#but it is something i will reread later to get a better grasp. at least once my migraine subsides enough

[sleepy-aletheas]

I will toss in my cent as somebody that consumed too many stories over their life and is obsessed of training their pattern recognition skill. If I go nowhere with this, please do tell, my brain is kinda dead from trying to figure out Clockie's story.

The short answer of why the story (and especially Aven and Ratio) is written like that is: That's the point. As unsatisfying as that is, the core of Penacony's storyline is lies. And we got to understand that a lot of players don't pay attention whatsoever, and the ones who do for a second can be divided into "Oh, I'm interested in these characters, so I will try to understand!" and "I don't care for these characters, I want to skip to the ones I like, so let me skim." And that's how we get misunderstandings and mischaracterizations in droves to begin with.

The whole plan had to be pre-planned and discussed way ahead of time, before they even got near Asdana. Since the memoria is all around Penacony, and when the Astral Express lands, we're already in a dream (story-wise at least), then Aven nor Ratio could freely speak about their plans on their way anymore even if they wanted to. It all had to be said and done, because anything they said could linger as a memory bubble, and a stupid coincidence ruining it all would be less than desired.

When we meet Robin again, at some point she says that she found secret letters from an IPC ambassador, and followed the clues inside to find out the truth behind dormancy in Penacony. So that pretty much confirms that they knew about it prior arrival. How? We don't know, probably will be told next patch, or it's such a blink and you'll miss it comment that no one can remember it.

Aven being stripped off his intelligence and street smarts is such a common character mischaracterization, I wanna ram my head through a brick wall. The moment a character is a little playful, emotionally aware (god forbid emotionally intelligent), snarky with a bit more flare and flamboyance, they lose any respect from people who don't pay attention, or think these traits are inherently less. It's genuinely painful to see, because we know he's brilliant.

In this, I don't blame the writer necessarily, cause it's the in-game characters and the players that underestimate him and see him as less. Be it in-game because he's an Avgin, a former (and honestly, present in everything but name) slave, and an IPC goon; or for players because he's just chalked up as an annoying pretty boy that gets insulted by characters, and people automatically assume that is the stance they naturally need to take (I'm not gonna say anything to that, cause oh boy).

If people took a step back, and realized how on the nose his whole charade was - be it the cocky appearances and throwing distrust into the mix at all points, which btw Welt pointed out and said something along the lines of "He doesn't seem to care for being an ally or an antagonist. He's pretty straightforward with him wanting something." - I'm confused how people could realize he was playing everyone only mid to late 2.1. On a personal note, I might just see a pattern in this, and didn't even think twice before calling bullshit right there in the first meeting. I digress.

With Ratio? Yeah, that is the writers fully leaning into people's misconception of his character, and honestly, any smart character that comes off as abrasive and arrogant. Again, brilliant in-game logic, frustrating irl experience because people took one look at him when he came around, and never looked back. That is again just a common mischaracterization of genius characters in general - they tend to be labeled as cruel, abusive, degrading, full of superiority complexes and snobbish; all that, just because they aren't smiling or overly friendly or mince their words and put cups of sugar on it, just so it's palatable (not like that ever stops people from still misconstruing it).

Him being seen as a neutral party, dangling "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" logistics is great. Because Sunday is desperate, he's so set on his plans and dreams, and there comes a scholar, a genius, a brilliant mind that doesn't care for others or their lesser whims. He is there for the cold hard facts, and if he can get rid of a colleague that not even their workplace feels is of more value than a disposable asset...of course Ratio needs to dial his snark up a bit. It's not like people will notice the lies or the on-the-nose remarks and info dumping, that would be an assumption of people paying attention!

Is the plan a bit too serendipitous of it falling into place perfectly in such a chaotic place? Absolutely. Then again it is a story, and that needs to cut some corners of realism, if not for the enjoyment factor, then time limit. Not everyone has the patience to sit through hours upon hours of characters talking in riddles and walking or sitting around, before something happens (I would love to have a supercut of Penacony in general, just give me 50 hours more hoyo, I'm begging you). It's a downside to games, especially ones that cannot drag out a patch too much. It would have been easier to make the plan better (or more clearer) in book form.

The Jade and Aventurine cornerstones being switched and never recognized as two separate gems is understandable even on a general level. Many people cannot recognize different gems apart as is, and the game goes out of its way to give the Aventurine stone a tiny bit of blue that helps differentiate it for us, but Sunday missing that is very possible, especially if he never saw them side by side and didn't bother to ask what each gem in the bag is (And also he was told by Ratio, whom he trusted, that the Stonehearts have a worse relationship than The Family members, and Sunday already sees that as a win, especially because we know more about him). It's simply a stretch however you wanna see it - if someone who doesn't recognize counterfeit stones from another, or if everyone somehow is supposed to just know, is kinda lazy.

Ratio opening the box is a flimsy excuse, but then again, no one really knows how the IPC works, at least not on the upper levels, like the Stonehearts, and by association, their mission partners. Again, it's kinda running on presumptions on how this works, when this is the first time we see such cooperation, and Sunday probably knows even less than us. I chalk it up as story deliberation to make the plot moving smoother.

There are more thoughts I have, but I can't put them into coherent sentences anymore. I hope whatever I put down makes even a lick of sense. It's definitely interesting to see why this doesn't work for others. Maybe it's because I played through 2.0 and 2.1 in one day, just inhaling the story, and have been rewatching people play it, and I'm crawling through Penacony to find any and every tidbit I can. Also it might be that I'm so used to different storytelling methods, and my own, that I just see the patterns miles away.

Can we talk about how viewing the 2.0 argument scene between Ratio and Aventurine completely assassinates Aventurine’s character?

Like I’ve talked at length about how it doesn’t make sense for Ratio in the slightest, and how the scene logically doesn’t make sense either in other posts, but oh my god does viewing this argument as genuine DESTROY the entire point of Aventurines character.

In doing so, you take one of the smartest members of the cast, one whose greatest assets are his planning, calculating, and his amazing people skills, and you turn him into a helpless dumb idiot who can truly only ever succeed due to his luck… WHEN THE ENTIRE POINT OF HIS CHARACTER IS THAT HE IS MORE THAN HIS LUCK

Aventurine clearly planned (with some improvising) what he was going to do whilst on Penacony, with the end goal of sneaking his Aventurine stone into the dreamscape and getting the Jade stone inside of Penacony. A key part of this plan was faking an argument between him and Dr. Ratio in order to make Sunday think that they were:

a) On really bad terms, with Ratio completely and utterly doubting Aventurine’s success, the two of them not communicating properly, and Ratio playing up the arrogant asshole scholar to the nines, which would make the ever paranoid Sunday confident he could get Ratio to “betray” him.

b) Feed core aspects of Aventurine’s past to Sunday so the man can use it against him in Aventurine’s trial, so again, Sunday buys the betrayal plan.

c) Make Sunday think the IPC are utterly incompetent by “losing” the cornerstones so he lets his guard down and again, buys the betrayal plan. This is also particularly important for the Jade stone as it allows her to do whatever she’s planning on doing in Penacony much easier, because Sunday doesn’t even know he’s involved.

d) The meta, for the audience reason aka this is the first snippets of Aventurine’s backstory we get, and it’s necessary we know something about him before we get 2.1 which is entirely centered on his past + lore. Hoyo needs to give the players something to chew on and build hype before then, so this argument is story-wise a really good way to do that. 

Now, I’m going to list all of the examples I can think of to demonstrate how Aventurine’s incredibly well crafted plan becomes a clown fest and absolute plothole nightmare if you believe the 2.0 scene is genuine and everything Aventurine says and does there is real.

The arrangement of the cornerstones 

In viewing this scene as genuine, Aventurine gets so ridiculously lucky (even for him) about how the cornerstones are arranged in his stuff that the family stole. 

The scene goes from “ah yes, Aven planned to fool Sunday by putting the Jade stone in his bag and the Topaz stone in the box where his cornerstone should be, making Sunday believe he was trying to trick him with the Topaz stone being in the cornerstone box. While the “Aventurine” stone (it’s Jade) is in his bag, which Aven tries to pass off as being worthless, making Sunday think he fooled Aventurine. When in reality, Aven still has his own cornerstone he sneaks into the dreamscape, albeit broken at the bottom of the bag which he takes back after the ‘betrayal’”

And that amazing plan and demonstration of intelligence, ingenuity and sheer bravery will now get completly shoved aside when you misinterpret the 2.0 scene as genuine. This now becomes ->

Aventurine really is a fucking idiot who ruined everything and lost the cornerstones, for some reason the Topaz stone is in the box for the Aventurine one, Jades is in his bag for shits and giggle, definitely didn’t plan on sneaking that in further than her, and he broke and shoved the Aventurine stone in the bottom of the bag even though it should be in the Aventurine box because he felt it needs decorating or something.

SIDE NOTE: Aventurine saying “cornerstones” in the 2.0 scene is what clues Sunday into trying to get Ratio to reveal the location of the second one, because logically the only cornerstone Aventurine would have possession of is his own. Ratio also not being surprised of this means he’s aware Aventurine brought multiple cornerstones to Penacony, therefore he was in on the plan from the start because if he wasn’t, then Aventurine having more than just his cornerstone would surprise him. Moreover, Sunday would realistically be like “hmmm what do you mean CORNERSTONES” and go from there. 

It takes this brilliant plan and turns it into, “oopsies!1! Guess I got lucky this time again!1! That’s all I’m good for1!!! Don’t worry about how fucking random everything is and how it all magically and perfectly worked out in my favor1!!1” And like, just, god why, y’all cannot be serious. Then again people who think this haven’t at all bothered to think through the consequences of thinking this, so I’m not surprised they haven’t realized how stupid it all sounds when you take the time to spell it out.

Oh don’t worry, there’s more.

The Jade stone

Aven planning the Jade stone to be used as a dupe from the start now becomes, “wow! I’m so lucky these stones can easily passed as one another and that the Jade stone is in the right position for Sunday to buy it as Aventurine! I’m also glad that we somehow formed this portion of the plan after the Jade stone was already out of our possession! And that it magically was at the top of the bag right where Sunday would see it and buy its Aventurine!! So we can’t even double check if it’s believable!! I’m so lucky and everything works out for me!!” Like…. IX there’s a new void in town with the amount of gaping holes there are in this logic.

Ratio opening the Cornerstone box

If you understand this scene is acting, then Aventurine planned for Ratio to be able to open the box from the start, for one of two reasons. 

 a) He really did have access that kind of information which Aventurine could use in his plans, and Aven sought him out for this reason.

Or 

(the more likely of the two imo because why would Ratio have access to it?)

b) He taught the doctor beforehand on how and when to do it, either way, it was something Aventurine wanted to happen.

But misunderstanding this situation and thinking Ratio wasn’t let in on Aventurine’s plan leads to this mess:

a) Ratio did indeed have access to opening Cornerstone boxes pre-Penacony, and Aventurine is lucky that this somehow worked out for him perfectly, and that Ratio didn’t ask for you know, the cornerstones back himself prior to them getting confiscated. Also if Aventurine did form the plan pre-Penacony, he for some reason didn’t let ratio know this would be needed?

b) He didn’t know how to open it, so Aventurine managed to find the time between 2.0 and their conversation in 2.1 with Sunday to teach him despite not having the Cornerstone Box in his possession, and he also managed to convince Ratio of this whole betrayal plan DURING Penacony and have the man who supposedly went from hating him 5 seconds go to being completely on his side and willing to execute every part of Aventurine’s plan correctly down to the last minute detail and we see none of this change of art at all ever. Also tack the last part of this onto the rest of a because the complete 180 in attitude Ratio has to do in order to have the 2.0 scene not be acting is nuts.

And the last major reason I’ll bring up for now (sparing you the ratio character analysis be grateful) for why this makes no goddamn sense:

Time 

Ok, so let’s humor the stupidity and pretend like the 2.0 argument scene was genuine on both ends. This means that Aventurine somehow finds the time to do all this shit 

a) convince Ratio that no not everything’s wrong he’s cooking dw guys this will all work out, put your faith in me 

b) despite not having the cornerstones or his gift bag he magically forms an idea of how to fool Sunday with the way he remembers them being placed and he also manages to convince Ratio to go along with this 

c) Ratio finds time to meet with Sunday 7 hours before they meet with Sunday together to enact his part of the “betrayal” meaning Aventurine had to convince Ratio of their plan 7+ hours before their first scene together in 2.0

d) Ratio has to get back from telling the IPC Aven fucked up and lost the Cornerstones, which somehow has no other consequences for Aventurine

e) RATIO FIGURES OUT DORMANCY???

AND SOMEHOW, this all has to happen alongside the events of 2.0 and 2.1 we do actually see, because oh wait none of this fucking happens at all ever. We don’t see it. we don’t hear of it, and none of it doesn’t get implied  to have happened ever because guess what it doesn’t fucking happen, and even in the land of the dreams this level of time fuckery can’t happen. 

And if by some fucking miracle it did, that is horrific writing on hoyos part by not implying it even slightly and in fact implying the opposite because Ratio outright says he did everything according to Aventurines plan in their next meeting 

Now you can see clearly why having both of them being sincere in this conversation requires the most bullshit logic known to mankind, however some objectors might say that Ratio still could have been sincere in this to which I say no, for several reasons.

In what fucking dimension is Dr. Veritas Ratio agreeing to go on a suicide mission without a plan or any semblance of an idea of what Aventurine is going to do there? That man would sooner join the Genius Society than agree to that, we know good he is at planning and acting based on 1.6, do you seriously think he’s gonna go from that to “fuck it we ball in Penacony”

He clearly knew Aventurine prior. They have established nicknames for one another (Doc and Gambler), banter that only really functions if you have known someone for awhile, Aventurine seeing through Ratio (demo where Aven predicts how Ratio will react to what he says about him) and Ratio seeing through Aventurine (vial/note he gave to him, and Ratio knows the one person who can stop Aven is himself) you know, something people who just met don’t really have.  Did they also do team building exercises in that minuscule time frame or something? How did we go from “fucking kill yourself” to “me and the bestie”

The Final Victor lightcone 

This is an extension of the last point about them knowing one another prior, as although the implications of 2 are nice, this outright proves it. Canonically, lightcones are condensed memories (aka stuff that has happened in the past) and we unlock the Final Victor lightcone in the MOC shop at the very start of 2.0. This means that the events of the Final Victory lc have to happen prior to 2.0, because they are well, memories. Moreover, the description of the lightcone depicts Aventurine trying to convince Ratio of a plan/cooperation of some sort. Hmmm, wonder what that is, any guesses?

If that argument scene is genuine on Ratios end holy fucking shit please fire the writer who made it because that is the most OOC behavior from him ever. Veritas Ratio, judging and looking down upon a person for their education background/background in general. You know, the guy who defined by wanting to spread knowledge throughout the universe because he cares about other people and wants to help them become their best selves, as Ratio believes no matter who you are you are capable of intelligence and creativity. 

This guy judges people based on their background? This guy who tweaked the fuck out in 1.6 over the prospects of the fate of misfortunate people is judging people for being misfortune??!?

This guy who believes that no matter how many fuck ups a person makes, their life is worth living, is now completely willing to abandon Aventurine at a moments notices and give up on him, which the one thing he will not do?!?

The guy who urges his students to question everything, has forged his own path in life and is distinctly described as not being like other scholars now is buying hook like and sinker IPC propaganda about Sigonians? He’s suddenly being as much of a dick to him as the rest of the universe?!

Also, he clearly does feel bad about he says, because Ratio breaks character and apologizes. It’s brief, likely because a heartfelt one would undermine their plan, but it does give an idea of how Ratio is really feeling, because he is extremely convicted and genuinely believes the stuff he says, so he’s not gonna give retractions on how he feels unless that’s not how he actually feels. 

Sidenote: When people say “but Ratio called Aventurine a slur,” they aren’t entirely wrong but neither are they right. You see, the slur in question is actually the name of Aventurine’s planet, Sigonia. It’s just in the CN version, the name is slightly different and is clearly derived from a slur used against Romani people in Eastern Europe. There’s no doubt about this either they are basically the same word and honestly knowing this makes me extremely uncomfortable typing out the name of Aventurine’s planet, so I’m just gonna call it S from now on. I don’t think it’s really fair to Ratio to say he was calling Aventurine slurs, when it’s not the characters fault the planet Aventurine is from just IS one, which is what he was trying to refer to in the first place. That’s why people who saw the scene in the EN dub didn’t pick up on it at all, because the slur in question looks way different in English (starts with a g ends with a y if you need a hint). Since you are wondering, no, this doesn’t completely absolve Sparkle since she was still using racist stereotypes against Aventurine, although she didn’t necessarily call him a slur like people were saying. Side note over 

Pair this with the aforementioned 180 in personality Ratio would have to have, that horrendous ass planet name and the time bullshit and you get quite possibly some of the worst writing ever, oh my god kill it with fire 

Genuinely, GENUINELY if you think this through and are like “yup that makes sense!” there’s absolutely no hope for you. I understand that most people don’t think this through, but still, god how stupid this misconception seems when you lay it all out is baffling.

Oh, and for the one objector still remaining who is like, “but there is no evidence for Sunday watching them:

a) There is a Bloodhound statue in trailblazers room, used by the Bloodhound family to monitor rooms as part of security, Sunday as head of the Family has total access to security. Keep in mind that Trailblazers room was actually Aventurine’s, meaning Sunday was planning on monitoring him prior to the room switch, which I doubt he would give up because of it (honestly the room switch would make Sunday more suspicious). 

Conveniently, throughout the 2.0 conversation the left side of the room is cropped off, and we get the barest of sight on it, which reveals where there would be a bloodhound statue had their rooms been the same is a clock/time dial cat thing. 

Whose eyes are conveniently watching both of them talking. 

Here’s the full frame by the way

Considering bloodhound statues can disappear and there’s plenty of things in the dreamscape that can shapeshift (although this convo is outside the sweet dream), it’s not insane for me to suggest that Sunday was likely watching them through this weird clock/phone thing is it?

b) We know the dream pools get monitored as well, at least for people’s vitals and stuff, something which the Trailblazers learn after trying to find Firefly’s whereabouts. Considering the person we talked to was just the desk receptionist, it’s not insane to assume that the dream pools monitor other stuff as well

c) The TVs behind the pools. Sure they display things, but those ARE electronics and they can easily receive as well as they send out things. 

The point is, if Sunday wanted to watch their conversation, he absolutely had the means to do so, and trust me, he did infact watch it for several reasons.

“I heard you and your companion weren’t getting along very well” Sunday says this to Ratio in their meeting seven hours prior to when him and Aventurine go to meet Sunday. So far, their only interaction in Penacony had been that conversation, and as far as we know, Aventurine truly did check in when the astral express did. Therefore, how would Sunday know they hadn’t been getting along if it had only been such a short amount of time. Surely he wasn’t watching their one conversation in 2.0? No, he just summoned that information from the voices in his head silly!

Aventurines past. Awfully convient Sunday just happens to know that Aventurine is an Avgin, that he has a complicated relationship with his family and that he might want to destroy the world for several reasons. Wonder where he got those ideas from, must have read Aventurine’s wiki page I guess.

Sentencing Aventurine to death, which only makes sense Sunday would have the confidence to do this if he, idk, knew Aven already had an ongoing death sentence. Something which is not true, Ratio was lying when he said that without his Cornerstone Aventurine would be doomed to death, as although it’s not technically a lie, Aven’s sentence was absolved years ago, and Ratio implies it’s ongoing when it isn’t. Remember, if Aventurine is killed by Sunday, that’s massive leverage for the IPC, but if Ratio lies about Aventurine being less valuable to them, then Sunday gains the confidence to get Aventurine out of his way. After all, he doesn’t have the cornerstones anymore, so is functionally useless to them, at least in Sundays eyes.

Actually trusting Ratio. Had Sunday not witnessed their argument, it would be very hard for him to believe that Ratio would betray Aventurine, since if he wasn’t watching, he wouldn’t think things weren’t going smoothly on the IPCs end. However, Ratio berating Aventurine for his supposed failure and behaving like a completely arrogant scholar, and being entirely unwilling to give the other man a chance would naturally make Sunday start rubbing his hands together planning to get this piece of shit to backstab his colleague.

Really just an addition to point #4, but Ratio implies that he has absolutely no fucking clue what Aventurine has been doing on Penacony since the gambler won’t cooperate with the him, however, he does not seem surprised by Aventurine’s failure. Therefore, when the betrayal plan comes into action, Sunday buys that Ratio doesn’t know Aventurine’s plan, but he does know how Aventurine thinks, which lets Ratio manipulate him into buying it.

There’s more, but like, you get the idea, Aventurine clearly planned this all out from the start. And that’s why it pisses me off, because Aventurine is smart, Aventurine is SO SMART, but people refuse to think and shove that aside because they refused to put the 2.0 scene in the context of the rest of Penacony. 

It’s meant to seem genuine the first time around (even if past me literally concluded Ratio was being used as a plot device dude to how OOC he was being), however considering Aventurine’s whole plan hinged on a betrayal, you now as the audience have to go back and reevaluate every scene he’s in, including that one. 

I don’t blame people for finding the 2.0 scene uncomfortable or for disliking Ratio for it, however I believe it should be put into the context of the rest of the game, and understood for what it really is, rather than how people feel about it.

Because in doing so, in attempting to shelter Aventurine fans from the evil, racist Dr Ratio and Aventio fans. People who supposedly make Aventurine into some spineless, idiot twink who can’t do anything on his own, and is nothing more than his luck, You End Up Doing The Exact Same Thing To Aventurine.

In being blinded by bias, a brilliant demonstration of Aventurine’s intellect and competence gets erased, which is just really, really disappointing. 

Aventurine is so much more than his luck, and I wish people would actually internalize that, rather than just saying it.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading this, as I have talked extensively on how this misconception fucks up Ratios character, so I deemed it finally time to dive into it screws with Aventurine. Any and all thoughts are appreciated, and if you disagree feel free to share why, I just will only respond to actual reasons. A “nuh uh” is not worth my time or yours 

[edupunkn00b]

Hey hey Edu! I am having a day™️today and I have been thinking about why it is so hard for me to reread "What Might Have Been", but not "The Uses of Adversity"

Buckle up, there are spoilers for anyone who somehow has not read those masterpieces already

So, I think, I figured out my difficulty with WMHB is that at the core, I can barely cope with how much Remus spirals in that fic. The way he loses his grasp on himself more and more, the way his mind offers him another reality to deal with the how his life is getting out of order just- it did blindside me. Not because it's unrealistic or because you wrote it badly.

I think it just took me so off-guard after reading Happily Ever After where Remus, may have struggled but ended up helping Logan so often. Like, there is this underlying strength in his character that I adored. This hope and playfulness that never seized to show up.

And then he falls apart. It all falls apart and shatters. And I know that people do that. I know that characters do that and that it creates so much more interesting stories.

Later in different tidbits you show us how Remus was, versions of Remus and how he self-destructed before. You showed us better versions of himself, where he gets help earlier, chooses different paths, is able to choose different paths.

So it makes sense that he spirals, gets worse than ever before.

It just hurts so much because to me, it felt like he had it already. It felt like he was out of the woods. It felt like he had gotten better and was stronger than this. But the problem is that healing isn't linear. Sometimes you don't heal at all. Sometimes you just deal with the chipped state you're in.

And I think that was the thing that hurt. That Remus wasn't broken, but chipped. He seemed fine. He seemed to be doing well, to adjust, to grow. But he wasn't really broken, he was just chipped. He is chipped. And that is not something to be fixed but to be dealt with. And it's exhausting and tiresome if you don't know how to do it or have lost the motivation to do it.

But in TUoA we have Logan. And this version of Logan, who has suffered so much and is hurt and fearful and so very much in pain is less painful for me to see than WMHB Remus could ever be. Because that Logan has been broken. That Logan has been irreparably changed and will never be the same again.

And yet. And yet he gets the chance to become someone new. He gets the chance to be put back together in a new way. He gets to have Roman by his side, who looks at his broken pieces with love and care and is with him anyway.

And I think that hit less hard than what happened with Remus and feels more hopeful to me even though I understand that there is much more to come for Logan in that universe. But maybe, he'll be spared to have his son admitted to a mental hospital. Maybe he'll he spared to see his love fall apart because of something he couldn't have.

Maybe at least this portion of his life ends up being gentler than what WMHB would have given him.

Yeah.

I am very normal about your fics.

Kudos.

First of all, all the hugs in the world for you, Eir <3. You are beautiful inside and out and I hope you know that your stories touch me in so many of the same ways you're describing. (Most especially Life on Crow Avenue and Words Are Hard.) <3

I first read your note last night and had to sit with it because you're right, at the core of Remus' journey in What Might Have Been is the terrible truth that mental illness doesn't just go away. It can be managed to varying levels but it won't ever simply 'heal' like a cold or a broken leg. It's always there with us.

That was a difficult lesson for me to learn and one I'm probably still learning. I knew it intellectually but there have been times when life decided I needed to really learn it.

So many of us are those chipped cups, sitting on a shelf or serving some purpose. Just like those chipped cups, some of us break more easily than someone who has never been cracked and we do require extra care.

When I wrote Happily Ever After, I intended it to be a fairy tale. A fantasy, my fantasy, of what my life could have been like had I had friends like Janus and Roman in my life during my darkest times. Of how much stronger and better I could be if I'd had the support they gave him over the years.

I structured it like a fairy tale, took every chapter title from the first line of famous books. Logan started the story sad but unbroken, still surrounded by love and support. He ended the story discovering what I discovered about my self, ended the story with love for him and promising futures for his children. It was my dream fairy tale ending.

And it was completely unrealistic.

After sitting with the story for bit, I wanted to see how that might have actually happened, what a real ending to Logan's story might have been like, because if I could make Logan's fairy tale ending more realistic, I could make it realistic for me, too. That if in the more realistic version when Remus couldn't just bounce back again this time, if in even that version, he and Logan (and Janus and Roman and all of them) could still find a happy ending, I knew I could, too.

The Uses of Adversity is the same tale but backwards. What could possibly lead Logan to a happy ending when he started without Janus as a friend? The first part of TUoA, It Could Always Be Worse was very dark and was nearly even darker. I wasn't sure how it would end until I got to the last chapter. The original tags included an "author chose not to use Archive warnings" tag because that story nearly ended very differently.

Strangely, The Uses of Adversity, as straightforward as Logan and Roman's love story was, was much harder to write than WMHB or any of the other tales.

I hope that for every person who can't ever go back to WMHB, there's a person who reads it and can see that happy endings aren't just for fairy tales. That we can go through it all and still find a way to happiness in the end. That, chipped and broken and spiraling, there's always another chance for us to pick ourselves up or to allow ourselves be picked up, and keep on going toward a place of warmth and joy.

No matter what we've been through, it's never too late to build joyful connections with other people. It's never too late for a happy ending.

[atopvisenyashill]

omg pls pls post one bran meta 💔

i’ll give a rant for also loving my boy while i polish some stuff up but-

I am very much a “bran will be king” truther, i think there’s a lot of evidence for that that people kinda looked past bc they don’t find him interesting, bc they got into this series for the politics and not like, the fantasy aspects lol, but I do have like several ~scenarios~ for him, it’s just that “king of what’s left of westeros” is my favorite bc of the bittersweet aspect of it.

but part of why i think bran’s ending is kind of hard for everyone to grasp, is bc the show just didn’t give a shit about him (like, STATED they didn’t care about the fantasy aspects & i love to shittalk miguel & ryan & sara but at least they are Aware And Excited about the magic aspects of Terros). book readers tend to overlook him in favor of dany (the other big magical character) because george finds writing bran difficult and writing dany easier so we have like 50 dany chapters for every one of bran’s. but whereas there’s several dany chapters dedicated to world building, character introspection, magic, and politics EACH, bran gets all those themes kinda rolled up into these fleeting, monster chapters that are dense as fuck to read. EYE don’t mind that, but giving him like a third the amount of chapters as dany (or jon or tyrion or arya) is just REALLY setting that kid up to fail. but george has really explicitly stated he struggles with characters that are young, and he’s clearly talking about bran (probably sansa, sometimes arya as well) so it’s kinda. i get his struggle!! but he also clearly loves bran as a character bc the chapters we get are real rich!

but d&d don’t even give us what’s on the page bc they do not care!!! so it’s so hard to really pin down what the fuck is going on with bran, bc i truly think they cut most of the notes george gave them about bran, possibly even gave parts of his story to others bc “it would be cooler”, and then used him almost exclusively for exposition & shock value. like, for all we know, the long night is also very short in the books bc of something bran did while in the north, but those two thought it would be cooler if it was just one battle.

[sidebar but like i mean, also jon is a big magical character, but rn jon is less “a magical character” and more “a character that has magic happen to him” bc he’s still a bit uncomfortable about being a warg, bc the logistics & morality of it freak him out. honestly that’s a good thing for jon, bc look at what “do magic first ask questions later” has gotten dany and bran (and theoretically robb). being inside ghost is certainly going to change his outlook on magic & cause another identity crisis, but i don’t think the magical side is where jon is going to struggle morally]

[also i do think the long night is likely to be a little longer, because i think they’re getting to the trident, but potentially they only fuck the north and riverlands and not anywhere else because of something bran does. idk man. for all he goes on about aragorn’s tax policies, he has done with the wights & others exactly what’s done with the orcs. makes me wonder if there’s some plot about the others that involves bran befriending & humanizing a section of them & d&d went “that’s weird and boring” and cut it, like the way the director for i am legend changed the ending to that suicide grenade scene even tho the book ending is so objectively better that will smith said he’s gonna do a second movie but with the cut ending aksjjd. my evidence so far for that is like, negative evidence, which doesn’t make for good meta, so i’m excited to get to adwd so i can reread bran’s chapters in like, ya know, a year 😭]

[blooming-violets]

Hello, friend. I love you and your words. Thank you for sharing them with me (and everyone else blahblahblah no this is for me fuck everyone else it’s mine). 

Spoilers Under the Read More

Let’s break this into parts!

The Beauty and Ravaging of Time 

Even so, Peter had a complicated relationship with time. He was always on the wrong side.

He had too much, or too little. He’d lose it. It would get away from him. It’d be just out of his reach, mocking him from the ivory tower of a future he would never have.

When I first read this part, I had no idea what was coming later on in the chapter. Once I got to that part, this all made so much sense. I didn’t even grasp the full weight of this beginning until I finished and reread it. Peter knows what is going to come. Or at least he has an idea. He’s not dumb. He knows what is waiting for him around the corner. Honey does not but Peter does and he’s not going to taint these precious few hours that he has alone with her with causing her any sort of worry. The second he says something, she’s going to start panicking and trying to stop it and he knows that she can’t. So why should he cause her that pain when, instead, he can give what precious little time he has all to her. (especially knowing what I know, this whole scene makes me want to cry) This is their moment. He’s not going to waste it. A part of me wishes Honey knew so she wouldn’t waste it either. I know she sure as hell wouldn’t be sleeping if she knew but still. This was beautiful. Time claims all eventually but let them savor these quiet, soft moments while they can. 

Peter’s Worship of Honey and I Suck Your Dick Some More

But the night his Honey gave herself to him—for the first time in a long time—Peter felt superhuman.

Until then, he could take his mind off his pain. And he was determined to do the same for her.

This discovery intrigued him. More research was needed.

A master of her body and heart, even as he became a willing slave to both

I can’t properly highlight every single line that intrigued me and that I found beauty in because I would be throwing more than half your fic back at your face. Peter’s love is so beautifully poetic and soft in these moments. A true romance novel, Liz. Better. Romance novels wish they were coming out of the brain of Liz Allyn. 

With a tender touch, Peter studied the scars of her past, stamped on her flesh like letters inked by a typewriter.

He followed the path of every bead of her sweat that served to punctuate the ecstasy of the present. Her soft sighs soothed him—crisp-sounding, like turning of pages in a book.

He’d turned his bed into a seminary, where soon he’d be able to recite her like passages from a Bible.

Okay I know I said I wasn’t go to throw everything you wrote back at you but these were just too pure to not mention. This is a man who is wasting no god damn time. He needs to memorize her because (well because he just does okay) and he’s not going to forget a single mark on her body. She already branded herself onto his brain and into his heart but he has to make sure. He has to make fully sure that she knows he’s taking his time with her, too. He is giving her all of himself, masking any physical pain she may be in with pleasure, stealing away her bad thoughts of the trauma and replacing them with nothing but love. He’s a man on a mission and he’s soft and gentle and delicate and pure hearted and this is the kind of man who Uncle Ben and Aunt May would be proud of. And Honey was the one who turned him into that. She is his missing piece. His other half. A love story to kill all other love stories. 

You write love in a way that I want to feel. You write love like poetry. Please switch some names around, take out the marvel-y bits, and I swear to you to can Fifty Shades this bitch. Go get rich, baby! What are you waiting for? I say this all the time about you but, fuck you, I’m going to say it again. This isn’t normal fanfiction. This is quality art. This is writing that would make your English professor weep with joy. You have talent. You. Have. Talent. Don’t waste it. Why are you giving this to us for free? I don’t give a shit what anyone else says. You are not the average writer. This is something that deserves to be paid for. Put it behind a paywall! Let people cry about it. I’ll fight em all. Make some extra cash and get that side hustle going. Go write a fucking book, you freak. I know you have a baby and that’s where all your time will go but if you get to be 85 and haven’t published anything then I will find you and make your old ass write. The world needs more Liz in it. It doesn’t need to be Peter Parker for me to want to read it. 

“Don’ever wanna lose you, Honey... Never, never...”

I’m not crying. 

“I love you,” he said.

Always.

A vow.

A hope.

A plea.

The Brief, Soft Moment Before

“All you need to know is that we’ll be safe. And Bella and your sisters will be waiting for us.”

I think he knows he won’t be going with them. And, even still, he’s only thinking about what is best for Honey. Keeping her safe. Keeping her family safe. I don’t know exactly what his plans were for this, if he was just keeping Honey occupied or if he really thought they could get away or if he was clinging to a silly hope that it might all be okay, but I think he would have already packed a bag and got them the hell outta there the second he could if that was the case. He wouldn’t have spent the night in bed with her if he wanted them gone. Peter’s an action man. If he wanted them hidden, they would be hidden. He has to know what will happen and he’s willing to take it because it will keep Honey free. She killed a man. A federal agent. He’s a mob boss. He knows what’s going to happen and where it will lead. There will be no room for potential blame on her if he does this. He can take the full brunt of it to keep her out of it. His last stand. The last card up his sleeve. The final act he can give her to allow her to live a life of freedom. 

The Arrest 

I knew it would be heartbreaking for Honey to witness. I didn’t know it would be that heartbreaking. It’s so hard because you write Peter with such beautiful  levity and sass that I want to laugh. I want to find enjoyment in it but it’s hard because he’s breaking Honey’s heart in the process. And, I know she’s not stupid. She can catch on to what he’s doing. But it still doesn’t mean that it wouldn’t cut so deep to hear those things actually come out of his mouth. 

“Honey, you’re not going to jail,” Peter firmly repeated. “I am.”

The finality of this line made my heart stop the first time I read it. Such a powerful punch to the gut. 

Peter’s Switch 

The way this man switched into an entirely different person was reminiscent of Peter putting on the Spider suit in tasm. As Peter Parker, he tends to be quiet and reserved. The outcast. The nerd. In the suit, he’s cocky and quick witted and sassy. He has great one liners and likes to play with his criminals like a cat toying with a mouse. Here, Peter does the same. He switches into character. He plays the part of the manwhore, asshole, mob boss without a care in the world. 

“Just hit me up on Venmo,” he added, as if their relationship was some transaction. Like selling an old couch on Craigslist. He suddenly looked alarmed, glancing at the officers around him, then added, “For the cab fare! Not the... y’know, anything we did last night.”

Brooo I was howling. He’s such a cocky shit! It still hurts, though. Every word is so carefully crafted and every expression is artfully done because he knows that this is his ONE chance to save her. He needs to play his part perfectly. Like I said before, I want to laugh, and I did laugh, but damn. The undertones of bittersweetness. The layers. I was so happy to find @moonyslove78​ because I feel like, out of everyone, she gets it like how we get it. Like we need to sit around a table and dissect every single line and every word and properly adore them to give them the appreciation that they deserve. It was like finding someone who’s as insanely obsessive and appreciative of writing as myself as myself haha. This is what your work has done. Brought crazy people together. 

“I just make coffee.”

What a way to end part 22. What a way to bring it all back around. It feels like so long ago Peter was murdering her boss and dumping his body in the river. What a time to be alive. I’m happy I get to be in the world at the exact same moment as you. 

sugar and vice, pt. 22 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!oc]

summary: no amount of money ever bought a second of time.

words: 6.9k

chapter warning: soft smut, characters pretending to be mean and therefore breaking your heart

series warnings: mob-typical bang bang violence, hurt/comfort. smut. Spicy situations. spousal / domestic abuse. family trauma. verbal abuse. PTSD, psychotic breaks/episodes, drug use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. possessive!peter, protective!peter. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships. having happiness ripped away from you.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you weren't alive when Tobey Maguire was Spider-Man, maybe you should wait.

Part 22

A wise woman once told Peter that time was the key to the universe. She was so incredibly right.

Even so, Peter had a complicated relationship with time. He was always on the wrong side.

He had too much, or too little. He’d lose it. It would get away from him. It’d be just out of his reach, mocking him from the ivory tower of a future he would never have. 

The phrase ‘what if’ ticked away in his mind, like seconds on a clock. Like the broken hands of a clock face not too far from Roosevelt Island.

If he’d gone to bed an hour later, maybe he would’ve been awake enough to be able to save Ben and May from the gunfire.

If he’d gone into that convenience store a minute earlier or later, he would’ve never had the opportunity to try to be a hero.

If he had more time with Gwen…

If he had given her more of his time…

Time was the key to everything.

For someone who could crawl up walls and bend steel in his bare hands, he was rather powerless. What’s super about any of those party tricks compared to the power to control time? His estrangement with time left him weak and weary—no more than a street magician with cards up his sleeve.

But the night his Honey gave herself to him—for the first time in a long time—Peter felt superhuman.

He took his time with her. Washing the grime from her hair. Relishing her touch as she reached up to wash his back, and again as she ran gentle fingertips over his mending ribs. Long after their skin pruned, he held her beneath the roar of the shower, right next to his heart. 

Peter would’ve let the oceans run dry if it gave them more time to just be.

When they emerged, the sun was setting.

He counted heartbeats and freckles and dimples and breaths as they searched one another for injury. Patiently, they tended to each other’s wounds, but he didn’t waste too much time with his temporary discomfort. 

He’d live. In fact, he’d had worse. His natural healing abilities would take over eventually.

Until then, he could take his mind off his pain. And he was determined to do the same for her.

Peter focused his energy on stretching out each moment into an eternity, although that was hardly enough time to worship her how he wanted. He knew her so well already—or at least he thought he did— up until he noticed how her lower lip would twitch and fall agape as she reached orgasm. 

This discovery intrigued him. More research was needed. 

There were things about her body that only experimentation and practice could teach him, and the thought of unlocking more of her mysteries drove him wild. 

He wanted to study her. To become an expert in what made her gasp and quiver. A master of her body and heart, even as he became a willing slave to both. 

He wanted all of her, just as he’d said. 

To know her, wholly. 

Pleasure and pain. Joy and sorrow.

With a tender touch, Peter studied the scars of her past, stamped on her flesh like letters inked by a typewriter. He read each line, over and over, now committing to memory what he’d managed to miss because before he’d been in a hurry. Such a fool.

He followed the path of every bead of her sweat that served to punctuate the ecstasy of the present. Her soft sighs soothed him—crisp-sounding, like turning of pages in a book.

He should’ve taken his time to read her before, to really see her.

He wouldn’t repeat the mistake.

And so, ever the good student, he took his time. 

He wanted to know her by heart. He’d turned his bed into a seminary, where soon he’d be able to recite her like passages from a Bible.

Devotion like that takes time.

‘All a man has is time,’ Uncle Ben would say, ‘and what he chooses to do with it.’

Peter wasn’t going to waste a moment of it.

A thin sheen of cooled sweat coated his nude form as he stood at the foot of his bed. In reverent silence, he regarded the delicate woman softly dozing in his sheets. His gaze was content as he took in the peacefulness on her face. Her lashes hung heavy on her round cheeks, and her chest rose and fell in a steady pattern. 

She was curled up, snuggled with her face in the pillow as she clutched the bedsheet around her like a teddy bear. The eerie glow of dusk illuminated the curves not concealed by the sheet. Hidden paths up her thighs lured his gaze, barely obscured by the Egyptian cotton threads of the bedding. Her tiny fingers cuddled the edges of the fabric. It had turned into a chaste vestal robe which concealed places his mouth had explored an hour ago.

Even in her sleep, she was saintly and seductive. It was endearing as much as it was enticing.

His soft gaze continued down the path of her body. The rest of him hardened. 

“I can feel you, you know,” she murmured against the pillow. “Creeping on me.”

The tips of his ears went red, eyes widening like a cartoon robber frozen in a giant spotlight clutching a money bag in his hand. She snorted with amusement as she peeked at him over the covers. 

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” Peter chuckled in response, blushing.

“I’m not sleepy,” she lied. “Just resting my eyes.”

Both were exhausted. 

If they went at it again, it would count as Round 3 for him, and Round 5 for her. Maybe even 6. His regenerative abilities blessed him with seemingly endless stamina, but it was no match for the kind of day they’d had. 

The onslaught of damage, both physical and emotional, wore them down. Their activities wouldn’t have been possible if not for a mind-numbing wave of adrenaline-fueled lust that seized them. They were driven by the desperate need for compassion and comfort.

And yet, there he was: a caveman leering down at her with a boner. 

She twisted around, studying him with sparkling eyes. She reached out her hands in his direction, making grabby claws with her fingers. “M’not even tired. Lemme show you.” He snickered, watching her fight off a yawn that suggested the opposite.

Carefully, he crawled up from the foot of his bed to her side, pulling the sheets back to position himself behind her. He pulled her close until her back was up against his chest, skin-to-skin.

“Noooo,” she whined softly. “Gimme you.”

Peter couldn’t hold back his grin, although he shook his head. “You have me. What you need is some rest.”

“You’re the one who's ogling me in my sleep with a hard-on. Like a weirdo.”

His smile glowed in the darkness. “Can’t help it, Honey.” He leaned down over her shoulder, his warm breath tickling her ear. “Everything you do makes me hard.” He followed the statement with the evidence lined up against her lower back. His hands roved over her hips, greedily gripping the flesh at the top of her thighs. 

She hummed in satisfaction, making a noise that wasn’t helping either of them. He felt her body press even closer to his, rolling her hips. Peter couldn’t let out the erotic hiss gathering in his chest at the sensation of his shaft sliding between her cheeks.

He was losing control again. He propped himself up on one elbow with his hand keeping her hip still. “We... we should... sleep—you should sleep. Sleep is good. Sleep—”

“I don’t wanna.” Her head was turned upwards, glancing back at his winded expression. 

“But-but you... need to—”

She bent her neck and captured his lips with her own. She pulled away with a seductive pout. “I thought you knew what I needed.” 

Again, her mouth sweetly teased his, delicately coy, until she charged forward and conquered his kiss. For a few seconds (or... maybe a few minutes), he was the submissive one, as he succumbed to her desire. He remained helplessly complacent as her tongue toyed with his. It was only when he realized he’d lost track of the time that he pressed his fingertips to her chin and pulled away. 

It was one of the hardest challenges of his entire life.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he pleaded, voice deep in his chest. His forehead kissed hers as he held his eyes closed.

She blinked up at him curiously as he nuzzled her nose. “Do you need a moment?” she said shyly, biting her lower lip.

His lashes fluttered open as he stared down at the Milky Way in her eyes. 

Strangely, he thought of the great sea explorers of the past. He pictured himself in Magellan’s place, standing at the helm of a carrack in the eerie darkness of the Pacific. He was adrift in a vast ocean of uncharted waters with no land in sight, nothing but the stars overhead to guide him. He clung to them desperately, fearful of the darkness outside of their hold, but awestruck by their wonder. It was like gazing at the gate of heaven. Being alone in the Universe, locked in an intimate moment with God herself.

“What are you thinking about?” she murmured curiously. The question wasn’t worried or rushed.

Peter observed her intently, memorizing the pattern of her freckles. “I need so much more than a moment,” he breathlessly replied. His eyes shimmered in the dim light. “I need to stop time.”

She blinked several times, pondering his response with an uncertainty that might have gutted him if she had let it go on too long. 

Thankfully, she answered with another passionate kiss, tilting her chin behind her shoulder. The air was swept from their lungs when she pulled away from his lips. “What about a lifetime?” she whispered. “What could you do with that?”

Affection warmed his eyes while passion ignited his stare. He didn’t hesitate further. The width of his hand cupped her jaw firmly, and he crashed his lips into hers. He breathed her into his lungs as he leaned over her, his cock resting heavily in the space behind her back.

She let her fingers card through his thick, brunette waves, playing with the damp ends that had curled up after the shower. Synchronizing her movements, she dragged her backside across his shaft and her nails through his scalp. He purred, twitching against her spine. 

His hand travelled down again, memorizing the feeling of each pore from her jaw to chest...to her stomach... across her pubic bone... and finally slipping into her dripping folds. A satisfied hmmm rumbled from his chest as he licked a spot beneath her ear. The warmth of his tongue, matched with the roughness of his fingers, made her quiver in his grasp.

She pulled her hand away from his scalp, urgently searching for his waist to pull his lower back into hers. As the gentle tease of his fingers formed into a languid massage, she bucked her hips impatiently, using the arm under her pillow to balance herself.

“So needy,” he muttered, tone sizzling. 

She mewled, her hand frantically searching for a place to land. It fluttered at his wrist, his bicep, his nape, then over to her chest, her breasts, and back to his hand again.

“Told you I’d take care of ya,” he whispered, bringing his other hand on the underside of her hip bone, replacing the outside one. “Just relax.” His other hand gripped her uncertain fingers, guiding them down to her breasts. He slowly squeezed each one of her mounds with his hand over hers, allowing his fingers to spin a wheel at her tender bud.

Intently, he watched as her eyes disappeared, rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it, baby, I gotcha.” His voice was dripping with dark chocolate. “Keep goin’ just like that.” 

It was an order, somehow delicate and firm.

It drifted into her ear like smoke from a wildfire and only added kerosine to the blaze in her belly. He reached down and lifted her outer thigh, forming a V with her legs. Opening up her core allowed his hand better access to her clit, while the other hand groped his cock and positioned it at her entrance.

“You need me to slow down?” he questioned, his mouth going dry from the panting. “Jus’say the word, and we can stop at any—”

“Don’t stop, Peter,” she cut him off impatiently, her voice lilting in desperation. There was no room for shame. “I need to feel you inside me.”

With a breathless gasp, he obliged her hunger and his own. He pushed the eager, leaking tip of his cock through her wet folds, perhaps a little more forcefully than he otherwise would have. He drank in her expression—the wince on her face, the flutter of her eyelashes, the pathetic whimper quickly melting into an erotic moan.

“S’okay, pretty girl,” he soothed. “M’gonna make it better.”

The grip of his fingers pushed dents into the meat of her thigh as he pried her open and rolled his hips into her heat.

“Doin’ so good for me,” he praised, his need overwhelming his senses. He pulled his hips back and drove them forward, slow enough for him to imbibe in her tremors. Her core fluttered over every inch. 

“Am I still a good girl?” she gasped with wide, wet eyes. Her head was thrown back against his shoulder and cradled against his bicep.

“Yeah, you are, princess,” he practically growled. She could feel the reverberation of his voice in her heart. “You’re my good girl.”

He sealed his lips around her open-mouthed moan, greedily licking it up for himself.

Each second stretched to a millennium. That’s what he would wish for if the Devil himself offered him a trade. However, it wouldn’t take long for the Dark One to realize that he had been cheated. Peter’s soul belonged to someone else already. 

Until mountains erode into sand. That’s how long he wanted each kiss to last. 

“God, you feel so good, baby...”

When sequoias that pierce the sky tumble and decay into the soil, from which a new giant is born and completes its life cycle. That’s how long he wanted each of her sighs to last.

“M’gonna be good t’you, always...”

Until every tectonic plate wades to a new home atop a pool of lava, and the face of the Earth is unrecognizable.

“You’re so good to me, Pete... s-so good—”

Until all the glaciers have melted. At the end of the next Ice Age. 

—“...radio waves from Galaxy 0402+379, whose coordinates appear in the constellation Perseus,  featuring binary supermassive black holes with the least separation of any directly observed binaries, at a distance of approximately 23.88 Light-Years. Now, who can tell me what happens when these two objects reach singularity? Anyone? — Yes, Mr. Parker...”—

“Don’ever wanna lose you, Honey... Never, never...”

Until the end of the Milky Way’s last dance, as the curtain falls while it takes its sister Andromeda by the hand.

“Shhh, you won’t, baby. You won’t lose me. Just—ahh—stay with me...”

Each moment stretched out into eternity. Slow like molasses. Dripping like honey.

She was right. Time was the key to the whole universe.

And as Peter pushed her toward another summit, clutching her close as they tumbled over the peak together, they shared a sweat-coated sigh of relief. Both of them were finally sated, at least for now. At this moment, they were content drifting off to sleep in the cradle of each other’s embrace. 

He kept her body wrapped around his, her face buried into the crook of his neck. His hand weighed heavily across her back. Eyes closed, he listened intently to her familiar purr.

He knew it well. It was the one that would confirm she was asleep—the signal he would wait for to open his eyes and observe her beauty freely, without hinderance or shame.

“I love you,” he said. 

Always.

A vow. 

A hope.

A plea.

She woke up to the sound of rain pattering on the window panels. 

Grey light pushed on her eyelids, prying them apart, while cool air scratched at her back. She responded by folding herself tighter and burrowing her nose into a warm chest. She was still dreaming, she thought. The scent of cedar and cinnamon filled her airways as calloused hands tickled her back.

She was dreaming. And it was a beautiful dream. She refused to acknowledge the light, fighting off the waking world.

When she felt a gentle brush of fingers clearing a lock of her hair from her face, she found the courage to open her eyelids. Gazing fondly at her were a pair of doe eyes. The light of day reflected off their hue, but the facets were illuminated from within. 

Like candlelight. Like fire. Roasted chestnuts, caramel, chocolate, hazelnut, whiskey, brown sugar, and molasses. Warm amber, deep garnet, charred topaz, smokey quartz, bronze, brass, and gold. Earth and fire and water and the air that escaped her lungs.

And honey. Delectable, delicious honey. 

She found it all in his eyes.

“Morning,” he murmured, his throat thick from hibernation. A beaming smile burst through his lips, burning through clouds outside.

Her heart stuttered as she basked in its glow. “Morning.”

He glowed. Her friend. Her protector. Her lover.

They lay in silence, regarding one another with warm gazes and warmer hearts.

“How long’ve you been awake?” she said with a tired smile, leaning back into her pillow to get a better look at his face.

“Not sure,” he whispered, threading his fingers through her hand and placing it near his heart. The short distance between them at the present was as far away from her as he could stand. “I was jus' thinkin' about how long I've been asleep. Too long.”

She blinked at the awe in his expression, blushing as she realized he wasn’t referring to last night’s rest. Her eyes sparkled back at him, feeling a slight ache at the corners. They held several seconds of blessed silence, taking in each other in peace, until Peter rubbed the haze from his eyes.

“We outta get up,” he sighed. “Need to pack.”

“Pack?” she repeated. Her smile dimmed a bit, as the dark memories of the past couple of days crept back into her consciousness. “Where are we going?”

“You let me worry about that,” he said, though not unkind. He kissed the back of her hand tenderly. “All you need to know is that we’ll be safe. And Bella and your sisters will be waiting for us.”

Her eyes fluttered wide. “Really?”

He smiled. “Really.” Gazing at her fondly, Peter watched the relief wash over her until it brimmed at her lashes. “I’m jus’ goin’ over the details in my head,” he added thoughtfully. “Does your ma ever play the lottery?”

She smirked. “No.”

“Well,” he pondered, “she’ll be so surprised when she finds out she’s won a million dollars and another vacation getaway.”

A snort broke through her foolish grin. “Practically astonished. Won’t even bother to question it.” 

“She can come along as long as she doesn’t ask any questions,” Peter said delicately before giving it some thought. He added on a condition. “And she keeps her mouth shut.” More thinking. “And stays alone, in her own place, away from us and the girls.” His brow furrowed as he continued to ponder. “Maybe even on a different continent. I’m still fine-tuning the kinks in my plan.”

“Hmmmmm,” she grinned, leaning into another soft kiss. “Kinks.” 

Playfully, she brushed her tongue against his, stirring a deep groan from his chest. When he pulled back, he fixed her with a sultry gaze. “Careful...” he warned. “You might start somethin’ you’ll have to finish. Again. And again. And again—”

She giggled and leaned in for another kiss until they were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. The couple jumped, with Honey clutching the sheet to her chest.

“Pete!” they heard Felicia’s voice through the wall. “Open up! Or... close—whatever it is you’re in the middle of.”

Honey snapped her eyes to Peter, embarrassment flooding her expression. He grinned wide, amused by her flustered state. 

“Just a minute,” he called back as Honey pulled the sheets off the bed and dragged them with her. Alarmed, she scurried across the room with a shocked look. “C’mon,” he muttered at her with a jeering chuckle. “You didn’t think we were that quiet last night, did you?”

Scowling, she flipped him off and disappeared into his closet. Coming to a stand, he paused with one foot over the edge of the bed, his smile fading.

There were two heartbeats at his bedroom door.

“Hurry up, Peter,” Felicia repeated, a lack of levity in her tone. “We’ve got company.” 

In a blink, he had on a pair of sweatpants and was reaching for his phone. He pulled up a camera feed outside of his bedroom. 

Felicia stood with her arms crossed impatiently, tapping her fingers along her biceps. A familiar face waited beside her, wearing crimson-tinted sunglasses and clutching a white cane. 

Something sharp pulled at his chest, the brightness of his smile dimming. He glanced back at the closet doorway. 

“C’mon, Pete. We don’t have time!”

Peter frowned.

Of course they didn't. It was always out of his reach.

He wiped the self-pity off his face as he pulled open the door. He hadn't bothered with a shirt, facing them with a bare chest still striped with bruises. 

“Matt,” he stated, reading the grim look on the other man’s face. Peter didn’t need many words to confirm what he could already hear in his friends’ heartbeats.

“Sorry to wake you,” Matt stated tensely, “but we’ve got a problem.”

It took a minute for Honey to be brave enough to poke her head out of the closet. She was fully clothed, wearing a silk robe tied snugly around her waist, but her flushed cheeks telegraphed her embarrassment.

She expected smug and teasing expressions, if not from Matt, then definitely from Felicia. What she saw was the opposite.

“How much time?” Peter asked, brows furrowed and arms crossed tightly.

“Maybe a minute,” Matt answered. "Maybe less."

“Building’s surrounded,” Felicia added anxiously. “Cleaning crew just left. We haven’t had time to check the work.”

“They’re good at what they do,” Peter assured her. “It’ll be fine. We just need to put on our game faces, stay calm, and we’ll get through this—”

“They’re bringing an army down here, Pete,” Matt implored. “You need to be sure.”

“If I weren’t, I wouldn't be standing here,” he replied.

“You oughta be running,” Felicia said sharply, "preferably to LaGuardia."

“Leaving is a bad look,” Matt argued. “I cannot stress that enough.”

Felicia glared at him. “But you would recommend a trip to Ryker’s? I thought you were supposed to be a good lawyer?”

“Cat. We need to deflect attention right now. Stay calm.”

“Where are we going?” Honey questioned, her voice cutting through the tension like a hot blade into butter. 

The conversation came to a screeching halt.

Eyes snapped in her direction, but she noted how Felicia immediately looked away. Even Matt turned his head; his nose pointed at the floor.

Peter was the only one who looked her in the eye. And when he did, it made her stomach twist. Despair filled his gaze.

He didn't need to say a word. She already felt faint. “Pe-Peter...?”

He dashed across the room, taking her face in his hands. As quick as the motion was, everything felt like it was moving too fast—need more time—and Honey couldn’t keep up. Like concrete weighed down her feet—what happened, what just happened, what’s happening—and the lights of an oncoming train blinded her. 

“Pe-Pe—But—-wh-wha—? What is he talking about whatdoesthatmean who’scominghere wha-what-whatdoesshemean—”

“Easy, easy,” he cooed. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay, yeah? I’ve got it under control.”

Her voice shattered beneath a whisper, “Don’t lie to me, Peter!” 

He fell silent. Sorrow twisted his closed lips. Then, hesitantly, he explained, “The cops are here. They know about Walker.”

Honey gasped. And then she felt herself go numb.

“They were expecting him to check in this morning. And when he didn’t, somebody knew to come here.”

Tears flooded her vision with wretched memories riding them like a tidal wave. A python tangled itself around her lungs, constricting her breath. 

“Now, they’re gonna come in and make a big show,” Peter continued to explain, “but it’s very important that you stay calm, Honey. Don’t say a word. Don’t answer any questions. Just follow my lead.”

She was crying. Her mind was traveling through wormholes in time. She was hurdling untethered into a cosmos of what-ifs and should-have-dones. Doubt and terror filled her expression as her heart broke into pieces.

“Nothin’ bad’s gonna happen to you, sweetheart. On my life, I swear it,” Peter softly declared. “You’re gonna be okay.” 

Honey blinked wet lashes up at him, still existing outside reality. “I... I’m... I’m not afraid.”

Peter went still, lips parting.

She stared at him with resolve, her voice turning to steel. “I don’t regret what I did. Even if I have to go to jail—”

“You’re not going to jail,” he promised, shutting down the idea.

“I’m not sorry that I killed him. I’d do it all over again, if I had to. He was a monster... and-and he needed to die. I’ll tell them—”

“Honey, you’re not going to jail,” Peter firmly repeated. “I am.”

She froze, her stomach and heart plunging. Her wet eyes went wide. “What?” Terror gripped her. “What!? What do you mean—”

Peter noted how she physically pulled back, like a cobra ready to fight to the death.

“Listen to me, listen, listen," he pleaded. "We don’t have a lot of time, so I need you to listen to me carefully, yeah?” Peter murmured, the sight of her tears twisting a knife in his chest. “It’s gonna be fine. They’ll take me in, but we can fight it. Nobody has to know what really happened, alright? All you gotta do is follow my lead—”

Now her mind was traveling elsewhere, plummeting down into hell.

She pictured Peter in handcuffs. In an orange jumpsuit. At his trial. For murder. Of a goddamn shitbag. A federal agent. Sentenced. To death.

She rapidly blinked as if doing so could clear the horrifying image from her vision. Instead, she kept shaking her head as the nightmare unfolded.

Her tongue wouldn't work right. “But-But—”

“You’re my brave girl,” he said with soft desperation. “Jus’ need ya to stay brave a little longer, alright?”

“You... you didn’t do—no, no, you can’t—”

“I’ll make sure you’re safe,” he pleaded. “You, Bella, your sisters—you’re all gonna be okay. Just like I promised, alright? You just gotta go along with what I say. Whatever you hear, you gotta stay quiet, okay?”

“But...”

“No buts, you gotta trust me—”

“But... M’not—”

“I’m serious, Honey. I’m not playin’ around. Don’t fight with me on this—”

“I’m not letting them take you away from me!” she snapped, her voice breaking.

He went quiet as her fingers gripped him by the arms, nails digging into his flesh. She shook her head vehemently. In fact, her whole body was trembling like the facade of an avalanche. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as she stared desperately up at Peter.

“You belong to me, too!" she said through sobs. "Okay? You’re mine, and I’m not letting you go. I’m not running away. There is nothing on this Earth that I love more, and I’m not leaving you!” 

Time stopped. 

Peter blinked at her, unsure if he actually heard what she just said. 

When he listened to her heart, it beat steadily. Drumming its truth. Each beat the tolling of a bell, ringing clear.

One moment stretched out into eternity.

Peter's eyes shimmered as he gazed down at her. His heart swelled beyond his chest, outside of the room, dwarfing the skyscrapers, eclipsing the sky.

Craning his neck, he touched his forehead to hers. He swore he could feel her devotion through her skin. He was empowered by it. Weakened by it.

Swallowing hard, he breathed her into his lungs.

Suddenly, they were alone in the room. In the city. On the planet. A shudder racked through her, a silent sob escaping her lips. “I... love you, Peter. I love you so much—”

“I know you do,” he nodded with a reassuring tone. Tears budded at his eyelids. “I know.” He hooked his fingers beneath her jaw and pointed her gaze up at his. 

There she is, he thought. His light in the darkness. His hope. His Honey.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered. 

She felt her pulse in her own throat as she gazed up at him with red eyes. He waited for a response. She sniffed and nodded, swallowing her panic back down. 

He smiled warmly. “Then I need you to remember that I love you,” he said. “And don’t ever forget it. No matter what you hear, okay? I love you forever. No matter what.”

Heavy footsteps echoed from down the hall. Her stomach twisted helplessly at the sound. Peter pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. When they parted, he turned away from her. She watched his retreating form until she felt Felicia's fingers take her by the shoulders. Gently, the woman led her back away from bedroom entrance.

Honey watched him longingly as her arms ached to hold him. He kept his back to her, eyes fixed on the ground. 

“Police!” a shout boomed from the hallway. “Coming in!” Honey felt a scream bubbling in her throat, desperate to break free.

The door opened with a bang. 

Peter kept himself steady, casting his eyes downward as a herd of boots stampeded around him. In a blink, at least a dozen of NYPD’s finest filled the space, with pistols and rifles pointed at Peter. They barked orders, shouting over one another. 

He was motionless.

Honey’s eyes darted around to see the ridiculous show of force, more befitting of Michael Myers or Hannibal Lector.

Half of them wore traditional police uniforms and bulletproof vests, while the other half wore full body-armor and carried SWAT-style equipment. Her eyes narrowed in on the SHIELD patch on the arms of one of the officers, her stomach twisting into knots.

“Hands up!”

“Put your hands above your head!”

“This is absurd—you’re in my client’s private residence!”

“Hands where I can see them!” 

When Peter looked up at them, he was a different man. He looked surprised. His eyes glittered with amusement, and his mouth was crooked with a brash grin. Relaxed, he leaned back on his hands as casually as any visit, observing the intruders with a pompous smirk

“Mornin’, boys,” he said boldly. “Please tell me one of you brought donuts.”

“On your feet!” one of the SHIELD agents hissed. The man sporting dark stubble over his jawline and a military crew cut stepped forward and gripped Peter by the shoulder. With a yank, he hauled the half-naked man to his feet—or rather, Peter allowed himself to be manhandled into a standing position. 

“Hey, watch it!” Matt snapped. “You lay a finger on my client, and I’ll have your badge faster than you can say your overly complicated acronym.”

“Tell ya what, Murdock,” the dark-haired SHIELD agent glowered at him with a cruel smile. “If you see something, say something.”

“You hear that, Matty?” Peter snorted. “Small Dick Energy over here’s brought his big guns and blind jokes today... What’s ya name anyway, pal?” 

“Rumlow,” the SHIELD agent spat. “What’s it to you?”

“No big deal,” Peter shrugged. “I’m gonna wanna know which funeral home to send the flowers to, is’all.” 

Rumlow’s face turned red with rage, giving him a look that shot terror down Honey’s spine. Peter smirked haughtily as a different police officer turned him around and wrenched his wrists behind his back. 

“Ooh!” Peter hissed playfully, with a lascivious wiggle of his brows. “Easy, tiger. Gimme some time to recharge 'ere. I had a rough tumble last night—”

“It’s about to get rougher,” a husky voice called from the entrance. 

Honey turned to see George Stacy’s ominous form blocking the doorway. His eyes were even baggier than the last time she saw him. His stringy, graying red hair looked unwashed, and he wore a wrinkled white dress shirt under his Kevlar vest. Marching into the room, the man glared at Peter with narrow eyes that could melt steel.

“Georgie!” Peter called out with glee. “I thought I smelled bacon. Good to see ya, buddy!”

“Captain Stacy to you, asshole,” Rumlow bitterly remarked. 

“Oh, no, Georgie and I go waayy back—wait a sec....did you say ‘Captain?’” Peter questioned before turning to George in shock. “Really? Still? Ya mean they haven’t given you a promotion yet? That’s some bullshit right there—”

“Peter Parker,” George declared sharply, popping each ‘P,’ leering at him like a shark hunting a sea lion. “It’s with the utmost pleasure that I inform you that you’re under arrest.”

“I’m happy for you, Georgie,” Peter smirked. “Really am. You look like you could use some pleasure.”

“Captain Stacy,” Matt snarled, inserting himself between the two men, “I had a conversation with the Commissioner this morning. We agreed that Mr. Reilly was coming in of his own accord—”

“‘Ben Reilly’ can come on down whenever he wants,” George sneered disdainfully, pointing at Peter. “I’m here for him.” He flicked his eyes back to Matt, “If you wanna take something up with the Commissioner, go ahead. He’s downstairs.”

“That’s perfect—maybe we can all do a round of 20 Questions!” Peter grinned wide. “Anybody up for a game? Here. I’ll start:” He glanced over at George, lifting his chin proudly. “Never Have I Ever... been suspended from active duty for showin’ up to work three-sheets-to-the-wind and smellin’ like I bathed in a vat of Irish Whiskey.”

George chuckled mirthlessly, loathing in his eyes. “That’s funny. Always so clever.” His smile faded. “Make jokes all you want, Parker. They’re still gonna take it outta your ass at Ryker’s. If you even make it that far.”

The humor dimmed in Peter’s eyes, but his grin was infallible. “Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

“I know exactly how to tempt you,” George said through gritted teeth. He glanced across the room to the small woman hugging herself in a silk robe. “You.”

Honey’s glossy eyes went wide, stunned motionless as all eyes turned to her. “Me?” Her voice trembled pathetically, tongue fumbling. She was incapacitated by her fear as much as she was by her growing anger.

“You," Stacy grinned with a set of shark teeth. "You’re comin’ too. Cuff her.”

She flinched as a blue-shirted officer stepped towards her. 

“Wait. Who?” the cuffed man piped up.

They halted at the sound of Peter’s confusion. With a crooked brow, Peter leaned forward, bending at the waist. When Honey made eye contact with him, she was shocked to see him practically looking through her. His face went blank, eyes widening slightly.

“Oh,” he said, as if he’d found a stray cat on his front stoop, or a slightly-interesting ad in his mailbox. “Hi, there.” Awkwardly, he smiled at her, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Uh...” He blew out an exaggerated exhale, utter shock on his face. “You!”

A crease formed between her eyes as she stared back. The crowd of officers glanced between them with growing confusion. 

Peter eyed her with a blush, embarrassed. Sheepishly, he blurted out, “Eh. I gotta level with you. I didn’t know you were still here.” 

A hitch formed in her throat as she blinked at him, her face looking as if he’d slapped her. By contrast, besides the slight discomfort of being caught off guard, he appeared apathetic. Like she was a total stranger.

“Um, look,” he said, scrunching his face like he was about to rip off a bandaid. “I... uh, usually this isn’t my style, but... M’kinda in the middle’a somethin’. So... if you could grab a cab home, that’d be great.” 

Her stomach twisted.

Peter fixed her with an apologetic grin that was half-cringe, as if he was still attempting some level of charm without any kind of real remorse. 

“Just hit me up on Venmo,” he added, as if their relationship was some transaction. Like selling an old couch on Craigslist. He suddenly looked alarmed, glancing at the officers around him, then added, “For the cab fare! Not the... y’know, anything we did last night.”

Mortification hit her like a truck. He simply wrinkled his nose and shrugged, then glanced away. He didn’t look back.

Honey wanted to vomit. She lacked the air in her lungs to respond in words. Instead, she responded with a brokenhearted, glazed-over expression of shock and horror.

“Bullshit,” Captain Stacy said, eyes narrowed between Peter and his mistress. “Don’t play games with me, Parker. I know who she is.”

Peter blinked at his estranged father-in-law, completely daft. “Really?” He glanced back in her direction, avoiding her eyes, then to George again. “Wait. She’s not your daughter, is she?!”

“No!” the man replied, his face turning red.

Peter sighed. “Thank God. That woulda been so weird.”  

“Don’t bullshit me, Parker!” the police captain growled. “This woman is just as culpable as you are!”

“Really, Captain Stacy,” Matt added, skeptically. Doubt was slowly overtaking the room. “You can’t honestly believe that this, uh... um—” The lawyer cleared his throat, “—Mr. Reilly’s guest—is somehow useful to your case?” He scoffed with a laugh. “Or that she’s of any kind of consequence to my client at all?”

George pointed at the woman, who looked humiliated and near tears. “This woman is a witness, at the very least!” he barked. “She’s his girlfriend! His ‘Honey.’”

The way Peter raised one of his brows was almost comical, if it wasn’t so cruel. Incredulously, he glanced over at the devastated woman and snorted.

He looked back at George incredulously. “Seriously?” he scoffed. “Do you have any idea how many ‘Honeys’ I go through each month?”

The wince that followed could be felt throughout the whole room. Even strangers averted their eyes. 

The mob boss laughed cruelly. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s a great lay with a cute face. But that’s it.” 

A vein popped out of George’s forehead. The surrounding officers avoided eye contact, the situation becoming uncomfortable for everyone in the room. “This woman is practically an accomplice!” he bellowed, raising his voice loud enough to echo into the hall.

Peter gazed at him like he had two heads. “Accomplice?” He raised a brow. “You’re losin’ it, pops. I don’t even know her name.”

The pain was so sharp, she flinched. Like a stab to the back, or punch to the gut. A slap in the face. Her stomach lurched. Eyes blurred. She wanted to scream and vomit and die.

And still, she wanted Peter to look at her. To give her some kind of indication that this was all just a ruse.

Instead, he kept George fixed in his gaze, watching the sweat bead on the police captain's forehead as his outrage flared.

“‘Sides,” Peter taunted, licking his lips like a dog. “You know my type.”

The man’s eyes shot back to Peter, flashing red.

“That reminds me,” the mob boss grinned, a lewd twinkle in his eye. “How’s Helen?”

At the mention of his wife, George’s face dropped. His eyes went wide, the color vanishing instantly. The grown man lunged across the room with a growl. His hands were wrapped around Peter’s neck in the blink of an eye, practically tackling the cuffed criminal to the ground.

A ruckus of shouting, grabbing, and grunting broke out as George’s colleagues physically restrained him from continuing to choke Peter. 

The melee suddenly came to a halt when an authoritative male voice shouted out from the doorway, “What the hell’s going on here?”

The humorless tone snapped the whole group into order. The doorway was shadowed by the silhouette of a tall, broad-shouldered man with dusty blonde hair wearing a tailored suit. He was older, possibly in his 70s, and judging by the way the officers tensed up as he strode into the room, he outranked them. 

“Anybody want to tell me what the problem is?” the man ordered, keeping his tone soft.

“Well, I’m missing a shirt, for one,” Peter complained. “And if you plan on takin’ my picture, I gotta tell ya, I don’t go topless. Least not for free.”

Matt spun towards the authoritative presence, infuriated. “Commissioner Pierce,” he greeted him firmly, with a faint tone of relief. “Your officer just attacked my client while he was restrained in handcuffs. Respectfully, I request that he be removed immediately from the premises.”

The Commissioner’s eyes roved from Murdock to George Stacy, who was still panting wildly, hair disheveled, and shirt askew.

“Captain Stacy, you’re dismissed,” the man declared. Just like that, it was over. Not even the SHIELD agents attempted to argue. George opened his mouth to protest, but Pierce silenced his rebuttal. “That is all,” he said calmly.

George snapped his mouth closed, stunned at the turn of events. He gulped down rage, and jerked himself free of his fellow officers’ grip. Without another word, he spun on his heel and stormed out of the room. 

Now Pierce was in charge.

He gazed over at Peter, staring at the lanky man past the end of his nose. Pierce looked as if he was sizing him up. His eyes were cold and impersonal, like judging a cut of meat. Defiantly, Peter glared right back.

Matt stepped in, more sensitive to the man’s authority than Peter. “Commissioner Pierce, I appreciate you sharing my concern for a conflict-free investigation—”

“No need for posturing, Mr. Murdock,” he answered. There was a sophisticated nature to Alexander Pierce that the others were incapable of. “We can make this quick and easy. Your client’s coming with us. Gentleman, please, kindly escort Mr. Reilly from the room.”

“So... no shirt then?” Peter remarked, before being 'pulled' along by the beat cops at his sides. The other officers moved with him, filing out behind him. “Forget my lawyer!” the mob boss called back from the hallway. “You’re gonna hear from my agent!”

Pierce scanned the room like a shark through water, landing on the small, mortified woman in the back. Honey looked up to see Pierce’s eyes narrowed in on her. Matt remained close, and deep down, she knew it wasn't for her support. The tall man approached her, studying her intently. 

“So that just leaves you, then,” Pierce said. “Mr. Murdock, do you represent this young lady, too?”

Eyes glistening, she swallowed hard, focused on keeping the bile from crawling up her throat. 

“No, sir,” Matt stated, mouth twisted with a smirk. “In fact, I don't have a clue who she is. I’m pretty sure you could question every person in this house—you’d get the same answer.”

With a firm jaw, Pierce said to her, “Who are you?”

Fawn-like, she stared up at him, blinking wet lashes. “I... I’m....” Her mouth fumbled before forming the correct words. 

“I just make coffee.”

Continue to Part 23 - Coming 4/30

[buckys-little-belle]

hi there! i read your grilled cheese and juice fics and i absolutely loved them!!! i was wondering, if you’re okay with it, maybe you could write some more? i am in love with little steve and reader <3 maybe bucky has to go on a mission and they’re both big at the time but once he’s gone for a little bit steve starts to go little and get really sad. and maybe reader tries to make him feel better but starts regressing as well and they make themselves cereal and juice and they cuddle each other a lot for comfort. i’m thinking maybe steve sits on y/n’s lap and start crying into her (their?) shoulder and lost of angst but maybe all they like to get up to while buckys gone then when he comes back? i’m very sorry that’s a lot, but i’m also thinking steve’s still insecure as maybe it’s when it’s still early becoming part of them? but lost of cuddles and kisses thrown in with the angst? angsty fluff? really sorry and you’re amazing and i love you. i live inside your blog atm hehe :)

Grilled cheese, and juice (Part Three)

You’re my mission

Bucky x Little!Steve x Little!Reader (They/Them Pronouns used)

Warnings : Steve and the reader get sad and cry, Steve and the reader eat Cheerios.

Note : I reread the two other parts and honestly forgot how sweet this story is, so thank you for requesting another part, it really helped inspire me and took me back to some soft work I had forgotten about. (This isn’t perfectly like the ask bit it’s very similar! I hope you enjoy!!)

SFW : Please keep all interactions with this fic and with this blog SFW

- - - - - -

“Bubs?” Bucky called out, hoping the sound would reach at least one of his little’s ears. Seconds later he heard some shuffling from upstairs and eventually heard the two of them decent down the stairs.

“Yah Buck?” Steve asked, the name ‘Buck’ being a clear sign he was big.

“Sam called, I need to go on a last minute mission so you two are on your own for dinner.” He said, placing his bags at the door and making sure his keys were in his pocket. “Are you two going to be able to handle that? Or should I call Nat to come over while I’m gone?”

Y/n and Steve looked at each other. “We will be fine Buck.” Y/n stated. “It’s only one night, Nat doesn’t need to come by.”

Bucky smiled, Y/n spoke so perfectly when big, he felt proud for some reason. “Okay, but promise to cal her if anything happens okay?”

“Buck stop worrying, we are fine.” Steve laughed, wrapping his one arm around Y/n’s shoulders.

Bucky nodded, walking up to the two and engulfing them in one big hug. Steve and Y/n gladly accepting and tightening their grasp. Then Bucky left, leaving the two others in the houses front entrance, the two of them feeling excited to have the house to themselves.

“I have some reports to finish up, but do you maybe want to watch a movie later?” Steve asked Y/n as he began walking towards the home office.

“Sure! The dinosaur documentary series finally came out, wanna start that?” Y/n called back, getting a simple ‘yes’ in return. The two of them going their own ways for the time being.

- - - - - -

Steve sat in his office chair, his desk the newest addition to the room, bare of decorations. The desk had a computer and lamp, a few files here and there and his own filing cabinet beside it, but it felt out of place. Y/n’s desk had a few picture frames, one with their family, and two of Bucky, they also had at least 4 plants scattered around the desk, as well as on the shelf above it, something they had picked out when their desk was added.

Steve then looked at Bucky’s desk, his the most lived in as this was his house before anyone moved in. His desk was large and very dark wood, his computer black and pen holder a dark chrome. The set up seemed slightly mismatched but also worked somehow. What really stood out though were the frames along the wall, many old photos of his family, his mom, his sister, some family portraits. Then there were more recent ones, a few of him and Sam and a bunch with him and Y/n. But as Steve continued to look at all of the photos he noticed he wasn’t in any.

Steve took a step back from Bucky’s desk and sighed, slight anger running though him. He felt left out, again. Him and Bucky used to be best friends and yet now he felt overlooked. You wouldn’t be able to tell Bucky knew Steve if you went off the pictures in his office. It was if he had everyone important hung on his wall, but Steve.

Y/n on the other hand was sat on the sofa, a book in hand, reading in the subtle light being cast through the window. They were enjoying the silence, something they didn’t get much of, when Steve came into the room. “Hey! You ready to watch the documentary?” Y/n asked, putting their book on the coffee table and waiting for a response.

“‘m no.” Steve said, avoiding eye contact as he played with his fingers, trying to stay as big as possible.

“You okay Stevie?” Y/n asked. Steve quietly panicked, he always felt small when people called him ‘Stevie’, and it certainly wasn’t helping his case at the moment. “Stevie?” Y/n asked again, becoming worried about his demeanour.

Steve just shook his head. Tears flowing down his face as his feeling and little space finally hit him. “No one wants me.” He sobbed as Y/n walked over, engulfing him in their arms to provide some sort of comfort. “Ebrybody is ebrywhere, jus’ not me.” He whispered into Y/n’s shoulder, his whole body shaking as the sobs made their way through his body.

“Let’s sit down Stevie.” Y/n calmly said, keeping their voice soft and sweet so Steve felt comforted. “Here.” They passed him their water cup, letting him take a sip.

“He, he lobs you more.” Steve sighed as he got comfy on the couch. “Do you eben lob me?” He cried, his eyes now meeting Y/n’s.

“Of course I love you Stevie!” They exclaimed, tears begging to fill their own eyes, devastated that he didn’t know how they felt. Y/n loved Steve, he was their best friend, their brother. They loved colouring with him and didn’t know what they would do without him. “Bucky loves you too, I promise. He was so excited when you decided to stay here, he felt so happy that he had his Stevie back.” Y/n mentioned, grabbing some blankets from the back of the couch to tuck Steve in, propping up his body with a few pillows and grabbing a stuffy from the basket across the room. “I love you too, I wouln’t want to colour with anyone else, and you make a perfect pillow.” The two of them giggled at that. “Sometimes I think he loves you more, because you were his first.” Y/n admitted, sitting on the coffee table in front of Steve.

“But he habs all your pictures ebrywhere.” Steve argued, a silly pout on his face.

“Mhm, but your picture is tucked in his wallet, theres one in his coat pocket, his office desk, he has a picture of you in his night table, they are everywhere.” Y/n mentioned, standing up and crossing their arms. “He just thought you would be weirded out if you came here and your pictures were everywhere.”

Steve sat in silence, he didn’t even think of it like that. He was mad that he couldn’t been see on the walls, displayed so proudly like Y/n is. “So he does lob me.” Steve cried, his head snuggling further into the blankets draped over him.

Y/n was still stood in front of him, trying not to cry, and trying not slip, they needed to take care of Steve, Bucky wasn’t here, so It was Y/n’s responsibility to step up. “Maybe I should call Aunty Nat.” Y/n said, their brain slowly slipping into little space. “I don’ know da number.” Y/n whispered, looking at Steve for help, Y/n’s mind officially slipping into little space.

“I dunno.” Steve sniffled, whipping a few tears from his eyes. “Wanna watch some cartoons?” He asked, his voice slightly more peppy now, his own demeanour changing as Y/n slipped, almost like he knew his little friend was there to play too.

“Sure, but ‘m hungry.” Y/n murmured, flopping onto the couch next to Steve, waiting for his response.

“Me too, maybe Daddy left some snacks.” He mentioned, his head nodding towards the kitchen.

“Otay, I check, you stay comfy Stevie.” Y/n said, tucking Steve in even more, trying their best to provide some comfort. Y?n walked towards the kitchen, checking the snack cupboard and then the kitchen island, common places Bucky would leave pre-made snacks. “Uh, Daddy left us nofin.” Y/n said sassily, shocked that their Daddy could leave without making sure his babies had some food. Maybe forgetting that he had left in a hurry … And that both Steve and Y/n promised they would be okay alone.

“Cheerios?” Steve asked, his voice quiet because of the distant, but the desperation in his voice was still evident.

“Yep!” Y/n called back. Grabbing the entire box of Cheerios and running towards the living room. Hopping back on the couch and burrowing themself under the blankets, now sat beside Steve. “Otay, here.” Y/n said, opening the box and pulling out a handful of the honey covered loops and putting them next to Steve’s mouth.

He complied, eating out of Y/n’s hand, something that often happened, why? Because Y/n liked feeling helpful, and Stevie like to be babied sometimes. “Tanks.” He whispered, going in for a second mouthful. The tv playing cartoons in the background as Y/n took turns feeding themself and then Steve.

- - - - - -

Bucky got home late, his bags dropped at the front door as he began taking off his gear. The lights were still on so he knew the two littles got up to something while he was away. What he didn’t expect to find was the two of them curled up on the couch, Steve’s head laid in Y/n’s lap, their hand weaved through his short locks, the two of them deep in sleep.

The tv had turned off, a setting Bucky set up a while ago, making sure the Tv would turn off at 10pm so everyone could get a good night sleep screen free. He was a single dad, he did what he had to okay.

Bucky smiled, the two loves of his life so contently getting along. Though his smile soon faded when he saw a box of Cheerios laid on the floor, and a substantial amount of Cheerios scattered around not only the couch, but also the floor. He assumed a long and dramatic excuse would be concocted by the two sleeping beauties in the morning, and of course he would let them get away with it.

“Knew I should have called Nat.” He whispered as he walked from the living room back towards the front hall, getting ready to unpack his things and then get on the couch and snuggle. He was content, he couldn’t have asked for a better and more fulfilling life.

[ohheyitsokay]

Omg I'm SO sorry!!! I'm the soulmates pain AU anon, I was completely aware you were the one with the milestone!! I saw the post through Molly's rb and I was almost completely sure I had opened your blog to send you the ask but alas, the Tumblr app can never give you any certainties. That long-ass message was completely dedicated to you, I still can't quite grasp how I managed to send it to scribbledghost 🙄🙄🙄 Sorry!!! Congrats again, I love you!!!!

for reference a Din Djarin x reader soulmate request where your soulmate feels your injuries and pain

hello, dear heart!

I wanted to say, before anything else, thank you. I've reread your words multiple times since you sent this, confirming they were to me, and they really mean the world to me. thank you so, so much! anyway, your idea is fantastic, I had a lot of fun with this one! I hope you like seeing what I did with your already wonderful thoughts 💕

ps it's well documented that I'm a big fan of sprawling thoughts, so please never apologize for sharing them!

warnings: mentions canon-typical injuries, a bunch of fluff. at least enough for a couple of throw pillows

>>

soulmate requests / follower celebration

<<

There's a short burn on his forearm when he wakes.

Din stares at it, wondering at the dull ache, trying to place the injury from yesterday's adventure when it hits him. Hot and golden warmth, flooding through his chest, thawing his flesh against the cold filtered air.

It's one of yours.

A burn, on his forearm.

And selfishly, indulgently, he pauses for a moment, mind slipping away from duty and expectations to dwell in the daydream of his soulmate.

First, his mind creates an image of a blurry mandalorian caretaker, gently moving around a kitchen in the covert. You stir a pot, tapping the spoon on the side before setting it down. Hearing distant calls, you turn too quickly and oh - a sliver of burn along your arm.

Din wants to help, wants to pull you away from the domestic .... danger, and he rushes forward. Your helmet turns to him and he almost sees it - before his mind can no longer produce the answers he aches for late at night.

The second image is of you, in armor as gleaming as his own, in a thick, unrecognizable forest. The hairs on his neck are at full attention, already subconsciously wanting to shout - but you don't need his help. You're breathtaking in all versions of his daydream - but watching you fight with practiced ease punches the air from his lungs. For a moment he feels self-conscious of his awkward maneuvers and slapdash fighting but then his mind pulls him back. You're protecting someone, or else you wouldn't have messed up - you never do, injuries from you are too rare - but you shove them behind you, shooting an enemy over your shoulder before your helmet snaps back. There are so many - you're surrounded - and a hot, sharp blaster bolt grazes your forearm before your fury is truly unleashed.

He runs his fingers over the burn, almost giddy at the possibilities.

Mandalorians are few and far between, but he's grateful he has a soulmate, and even more thankful you've kept yourself out of harm's way almost entirely, since you'd been connected.

As he dons his layers, the shine of his armor reflects bruises and scrapes littered across the expanse of his skin. His own, from his journey, and one beautiful little burn from his soulmate.

And then they're covered, and the armor is tied securely in place, and he leaves his daydreams in the room as the ship door slides unceremoniously shut.

-

You hiss at the burn, clutching your arm.

Great. Just what you needed - another injury to add to your impressive collection.

At least my soulmate gets a gift from me this time. You roll your eyes.

The vendor next to your stall is a sweet lady, already apologizing for her steaming pots and pans and offering you compensation.

The credits would be nice, but you could hardly justify taking anything, especially since it was your soulmate's fault your body was riddled with aches and pains in the first place.

Waving your hand, you accept her counter offer - a bowl of her perfect broth and noodles - before retreating. You sell cloth, from beautiful dyed lengths tucked away to sturdy, unstainable blacks, and it was days like today that you thanked your stars for that choice.

There's a thick pile in the middle that you perch on, sinking into the folds as your body cries at you, and you sigh over your soup in relief. The burden of waking to webbing bruises and sprawling scrapes and the more-than-occasional broken bone is eased by your stall - sitting and haggling until the sun goes down. That is, unless there's drama in the market, as it seems there is today.

In the distance you hear shouts, more than those of vendors selling meat on sticks to passing warriors and merchants - the taunts of drunkards.

Someone is coming, and you almost laugh when you see his form in the distance, because he's trying and failing to be inconspicuous. It's impossible, with his gleaming armor, but still he ducks into shadowy spots, forgetting - or maybe ignoring - their inhabitants.

"A Mandalorian has graced our market," your neighbor remarks dryly. They were respected, but it was well known that chaos followed them. You share a look, both wishing you were wealthy enough to conpletely pack up shop. If anything, a logical person would put away most of the stock and hunker down for a few hours. Weighing the odds was difficult: if you were lucky, the chaos wouldn't bother your business, and shoppers might be drawn out, hoping for entertainment and spending as they waited. If you weren't, a wayward burst of plasma or blaster fire would destroy your whole month's stock.

You looked at him again, the Mandalorian kneeling down the street. His form was... almost handsome, formidable but careful. He was light on his feet, seemingly with gentleness on his mind, and it drew you in like a moth to flame. You decided to stay, and hope for the best, your curiosity pulsing like your bruises.

And you were lucky, that day, because he ducked away not a moment later, taking the exciment with him.

Until, he came back the next day, this time on the prowl, stalking up and down the edge of Dicer's Row, one hand on his blaster and the other atop a bulky, wriggling bag. This time, you ventured to stand, folding and refolding your displays as you watched him through your lashes.

And then he made his move, and you sighed, feigning a yawn to cover your disappointment from your neighbor's knowing smile. She shouldn't be wiggling her eyebrows over the box wall between you - honestly his type were more annoying than anything. A crash from the alley confirmed it: there was no way a guy like that cared about his soulmate. The gentleness from before was surely a trick of the light.

Your whole side lit up with pain, the impact of something hard against your whole side and you groaned, settling into your mound again. Any curiosity or attraction was snuffed under your annoyance and pain, and your mood soured like fruit left unpicked on the tree.

Selfish, you thought, glaring as a chicken ran squawking from the commotion. What a jerk.

-

The next day, you tried to maintain the sentiment, huffing as he wandered the stalls.

Why does he keep coming back?

You'd have thought his time here was over when he'd dragged that lowlife out of town yesterday. But here he was, buying a crock of soup at the stall next to you, and ignoring her comments about how he couldn't eat it with his helmet on.

She had warmed to him, since he'd put money in her pocket, chattering in a way that kept him stuck for long moments.

It struck you as strange - he almost seemed too awkward to leave, like her returned generosity actually meant something to him. A man like him... surely could've just walked away.

But he stayed for awhile, nodding and looking at the spoons she carved in her free time, and you almost thought he was looking at you, too. Then he ducked his head and planted himself in front of you, and certainly he was.

For all the years you'd spent weaving words to sell your fabrics and goods, you'd never been so speechless. The Mandalorian was large, sharp, shining edges and bulky canvas packs tied to his shoulders - he seemed out of place, filling your whole stall, shuffling as he loomed over you.

He asked for soft brown things - children's clothes.

"Of course, I - I mean, yes, just over here -" you tripped over your words, caught completely off guard by the shape of him, the feel of him just an arms width away, and his request. You stumbled from your seat, nearly toppling in your hurry and his gloved hand wrapped around your arm, catching you.

"You're injured," he stated not really asking. It was... overwhelmingly intimate, him knowing, and acknowledging it, like he cared.

"Yeah, my..." you swallowed, trying not to get lost in the dark glass inches from your face. "My self-centered soulmate keeps getting himself nearly killed."

Even with your heart thumping in your chest, you couldn't keep the bite from your words, bitterness having collected over years of nursing injuries that were consequences of someone else's actions. He didn't let go of you for a moment, his helmet pulling back and tilting, like he was startled.

Then he was cautious, unbearably so, releasing his grip like a child freeing a captured creature when it was time. The topic was dropped, and he made his purchase quickly, but before he left, he paused. The Mandalorian's gloved hand ghosted over your cheek, slowly moving a hair back into it's place, and if you hadn't known better, it was almost an apology.

And then, thick cape swirling in the dust, tiny clothes in tow, he swept away, leaving you along with your whole body alight with a foreign longing.

-

Din felt as though he'd been stabbed.

Hot, hot feelings poured through his chest, spreading fast as fire as he desperately tried to sort through them.

You - you were incredible, fragile and bruised, with the most stunning, determined eyes he had ever seen. Not a Mandalorian, and you had a ... a soulmate, a fucker who left your skin littered with marks, burdening you with ...

He felt panicked, shocked, and guilty, just as he had when you'd told him. It had never occred to him that his soulmate might be there... out there, constantly burdened by his recklessness. His body screamed for attention, something he so often ignored, but this time, he was almost deafened by it.

His feet, legs, arms, chest, heart - all of them wanted him to return to you, in your little fabric stall. To... what? Truly, he hadn't the slightest idea, so his mind won out, shaking a little to try to reign in the muscles that he'd taught to obey him.

He couldn't go to you.

But, he couldn't stay away.

-

He was back in the market, and this time, he wasn't being subtle about staring at you.

Tall and ... slow, he waded through the crowds, making his was towards you like he was following a careful path.

"Can I help you?" You stood, moving almost involuntarily towards him. "Was there something wrong with my -" he was already shaking his head, hands reaching to make you shush.

Waiting, an irrational part of your mind wished he would touch you again, would place his big hands on your skin and sooth the aches that haunted your life. It was unfair, but you didn't stop it, couldn't if you tried.

Carefully, he slid a single finger to your arm, pushing up your sleeve to reveal the little burn you'd gotten.

He was being gentle. It made you want to stomp your feet, jealously welling up in your heart like bile, bitter and hot. How could it be, that someone so powerful had learned so quickly, wanted to, and he wasn't - he wasn't even your -

Then he moved again, pushing up his own sleeve and your thoughts tumbled over each other. It was intimate, even more than before, desperately trusting, as his skin near glowed in the morning light. And there was a burn on his skin, hairs singled like they'd met the edge of a pot of boiling broth.

You wanted to punch him. This man has spent years tossing his body around like he had one one spare, making your own as brittle as bread crust and - you wanted to kiss him. This man had learned after a single day, the impact of his actions, and had been nothing but kind.

The forehead of his helmet pressed into yours, and the two sides of your mind compromised.

Later, words would come - they had to.

But now, your eyes closed, and you sighed. He had the rest of your life to make it up to you - and he would, you were sure.

<<

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @horton-hears-a-honk @saradika @zinzinina

[melancholymetropolis]

No Idea

Pairings: Athlete!Kirishima x PlusSize!Reader

Summary: College AU The reader is Kirishima's History tutor and they kinda have a crush on each other. It takes an afterparty filled with horny guys and a skin-tight dress for Kiri to realize he wants them all to himself.

Warning: Do I even need to say it at this point? It's smut, obvi. Kinda unedited. The reader and her best friend are black. Kirishima is a football player; he's VERY possessive over the reader. Her best friend is a little gay for her as well.

Author's Note: This was a commission!!!!! The client gave me this insane prompt and I had no choice but to go over the word limit. If you want to commission me, click here! Your support really means the world to me. Enjoy!

Word Count: 5,300

“You’re back early!” My roommate, Liza, yelled from the other side of the apartment-style dorm room. The sound of her chair scraping the floor followed shortly after, along with the light footsteps of her sock-clad feet. “I left you a plate in the microwave, in case you were hungry. I could heat it up, if you’re too tired— why the long face? What happened?”

“He didn’t show up,” I sighed as I dropped my books on the table and sank into a chair.

“How can he not show up?” Liza fumed crossing her arms. “His GPA is already in the gutter from all the other quizzes he seemed to fail before the semester even started.”

“I know,” I replied in a bored tone.

“He’s on academic probation—”

“I know.”

“One more hiccup and he’ll be off the football team—”

“I know.”

“Not to mention how you practically have to bend backward to make time for him—”

“Mhm.”

“Just for him to flake on you for the third time! I just—”

“Liza, please,” I rose from my seat and stood in front of her. “You don’t have to be angry with me. It’s truly okay.”

“No! It’s not okay!” She stormed to the microwave and pulled the cover plate from the inside. She removed the foil and pushed it back into the device, before pressing the start button four times. She turns to face me and forces an angered sigh from her lips. “He likes you, you know that right?”

I lifted my books from the table and walked to our shared room. I took in the words that she threw at me with each step and digested them. Kirishima liked me. It wasn’t as though I didn’t have an inkling that he may be, sorta found me attractive. Although I wore glasses, I wasn’t blind. At least with them on. I saw the way he looked at me when we were less than a foot apart. Shoulders practically touching as we slouched over the Advanced American History textbook. Our hands brushing against each other’s ever so often. The sparkle in his eye when he looked at me longer than a few seconds; the blush on his cheeks when I smiled at his corny jokes. His persistent tendency to walk me home, although most times, we finished our study sessions just before dusk. The way he stayed glued to my side during the journey to my dorm. How he’d carry my books on the way. I noticed it all and practically welcomed it, since I too found him attractive. The spiky redhead just had a way of making everyone swoon over him. Kirishima was genuinely a nice person, not because there was something in it for him, but just because.

The beeping from the microwave brought me back to reality. I placed the textbooks on the designated space on the shelf and fixed my scattered stationery from that morning. Liza shuffled in with a bowl of baked fetta pasta, and a piece of toasted garlic bread a few minutes later. She placed the bowl on the desk, with a fork, a can of sparkling soda, and my favorite metal straw.

“What did I do to deserve you?” I said with a tired smile.

“Helped me pass ‘Text and Ideas’ with an A-,” Liza smiled back and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Oh right,” I took a seat at the desk and forked the starchy dish in my mouth. “This is heaven-sent.”

“I knew you’d like it!” She deemed walking to her own desk. “I got the recipe from tiktok.”

I hum in response and continued to stuff my face. After a few minutes of silence, I grab the phone from my back pocket and unlocked it. A new message from Kirishima was the newest notification from many and it said:

Hey, I am sorry for not showing up. My teammate got shitfaced and decided to take a dive into the fountain. It took three of us to pull him out. It sucks because I was really looking forward to seeing you.

Since my mouth had already filled to its brink with pasta, I opted for a tight-lipped smirk instead of a toothy one. Kirishima all but admitted that he missed me. My hunch was right: the feelings are mutual. I swallowed the pasta and swiveled around in my chair to look at Liza. Her eyes were glued to her phone, but she snapped her head up to laugh at the content on her screen. Once she was down laughing, I picked my phone up and pointed it in her general direction. Reaching forward, she grasped the device and quickly read the message.

“Don’t respond to him,” she said, handing the phone back to me.

“Why? I thought you were shipping us together?” I asked whilst forking more pasta in my mouth.

“That’s why I’m telling you what I am telling you!” Liza rose to her feet and in a split second, she stood in front of me with a sickening smile.

“I am afraid to ask,” I said with a sigh.

“You don’t have to; I’m gonna tell you anyway,” she squats between my legs and widens her smile. “That boy is already wrapped around your finger, all you need to do is pull away. Just a tiny bit and he’ll come running.”

“Liza. . .”

“Hear me out!” She rose to her feet again and walked to the closet. “Remember when I went thrift shopping last week and I picked up that cute bodycon dress?”

“Yeah. . . ?”

“Well, I washed it and realized that it didn’t have the BODY to fill it out properly.” She pulls the dress from the closet and turns back to me. “And since the Homecoming Afterparty is at the Quarterback's house tomorrow night, I thought it would be the perfect time for you to wear it.”

I eye the dress, taking in its extremely short length and strappy detailing on the front. One wrong move and my breasts would spill right out of it. But, one right move would have them fall onto Kiri’s lap. I tried my best to list the pros and cons of the situation. Pondering what I could get out of the ordeal going to the lion’s den dressed as a gazelle. Yet, all I could imagine was me twerking on someone’s son and taking him home afterward.

💘🖤💘🖤

The dress fit like a glove: perfectly tight, almost like a second skin, but very breathable. I paired it with some hoop earrings, a few bangles on each wrist, and 3-inch kitten heels. My goal was to dress to impress, not nurse my aching arches by the end of the night. The entire ride over to the nicer part of town was nerve-wracking, for one, the Uber driver wouldn’t stop staring at my cleavage from the driver’s mirror. And, secondly, Liza practically had phone sex with her boyfriend, who was going to meet us at the party. I stared down at my phone the whole time, rereading Kiri’s message and the ones he sent afterward. It was true, he was wrapped around my finger. He didn’t double text; Kirishima sent five messages in a row.

Hey, are you free tomorrow? I wanted to talk about yesterday.

I’ll buy you that weird thing you like from Starbucks.

The drink you said that tastes like the moon.`

And I’ll get you those cake pop things.

My heart couldn’t help but flutter; I didn’t know he was paying that much attention to me. I only mentioned that Starbucks drink once in his presence, quite a while ago. It had to be a little over a month ago, yet he still remembered.

The car stopped and Liza popped right out. Her 34 inch Brazilian, straight swaying behind her as she closes the door. Still chatting with her boyfriend, she motions me out of the car with an eager smile. Reluctantly, I detach myself from the cool leather and tug on my dress as I closed the door behind me. I looked up toward the mansion before me, white paint and overwhelming size almost frightened me. But, when I saw a familiar, spiky-haired, redhead, all my potential fear left my body and warmth replaced it.

Kirishima’s back was to me; he was having an intense conversation with his best friend, Bakugo, one of the team’s Linebackers. The blond was so close to popping a fuse but Kiri was struggling to keep from laughing directly in his face. I approach the porch, slow and sensual, my eyes glued to him the entire walk over. Kirishima briefly turns around to address a comer of the group, Sero, an offensive player, when his eyes come up the steps. The humorous expression on his face drops and is replaced with awe. The other two boys look in the direction of his eyesight and replicate his reaction.

“Hi—” I lifted my hand to wave, but it never made it past my abdomen. Liza appeared right in front of me and captured my wrist.

“Girl, it’s our song! Hurry up!” She said as she proceeded to drag me into the house.

“Bye—! Wait, damn!”

Liza pulled me to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room of the home. She starts to bop side to side, swaying her hips in place. It takes me a few seconds to register that “34+35” was blasting the speakers. Liza twirls around me in a fit of giggles and continues to bop along to the music.

“I thought you liked “positions” better than this track?” I questioned as I matched her rhythm.

“I do! I just had to get you out of there,” Liza answered as she swayed her head back and forth. Which made her hair move in an angelic wave behind her bandeau top and pencil skirt. “Those three guys looked like they wanted to run a train on you.”

“ELIZABETH!!!!” I screamed with a shocked smile.

“What?! I’m not lying!” She gives me a bashful smirk. “You look so good, mamas! Shit, you're making me rethink my relationship with Shinso.”

“Oh my god!” I laughed. “I can’t take your ass anywhere, for real!”

The song began to fade out and bleed into “Pussy Talk” with the infamous City Girls. Liza’s soft bops began to move into full booty bouncing. Soon her hands are on her knees and she’s throwing her ass back on my lap. I press my hand flat on her back and lift my other hand in the air. She whines her waist and looks back at me as her inner hot girl is threatening to make an appearance. Shortly after the first verse, Liza straightens her back and dances around me as I bop to the side, bouncing my ass to the music. A smile comes to my lips as my favorite part plays on full blast.

“Pussy talented, it do cartwheels,” Liza and I screamed in unison. “And he pay ‘cause he like how that part feel.”

“Pussy give speeches, heartfelt,” I continued, popping my back against my friend.

“Yuh,” Liza ad-libbed.

“Said the pussy really talk like it Garfield,” I rapped as I felt Liza’s hands glide up my sides.

“It do!”

We danced around each other for the rest of the song and pulled away from the floor, desperately needing to hydrate. We practically stumbled toward the makeshift bar across the living room. We reached into the cooler and pulled out two bottles of water. We chugged the water and tossed the empty bottles in the trash.

“Only water, ladies?” Mineta asked as we turned back towards the dance floor. “You don’t want something a little. . . stronger?”

“Get lost, grape juice,” a familiar voice suddenly came out of nowhere.

Just a few feet behind the purple blob stood Kirishima and Shinso. If looks could kill, Mineta’s body parts would be staining the marble floors and messing up my fresh pedicure. The poor excuse for a human scurried away as both football players approached us. Shinso instantly wrapped his arms around Liza and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“Having fun, baby girl?” His low voice sounded sensual against the harsh music.

A seductive smile falls on Liza’s face. “I would’ve had even more fun if you actually danced with me for once.”

“You know I don’t like—”

“Too bad!” She pulled Shinso to the dance floor.

Leaving me alone with Kirishima. I turned to look at him and offered him an awkward smile. “How was your diving lesson?”

The redhead returned my smile and scratched the back of his neck. “So you did read me my texts? I was starting to think you were mad at me or something.”

“Not at you, per se,” I replied thinking of my words carefully.

“Then who were you mad at?” Kirishima closes the distance between us and puts a finger under my chin. He redirects my attention to his face and gives me a smirk.

He looked good and he knew it. He wore a simple white t-shirt and black ripped jeans. But, he paired it with a burgundy leather jacket and a Cuban link silver chain. He had a gold wristwatch on his left wrist and a simple chain on his right. And his cologne. . . it danced in my nostrils. It wasn’t too heavy or suffocating; you simply had to be close to him to smell it.

Kirishima was playing a dangerous game and he knew it.

“At the people that take you away from me,” I looked at him with doughy eyes and slightly parted lips. A look of innocence was written all over my face.

Kirishima clenched his jaw and briefly looked away. A blush starting to form on his cheeks. “Well, I—. Shit.” He remained silent for a few seconds, gathering his words, before saying “You don’t know what you do to me, Y/N.”

“And what’s that?” I asked while removing his hand from my chin and bringing it to my lips. I gently kiss his bruised knuckles, never breaking eye contact while doing so.

The redhead opens his mouth to speak but is rudely interrupted by a yelling Liza.

“GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE, BITCH!!!! THEY’RE PLAYING OUR SONG!!!!”

While I was talking to Kirishima, the music seemed to slip away. I had no idea what was playing until I refocused my attention on the blaring speakers. “Come on, Kiri. Duty calls.” I drag him to the dance floor.

Liza unlatches herself from Shinso and twirls around me. “I’m not shy, I’ll say it. I’ve been picturing you naked.”

“I’m a little faded, you look like a fucking painting,” I continue the verse as I glide my hands along my body. “Big doe eyes, amazin’. She’s everything I’ve been prayin’.”

Liza walked up to Kirishima and glided her hand along his chest. “Me and your girlfriend playin’ dress-up house.” She pressed two fingers against her lips and poked her tongue out. “I gave your girlfriend cunnilingus on my couch.”

Kirishima blushes a bright red, nearly matching his hair. It takes everything in me not to laugh.

I look back at Shinso and he’s just shaking his head with a smile on his face.

“Go get your girlfriend, before she devours your teammate,” I said giggly quietly.

“Go get your best friend before she kills your loverboy,” Shinso counters looking down at me with a smirk.

“He looks like he's gonna pass out,” I replied, struggling to contain my laughter.

“If you think that’s bad, you should’ve seen him when you were twerking on Liza,” Shinso jested while leaning closer to me. “Eijiro looked like he came in his pants.”

I smacked his arm and leaned against his chest. “You’re lying!” Laughter overcame my body; tears were gathering in the corners of my eyes.

“I swear to god,” Shinso struggled to say while laughing. “Then, when Bakugo called you hot. . . Eiji almost went feral.”

“Stop. . . I can’t breathe. . .”

“You better fuck him like the world is ending. . . I can’t keep stopping him from. . . fighting the entire team over you.”

“You and Liza. . . perfect for each other. . . I cannot. . .”

The song swiftly faded out into another. Yet another one of Liza’s favorites: Buss it by Erika Banks.

The young woman peeled herself from Kirishima and began walking to her boyfriend. I distanced myself from Shinso and walked over to Kirishima. I wrapped my arms around his neck and looked into his eyes. “Are you okay, Kiri?” A smile painted my lips.

His eyes darkened and he gripped my waist firmly. “I want you. . . so bad right now.”

“How about we get outta here?” I suggested with a raised eyebrow.

“Go say goodbye to your friends, I’ll bring the car around,” Kirishima asserted with a smirk. He pressed a kiss to my forehead before detaching himself from me and walking out of the living room.

I turned back to Shinso and Liza, who were seconds away from eating each other’s face off. I tapped the loving couple and cleared my throat. They both pulled away and stared at me.

"We're leaving," I said simply.

"About fucking time," Liza replied with a smirk. "You better come back to the dorm in a goddamn wheelchair, if not, I'm sending you back to his place."

"You have like zero chill," I shook my head and waved goodbye.

"Don't forget to use protection!" Liza yelled after me.

A chuckle fell from my lips as I walked out of the front door. I found Kirishima exactly where he said he'd be: parked in front of the massive house, within a bright red mustang. He exited the car and walked around to the passenger side of the vehicle. He opened my door and helped me get in. Kirishima made sure I was buckled in and comfortable before entering the car on the driver's side.

He starts the vehicle, and places his right hand on my thigh. He gives the plush fresh a securing squeeze before pulling away from the curb.

The drive was short and sweet, averaging around ten minutes. We parked across the street from the boys’ dorm hall and exited the car. Kirishima opened my door and helped me out of the vehicle.

"If you don't want this, I could always take you home," he said as he shut my door. "I don't want to pressure you into anything."

"I want this more than you know," I responded while gripping his hand. "But, if I ever feel uncomfortable, I'll let you know."

Kirishima nods and smiles. "Good girl. Now let's go."

The moment his dorm's door closed, his body was pressed against mine and his hand glued to my waist. His lips massaged against my own, slow and sensually. I moaned against the kiss, and pressed my body closer to his. He felt so good attached to me, almost like he was meant to be against me. His searing hot kisses inched down my jawline and to my neck. Kirishima's hands slid up my abdomen and to my shoulders, he slipped the straps from the curved surface and pulled away just enough just to allow me to remove them from my arms.

He kissed the other side of my neck, leaving little bites here and there. The redhead ran his tongue against my collarbones and I swear a flood rushed to my nether regions. Kirishima kissed down and left my breast, gathering the anticipation that swirled through my body before latching his lips on my nipple. A throat my moan fell from my mouth and my legs jolted slightly. My mind continued to fog as he nestled against the sensitive bud, while happily moaning against the soft flesh. I pressed one hand against the front door and another in his hair.

Pants left my lips as I began to squirm underneath his body. "Take me to the bed, please," I begged while looking down at him. " I want you so bad, Kiri."

The redhead detached himself from my breast and gripped my chin. "Say my name, baby." His red eyes stared deeply into my brown ones, taking in every little detail of my expression.

"Eijiro," I said breathlessly.

"Say it again," he broke eye contact and gripped my waist.

"Eijiro."

His hands slipped down the curve of my rear and to my legs. He lifted limbs from off the ground and wrapped them around his waist. I wrapped my arms around his leg immediately afterward and giggled.

He walked further into the dorm room and passed through another dorm. He sits me on the extra-long twin bed and falls to his knees between my legs. Kiri unlatches my strappy heel and tosses it to the other side of the room. While he does the other foot, a smirk presses against his lips.

"What?" I asked while looking down at him.

"I'm just thinking about how this started," he said while smiling. "How my shifty grades gave me the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Stop it," I counter with a blush on my face. "You're exaggerating."

"Baby, I mean it with every fiber of my being when I say this," he leaned forward. "I've wanted to be with you for a while now, I just didn't know if you'd like me back. And I was kinda ashamed of taking so long to say something because you're so sweet and you really helped me a lot with Advanced American History. I didn’t want you to think I was using you for information or anything."

I leaned forward and pressed my lips on his forehead. "I liked you even before I officially knew you. When you beat the shit out of that guy that tried to home a drunk girl."

"I don't even remember that."

"It was during a Halloween party last year, that was when I first saw you. And I thought, "wow I wish more men like him existed in this world"."

"I can't believe you remember that."

"How could I not? You basically saved that girl's life and dignity. You were the only human being in a room full of predators. That's when I knew I wanted you for myself."

Kirishima laughs. "Greedy, little Y/N."

I shrugged.

"Come here."

I gathered the football player into my arms and pressed my lips onto his. Taking in every ounce of his kiss. Sucking on his bottom lip. Slipping my tongue within his mouth. Tugging against his collar to close the distance between us. After a few seconds, Kirishima kissed down my body again until he was face to face with my heated center. He scrunched the dress around my waist and pulled my panties off my legs before spreading my legs wide open.

"Oh… look how wet you are, baby," he kissed the soft skin in between my thighs. "All for me."

Kirishima dipped his head between my legs and took a long swipe at the sticky mess between them. A shiver ran along my spine, Arching my back, I released a soft whimper and spread my legs further apart. He dipped his tongue into the smooth canal repeatedly, bobbing his head as he completed the action. His calloused hands slid up my legs once more and hooked around my thighs. Kiri moved his hot mouth from the very bottom of my womanhood to the top, leaving a long string of spit along the way. The redhead sucked on the protruding bud tenderly; with hollowed cheeks, he looked up from my heat and stared into my eyes. I bit my lip and moaned loudly.

“Fuck, you feel good,” I arched my back against his mouth and bucked my hips slowly.

Kirishima released my bud with a silent “pop” and began lapping the rosy, pink button in great haste. My legs jolted at the new source of stimulation and a throaty whine fell from my lips. Squeezing my eyes shut, I squirmed underneath his mouth, desperately wanting to add more friction. Kiri noticed my slutty movements and began to move his tongue even faster.

“Ah. . . just like that, don’t stop,” my fingers gathered my bosoms and gave them a firm squeeze. The walls of my slick cave began to clench and release themselves at a faster pace. Tingles rose up my body, swirling against my lower abdomen, almost numbing my lower half entirely. Then, a searing sensation ripped through me, causing my hips to raise from the bed and my knees to shake. A low scream left my mouth as I felt the throbbing of my bud increase tremendously.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” My hips fell on the bed again and my legs shook violently. Kirishima steadied them as much as he could before a whole another wave hit my body and my entire being went still.

“Ah! Eijiro!” I screamed as the pleasure shot through my body for the last time. Pants left my throat and short spurts, just as sweat dripped from my forehead. I looked down at Kirishima, who had just pulled away from my spasming cunny. He had a look of astonishment on his face, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. He looked down at my wrecked body, taking in the shaking limbs, the thin layer of sweat upon it, and the scrunched-up dress at the waist.

“You sounded so hot screaming my name,” he finally said after a few seconds of silence. “No one has ever made it sound so good as you.”

“Well, grab a condom and I’ll scream your name for the rest of the night,” I replied with a smirk. “If you can last that long.”

“Oh, baby,” Kiri’s smile widened. “You have no idea.”

He walked over to his dresser and pulled out a box of condoms from the top drawer. He ripped one off the sleeve and walked back over to me. I pulled the scrunched-up dress over my head and tossed it to the side. I looked over at Kiri and he’d already stripped himself of his T-shirt. He was currently unbuckling his belt with the condom packet in his mouth. His massive bulge immediately caught my eye and I moaned in anticipation. Kirishima rips the packet open with his teeth and rolls latex down his throbbing shaft. My walls clench at the delicious sight and I could feel my nipple begin to stiffen

“If you’re still tired, we can wait a little—” Kirishima begins to say before I cut him off.

“Eijiro, stop being nice and fuck me like a slut.”

His lips were on mine within the next heartbeat. His hands roamed every crevice of my body, taking in the soft tissue and stretchmarks lovingly. His throbbing member slowly slid into me with little to no friction. He made sure to thumb my clitoris while inserting himself, just so he wouldn’t hurt me. And I swear, I was seconds away from asking him to marry me. He gently moved his hips backward, and then pushed forward again. Highlighting his first stroke. He looked at the crimson hue on my face and leaned down to kiss me.

“You are so pretty, princess,” Kiri groaned softly, as he moved his hips at a gentle pace. “So, so pretty.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him again. Our tongues danced together as his member tenderly kissed my sensitive walls with each thrust. Kirishima moaned against my lips, as he took in every part of that union. He hiked up one of my legs and hooked it around his waist while he cradled the back of my neck with the other. He looked into my eyes as he increased the pressure of his strokes and their depth. My mouth hung open, and drool poured from the side of it as he kept up the sickening pace. My eyes began to roll back as throat moans rose from the depth of my body.

“Oh God. . .” I slurred as the pleasure increased within my body.

“Aww look at my pretty baby,” Kiri grunted as he rested his hand on my neck. He pressed his thumb between my lips.

I sucked on the digit and looked into his eyes. He moved his hips faster and my lips separated from around the finger. Pants fell from my lips as I felt his member sensually assault my cervix. After a few minutes, Kirishima suddenly pauses and hikes one of my legs up to his shoulders. He readjusts his body, leaving his hand on my neck and placing his hand on my clit. Kiri began to rock his hips in a powerful, but steady motion. He rubs the throbbing bud in a gentle motion, slowly gathering every ounce of pleasure within my body. The pace of my breathing increased rapidly, as the pool in my stomach began to inflate. Whimpers fell from my lips as I gripped the sheets underneath me.

“I’m so close. . .” I whispered through tight lips. “Please don’t stop. . .”

“You’re squeezing me so deliciously tight, baby,” Kirishima grunts as a droplet of sweat drops from his brow. “Milking my cock for everything it’s worth. What a greedy little cunny you have.”

“Eijiro. . . I wanna cum so bad,” I whimpered through pants. “Please let me cum, baby.”

Kirishima curses under his breath and releases his hand from my throbbing bud. He places both hands onto my neck, thumbs pressing against my jaw. He eases his body forward and keeps his sickening pace. “You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

I sucked in a breath and wrapped my hands around his forearms. I furrow my brows and pant with my mouth open. “You make me feel so good, Eiji. So fucking good!”

“You’re mine, you hear me?” He drops his hands from my neck and presses his forehead to mine. “You don’t get to fuck anyone else. . . . .You don’t get to be with anyone else. . . .My name will be the only name you moan for the rest of your life, do you understand?”

I nod. “I understand.”

“You’re mine and no one else's.”

He pulls me into a searing hot kiss. Drinking in all the love and energy throughout my body. I hook my arms around his neck and moan against his lips. Suddenly, I felt an intense rush of adrenaline pass through my body and everything seemed to go silent. A low ringing noise sounded in my ear as my mouth fell open. I dug my arms into his back and clung to his body. Every fiber of my being tensed and my mind went completely blank for several seconds. Then, slowly, my body released itself and collapsed onto the bed. I opened my eyes lazily to see Kirishima’s eyes tightly closed and his hips slightly shaking. Once he finished his ride, his body relaxed and he lowered my leg from his shoulder. He pulled me into an embrace and pressed another kiss onto my lips.

I pulled away from the kiss and looked into his crimson eyes. “Were you serious about calling me yours?”

“Ugh. . . yes?” He replied hesitantly. Then, he added “If that’s okay with you! I don’t wanna force you—”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I cut him off with a smirk.

“Oh, I was worried for a second.”

“The only thing you should be worried about is your Advanced American History grade.”

“Oh, right. . .”

“You miss another one of my sessions, I’ll ignore you again.”

“Please don’t! I will be present at every session.”

“Good. And you have to be Starbucks.”

“The drink that tastes like the moon?”

“Matcha latte with 2 pumps of chai. Yup.”

“And two chocolate cake pops.”

“Mhm. You know me so well.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

a little unconventional (part one)

[foster au]

this is set in America because i don't know how Romania works

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

rapture rising

“Alcina, my beloved sister, are you sure all of this is necessary?”

Alcina shot a glare over her shoulder at her toddling younger brother, who she was making carry in several boxes full of various items into one of the many rooms in her mansion. This one wasn’t one of the bedrooms, but rather a temporary storage room for all the things she had recently bought. She was going to have everything set up for the children to choose from when they eventually arrived. Just thinking about them getting to pick out their bedsheets and paint for their new rooms made a smile come to her lips, excitement rushing through her like dozens of butterflies flying for the first time.

…And then her idiot brother bumped into the doorframe and caused an avalanche of boxes to come down on top of him.

“Be careful!” Alcina barked, whirling around to him. She bent down to start picking the boxes up. “You’re lucky there was nothing fragile in here.”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Heisenberg grunted, rubbing his head.

“And to answer your questions, dearest brother, yes, this is all very necessary,” Alcina said. “I need this to be perfect for them. This may be the first time those little girls get a real home.”

“Inflating your ego, aren’t you?”

Alcina stepped on his foot.

“I have the paints.” Moreau, Alcina’s other brother, shuffled inside, holding several cans of paint on his arms. If they were hurting him, he didn’t say anything. He seemed pleased with himself for being so useful.

“Thank you, Sal,” Alcina said. She took the cans from him and placed them against the wall. “Yellow, green, red, blue, pink, purple… Do you think that’s enough? What if they want, like, a mauve room?”

“Mauve?” Heisenberg echoed as he was crow hopping on one foot, still recovering from being stomped on.

“It’s a shade of purple,” Moreau supplied.

“I know what mauve is, asshole,” Heisenberg hissed. “I was just saying.”

“And I’m just saying, what if they want a lighter-colored room?” Alcina said. “This purple is dark. Should I go buy more?”

“You could mix white into the paint?” Moreau suggested.

Alcina thought it over, then nodded. “Yes, I could do that. Good idea.”

“Who wants a mauve bedroom, anyway?” Heisenberg muttered.

“Alcina!” A fourth voice echoed throughout the house, and Alcina’s sister entered the room. Donna looked uncharacteristically bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She was clutching something in her hands. “Alcina, I have finished them!”

“When did you get here?” Heisenberg looked at her.

“Just now,” Donna said. “It doesn’t matter. Look!”

A beautiful doll was presented to Alcina. It was hand-stitched and dressed with great care. All the little details, down to the freckles and shiny eyes, were incredibly-made, and Alcina couldn’t help but pick it up tentatively, as though she were afraid of accidentally destroying it.

“Oh, Donna,” she said. “It’s beautiful! Thank you.”

Donna beamed. “I have also made stuffed animals and toy clothes for them. An entire wardrobe, in fact. Many selections.”

“Damn,” Heisenberg looked impressed. “Toys dress better than I do.”

“We know,” the other three said in sync, eyeing his ratty trenchcoat and old cowboy hat that he insisted on wearing everywhere.

“You weren’t supposed to agree!” Heisenberg barked like one of his dogs.

“Shouldn’t have said anything,” Alcina shrugged daintily. She looked back at Donna and smiled. “Thank you, Donna. I really appreciate your support. I appreciate all of your support. Even yours, Karl.”

“Sure, sure…” Heisenberg said, though Alcina didn’t miss the glint of fondness in his eyes.

“This is so exciting,” Donna said. “It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing, Alcina. Do you remember when we were all adopted by Mother?”

Heisenberg snorted. “I remember being kidnapped as a child and held for ransom, and then being one of the abduction victims to be actually found alive, only to discover that my parents had been killed while trying to get me back, to which I was then thrown into a home with you three.”

Donna winced. “Not…quite what I had in mind.”

“And you say ‘you three’ like we weren’t your best friends growing up,” Moreau pointed out idly, not looking at Heisenberg as he was helping unload some of the boxes. That one in particular held a wide selection of different bed sheets, ranging from leopard print to floral to plain blue.

Heisenberg raised his nose and huffed. “Well. Still.”

Alcina shook her head with a warm smile.

She vividly remembered life with her adoptive mother, Miranda, and her three other siblings. She was reborn from ash and flame after her old family estate burned down to the ground, smoldering the life she used to have and taking her parents with it. Yes, she could still smell the smoke, taste the embers on her tongue, even now, thirty-five years later. She was so small back then, only nine years old when the fire started, and she watched her home crumble to pieces right before her teary eyes. She thought it was over, that she had nothing, that she was going to be alone forever without her mother and father, but then a woman in a black cowl whisked her up into tender arms and took her under her wing as though she were the chicken to a nurturing mother bird.

She was the first of Miranda’s ragtag rascal children with harsh upbringings. For two years, it was just the both of them, reading books and watching movies in a beautiful countryside manor that quickly became her new home. Though the wounds had still been raw, the burns were very fresh, Miranda filled the void in her heart that her parents’ death left behind, extinguishing that eternal fire of survivor guilt and mourning.

And then the others came along.

At the time, Alcina had been rather indignant at the idea of having siblings. She was an only child with her birth family and she preferred to stay an only child with her new one, too, but she never voiced this opinion to Miranda. She grinned and bore it, even if it meant losing the attention of her mother.

Though, they didn’t end up being that bad…

The first of the “intruders” as she used to call them was Salvatore Moreau, a boy her age, though three months younger, and with a story similar to her own. He had been in a car crash after his drunken father got into a pretty nasty collision. The engine caught fire and it wasn’t long until the rest of the car followed. Moreau was trapped in the inferno, but managed to get out, running towards a nearby lake to extinguish the flames that were trying to make him its newest pyre. Unfortunately, the event left him badly burned, the scar still lingering all these years later, and nobody wanted to take in such a “disfigured child.” Miranda, however, stepped up to the challenge and fostered the boy, eventually adopting him fully later on.

Alcina was, admittedly, rather uneased by her new brother’s appearance at first, but she quickly got accustomed to him, even protective. There were several moments in school where she verbally (and sometimes even physically) pummeled any kids who dared to make fun of him, drilling into the bullies that he was not to be messed with while she was around. Some of her best retributions were when she threatened to leak unwarranted dick pics to the entire school, as it wasn’t uncommon for horny teenage boys to try to get into her pants, and that always shut them up quickly, especially when she loudly proclaimed details on their pathetic excuse for a penis, like the size and shape.

She and Moreau grew close rather quickly, much quicker than Miranda had been expecting. They both enjoyed more mellow things, like reading books and going on walks through the forest. Moreau was the sole reason she passed any English assignments done on Shakespearean literature, as he actually knew how to discern the confusing text, while she had to reread the same page over and over again to simply get a loose grasp on the grammar. He enjoyed cheesy romcoms, birdwatching, and swimming, the last of which he had a strong affinity for because of how the lake beside the car wreck very well could have been the only reason he survived. Now, he owned that very lake and made it into a popular fishing and boating destination for locals and tourists alike.

The second to arrive was Donna Beneviento, when Alcina and Moreau were both twelve. She was a full five years younger than the two of them and didn’t talk very often, at least for a good chunk of the first year she was there. She was put into the foster program after her parents commit suicide, leaving her with nothing but anxiety, trauma-induced selective muteness, and a doll named Angie.

It took time, but Donna eventually started opening up. First to Miranda, and then to Alcina and Moreau. Alcina strongly remembered a time when her little sister came to her room during a thunderstorm, lips quivering, tears glistening in her eyes, Angie clutched in a vice from her thin arms. She didn’t say anything, just stared from the doorway, whimpering and shivering.

“Alright,” Alcina had sighed. She flipped open her comforter, welcoming Donna. “Come on.”

Donna had brightened and skittered into the bed, snuggling right up against Alcina’s side. Alcina didn’t mind and resumed the book she had been reading before--Animal Farm, she believed. Donna pointed at the pages and then looked up at her curiously.

“Oh, this?” Alcina had said. “It’s called Animal Farm. It’s about these talking farm animals overthrowing their farmer to gain freedom, only to then be ruled by a communist pig.”

Donna blinked. “What’s a communist?”

“Well, you see…”

Her late-night explanation was certainly aided by the fact that they were in the middle of the Cold War at the time.

Overtime, Donna slowly grew out of her shell. Though she was still soft-spoken and reserved, she was also very kind-hearted and incredibly creative, which she showed through paintings, arts and crafts, and doll making. She would make dolls out of anything she could find--wood, thread, clay--so it made sense when she eventually became a toymaker once she grew up.

Finally, there was Karl Heisenberg when Alcina and Moreau were thirteen and Donna was eight. Right from the start, he was a loud, spitfire ten-year-old that broke the serene silence that used to hang over Miranda’s estate. He caused a great amount of mischief and mayhem, though Alcina would later discover it was to hide the fact that he was deeply traumatized by what exactly had happened to make him a foster child.

Even now, so many years later, Alcina still didn’t know the full story. Miranda said it wasn’t her tale to share and Heisenberg simply didn’t like talking about it very much. But from what she did know, Heisenberg used to belong to an incredibly wealthy business owner that ruled over their company with an iron fist. Due to the harshness his parents inflicted on their employees, it caused the workers to revolt against the abuse. A certain group took this way too far and kidnapped Heisenberg, holding him for ransom so they could get better treatment and pay at their work. Something ended up happening during the time between Heisenberg being held hostage and his parents paying up, and it left his mother and father in a way that he could never bring himself to explain. She only got snippets of the brutality of their deaths through brief moments when he would come to after vicious nightmares, one of which she actually stepped in to stop when she heard him struggling one night.

“Their heads, Alci,” Heisenberg had gasped, clawing manically for a desperate grasp on her arms, his body jerking and spasming in terror as his nightmare was still releasing his small, twelve-year-old body. “Their heads-- their brains were--” And then he stopped and keeled into her chest, sobbing in a way Alcina had never seen him do before in the two years he was living with her before that moment. Despite her occasional vex towards the boy, he was still her little brother and she was still his big sister, so she had wrapped her arms around him and held him close while he trembled and cried.

She never did find out what Heisenberg meant by “their heads,” but she had a hunch. Still, she never asked.

Nowadays, Heisenberg ran his own factory, where he treated his employees the way his parents should have treated theirs, learning from their mistakes. He also fostered all different kinds of dog breeds until they found their forever homes and rescued the more ‘vicious’ ones, like pit bulls and rottweilers, all of which he treated like royalty.

A freakishly tall girl, a burned boy, a selective mute, and a dog lover… They certainly weren’t the epitome of the stereotypical nuclear family, but they were family through and through, if not by blood, then by bloodshed.

“Do you guys remember the time Karl tried to clean the dishwasher with Kool-Aid?” Donna reminisced with a giggle.

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” Heisenberg said.

“Absolutely not,” Donna grinned at him.

“I still don’t know how you came to the conclusion that that would work,” Alcina shook her head.

Heisenberg threw his arms up into the air. “John said it did!”

“John also tried to steal a school urinal.”

“Also, you’re supposed to take all of the dishes out before you try to clean it with Kool-Aid,” Moreau spoke up. “You left all of the pots and plates and silverware in it.”

“And he didn’t even put it in the right spot!” Alcina joined, cackling. “You’re supposed to put the powder in the detergent dispenser. Karl, you just poured it out all over the dishes!”

“It wasn’t even the right powder,” Donna put in. “You’re supposed to strictly use unsweetened lemonade only. You used tropical punch!”

Alcina, Donna, and Moreau all burst into laughter, while Heisenberg crossed his arms and glared at them.

“John never specified any of that!” he blustered.

“Never trust John, dear,” Alcina tittered.

“Well, it happened!” Heisenberg said. “It’s over! What other boxes do you need to move!”

More laughter.

“I’m serious! I’ll get the boxes! Also WHAT IS THAT.”

They all turned to see a patchy tortoiseshell cat lazily strolling into the room with them. It looked like it had been run over, dismembered, run over again, and then put back together by a blind surgeon, but it held itself like it was the most pristine lion to ever walk the earth. It glanced over at the four siblings, meowed at them, then continued on its stroll to one of the empty boxes, which it jumped into and made itself comfortable inside.

“It’s a cat,” Donna said as if it should have been obvious, earning a snort from Moreau and then a glare from Heisenberg.

“It’s not funny,” Moreau said quickly after Heisenberg glared at him, too, but it was obvious Heisenberg’s leer was all in good fun.

“No, no. Tom from Tom and Jerry is a cat,” Heisenberg said. “THAT is an overgrown street rat.”

“Well, one could assume the same about you, but you don’t see us pointing it out,” Donna said breezily.

Another bout of laughter, this time with Heisenberg included.

“Okay, okay, you got me there,” Heisenberg said.

“Must you insist on reacting the same way every single time you see Tea Cake?” Alcina finally spoke up through the playful bickering. She crouched down next to the cat and stroked its back, which caused it to purr in content.

“It’s my trademark,” Heisenberg said with a shrug. “That old woman is still alive?”

“And kicking,” Alcina smiled fondly at her pet.

Tea Cake had been with her for a long fourteen years, witnessing more than a few existential crises and drunken concerts put on to chase off her lurking PTSD. That cat came during the worst part of her life, and Alcina owed everything to that little beast. She learned how to laugh and smile and genuinely feel again, not hide behind the facade that she was a strong, powerful woman who could take on everything and come out without a scratch.

And, yes, Alcina had known- still knew, that she had Miranda and her siblings, but sometimes they were not enough, not back then, not when she was filled with so much shame and self-hatred and disgust. Animals were different in a way people couldn’t be. Animals didn’t lie, they didn’t judge or think about how messed up you were in their heads. They didn’t share your secrets or give you false hope. They just--be there. They listened and lent their presence and, sometimes, that was all that was needed, and some people didn’t seem to understand that.

Tea Cake’s fur had dried more of Alcina’s tears than anyone else ever had because she never let them fall in front of others. Tea Cake didn’t get upset when Alcina touched her; she didn’t understand the concept of emotional trauma and sexual harassment and body image issues. She just cared, even if she didn’t quite get it.

Alcina would probably be dead if it weren’t for her.

Yes, she remembered that fateful night… The wind in her shaggy hair she hadn’t washed in days, the moonglow on her ashen skin, the tears burning in her eyes--all of it was so clear, even now. She remembered how horribly, hopelessly depressed she had been and how she drove out to a field with a note on the dashboard and a gun in the passenger seat.

At the time, nothing had helped her. Her antidepressants weren’t working, going out only made her feel unsafe, and her family’s presence no longer brought her comfort and happiness, rather guilt and shame. The only thing that ever helped was when she drowned herself in the alcohol she made for a living, drinking away her despair and trauma until her body tingled and the phantom hands went away. She was surprised her liver never exploded inside of her during those awful few months.

She had sat in her car for a while, leaning her head on the steering wheel and wallowing in silence and darkness. Then, she got out, made sure the note was visible, and grabbed the gun.

She considered calling or texting her mother and siblings, but that would make it hurt worse. It was better to leave them with their last memories of her than to have this sudden news of a goodbye that they wouldn’t be able to stop.

She placed the pistol’s barrel in her mouth and rested her finger on the trigger. Her life didn’t flash before her eyes like some movies or books say it did, and she was quite thankful for it. She didn’t want to relive the agony she had been put through that led her up to that point. She just shut her eyes as tight as possible in preparation for the bullet to pass through her brain…

Then, there was a rustling from the grass nearby.

Alcina hesitated. The metallic taste of the gun left her tongue and she looked in the direction of the noise.

“Hello?” she had called out in her best possible not-about-to-kill-herself voice.

A tiny meow answered her.

“Your roadkill wants you,” Heisenberg’s voice cut through the daze that had momentarily descended upon Alcina’s mind.

Blinking, Alcina realized that Tea Cake was gnawing on her finger and meowing. She smiled.

“It’s probably dinner time,” Alcina said. She stood up straight. “Come on, children. I have news to share.”

Curious, her three younger siblings followed her out of the room and to her kitchen, Tea Cake padding after them eagerly. Her house was a beautiful creation of the finest wood and the most luxurious stonework. Top-of-the-line appliances filled the space and every little detail, down to the hanging droplets on the chandelier and the grooves in the staircase railing, were customized to her preference. 6 bedrooms, 9 bathrooms, 17,182 square feet, 14.99 acres filled by lush vineyards, and $5,500,000 later, and you had the Dimitrescu Estate.

And it was a barren prison.

It had always been there, ever since she moved in: that lingering loneliness that seemed to shroud every hallway. She had so much space, but nobody to fill it. Nobody except herself, Tea Cake, and her maids, of course. Lying awake one night, thinking about this issue as she often did, a solution had finally come to her.

After pouring some wet food into Tea Cake’s food bowl, Alcina grabbed a bottle of sweet butter wine out of her wine fridge and poured a glass for herself and each of her siblings, all of which were staring at her curiously. After taking a long sip, she finally began: “As you all know, I have plans to foster a child. And I greatly appreciate all of the support you three have provided me up until now.”

“Is this an award ceremony or something?” Heisenberg joked light-heartedly. “Can I have the award for most boxes carried? I think I deserve that one.”

“You mean most boxes dropped?” Donna giggled, earning her a playful poke in the side.

“No, it is not an award ceremony,” Alcina glared at Heisenberg without any fire in her gaze. She opened up a drawer in the stainless kitchen island they were gathered around. “Though, this may very well be an award…” She pulled out a blue folder packed full of papers and set it on the marble countertop, grinning brightly. “I just wanted to let you all know first that my training is done. I’ve completed all the classes.” Her heart swelled in her heart as she spoke her next words: “I’m a foster mom now.”

All at once, her younger siblings lit up brighter than the sun’s supernova, throwing their arms up into the air and letting out a celebratory shout. Donna and Moreau even raced around the island to hug Alcina, which she returned with a laugh.

“Oh, that’s so wonderful, Alcina!” Donna said, squeezing her with surprising strength. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Me too,” Moreau agreed.

“Sal, are you crying?”

“No!” Moreau yelped, then sniffled. “I just have something in my eye, that’s all.”

“You mean tears?” Heisenberg teased. He then looked at Alcina. “That’s amazing, Alcina. I’m really happy for you. You deserve this.”

“Aww,” Alcina crooned. “Is my little brother going soft?”

Heisenberg instantly steeled himself. “Me? No way! I was just saying what you would want to hear.”

Still being embraced on either side by her other brother and sister, Alcina chuckled. “I see.”

“Do you know your placement yet?” Donna asked, looking up at Alcina as though she were a child again.

“Placements,” Alcina corrected. She couldn’t help but grin again as she spoke of her future children. “Two. I’m getting two little girls.”

“Aww!” Donna and Moreau both cooed.

Heisenberg was nodding. “Girls. Yes. I can do girls.” He looked up at Alcina. “I’m getting them a puppy.”

“Oh, you don’t have--”

“I’m getting them a puppy,” Heisenberg said again, and it was clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Alcina chuckled. “Alright. A puppy it is.”

Donna and Moreau began to join in on plans for being the greatest aunt and uncle, with Moreau saying that they needed to come to his lake for a swim and Donna listing off all the toys she would make for them. Alcina listened to them with a fond smile, happy to have such a supportive family. This was exactly what her daughters were going to need.

Daughters.

Just thinking about that word made her heart flutter in her chest. Her grin turned giddy. She was going to be a mother soon.

As she sipped from her wine glass, she thought about her placements. She had gotten the call four days ago and was scheduled to meet the little ones in the next two weeks. She could still hear her caseworker’s words in her ears during the conversation as she recalled it to her siblings.

“The first is named Daniela,” Duke had said. He was a studious, patient man with a warm smile and hands like chipmunk paws, keen on helping Alcina ever since she started her training to become a foster parent six months ago. “She’s a little girl and eleven years old. Her parents have, unfortunately, recently died due to a car crash. Her living relatives are unfit to take care of her, so she’s been placed into the foster system. Right now, she’s staying with her aunt and uncle, but she cannot be kept there much longer because of, ah…jealousy issues with their actual child.

The second is named Cassandra. Another girl, this one twelve years old. She’s been in the foster program ever since she was a baby when she was given up, as she was born from a teenager who couldn’t take care of her. She’s had…quite a few foster homes, all of which had given her up to someone else due to…issues. I understand if you don’t want to take this child. She’s been known to cause problems in her houses and pick fights. There is-- woo, that’s a lot of complaints… There are some notes on her left by her former families and-- Goddamn. They’re writing of her like she’s a monster or something…”

“Of course, I couldn’t turn down either of them,” Alcina concluded her retelling. “Especially the second one. Cassandra. The poor thing sounds like she needs a good home.”

“You’re so sweet, Alci,” Donna said, smiling at her.

“Think you can handle it?” Heisenberg asked. “I’m not doubting your abilities, but from what you said about the kid… Well, she just sounds difficult.”

“You were difficult,” Alcina said, grinning at him. “And everything turned out just fine, didn’t it?”

Her youngest brother’s concern didn’t diminish. “Yes, but… I don’t want anything to happen to you or my niece.”

Alcina, Donna, and Moreau all cooed. Heisenberg huffed.

“Oh, shut it! I have a heart!”

“You do,” Alcina’s smile lightened slightly. “But don’t worry: everything will be okay. I can do this. I need to do this. Those two little girls need a mother.”

Heisenberg considered her for a moment, then nodded. He smiled at her. “You’ve got a good heart, Alcina,” he said. “If you ever need any help, I’m here.”

“Me too!” Donna joined in.

“Me three!” Moreau piped up.

Alcina laughed. “Thank you. Really. This means a lot to me. Now…” She raised her glass. “Let’s drink before we have to cut back because there will be children around!”

Her siblings laughed and mimicked her gesture.

Alcina couldn’t wait.

[mikotos-8daydreams]

Revisiting Motonari's Route/Rant

I know this is late but better late than never?

Let's just get on with it.

Ok so after reading Motonari's route in English, I felt that I needed to revisit my opinion on his route after getting a better understanding on some text lines.

First let's start with something I got wrong.

Initially, I felt confused as to why Motonari felt the need to capture MC in the beginning and later have her sold off the auction. Like why do the auction if your men already have possession of her? After restarting the route, I felt that they were only including this in order to really drive the point of "possession" and " capture" ala KBTBB style. However, It was here that they clarified that Motonari was initially going to play the "savior" role to get MC and the Oda army to trust him. However, plan was ruined when he couldn't stand MC babbling about how Nobunaga was great and he was going to bring peace to Japan.

So yes, I got this part wrong, but to be fair it was fairly obvious that he was Motonari when he showed in his regular outfit at the auction smiling. How did MC think it was not suspicious that he showed up as she was about to be sold in to slavery to "save" her?

Second, I need to give MC credit on how initially she had some sense of reason and was actually smart in being close to Motonari to discover his plans and possible thwart them. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer right? Did she ever have a chance of being successful? No, but we already know from other MLs route that she can't succeed in that era by herself. At least she initially tried to escape from his grasp when he was asleep or by calling out Keiji when she was trapped with Kicho.

Unfortunately, things take a nosedive from here. MC's good sense had her convinced that Motonari was this poor child that was wronged by the world and just needed someone to believe and be loyal to him. Don't get me wrong, his backstory was sad and definitely gives insight as to how he ended up as a misanthropic asshole. However, I believe that true love cannot come out of pity. MC really believed in both his endings that unconditionally loving him will cure him of his past traumas.

In addition, I can't believe she managed to overlook his actions to find the guy attractive in the first place. I mean this guy made so many crude comments at her like asking her "if she wanted to ride his horse", offering her as a plaything to Kicho (this part was so bad that I believe the writers had to backtrack in his POV to make it so that he didn't really mean his comment), and constantly calling her his property and slave. I guess this MC is a masochistic cause she ended up liking all the condescending statements about her with minimal signs that the guy actually liked her.

Speaking of his POV, I believe that knowing what he was thinking actually made his character even worse. We all know that LIs tend to have a wrong impression on who MC is in the beginning of their routes, but this guy straight up thought that she was a slut because so many people in the Nobunaga clan liked her. Every other thought expressed was him trying to get closer to his goal of having the world burn.

I could really rant about so many other things in his route, but I won't because frankly I'm tired and I don't want to delay this post anymore. If you follow me, you know that my opinion changed very little from my first impression. I think this was the first time that I hated having to read a LI's route and I delayed so much in completing both endings. The only time I was happy was when I was rereading common route, and I could just tap at my screen to skip through everything.

I guess to end on a good note, we finally got his character over with and we only have Ranmaru, Kanetsugu, Kichou, and Yoshimoto routes left. (Yoshi just recently got announced yaaay!)

[ladyaj-13]

Annual Writing Self-Evaluation 2021

Thank you so much for the tag @haztobegood! It was really interesting reading all your thoughts. I love this kind of thing!

1. Number of stories posted to AO3: 19

2. Word count posted for the year: 98,352

3. Fandoms I wrote for:

One Direction, Radio 1 RPF (in connection to 1D), Ghosts/HH/Bill/ThemThere/Whatever those guys are called now RPF

4. Pairings (some are secondary pairings):

Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Liam Payne/Louis Tomlinson

Nick Grimshaw/Louis Tomlinson

Niall Horan/Louis Tomlinson

Zayn Malik/Liam Payne

Zayn Malik/Louis Tomlinson

Niall Horan/Zayn Malik/Louis Tomlinson

Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Greg James/Louis Tomlinson

Gen fic! Big up the non-pairing stuff too :)

Larry Rickard/Ben Willbond

5. Story with the most Kudos/Bookmarks/Comments:

Can’t Buy My Love, Can Buy Me Dinner (not really a surprise. It’s Larry :P)

6. Work I’m most proud of (and why):

It’s tempting to go for the longest as I tend to be a short fic writer, but honestly, it’s probably Blow Me Away? It was a total experiment to see if I could write anything above a very soft M rating and I think it worked. I don’t think I’ll ever be known for my explicit sex scenes, but I feel more confident about including one now if I want to!

7. Work I’m least proud of (and why):

Hold On. It was my first in the fandom and for me that’s always just testing out my grasp of the ‘canon’ and characters, but it’s definitely the fic I reread the least. There’s nothing wrong with it, and it served its purpose at sucking me in as a 1D writer, I just don’t think I’ve done anything particularly interesting with it.

8. Share or describe a favourite review you received:

Such a hard question - I love every review! I notice the people who come back again and again, so shout out to those (adorelouis for instance), and any of the podcast reviews are so awesome. Something about listening to people’s voices just makes it all hit so much harder. I listen when out walking and probably make some pretty weird faces as I try not to combust with joy/cry in public. Also @zanniscaramouche left me a lovely page-long review on Let Me Kiss You the other day, which I haven’t even replied to yet, but pulling out all their favourite bits (which I LOVE). It was for a Merlin fic I wrote last year, but also in summer one person told me they have synaesthesia and when writing is really good they can ‘taste’ the words, and that happened with my fic Lay Me Down (which isn’t even one of my better received fics in that fandom). That one is going to stick with me, I want to hug it.

9. A time when writing was really, really hard:

Generally when writing is hard I put it aside and do something else! The time I pushed through most was for Rising to the Occasion, where I had real trouble getting it to flow and handling the large cast (as a Bake Off non-AU, every scene was in a tent that housed Harry, Louis, Niall, Liam, Noel, Paul and Prue), but wanted to hit post before Louis’ fish finger cooking video came out and disproved my headcanon he was a kitchen disaster. Turns out I gave him far too much credit in my fic.

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

The whole output of 2021. In December 2020 I couldn’t even name all five members of 1D and a year later here we are…!

11. A favourite excerpt of your writing:

Liam’s POV, from my Lilo fic Caught in the Rainstorm. I also adore the Liam and Harry phone call in this fic but that excerpt would be huge.

He’s not sure how long they dance for. The songs meld into one another, the DJ a master at easing from track to track until time seems immaterial, and he’s right in the hazy, alcohol-soaked sweet spot where he thinks he could do this forever. Lucille’s an excellent dancer too, and he’s caught more than one envious look thrown his way when she drapes her arms around his neck or shimmies along his front.

It’s hot though, close and crowded, and as he draws back to say they should probably get some water, his eyes catch on her upper chest. She’s sweating - they both are - and a rivulet gathers, snaking down from her neck and into her cleavage.

A little water droplet falls from Louis’ nose and his brain slams the brakes on.

Shit. No.

He’s here with a hot woman - and not just a hot woman, but actual girlfriend material - and… Louis. Dripping in his entryway, leaving wet sockprints on his floorboards, retching at sugary tea, his hair fluffed up from a towel, keeping the remote hostage, eating Liam’s naan bread when he said he didn’t want any, sleeping in his spare room and leaving without his socks.

Louis.

It thrums through him, a physical thing that starts in his stomach and works it’s way up until it’s hard to breathe.

12. How did you grow as a writer this year:

I think I got more comfortable with trying different things. Certainly RPF, which I hadn’t written or even really read before, but also omegaverse, which I never expected to write and which ended up being my longest fic of the year. Plus the aforementioned smut. And I now make moodboard/fic posts!

13. How do you hope to grow next year:

I’d like to get better at developing longer fics, 15k+, and holding both the focus for finishing them and all the threads of the story. I have so many ideas! (And so many partly written stories…)

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

I’ve got to say @lululawrence. She left such a wonderful review on one of my fics back when it was still anonymous, then just as I got up the nerve to come off anon I discovered her podcast and literally teared up hearing her say such lovely things about my story. When I told her I’d come off anon, she followed me, encouraged me, subscribed, reblogged my fic posts, told me when I’d left off the link (it happened twice!) and continued to read, review and podcast about my stories. I tend to hop around fandoms and I honestly think 1D might have been a flash in the pan if not for the welcome she extended my way. This is true of the 1D fandom as a whole though - I’ve never been part of a fandom which is so dedicated to supporting and reccing other people’s fics via Tumblr.

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

My fuzzy blue blanket. Louis’ mum has one in A Kiss for Christmas and Nick has one in Little Saint Nick. Nick also has one in the next bit was spanners to my plan.

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Never assume you'll remember that great idea that popped up while walking/showering/etc. Always write it down! And don’t be afraid to run with something if inspiration hits, even if you think it’s stupid. My last one of those has ended up being my big bang for next year…

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

Fingers crossed, my big bang! Otherwise, I have a poly Blind Date AU which I would love to see the light of day. Also a canon Lilo set Feb 2022 so it would be good to finish that off by then if I can… Beyond that, there’s a Larry canon-divergence where Louis isn’t put in the band, a Ziam tattoo shop AU, an omegaverse Larry fic, a Ziam canon wooing fic, a Tomlinshaw/Ziam/Payneshaw(fake-dating) thing that I would really love to delve into, a Ziam Bachelor AU, a Zouis kidfic, a canon Tomlinshaw with cookery videos, a Ziam bakery AU, someone stop me this isn’t even everything I have ‘in progress’ let alone the 20+ cards on my ‘ideas’ list…

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read.

I’m not sure who’s already been tagged and who hasn’t, but I’ll try @lululawrence, @allwaswell16, @thestylinsons, @laynefaire, @a-brighter-yellow, @chloehl10, @londonfoginacup and @parmahamlarrie.

[jolyne-jolyne-jolyne]

The Impact Of Jotaro’s Neglect On Jolyne’s Character

When I first read Stone Ocean, I felt that Jolyne's hate toward Jotaro was a bit extreme and unjust. At 14, she stole his car and went joyriding just to get his attention. She also whined and complained about how terrible of a dad he is in the middle of their fight against Johngalli A. I think many readers didn't like her in the beginning because of her spoiled attitude. Upon rereading though, my feelings have become a bit more mixed.

In the first chapter, she told her lawyer that when she was six, she had a 42 degrees Celcius fever and her dad couldn't be bothered to come home and see her. If you live in the US like me, you're not familiar with the metric system. I googled it and it turns out 42 degrees Celsius is a whopping 107.2 degrees Fahrenheit. Anything above 105 F is dangerous already, but once you hit 108 F, you could very well die. So, with her 107.2 F fever, little Jolyne was literally on the verge of death.

A fever doesn't sound all that deadly when it comes to mind, but have you ever had one before? I haven't in years, but I remember it being awful on so many levels. Your entire body feels hot and cold, and you're sweating and shivering at the same time. Your head is pounding, and just mustering up the energy to even move it takes a lot out of you. Opening your eyes burns for some reason. And that's a fever that's below 42 C/107.2 F.

Imagine being six-year-old Jolyne. I like to think that Jotaro was a good father and husband when Jolyne was younger but then maybe a stand user attacked them or he realized Dio's followers were still out there and watching him, so he decided it was best for his family if he didn't bring those stand users to them. Further, he didn't want to let on to how much he cares for them, as they could be used against him. Out of the blue, with no explanation, Jolyne suddenly lost her father's love. She still remembered a Jotaro who used to spoil her and play with her (all those Dadtaro and Smolyne memes) and now he suddenly wasn't home all the time anymore. She probably tried different tricks, small things, to get his attention and reassure herself that he indeed does still loves her and is just caught up with work or something important. Maybe her small efforts worked and maybe sometimes they didn't.

Then the fever happens.

This is it. Little Jolyne is in critical condition, probably in some hospital, hooked to some tubes and fluids working toward stabilizing her sickness and fighting it off. No one tells her that she's dying, but she could very well guess it on her own since she's on a hospital bed. Her mom is most definitely there for her, maybe stroking her hair or holding her hand while keeping her own sobs and tears at bay in order to stay strong for her. Right now, this is what little Jolyne needs, her loved ones by her side when she needs them the most. She probably hasn't ever loved her mom more than she has right now. But it isn't enough. One hand is tightly gripped by her mom, yes, but the other is left empty, trying to grasp for that sturdy reassurance her dad is supposed to provide for her. She doesn't care whether or not he no longer plays with her; she just wants him to be there. Now it the chance to once and for all put her doubts to rest.

Where is daddy? she asks.

Her mom puts on a fake smile and assures her that he's coming, just a little late. What else is she supposed to do? Tell her daughter that he's too busy to come right now? Jolyne believes her for a bit, but like the impatient kid she is, keeps asking when he'll come. Again and again, her mom makes excuses, but it comes to a point where Jolyne realizes he's not coming. As to why that is, she doesn't know. Her heart breaks when she realizes that she might not get to see him one last time before she closes her eyes again. She innocently wonders if something bad has happened to him, and her mom makes up a new kind of lie to not break her spirit. She survives through the fever, but her heart is tattered with deep disappointment.

Later down the line, years maybe, she learns the truth that her dad just chose not to come and see her when she needed him. At this point, Jotaro's already long been a pretty absent father and negative feelings have been culminating within her. She still had good memories with him from her early childhood so she stayed optimistic. But hearing this shakes her world. She's probably at that age where kids are figuring out who they are. Finding this out makes her question whether the reason her dad keeps leaving her is that he no longer loves her. Why? Is there something wrong with her? What did she do for him to suddenly hate her?

And then the divorce happens.

It's like a nail in the coffin. We know why he did it, but in her head, it frees Jotaro of all responsibility aside from child support and cements the notion that he wants to rid her and her mom from his life. Jolyne can't and won't accept it, so she pulls a bunch of stunts to get a reaction out of him. Even if he comes to shout at her or lecture her, it's still better than complete neglect and at least shows that he cares, right? However, by now, Jotaro has already steeled himself to distance himself from his family to give them a better life. Whether or not it was right of him to do so is irrelevant. The fact is, his actions start to push Jolyne over the edge. If he were always like this from the very beginning (like Giorno's mom), maybe she wouldn't have cared about him at all. But she can't forget those days where he cared for her and miracles happened when he was around (Star Platinum's stand magic). Having her mom alone just isn't enough. She wants her dad, whom she still loves and who's so strong (and could literally beat up all other dads) too.

There will come a point where she stops trying to figure out why he doesn't love her and just thinks maybe the problem isn't with her but instead lies with him. Maybe she talks about him to her pre-prison gang friends, like that biker gang, and they tell her that she's perfectly in the right. They encourage her rebellion and egg her on to do wrong in order to defy him. These petty crimes build up on her record and blacken her reputation. Jotaro's enemies take advantage of that to finally make a move and frame her in order to lure Jotaro over. And thus, Stone Ocean and Jolyne's journey as a Jojo begin.

She might look whiny and be taking her hatred for Jotaro a bit far at times, but if the above speculations are actually correct, his love for her and what he thinks of her mattered so much to her that it literally shaped and defines her character.

All things said, Stone Ocean might not be the best part or most people's favorite, but I love that Araki actually took the time to flesh out Jolyne and even Jotaro here. When this gets animated, I hope DP will maybe give us some childhood flashbacks to get a much better understanding of this aspect of her earlier on.

[dramaticsnakes]

The Revived: Chapter 21: Observations

This is chapter 21 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Ranboo

Word count: 3551

Cw: intrusive thoughts about hurting others, overworking, isolation, food, mentions of burning, tension between characters, arguments

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

The ticking of the clock became a constant to Wilbur, in the days that followed. It filled the silence when there was no dialogue between the two. The stacks of books next to him grew, as he tried to sort through them. The information wasn’t very useful for the most part, but there were always more books. More incomplete notes and recounts to look through.

Occasionally he would venture downstairs, to harvest some crops and settle his growling stomach. Once he took some of the remaining blaze rods and made some strength potions that joined their place next to the remaining instant health ones. He placed a finger on the glass bottles of potions, just to make sure they were still there, and then he would return to his seat.

He read whatever he found out loud, perhaps to remind Ghostbur of his presence. To fill the train station with something other than emptiness. He let out a quick breath, whenever the silence was broken by the ticking of the clock, that reminded him to get back to work, instead of letting his mind drift off into prime knows where. Into the void, and to the walls, that he could claw at all he wanted to no avail. 

The ghost spoke less and less as he read, and Wilbur’s hands shook, as he tried to pay attention to the way the arms of the clock moved. The words seemed to flow off the page as he read each one, incomprehensible to him aside from their sound. Information. Work. He needed to do something. Anything.

“Ghostbur, you said you liked writing books?” Wilbur had asked, once his mind had nearly succumbed to the silence.

“Oh, yeah?” Ghostbur had said quietly, a bit of curiosity creeping in. “It helped me remember and understand things better.”

Wilbur had smiled to the best of his ability. “How about we write one! We should keep track of what we know about everything somehow.” he said, finding that the words made more sense than he had originally anticipated, “We could write down what we know about our connection, and eventually figure out how to… Separate us.”

The ghost had gasped, “That’s a great idea!” he said, sounding a little more excited, even if  he still seemed tired.

And so, that was exactly what they’d done. In a chest downstairs, Wilbur had managed to find a dusty old empty book and quill, and had set it down on the nearest table. It dawned upon him that it had been quite a while since he’d written anything at all. Memories of declarations, and lighthearted words of victory, flooded his mind momentarily, until he managed to make sense of the quill’s movements. 

Ghostbur can communicate verbally with me, and I with him. The words seem to be clearer once they are directed at Ghostbur, though it is possible that the connection has simply become clearer over time. In addition to this, Ghostbur can hear the words and sounds of anyone and anything nearby, including muffled versions of them while I am unconscious.

As they wrote down more observations, the ghost seemed a lot more excited by his inclusion in something. By having a project to work on.

Wilbur thought, the self-centered bastard that he was, that perhaps this partially came from himself. That perhaps the ghost’s interest in keeping track of information in a library, or having a plan or something to complete, were some of the remains of Wilbur’s presence. Whichever part of Wilbur’s soul, however faint, that had stayed behind, upon his exit from this world. 

“You should mention that I see you sometimes too!” Ghostbur had chimed in.

Wilbur’s grip tightened around the pen, as he tried his best to remember some of his past interactions with Ghostbur regarding that. “Right…” he said quietly, “When have you seen me, again?”

“First time was right before Phil gave you that gapple, when you were really cold,” Ghostbur began, “Then after Phil left the mansion and you were on the ground shaking a little bit, then that one time with Niki,” Wilbur found his limbs turning heavier at each instance the ghost listed, and Ghostbur’s voice seemed to gain a tint of uncomfortable realization as he spoke as well, “During that conversation with Tommy where he… Got upset, shortly after you were shot, and uh… Under the table in the bunker a few month- days ago.”

Wilbur swallowed something in his throat, pressing the quill harder against the paper than he intended. “Got it.”

Ghostbur is apparently able to see me when I am experiencing intense emotions or experiences. We are uncertain if this works both ways.

Wasn’t that pathetic? That all those times, Wilbur hadn’t even looked up, or paid attention to his surroundings enough, to catch a certain glimpse of the one he had been speaking to ever since he returned? Did it work when Ghostbur was feeling intense feelings as well? Had he been so dense, as to not even pay attention to that?

Wilbur shook the thoughts off, and added a side note at Ghostbur’s request, detailing how it felt to pet Friend. It made Wilbur smile, ever so slightly, that that was something that was considered of utmost importance. 

Ghostbur feels what I feel physically to a certain degree. It seems to be related to the feeling’s intensity, however the longer I’ve stayed alive, the connection to touch seems to have grown stronger. Once again, we are uncertain if this works two ways.

With shaking hands, he added:

If it does work two ways, water appears to be an exception, as it burns Ghostbur regardless of which world it touches us in, without burning me.

He hardly punctuated the last sentence, before he shut the book, memories of pleas and apologies filling his mind. The addictive feeling of control, that was so incredibly unearned, yet appealing nonetheless. Submerging himself in water, until silence was all he would ever hear, and he would be alone. Alone in his mind, alone with his thoughts, and the ghost would never stop feeling the pain.

He kept his hand on the cover of the book, and his other tightly wrapped around the quill, until it felt too much as if both were burning him.

Instead, Wilbur sought out the bookcases, and the information that wouldn’t make Wilbur’s mind overflow with thoughts of the control he had. Because if Wilbur was always mere moments away from grasping at said control, the least he could do was postpone it, until such would only affect himself. Not that he cared particularly, but he could weave a few fragile threads of something that resembled it. Just for the time being.

And when even that became too much, he would lie down on a mattress, or lay his head down at the table, tossing and turning as he tried to drift into oblivion. The comforting darkness, that seemed more and more inaccessible to him each moment, and all the more tempting each day. He would eventually succeed, and would wake up to read a new time on the clock. Sometimes minutes later, sometimes hours, but always enough for him to hesitantly get up and keep going.

Totems weren’t any good for revivals. Apparently they’d tried using them to get Wilbur back. Nearly finding it in himself to ignore the strange improbable fact that there had been attempts to bring him back at all. Was his revival Dream’s own doing? Or the doing of wishes from others? If it was the latter, why had the reaction he’d gotten been so tense?

It was funny that, despite the attempts to revive him, everyone looked to him as if he brought himself back into the world. As if they didn’t spend hours if not days trying to bring him back. How their plans had changed and shifted constantly, and how the universe didn’t care.

There was also a bit of irony placed in Dream and how he hadn’t given a direct account on any historical events, since before L’Manberg. He found a few from George, but none of them were about Dream himself.

So that was what it had taken to take that perspective away from history, Wilbur had thought, ignoring that anything he might’ve said on the matters himself, had likely been blown up along with the nation in question.

Absent-mindedly, Wilbur had reread the parts of the book on Pandora’s box, about how he could gain access.

Not that anyone would let him. Not that the gist of memories didn’t fill him with dread that wasn’t his own. Not that it wasn’t a last resort. Though he latched onto the information nonetheless.

He was about to flip the page when the familiar echoing whisper filled his mind, “Wilbur?”

His voice was hoarse when he first tried to speak. He cleared his throat before responding once again, “Yeah?”

A hesitance lingered in the back of his mind. It oddly didn’t feel like his though. It was a soft blue contrary to his warm browns and occasional reds. 

“So…” Ghostbur took a deep breath, “Y’know how we aren’t going outside and stuff like that?”

Wilbur nodded, though confusion was portrayed on his face, “Mhm, why do you bring it up?”

“Oh! I- well, I was thinking about us going outside again?” Although it was a suggestion, the tilt at the end made it sound like a confirmation of thought. 

“Why would we do that? There’s enough food in here to last a while.” His eyes flickered across the page, “I would read to you again, but this book is about Dream.”

Ghostbur’s breath hitched as he stayed silent for a moment. “That’s fine. I was just wondering about seeing someone again.” Ghostbur quietly added near the end, “It’s been a while.”

“Don’t you want to get out of limbo?” Wilbur felt his words come off as disinterested with a hint of annoyance, but he frankly didn’t mind.

“I mean- yeah, but that doesn’t have to be our main priority right now. You can still enjoy your life.”

The life that no one wanted to be in. The life without a purpose. Well- he wouldn’t necessarily say that. His goal was to get the ghost out of his mind. Preferably, out of limbo as well.

“My life can be put on hold temporarily.”

Ghostbur hummed in a slight agreement, but it oddly lingered in distaste, “What if I want you to live your life?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “Living my life won’t give me information.”

“Interacting with people gives you information.”

“I can’t interact with people when there’s a ghost in my head constantly asking what I’m doing.” 

The moment he said the words, he was about to apologize when Ghostbur sharply spoke, “Maybe you could interact with people if you stopped running away and talked it out.”

A scowl melted onto Wilbur’s face with ease, “You haven’t even spent a day in my shoes so don’t act like you know everything.”

“Well- maybe I would know things if you talked to me more!”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Wow, Ghostbur, feeling upset right now. Wow, Ghostbur, feeling pain again.” He mocked Ghostbur’s voice as if he was imitating a small child, “Oh no, what’s that feeling? I have to react to absolutely everything because I’ve got nothing better to do!”

“I-” Ghostbur sharply cut himself off before taking a sharp inhale, “Maybe I don’t have anything better to do! Especially when you keep on throwing yourself directly into danger without even trying to give me a warning.”

Images flashed through Wilbur’s mind to dunk his hand in the cauldron that was only a few long strides away. Screams that echoed through his mind. The pain would be longer for Ghostbur as well since time passes differently in limbo. Just a few quick moments. Just a few seconds of his time and Ghostbur would finally shut up. 

His legs stood up automatically before he forced himself to sit down again. “Maybe it’s hard to give you a warning. Surprise, surprise, I don’t know when someone is going to shoot me!”

“It’s not about knowing when the moment comes! It’s about you putting yourself in dangerous situations that hurts us.”

“Oh. My. Fucking. Prime. Have you ever thought of why I stay in this bunker? I’ve found a place that’s safe and you just keep on complaining about it. We’ve only been here- what a few days?” Wilbur exhaled out of his nose in astonishment, “I’m trying to do something to help the both of us and you’re just whining like a toddler would.” All he had to do was walk to the cauldron. Just a few seconds of his time. It would be so easy. 

Ghostbur’s astonished voice cut through his thoughts, “Whining?” Ghostbur bitterly laughed once, “I’m just offering a suggestion to you, and you’re not even bothering to listen. If anything you’re- you’re the one acting childish!”

“I’m not!” His eyes focused on the cauldron, no longer looking at the air as he usually would when talking to Ghostbur.

“If you really aren’t childish, then go to someone and genuinely apologize!” Wilbur couldn’t even get a word in as Ghostbur continued, “You’ve constantly been running place to place without even thinking how others feel. That includes me! It includes the fact that you don’t tell me what you’re doing and you keep on hurting me with your recklessness!” 

Silence. 

But the silence was oddly different this time. It lingered on Wilbur’s end more than it did Ghostbur’s. He blinked a few times, attempting to pull his thoughts together before they wrapped around the cauldron. It would be so easy to pull a few screams out of Ghostbur. His breath hitched when he imagined pretending to injure himself, just to wash it off with water. The ghost would believe him too. He would believe Wilbur was hurt and willingly let the water be put on him.

Yet, it gave a much different feeling to not warn him. He wanted to hold an ice cube in his hand, explaining it to Ghostbur as he did it. The naive ghost wouldn’t even know what would happen. There would only be the faint burning as the ice cube melted. Even more so if he squeezed it. Sure, Wilbur would feel a bit of pain from the action, but he could always switch hands. He’d hear some new pleas if he did that. More crying if he continued doing it. The ghost would become so incoherent near the end, just begging for it to-

“Wilbur?” A voice made him jump as he looked over to see the source of it. The one and only Ranboo was staring near him, his hands were wrapped around a book he held to his chest. It looked similar to the other books Wilbur had been flipping through, but the cover seemed newer than the other ones. Slightly thinner as well.

“Ah- yes, I suppose that is me,” Wilbur stated.

“I… thought Tubbo didn’t really want anyone down here?” 

Wilbur slowly nodded, “Oh. Yeah, I guess he did say that.”

Ranboo awkwardly bounced on the balls of his feet, “Do you need help leaving?”

Wilbur glanced at the books remaining on the bookshelf, “I’m good.”

Ranboo laughed for a few moments. The sound filling the air rather than joining a joke, “Are you though? This place is a bit funny.” Ranboo quickly added, “I mean, not funny as in a joke kind of funny. But I guess I mean funky in a way, like it’s just sort of weird if you get what I’m saying. When I said funny, I just meant that it was funny the way it messes with your head, not that it’s actually-” Ranboo cut his own rambles off as he appeared uncomfortable, hunching slightly over his book.

“Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha.”

“Yeah, cool.” Ranboo met Wilbur’s eyes for a quick moment, the green one almost mesmerizing Wilbur. “So, is Tubbo asking you to help out?”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow before his eyes flickered to the book Ranboo was holding. A look of realization came across Wilbur’s face as he pieced together that Ranboo was probably helping Tubbo with the library. The boy seemed rather reserved, so he supposed that made sense. “Not exactly.” Wilbur continued after a few seconds of the clock next to him ticking, “I just figured I’d stay here a few days.”

Ranboo tilted his head slightly, “You don’t have a house? I thought you ran a nation and all of that stuff.”

Wilbur shrugged, “I don’t know, man. Houses aren’t really my thing.”

Ranboo exhaled sharply in a way that could have been interpreted as a laugh, “So you’ve been sleeping here for how long?”

“I’d say a few days now? Not sure, I haven’t really been keeping track.”

Ranboo nodded, “What do you do for food though? I don’t really see a pantry anywhere around here.” Ranboo inspected his surroundings once more as if a magical kitchen was going to appear right behind him.

“There’s some carrots and melons downstairs. I did see some wheat seeds in one of the chests though. I might start making bread.”

A confused expression came across Ranboo’s face, “Do you know how many rooms our mansion has? You can just go into one of the hundreds and we wouldn't know for weeks.”

Wilbur’s astonishment bounced off of Ranboo’s, “I didn't know I was supposed to break into your home and sleep in a random room?”

Ranboo was speechless for a moment as he starting talking and then cutting himself off before he simply stated, “Or you could have asked?”

Wilbur’s mind went back to Tubbo. The failed comfort as he went downstairs. He shaky arms around Ranboo’s torso as he left. The uncomfortableness that radiated whenever Ranboo was alone with Wilbur. 

Yeah, he’d rather pass on their fake smiles.

“I’m alright.”

Ranboo stayed in silence with him for a moment. It took a few seconds before Ranboo changed the topic, “So you know Michael right?” Wilbur nodded. “Well, we were just inviting some people to our house since we’re throwing a little party for him. Would you like to come?”

Wilbur seemed surprised that he would even get an invitation as Ghostbur quickly chimed in, “Okay, I don’t want to stay quiet anymore. Can we please go? Please, please, please, we’ll get to see everyone again!” Ghostbur’s pleas hit differently this time as they were colored with bright yellow excitement that he hadn’t heard from the ghost in awhile. 

Almost automatically he responded, “Sounds fun, we’ll go.”

“We?”

Embarrassment shot through Wilbur. “I meant I’ll go, my apologies.” He could hardly hear his own words as the back of his neck felt warm and Ghostbur cheered in excitement. 

Ranboo seemed slightly lost in his mind as well, as he quietly mumbled, “Right, yeah…” His face perked up when he added on, “It’s at our house- y’know the whole mansion thingy that you’ve been to a few times- at about noon.”

Wilbur looked to the clock subconsciously as if it was about to turn noon at that moment. He strangely found it was four o’clock in the morning. “Wait, what are you doing here so early in the morning?”

Panic glazed Ranboo’s eyes before he quickly mentioned, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Confusion filled Wilbur’s mind. He felt like the living embodiment of a question mark as he asked, “I already told you I don’t have a house. You have one though. That’s why I’m asking why you’re here since we established I’m technically homeless.”

Ranboo nodded, the movements seeming jerky. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Wilbur was about to press more about the topic until he saw Ranboo’s shifting movements along with the raw fear evident on his face. Perhaps that was a side-effect of being a centrist- never explaining yourself or your views properly. Wilbur awkwardly supplemented, “It’s whatever. Thanks for inviting me to the party.”

Ranboo seemed to immediately relax, “No problem.”

“Is it noon as in six hours from now, or noon as in tomorrow?”

Ranboo looked at the clock. “I didn’t even realize it was four in the morning- wow- but yeah, six hours from now. Wait- four plus six is ten and that’s not noon.”

Wilbur felt like an idiot, but in the kind that made him laugh gently at his mistake, “Oh, fuck, you’re right.”

Ranboo let out a short laugh, “Mood.”

Wilbur nodded, “But, yeah that time works for me.” After a short sigh, he realized how exhausted both of them were. The eye bags were present on Ranboo’s face after he looked for a moment. The boy seemed to constantly shift as Wilbur looked away with a yawn.

Ranboo yawned as well, but an enderman vwoop came out instead of the typical human noise. Wilbur wanted to ask why the strange sounds came out of him, but he felt his eyes droop slightly. 

Ranboo noted the energy in the room as he started walking towards downstairs, “Alright, I’m gonna head out.”

“Good night- or rather good morning.”

Ranboo chuckled, “Good morning to you as well, Wilbur.” Ghostbur chuckled along in the back of his mind, seeming much happier than before.

[frostedfaves]

Be Alright

Pairing: Jake Peralta x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N is starting a new chapter of her life while an old one threatens to haunt her once again.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: mentions of death, anxiety, angst with fluffy end

A/N: just another repost to hold you over until I get more stuff out for Jake. also as I’m rereading this before I add it to my queue, I can’t help but laugh because I didn’t realize until now how much this plays out like a scary movie.

-

Jake rounds the corner, his smile quickly shifting into a shocked grin. "Babe, you're done unpacking the kitchen already?? I left for ten minutes!"

"I know, I took longer than usual," Y/N replies as she steps down from the stepladder placed in front of the cabinets. "But the mugs are all color-coded, and the Die Hard ones are arranged according to size and movie order."

"Sometimes I forget you were Amy's best friend first and you very quickly remind me again." He laughs as he approaches her, slowly wrapping his arms around her waist. "I'm so happy to be here with my wife in our brand new house."

Y/N giggled in response, placing her hands on either side of his face. "And I'm so happy to be here with my husband in our brand new house. Which reminds me, maybe we can hold off on fostering for a few months while we get settled? Something tells me we're going to miss the quiet."

"Yeah, 'something' didn't tell me that. Terry did." He drops a kiss onto her forehead, pulling away and grabbing one of her hands as they fall. "Let's go to bed, Mrs. Peralta. I'm exhausted."

"You can't call me that and expect me to want to go to sleep after."

"Oh my goodness," he replies in a silly voice as he grins at her again. "Honeymoon part two? Eyes closed, head first, can't lose! Let's smush!" He drags her behind him as he runs to the bedroom, their laughs echoing through the halls.

-

Tap, tap, tap.

The noise caused Y/N's eyes to snap open. She took a second to listen, shaking slightly when she heard it again.

No, please no.

She forced herself to take a deep breath upon noticing that the wind was blowing outside.

See, Y/N? It's probably just some tree branch hitting a window. No need to panic.

Some time passed and she allowed herself to close her eyes, almost instantly giving in to the tight grasp of sleep. At least until the tapping started again, shifting from a rhythmic pattern to a sudden unevenly timed scratching against the window.

She sat up this time, carefully because despite how much she was panicking, she really didn't want to wake her husband up over nothing. She closed her eyes as she attempted to steady her breathing, instantly regretting it as her mind forced her to flash back in time.

-

"Get in the closet and don't come out for anyone, okay?"

"Who else is here?!"

"Nobody, I swear! Wait, what are you doing?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago."

-

"Y/N?"

Her eyes flew open again at the sound of Jake's voice, the echo of a gunshot in her mind fading as she looked over at him.

"Baby, what's going on?" he asks as he sits up, rubbing his hand along her naked back, aware of the goosebumps lining her skin.

"I heard—there was a noise," she chokes out as tears start to blur her vision, but she just barely is able to see Jake standing and putting a robe on. "Wait, where are you going?"

"I can tell that you're genuinely worried, so despite whatever I think it might be, I'm still going to check it out," he tells her calmly as he grabs his autographed baseball bat from a corner of the room. She quickly stands before he can leave, grabbing his hand and ignoring the chill that shoots through her body now that she's no longer covered.

"Please be careful," she practically begs him as the first tear makes its way down her cheek, instantly being wiped away by her loving partner.

"I promise."

She puts on her own robe and sits on the edge of the bed to wait for him, twisting and untwisting her fingers in different patterns as she waits to hear the inevitable gunshot. More time passes and she closes her eyes again to prevent other tears from falling.

"Hey."

Despite his soft tone, she still jumps as her eyes open again and meet Jake's. The rest of her stubborn tears begin to fall as she rushes into his arms.

"It's okay, I'm okay. Tomorrow I'm gonna see about trimming that branch so it won't keep growing and break into the house. For tonight, we'll just have to sleep with the TV on or something so you can't hear it, if you don't mind."

"Okay," she mumbles into his robed chest, allowing the soft movement of his hand on her back to calm her again.

He turns on the TV and guides her back to bed, keeping it muted as they get settled under the covers, robes discarded on either side of the bed. He hooks his arm around her waist and pulls her into his chest again, smiling slightly as she places a kiss on his skin before getting settled.

"Before I let George Lopez sing us back to sleep, I have to ask...what's the story behind why you got so scared tonight? You don't have to tell me if you're not ready to, obviously, but I would like to know how to help you feel better."

A heavy sigh fell from Y/N's lips as she shifted in his arms to be able to look at him better. She quickly placed another kiss on his lips to calm herself more than anything before she began to speak.

"When I was really young, there was a family emergency and I had to spend the night at my uncle's house last minute. He used his other bedroom for an office since he lived alone, so he was going to have me take the bed and he slept in the living room, but it was dark and I was too scared to sleep alone.

"We both woke up a few hours later to a window breaking on the other side of the house. He put me in the closet and told me to stay there until he came back for me and then he—"

She closed her eyes tightly as she felt the familiar lump in her throat, forcing herself to exhale as Jake shifted his hands to hold either side of her face, his thumbs circling slowly under her ears a couple times.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered as she opened her eyes again.

"No no, it's okay. You can stop if you want."

She took one more deep breath and continued. "He grabbed a bat that looked almost exactly like yours and went to check things out, and it wasn't the wind. I heard them fighting and the guy asked who all was in the house and everything...and then I heard him shoot my uncle.

"Luckily a neighbor saw him break in and called the police. They came before the guy could get away and they found me and were able to get me back to my parents but just...seeing his body covered by a sheet on the floor as I was leaving the house ruined me for years. I never told you because I stopped having nightmares years ago and I thought I was over it, but this is my first night living in a house in over a decade and I've already nearly had a panic attack."

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that, baby." The words come out slightly muffled as he pulls her closer into him, leaving gentle kisses in her hair. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She shakes her head slightly. "You're already helping so much, but I think I might need to take the more traditional route here and talk to my therapist." She feels him nod his head against hers and smiles. "And also let's give George Lopez his voice back."

-

Tags: @halfofwhatisayismeaningless @gaulty74 @ochrythum @marie-03 @xetherealbeautyx @makapaka11

[drcrushers]

something i wrote on just for fun. it’s probably a little dumb, but here we are.

Your smile could out-shine the sun.

It had started out innocent enough. An envelope tucked into her momma’s mailbox and addressed to her while she’d been out. Not one to get messages except from Hermes, she’d opened it with some curiosity. A letter, beautifully written in an unfamiliar hand and unsigned at the bottom. Not quite a love letter, but something almost like it. A request to write back, to put it into the mailbox and it would get to the secret author in return. 

Fuck it, why not?

She knew it was probably a mortal just showing fondness; she’d gotten letters like it before. But there’s something rather . . . fine. Poetic, in a sense. Kind. Made her feel a bit silly reading it over and over again, but Persephone is in a decent mood and decides to write back to at least thank them for the lovely letter. 

So she does.

She keeps it simple. Nothing flowery. Thanks the supposed author for the flattery in the way she does all the mortals when they give her offerings. It’s nice to write a letter; she ain’t in a while. She and Hades ain’t exchanged them in years, he doesn’t have time for them. Much like he doesn’t have time for her, but that’s neither here nor there. 

She writes back, signs it sloppily and tucks it into the mailbox. 

Persephone doesn’t expect another one back. 

I can’t stop smiling when I read your letter, so I hope you don’t mind my reply.

But there it is a few days later, the same handwriting with her name on the front. Which is strange - mortals tend to refer to her by titles, not her name. Afraid of saying it, they’d said once. Invoking her wrath. She’d called it a load of horse shit, but mortals tended to do things their way and she was content on letting them keep up that practice long as they wanted. 

This one seemed different.

The letter was a direct response. The same flowery language, delicate and sweet. Flirty, if she didn’t know any better. How flattering. But now she’s just curious - and part of her is spiteful, too. If Hades knew, she could only imagine his fit of jealousy. Good.

Persephone replies. 

And so a summer long fling begins. In words of course, nothing more. The letters become a brightness in her days of work. She looks forward to getting them, reading them, and drafting up replies. She develops a collection of them in her vanity drawer and the stack only grows as the summer goes on. A hidden secret, almost. Something her momma or Hades can’t intrude on or say she can’t. Maybe it’s selfish or stupid, but she doesn’t care. Not like it’ll matter come winter. The poor mortal will be dead or have forgotten her, surely. They often do when she goes down to the underworld. Back to her husband who’ll no doubt drive her to the depths of insanity again. 

Hell, she might not even make it to the end of the summer. Maybe he’ll come get her early - again. She tries not to think of it, and spends her days bringing the summertime to those who need it most. That’s how she operates. The letters are a nice break and she loses herself in them late into the evenings. Rereading them. Writing back. Pretending she has a friendship-maybe-more with someone who certainly doesn’t build capitalistic hellscapes for what is supposed to be her benefit. 

It’s not the butterflies she got from first meeting her husband, but the feeling is something similar. She can’t deny it. She genuinely smiles for what feels like the first time in years when she reads the letters or replies. 

We should meet before you go.

The request comes as the summer begins to fade. Fall and winter are close on it’s heels. She thinks immediately it’s a bad idea - but Hermes, who knows now, only encourages it oddly enough. A night out before she’s confined in darkness for six months. It’s not a bad idea. 

So she accepts.

---

Persephone hates her reflection. 

It shows too many lines, too many wrinkles that have shown up over the years. Her hair is unruly, curlier than her momma’s and it snags everything in the fields in it’s grasp that leaves her plucking foxtails and other burrs out of it for ages. Even down to the shade of her skin - none of it seems particularly beautiful compared to her momma or their other relatives up top. Most of the time she doesn’t give a damn; some days she stares at her reflection and wonders what others must see in her. What her husband had seen in her that day in the garden some centuries ago. What made her so different? So beautiful when there were a plethora of other nymphs, demi-gods, and outright goddesses who outranked her in that regard. 

She huffs, drags her fingers across her face. She’s getting old. Too old. Vaguely she wonders if, as a goddess of life, if she’ll end up grey and decrepit and still trying to garden? An old crone, meant to be the embodiment of life. Hera is as old as her momma and still somehow looks decades younger - then again, Hera doesn’t live in the mortal realm, and doesn’t do physical damned labor. Frankly she wonders how a woman like her survived ten years of war, but that’s besides the point. Much as she loathes her own reflection, Persephone would rather be wrinkled and grey than live on that mountain half the year. 

She toys with a small pot of dark charcoal eyeliner, well used and worn before picking up a small brush with which to apply it with. She remembers using wild berries to stain her lips long before her momma ever let her near an ounce of make up, trying to make herself look like what she imagined the ones up on the mountain looked like. Ethereal, beautiful, striking women - as a girl she’d had no idea how awful and cruel they could be at the time and simply wanted to embody them. Now she mostly tries to be everything they aren’t out of sheer spite. She uses a rich plum color against her lips, and decides she looks decent enough in the reflection that blinks back at her. 

She doesn’t know why she’s doing this - it’s stupid. But she’s just bitter and angry enough at her husband to spite him, too, and Persephone ain’t always made the best decisions sometimes. Hermes had only encouraged her, clearly eager to get her out of her own mind for a night and forget about her crippling marriage. 

Harmless night of flirting could do her good. Remind her she ain’t an old washed up hag. Morale boost and all that. Not as if she wasn’t spending the evening in his bed - though the more bitter part of her says it might do her husband some good to think so. Sober his ass right up to keep him acting like a damned moron. Besides, she’s been writing with this stranger all summer. The letters have been her life and Persephone would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious and intrigued. Eager to meet this stranger who’d spent his summer writing to her as well. Clearly he cared and if Persephone could give him a night of enjoyable company (sans anything below the belt) before winter claimed him, so be it. 

Huffing, Persephone tries to fuss with her hair - and decides it’s a lost cause. Why does she care so much? She shouldn’t. But she tries. Because Hades ain’t given her the excuse in a while. Might as well enjoy the night, even if it won’t lead to nothing. She ain’t that type - even if she wanted to be. Persephone has been fiercely loyal to her husband and knows he’s the same; they’re just a damned wreck when it comes to communicating. Maybe she can practice on this little date.. It’s the first time she’s given in to Hermes’ encouraging in a while - who she knows would rather see her happy than anything and thinks Hades is the source of all her misery. He’s half right. Truth is she does a lot of misery to herself because she can’t swallow her own damn pride or some other bullshit. Much as Hades has built the wall between them, Persephone’s been supplying him with the bricks for years. 

She doesn’t dress fancy. Her usual is good enough, still smelling of the flowers and pollen and the warmth of the sun stitched into the fabric. It’s her favorite. Maybe that’s why Hades had replicated it in black for down below, the dusting of diamonds a nod to how he viewed her as a gem to be displayed. A gown of darkness that was everything her favorite summer dress wasn’t. She doesn’t remember where she got it, just that it’s comfortable and flows freely enough not to restrict her. In the other she feels caged, chest tight and pained when she tries to breathe too deeply. It’s in her head, she knows, but the difference still matters. 

Satisfied she looks semi-decent enough to mingle with mortals, Persephone half gallops down the steps in the way she always has at her momma’s house. Ain’t been her house in a while. Ain’t felt like home since she ran off down below. Still, it serves as a roof over her head when she’s up top and her momma is still kind enough most of the time, eager to have her home. Demeter is out in the fields so she isn’t there to throw a comment her way as she leaves the house, the evening air slightly more crisp than usual. A sign that winter would be coming on soon - a sign that she’d be headed back down below in the not too distant future. Frankly she’s surprised Hades ain’t come for her already. Her stomach twists at the thought. 

Hermes’ bar isn’t far, the town a small scattering of lights in the growing dim light of day. Small houses gathered together, a quaint little place that had been perfect for Demeter, apparently. The bar was one of the larger buildings, music and voices already adrift out the open door. She can’t remember a time when it wasn’t crowded. Since she’s frequented crowds have only grown - Persephone remembers being worshipped at altars carved of marble and stone; now there’s only the bar that carries her token of favors, her mortals far too eager to buy her a drink in some parody of once bloody sacrifices. She doesn’t complain; they’re good at picking wine. 

As always there are gazes that turn her way as she approaches and Persephone plasters a smile across her face. She’s well practiced these days, pretending to be happy. The mortals don’t notice and greet her as always. Raise their cups, toast to their patroness who tries - but it’s hard when old man winter comes early and won’t let her go until late. Hard to keep an entire world going when she gets a fraction of time to bring decent harvests. Still seems no matter how hard she tries there are always ones who don’t make it through the winter. The ones missing from the tables in the bar. She may not remember their exact faces, but she knows they’re missing. Knows these places should be filled by healthy warm bodies - and instead there are only fleeting ghosts in the chairs instead. 

“Was wonderin’ if you’d show up.” Hermes remarks lightly, pouring her drink before she can even reach the bar proper. “I always do. Show up. Reckon it’s like clockwork these days.” Persephone replies, grabbing the glass as he finishes and taking a long swig. Immediately the warmth spreads from her belly out, and she knows she’ll be numb by the end of the night. Hopefully. 

“Sit yourself down. Or make the rounds. Whatever ya like. Your friend ain’t here yet.”

She snorts. “Of course not.”

Holding tight to her drink, Persephone does a turn about the room. The mortals are usually pleased to see her, leech off the warmth she naturally radiates. A smile, a laugh, a dance - it’s all too familiar to her and she’s happy to help in the ways she can. If they’re gonna die, they might as well die happy. Either way in the end they all come to her in the underworld. Once she could have granted them some semblance of the afterlife, but now they all toil away in those damned factories and mines. But they don’t need to know it. Not yet. Not now. 

She loses track of time as some point, because Hermes suddenly grabs her by the elbow and they do a little twirl. Her body is less tight, the alcohol already working easily into her system to let her at least enjoy the night without struggling to forget about her shithole marriage. 

“Your date is here.” He grins. 

“Ain’t a date.” She teases. “Least, better not let my man hear you say that.”

“Won’t hear it from me, sister.” Hermes winks, and turns her nearly into the arms of another. A sharp, delightful feeling races up her arms and down her spine the second her hands touch the rough ones of the other figure. 

She knows who it is without question, without even looking up. A smile comes unbidden before she can stop it. 

“It’s you.” She whispers, one of those hands coming up to tuck beneath her chin, to bring her gaze to his. Her heart races and she wants to laugh.

Hades smiles.

“It’s me.”

[hunnybel]

Eridan reading light novels to Tegiri because of a headcanon I have~ Which has manifested into a fic that can be found under the cut

It was a part of himself Tegiri was ashamed of. How could one such as himself, one whose very existence was so entangled with words and reading, have that as his biggest weakness? A burden, a flaw, something that made his already uphill climb to recognition ever more treacherous. Yes, he passed it off as slow and methodical, but few knew the truth that it wasn't him over-preparing and aiming for perfection. No; shamefully he was forced to take that time to even fully read through a passage a single time. Words and compositions had a tendency to get jumbled in his head, letters mocking him as he fought to grasp the meaning behind them. He could do it; it was a tedious effort, but he was capable. 

Whether it was related to his future work or to his all-consuming hobby, the battle with literacy was a constant. Even those who, like him, were connoisseurs of the Eastern Alternian Animated Fine Arts, had gone so far as to mock his preference for the dubbed versions of that which they loved and shared. Of course they wouldn't understand, but dubs were severely underestimated regardless of it being the only real way for him to be able to watch shows without his curse bringing him untold aggravation.

The curse which he hated to name, in fear that recognising it would give more power, more credence to it. Dyslexia.

Because of the struggle, many works he had interest in tended to fall by the wayside. The original novelizations of the shows he enjoyed being one of the prime victims. And it was only recently that he had finally found a cure for that. His struggle may have been disheartening, but it ultimately led to the opportunity he had now been presented with and was even currently taking advantage of.

His matesprit reading to him.

Sure it had taken a while for him to open up about this particular fact to Eridan, but with that vulnerability came the offer, given by Eridan himself, to have the violetblood read aloud to him. Of course he was surprised by such a thing, but he would be the last one to turn down getting to hear the other's voice and at such length. 

They were currently settled in against the futon-couch in Tegiri's hive, Eridan holding the book open in front of him as he relaxed against the back of the futon, Tegiri seated next to him, head nestled back, tilted to be able to vaguely read over Eridan's shoulder, though he wasn't actually trying to follow along that way. They were close. Close enough that Eridan didn't need to raise his voice too loudly for Tegiri to hear every word; close enough that Tegiri could feel the natural coolness of the other's body temperature radiating off him; close enough that he could feel the way the other shifted against the couch as he turned pages or adjusted his sitting position. 

It was easy to get lost in these words; nothing frustrating, just the soothing sound of Eridan's voice speaking the story that was somewhat familiar, having known the anime adapted from it already. Tegiri really was completely charmed by his voice, slight speech impediment and all; in fact, it just added to how sweet it sounded to him. The way he pronounced some words was so pleasant, it almost made Tegiri smile, refraining only because that might get noticed and called out and he would be too embarrassed if questioned about it. And he didn't know how Eridan managed to bring the right intonations and dramatic flourish to every line without having read it all before or reading ahead, but he seemed to bring life to every word as he went. Maybe that was a little strange, to make such observations, but he didn't care. Tegiri felt special, privileged, lucky to have such an intimate moment, this sort of affection shown to him.

And it was then he realised he had been so focused on how Eridan sounded, he completely missed what he’d been saying. While trying to catch a familiar word or phrase on the page, Tegiri calculated he’d spaced out for about three paragraphs worth of words while listening to his voice. And now he was faced with a dilemma. Did he tell him and have to explain himself? Or did he just have to deal with having lost that part of the story? The longer he deliberated, the more story he lost, and in a moment of panic, he said a quiet "ah-" as if to interrupt. And it seemed to have gotten Eridan's attention.

"Hm? What is it?"

"Oh, uh…" Now would be the time if he was to say something. "I just remembered how that scene played out in the animated version." So that was how this was going to go. He was lying, of course. This part hadn't been animated, so he really was just missing a whole part of the story now. 

"We should watch that together later, then." The small smile that accompanied the comment made Tegiri's pusher skip a beat. Ugh, he was going to be exposed as a liar but he couldn't say no to him.

"O-of course. When we finish the light novel series, we can watch the animated show." That seemed to satisfy Eridan and he went back to reading. Well, that had broken him out of his semi-dazed trance at least. He sat up a bit straighter to try and focus himself better. On the words this time and not just the voice saying them. 

 ーーーー

Maybe they would have to start cutting these reading sessions into shorter, more manageable snippets. Not because Tegiri got tired of listening, no, not at all. But he really was having a hard time keeping his attention on the content and words. Was he truly so hopeless that the sound of his matesprit's voice managed to entrance him more than the story that, had it been anyone else reading, would have him listening with far more than keen interest?

But he didn't want to seem unappreciative and tell Eridan to stop. He was at a bit of an impasse yet again. His determination to avoid saying or doing anything that might make Eridan feel as though he didn't love the kindness he was being given put him in a position where he didn't know what to do. 

Tegiri liked to think he was generally level headed and not at all prone to impulse. Yet another lie he told himself. So in this second burst of panic, not wanting to lose any more of the story and being too cowardly to just tell him they should take a break, he distracted him in the quickest way he knew how. Sure he was still learning how to initiate and engage in physical affection, but that didn't mean he didn't have the desire to do so. And using it as a panic-induced interruption was apparently the way it manifested. 

Pressing his lips against the soft, thin skin of the other's earfin was more pleasant than he expected. And the reaction was immediate. The reading stopped mid-word and Eridan seemed to jerk back at the sudden affection. Tegiri had a moment of fear that he had done something wrong, but the flush of violet in Eridan's cheeks and the cute way his earfin fluttered before he pressed a hand over it made the worry disappear. 

"...What are you doing?!"

"Well, you see, I… Wanted to?" There was a hesitation in his tone which earned him a skeptical frown and a scoff. 

"Were you too distracted to pay attention or somefin." Now it was Tegiri's turn to flush, his cheeks burning teal as he cleared his throat in the embarrassment of being caught. 

"That… May have been the case. Sorry, I just found myself taken by your voice and my attention was far too much on that to really…. Take in what you were saying."

He had already gotten called out, how much more embarrassing could the truth be? His voice did trail off as he spoke, though, hints of sudden uncertainty creeping in at the edges. 

"Are you serious?" It was more incredulity than annoyance in the violetblood's tone and Tegiri hoped that meant he wasn't upset. "You mean to tell me that you're too busy listenin' to my voice to pay attention to this series you've gushed about?" 

"Well, when you put it like that…" It was just as embarrassing being worded that way as the thoughts he'd had about it himself. "...Yes, that is exactly what I am saying." 

A pause. "We're just gonna have to reread it all again later then." With the book closed, it was safe to say they were done reading for the night. Tegiri still felt a bit bad, but it didn't seem as though Eridan felt any resentment for being, essentially, ignored. 

"Alright… Sorry." Tegiri hung his head a bit, eyes turned away, a bit embarrassed and slightly ashamed. At least until he felt something gently grip his chin. His eyes darted to Eridan.

"We've been interrupted already, might as well go with it. I'll give you a reason to be distracted." The accompanying smile said all he needed to know as the space between their lips vanished.

[holylulusworld]

Ms. Bodyguard - Trust me

Summary: Jensen is used to be the hero on his show. He’s not a coward, not at all - but when he gets attacked by an unknown man the studio insists on a full-time bodyguard. Specialist in protecting people while living with them - you agree to protect Jensen, but he doesn’t like the fact a ‘small’ girl shall protect him. Will you be able to protect the unwilling actor?

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Bodyguard!Reader

Characters: Jared Padalecki, Clif Kosterman

Warnings: angst, mentions of stalking, mentions of blood/murder, slow burn, language, comforting, mentions of suicide (nothing happens), investigations, conspiracy

A/N: The plot thickens, and we get closer to solve the mystery.

Ms. Bodyguard Masterlist

“Ouch, woman don’t be so rude! You can’t just come in here and rip my band-aid off! I could’ve been naked.” Jensen scolds while you check on his wound again. “Do you honestly believe someone hired a killer?”

“All I can tell you is that the poor girl got killed fast, efficient, and the way I would’ve done it to not cause any pain or draw anyone’s attention toward me. Your wound is the same. The person attacking stabbed the part of your body not causing you to bleed out or hit an organ, sweetheart.”

“Jensen, or Jay, please. Outside you can use the codename but within these walls, inside my house, please call me by my name.” Nodding you put a new band-aid onto his wound.

“Fine, Jensen. Today plans are to keep you alive, not leave the house before we know it’s a fortress and for you to tell me about anyone hating you. From an angry ex-girlfriend to a maid you fired. Even a guy you pissed off at a bar.”

Jensen nervously chews on his lower lip, not believing he has to write a list of enemies.

“I’ll try to remember, but it’s going to be a brief list. I mean, everyone loves me…” Jensen tries to joke. “Sorry, I’ll try to take it seriously, but this feels so strange to me.”

“I know, Jensen. Let me order food and we can ask Jared, his wife Genevieve, and Clif to help us. Maybe you forgot someone, but they remember. Tomorrow, I want to talk to your other colleagues and people you know in Vancouver.” Again, Jensen nods, not knowing how to handle the situation.

“I need you to trust me, Jay. If you do not trust me, ask someone…” Jensen shakes his head, even grasps for your hand and you pat his shoulder.

“I won’t leave, okay. Let’s see what we can find out. My friend will come around later to check on the doors and windows. Don’t worry, he’s reliable and knows I will kill him if he messes up a job…”

“Scott is done. I’ll say goodbye and we can have a look at your list. Jared and Clif will be here in an hour. Genevieve couldn’t make it as one of the kids is sick, but she made a list.”

Nodding Jensen rereads his list. A deep sigh leaves his lips fearing one of these people is the one wanting him dead.

While Jensen is distracted with his list your talk to Scott about the reason you called him. “I need a complete background check for everyone he worked, lived, or had an affair with. Clients tend to hide things from me.”

“Got it, boss. Great, you’re back.” Scott glances at Jensen who crosses out a name to write down another.

“He doesn’t look like someone hiding bodies at his attic, but I’ll try to dig anything out.” Smirking Scott shakes your hand seeing the look Jensen gives him. “I guess he likes you a bit too much…”

“Go and stop talking shit. Do your job and I’ll call you again.” The door slams shut behind you with a loud thud, making Jensen flinch. “Sorry. Finished with your list?”

“I got a make-up artist who got too handsy. A guy I yelled at as he poured his hot coffee over my pants. That hurt like a bitch.” Chuckling at Jensen’s watches you take the list out of his hands.

“A girl I promised to call after a one-night-stand five years ago. I tried to remember her phone number…”

“It’s fine. I don’t think she’s our number one priority. Who’s ‘the evil bitch’?” Jensen grunts even scrunch up his nose before he gets up to pace around the room.

“I was married. She is like a vamp when it comes to money. Always tries to suck more out of me…”

“I need more than ‘the evil bitch’, Jensen.” This time Jensen grins before he hands you a piece of paper with her name, address, and date of birth. “Jessica Calliope Cunningham. What a fucking name.”

Jensen snickers at your comment, relaxing for the first time since he got the call. “Can you tell me how the marriage ended? Infidelity? Fights?“

“Honestly, I got no clue. One day I believed we are happy; the next Jessica tells me she will move out. It was a strange time back then. According to rumors CW wanted to end our show. I had depts and my wife left me out of the blue.” Frown on your face you dial Scott's number to let him run a check on Jessica too.

“Do you think she has something to do with this? I mean, she was the one leaving me, not the other way around. Why should she want to see me dead?” Rubbing his chin Jensen glances at you talking to Scott. “Y/N?”

“I am not sure what the killer wants. If he wanted you dead, he would’ve ended the job. This doesn’t make sense right now.

There is girl, freaking out, carving your name into her skin. After she recovered at an asylum she gets killed. You get attacked but not killed, even tho, we know the guy could’ve easily killed you.

Then there is this message that you are next – but why not killing you during the first attack? He was there, had the knife in your body. A bit to the left and you would be dead…” Jensen shudders at your words.

“You can make a guy feel comfortable.”

“Sweetheart, I am trying to make sense out of this shitshow you call your life. No killer would’ve let you go, Jensen. If something looks like a horse, walks like a horse it sometimes is a dog…” Blinking at your words Jensen groans.

“This doesn’t make sense!” Throwing your hands up in surrender you nod.

“Exactly, Jensen. Nothing of this makes sense.”

“I need a drink or rather ten…”

“Same but I have to protect your ass so, no alcohol for you or me. Sit and let’s check the list. I would bet my ass on your ex-wife but let’s see if we can find someone better…”

Now a smirk appears on Jensen’s lips when he places the knife you lost onto the table.

“You know, if you lose this bet, your ass is mine?” Laughing you pat his head before you slap it. “Ouch, you shall protect not hurt me.”

“Behave, sweetheart. I am not your wet dream of a naughty bodyguard out of one of Dean’s porn. Now let’s check the list.” Jensen grins, you just admitted you watched his show.

“You watched it.” Sighing you try to change the topic but Jensen being the little shit he is gets up to poke your back. “I bet you like Dean…huh? Are you a Dean girl?”

“I am more the ‘I’ll kill you if you don’t stop to bug me with your show’ kind of girl, Jensen. Now sit over there, shut your mouth, and look pretty.” Still grinning Jensen sits onto the sofa opposite you.

“What do you like the most? My toughness, the car…my guns?”

“Your brother…” Not amused Jensen’s smirk fades. “He’s tall, smart, and knows when to shut his mouth. Oh-and I like the hair but don’t tell Jared or I’ll have to press him against the wall again.”

“I know you like Dean…” Smirk on your lips you try to not react to Jensen's words. “I’ll make you a Dean girl…or a Jensen girl.” Whispering the last words, he watches you check something on your phone. “Terminator…”

“Jessica, Jessica... I think we have a winner…Jessica. Whoa, Genevieve, Jared, and Clif only came up with your ex-wife.” Jared huffs, pointing toward his phone.

“Look what she wrote about the attack. She faked compassion but didn’t call anyone to ask if he’s alright.”

“The words she used sound odd. I mean, it does sound as if he died, not got injured.” Humming Clif rereads Jessica’s tweet.

“You’re right. Sounds like an obituary to me, Y/N. Fishy, to say the least.” Jensen doesn’t want to hear anything else, tries to forget everything that happened but the memories of the attack will still haunt him.

“I think, I’ll have a girl’s talk with her soon. That woman knows something, I can feel it. Scott is on it. If she’s hiding anything, he’ll bring it to light. For now, all we can do is to keep Jensen safe.” Jared nods silently, worried about his friend.

“We are on hiatus soon. One more week, a party, and then it’s over for summer break. Maybe it’s for the best to go back to Texas?” Hopefully, Jensen looks at you, but you shake your head.

“Whoever is after you, Jensen. He’ll not disappear only as you change your location. That man will come and try it again. I just can’t understand why he didn’t finish the job when he had the chance to.” Jensen rubs his knees nervously, glancing at you now and then while you reread the lists.

“He…that man, he said something.” Your head snaps upward when Jensen clears his throat. “I didn’t tell anyone, but he whispered something in my ear while he pushed the knife into my body.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Jensen, for fuck’s sake! Maybe this could be a breakthrough.” Angrily jumping up you pace around Jensen. “I hate if clients do shit like that. How shall I protect you, Jay? I can’t keep you safe if you lie to me.”

“I’m sorry, it was just…embarrassing. I felt weak and what he said scared me as it was partially true.” Jensen grumbles and you place one hand onto his shoulder.

“Just tell me…us…”

“He said that I’ll always remember this moment and that, if he does his job right, I’ll prefer to end my life than to live in the misery he will bring over me.” Jensen’s voice trembles when you squeeze his shoulder tightly. “He said something else...guardian angel and then he was gone...”

“That guy wanted you to commit suicide?” Jared blinks a few times. “That’s ridiculous, Jay. Why should he attack you only to force you to kill yourself?”

“Fuck…I need to…give me a minute…” Heart racing a mile in a minute, head-spinning you leave the house to take deep breaths. “This can’t be…impossible…”

“Something wrong? Y/N? What’s going on?” Clif watches you pant heavily, barely able to control your breathing. “Y/N! You are scaring me.”

“It’s impossible, Clif. He said my codename to Jensen. It’s his modus operandi but this can’t be. He can’t be here…I…I killed him…”

More tags in reblog

Ms. Bodyguard Tags

@healojane​​​, @bitchwhytho​​​, @marvelouslysherlockedhunter​​​, @mimzy1994​​​, @couldabeenamermaid​​​, @abbessolute​​​, @vicmc624​​​, @fantasydevil2002​​

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Dean/Jensen Forever Tags   

@spnfamily-j2​​​​

@supernatural-bellawinchester​​​​

@negans-lucille-tblr​​​​

@deans-baby-momma​​​​

@thefaithfulwriter​​​​

@squirrelnotsam​​​​

@roonyxx​​​​

@neerness​​​​

@deansgirl-1968​​​​

@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​​​​

@butifulsoul125​​​​

@lyinginthegingerlocks​​​​​

@neen-illustrates​​​​

@janicho88​​​​

@woodworthti666​​​​​

@thevelvetseries​​​​

@dreaminemz​​​​​

@akshi8278​​​​

@midnightsilver16830​​​​

@mrspeacem1nusone​​​​

@ria132love​​​​

@caligraphee​​​​

@the-witch-in-silence​​​​

@justanotherwinchester​​​​​

@multisuperfandom​​​​

@jason-todd-squad​​​​​

@jadesupernatural​​​​​

@psychicforest​​​​​

@luciathewinchestergirl​​​​​

@magssteenkamp​​​​​

@palefiregiver​

@tranquility-or-chaos​​​​

@jxackles​​​​

@michellemxndes​​​​​

@addictedtofictionalcharacters​​​​​

@gabifernandessn​​​​​

 @waywardrose13​​​​

@team-free-will-you-idjiot​​​​​​

@myopiamystical​​​​

@rintheemolion​​​

@isthatabutterfly​

@bluecornflowers​​​​

@rosalynshields​​​​

A/N: If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you.