATS ME THATS MEEEEE. I LOVE THINKING ABOUT THAT ENDING I HAVE SOOO MUCH FUN WITH IT AND I'M SO GLAD YOU LIKED THE FIC ABOUT IT. the SECOND i learned it was an ending that exists i went looking for content abt it and i was SO upset i couldn't find any. so i'm glad my strategy to corner the market was successful.

i will take ANY excuse to go into detail surrounding some of my HCs about this ending so here we go. obviously NFB spoilers ahead. YAY!!!

i'm honestly just going to commandeer this ask to talk abt stuff regarding betterment jeremy that i either kept in mind while i was writing the fic, couldn't find time/space to squeeze into the fic, or stuff that i never intended on actually writing down but were fun to think about.

in regards to your actual question, how far gone jeremy really is: honestly. i think he's kind of in an irreversible state. but that's how trauma works, isn't it. stuff happens to you, and even if you can get 'better'- whatever better means for you in that context- you'll never truly be the same.

that being said though, i do think jeremy could become healthier after a while. but it would be a long, long while, and i do honestly think jenny is the only person who could get him there. she knows him better than anyone else- she can read his tells like an open book- she knows what part of him is the genuine him. regardless of whether that part of him is alive or dead, if anyone could coax it out of him, it would probably be her...

i don't think i have to say that jeremy has been through some horrible stuff at betterment. even before he gets taken away again in the finale, it's written all over his facial expressions, his body language, his behaviors. the second betterment is even mentioned, he's turning to his friends, staring pleadingly into his eyes, telling them that he can't go back. instinctively, they put comforting hands on him- pat him and reassure him that they won't let that happen...

even at that point in the game, he's already traumatized. by the time the CCOs arrive to take him away, he's putting his hands in the air, reproaching, physically and vocally surrendering, not even struggling as they shove him to the floor and bust his nose in. all he does is cough and whimper. certainly, his fear of guns is at fault for some of this behavior, but he's had moments in front of guns during heatwave, and he was never this passive and helpless.

i also think it's important to note the sorts of CCOs that come to arrest jeremy during the finale. they're crisis response units. frequently dispatched to handle matters surrounding an individual's mental health. and while it could just be a narrative choice, meant to contrast with advance's seeming goodness with it's forceful reality, i do think there's also a very likely chance that advance/julia selected this team on purpose.

jeremy donaldson is not above taking his own life. we all know this. we've all seen this. jeremy does a very bad job at handling his emotions, and they can quickly boil over to a breaking point where he isn't in the proper state to make good decisions.

lots of people think, in the jeremy's injustice ending, that betterment killed him. and that could very likely be true. but i think there's also room to consider that jeremy was so hopeless, he killed himself. especially since making him hopeless- through allying him with alan james by playing the tape during heatwave- is what you have to do to get him to try to shoot himself in the first place.

regardless of how you slice it, jeremy is in a state of absolute misery during his repeated stays at betterment. and misery breaks that man down into his absolute worst self.

betterment jeremy, to me, lives in a strange state, where he's too scared to want to die, but too miserable to want to live. the less he thinks about his life- about what he had to go through- the more tolerable things are for him. i think he spent a lot of time at betterment completely dissociating, and i think he's very prone to doing it after being released. it's difficult for outsiders to tell he's doing it at all (considering he's kind of... always quietly staring off into space...) but you can normally tell by the way he's breathing. it's a little less labored when he loses himself...

after being released from betterment, jeremy finds himself enjoying 'popcorn fun' a lot more than usual. he doesn't bring himself to read very often- head hurts too much for that, usually. he does whatever's easiest and most distracting, which is usually watching tv, if it isn't losing himself in his thoughts (or lack thereof).

i do think he would enjoy tangible activities though, like cooking. it's not super complex to the point where his mind starts to get cluttered, but it helps him focus in on something in particular, he gets to move around and use his hands, and at the end of it he gets to eat something nice, and that's always good since he forgets to do that sometimes. it's one of his healthier habits post-betterment.

i also think that jeremy has a lot of anxiety surrounding how people perceive him. it seems like he was drilled in one way or another to be as advanced-alligned as possible, which probably involved completely shuffling his world view. i don't have a doubt in my mind that the old jeremy is in there somewhere, raising his cynical arguments in his shrill little voice. but all of that is jumbled, reformatted, or discarded before it reaches his conscious mind.

it's why he pauses for so long between conversations. of course, the medication is partially to blame for that, but most of it is him vetting every single sentence before it leaves his mouth. even if what he's about to say is completely innocuous, he gets paranoid that he'll say something 'wrong', and something bad will happen.

what elsee.... OH WAIT. OKAY. this is kind of unrelated but also related. since we're on the subject of betterment. as someone who perceives jeremy as aroace, i don't really know how betterment would handle that sort of thing. especially considering the current timeline, both in regards to how ace people were perceived at that time in our society, plus the fact that julia is really gunning for people to have kids so that the whole territories don't just go extinct.

a part of me wondered if some of that propaganda had to do with having families. whether betterment would make the argument that "you were so depressed because you're alone. find a partner and have kids, that will make you happier for sure. without them you'll be miserable for the rest of your life". and whether jeremy would believe it- or have any other choice but to believe it.

even if he did believe it, i think it would make him miserable. that man isn't built for sex or romance... no amount of shoving a round peg in a square hole- if you pardon the contextually colorful metaphor- is going to make him any happier, regardless of what advance tells him.

[imaginespazzi]

PARRRRTTTT SEVEN REACCTTTIONNS

- nivi u angel bby thank you so much for the update!!! i always look forward to monday updates (west coast girly u did it with hours to spare) BUT REMEMBER don’t over work yourself over getting us updates!!! ily!!!

- my goal for the chapter is to stay far away from cliffs because i seem to always threaten them!

- stop paige’s little mini panic then relief when azzi and stephie are still there 😭😭 sweet girl went through it:(

- “and maybe this is how i become whole again.” oh hey it’s me, remember before i started reading i said i would stay clear of the cliffs? yeah well, fuck that! find me a cliff because i died dead. screaming, crying, throwing up. NIVI u are my evil genius but please please just protect her heart PLEASE.

- okay paige just left the bed if she leaves the house without speaking to azzi and stephie u might finally get some tears out of my eyes! i rlly don’t think she would but…

- stop poor drew 😢drew being annoyed with paige switching teams?!? im nervous for drew and azzi reunion.

- going to be honest i don’t really interact with azzis brothers stuff anywhere so i don’t know anything abt Tallulah but she seems so sweet in your fic ❤️‍🔥

- stop the fudds missing paige and talking about her😭😭 im on the floor next to the cliff bleeding out

- stop tim and paige mean so much to me

- stop paige legit tripping over her feet at the sight of stephie upset MY HEART

- STEPHIE ASKING PAIGE TO PROMISE SHE WILL NEVER LEAVE 😭😭 im scared

- I PROMISE ILL TRY TO STAY. fuck i’m scared

- god. your writing is a masterpiece. this whole situation is damaging my soul. i don’t hold it again azzi, im fully convinced she has her reasoning that were VAILD but oh my god i feel so bad for paige (this is not me saying that azzi didn’t go through shit too) but my poor bby is terrified i feel so bad ☹️

- stop stephie really is a mini azzi 🥹🥹

- love.

- kill

- me

- now

- let’s go back to me at the bottom of the cliff bleeding out, my pulse is barley there now.

- STWAAAPPPP paige spoils stephie it’s so cute

- YOUR DAUGHTER 🥹🥹🥹🥹

- i can’t tell if that helped or made my pulse worse

- hey so my baby fever is still here and killing me.

- “ONLY FOR YOU AND YOUR DAUGHTER.” my pulse just gave out, flatlined, not breathing, dead 🤗 thank you so much.

- YES PAIGE YOU ARE SAFE WITH AZZI.

- JANNNNNAAA MY GIRRLL

- Aunty Chérie you say? hmm i can just smell paige’s jealousy

- “you’re supposed to be holding me and i’m supposed to be holding you; it was meant to be us.” hey so i somehow just died even more😁

- okay here is the thing, i feel for olivia i do. the situation most have been hurtful to her however, CUNT CUNT CUNT DONT U DARE EVEN THINK A NEGATIVE THOUGHT AGAINST THE AMAZING, PERFECT, GORGEOUS, SMART, TALENTED, LOVELY, AZZI FUDD. her and her passive aggressive comments can leave.

- OHHHHH AZZI FUDD, YOU ATE HER UP SHE MAY BE 5th BEST BUT MY GOD AREBU NUMBER ONE BY MILLLLLLLES.

- “if it was azzi” paige babe let’s fast forward to that divorce.

- also paige going on tik tok spirals abt azzi while her wife is in the same room is just WILD and kinda sad almost makes me feel bad for mrs. cunt (my sympathy for her evaporated the second when opened her mouth around azzi 🤬🤬)

- the whole last section. omg. i know i already died then came back to life but i am not FLINGING myself back off the cliff 😁

- GODDDD NIVI u talented, talented women i cant believe how you always are able to amaze me with your writing.

- i’m gonna be honest it’s 2am for me i started reading at 10 and i just finished. i kept having to take breaks because i was screaming, no tears though!

- chapter was 100,000/10

- QUESTIONS FOR NEXT CHAPTER:

- OKAY so ms french girl whose name i can’t remember at the moment is no longer playing with the valkyries… are we gonna get like flashbacks of azzi and her in future chapters?

- this may be dumb but if the olympics were 2028 next ones were, 2032 and its 2033 right? so did the other olympics pass? are we gonna learn more about that? did azzi and paige win gold? IM SO CURIOUS!!!!

- okay that’s all i got i think…sorry for yapping so much!

oh also i kept dying but it’s def gonna keep happening tbh

-🤩🤩

HI MY LOVEEEEEE <3

- You're literally the most precious soul ever and lowkey I really needed to hear that cause I do mayhaps stress just a little bit about updating so thank you :)

- I like that you said you were going to stay away from cliffs and then managed to get through exactly one bullet without jumping off a cliff...

- I lowkey don't know a lot about Tallulah either because I only really have second-hand knowledge of the lives so I'm just lowkey molding her into what works for the plot I guess? But I'm sure she's lovely irl too!

- Circumstance truly is a bitch because I think they're both pretty scared of things beyond their control being an obstacle again

- Baby you really went through it for a couple of paragraphs there huh?

- Listen if I have to suffer through baby fever, you're all suffering with me like I keep having to remind myself that a college dorm is not appropriate for a baby bassinet

- MRS CUNT made me cackle out loud

- Omg not 4 hours babes lmao but I'm glad I still haven't brought you to tears!

- Hmmm I lowkey don't think there will be flashbacks of Clémence like that because her and Azzi's past isn't quite as integral as their present (opposite of Olivia in a sense I guess)

- The next Olympics were in fact 2032...I wonder what happened? I wonder if we'll find out?

Never apologize for yapping, it makes me so happy to hear everyone's thoughts!

[butmakeitgayblog]

Do you have any advice for fan fiction writers who aren't getting many readers etc? I feel like giving up some days but I love writing and find fan fiction my personal therapy if that makes sense. I'd love any advice you can give or any suggestions. 💕

Well, honestly I'm not any kind of authority so take whatever I say with a grain of salt. Because honestly, I never really thought I'd get any kind of following to begin with 😕 this surprised me, and still does to this day, more than anyone. When I started posting my first fic (very nervously and through the feeling like I was going to throw up) I thought "well, I'll just write a few chapters and probably no one will ever read it and I'll get bored and it'll be out of my system." And now here we are, and I have no idea how that happened 😳

What advice I can give is, you can't write for the sake of other people. I know that sounds cheap as hell because the whole point of sharing fic is to get feedback and interact with others in the fandom, but really at the heart of it you have to just write stories that you like and you want to read above everything else. Keep writing. Keep growing. Keep refining your work and your style so no matter what the view count is, you know you're becoming a better writer regardless. And truth be told, you never know what idea or fic will hit with readers and what won't. You may write something and think oh no one is gonna gaf about this and then out of nowhere, that's what people love. It happens more than you know.

Another thing is - and this is going to sound harsh at first but bear with me please - in this day and age sadly you have to manage your expectations. Not because you don't deserve more readers or comments or because your work isn't good, but because the culture of fandom and fanfic/fanart is changing, and not for the better. There's dozens of posts that make the rounds on here passively warning people about how a lot of writers and artists are getting burned out and fed up with the lack of reciprocal community from their audience. Tiktok and IG and all that shit has kind of ruined the landscape of fandom because now everything is seen as just consumption based. More and more people read a fic and move on, binge a show and move on, burn through a fandom's entire AO3 content in 3 months and move on, and it sucks. I mean when you look at fandoms of old, the days of Xena and Buffy for example, a lot of those fans are still around and still participating and still creating work even though the show/fandom/ships are long gone. You don't really see that loyalty much anymore, and it becomes a cycle of the fandom shrinking and then the feedback and comments and support grinds to a halt, and then creators stop feeling like wasting hours of their life to pour themselves into work that gets maybe a handful of comments even though they see hundreds or thousands of people have read it. It just sucks all around. So expecting to see the numbers that a fic did even 3-5 years ago, sadly, just isn't going to happen.

BUT

I do also know this, the Clexa fandom has been one of the best fandoms I've ever been in, both as just a fan on the outskirts and someone who tries to contribute. I've found Clexas to be funny and welcoming and we have a core group of fucking awesome and loyal, supportive readers, but the thing is you have to keep going. Sometimes building an audience and a regular group of readers takes time. Name recognition matters. Yes there are writers out there that are just synonymous with the fandom, but there's other writers (hi yes hello me, I mean me lol) who came late to the party and it's taken some time to get people to see their work. Tagging things and reblogging, talking in tags, reaching out to other people in the fandom and making friends who want to help you with your work because you help support theirs. All that stuff. It makes a difference. Damn near every week or so I get a new reader saying "wow idk how I hadn't heard of you before/read your stuff before but I'm glad I found it, keep going!" And that 100% will never have even the possibility of happening if you stop writing!

In the end, you just have to decide what's best for you. If this feels incredibly unhelpful I truly am sorry, I wish I had better advice to give you but I'm as clueless to this all as you are. But 2 things I do know for sure without a doubt? One, there is a place for you in any fandom, and your work does matter. There is an audience out there who want to read what you have to write and they'll love it. And two, in the end just be kind to yourself. Love yourself and be proud of yourself for trying, and for being creative and growing your work. Fanfic is supposed to be fun, writing about your favorite blorbos is meant to be fun, even if more often than not it feels like the equivalent of just dancing alone in your kitchen. Ya get what I mean?

[taomyou]

The Romance of Reimbursements - Chapter 16

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader Status: COMPLETED Summary: There’s a guy you see every Friday on bus 143, and you think he’s pretty hot. It wouldn’t hurt to tell your best friend about him, would it? or, you and Levi take the same bus home from work every Friday, and you fall in love slowly, clumsily, and with all the time in the world to fold as many paper stars as your heart desires. Word Count: 7.7k Tags: slow burn, friends to lovers, modern au, office au, fluff, romance, meet-cute, matchmaking (A/N: this fic is entirely available on ao3 here if you would like to read it there instead!) Chapter Navigation Accompanying Playlist

the feeling not understood

When you're comfortably situated in your usual seat on bus 143 on Monday after work, you reach to take your phone out of your pocket to give yourself something to occupy yourself with for the next 45 minutes. You see a text from Hange, so you smile and go to unlock your phone to read it.

Hange - 5:20 PM

Remember to leave saturday free!!! We're celebrating Moblit's birthday with everyone at Sina's :D

You - 5:22 PM

his birthday is today, right?

Hange - 5:23 PM

Yup!!

You - 5:23 PM

tell him i say happy birthday ^^

Hange - 5:24 PM

What makes you think Im seeing him today?

You smile to yourself and shake your head. Right, they still don't know you know they're together.

You - 5:25 PM

i never said you were going to see him today i simply don't have his number to tell him myself

Hange - 5:25 PM

WAIT HAVE I NEVER ADDED YOU TO OUR GROUP CHAT????? Oh my god I cant believe we've gone this far without adding you IM SO SORRY

You roll your eyes.

You - 5:26 PM

it really isn't a big deal, i don't need anyone's number

Hange - 5:26 PM

NO NO I MUST RIGHT MY WRONGS Honestly tho we never use it anymore bc Levi has had us muted since like february and we have to text him separately anyway STILL I AM SO SO SORRY LET ME ASK THEM RN IF I CAN ADD YOU

Before you can even come up with a way to tell them that you really don't mind that you haven't gotten access to this apparently dead group chat, you see a text from a group chat titled The Hottest People Ever. You giggle at the title before switching over to see what's going on there.

Hange's typing when you get loaded in, but they're taking a while to type out whatever they're trying to say, so you go to check who's in the group chat. There's two numbers you don't have saved (presumably Mike and Moblit), Hange, of course, Levi, and Erwin.

Erwin's number is actually saved as "Erwin (WORK, DO NOT ANSWER)" because you haven't had the chance to change it since becoming better friends, so you quickly remove the parenthetical before clicking back to the chat.

Hange - 5:30 PM

Hello!!! WELCOME TO THE GROUP CHAT ASTRAEA!! Everyone say hi pls :D 

Unknown Number - 5:31 PM

Hello! This is Moblit :)

You - 5:32 PM

hi!! happy birthday ^^

You quickly go to add him to your contacts, as well as Mike since he’s probably the other number you don’t already have.

Moblit - 5:33 PM

Oh, thank you!

Everyone else is probably busy, going by the fact that there’s no other texts that come in, so you exit out of the chat to scroll through SNS.

In the middle of you reading some random news article talking about the economy, you get a text from Erwin.

Weird, he never texts you. If anything, he’s the type to only call.

You tap on the notification to see what’s up.

Erwin - 6:05 PM

Sorry for the late notice, but could you stay late tomorrow? I need help with something.

The period at the end of the message comes off as way more passive aggressive than you’re sure he intended, but you still feel intimidated by the relatively minor punctuation.

You - 6:08 PM

Sure.

You cringe when you go to send the message, the capitalization and punctuation too serious for how you normally text, but you figure that’s good enough of a way to respond to Erwin (who was just speaking to you as your boss and not your friend).

You hope that he takes offense to your reply, actually. Who actually wants to stay even later than normal at their fucking office job?

You get home soon thereafter, and while you do your homely chores and get dinner ready, you try your best to take your mind off of the impending doom that awaits you at work tomorrow. Knowing how the workflow has been for the last… four months now, Erwin’s probably asking for your help for the rest of the week and not just Tuesday.

At least you have Saturday’s dinner to look forward to. Maybe you can tell the waiter to pick Erwin’s credit card in the roulette.

✰

The next morning when you leave for work, you're unsurprised to see Moblit walking out of Hange's apartment, arms full with bags of gifts. You both wave to each other in greeting, and because you're both headed in the same direction, you end up walking together.

“Need help with the gifts?”

“No, I’m alright. Thank you for offering, though!”

“You sure? Your arms are, uh, pretty full.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind.”

There’s a door between where you are and where the elevator is, so you go ahead and get that open so he can get through. You push the button for the ground floor, and he thanks you before the both of you step into the lift.

“How’re you and Hange? You guys look really happy together,” you tell him in earnest.

“Oh! Have they finally told you? I thought they wanted to keep it a secret, like, for fun.”

You roll your eyes. “They haven’t, you guys are just terrible at sneaking around.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, I guess we are. I run into you practically every time I’m leaving their place.”

“Yeah, I don’t really know what you were thinking with that,” you say.

The elevator beeps once you’ve reached the ground floor, and you step out first so you can hold the doors open as he stumbles out. He thanks you, and before you split paths, he answers your question from earlier.

“And we’re great, I feel like I’m falling in love with them all over again,” he beams. “I’ve had a crush on them since uni, but I didn’t really know what to do about it until a couple months ago.”

You reflexively smile and go to put a hand over your heart. Moblit’s such a sweet guy, you really couldn’t wish anyone better for your best friend.

“You guys are so cute,” you gush. “Drop hints to go public, yeah? I have a bunch of candid photos of you and them walking in the courtyard here, and I’m sure Hange would want them.”

He perks up. “Wait, could you send those to me? My phone wallpaper is just an old picture of us at graduation, but I’ve been meaning to change it.”

You nod enthusiastically. “Yeah, of course, I’ll get them to you!”

You wave goodbye to him, and he gives you a nod before heading off to the parking lot and presumably back to his car.

Ugh, you hate the both of them (in a “they’re so cute, I need to strangle them” kind of way).

As you’re walking over to the bus station, you sigh, remembering what Erwin texted you yesterday.

Thinking about it presently, what is there for you to even help him with? He definitely is the better lawyer between the two of you (objectively, at the very least), so what does he need you specifically for?

Yeah, you most definitely will be making sure his card gets chosen on Saturday.

✰

Turns out, Erwin needed you to review some work reports, entrusting the task to you while he's gone at higher-up meetings. You were right to assume that it wouldn’t be just Tuesday—it was Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.

Reviewing such paperwork isn’t particularly difficult, but it takes fucking forever, and you can’t afford to make any mistakes. Because of this, the next couple of days pass by slowly, with both nothing and everything happening all at once.

Unfortunately, the slow pace doesn’t mean anything anyway because you aren't able to get even a second to breathe, and when you finally go to take your seat next to Levi on Friday at 3:02 PM, you can only greet him with a defeated sigh.

It’s a miracle you’re here at all, considering how late you’ve been coming out of the office for the last 3 days. How you managed to get all of your work done before this exact moment, you have no idea.

You’re too exhausted to try and strike up conversation in the moment, so you prop your briefcase up higher so you can put your head down on it comfortably and close your eyes.

“Sorry, is it okay if I rain check on talking today?” Your voice comes out weaker than you intend it to, but you’re much too tired to pay any attention to it.

You feel a bit of weight at your left side, and you’re unsurprised when you turn to see that Levi’s lightly tapped his shoulder against yours.

“Yeah, get some sleep.”

You hum tiredly. “I don’t need sleep.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yep, I just need to quit my job,” you whine. “Ugh, I still have to go grocery shopping, maybe I’ll go tomorrow.”

“Are you actually going to do that? Quit your job?”

“Of course not, but it’s nice to dream.”

Your mind actually is too busy to let you fall asleep even with your head down, so you just sit there quietly, waiting for the bus to eventually get to your destination.

For whatever reason, it feels like it’s enough to just be sitting next to Levi. Your nerves leave you slowly, and you eventually get to settle further into your spot and enjoy as the scenery passes you by.

It’s the middle of spring, so the flora on the route is in full bloom, lighting up the way with bright colors and visible gusts of pollen.

You wish you could muster up the energy to talk to Levi—to ask him about his week, to tell him about yours.. You’re not physically tired; you very well could.

But when you turn to look at him, he looks content with the silence that covers the two of you, going by his stare out at the same flowery paths that pass by in the window.

You open your mouth to speak, but you can’t find the words to say. Somehow, you can sense that if you do talk, he’s just going to tell you to shut up anyway.

Or maybe he’d look up the definition of “rain check” on his phone to make sure you understand what it means.

You smile gently at the thought before putting your head down again on your briefcase, and you close your eyes. Not really to sleep, but you might as well try to get some of your energy back before heading home.

✰

When the bus’s sound system tells you that you’ve reached Rose, you lift your head from your briefcase and yawn, making sure to cover your mouth. “Get home safe, Levi,” you tell him, slowly blinking yourself awake.

When you wave goodbye to him, however, you’re taken off-guard by the warmth that takes over you when he takes hold of your hand and gently pulls you up.

You get the message quickly enough and scramble to get your briefcase secured in your other hand, but you’re unable to ask any questions as you try to get yourself oriented enough to get off the bus. 

You manage to tell the driver a “thank you,” but other than that, you’re at a loss for words until you’re both safely on the sidewalk, the bus leaving a huge gust of wind behind it and blowing both your and Levi's hair in all directions.

The two of you just stare at each other, daring the other to speak, but you hardly feel like you’re the one who has to do any explaining.

And he probably feels the same way, because he wordlessly turns away from you and lightly tugs at your hand. When he starts walking, you have to jog a step or two to catch up with him.

“Where are we going?”

He doesn’t slow his pace, instead giving a squeeze to your hand. The contact is hardly meaningful in that he’s probably only holding your hand to drag you around, so you won’t take it as anything else.

“Surprise.”

Well, you doubt he could take you anywhere surprising, especially when you know that the only things in the immediate area are Magnolia Floral Company, the supermarket, and his car, but you suppose you’ll entertain him. Not like you have anywhere else to be anyway.

When you’re taken to the front of the supermarket, you’re hardly surprised, but you still play along. “The grocery store? I never would’ve guessed!”

He rolls his eyes and flicks your forehead, eliciting a whine from you. “Really, now?”

While you rub at your forehead to make a show of the pain (it really doesn’t hurt at all, it’s just in good fun), he drags you both over to get a shopping cart. He puts his backpack in, and you follow suit with your briefcase.

He lets go of your hand to push the cart, and you feel like you miss the warmth. It’s hardly winter, and the weather is definitely warm enough, but your hand feels… cold, all of a sudden.

Instead of weaving through the lanes like you’d think he normally would, he stops at the very beginning of the produce section and just stares at you.

You blink owlishly at him. “What’re you looking at me for?”

He rolls his eyes, almost ruefully so. “You’re the one who has to get groceries, or did you forget already?���

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s why we’re here?”

“Yes, so start putting shit in and let me pay while you’re at it,” he says. Before you can protest, he continues. “And none of your ‘stop paying me back’ shit, we both know neither of us are letting up anytime soon.”

You’re still frozen in place, at yet another loss for words, but when Levi reaches over to seemingly try and flick your forehead again, you move out of the way to get out in front of him. “Okay, okay, but you have to get something too. I don’t want this to be a waste of your time.”

He scoffs. “As if I have anything better to do right now.”

You lead the both of you through the aisles, looking at anything and everything. You’re hesitant to add things to the cart, but even when you put things back on the shelf, Levi moves to put them in anyway. You chastise him for it, telling him you don’t want him spending too much money on you, but he just flips you off and continues to follow you as you venture through the store.

At the checkout, he’s quick to get ahead of you so you don't get the chance to pay, and you just roll your eyes before loading everything on the conveyor belt.

When the cashier hands the receipt to him, Levi scratches both the singular and total prices out with his nail before handing the long sheet to you. “For you to make your stars.”

You take it from him with a nod, and you tuck it into your pocket before helping him put everything back in the cart. He pushes it out for you, and before you know it, you’re both in front of his car.

“I assume you’re driving me home.”

“No, you’re gonna have to haul all of this stuff back to the bus,” he deadpans. “Yes, get in.”

You laugh. “At least let me help put everything in your car.”

He shakes his head, but he lets you do just that. He wheels the cart back to its designated space in the parking lot after handing you his keys to start the car, and you get yourself situated in the passenger seat after you do that. By the time he comes back, you’ve already torn off your first strip of paper, and you’re looping it onto itself.

He reaches over you to his glove box, and from it, he pulls out a small box of blueberry merlot tea. He puts it between the both of you on the little open space, probably because your hands aren’t free in the moment.

“Did you take me grocery shopping because you forgot to bring the tea with you?” You ask.

He hums to himself as he goes to back out of the parking space, his hand on the back of your headrest. “Maybe,” he replies, “but Erwin’s been complaining about work a lot more than usual, which means you probably had a tough week too. Might as well help make you feel better while you’re here.”

You sigh. “As if it isn’t his fault I’ve been so busy at the office. That fucker asked me to help with reports all week.”

“Or so I’ve heard. Don’t worry, I chewed him out for it already.”

You laugh, and you shake your head. “Thank you, I guess.”

As always, the drive is silent, save for the rustling of paper. You reach your apartment easily enough, and he goes ahead and parks in the parking garage for the building. You hand him the stars you’ve made from the receipt, and he reaches over again for his glove box to put them away.

You know he’s going to do it anyway, so you let him carry some of the groceries up to your apartment with you. When you reach your unit, you get your keys and open the door to let him in to get everything set on the table.

You’re still at the door, watching as he does that, and when he comes back to you to leave, he gives a curt nod.

“Get home safe.”

“Stealing my jokes now?”

“I made it first.”

You blink. “Huh? When?”

He rolls his eyes. “When I dropped you off after our Valentine’s Day disaster.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “You still make fun of me when I say it.”

“It’s only funny when I say it.”

“You get home safe too, then.”

He nods, and you watch as he starts to walk back in the direction you both came from, and before you can stop yourself, you yell out his name.

“Levi!”

He isn’t too far, so the volume really isn’t necessary, but he still turns around. “What?”

You look back and forth between him and the groceries that’re set on your dining table, and you think for maybe two seconds before deciding that it’d only be fair for him to at least have some use for your groceries, seeing as he’s the one who paid for them.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” You ask.

He stares blankly back at you, but after checking the time on his watch, he eventually shrugs and walks back over to you. “Sure, but only if you let me help cook.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and you open the door further to let him inside again. “Okay, fine.”

You go to quickly change out of your work clothes, not wanting to get them dirty with anything in the kitchen, and you bring back the same set of clothes Levi wore last time he was over so he can do the same. He excuses himself to go change, and you hum to yourself as you get everything sorted out so you can figure out what to cook for the both of you. Levi comes back out relatively quickly, his work clothes neatly folded up, and he sets that at the edge of your dining table before joining you in the kitchen.

You aren’t able to figure out what you should make, but it seems that Levi has more cooking knowledge than you when he naturally takes initiative in deciding for the both of you. Of course, he asks you if it’s alright to use any ingredients before he does, but you wave him off every time and tell him that he doesn’t need to keep asking.

You let him guide you throughout everything, listening along as he directs you to chop this, stir that, whatever it is. There isn’t much room for any other conversation, but that’s fine with you.

Dinner gets made quickly enough, and with a pot of blueberry merlot tea between the two of you, you start to eat.

You take a sip of the tea first, though, and you give it a solid 7/10. He does the same, but he gives a 5/10, citing the fact that it doesn’t have caffeine as reason for its lowered rating.

You both take the time now to talk about work, since you weren’t able to earlier on the bus, and conversation flows easily. Talking about the misery of the last workweek makes up for the trouble because it lets you completely let go of any of the anxieties you had about it, and when Levi talks about the hell that is grading college papers, you know he feels the same as you do.

After you’re both done venting about work and your coworkers and your clients and practically everyone else in the world, the topic shifts over to Moblit’s birthday dinner the next day.

“Are you bringing a present?”

He shakes his head. “He’s not a gifts person, never accepts them from anyone.”

You go to cover your mouth to stifle your giggle. “Right, right.”

“How’s that funny?”

“I saw him leaving Hange’s place on Tuesday, he was bringing home a bunch of gifts from them.”

Levi sighs, shaking his head again. “I would say I’m surprised, but I’m not.”

“Does he like sweets? I’d feel awkward showing up without at least that.”

“That’s not a terrible idea, but knowing him, he’s probably going to give it all to Hange.”

“That’s alright, still better than nothing,” you muse, swirling the teacup in your hand. “We could make something together. Maybe you could bring some of it home for Isabel and Furlan, too?”

Levi hums. “If you’re fine with it.”

You nod, going to take another sip of your tea before gathering your now-finished plate and utensils to bring to the sink. You hold out another hand to Levi’s spot at the table, and he shoos your hand away before getting up himself to put his tableware into the sink.

He tries to start washing them, but you gently shove him out of the way before turning on the faucet.

“Remember what we said? No washing dishes at the other person’s place.”

He doesn’t give any contest, but he grabs the small dish towel that hangs on a ring above your sink, and he waits next to you so that he can dry the dishes before putting them away.

The running water is loud enough to fill your relatively small apartment, so neither you nor Levi feel any need to talk. While Levi finishes up with drying and putting your tableware away, you take out your recipe book from one of the upper cupboards.

You check the time on your phone: 7:31 PM.

It's quite late already, so you flip through the pages to try and find something that doesn’t take that long to make. Levi is done with getting everything put away shortly thereafter, and he comes up next to you to watch as you figure out what to make.

“Is there anything he likes in particular?” You ask.

“He likes brownies,” he answers. “Do you know how to make those?”

You look over at him, mock offense on your face. “You think I don’t know how to make brownies?”

He puts his hands up, sarcastically so. “Sue me.”

You shake your head with a smile, and you go to close your recipe book. “I will.” You start heading over to your cabinets to get the ingredients, knowing already what you need. “Could you get some eggs and butter from the fridge? Just take out everything you can find.”

“Yeah.”

Soon enough, there’s a hefty pile of ingredients on your kitchen counter, and now you’re the one directing Levi to do things. You turn on the oven and get the ingredients measured out, but you leave everything else up to Levi.

Brownies are certainly not complicated and you could have very easily just made these on your own, but you still feel happy to be making them with him. He struggles a bit here and there, but he doesn’t give up, which is more than you could say for Hange whenever you’re in these situations with them.

It’s weird. Ordinarily when you teach other people how to bake, they feel more like a hindrance to the process than any help.

You let Levi finish mixing the batter while you get the pans prepared, and you can see a faint smile on his face when he goes to pour it all in.

It warms your heart to know that he’s having fun, even if he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing.

You’ve just finished putting away the dirtied utensils and food scale, so you come over to where he is so you can help scrape off the rest of the batter from the bowl.

You quickly get some star confetti sprinkles from your cabinet to put on top (you know, to make the brownies more birthday-esque, or whatever), and you hand the shaker to Levi once the lid’s off.

After that, you open the oven door for him to slide the pans inside, and you close it once they’re all neatly put in.

Looking over at him now, you laugh when you’re met with a better view of his flour-dusted front. “Can I take a picture?”

“Fuck no,” he scoffs. “How long do they take in the oven?”

You shrug. “40 minutes, give or take.” He looks past you and at the bathroom, and so you assume he wants to wash up. “You can shower, if you’d like.”

“I am never taking a shower here ever again,” he laments. “I’ll just go change back into my work clothes.”

“My shower really isn’t that hard to use, but that's fine,” you tease.

He walks past you and into the bathroom, making sure to stop by at the dining table to pick up his clothes on his way there. You go ahead and get started on washing even more dishes, and you hum to yourself as you scrub them clean.

Levi comes back just in time to grab the drying towel a second time, and he does that next to you while you wash the soap off your arms.

For the rest of the time the brownies bake, you and Levi migrate over to the couch and turn on the TV. Thankfully, you find a decently entertaining episode of Shark Tank to put on, and you and Levi shout at the TV when the contestants pass on offers from the Sharks or when the investors say something stupid.

The oven beeps to tell you that the brownies are ready, so you excuse yourself to go take those out to cool. You’re quick in doing so, and not even three minutes later, you’re back on the couch, screaming at Mark Cuban for passing on an especially cute line of plush animals.

You and Levi spend the next hour or so keeping up with this. Thankfully, all the contestants in this extended episode are incredibly bad at their pitch, so there’s no hard feelings from either of you when practically all of them leave the Tank without any deals.

You doubt that Levi understands the business lingo any better than you do, but you’re glad he finds as much fun in yelling at the screen as you do.

The ending credits roll, and you stretch upwards, yawning. “What time is it?”

Levi checks his watch. “10:15.”

You hum. “Let me get some brownies for you to take home.” You get up from your spot on the couch, and Levi follows closely after you. You grab some cellophane bags, twist ties, and star tags from your cabinet, as well as some disposable gloves for yourself.

You move everything over to the dining table so you can sit while you work, and when you come back with a knife to cut everything, Levi’s there too.

“Can I help?”

You nod with a lazy smile on your face.

“Please.”

You slip on your gloves after giving the bags to Levi, and you carefully go to cut out neat squares from the pans.

“Where’d you learn how to bake?” He asks.

You sigh. “It’s been a while since anyone’s asked me that.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly.

“No, you’re good.” You hum as you reangle your knife to start going in the perpendicular direction. “I don’t know, everywhere? I watched my mom do it as a kid, and I picked it up as a hobby when I was in high school.”

“You didn’t come out of the womb with a whisk?”

You snort. “No, but I might as well have. Could you open a bag for me?”

He does, and you slip in the first brownie.

“Thanks.”

“Did you ever want to be a baker? Not that law isn’t admirable either.”

You nod, careful as you continue putting away brownies. Levi continues holding out bags for you to do it efficiently.

“A little, but I didn’t really consider it when I got older. It’s still fun, though, I like it a lot,” you tell him.

“Evidently.”

You smile, shaking your head. “Yeah, I’m sure.” One of the brownie’s hasn’t been cut properly, so you set that aside for you and Levi to have later. “It’s nice anyway, everyone likes being friends with the baker, so it made socializing easier for me.”

“Had trouble making friends?”

You shrug. “I guess, yeah. I was always busy with school, so I never really went out. Baking just gave me another crutch.”

He nods in understanding. “If it’s worth anything, I don’t think anybody now only sees you as a free baker.”

“Not even Isabel?”

He scrunches his nose and aggressively shakes his head. “Absolutely not, she never fucking shuts up about how much she loves you.”

You laugh. “She’s a sweet kid.”

“Hange used to call you ‘Sugar,’ though. Before we knew your name.”

You cringe. “That’s the name they chose for me? I couldn’t get something cooler?”

He nods nonchalantly. “They would not shut up about how they hit the jackpot getting you as a neighbor because you’d always come over with snacks for them.”

You laugh at the memory. “Yeah, I was still used to baking for groups of people, and I didn’t know what else to do with my leftovers.”

By now, all the brownies have been put into their bags, so you go to throw away your gloves, get the pans in the sink, and come back with two pens to write on the tags. You hand one to Levi, and you tell him to just write whatever he wants for Isabel and Furlan, and you can do the tags for Moblit.

You make sure to put that one misshapen brownie on a plate between the two of you, and while you write, you both take small pieces from it.

“Did Hange ever give me a different name or did they stick with Sugar?” You ask.

“You know them, they never change names for anyone,” he complains. “They say it works anyway, since you’re apparently so sweet.”

“What, you don’t think I am?” You tease. You’re both looking down at your writing so you don’t catch his reaction to that, but he does take a while to respond.

“I never said that.”

The two of you continue writing on the tags in silence, and soon enough, all of them are being looped onto iridescent twist ties. There’s more than enough for Levi to take home with him even after you have a good amount prepared for Moblit, so you have to excuse yourself to grab a bag for him to put his share in.

You hold the bag open for Levi to put everything inside, and you laugh when you see that he’s addressed Isabel and Furlan with curse words instead of their names on his tags. He helps you put Moblit’s share into some boxes that you had leftover from when you made all that shortbread for him a while ago.

You watch as Levi slides on his shoes, and before you can open the door to let him out, you remember he still has your clothes.

“You can just leave the clothes you borrowed here.”

“I don’t mind taking care of it.”

You wave him off. “It’s okay, I’m doing laundry tomorrow anyway.”

“If you say so.” He unloops one of his backpack straps to bring it forward and take out your clothes.

You take them from him. “Yeah.” You go to open the door for him, and he steps out into the hallway.

You bring your hand up to wave goodbye to him, but before you can actually do the motion, he brings his hand up too. You half expect him to grab your hand again, like he did on the bus, or maybe even give you a hi-five, but instead, he swipes at your cheek with his thumb.

Again, it feels warm—comfortable. You almost feel yourself wanting to lean into the touch further, but his hand doesn’t linger on your skin for any longer than it needs to.

He flips his thumb back to you. “Crumb.”

You nervously laugh, rubbing the back of your neck with your already raised hand. “Right, thanks. Get home safe, Levi.”

“You too.”

“I’m sure I will.”

This time, when you watch his figure disappear around the corner of your apartment floor’s hallway, you don’t call after him.

You almost wish you do, only to see his face again before he has to go.

✰

The next day, you feel… confused as you go through the motions of your morning and afternoon. Hange comes over at around 4 to get ready with you, and you manage to fend off the nerves, but they come back again in the car.

For once, you’re grateful their driving is so horrendous. If anything, you’ll just let the feeling of crashing be more paramount than anything else.

Nothing even happened last night. Nothing insurmountable, at least. He went grocery shopping with you, drove you home, you invited him inside to make dinner and dessert with you, and he left.

But the feeling—this one, where you feel so comfortable—you don’t know what to do with it.

It doesn’t have you red in the face. It doesn’t fill your stomach with butterflies. It doesn’t force you to shy away from spending time with him.

If anything, it prompts you to do exactly that. It’s weird. It’s so glaringly different from the attraction you felt in the beginning, when you didn’t know his name and he was just another stranger you saw on the bus once a week.

Do you even have to figure this out? It could very well just be something completely normal, and you’ve been overthinking it this entire time.

Hange suddenly stops the car, which snaps you out of your thoughts. Though you’re grateful for the mental break, you have to grip even harder than you already were on the grip handle above your seat.

“What the fuck, man!?”

They only laugh before going to take their key out of the ignition. “Well, we’re here!”

You shudder before getting out of the car, careful not to forget anything, and the two of you join the others in the waiting area. You’re the last to arrive, courtesy of Hange’s poor driving skills, and you watch as they naturally drift towards Moblit.

Mike and Erwin, upon seeing you and Hange enter, go to the reservations desk to presumably tell them “table for Smith,” and that leaves you and Levi alone with each other. You raise the boxes of brownies you brought with you, and he nods in acknowledgement of it.

“Did Isabel and Furlan like them?” You ask, unsure of what else to talk about.

“They liked them too much,” he whines. “Begged me for the recipe and everything.”

“I don’t have one written down, but I can do that on a napkin while we wait for our food,” you offer.

“That’d be nice,” he says. You nod, and then your group of six are guided by a hostess.

The rest of the night is a whirlwind, spurred by Hange’s excitement to celebrate their boyfriend’s birthday with their other friends present. You hand Moblit his brownies, and like the saint he is, he thanks you before splitting it up between everyone at the table. You, Levi, and Erwin refuse them, but he insists that he’d rather share than have to take so many of them home.

You aren’t able to write out the recipe on a napkin as promised because the napkins are fabric, but after figuring out the measurements for a more… manageable batch, you text the information to Levi.

Levi does actually call over the waitress to bring over paper napkins for you, just like when you both came here on Valentine’s Day, and you thank him before starting to tear at the paper. You hand that one to Levi, and instead of rejecting it like you expect him to, he takes it and waits for you to make yours so he can follow along again.

When the food eventually comes to your table, all six of you can do is eat in silence to savor the expensive taste as well as you can. There’s no drinking tonight, probably because everyone drove here in smaller groups and it’d be too inconvenient to figure out how to get home, but it’s still lively and exciting.

Towards the end of the night, you and Hange slip away to “the bathroom” to tell the waitress that it’s Moblit’s birthday and to pick Erwin’s credit card, and when you come back, you both have to act surprised when the whole restaurant starts singing Happy Birthday and when Erwin gets fucked by the expensive bill.

Levi seems to catch on that you’re responsible for Erwin losing the roulette, but he only rolls his eyes and doesn’t make a scene out of it.

When everything’s paid for and everyone’s back outside, just about ready to part ways for the night, Hange winces.

“What’s wrong?” You ask.

They nervously go to scratch behind their ears. “Do you think you could find another ride home? I totally forgot to tell you, but I’m going over to Moblit’s to, uh,” their gaze drifts off to their not-so-secret lover, “test some liquor!”

You should’ve expected as much, but it’s no trouble.

Get some, Hange!

You wave them off, and you look around at the group. “I’m sure least one of them have a seat to spare.”

They wrap you in a warm hug, nearly crushing you, and you return the gesture with just as much enthusiasm. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love you so much!”

You try to wiggle out of their grip after a while, but they don’t really let up, instead rocking back-and-forth with you still in their arms.

Their grip on you finally loosens up when Levi comes up to you, and he practically has to pry them off of you before they let go. You thank him, and Hange’s off to go… test liquor with Moblit, the two of them headed for where Hange parked their car.

Erwin chimes in first. “Mike and I live in the opposite direction, so you can go with Levi.”

“Is that okay with you?” You ask him.

Instead of answering, Levi goes to stomp (lightly) on your toes, and you take that as a yes.

You and Levi give your goodbyes to the other two men, and you follow him to his car.

This sure does feel like a repeat of Valentine’s Day. It's parked in the exact same spot.

When you’re both in the car and about ready to leave, he hands you the receipt, telling you that Erwin forgot to take it before he left. You thank him for the paper, and you promptly start tearing and folding it.

The ride is completely silent, again, with only the sound of crinkling paper filling the vehicle, but it’s comfortable. Almost alarmingly so.

You drop the stars into the palm of Levi’s hand when he’s parked at the curb of your building, he reaches over to put them away in his glove box, and nothing is said other than a “get home safe” from the both of you.

When you get safely inside your apartment, you don’t even know what you’re supposed to do.

At least when you were constantly anxious and high-alert around Levi, you could at least find reason to denounce those feelings and get rid of them.

Maybe you should ask Erwin to give you extra work this week to distract yourself.

Who are you kidding, you definitely aren’t going to do that.

Still, when you go to sleep that night, you wish for more opportunities to skip on thinking about it entirely, and even more opportunities to just enjoy the feeling while it’s there.

✰

Both fortunately and unfortunately, your wish is granted to you.

Unlike last week, this week is fast. It rushes past you, works you as hard as it can, and spits you out without so much as a “thank you” for your efforts.

Erwin, bless his heart, apologizes profusely and comes by your office often to check up on you, but you barely spare him a glance whenever he passes through.

The only silver lining in any of this is that Friday comes just as quickly. That and the fact that the hustle and bustle doesn’t give you any time to overthink any of your feelings.

When you go to take your seat on bus 143 at 3:09 PM on Friday, you have to put your head down after you hand Levi his tea. You ask for another rain check, and Levi doesn’t make any fuss about it before taking out his phone to busy himself.

Unfortunately, because there’s a lot of traffic on this particular Friday, there’s plenty of starts and stops, all of which break you out of your resting state. The sounds of city bustle don’t help either. When the bus comes to a sudden halt for what feels like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes, you groan and lean your head back, looking up at the ceiling.

You chuckle halfheartedly. “Maybe I should just jump out the window and walk the rest of the way home.”

Levi scoffs next to you. “We’re still in the city, you might as well stay here until Monday.”

“That’d be better than getting shaken awake every three seconds.”

“You were sleeping?"

“I wasn’t, but I can’t really rest with the traffic. My briefcase isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world either.” You sigh and prop your elbow on your lap, resting your head on your hand. “So, how was your week? We might as well talk if I can’t keep my eyes closed.”

He doesn’t say anything, so you naturally turn to look at him. He’s propping up his backpack straighter on his lap, and he slides his phone into the front pocket.

He turns to look at you when that’s done, and the two of you hold eye contact before he looks away and out the window in front of your seats.

“You can rest on my shoulder.”

You lazily shake your head. “No, it’s okay. That’s probably uncomfortable for you, and you seem tired enough from work.”

“You literally look like you’re about to fall forward,” he scolds. “And no talking, you need to rest.”

“Geez, you make it sound like I’m sick or something,” you joke.

“Picked it up from you,” he contests.

You follow his gaze out towards the window, and you hum. “But it’s okay, I can stay up.” As if on cue, you have to yawn, and you can see Levi shake his head out of the corner of your eye.

Before you can bark out something to dismiss any further scolding, you hear him turning towards you again. You wait, still staring out the window, but you watch as his left hand reaches over to push your head gently onto his right shoulder.

It feels awkward, honestly, and you kinda want to laugh.

You’d think the touch was romantic, but it hardly is when he struggles to reach over the backpack in his lap and your briefcase, and the bumps of the roads that knock you back-and-forth hardly do anything to help the atmosphere either.

But still, the act has you breaking out into a shy smile.

Had it been months ago, you probably would’ve passed out then-and-there from just his touch alone, but you don’t feel any red creeping up at all.

Just a quiet, comfortable glow in your chest, and a smile that acts as a silent thanks to him for lending you his shoulder for the rest of the ride.

He pulls his hand away from your head, and he reorients himself to look outside again, and he sits up straight against the back of the seat. You don’t dare move your head away, instead just slightly turning to look at his face, and you close your eyes once you see that he's comfortably settled back into his seat.

“So, how was your—”

“Just shut the fuck up,” he mumbles.

You sleepily hum. “You like silencing women?”

He groans. “Fuck off.”

You laugh and shake your head, position permitting. You close your eyes, and you hum to yourself as you try to find your sleep.

Yeah, you can figure out your feelings later.

You know you definitely shouldn’t be continuing to put off the emotionally daunting task, but you definitely don’t want to confront anything right now.

You still think it’s weird, that much hasn’t changed. And this is definitely not normal. That much is apparent, more so now than before when you were first starting to question things halfheartedly.

All you need to know is that here, with him, you’re comfortable.

For you, it’s enough to know that. Even if it isn’t, you’re okay with not knowing anything else, so you'll just spend the next... however many minutes left of your ride through the traffic, with him, trying to imprint the comfort that he gives you into yourself as well as you can.

✰

Next Chapter

[distinguisheddingus]

Little rant about Steve's family and his childhood trauma.

I often think about Steve's family situation. In some fics his parents are portrayed as absent but loving but I think this doesn't exactly add up to what we canonically know about Steve's family (although it is very little). Steve only mentions his family twice in the entire show in two occasions:

after the party where Barb disappeared saying his parents would be pissed off.

in relation to his non-admission to college saying (if I remember correctly) that his father had cut his funds and for this he had to find a job.

From here we can already begin to understand some things about this family. Season 1's Steve comes across as something of a golden boy type with a rebellious side. We know 17-year-old Steve, affluent, with typical good-guy looks, (what he basically turns out to be) and fame as the "king" of high school. He is immature, self-absorbed, a bully with a reputation for sleeping with many girls. In short, he's in his rebellious phase and this made me reflect on the reasons behind this behavior.

According to the basics of psychology, it could be said that his behavior depends mainly on the absence of his parents, on the desperate desire to be noticed by them, like "I need you to be there for me so if I do this you can't ignore me" and this makes me think that he had a very lonely childhood. His parents probably filled him with toys in an attempt to "fill" the void of their absence. So in Steve's life there's this constant sense of loneliness, the terror of being loved and not loved enough.

The reaction to the breakup with Nancy could be interpreted as perfectly normal, but if we look closely we notice that the next day Steve's first reaction to Nancy was passive-aggressiveness. It gives me the impression in that scene that doesn't wats to have a real confrontation (he didn't look for answers, he just fired shots (?) at her), but rather he just wants to hurt Nancy as much as she hurt him. Because he knew exactly where that conversation would lead them.

During the show we then see how this breakup has signed him. The façade of self-centered King Steve falls away, making room for a guy who would do anything for the people he loves like putting his life on the line so many times for his friends, always ready to sacrifice himself. And all this because he is desperately afraid of losing the people he loves. Steve would give his life for who he cares about and in my opinion there is a real childhood trauma behind it.

During the show there were two relationships that mainly influenced Steve's change: the one with Nancy and the one with Dustin.

Talking about how his relationship with Nancy, it changed him dramatically. Personally I don't think that the motivation behind that change is "Nancy Wheeler" per se but what he had experienced with her, as her boyfriend. Let's make a premise, I am strongly convinced of the fact that much of Steve's attraction for Nancy depends on the fact that she represents in some way a mother figure, who has become increasingly stronger over the course of the series. Steve found in Nancy the tenderness, the attention, the love, the care that he probably didn't fully experience in his family, especially from his mother figure. Mrs Harrington is in fact kind of a mystical figure, she hasn't been mentioned once in four seasons and this makes me think she's probably even more absent than Steve's father is (I would love to know what is their job). Moreover, attending the Wheeler house, Steve experienced the sense of family. In several scenes in S1 we often see the Wheelers sitting at the table as the typical normal family... Ted reading the newspaper, Karen feeding baby Holly in the high chair, Nancy and Mike fighting over the most trivial things.

In short, these are all things that Steve has never experienced and we may had the confirmation in the S4, when Steve tells about his dream of the 6 little nuggets to Nancy and he does that with a great family desire. He would like to live and let his future children experience what he has probably always lacked. The love and the unconditional support from a family. And here we come to Steve's innate sense of fatherhood. We all know that our beloved babysitter is always ready to support his kids, whether we see it when he goes to watch Lucas' game, when he gives girlfriend advice to Dustin or worries for the safety of Erika and Max... We don't t need to repeat that Steve would risk his life for them. But of all, his friendship with Dustin is what we all adored the most on the show.

Steve is not only a friend to Dustin, but a real mentor. He's been doing it from the beginning, starting with giving him advice on girls and hair, to being there for him when he needed it the most. And when Eddie Munson came into the picture he was so freaking jealous (poor daddy Steve).

But the question I asked myself was… Why does Steve act like this more with Dustin than with the other kids? And the answer came almost spontaneously. Dustin doesn't have a father. In reality, in the first season there was a Mr Henderson who then magically disappears, in fact in the following seasons we see that Dustin lives with his mother and Mews, and his father is not named even by mistake. And that got everyone thinking that Dustin's dad is probably gone. Canonically we know that Dustin hasn't always live in Hawkins and its possible that the Henderson spouses had divorced long before season 1 and probably Claudia and Dustin moved to Hawkins following the separation. And here' again abandonment's trauma... Steve knows what it means to experience the absence of a parent and probably almost unconsciously decides to replace this figure in Dustin's life within the limits of his possibilities.

And this is all. I just felt like sharing my rant on this topic. So I'll leave you (to go back to studying 🥲) asking you two questions: what do you think? And above all... what profession do you think Steve's parents do?

They are rich, they're never home... and this made me think that they could work for the government or something like that.

*sorry for any errors, blame Google Translate

[tessiete]

4 & 27!

@smilebackwards I'm so thankful you've given me this chance to articulate myself, especially after I've been talking your ear off about MEANING and INTENTION AND OMG GOOD OMENS.

So. Thank you for your indulgence. You're incredible.

From these questions here

4. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

Aaaaah, a classic! And yet, I've never read someone give anything replicable, so I don't know if this will be interesting or helpful, but maaaaybe??

I think I find inspiration in two main sources:

Things I wish I could do

Sometimes I'll see a work that I love so much I want to "Yes, and!" it. So, generally, I'll also break this down -- what is this story about? What is the author trying to tell me? What's the point?

And then I try and anticipate it.

OR what do I want to say about this piece?

For Good Omens, I fundamentally think it's a story about Becoming, so the fic that I'm dallying with is meant to extrapolate on that theory by exploring what UnBecoming means.

For Star Wars, I'll look at something that really grips me, like Anakin and Obi-Wan, and write about what it means to hold attachment, or the nature of love and injury, or brotherhood. I'll try and explore my own opinions on those things.

2. Things I wish someone had done better

I really enjoy picking apart the meaning of stories, and if I feel that some particular thing has either objectively failed in its intent, or else failed me subjectively in some way, I try to figure out what it is that went wrong and then I imagine how I would fix it.

We might refer to this as the Spite Write. For instance, Only Hope was largely motivated by my desire to prove that pacifism is not the same as passivity, that Obi-Wan could be conceivably demi, that Satine deserved a fleshed out characterisation instead of being villainised, and that Obitine makes sense as a ship.

One Human Thought was a joyful exercise in malicious compliance. My friend wanted Obi-Wan as Qui-Gon's bed warmer...I rather took that in a different direction, while still fulfilling the brief!

3. Things I want to see more of

I love Korkie. He really has so little to watch. So, I'll write more of him.

In general, I think my ideas come from my opinions about something. What am I trying to tell everyone else?

And then, I will often look at a pre-existing story that parallels my idea and hang my story off it. Like a Greek myth (Only Hope), or a play (One Human Thought is Pygmalion), or a poem (Thursday's Child). Some piece of media I already like, I'll try to replicate. Try to distill the thesis.

27. What is your most and least favorite part of writing?

For me, writing is a release valve. The thing I wish I could be doing, the thing I feel the most accurate and fulfilling expression of myself is ACTING. But I'm not on set as often as I'm online.

So I write. To keep myself sane.

I think, in a lot of ways, it's the same kind of work. So much of it is about figuring out objectives, character, intention, story. So it helps. It helps keep me from spiralling. Genuinely.

So I love it for that.

I also love that feeling when plot points CLICK. When something falls into palce.

My least favourite part of it is the writing.

[imaginarydragonling]

💫 💋 🕯️

💫what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

🌸Yours🌸😘 The comments and feedback you give me on my drafts and how they motivate me and keep me writing and working on whatever fic I'm writing as really invaluable and I don't think I'd have made it as far or ended up finishing half the fics I did without them 💓

But if we put those aside (because, yeah, you do have an unfair advantage in the sense that not everyone gets to comment on my work the way you do xD) and look at comments I get on Ao3, I think I'd have to say that the comments that notice and bring up the more technical aspects of writing like pacing, characterization, etc. are one of my favourite 😍

Example is this comment:

💋when you leave comments on a fic, do you want to hear back from the writer?

Yes. I'm definitely in the camp of writers/readers that are looking for more community vs just compliments when I comment. In the past, I have not left a comment before if I see that an author doesn't reply to a fic. I've mellowed out a bit and moved more to commenting on every fic I read without expecting a reply, but it's always a lovely experience when an author does reply.

The jackpot for me is when those comments turn into long form letters and you end up proper talking to an author and becoming friends :)

🕯️how do you think engaging with each other through tumblr, twitter, comments, kudos, creates healthy fandom experiences? How do you deal with that if you're not a social person/experience social anxiety?

I think it's great and is the best outcome when engagement happens. I think that fandom works best for me when it's a communal experience—when you have someone else to talk to about the mutual thing you like/dislike, people to share things you've made for the things you all mutually love, the chance to increase each other's joy by talking/commiserating/making more of the things you both love. That's what friends are for, what relationships are about, and what has made my enjoyment of a thing 100x more enjoyable and lasting.

The "problem with fandom" really is that those types of experiences are far rarer than I'd like, but I'm going to refrain from going into more on how I actually think current social media culture discourages that type of meaningful engagement 🥲

Assuming the "that" in the "How do you deal with that if you're not a social person/experience social anxiety?" question refers to "the fandom experience," I want to clarify that what I've described above is my fandom experience, but is in no way the fandom experience.

So, if you have social anxiety about commenting or engaging with other fans through social media, I would imagine that your fandom experience is far less, well, social than mine. But it's no less valid. I think that every person should curate and define their own fandom experiences, whether that means only ever being a passive observer, not talking to other fans, lurking but never speaking, etc.

Let's Get ((REAL)) fic writer asks

[trisockatops]

Under read more for personal sexual content.

For me arousal is 100% physical only. For a long time, I didn't realize my body could get aroused just because I had no idea that's what that was and at that point, I already knew I was asexual. When I was around 17 or 18, I started reading fanfic porn to try and understand sex and sexual attraction and how other people felt. I was touch and sex repulsed and sex was such a foreign, disconnected concept to me that I could only even stand to read stuff up the alley of noncon/dubcon because that's the only way I could imagine anyone having sex: if they were forced or so passive about it they didn't feel like saying no. Even though I was trying to understand, the idea of consenting to sex was so unrelatable that I couldn't even make it through fics with that. Anyway, often while reading these fics, I would have what I considered a "sympathetic response". My genitals would get hot and swollen and maybe pulse and maybe feel an intense pressure, and I would get very wet. I honestly had NO idea what was happening to me. It took me years to realize this was physical arousal. It's like...imagine you've laid sleeping on your arm and it goes pins and needles. You know that's your body. You know why it feels like that. But because it's kinda numb-kinda waking up, you feel disconnected from your limb until full sensation remains. That's kinda what arousal is like for me. There's physical sensation that I'm not at all mentally connected to.

Sometimes super kinky porn (usually written, maybe sometimes a gif - a video or anything with sound will absolutely disgust me). I haven't really sought this out in a while, though, since I felt like I got as many answers as I was gonna get on what sexual attraction and horniness felt like. Sometimes when I'm in a bad depressive spell, I'll start maladaptive daydreaming about terrible things happening to me, and I'll get aroused then to. It's pretty rare, though.

Not really because it has to go pretty far for me to notice. By the time I recognize it, my underwear is probably pretty wet.

TW for not totally consensual sex: In the past when I did have a partner, it really didn't matter to him if I was aroused or not. He figured since I was asexual and he wasn't, that it was okay for him to just determine whenever we would have sex. Since that relationship, I've sometimes played around with vibrators to get aroused and orgasm, but it's usually linked to mental health and self-hate. I was pretty disgusted by anything sexual, so it was really more of a psychological self-harm kinda thing. I've since become more numb to it, and I can track how poorly my mental health is doing by how often I decide to masturbate. Since my disgust turned to numbness, I think now it's about just feeling anything beyond the vast void of hopelessness, even if just for a second. (I pretty much always go straight to it. I don't care about a spending a lot of time on build up or anything.)

I guess just that you usually hear about arousal in terms of other people. Even when sometime wants to masturbate instead of having sex, it's often linked with fantasies of other people or connecting with their own body in a sensual way. While, for me, it feels more...clinical and detached. It's never triggered by another person and thinking of any people is a good way to get rid of the feeling of arousal.

Bonus:

I was unsure/didn't realize for a LONG time. I think it was because I'm asexual with no exceptions and really don't consider myself to have a libido. I never even thought about sex until my peers started openly talking about the sex they were having in front of me. So I just...didn't know that's what arousal was like, since it was never about a person, and didn't really figure I could get aroused without a libido. I guess I should re-think the whole having no libido thing, but even though I've been aroused, I still don't feel connected or relate to the idea of having libido. I never really want sex in any form, including masturbation. It's more like masturbation has just been a tool for other feelings.

For everyone:

Definitely a combo of low arousal and no libido and a former sex repulsion absolutely contribute to not seeking sex out. The times I had sex, it was just so BORING. Besides requiring utterly too much cleaning and being full of way too many bodily fluids to make it enjoyable, it really just drags on. There's nothing actually interesting about doing it. It's boring, it's repetitive, and it's a lot of work. Why seek out something I'm not really getting any benefit from? Like I said, even when I masturbate, it's always about getting right to the point, taking as little time as possible, and using toys to avoid mess (at least on my hands).

Arousal Questions

For people who know they get aroused:

What does being aroused feel like?

What gets you aroused, if anything?

Are there any clear indicators that you're aroused?  Anything that's a clear sign for you, but that other people don't talk about much?

Do you or a partner ever do anything deliberate to help get yourself aroused, in a situation where you aren't, but want to be?

Is there anything in common descriptions of arousal that don't line up with your experience?

For people who don't know or are unsure if they get aroused:

Can you describe why you don't know or are unsure?

Is there anything you think might be arousal, but are unclear about it?

For people who know they do not get aroused:

How did you determine that you did not get aroused?

For everyone:

Is there anything confusing, unclear, or misleading about common descriptions of arousal?

Is there anything you would like to know or understand better about the process of arousal or what it's like?

Does arousal, or lack thereof, affect whether or not you engage in sexual activities (of any kind), or the types you engage in?

Is there anything else you'd like to say on the topic?

[I am gathering information for a sex ed book for asexuals, but I welcome all participants, ace or not. Please see this post for more info. Feel free to use the ask box if you want responses to be anonymous!]

[fandomwave]

Hey tumblr user @jesibeii, I couldn't heeeeelp but notice we miiiight have gotten off on the wrong foot concerning fandom and interaction and I just, you know, I was turning over what you said in my head for a while and I realized I wanted to come over and offer some brownies

I realized that I was being what the kids call "An Asshole" in my tags but I also wanted to at least provide some context on the matter, since you know when the poll came onto lawn I wasn't really in the frame of mind to give an entire dissertation on interactivity and contribution on the silly and cursed land that is fandom TM.

Sooo if you'll allow me, and honestly if you don't that's fine too, you can take the brownies and run. I just wanted to earnestly and kindly reach across the isle and examine some concepts.

Just know that in the end of this entire pop up ted talk I'm juggling in my arms with the plate of brownies, that I agree with you:

Fandom has no room for cops. You get to enjoy and do whatever the fuck you want in it. I did not, and do not ever want that to change. Even if the landscape becomes something I don't recognize.

This is gonna get uh, long in the tooth, so I'm just gonna imagine you have one of those lovely porch swings with some bright yellow pillows.

OK LETS GO:

Comfy? Good good ok cool so I'm gonna use your fandom as a springboard because WHOO BOY did BNHA used to be my Jam for a while!

My favorite character is Shinso by the way! I was up to the Chisaki arc in the anime but eventually dropped off, and I was up to chapter uuuh, 350-ish in the manga??? It gets a little blurry from my memory and I'll admit I got a little Tired towards the end before I dropped off there too.

So I think we're on the same page when it comes to passive interaction when it comes to fan-made art! You don't have to have even a remote understanding of the original context to want to enjoy the transformative works that people make

Anyways I wanted to at least start off saying that I do agree in that you don't have to Go Here to enjoy the things fandom creates.

I myself had a laughable amount of Omori fanart before I ever realized there was a game.

And I think I would have been pretty irritated if someone told me that I couldn't look at it or enjoy it for it's composition or color use or emotional resonance because I hadn't sat down to play the game.

You're right, I would be irked as fuck if I went to a public library to read The Chronicles of Narnia and someone griped at me the whole time that I wasn't reading the Bibble

Here's where I get a little confused, and again, PLEASE keep in mind, it is a silly place here, fandom, and my confusion is not condemnation.

Lets say, again using BNHA as the core example here, that I found a fic for Denki/Deku. The person who wrote it made Denki into this really complex and nuanced character. In the fic they mentioned that him and his father had a falling out, mostly because his father was worried that with a kid like him, and his poor grades, he would never be able to cut it at UA.

Deku and him bond over the fact that both of their parents worry for the right reasons about their attendance at UA, and there's even a bit of a grit between the two of them because Denki can't match up to Deku's raw talent, even if he keeps hurting himself over and over for the lack of control, that he wants to prove he can be just as useful, and they have to learn how to navigate that together. Maybe Denki comes to defend Deku more when his quirk hurts him and understands where that comes from given the fact his own causes his brain to short after he pushes himself too hard.

Man there's an ENTIRE chapter dedicated to Denki showing off his lightning points and how he can throw his electricity even further, and Deku gets inspired by the concept, maybe altering his costume altogether to help launch rebar polls to launch off of to move faster in combat!

And I'm enthralled by this, I think that Denki is the best character and I'm so thrilled to get to know this character in canon!

Only to find out he has like, maybe 2 major arcs and is kind of just a gag character.

Or, another example, because lets be real, a large portion of folk characterize Bakugo as nothing more than a mindless abuser. If I only read the most popular fic, I might come to hate this dude.

People mischaracterize Deku all the time as uwu wubby soft boy, and I might be really turned away and think the whole series really IS a waste of time if these characters are as dumb as they are..

To me anyways, fandom is an extrapolation of the source. Without the source, there is no fandom.

And because it's an extrapolation, it's like a photocopy. Every photocopy has some loss from the original. Artistic Telephone if you will. All fandom art that is made and shared is usually transformative in some way from the original which is fantastic!

I think that's why fandom is as weird and silly and stupid as it is, it by it's very nature really can't be taken seriously because it's all just interpretation and speculation and extrapolation on something none of us even own.

I ADORE the idea of someone giving Denki a full fucking realized character in comparison to the original, and hell if I like the work well enough I might magpie some ideas and add it to my own works!

So there is where my example, inflammatory as it was, comes in:

Since fanart and fanfic is an extrapolation of root work, how would someone know if the characterization of someone, or something, be accurate if they've never engaged with the original.

If someone reads a fic (the first extrapolation) where Bakugo is a huge asshole.

Then writes their own fic (the second extrapolation) where Bakugo is a whole new level of monster..

But doesn't know that Bakugo is more.. of an emotionally constipated edge lord..

I think that's where my disconnect and confusion comes from is the idea of loving a work and not having any sort of compass for the 'They Would Not Fucking Say That' radar.

I'm listening to someone's dissertation only to learn in the end that they've never studied the topic.

And I mean, lets be real here, if someone wrote a whole academic essay and I couldn't tell OP never cracked open the source material than like, GOOD ON THEM for logical assumptions and characterization! Insane work that they could interoperate flawlessly from someone else's interpretation.

And to this end, as with all things, someone could name Denki's fucking bloodtype from memory, know the manga by heart and which studio animated specific scenes from the anime, and still turn him into the worst reduction of his tropes in their works. Don't get me wrong knowing the source material doesn't automatically make you a better creator than those who don't

I think the only thing it DOES do is make you a more informed one.

Maybe this also comes from me being uh, how you say, ancient. When women in fic were reduced down to their worst elements. Usually there to be homophobic to whatever slash ship was popular at the time, or just generally horrible. Like imagine if someone did Uraraka dirty in a fic and without any context, any root to check the notes against, you just thought she was Like That.

Not to say they aren't even now. Trust me I have Seen Some Shiiit. But it used to be the default, and canon was a good way to check is that was accurate or not (spoilers it usually wasn't)

So why this big annoying essay? I dunno man, fandom is weird and silly and shouldn't be taken seriously but I also think it's fun to understand people and also get further context in the ways we see things. I wanted to explain myself in a way that wasn't some one liner reddit quip, and I genuinely DID feel really bad making you feel something intense enough to leave the tags, and in all honestly they weren't even that mean aha. If this weird little subculture is gonna survive the corporatization of it's space, the old guard and new guard and everyone in between should help to understand one another as best we can :3

In the end, you're still right.

I should be on my own lawn right now, being unbothered and minding my own business. I hope you don't feel like you're being put on the defense or that I'm trying to be antagonistic here.

This is, an actually earnest means to come across the fence and at least kinda chat about perspectives, how I think active fandom engagement can be skewed without core context, and how passive fandom engagement doesn't require an SAT test on core context. And how yeah, at the end of the day it doesn't matter because fandom is a silly place.

It's just silly. No one should be taking it seriously. If I read a fic from someone who took the worst read on a character they've never engaged with on it's source, but it brought them the most amount of joy in the world to write it, who am I to stop them or to care.

I can find it as confusing as I want, it doesn't matter.

Oh shit I think your sprinklers are coming on, yeah, oh fuck all the flowcharts I brought are just.. getting drenched. You know you can keep the plate btw, I don't really wanna wash it.

Ok I gotta grab these papers before they melt all over lawn

BTW Idk if you drew it or not but ur icon is very cute!

OK BYE

[prettyboykatsuki]

I saw your answer about how creative pieces in fandom are interacted with in a similar way that people interact with big for-profit media, and how the term content creator has become kind of a demarcation of that changed relationship, and I really had to rock back on my heels and think on that for a while. I'd sort of internalized that term without even thinking about it, but you're right. The way we consume media is so deeply tied to consumerism and brand marketing its kinda scary ngl.

hello!!!! and yeah this is a big, long-standing issue i've been silently observing for a long time and recently connected all together. for anyone confused - this is in reference to this post. i think the real start of this was the 50 shades of gray books but that's another can of worms to open so ill refrain unles askedd.

@/hawnks had some good tags on the phrase "content" and "content creator" in particular that i really agree with that i'll link here that echoes and reflects my feelings on the idea.

the idea that fandom spaces and people who participate and make fanart / fiction / media are creators create a sense of divide in a space meant to founded on community and shared interest. mint said something about how people in fandom are neighbors more than anything else and that resonated with me.

often i warn people about the writing space on tumblr for the same reason (though it's just. fandom overall). while i loathe the term content creator, there is a cognitive dissonance that also exists. in a sort of unavoidable way, when you start to write - people immediately view you as a figurehead because of the same issues i was talking about in the original post.

a writer like me or you or anyone might not view themselves like that, but because of the consumerism, because of severed ties between maker and enjoyer - there's a huge divide in community. a difference between a writer or reader that should've never existed and is truly perpetuated through the word content creator.

a lot readers / people who don't publish fan content as it stands view themselves as passive, unimportant participants. because fan works are not consumed as personal pieces but as big pieces of media - people also engage with you like they would a big, corporate production.

fandom reader and fandom writer / artist / editor are a symbiotic relationship. they're supposed to benefit and depend on each other and have completely equal value. i am no different than the people who send me anons, or asks, or comment on my fics and im not meant to be. im just a guy who writes and i am desperately looking for a guy who reads to bring me joy with a like, rb or comment. that engagement is fuel for me and so are those brief connections.

but because that has detiorated over time and how people engage with fandom has changed so much - it creates this weird liminal space for people who decide to put their writing or art or edits or memes out. the dynamic has changed in an intense and uncomfortable way and it's not anyone fault

when people treat you as a figurehead when you haven't asked to be, haven't marketed yourself that way - how do you deal? when your position is no longer passive and people are suddenly seeking you out for input?

i think the way consumerism in fandom has fucked over the people who still love and enjoy it is what has bothered me most. it's frustrating and complicated and no one group is particularly to blame so i avoid talking about it but it really does suck

[gale-gentlepenguin]

ML Fic: Soulmate Survey Part 38

Sorry for the delay. Real life gets out of hand. But here it is! The antepenultimate chapter.

Shout out to @asongeverlasting for beta reading for me and making sure I actually got this out.

Check her writing out on AO3 as Ramblingwren

(Master post)

(Read the fic in a more condensed on Ao3)

(The latest chapter will be up on there once this reaches over 500 notes on tumblr)

Hope you all enjoy

_____________________________________________________________

“I shouldn’t have let her go out there.”

Fu watched the school nurse, Angela, fret as she paced back and forth.

“I understand your concern, but I believe that it will all be alright. Ladybug and Chat Noir haven’t failed in handling an akuma yet,” he explained. “The girl will be okay.”

The nurse stopped pacing.

“I appreciate your optimism but… I am really not used to this,” She said as she gestured to the air.

Fu blinked at the statement.

“Oh?”

“This! This whole thing! Super villains that appear whenever someone gets sad, teenagers with superpowers! This is all new to me! I just moved to Paris a month ago from the countryside. All I wanted was to further my education and get work in the medical field. It… It boggles my mind that everyone in this city is so okay with all of this! Even my new boyfriend Curtis is able to shrug off an akuma attack like a sudden drizzle. This isn’t normal!”

The guardian could tell the young woman was distressed, and he couldn’t blame her. In a way, he envied her. This was all foreign for her, but to him, this was his entire life.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow up like that. I've had a lot to deal with, and this whole situation is just so…”

Fu moved to her and helped her sit down.

“It’s alright, this is by no means a good situation. Your concerns are very understandable. I can tell that deep down that your frustration and fear come from compassion and empathy. You will make a wonderful doctor one day.”

She took a deep breath.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much I really needed to hear that today.”

“How about I teach you a medication technique that will help you calm down?”

“Meditation? I'm not really one for that kind of stuff.”

“If one wants to be a doctor, being able to calm down and handle an emergency situation is a must.”

The school nurse agreed that he had a good point, and that this may help get her mind off of things.

“Okay, I guess I'll give it a shot.”

Fu smiled.

“Good. Let us start simple. Close your eyes and put your hands together.”

Angela felt the action was a bit odd but complied.

“Now, take a deep breath. Count to 5 in your head and then breathe out.”

She took her breath and followed the order.

“Whenever you feel a thought come to your head, simply picture yourself putting it out of your mind and into a bucket.”

She tried her best to comply.

As she did this, Fu moved behind her and quickly pinched a nerve on her neck, causing the young woman to seize up for a moment before losing consciousness.

“That will help her relax.”

He carefully moved her to the cot and laid a sheet over her like a blanket.

Once it was clear that she was asleep, a turtle kwami flew out of hiding.

“So, what do we do now, Master?”

Fu took a moment to consider.

His plan was already in motion. Ladybug and Chat Noir had plenty of allies to help fight the akuma. All that needed to be done was to sit down and wait.

But as he thought about it more, he couldn’t help but think that he should go in personally. It was what he'd initially planned to do with akuma, after all. Listening to this young woman’s fears made him really see how his inaction has led to such fear and uncertainty.

For once, it was time for him to go on the offensive.

“Now we head out and find this akuma.”

“Master, you already sent out three miraculous. Let the other heroes handle this,” Wayzz insisted.

“The people of Paris should not have to become used to this. I have been far too lax with this situation. Right now, Ladybug and Chat Noir are facing their most dangerous akuma yet. For decades I have always remained passive in order to avoid making another mistake, but I have already made so many with my inaction. It's time I stop letting my actions be dictated by fear.”

“But Master, you can’t transform! Your body is too old to handle it!”

“Fear not, Wayzz. I have been exercising and restoring my vitality with the techniques of the guardians. By my estimation, I should be able to maintain the transformation without too much issue for 10 minutes,” Fu assured.

“That is not a lot of time, Master!” Wayzz pointed out.

“True, but it is better than nothing. We will head out and wait for the moment we need it. Be ready, Wayzz.”

The old guardian started heading to the door.

“But Master, what if you get captured? What if the akuma does succeed and you are unable to step in?”

Fu paused at the door.

“I know you are concerned for me. I appreciate your care. But I need to go out there. I have lived a long life, Wayzz, far longer than most humans. One day I may not be here to be the guardian.”

Wayzz felt a pang of sorrow hearing his Master talk about how he would no longer be around.

“But that’s okay. I know that when that time comes… I have two young heroes that will be ready to stand up and fight. The best thing an old man like me can do is pave the road for them.” The guardian said with certainty. He went to open the door.

“Fu…”

The old man stopped. Turning around, he saw the turtle kwami he had known for most of his life smile at him.

“I know you think of yourself as a failure of a guardian… but Su Han and the others were wrong. You are a great one. You are the most caring guardian that has ever held the title. And I will be by your side to the end.”

The old man felt his eyes well up at the sweet comment.

“Then let’s go, Partner.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The dragon heroine grabbed the confused snake hero and moved him to the closest room before closing the door.

“Okay we should be safe here,” she said as she looked over to her comrade. It was clear that Viperion was still very confused. It did not help that both his and her miraculous were beeping. They didn't have much time.

“Thanks… ummm,” Viperion started as he tried to rack his brain for a name. Part of him felt like he should know her. But his mind is blank.

“Ryuuko. You can call me Ryuuko. And you are Viperion.”

“Okay… weird name for me, but I guess it works.”

Ryuuko realized that the bubble Viperion had been put in wasn’t just to keep him frozen in place. One of the side effects must have been leaving him without any memory of who he was. Had her partner been aware of that risk when he took the bubble for her? She couldn’t know for sure. But right now, she needed to focus on the task at hand. Shehad to take charge since her partner was out of sorts.

“Okay, 'll try to explain this as quickly as possible.”

“Your real name is Luka. But when you are in your hero form, you go by Viperion.”

“Hero form...”

He looked down.

“Well, that does explain the costumes. I thought it was some sort of weird costume party.”

Ryuuko decided to ignore that.

“Okay, so I'm a hero. And you're one too?”

“Yes. We are both heroes picked by Ladybug to help her fight villains. Right now, we're fighting a bunch of them, and you got your memory wiped by one of their attacks. That’s why you are confused. Any questions?”

The boy took a moment to look himself over and then look at her. This was a lot of information to take in. Ryuuko was half expecting him to call her crazy. Which, given how bizarre the circumstances were, she wouldn’t blame him.

“Okay, I think if it was anyone else telling me this, I would have called it a load of bull. But… I don’t know why but I feel like I can trust you. You sound sincere,” Viperion responded.

“Okay great, now let's…”

“I still have a few questions.”

Ryuuko sighs.

“Look, we really don’t have much time. We need to hurry and get out there to help…”

And just before she finished the statement, both of their transformations wore off. Revealing their civilian forms.

“Oh no.” Kagami muttered in horror.

“What happened? Where am I… What am I?” The snake kwami questioned as he looked at himself.

“It appears that Sass was also impacted by the amnesia.” The dragon kwami that popped out of her necklace commented.

Luka stared wide eyed at the creature.

“Are you a snake?”

“A snake? I suppose?”

“A snake with limbs? That is very rock and roll.”

The two fistbumped. Thankfully they seemed to get along.

Longg looked at them.

“This is quite a predicament.”

“We need to hurry back in. Longg! Bring the….”

“Hold on a moment. Both Sass and I will not be able to do that yet.”

Kagami stopped.

“How come?”

“We need to refuel. The energy of transforming AND using our unique powers drains a lot out of us. We need some food to continue.”

“Food… Okay.”

The snake Kwami grabbed his stomach.

“I find myself rather famished,” he commented.

Luka looked at him.

“Let me see if I can help you out.”

The teen took off the backpack he was wearing to go through it. Thankfully there was a bag lunch in there. For some reason he felt that was important. But decided that if it could help the little guy out, he was sure it wouldn’t be a big deal.

He opened the bag lunch and pulled out a bag of apple slices. Opening it to grab a piece.

“I know snakes usually are carnivores, but how about some fruit?”

“Ooo! It smells divine!”

Luka handed the floating kwami a piece of the apple.

He takes a bite.

“Oh! It's delicious! Juicy and sweet!”

The snake quickly devours the apple piece.

As that happens, Kagami looked through her bag.

“I don’t have fruit but I do have some onigiri. It was my afternoon snack… but since this is a dire situation.”

“Rice? Yes please!” Longg exclaimed as he dive bombed right into the delicious rice ball.

“It’s Umeboshi, it’s not to everyone’s taste but It is one of my favorites.”

“It’s the most delicious thing I have ever eaten. The sour plum really brings a new dimension of flavor.”

Kagami smiled a bit at her kwami companion, happy that she could help.

The two Kwami finished their food and were ready for action.

“Okay, Sass. You need to help Luka transform.”

“Sass? Is that my name?” the snake inquired.

“So, he helps me transform into Viperman?”

“Viperion, and yes,” Kagami responded.

“All you need to do is say. Sass, Scales Slither. And to activate your special power just pull your bracelet back and say second chance. Then pull it back when you want to use it. But be sure not to use it right away,” Longg instructed.

“Okay seems easy enough. Are you okay with this?” Luka asked as he turned his attention to his snake pal.

“The floating horn snake seems fine with it so I say let’s give it a try”

Longg decided for the sake of his friendship with Sass to ignore the comment.

“Alright! Let's do this!” Kagami exclaimed as she prepared to transform.

“One last question.”

Kagami was starting to get antsy. She wanted to be back out there fighting. But she held back her annoyance, considering how he sacrificed his memories for her.

“Make it quick, we need to hurry.”

Luka scratches the back of his head.

“Are we a couple?”

If Kagami was drinking water she would have done a massive spit take. Her cheeks turned red.

“What?!”

“You know… together? You seem to know a lot about me, and I just feel this connection... like I can trust you even though I don’t remember anything. I don’t know how or why, but I feel like you matter to me.”

Kagami’s eyes went wide at the comment. It felt surprisingly bold of the musician to say. She had to admit that the statement made her heart skip a beat.

“No, we had just recently become friends.” Kagami responded.

“Oh…” Luka was saddened by the response.

“But, I have thought about the possibility it could be more than that one day," Kagami continued. "But that is something to discuss when you have your memory back. Maybe.”

The fencer felt her mind scream at her.

‘WHY DID YOU SAY THAT! Well, at least he won't remember.’

Luka smiled at that.

“Well, that must mean I must be a good guy, if I could have such a great friend like you.”

The teen prepared himself.

“Alright then! Sass! Scales Slither.”

The musician shifted into his hero form.

“Let’s go save the day.”

Kagami looked at her hero partner and smiled.

“Longg, Bring the storm.

______________________________________________________________________

“Well, that might be a problem.”

Chat Noir and Ladybug looked to see a stone giant guarding the front door of the classroom. The two had hidden just out of the goliath’s view.

“Any ideas on how to take down Mount Akuma?” Chat Noir questioned.

Ladybug looked at the giant from their hiding spot and began formulating a plan.

“Stoneheart grows bigger when he gets mad. These akuma aren’t really able to express their emotions. That means we don’t need to worry about him getting bigger. We just need to find a way to incapacitate him.”

“We could ask Mayura,” Chat Noir pointed out.

“We could ask… wait WHA…”

Chat Noir covered his partner’s mouth and ducked down.

“Shhhh! She’s right there,” Chat Noir hushed.

Ladybug removed the cat’s hand from her mouth and looked from the spot to see that her partner was right. Mayura was in the building!

“She actually showed up?” Oh, this is a lot more serious than we thought. Hawkmoth is really playing it serious with this one.”

“To the butterfly man’s credit, he really has been throwing out some tough ones.”

“I will not give our worst villain credit for anything except this headache,” Ladybug retorted with annoyance.

“So, what do we do? Mayura is in the building and she is talking with the giant.”

Ladybug felt like the situation couldn’t get worse.

“Not so fast, Feather Freak!”

Ladybug recognized that voice.

“Chloé?”

Chat Noir and Ladybug glanced to see a familiar blonde strutting down the hallway. But their expressions of shock shifted to bewilderment when they noticed what she was wearing.

“So are you and that purple fashion blunder here? Or is it just you? I am guessing it's just you. Your boss doesn’t really like to show his face unless he thinks he is sure to win. No wonder Ladybug always kicks his…” The bee themed heroine confidently quipped.

“Queen Bee. Now that is a surprise. I thought Ladybug was done giving you a miraculous.” The peacock villainess commented. She had no interest in dealing with the bee heroine at this time.

“Well, you would be surprised by a lot of things. So how about we settle this. My fist really misses your face.”

Mayura rolled her eyes.

“Fortunately for you, I don’t have the time to deal with you. Stoneheart, I am sure Masquerade would love for you to take care of this pesky bee.”

“Oh don’t think you can walk away! You and that purple cockroach are the same. Both cowards that can’t even face children.” She jeered as she walked forward.

The stone giant moved forward, allowing Mayura to walk to the door and enter.

“Too scared to face me! Typical. I'll beat your pet rock as a warm up and then your butt will meet my foot!” Queen Bee exclaimed with confidence. “Because I am a real heroine!”

Queen Bee got into a stance and prepared to trade blows with the colossus of rock.

Chat Noir looked to Ladybug.

“Did you give her a miraculous?” He whispered in surprise.

“I don’t have any additional miraculous. I thought she had been captured with the rest of the class.”

“Wait… if it wasn’t you… you don’t think…”

“Either Master Fu is in the building and saw how dire the situation was or Chloé snuck away and had a Queen Bee costume stowed away in her locker.”

The two look at each other and immediately come to the same conclusion.

“We need to save her before she gets crushed!”

______________________________________________________________________

Mayura walked into the classroom.

She managed to keep a straight face, but internally she had a lot going through her mind.

What was once a standard classroom now looked like an elaborate throne room. The amazing curtains, the high ceilings. The steps leading up to an elaborate throne. The portraits of Masquerade really brought together the utter decadence and vanity of the akuma persona. It reminds Mayura of Gabriel’s obsession with Emilie in the worst way possible.

Despite finding the décor off-putting, she had to admit it was impressive how Masquerade had been able to change the room into something completely unrecognizable. A testament to her vanity.

She took a moment to see what akuma servants she still had in the room. The Gamer, Reflekta with around 12 copies, Princess Fragrance, Robostus, Zombizou and Horificator. While the white masks obscured their expressions, it was clear that all of them were watching her. It greatly unnerved her.

She kept these thoughts to herself as the masked akuma that was running the school took notice of her.

“Mayura. I've been expecting you.”

Mayura looked up to see Masquerade sitting on the throne.

“Please, come in.”

She approached confidently. Though in the back of her mind something seemed off.

Masquerade stood up from the throne and walked down the steps, a smile of certainty on her face.

“Masquerade. Your Sentimonster gave me the basics of your plan. Securing the school as your base of operations was a good first step. Your plan of creating a video to lower the spirits of those in Paris was also a nice touch,” Mayura praised.

“But of course! My plan is flawless,” Masquerade boasted. “Not even Ladybug and Chat Noir will be able to stop me.”

“Getting ahead of yourself aren’t you?” Mayura cut her ego trip.

Masquerade’s mood soured as her smile faltered.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You have yet to face the two heroes. Not to mention there's a pesky bee flying around.”

“A bee?” Masquerade was very confused by the comment.

“Yes, Chloé Bourgeois, or Queen Bee, to be precise. Seems that Ladybug and Chat Noir went and got back up."

“It doesn’t matter if they have one additional hero or three. This plan won't fail.”

‘Something isn’t right here. I need to leave now!’ Mayura’s mind screamed.

She wasn’t sure why, but something felt incredibly off.

“Speaking of heroes, your plan never really specified how you will deal with them. Care to elaborate?”

Masquerade’s smile grew more sinister.

“I am glad you asked. After Simularé relayed to me that you were here. I finally figured out the perfect way of dealing with those arrogant heroes,” the masked woman stated with certainty, moving forward.

She now stood only a few feet from the peacock villainess.

“Wait a moment, something is wrong here,” Mayura commented as she tried to focus. She couldn’t ignore the warnings in her head.

“What do you mean?” The mask akuma looked with confusion at the blue villainess.

Mayura looked around. Frantically trying to find something but it was fruitless. This distress caused Masquerade to smile.

“I can't sense it,” Mayura spoke with slight worry.

“Sense what?” Masquerade inquired further.

“Where is your amok? It should be on your person but I can't sense it.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Yes. If you don’t have the amok in your possession then that sentimonster will go out of control!” Mayura explained.

“Can’t you just rip the amok out?”

“If it's nearby and I sense it, yes. But I can’t do that if it’s out of my range.”

“So you’re saying you have no power over me right now.” A devilish grin appeared on Masquerade’s face.

“No, I am saying I don’t have any power over the senti…”

Mayura felt a chill as she realized that the masquerade in front of her was not an akumatized Lila.

“Horrificator, block the door,” the Faux Masquerade commanded.

The pink and purple monster quickly moved to block the door with her large form.

The controlled akuma started circling around her as Simularé undid the illusion and morphed into its true specter form, Simularé.

“You ungrateful little monster. You think your master will be okay with you attacking one of the ones that gave her power?”

“My master doesn’t care about you or Hawkmoth. You are a means to an end. And she gave me special permission to take your miraculous from you.”

“Well if your master isn’t here, then no one is jamming the signal. I can contact Hawkmoth and put this little coup to an end.”

Simularé shifted into Lady Wifi.

“I have access to every power my master does. You are trapped with no options.” The sentimonster mocked.

Mayura looked around as she was circled by the controlled akuma. She needed to get out of there.

She felt a pain rush to her head.

‘F*** not now’ She mentally cursed.

The odds were indeed not in her favor.

______________________________________________________________________________

Stoneheart began charging at the bee themed heroine, and just as Queen Bee was about to move, a yo-yo wrapped around her waist and pulled her away from the monster.

The stone giant had expected his charge to make contact but forced himself to stop when he noticed the bee was gone.

“Sorry tiny, but I’m your playmate now,” called a cat-themed hero.

The mindless akuma didn’t visibly react to the change in foe and simply charged at the cat hero.

Queen Bee found herself near Ladybug.

“Chloé! What are you doing?!”

“Uh… Saving the day? I got the jewelry box that you sent out because you needed my help.”

“Jewelry box… wait a minute that means. You are wearing a miraculous.”

“Yep! Don’t worry LB, I will show you that I am worthy of being Queen Bee. And not to boast, but I totally saved someone. But right now, we gotta go beat that ugly pile of rubble.”

Ladybug looked at Chloé for a moment. With the situation as hectic as it was, Queen Bee has shown some competence when there is real danger. Ladybug knew that right now, all hands that could help would be appreciated, and Queen Bee’s appearance could mean that Fu may be closer than she expected. So maybe there were more reinforcements. So if this was the case. She would trust Fu’s judgement.

“Alright, just be ready to return the bee after all of this is over.”

“Right, right, but just know I will probably change your mind about that after this is over!” the bee exclaimed confidently as she jumped back into the fray.

Ladybug shook her head. Whether she was Queen Bee or Chloé, she was still a handful.

“Are you finished gossiping? Because I could REALLY use a hand!” Chat Noir shouted as he held his staff up to hold back the rock monster’s boulder of a fist.

Queen Bee and Ladybug jumped into view and noticed the situation.

“Don’t worry you stray cat, The Queen Bee will put that rock in his place. Ve…”

Ladybug covered Queen Bee’s mouth before she could.

“Hold it. We might need your power for later.”

“I think it would be useful now!” Chat Noir shouted as he struggled to hold the weight of the giant’s rocky hand.

“Okay if my powers are a no no right now, what is the plan?”

Ladybug looked around. She found her attention drawn to a fire extinguisher, Queen Bee, a rubber band, and a discarded backpack.

“Okay, I have a plan.”

______________________________________________________________________

Gabriel had made a decision.

He hurried out of the lair in his civilian form. He was going to head to the school. Now he would just need to get his chauffeur and go…

Gabriel’s eyes went wide as he saw his son’s bodyguard and chauffeur fall to the floor at the steps of the main entrance, a white mask adorning his face that he was desperately trying to get off.

“What is the meaning of this?” Gabriel asked aloud in shock and anger.

He looked to see the mask akuma he created standing at the door.

“Well, if it isn’t Gabriel Agreste. Fashion mogul, and master manipulator.”

Gabriel’s visible anger faded as he stared at the akuma.

“Lila, is that you?”

“Oh quite astute! An amazing deduction. Was it that observational skill that made you the fashion success you are now?” the akumatized Lila inquired. “Though I go by Masquerade now.”

Gabriel knew very well the girl’s powers. He was the one that gave it to her. She was trying to antagonize him, get him angry. But that would not work.

“Well Masquerade, what brings you to my home at this time?” Gabriel asked calmly. Doing his best to keep his tone and mannerisms calm.

“Oh, I was just in the neighborhood, finding more people to join my little army and I notice my charm glowing as I was getting near.”

Gabriel’s eyes went wide as he realized something. The charm bracelet was configured to locate anyone that has ever been akumatized. That included him. His ploy to ward suspicion off of himself was now biting him in the butt. And of course, Lila was likely holding a grudge with how he pushed her with his words about his son and his classmate.

“My bodyguard was akumatized. What of it?”

The silent action figure enthusiast stopped resisting and his body began growing. Gabriel noticed the man was transforming into the gorilla akuma. Gorizilla! And he rushed up the steps as the akuma moved and pounded his chest.

“Gorizilla, go gather up anyone who has been akumatized that you know of. I will handle Mr. Agreste myself.”

The giant akuma nodded at its master and headed off, leaving the agreste mansion with a giant hole that was once the front of the mansion.

“Handle me? And what do you plan to do?”

Masquerade’s necklace began to glow.

“Oh! Well that is very interesting,” Masquerade mused aloud as she learned from the glowing charm.

“What do you mean, interesting?” Gabriel asked. He knew that the charm had the bonus effect of pointing out the emotional weak points of those that had been akumatized. But he had PRETENDED to be angry and wasn’t actually emotional when the akuma took over. Did the charm still impact him the same way it did everyone else?

Masquerade started walking up the steps.

“You blame yourself for your wife’s passing.”

The statement was a blade pointed right at his throat. But Gabriel refused to react. He would not let himself be taken advantage of by his own akuma. He has been on the receiving end one too many times and he would be damned if he let that psychopath have control of him.

Masquerade saw that Gabriel was not reacting to the statement.

“I have never seen a man more miserable and pathetic,” Masquerade said. Her words sounded genuine and cutting.

Gabriel tried to turn around and walk away. But Masquerade jumped high with her superhuman agility and landed right in front of him, continuing her tearing down of his emotional state.

“All of this wealth and yet you are obsessed with what you don’t have. You are so blinded by the grief of losing your wife that everything else in your life may as well not exist. You locked yourself away, desperately trying to find something, anything that would bring her back. But now you are finding that color is starting to return in your life. You feel guilt over hiding the truth from your son, you loathe the attraction that you have been developing for another woman. You hate that you can’t dedicate every second to your lost wife and any speck of joy you feel without her here feels like treason since she is not here with you. You are a man so blind with his obsession that you fail to see the world doesn’t revolve around you. It's disgusting.”

“You know nothing of my life,” Gabriel dismissed.

But Masquerade knew he would say that. She only smiled. The truth was right in front of her. And she was ready to bring it home.

“You are actually terrified of facing her again.”

That shook Gabriel.

“What?”

“You are afraid of seeing her again. Whether it’s a year or 10 years, you feel that even if you could bring her back, she would be here and realize how much of a shell you had become without her. You are afraid that your obsession with her will be the very thing that drives her away once you see her again.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Then why haven’t you brought her back yet? Don’t you love her?”

Gabriel felt like his heart was being repeatedly punched.

“How dare you question my love for my wife!”

“Then why isn’t she here? If you loved her she wouldn’t have been taken from you and Adrien. But you were far too pathetic to do it. You failed her, and you are still failing her. You will never be with her again, and deep down. You know it to be true,” Masquerade answered coldly.

Those words were enough to get him down. That is what finally did him in.

Gabriel fell to his knees.

“No…”

Gabriel had broken. Masquerade knew she had him.

He was emotionally devastated, to the point where couldn’t even react to the mask coming his way.

____________________________________________________________

Well now things are now hitting their highest points of drama!

Will Ladybug and other heroes be able to stand up to Masquerade?

Will Mayura fall to Simularé's double cross?

Will I EVER update in time?

Tell me your thoughts on the chapter. Your support keeps it alive

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

LISTEN!! I don't usually read about Bruce Wayne but every time op posts I immediately change my mind. This fic checks every box, I am going FERAL over it. I'm so serious when I say you have to read it. Cowboy Bruce Wayne has changed my brain chemistry. I talk about my favorite parts under the cut!

"Above you, clouds collect over the stars, leaving nothing but the large bright moon. If you’re killed here tonight, you hope that’s the last thing you see."

Devouring this already, ahh, the way op sets the scene up is beautiful.

"You watch in stunned silence as he unties a rope from the boulders, wrapping it around the dazed group of men. When his work is done, the man straightens up and turns towards you. Yet again, you’re stunned by the blue of his eyes. In the moonlight, they look almost ghostly."

Amazing, flawless work, I can see the entire scene in my head and I know his eyes are unfairest color of blue.

“Are you alright?” he asks, stretching out a hand dressed in black leather for you to take. His voice is gruff, the words clipped. In his other hand, he holds his hat. He took it off as soon as he approached you.

I am so not normal about the black leather gloves. Fr, I'm giggling over them and the way he took off his hat. Ever the gentleman.

"He hand still reaches out towards you like he knows you’ll take it. You do. He hoists you onto the horse behind him. Up close, he smells like earth and sweat and the smoke of a bonfire. Your arms wrap around his sturdy torso."

hehe, yes, very good. Zero hesitation for the handsome stranger with manners.

"He stares at you. Already, this man prickles your nerves in a way no one else ever has. You’re not used to silence like this; he’s using it against you, but for what, you’re not quite sure."

Bruce Wayne the man that you are. He has no idea how to talk to people and I adore him for it. (We are the same, him and I)

"“Bruce,” he replies. For what feels like the first time in the very short period you’ve known him, you get a straight answer. You return the favor by giving him your name. He repeats it like he’s savoring a treat. His loneliness is a ghost, threatening to haunt you if you turn him away."

!!! wow, wow, wow. There's so much in that paragraph and it's all amazing writing!! I can't even put it into words. He wants that connection, but when is he ever going to get doing what he does? The reader throwing him a bone and trying to be understanding? Him latching onto it? !!! WOW

"He looks surprised. Or maybe his face hasn’t moved and it’s just your imagination. But he doesn’t respond right away. His horse shakes its mane. You turn away from him, grabbing your horse’s reins to lead it to it. You’re in awe when Bruce follows."

Giggling over this, I am absolutely dying to get in his head at this moment.

"He’s tall. You were able to more passively figure that out when you first saw him, but up close, it’s even harder to ignore. Not only is he tall, but he’s broad. You see manual laborers all day, but Bruce is something else. “I call her Bats.”"

Drooling over the imagery, but also calling his horse Bats because he found her by bats is scratching an itch in my brain.

You don’t mind Bruce’s presence, even if he might mind yours. He’s still a stranger in your home, but you’re becoming more convinced that he isn’t unkind, even if he is maybe unlikable. But unlikable feels like too harsh of a word, even for a harsh person.

AH, honestly this sums him up so well!

"You wonder how much of this is just who he is, or if it’s at all just a result of the world he navigates through. How many strangers has he encountered who took advantage of his trust. But surely he must recognize up against him, you’re not much of a threat. But maybe your attempts at getting to know him are threat enough."

ooo, OOOO! I read this paragraph three times because it's just that good!! Especially that last line, I am going insane over the character analysis!

"A nod doesn’t seem to be a sufficient reply, but what are you supposed to say? The kindness of this man sleeping out in your barn when he has a bed inside leaves you speechless."

pleeease, I'm weak in the knees over this!

"His large palms reach for your waist, keeping you firmly in front of him. Your heart leaps. You want his hands all over you. You want to relish in him, marvel he is. Make this lonely man feel a little less lonely."

Wait, I am SWOONING! Let me just grab his hair and pull, please and thank you.

"You like to feel needed, too. Like knowing there’s a purpose you have here. You have a way to thank him for helping you, something more than a roof over his head. Something less temporary, because at least when he rides away, he’ll have something to remember you by."

I am loosing it over here. There's desperation, desire and all of it's driven by the fact he's a passing ship. You'll stay here on your ranch, he'll go save lives, and even it could be more, there's no way it would. AH, this idea is making insane. Will he think of the reader while he's lonely and the sky is empty save for the stars? Will he wonder if, in another life, he could stayed on her porch and helped tend the cattle and eventually learned to wake up to the sound of running feet against the wooden floors?

"If Bruce minds, he certainly isn’t giving any signs. He guides you as you blindly walk backwards through the ranch, his arm hooked around your waist to keep you upright."

eeee, strong man makes my brain go brrrr

"Bruce sighs against your skin. The rush goes to your head; here you have a very skilled man with a reputation for being unstoppable in your bed. He’s surrendered himself to you, and you imagine that’s not something he often does."

I am giggling and kicking my feet!!!

"His eyes are intense in the dim light. Steely eyes fixed to you with such focus, you’d maybe be unnerved if having all his attention to yourself didn’t fill your stomach with butterflies."

I typed and retyped for so long trying to get my thoughts out on this. I'm literally stuttering and tripping over myself.

“Relax, cowboy,” you whisper, your cunt fluttering around him. You take his hands and pin them next to his head. “Lemme say thank you for saving my life.”

OP! you had to know what you were doing when you typed this, my jaw is on the ground!

"“Let’s see if you can handle some bucking better now than you did earlier,” he growls. You’d feel embarrassed that he’d seen your horse throw you if you weren’t so cock drunk. But it’s just enough to embolden you."

!!! !!! oh my god??! I'm fanning my face and clutching my pearls (amazing. delicious. op, you are insane for this one)

"With his hands on your ass, he moves you up and down onto him. His grip is secure. With what little focus you have at this point, you find yourself fixated by watching the muscles of his arm work your body weight with ease."

I am a puddle on the floor.

“How’s that for a thank you?” you ask when you finally catch your breath. He chuckles softly, the tips of his fingers brushing against the skin of your back. “Well, next time you’re in trouble, just call for me. Me and Bats’ll come running.”

Gonna go read the whole thing again. It is really that good. Thank you for your work!!

Beneath Some Old Moon

Summary: After a close call with the Two Face Gang, you offer your savior--the mysterious Crusader--some hospitality.

(alternatively, save a horse...)

Pairing: Cowboy!Bruce Wayne x reader

Words: 5.9k

Content/warnings: old west cowboy au, historical inaccuracies probably, threatening scenario, guns, p in v sex, cowgirl (get it?), sort of sub!bruce, unprotected sex, reader is not described, reader's horse is not named

Wind whips across your face as you ride as fast as your horse will take you.

The Two Face gang hoots and hollers behind you. At the front, Harvey ‘Two Face’ Dent, leading his group of men.

You’d stayed in town too long, caught up in the gossip of a stranger riding in. The rumors were he was the same guy who stopped some bandits down in the prairie. Of course, your current predicament doesn’t really seem worth the whispers, because wherever his Crusader stranger is, it’s not here. It’s just you attempting to outrun a gang of five as they quickly gain on you.

Your horse may be well trained, but she isn’t used to this speed the way the gangs’ likely are.

Shots ring out around the ground by your horse’s hooves, drowning the men’s laughter. Dirt kicks up into the air. Before you really know what’s happening, you’re flat on your back, the air knocked from your lungs. Above you, clouds collect over the stars, leaving nothing but the large bright moon.

If you’re killed here tonight, you hope that’s the last thing you see.

The gang circles you on their horses. Yours runs off towards the ranch. You imagine it waiting by the stable for you, only for you to never arrive. You think of your cows, come morning waiting to be fed. You take what little solace you can knowing the widow nearby will notice when the animals begin to get rowdy from their hunger if the neighbor boy’s late to help as he often is.

Hooves trample around you as the men trap you. You feel something damp along your side, and for a moment, you think you might be bleeding. As you raise a trembling hand to your side, it takes you a second to realize it’s not blood at all. One of the jars of canned peaches you picked up in town shattered when you hit the ground. Shards of glass jostle in your satchel as you try to sit back up.

You’re still gasping for air, trying to fill your aching lungs with everything that had been knocked out of you. Thoughts race through your head as you try to think of any good way out of here, but you’re surrounded and unarmed.

A sudden yell snaps you from your oxygen-deprived daze. Dent is now on the ground with you, outside the ring of horses, and being dragged away.

Yelling and hooves trampling deafen you before you can process what’s happening. Shots ring out again, and you flinch, anticipating impact. Instead, powerful legs race by you as the horses charge towards a single man.

A full moon’s light illuminates the fight. You wheeze and stagger back. Two Face wriggles on the ground in the restraints of the lasso around his shoulders.

Though you can’t really be certain, you feel an innate sense of knowledge that this is the stranger people whispered about in town. You’d accidentally met his eyes this morning. They were bluer than the sky on a clear day. Like peering into a stream of crystal clear water.

Now he lures the gang away from you, his horse weaving to avoid their shots. You keep waiting for the moment he pulls his gun out on them, but the moment never comes. The stranger ducks as he guides the men between two boulders. Your vision still swims slightly as you squint to figure out why.

Your questions are answered when the first two men following the stranger hit something and spring back from their horses towards the other two men behind them. Dirt kicks up around them as the horses fall into disarray, bucking and crying out before running in all different directions.

The stranger turns his horse, dismounting before the pile of outlaws sprawled out onto the ground. You watch in stunned silence as he unties a rope from the boulders, wrapping it around the dazed group of men.

When his work is done, the man straightens up and turns towards you. Yet again, you’re stunned by the blue of his eyes. In the moonlight, they look almost ghostly.

He takes his horse and leads it over to you by its reins. He towers above you where you’re still on the ground. Embarrassment creeps up your spine as you think about the fact you should have stood up by now.

“Are you alright?” he asks, stretching out a hand dressed in black leather for you to take. His voice is gruff, the words clipped. In his other hand, he holds his hat. He took it off as soon as he approached you.

After a moment’s hesitation, your hand wraps around his. He pulls you back up to your feet with ease. You nod and manage to breathe a thank you, finally beginning to catch your breath. Your eyes drift towards the gang tied up on the ground. The sound of the stranger’s voice pulls your gaze back up to him.

“Were you out walking at this time of night?” he asks. His voice makes it sound as if he’s accusing you of something.

You huff slightly. “No, I wasn’t walking out here,” you snap. Guilt quickly takes over for your short fuse, but the stranger doesn’t seem startled either way. You imagine he encounters far worse than the likes of you. “My horse ran off when they started chasing us. They were shooting at the ground. She threw me.”

The stranger nods. “Where were you going?” he asks.

You have half a mind to lie. It would be the smart thing to do, wouldn’t it? All you know of this man comes from town gossip, and the incredible feat you’d just seen in front of you, neither of which give complete promise that you’re safe with him. What’s to say he isn’t going to want something in return for helping you? What good would giving this man your address do?

At the same time, however, you realize this really is no place for you to be wandering round at night, even with the moon so full and bright. The silvery light casts shadows over the man’s face, and you catch sight of a scar across his jawline.

“My ranch. Just that way,” you say, eyes flickering towards the small outline of the ranch at the top of the small slope ahead.

Wordlessly, the man mounts his horse again, gloved hand yet again out for you to take. What he expects of you is obvious.

“What about them?” you ask, looking back to the gang.

“Sheriff’ll pick ‘em up,” he replies. He hand still reaches out towards you like he knows you’ll take it.

You do.

He hoists you onto the horse behind him. Up close, he smells like earth and sweat and the smoke of a bonfire. Your arms wrap around his sturdy torso. You get the feeling that the display of skill you’d seen earlier is only a portion of what this strange man is capable of.

You catch yourself wondering what he must look like beneath the dust-coated clothes he wears. For your own sake, you write it off as being flustered from the whole ordeal.

You trot back to the ranch, your grip tight on the man. You realize he might be going slow for your sake. You could get there in half the time if you told him he could ride faster, but you don’t. The slower you go, the more time you have to digest everything that’s happened.

Silence falls between the two of you. You’re thankful he doesn’t ask questions. For a man of his reputation, you can only imagine what he must think of you getting thrown from your horse so easily.

Above head, thunder rolls, filling the lull. People in town talked plenty about the storm that was going to roll through. After the man your arms are wrapped around, that was the hot topic. You won’t admit it out loud, but you’re relieved then to have gotten a ride with him. At least you wouldn’t get caught in the rain.

From a distance, you spot your horse trotting around in front of the stable at home. The man slides off the saddle before holding out his hands to help you off. His gentlemanly charm catches you by surprise. The gruffness of his voice had led you to expect something else.

“Thank you,” you say again.

He regards you carefully with his icy eyes for a moment. “You should be more careful,” he says.

Suddenly, being whisked away by a mysterious stranger loses the allure.

You cross your arms over your chest. “That’s awfully presumptuous for a man who just road in,” you reply. “How do you know I’m not careful?”

“Because I had to scare the Two Face Gang off of you.”

The scowl deepens on your face. “How do you know I’m not usually careful?”

He holds your gaze a second longer than is comfortable. “Two Face isn’t in the business of asking if you’re usually careful,” he replies.

Your eyes narrow to slits at him. His expression has never changed—always a carefully guarded, unreadable frown—but you imagine he’s being smug, or whatever his version of smug is. You don’t appreciate this man you don’t know telling you what to do, and you’re sure as hell not going to let him think otherwise.

You scoff. “You have been here all of a couple of hours. Forgive me if I take whatever it is you think I should or should not do with a grain of salt.”

He stares at you. Already, this man prickles your nerves in a way no one else ever has. You’re not used to silence like this; he’s using it against you, but for what, you’re not quite sure.

“What’s your name, anyway?” you ask. Your weight shifts into one of your hips.

“They call me the Crusader.”

You try not to roll your eyes. “I know that’s what they call you. But what’s your name?”

Silence. Your eyes narrow even more.

“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?”

“Nope.”

You curse under your breath. “Fine. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for the ride home. You can leave.”

He doesn’t budge, nor do you. You want to scream in his face and ask him what he wants. If he’s not going to talk, why is he haunting your doorstep? You’re not sure what kind of response to expect from him with that kind of outburst, though, and you’ve pressed your luck enough as it is for the evening.

Finally, he speaks.

“I’m not...good at this sort of thing,” he says. His fist is clenched at his side, yet you’re not sure it’s meant as a threat.

“What sort of thing?”

He scowls at you like you’re supposed to understand someone you just met.

“What, talking to people?” you add when he doesn’t explain himself. “Yeah, I can kind of tell.” And everything starts to click. The silence isn’t that of a grumpy, worn cowboy—at least not exclusively—but of a man who spends so much time on his own, he no longer knows how to connect with anyone.

“What’s your name?” you ask again. This time, there’s more patience in your voice.

“Bruce,” he replies. For what feels like the first time in the very short period you’ve known him, you get a straight answer. You return the favor by giving him your name. He repeats it like he’s savoring a treat.

His loneliness is a ghost, threatening to haunt you if you turn him away.

Thunder cracks in the sky again. A heavy drop falls from the sky, splattering on your shoulder. The stars are blocked out by the heavy clouds that had been collecting all day. “You aren’t thinking about going out in that, are you?” you ask.

“Just some rain. Never hurt anyone.”

You purse your lips together. There isn’t a single reason you should trust this man enough to invite him into your home while you sleep. But you can’t just let him wander off into the storm, can you?

You don’t want him wandering around soaking wet, shirt clinging to his broad chest, pants tight across his thick thighs He’d catch a cold. Plus, the man is lonely. You can imagine the isolation of the prairies are something that could wear on a person. He could use someone to talk to. He saved your life, after all.

“You should stay,” you say.

He looks surprised. Or maybe his face hasn’t moved and it’s just your imagination. But he doesn’t respond right away. His horse shakes its mane. You turn away from him, grabbing your horse’s reins to lead it to it. You’re in awe when Bruce follows.

“Your horse have a name?” you ask, turning back over your shoulder to look at him. It’s a peace offering, of sorts.

He’s tall. You were able to more passively figure that out when you first saw him, but up close, it’s even harder to ignore. Not only is he tall, but he’s broad. You see manual laborers all day, but Bruce is something else. “I call her Bats.”

You laugh softly. “Why’s that?” you ask. Something about the name tempers your nerves. A name isn’t enough to totally give your trust over to Bruce, but you hear the fondness as he speaks of her. A man who has proven himself to be very gruff, with his reclusive nature, has a soft spot for his horse.

“Found her over in some canyons by a bunch of bats.” He rustles her dark mane. Your lips quirk up into a smile.

Bruce waits at the front of the stable as you stable your horse. You pretend like you aren’t unnerved by his staring.

“You’re welcome to keep her here,” you offer again.

A bright light flashes behind Bruce’s back. A few seconds later, a loud clap of thunder. Bats lets out a startled whinny.

“Alright,” Bruce says, though he makes no pains to sound happy about it.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” you ask. Your knees are pulled to your chest. You watch the flames from your fireplace flicker across Bruce’s face.

He took his hat off when he came inside like a gentleman. Despite his brusque attitude, he has manners. One that seem deeply ingrained in him. You have more questions you’d like to ask, but considering you have to wrestle every piece of information about himself out of him, you decide not to press your luck.

“Nope,” he replies. Flames flicker in his eyes.

“Where are you from?”

The fire crackles. Rain patters against your roof. Thunder rolls in the lull of the storm. Bruce says it’ll come back. You trust him on this.

“Out east.”

You nod. “Did you save people out there, too?”

“No.”

A thin scar runs through his thick, dark brow. He stares into the fireplace like he’s hoping to learn a secret. You feel like you’re interrupting something every time you say something, so this time you don’t.

With how unwilling he is to speak, you worry you’re bothering him. He said he’s not good at talking with people, but you wonder if it’s because he just doesn’t like it. Or maybe he doesn’t like you. So you let the storm and the fire fill the silence.

You don’t mind Bruce’s presence, even if he might mind yours. He’s still a stranger in your home, but you’re becoming more convinced that he isn’t unkind, even if he is maybe unlikable. But unlikable feels like too harsh of a word, even for a harsh person.

“You get lonely out here on your own?” he asks. You hadn’t been expecting for him to ask you anything at all, let alone something so personal. Maybe you are a little lonely; you’d been pondering this man’s loneliness, hadn’t you? You’d guess he was something of an expert.

“I suppose I do.” A beat. “Do you get lonely out there?” You nod towards your rain-speckled window, though you mean the greater world outside of it.

“I’ve got Bats,” he says.

You nod again.

What’s he looking for doing the things he does? Despite your best attempts, he’s still a mystery to you. A hard shell with some sort of kindness buried inside, though what kind and for what reasons, you’re not sure. He helps people. You heard about his reputation in town. He’d helped you. He takes his hat off and helps people down from horses. That has to count for something.

Bruce doesn’t seem like the kind of man to get attached. Beyond that, you shouldn’t be so optimistic or naive to believe he’s the sort of man you want attachments to. A lifestyle like his isn’t one that lends itself to a long life.

“You’re welcome to wash up, if you’d like,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Are you saying I smell?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I’m just offering the accommodations I have.” But, truth be told, you were concerned about the dirt you’re sure he’s picked up traveling around. You’re the one who will have to wash the world out of your sheets once he leaves you behind.

He doesn’t argue with you, but there is a brief hesitation. You wonder how much of this is just who he is, or if it’s at all just a result of the world he navigates through. How many strangers has he encountered who took advantage of his trust. But surely he must recognize up against him, you’re not much of a threat. But maybe your attempts at getting to know him are threat enough.

You were the first to turn in. After tossing and turning for a while, worrying about the unattended stranger in your home, you fell asleep.

Darkness still swallows you room when you next open your eyes. You’re not sure what rouses you. The once violent storm has subsided to just pattering rain on your window. The house is still. For a moment, you think Bruce may be asleep, but the stillness feels more firm than that. It’s not a house asleep; it’s a house emptied.

You get up, and slip your robe on. You carefully avoid the creaky floorboards you know by heart as you creep to your door. You turn the knob slowly, not wanting to alert your strange new friend. But as you sneak about your own home, you realize he’s not here. The bed he’d been laying in is empty, sheets turned over.

Your sleep-addled brain wants you to rummage through the house, make sure he didn’t sneak off with anything while you slept. But an unfamiliar worry knots your stomach for a reason you can’t seem to pinpoint. Almost like you’re disappointed he’s already gone.

As you run out into the rain, you decide you’ll blame this all on waking up in the middle of the night. You’re clearly not fully awake just yet. You stagger through the mist and into the stable, expecting to see an empty spot where Bats should be.

Instead, you see Bruce, back against the gate, chin slumped to his chest. His black hat covers his eyes, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh,” you breathe.

As quiet as you’d tried to be, the soft utterance is enough for Bruce’s head to snap up. His muscles tense, and he looks very suddenly ready for a fight.

His eyes land on you, standing in the frame of the stable in your night clothes, and he relaxes some. “Just you,” he says, laughing to himself. He takes off his hat, and his heavy-lidded eyes land on you. You realize he’s expecting you to say something for interrupting his sleep.

“The storm’s passed. I thought you might have…” You trail off. What would it matter if Bruce had gone off? What difference would that make, and why do you you care?

He looks at Bats’ sleeping form in the hay. “She’s not much used to being alone.” His deep voice is rough with sleep. Your mouth feels dry. “Didn’t want her skittish from the storm.”

A nod doesn’t seem to be a sufficient reply, but what are you supposed to say? The kindness of this man sleeping out in your barn when he has a bed inside leaves you speechless.

“Right.” Your gaze follows him as he stands up.

“Everything alright?” he asks. He takes a half step towards you.

You nod again, your feet deciding to move up a step in return. “Yeah. Just…”

Just what, you don’t know. This is another silence with Bruce you don’t know how to fill. You watched this man outride the Two Face Gang. You watched him best Two Face himself when you’ve heard the whole town talk about how fierce he was supposed to be. And he’s sleeping out in your stable because he doesn’t want his horse to be spooked.

He’s a few feet away from you. Too far. Even when you sat beside the fire together, you were still too far away from him. You can’t stand it anymore.

You cross the stable, stopping only a foot away from him. You could reach out and brush your fingertips along his jaw if you had the nerve to raise your hand. He doesn’t step any closer, but right now, his attention is only on you. You feel naked before him, stripped just from his survey. Your breathing grows heavy just from the way he looks at you.

His dark, heavy brows only add to the intensity of focus. His chest rises and falls; you realize now he’s down to his undershirt, the cotton thin and worn. You catch sight of the dark chest hair sprawling across his skin.

Finally, just when you feel like you’re going to explode, you wrap your arms around him, your face angled towards his lips, hovering just before them. He doesn’t look away. His gaze is fixed on you, but he never makes any sign he wants you to stop.

His large palms reach for your waist, keeping you firmly in front of him. Your heart leaps. You want his hands all over you. You want to relish in him, marvel he is. Make this lonely man feel a little less lonely.

His lips are dry as yours brush over them. Riding out in the sun and the cold is tough on the skin; you know that well. You wonder what the last real taste of tenderness this man has experienced is.

If Bruce needs another place to surrender, let your body be it. Let him find peace with you, even if for a fleeting moment.

Finally, you press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips to test the waters. His fingertips curl into your clothes as if that touch alone would reassure you’d kiss him again. He may not have much to say, but even buried beneath all the stoicism, you find he needs touch just as much as anyone else.

You wonder how long it’s been since he’s touched someone else with tenderness.

Your drive comes from the eagerness of his response. You like to feel needed, too. Like knowing there’s a purpose you have here. You have a way to thank him for helping you, something more than a roof over his head. Something less temporary, because at least when he rides away, he’ll have something to remember you by.

When you kiss him again, you’re more eager, more confident of your goal. Bruce responds in kind. He kisses you like a man starved. You know almost nothing about him, and yet, you feel as if you understand him. Maybe it’s just the close call with a bad crowd. Maybe it’s just the fact that a man so worn by the weather shouldn’t be that gorgeous, and you just want a reason for wanting him this badly. Whatever it is, you feel like he might understand you, too.

He leans against the stable, holding you to his chest as a hand cups the back of your head. Your fingers fold into his hair, wishing you could wrap yourself around him fully. Wishing there was a way to get rid of all of the space between the two of you.

Your teeth graze his lip, poking the boundaries again. His grip on you tightens even more. You take that as a positive reaction and gently bite down on his lower lip, pulling back some.

By the time you pull away, you’re breathless and dizzy, drunk off his presence.

You grab him by the front of his shirt, tugging him out of the stable, still crowding in his space. If Bruce minds, he certainly isn’t giving any signs. He guides you as you blindly walk backwards through the ranch, his arm hooked around your waist to keep you upright.

The security of his touch has you pulling him back to you, crashing into a kiss yet again as the brim of his hat keeps your lips sheltered from the rain. He keeps the both of you moving. You let him; he’s been inside the house now. You know he knows where he’s going.

And soon, you feel your back hit the door. You reach behind you, not bothering to look as you fumble for the door handle, one hand still gripping onto Bruce like you can’t stand to lose him. He has you pressed onto the door. When you finally find the handle, the door swings open. On a different day, you would have fallen flat on your back. Bruce catches you. Not even that, because he’s holding you, you don’t even begin to fall.

You manage to tear apart long enough for him to pull his shirt off over his head. Your eyes widen at the sight of his scarred skin. Dipping in some parts, puckering in others. Carefully, you run a hand up the skin, fingertips brushing over the coarse hair on his chest.

There isn’t time for more observation before he’s working your clothes off as well. When you’re clothes are scattered all around the room, he pulls you back to him. Warm skin presses into warm skin. The feeling of him even just like this is intoxicating. You could bury yourself in him and be the most peaceful you’ve ever been in your life.

Bruce doesn’t resist as you turn him around, pushing him down onto the bed. It squeaks with his weight. He looks up at you, sitting off the end of the old mattress. You climb on top of him, straddling his lap.

He holds you against his chest. His lips brush over the skin of your neck. You sigh, fingertips tangling in the ends of his hair yet again. You feel a growing bulge against your thigh that has the corners of your mouth pulling into a smirk.

You grind your hips down, breath hitching at the rise of pleasure. Bruce sighs against your skin. The rush goes to your head; here you have a very skilled man with a reputation for being unstoppable in your bed. He’s surrendered himself to you, and you imagine that’s not something he often does.

Once more, your hips press down into his. Your head falls back as you let out a soft breathy moan. Bruce groans into your skin as his kiss trails down your chest. His calloused hands run up the exposed skin of your legs, gripping onto your hips. When you don’t move, he moves you himself. He grinds against you while rolling your hips towards his.

You let out another pleasured cry. Your nails bite into his shoulder, and his breath picks up. Figures he’s the kind of guy who wants it to hurt at least a little.

Bruce rocks you against him, but it’s just not enough. Not close enough, not full enough. You need more of him. You pull back slightly. The hand that isn’t clawing at his skin pulls his face back from your chest. Your nails drag across his back as you slide off his lap, bending down to undo his pants.

His cock springs up. The outline of it presses up against the thin cotton of his drawers. Warmth pools in the pit of your stomach. Your ache for him comes to a desperate mount.

When it’s nothing but the two of you stripped bare, you rest your hand back on his chest, pushing him down into the mattress. He smirks and goes down willingly, cock twitching as he stares up at you.

The mattress dips as you lean a knee onto the bed, moving to straddle him yet again. His eyes are intense in the dim light. Steely eyes fixed to you with such focus, you’d maybe be unnerved if having all his attention to yourself didn’t fill your stomach with butterflies.

You wrap your hand around his cock as you slowly sink down onto him. The weight of your head tips back yet again as you adjust to how very full he makes you feel. Burying him inside of you alone is enough to have you seeing stars; his cock hits a spot deep inside of you, something blinding you can’t quite reach on your own.

Bruce’s hands dig into your hips again like he wants to take charge, but he holds back.

When you get used to the sensation of him inside you, you pull his hands away from your hips, threading your fingers between his.

“Relax, cowboy,” you whisper, your cunt fluttering around him. You take his hands and pin them next to his head. “Lemme say thank you for saving my life.” You lean down, so slick you slide up his cock with ease. You feel him jerk against your walls as you press a soft kiss just below his ear.

You’re positive it would take no effort for him to flip you over, take you exactly the way he wants to, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even struggle against you. He’s at your mercy, but only because he’s allowing himself to be.

Oddly, you feel honored.

You sit back up, hands sliding down Bruce’s scarred arms, pussy engulfing his cock yet again. A breath catches in your throat as you hit that same spot deep inside. Your palms rest on his chest, fingers splayed out, and you begin to rock your hips against him. He doesn’t protest the weight of your hands. His palms ghost over the skin of your arms, sliding up your back to wrap into your hair. There’s no escaping his gaze except in the moments your eyelids flutter with bliss.

Grinding against him has a sweet warmth building in your stomach. You groan and sigh as you ride him, and he starts to smirk.

“You sound beautiful, darlin’,” he says, pulling you to his lips again. Your cunt is still wrapped around his tip as he cups your jaw with one hand, the other smoothing down the skin of your back. From this angle, you can’t sink back down onto him, and your pussy feels woefully empty,

But Bruce shifts suddenly, legs bent, and begins thrusting into you. His lips don’t dare to leave yours, muffling your gratified cry. He grips your ass, lowering you onto his cock as he thrusts up, getting deeper than even before.

You gasp, knowing you won’t be able to keep back your climax at this rate.

“Let’s see if you can handle some bucking better now than you did earlier,” he growls. You’d feel embarrassed that he’d seen your horse throw you if you weren’t so cock drunk. But it’s just enough to embolden you.

“I told you earlier, Mr. Crusader,” you say, swatting his hands away. “I know how to take care of myself.” You lean back onto your knees again, bouncing on his cock. His hands run over your chest, your ass, whatever he can reach, but he doesn’t seem to be able to get enough.

You can relate.

“Sit up,” you order breathlessly.

“Yes ma’am,” he complies with a playful smirk. The contrast between the gruff man who’d swept you away from danger is staggering. Now, you would even go so far as to say he seems to be enjoying himself.

His chest presses up against yours. You crash your lips against his as you ride him. He winds one arm around your waist again, the other back in your hair. For leverage, you keep your palms onto his shoulders. Your teeth graze over his bottom lip again before biting down. His grip only tightens.

The pleasure is mounting. Your rhythm begins to get sloppier, less steady as you try to chase your orgasm.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Lemme see you take care of yourself,” he teases as you pull away from the kiss, working him deep inside of you.

Your nails dig back into his skin at the words. Your breath catches again. You grind down onto him at just the right angle and everything seems to fall away.

You cry out. If Bruce wasn’t there, you’d fall just like before, but he catches you as you release. Your cunt squeezes around him, and he growls again.

“That’s right. You got one more for me?” he asks. As you ride out the afterglow of your orgasm, Bruce takes your hips again, using his strength to keep you sinking down onto his cock.

“Uh-huh…” you pant, nodding as you give the work over to him.

With his hands on your ass, he moves you up and down onto him. His grip is secure. With what little focus you have at this point, you find yourself fixated by watching the muscles of his arm work your body weight with ease.

Without a break between your first orgasm and the now furious pace at which Bruce fucks himself with your cunt, you feel another climax approaching. Bruce knows. His focus has never waned from your face, infatuated with the details of your expression as you ride him.

Now that he’s doing all the work, you take your hands and cup his cheeks, your lips finding his again in a messy kiss. You’re ravenous for him, wired off of your own bliss. If you don’t ground yourself with him, this seemingly endlessly grounded man, you’d fly away.

Bruce bites down on your lip now, a forceful grip that has you moaning.

His hips stutter. You feel it just as you’re teetering over the edge. One hand moves from his cheek, tugging onto his hair. He moans, and the sound alone pushes you until you’re throbbing around him yet again, body shivering with the force of your release.

Bruce marvels at your open mouthed cries, eyes pinched shut. He slams you down onto his cock, his grip almost bruising as you feel him twitch and cum inside of you.

There’s a beat as you both float on your high, still clinging to each other. Your heart hammers against his chest. Bruce breathes against you. It’s still not close enough, but it’s the closest you’d likely get.

You duck your head into his neck, resting your forehead against his sturdy shoulder. Half-moon indents linger on his skin from your nails. You just smile.

“How’s that for a thank you?” you ask when you finally catch your breath.

He chuckles softly, the tips of his fingers brushing against the skin of your back. “Well, next time you’re in trouble, just call for me. Me and Bats’ll come running.”

AN: huge shout out to @janybabyy, @fic-over-cannon, and @youknowwhoiamperiod for helping me with brainstorming this 💛 i appreciate it big time

[mercurybluewrites]

Fingernails Chapter 1

Hello all, my first time posting fanfiction since 2014 (lmao!) All fics will be posted on AO3 and will be posted there 1st! Below is the link to it on AO3. Happy reading and please remember to interact and reblog!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41220963

Fingernails

V rummaged around the cabinet underneath the sink looking for a very specific plastic tub. Between working any gig that she could get her hands on and trying to find a way to evict her brain parasite without dying, V had almost no downtime. A point she has made very clear to said parasite many times and was now regretting that.

“Jesus, V. How many times have you said ‘We don’t have time for this, we can’t stop, I gotta take this gig, blah blah fuckin’ blah.’ Now you’re painting your nails like some corpocunt”, Johnny taunted.

V rolled her eyes and placed the tub of nail goodies on the counter, accidentally spooking Nibbles from her nap in the sink bowl. “First of all, I said we had very little time to relax. So we have some,” V smirked at Johnny and continued after soothing the poor cat. “And corpocunts wouldn’t paint their own nails, they get color-changing nail implants or some shit. At the very least, they’d pay someone to do it for them. God forbid they actually lift a finger.”

Johnny snorted out a laugh at that and materialized a fake cigarette. He puffed on it for a bit while he watched V pick out a nail color and gather her tools. “You know what I’m about to ask next,” He said, moving closer to the merc and tossing out the digital cig butt.

That was the ‘fun’ part of sharing a mind. It was more than what Vik said of becoming one person, it was knowing and feeling everything about each other. Including what they were about to say to the other person. They figured out at some point that if they focused hard enough they could hide things from each other. However, it wasn’t a passive thing to do - it took actual effort and so most things passed between the two connected minds.

“It’s…hard to explain why I like taking care of my nails. After all that crap with the Voodoo Boys, you know how important my mom was to me. We used to paint our nails together all the time before…well you know,” She let out a sigh before pushing those emotions to the side. “Plus nail polish and shitty drug store makeup were stupidly easy to klep when I was with the Bakkers,” V grinned proudly.

Johnny gave V a small smile, “Ya know talking to you sometimes is more depressing than kicking a puppy with progeria. Now grab a nail color and let’s watch some shitty TV, Samurai.”

And V did just that. She grabbed a dark purple color that had flakes of slivery glitter swirling around in it and flicked on the TV. Watson Whore. Neither of them liked modern TV, the corpo propaganda wasn’t even hidden and the acting was worse than atrocious. However, V would sometimes indulge in a guilty pleasure of consuming really really awful weeknight dramas. She would only catch every other episode so she had no fucking clue what was going on. Right now the lead girl was in a really expensive-looking bikini and sobbing over some hunk of a guy with a crazy amount of stab wounds.

“I swear if Maxtec or some other corpo comes bursting in to save her night, I’m taking over and changing the channel,” Johnny grumbled as he popped up next to V.

“If I smoke a cig or two will you shut up?”

“Yes.”

V lit one up and started puffing on it. She started by cleaning the old polish off and clipping her nails as the nicotine entered her bloodstream. Johnny finally seemed to settle down. A weird sense of peace also settled in - or peace as much as Night City would allow. It was funny in a way. Just a few hours ago, V was dodging bullets and separating Tyger heads from their bodies. The scratch she made was disappointing, to say the least, only a little over 6K eddies for all that work. Enough for rent and some food at least but not much else. So a nail day was much needed to say the least.

She lifted up a nail file and inspected it. It was an old metal one that was starting to dull on one side. V was too comfy to get up a grab a new one, plus Nibbles decided her lap made a much better bed. She flipped it over to the other side and started filing away. While she enjoyed taking care of her nails, she wasn’t creative and just shaped them into the standard oval shape. Being a merc doesn’t allow for nail creativity anyway.

V ashed the cig as she grabbed the cuticle oil next. She poured a generous amount on each nail bed and massaged it in. She rubbed the oil in slowly, both to actually let it absorb into the nail bed but the act also released the soreness from her overworked digits. V paused and briefly wondered if the oil could smooth out the callouses on her hands. Her trigger finger was…bad. That didn’t even start describing some of her scars. Hell, the road rash down her leg was horrific when she wiped out on a sketchy-ass bike when she was 17.

“Oh come on it's not that bad!”

“Jesus fuck!” V jumped hard, no longer relaxed and neither was the cat. The oil bottle swiped across her knuckles (she’d find out if cuticle oil would help after all) and landed on the coffee table, “I thought you said you shut up?” V leveled a look at him and stamped out the dying cigarette. Even Nibbles seemed to give the digital ghost a look before deciding her food bowl was much more interesting.

He smirked, bastard enjoys messing with her. “Pipe down, I got bored. Plus when did you get so concerned about looks?”

“Johnny, I think it’s fair to say anyone in NC is obsessed with looks. Kinda the first part of the battle when it comes to decent street cred.”

“Heh, I guess not everyone is blessed being able to look this good this easily,” With his signature grin, he leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. The only thing V could think of is that if Johnny is going to be in the passenger seat much longer, Vik would have to give her some blood pressure meds along with those blockers.

Instead, V just shook her head and lit a 2nd cigarette. She briefly considered fixing herself a drink, they were taking time to relax for once, but as much as the digital brain parasite annoyed her… He’s definitely grown on her. A part of her wonders if that was the relic rewiring her brain or if they were actually getting along. Rouge and Johnny never shared a brain (Thank God, even if that would be the most entertaining thing of the century.) and they meshed well in their own way. Sort of.

‘Nope…’ V thought to herself. Tonight is supposed to be relaxing and following that line of thought is the opposite. To remedy that, she grabbed the chosen nail polish color and unscrewed the cap. The familiar chemical smell that comes with any bottle of nail polish flooded her senses. Most hate the smell or at least think it’s too strong, but V loved it. Could it be because that smell was present during a time of her life when things were safe and ok? Probably, but right now it was as effective as synth-lavender.

V is no nail tech but she knows a few tips and tricks from years of nail care. She dipped the brush in the swirling liquid and pressed it on the bottom of her thumbnail. Not all the way down though, don’t want to flood the cuticle. She then smoothly and gently pulled the brush up to the tip and angled it so it would cover the edge of the nail. Always wrap the tip.

“That’s what I’ve said for years,” said Johnny. V at first wanted to berate him but couldn’t help but laugh.

V repeated the motions until the thumbnail was covered. The purple and silver glitter complimented each other nicely. She held it to the light. It made it sparkle brilliantly and the purple shimmer with an iridescent flare. She hummed to herself in approval and continued on to the next fingernail. V entered almost a meditative state as she focused on covering each nail, not noticing her parasite was watching intently as she went along. The two minds were finally relaxed and contented for once.

The episode of Watson Whore ended as V finished the last stroke on her pinky finger. There were a few mistakes where she accidentally got some paint on the skin around the nail but overall, her fingernails gleamed. Besides those bits would wash off in the shower. She grinned and looked over at Johnny. Much to V’s surprise, he was also admiring her nails. She expected a joke or a comment but instead…

“Ok damn. I’ll admit it V, I’m impressed,” He said while gesturing for her to show off her other hand.

V was flabbergasted for a second before composing herself, “Too bad you’re a ghost or I could make you look so pretty,” She joked.

“Tell ya what, we both somehow make it out of this… You can paint my nails, V.”

“Wait, what? Really?!”

“I’d cross my heart but I’m fuckin’ dead.”

“Even the gaudiest, loudest shade of neon green?”

“V, I know I’m an asshole but be reasonable.”

She laughed a true and deep laugh, feeling in a great mood for a rare time, “Fine. I think a nice shade of blue would look hella nice on you.”

“I’ll hold you to it, Samurai,” Johnny said as he dematerialized for the night to some dark corner of her mind.

For a moment, V almost missed the presence of Silverhand until she realized it was almost 1 in the morning. She placed all her nail goodies back in the tub and then under the sink. Nibbles was already a step ahead of her and was curled up asleep next to V’s pillow. Still feeling relaxed and just in a good mood for once, V slid under the covers and sunk into the bed. V drifted off to the sound of Nibbles purring up a storm. Of course, there would always be the lingering stress of what tomorrow would bring in Night City that any resident has but tonight things are ok. In fact, they were so ok that the nightmares left them alone as well.