#but some days being unable to help hits harder than others

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all! If you find any auctions, raffles, or anything like that fundraising for people affected by Helene that are taking donations, please let me know! I'm going to continue making baby quilts and baby blankets but my inability to go help physically is frustrating me more than usual, and I'd love to donate more if I can

[monimccoythings]

Mending each other's hearts I (Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Mutant!Reader)

I just love heatrbreaking stories that end with happy endings, this one might actually have a part two. I have to take all of this creative rush suddenly flowing and write as much as I can before I'm back to nothing. This reader's powers are invisibility.

It really hurt. To have someone you are madly in love with so out of reach, in love with somebody else. To know that no matter what you did, he would never look at you the same way he looked at her. Jean. She was perfect, gorgeous, smart, kind, and powerful. The golden child of Xavier’s School. Truly a Marvel girl.

You couldn’t help but envy your friend, not only has caught the eyes of two men, but also was the apple of your mentor’s eye. You couldn’t say it was undeserved. As much as you adored Jean as a friend, sometimes you resented her for having it all and not seeming to notice.

It twisted your heart every time you caught one of his longing looks, or his soft smiles. You felt the burning sensation of tears in your eyes and a lump in your throat. You forcefully swallowed it down, the least you wanted was everyone pitying you over some unrequited crush. 

You couldn’t afford to tell anyone, so every time there was a big alpha male fight between Scott and Logan over her affections you quietly stayed as far as you could. Knowing that staying and hearing him fight for her love would completely break you.

That didn’t mean you didn’t quietly cry in the shower or when you were alone in bed. Those were the only places where the tears could flow freely and you allowed your sobs to wreck your body.

You once thought that being his close friend, his confidant, someone he fully trusted would be enough. That you could move on past your silly infatuation until it was nothing more than a buzzing noise in your head. Time could heal everything, you would get used to the heart ache and live normally.

However, Cupid was a resentful bitch.

It only took you being in the wrong place at the wrong time, to finally break into tiny little pieces. As you were getting some papers to grade, you realized you had left your phone back in the class. If only you hadn’t noticed until much later; maybe you would have saved yourself from watching the man who you loved the most passionately kissing your friend, his real one true love.

Your body turned cold, for once, you wished your invisibility powers kicked in and made you disappear. But you couldn’t. You felt blocked, glued to the carpet, unable to move, to think, to breathe as your entire world crashed around you. That’s the worst part of deceiving oneself, when reality comes knocking it hits you harder than any punch.

Maybe if you had stayed longer, you would have seen Jean gently pushing Logan away, with a heartbroken look in her face, quietly shaking her head with silent tears running down her cheeks. Maybe you would have seen the look of utter defeat in Logan’s face, knowing the heart of his beloved was already taken. Maybe, maybe, maybe… but you didn’t.

You don’t remember how you managed to return to your room, how you found yourself able to walk all the way without collapsing. For a second, you wondered if it had been real, an hallucination caused by the stress of being a teacher in a school full of mutant teenagers. As much as you tried to convince yourself, the tear drops staining the papers were proof that what had just happened was very much real.

It felt like something inside you had died that day.

People could see it, the light in you getting duller, your voice was starting to lose the warmth it once held. You tried to fake it, to pretend that everything was fine, that you were the same as always. But it was as plain as day how much you were grieving.

Until one day you casually took a look at yourself in the mirror. What a sorry sight.

Your skin was pale, more fitting of an ill person than a healthy mutant; your eyes looked glossy, probably due to the sleepless nights you had spent crying your heart out until you could barely feel anything; your hair, usually as tidy as you could get it, fell limp over your shoulders, unkept.

You felt sorry for yourself, pathetic, weak. That's what you were.

The only one to blame for this was looking straight at you through red rimmed eyes. This love, this bleeding twisted love, needed to go out, vanish for all eternity. You had no plans of moving, you had nowhere to go, as long as you stayed at the mansion you would have to constantly be reminded of what you so wholeheartedly desired but could never have. Unless you put an end to that.

How did that saying go? “A new worry helps to take the pain away”, Logan needed to be out of your system if you wanted to keep both him and Jean in your life. And there was only one way to do it. A good old wild night in town. Would it completely erase what you felt for that rugged old man? Surely not, but it was a great first step.

You would have loved to invite Ororo and Jean with you to have a decent girls night for once, but this was something you needed to do on your own. So without telling anybody, you took Friday off and got ready to put an end to this pain once and for all.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

There was something off with you, he could feel it. For the past couple of months you had not been entirely yourself and that was upsetting him to no end.

Your friends had tried to help you open up, out of concern to no avail. Apparently, your problems were something that you had decided you would go through on your own. But Logan didn’t agree with you. It burned him watching someone he deeply cared about lose a bit of light with each passing day, and it burned him even more not being able to do anything to help. He felt useless, doomed to watch you consume yourself more and more until there was anything left.

His pain over Jean’s rejection had left him somber and broken, but watching you slowly succumb into a pit of despair had damaged him in ways no one should have. You, his closest friend, if he was able to have something like that, his little ‘Casper’ who was always so kind, so considerate, even to an asshole like him; were suffering and he couldn’t protect you from that pain.

Logan remembered how soft your hands were, how warm your touch was and how bright your smile was. And now there was only left an empty carcass, a living shadow of what you once were. He found himself mourning over something he would never have again.

Fuck, he wanted you back. He missed you. He needed you back. It was so emotional, he couldn’t give a single fuck about it. 

He was going to get you back.

When Hank told him that you had suddenly taken that day off, Logan panicked, fearing the worst. Nearly on fours he ran up the stairs, praying to whatever deity he didn’t believe in that you hadn’t left.

And you hadn’t.

He wasn’t prepared for what he found in your room. You, sitting in front of the mirror of your vanity, applying the last touches of mascara to your eyes. Your hair was done in a very elegant way, combed and curled till it reached perfection; your eyeshadow, combined with the mascara, highlighted the color of your eyes making them shine. Your lips were painted in a red as dark as blood that was practically begging to be smeared across your mouth.

And the icing on the cake were that tantalizing red dress that hugged all your curves in the best way, and those impossibly high heels that made your legs endless.

He was speechless. So speechless he didn’t notice how you momentarily paled only to recover your composure once again.

“Did you… did you want something?” You asked, shyly. Panicking at the thought of your plan ending before it had even started.

Logan didn’t answer, too busy taking all of you in. His eyes quickly darted from one part to another. The air coming out of him in short breaths, his sturdy chest rising and falling. Fists clenching and unclenching.

“Where are you going?”His voice sounded raspy.

“Out.” You simply stated, it hurted but you had to remain cold for this to work.

“With who?” It didn’t go unnoticed to you the dangerous edge in his voice. Why would he even care about it?

“I’m flying solo tonight, hopefully not for long, if you know what I mean.”  You tried to play it cool, like you were just teasing a friend, as the old you would, but Logan could smell bullshit coming a mile away, so obviously he didn’t buy it.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Oh you knew that face he was making, he was getting angrier by the second. You still could feel the remains of the heartbreak sinking like daggers in your badly beaten heart.

“I mean that I’m not planning on sleeping here tonight, Lo.”

He didn’t like at all the ugly, primal feeling that arose in his chest at your words. That sudden urge to destroy, to tear apart your dress and lock you in your room, away from prying eyes. It must have shown in his face, because you uneasily sank back into your chair.

You weren’t going to let him scare you away from this. His big bad man act may have worked on other people, but you knew him well enough to know that was purely a façade. Mustering all the bravery and courage left in you, you picked the remaining pieces of your heart and stood up determined to keep going whether he wanted it or not. A low warning growl emanated from his body when you walked past him. “Bye, Lo.” He didn’t like how final those two words sounded.

And for a couple of seconds he just stood there, just processing what had happened. You sounded so determined, so ready to leave and not coming back it was unsettling. It was a future he didn’t look forward to.

He caught a whiff of your scent, laced with that perfume the students gifted you on your birthday. You were going out alone, dressed out like that, and possibly coming home smelling like a stranger???

Oh, hell no.

[reevesdriver]

Mr. Dutton: Part 2 (NSFW)

Anon request: "John Dutton X reader have been dating for a while now and they’re sneaking around the house like teenagers, but they get caught by Beth. They could be caught making out in his office late and she barges in."

Word count: 996 (Bit short I know)

Reader: Female reader

Character(s): John Dutton

Warning(s): NSFW / 🔥🔥🔥 / Smut / Secret Relationship / Shower Sex / Dads Best Friend /

Support Me: Kofi

Part 1

Ever since that heated night where you took your best friends dad for the ride of his life John was unable to keep his hands off you. A few subtle glances here and some touching there drove the both of you mad. A few weeks had passed since that night and you hadn't had the chance to spend time with one another since the house was almost always full.

After a long morning of tending to the horses and doing housework around the Dutton ranch you opted for a hot shower to wash all the dirt and grime off of you. The house was empty, aside from John who was sat in his office on the phone to someone. Deciding not to disturb him whilst he was on a call you turned the shower on and waited for it to get warm before stripping your clothes and jumping in under the spray of water.

You looked down at the grime and first that was being rinsed down the plughole when you heard the bathroom door opening. "John?" You ask to the figure on the other side of the glass.

The sound of heavy fabric hitting the floor made your cheeks flush red and soon your question was answered when John pulled open the door to the shower and stepped inside, immediately embracing you. "You could've told me you were havin' a shower darlin', I would've joined you sooner."

"You were on the phone, didn't want to disturb you."

He hummed. "I'd rather be with you than dealing with bullshit." He says before kissing you softly. "Been a while since we've had anytime to ourselves."

His hands wander from around your body down to your waist and then over the curve of your ass where he grabs handfuls of the flesh pulling you against his body roughly. You feel his hardened cock prodding your soft belly, running a hand from his back you traced his sides before taking a hold of his cock in your palm.

"Quit teasing' me." John hissed as you gently squeezed his length. You laugh and in an instant he has your legs wrapped around him and your back pinned to the wall of the shower. His cock is sheathed inside of you and your arms instinctively wrap around the back of his neck as he manages to life you up and down on his length.

He may not look it but John was a strong man. Years working on the ranch had worked in his favour and you knew that you didn't have to worry about him dropping you as he fucked you harder. "C'mon baby." He says between pants and kisses. You clench around his cock as you cum and John follows soon after, his seed dripping out of you when he pulls his cock from your throbbing pussy.

The pair of you share more kisses in-between getting each other washed under the spray of water before eventually John drags you out of the bathroom to get dried and dressed. You slip into some comfy clothes and dump your dirtied ones into the laundry basket ready to be washed later on.

Later that day, when the house was clean and you'd finished putting your laundry away you found yourself walking to Johns office. With a gentle knock at the door you heard his gruff voice call from the other side telling you to enter, John sat at his desk with a cup of coffee in his hand. His cowboy hat had been taken off and placed beside a stack of papers that slowly piled up on his desk.

"Hey darlin'" He said with a smile as he sat back in his chair and watched as you closed the door and crossed the room. Picking his black hat up you dropped it on your head and sat perched on the edge of his desk in front of him. His hands immediately wrapped around your frame and you pulled him to your chest. "You're lookin' mighty stressed again John, anything I can do to help?" You say with a smirk.

"I'm sure there's a few things you could do for me." He laughs and you hum in content. Lifting his head from your chest John moves to capture your lips with his, he stands and pulls you off the desk and to your feet so he can hold you against his body easier. The height difference between the two of you barely affects the kiss since you stand on your tip-toes to reach him.

Your breathing deepens and as you press yourself to him the pair of you fail to hear the thudding of boots as Johns only daughter, and your best friend, storms her way to the office with a determined look on her face. “Daddy I can’t even tell you how mad I am.” She says entering the office. You jolt away from one another and turn to face the youngest Dutton who isn’t at all fazed with what was in front of her.

You stare at her, like a dear caught in the headlights and Beth laughs. "Don't look so worried, I already knew you two had a thing going on. You might wanna be quiet next time you're fucking."

Heat rises to your cheeks in embarrassment and you quickly return Johns hat to the spot on the desk that you took it from. Moving from your lover you hastily leave the room and head back to your own and shut the door behind you. Throwing yourself on your bed you stare at the wooden beams spreading across the ceiling when there's a knock at your door.

As you sit up the door opens and Beth takes a step into the room. "Beth, I-I'm sorry. I should've told you sooner." You stammer out an apology and she smiles.

"You've nothin' to apologise for, not seen my daddy so happy in a long while. Just don't break his heart."

"I won't."

[stepbrorafe]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

The hot water hits you in a stream, steam fogging up the glass door of your shower. Your hands run through your hair, soaking up the way the scalding water soothes your tense muscles.

You let out a hum from the pleasant feeling, before suddenly turning towards the glass door as you heard shuffling on the other side. Your brows furrow as you attempt to see through the steam, only coming up with nothing. You shrug it off as just being tired from your long day.

Letting the water fall over you for a few more minutes, you finally open your eyes once more to the sound of the shower door clicking open.

Your stepbrother stands in the doorway of the shower, towering over you with a dark look in his eyes. His hair falls over his forehead as he looks you up and down, his lips pulling into a devious smirk.

“What are you doing?!” You shriek, covering your naked body as best you can.

“I need to shower.” Rafe shrugs as if it’s not big deal.

You gape at him, “Um, clearly I am right now.”

He chuckles, “Come on. We can save water.”

Before you can object, he’s taking off his shirt. You stare in bewilderment, appalled by his carelessness. Your mouth parts as you take in his physique. You’ve always thought he was panty dropping, but now that he’s getting in the shower with you, you’re suddenly very aware of the fact.

He closes you both in the shower, turning to you with a small grin. You’re frozen in place, mouth still slack, completely thrown off by his presence like this. His grin only grows as he takes in your awkward stance, arms still clinging to your body in a futile effort to hide yourself.

“You gonna share some water or what?” He quips, inching closer to you.

You rack your brain in an attempt to find something to say, anything, but you’re left dumbfounded. His arms meet your elbows, softly moving you to the side, so that he can get under the stream.

Swallowing the dryness in your mouth, you manage to speak, “You shouldn’t be in here, it’s not right.”

His brows furrow as he faces you, “Relax, kid. Not like I’m feeling you up… Unless-“

Before you can get a single word out, his hands are cupping your waist and pulling you flush against him under the steaming fall of water. Your heartbeat quickens as you feel his member growing against your stomach.

“Rafe-“ You whisper, only for him to cut you off as he grasps your jaw.

Before you know it, his arms are hooked under your knees while he holds you up as he drills into your sopping pussy. Your back is pressed against the cold glass, providing the perfect balance to your burning skin.

“Oh my fuck.” You cry out, tits bouncing against Rafe’s chest as he thrusts in and out of you.

Your legs shake in his grip, your pussy tightening around him every so often. He attacks your mouth with a string of feverish kisses, two of you panting into one another.

“Always knew you’d be a slut for my cock, sis.” He groans in your ear, lowering you in perfect timing to meet his rough strokes.

You can’t help the loud moans that emit from your mouth as he continues to deliciously bruise your cervix. The sound of your skin slapping as his hips viciously slam into yours fills the bathroom, louder than the water pellets hitting the floor.

“Raaafe.” You cry out in staggered moans, your voice quivering with every thrust.

“Gonna cum for me? Hm?” He hums, “Wanna cum on my cock?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip to prevent the screams from spilling and furiously nod your head. He smirks down at you and picks up the brutal pace, completely wrecking your sweet little cunt.

Without warning, you’re clenching around him as your body shakes. The band in your stomach snaps, unable to hold back any longer, coating his throbbing dick in your juices with a pornographic moan leaving your mouth.

His thrusts don’t stop, only growing deeper and harder as he grunts, causing you to squeal, “Too much!”

He slams you down hard on his cock, the imprint of him bulging from your stomach as he cums, painting your walls a milky white. He keeps pumping in and out of you, filling you up until he has nothing left to give.

Placing you down on wobbly legs, he roughly squeezes your cheeks and plants a sloppy kiss on your lips.

“You belong to me now.”

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

tags : @sunkissedrafe @wickedtactics @bunnycvnts @butterflyoceandreams @rafesgiirl @yourenogoodforme @marvelfanfics1recs @cini-mini27 @pinkribboncoco @drewsphswife @laniirackssss @ditzyzombiesblog

[pastafossa]

"Waking Nightmare" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic)🌧️

Time for the next prompt for my Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! This is for day 7. Took an extra day to work on it cause this is a very angsty one, since our prompt was 'Nightmare' and I went with the classic, 'he accidently swings at you while asleep' trope (many thanks to @sunflowersandsapphires and @shouldbestudying41 for helping me with our chats on this one!). You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Wordcount: 5.2k

Warnings for this chapter: BIG angst warning on this one, along with a warning for being hit (not intentional), nightmares, guilt, blood, Matt's convinced he committed DV so that is discussed.

It began, like so many disasters did, with a series of small fractures. 

What started as a horrible week turned out to be the harbinger of a truly terrible month for Matt. Despite near-constant, frantic late nights of casework at Nelson and Murdock, the firm lost two important cases in short order. Both cases had been a long shot when it came to success, but that had done little to soften the blow to Foggy, Karen, and Matt—especially Matt, who’d made promises to client families that he’d been unable to keep.

Matt’s work as Daredevil hadn’t gone much better. A new gang had moved into the Kitchen and set up shop, staking out a territory drenched in blood, ash, and terror. Matt had thrown himself into that fight with the same determination that he always did, and while he’d made serious progress breaking down their operation, there had still been losses. As far as he was concerned, the lives lost in the past month—the three targeted victims in the burning apartment complex he’d been unable to reach in time, and the two store clerks shot and killed in their shops before he could make it to them—were caused by his own personal failings. Despite your best attempts to convince him otherwise, the perceived blood on his hands had only driven him to devote himself even more ferociously to his work at night and during the day.

That devotion snowballed rapidly into a lack of sleep, often the first casualty in Matt’s life when things got stressful or busy. The exhaustion only sent him spiraling further into bouts of anger and a retreat behind his emotional walls. He snapped at you whenever you tried to talk to him about it, shying away from the kind touches he felt he didn’t deserve. While a quiet apology almost always came later in the night, soft and full of regret, it didn’t change the fact that you could see him beginning to splinter and crumble beneath the pressure he’d placed on himself, your Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders. You’d gone through this with him before, the periods in which it all seemed to go wrong and he refused to strap on the lifevests you stubbornly threw to him over and over again. As best you could tell, when these storms came there was no other option but to simply plant your roots deep and ride it out with him, ensure he knew he wasn’t alone. And when he finally fell to pieces, giving beneath the weight, you’d make sure he had a loving hand to help him glue his bloody, broken pieces back together. 

You’d thought that fracturing would come from something on the streets. Another death, maybe, or sheer exhaustion. 

You’d never expected it to happen here.

Not at home. 

“You’re going out?” You watched him dig through his father’s trunk for his suit, his back to you. He’d only just returned from another late night at the office. The only reason you were seeing him at all was because you’d woken up thirsty, heading out to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The distance between you both abruptly felt so much farther than a meager ten feet, so much harder to cross. Still, you tried. “It’s almost two. Some rest might—” “Don’t,” he said tightly, yanking his mask out and tossing it back onto the couch. He pulled out the rest of his suit next along with his billy clubs. His movements were unnaturally stiff, almost robotic. “I need to…” He sucked in an uneven breath, reaching up to run an exhausted hand through his dark hair.  After a moment, he dropped his hand, going back to what he’d been doing. If anything, your implication had only made him more determined, his voice now resolute and closed off. “Our appeals aren’t going well. The city’s quiet for the first time in a month, but that might not last. I need to go out. Just for an hour or two. Go back to bed.”

You gnawed on your lower lip in thought as he stalked over to the couch. Without his shirt, it was so much easier to see the lines of stress and tension cutting their way through him like winding roads, his muscles drawn up tight and hard. The bruising along the canvas of his back and ribs stood out with every neon flash of the billboard beyond the windows, adding a layer of blood red to the spiraling waves of deep blue and sullen indigo painted on his skin. That he’d been hurt even with the protection of the suit told you just how bad it had gotten out there. He needed rest, desperately. You both knew it. But you couldn’t bear the thought of trying to keep him here, forcing him to listen to the sounds of the city without being able to do anything about it. It was a promise you’d made to yourself, once, and you intended to keep it.

“Ok, D.” You kept your tone gentle. He’d hear you even across the room. “Ok. Come back safe.”

Some of his tension eased at your agreement, and he slowed where he’d been opening up his suit, preparing to step into it. Had he really thought you’d fight him? 

“I…” He shook his head after a moment. He turned until you could see him in profile, that same red light now highlighting the dark, bruised shadows beneath his eyes. But for just a moment, there was the barest softening in his expression, a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. You knew this look, this hand stretched out through the bars of the darkened prison cell he’d found himself trapped within. “I love you,” he said softly. “So much. I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m sorry.” 

“I know. Don’t worry about me for now. We’ll work it out. Just be careful tonight.” You tilted your head as he took a few tentative steps towards you. You took your own small step, cautious like you were approaching a stray who might run if you moved too quickly. He lifted his hand once you were within reach, the back of his fingers stroking lightly, tenderly against your cheek. You turned and brushed your lips fondly against his fingers, your eyes fluttering shut as you soaked in the warmth of his skin. It was the most intentional touch you’d gotten from him in a week, outside those moments in his sleep when he held you close, and god, were you grateful for it, something in you easing at the return of his affection. It meant he was coming out of this, swimming back up to the light and out of the void he’d been lost in. Sometimes you wondered if him denying himself your touch wasn’t just another way he punished himself when his darker thoughts seized hold of him. “I love you, too.”

“Go back to bed, sweetheart.” He tipped your chin up so he could place a tired kiss on your forehead before he let you go and returned to his suit. His motions, at least, seemed more settled now. “I’ll be back in an hour if it’s quiet, I promise. I’ll find a way to make it up to you this weekend.”

You left him there in the living area, more content than you’d felt in weeks. Sure, the past month had been shit for you both, but you were coming out of it now just like always. You fell asleep comfortably with that knowledge, cradling it inside you against your heart as you drifted off. 

You weren’t sure what it was that woke you later. Not at first, anyway. The bedroom was dark and quiet, save for the usual sounds of the city at night that leaked in through the closed windows. Matt’s arms weren’t around you, but it was possible he hadn’t gotten back yet. Without any other signs of danger, you gave a soft huff of irritation. Figures. Waking up over nothing. You shifted your head around on the pillow until you found a nice cold spot, closed your eyes, and began to drift back off. 

Then you heard it again behind you.  

Your brow furrowed, eyes blinking back open.

Right, now you knew it wasn’t just a dream. 

The sound you’d heard wasn’t quite a moan. It wasn’t a word, either. Hell, you didn’t know what to call it, exactly, but it definitely wasn’t a happy noise, that much you knew. This sounded… almost pained, hitched and edged with something like panic. You blearily rolled over to get a better look, still half-asleep.

Apparently Matt had gotten back while you were asleep, the shadowy outline of him curled up on the opposite side of the bed. He was also facing away from you, which was… odd. Most nights, he slept with you in his arms—or him in yours on particularly bad nights. That he’d either consciously or unconsciously placed this much distance between you would have stirred the smoldering embers of worry if you’d been more awake. It wasn’t right that he was over ther, curled in on himself, small and isolated, a lonely island in the sea of silk sheets. As you watched, he twitched restlessly, before making that same small, pained noise you’d heard before. Or was it scared? 

Nightmare, you thought sleepily. That explained the distance. He’d probably just rolled away in his sleep. You yawned, untangling yourself enough from your cocoon of blankets that you start crawling over towards him. Clearly this was one of those nights when he was the one that needed to be held. You weren’t entirely sure why your presence helped to soothe his nightmares, but for whatever reason, your arms around him and your breathing against his back, your heartbeat pressed against his back, was often all he needed. Even if he woke up when you got over to him, he’d have an easier time falling back asleep with you holding him. He always did. Especially after such a terrible month. 

You yawned again when you finally settled down behind him, throwing one arm over his waist and spooning affectionately up against his back. He stirred slightly at that, his body going tense and hard, his chest resonating with a soft growl. But he quickly quieted, soothed at the sound of your voice.

“It’s ok, Matt,” you said sleepily, breathing slowly, intentionally against the hard line of his back. “You’re ok, sweetheart. Just a bad dream.” You tucked your legs up behind his, nuzzling over onto his pillow, hunting for him even as your eyes fell shut again. You’d kick yourself later, for what you did next. 

Without thinking, you leaned in… and brushed a firm kiss against the back of his neck. 

Just like that, the peace, the calm was shattered. 

A wild snarl filled the air, followed by a sudden, blinding explosion of pain across your face that lit up the black behind your eyes like a skyline of fireworks. Before you could even cry out, you’d been thrown clear of the bed. You only just avoiding cracking your temple on the corner of Matt’s nightstand. But what your head missed, the rest of your body didn’t. As you slid across the nightstand and came crashing to the ground, you brought down every last object on the nightstand with you, glass and metal shattering somewhere far away from where you were, the whole of the world gone thick and quiet. 

Things got fuzzy then, a sickening carnival maze of light spinning in your vision every time you blinked. Your dazed thoughts were thick, slow to come together. But, still, you tried, because something was very, very wrong. 

Matt. 

Yes. You needed to find Matt. He was probably out on the streets still. It was the only way someone could have broken in just to hit you like an asshole. You weren’t sure where you were crawling too exactly, but away from the threat felt like a good start. As you moved, something hot and wet began to pour down your face in steady streams, irritating and coppery whenever it made it into your mouth. Fortunately, that was a distant problem. You could worry about whatever was on your face later. Your only concern at the moment was holding your attacker off until Matt could get here and kick some fucking ass. 

A pair of feet slammed against the floor, someone calling out, panicked and frantic. The sound was far too garbled for you to understand it immediately, but what it did tell you was that your attacker was still close by. There wasn’t anything around you that you could easily use to defend yourself, or at least, there wasn’t until your hand bumped into something long and metallic. You snatched it up, ignoring the sudden appearance of pain in your palm as you did so. You dragged it with you, metal squealing across the floorboards as you scrambled on your hands and knees. In seconds, you’d made it out of the bedroom and into the living area. 

Good. When Matt came through the rooftop door, he’d have less distance to cross to get to you. You’d also be able to see your attacker better in the flash of the billboard lights, though the flashing sea of red light made your eyes water and burn. But you could also feel your vision clearing, which was great. You’d need it. 

A shaking, trembling hand brushed against your shoulder. 

You rose up swiftly on your knees, metal rod clutched tight in both hands. “Get away from me!” you snarled, putting every last ounce of strength you had into your motion as you twisted and swung. 

And Matt—

What?

—snapped his hand up, catching the lamp rod just before it could hit him in the face. 

“...Matt?” you asked shakily, unable to hide your confusion. “It was you?”

“This can’t be happening, no, no no no,” he choked out tearfully, his breath coming panicked and wild. His tone was so ragged you almost didn’t recognize the voice as his. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re bleeding, I-I’m sorry, I’m so—”

The lamp rod fell from your paired grips. Hands shaking, he brought them up tentatively towards your face. He stopped just before he could touch you, hovering them a breath away from your skin. The first of his tears began to trail down his cheeks, his expression twisting in what you alarmingly recognized as grief. You’d seen him cry before, but never like this. “God, I-I didn’t know it was you, I’m sorry, I thought you were…”

He was… apologizing. But that didn’t make sense, no matter how much you tried to force the idea to settle into your dazed mind. It couldn’t have been Matt. You weren’t afraid of Matt. Matt didn’t hurt you. He didn’t hit you. Those were facts, as irrefutable as gravity, as reliable as the rise and the fall of the sun. You didn’t understand, just like you didn’t understand why he wasn’t holding you. He always did when you were hurt. “You… you hit me?”

The low, agonized noise he made was inhuman. It was the sound of a wounded animal, of someone who’d just been carved open. His hands drew back from your face, dropping down towards your hands where they’d settled on your thighs, though he seemed just as hesitant to touch you there. Tears dripped down from his face, joining the droplets of thick, deep red now scattered across the floor. Had you left all fo that there? You really… were bleeding, weren’t you?

“I-I… I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t,” he whispered brokenly, his breath hitching with what was almost a whimper. He grabbed one of the blankets off the chair next to him, the one you loved to curl up under with him. He slid it as gently as he could around one of your hands—oh, you were bleeding there, too, just a little, goddamn cheap lamp—though he avoided allowing his skin to brush against yours. “I was… having a nightmare, and I thought-I thought you were someone else, they had you and I was trying to-to get to you but someone grabbed me and I—God, you have a concussion, your nose is-is bleeding. I have to call Claire, get away from you b-before I… I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry—”

Finally, the idea settled into your mind, the world abruptly righting itself. 

The nightmare.

Well, that made sense.

You still weren’t quite thinking right, thoughts thick and fuzzy like wisps of cotton, a massive, throbbing ache in your head and face that only got worse every time the billboard lit up. But you you’d been right. Matt didn’t hit you. He hadn’t hit you, because he hadn’t known it was you. Hell, he’d even apparently been trying to save you, at least in his nightmare. It seemed simple enough to you, an obvious accident. But it didn’t seem quite so simple to Matt. You reached for his cheek. “Matt,” you soothed, your words only a tiny bit slurred as he sniffled and wrapped the blanket tighter around your hand, applying firm pressure to stop the bleeding. “It’s ok, Matt. You didn’t mean it.”

But the second your fingertips brushed against his skin, he threw himself backwards and out of your reach, his dark eyes wild. “Don’t!” he spat.  You faltered just a little, suddenly unsure. But you quickly shook it off, shakily climbing to your feet to follow after him. Your own injuries felt secondary in that moment, because this… this was the wound, the disaster that might do you both in if you didn’t find some way to stop it. Your bloody nose and hand could wait. “You didn’t mean it, Matt. It was an accident.” 

For every step you took forward, he took one back, the two of you performing some twisted, heartbreaking sort of dance across the floor. Eventually you cornered him against the wall, hemming him in. He was almost shaking as you stepped in close. Your hand rose and this time around, you successfully managed to cup his jaw, trying to press your affection, your calm into his skin. “Easy, Devil-Man. I’m ok,” you murmured. You swiped one thumb over the trail of tears sliding down his cheek, a new one appearing each time you’d cleared away the last, an endless stream of them falling from his grief-stricken eyes as they darted sightlessly around you. “This wasn’t your fault. Help me get cleaned up and then we’ll talk about it, ok?” 

He hitched a soft, quiet breath when you tugged his head down, his forehead pressed to yours like he’d done for you so many times before. You breathed with him for a moment, trying to ease him down.  He swallowed hard, his eyes fluttering closed as you stroked your thumb against his cheek, and for a moment, you almost thought you’d managed to fix it. 

A breath. 

His jaw clenched, and your heart sank.

This time when his eyes opened, all traces of warmth in them were gone. Whatever door you’d once pried open was now shut, slammed resoundingly in your face. “No. It’s not ok.” He brushed your hand away, sliding out from between you and the wall without so much as a pause. He reached up to wipe away his tears, the motion sharp and edged with tension. “Where are you going?” “I need to call Claire to come look you over,” he said flatly, heading for the kitchen. “I’ll use my burner. Mine was on the… the nightstand.” The brief crack in his voice, a brittle chip in the armor he’d just tried to throw up around himself, only confirmed what you’d hoped you could avoid.

“Matt,” you said softly. “Don’t lock me out like this.”

He may have been aiming for calm but he couldn’t hide what he was feeling, not entirely anyway. Not when his hands were still trembling as he felt around on the kitchen counter, acting like he hadn’t heard you. “I’ll call Foggy, too. Once they’re here, I’ll go.” 

“What?” You watched in disbelief as he kept hunting along the counter. With every second that passed and he failed to find it, he grew more frustrated, more angry. He quickly turned his back to you, body stiff like he was expecting a sudden blow. “You’re you’re leaving me?” “I hit you,” he spat viciously, another seething wave of emotion bubbling up through the cracks of his voice like acid, bitter and toxic and just as liable to burn. Here it was, here it was: the self-loathing, the disgust, the burning hatred. He drew in a sharp breath, shivering as he did. And on the exhale, he seemed to have regained control. His voice rapidly returned to that same cold, emotionless monotone, though he kept his face out of your view. Whatever expression he had would give him away, you were certain of it. “I almost broke your nose. You have a concussion. You cut yourself trying to get away from me. I’ve put men in the hospital for a lot less. You’re not safe with me—”

“That’s horseshit,” you huffed, starting towards him on wobbly legs. You had to stop and grab one of the chairs just to keep your balance and halt you from pitching over onto the floor. Not that it was a concern; no matter how upset Matt was, he’d catch you. But still, you falling would only make things worse. You forced yourself to breathe through the roiling in your stomach, unsure if it was the concussion that was making you nauseous or simply the knowledge that he was trying to leave you. But you wouldn’t let those fucking voices in his mind—ones that probably sounded like Stick—drive him away from you. Not without a fight. At least your nose seemed to have stopped bleeding. That was a good sign. “It was an accident. We both know it. This just—it happens something with nightmares, including non-vigilantes, Matt. I’ve woken up scared and smacked you in the face more than once, and you know it.” 

“You didn’t throw me across a nightstand or give me a concussion.” He barked out a bitter laugh. The hateful sound filled you with dread, as did the heartbreaking resolve beneath it. He’d already made up his mind, convinced himself of what he’d done. “I always knew. That’s what they all said. That I was cursed. That I had the Devil inside me. That all I wanted was to hit someone. This is who I am. I wanted to believe it wasn’t true, but deep down, I knew. And now I hurt you. I can’t let that happen again, even if it means I have to leave to keep you safe.” 

“Matt,” you said desperately, managing to make it to the couch, bracing yourself against the arm of it. If you could just get to him, you could fix this. You knew that. “That’s not true. Let’s just talk about this.”

Matt ignored you again, snatching up his keys and starting towards the hall. “I can’t find my burner,” he said. That tone, flat and empty of all feeling, was so much worse than anger. You’d take anger any day—you’d take grief, or hurt. Emotion meant you had a way in, that he’d opened himself to you, baring all the parts of him left vulnerable and raw. This tone, though…You couldn’t help but feel like you were banging your bloodied fists against a door abruptly chained shut. “Keep pressure on your hand. I’m going next door to ask for their phone so I can call Claire. I’ll only be gone for a minute, then I’ll be back. I’ll find somewhere else to stay once she’s here to take care of you.”

No. 

No, he couldn’t leave you over an accident. Your heart rate shot up, rattling against the lump in your throat. You almost felt like you couldn’t breathe, panic crushing your lungs in their grip, something that made him him stiffen. And you-you couldn’t let him leave, not like this, not when he might not come back. There had to be something, some way to reach him and keep him from destroying, burning down the best thing in both of your lives. And there was only one method that might work in a moment like this.  

Holding up a mirror.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. 

And Matt… froze in the hall, a mere three steps from the front door. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, more firmly now. You didn’t bother to hide the waver in your voice. You drew in a slow breath, exhaling just as slowly. It wasn’t blood running down your face, now, and he’d know it. “I’m sorry for scaring you. For touching your neck in your sleep. I know how vulnerable it is, and how you feel about it being touched by anyone other than me. I didn’t think about what touching that might feel like during a nightmare.” 

“Stop apologizing,” he growled, his shoulders drawing up tight. “They’re not the same thing, and you know it.”

But despite his objections, he hadn’t moved. He hadn’t left yet. Hell, maybe he’d found he couldn’t. Not when you were injured. You’d take it if it meant you had a chance.

“Aren’t they the same?” You reached up with your good hand, sniffling a little as you wiped some of the blood off your face. “According to you, they are. It doesn’t matter what I meant to do, right? Just that I did something that led to me hurting you. And this is hurting you. I can tell.” You choked out a wobbly laugh when he flinched. You used that break in his armor to edge closer, praying you didn’t stumble and fall, losing the ground you’d just gained. “Do you remember when I slipped and dropped that bowl last month and it shattered and cut your feet?” 

“That’s not—”

“I had to pick shards of porcelain out of your poor bare feet. I felt horrible.” Another step. Then another. “Remember when I smacked you in the face during my nightmare last January? Split your lip and everything.” You caught one hand against the shelving unit by the hall, taking a split second to breathe, more tired than you wanted to admit. “You told me those weren’t my fault. You even fucking laughed about your lip. But if this accident is your fault, then all those times are my fault, and so is this one, if you think about it. So I’m sorry, Matt.”  

“I hit you,” came his voice, trembling and uneven. You had a feeling those three small words were your target, spiraling on loop in his mind, their sharp edges tearing into him over and over again. His head slowly dropped, his body curling in on itself as you stopped a few feet away. He shuddered then, and without being able to see his face, you couldn’t tell if it was shame or just… hurt. “Don’t apologize when I hit you. I threw you across the room. I-I hurt you.” 

“Oh, Matt,” you whispered. You took another step, at last coming within touching distance where you might be able to reach him. “It was an accident, sweetheart. You didn’t mean it. You didn’t know it was me. But… but if you want to talk about hurting me, let’s talk about this here.” He stilled when he felt the first gentle touch of your hand against his back. Warm, unafraid, tender. 

“If you’re worried about hurting me, this is how you’d do it,” you said softly, trailing your fingers down the line of his spine with all the love you had in you. “By leaving, Matt. By leaving me here without you when I love you more than anything or anyone else in the world. Don’t do that to me. Please.” This time the sound he made was a broken sob, one hand rising up to fist in his hair. He sank slowly to the ground. You sank with him, winding your arms tight around him as he finally broke, shattering beneath the weight of his guilt. When he didn’t reject your touch, you quickly shifted around him, climbing into his lap. His arms found their way home around your waist, clinging to you tight as you rocked him in your arms, his face buried against your neck, tears flowing hot to join the blood still clinging to your skin. “I’m sorry.” His voice was thick with sorrow, each breath one he had to fight for.  “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I never wanted to hurt you, I don’t want to hurt you, I’m sorry—” “Listen to me. This was not your fault. I promise, baby,” you whispered, lifting his head to press your forehead to his like you had before. His eyes were shut, but they fluttered open just for you, as he finally, finally let you back in. You could almost see the torment swirling in them, the guilt, but that was alright. If you could see those shadows, you could fight them. “You were asleep, Matt. You were dreaming. You can’t control what your brain does then. If it thinks there’s a threat, it’s going to react without your input. Do you know how I can be so sure you won’t hurt me? How this all just proved I’m safe with you?” His blank gaze shifted around you, one shaking hand coming up to trace your smile in open disbelief. 

“Because the second you woke up, you were horrified.” You leaned into him, running the fingers of your good hand through his hair as he let out another shaky, breathless sob. “The second you woke up and realized it was me, it just broke you. You would never choose to hurt me, Matt. You're not a violent person, even if you've been taught to use it out there. A bad man doesn’t react like you did. A good man does. You are a good man, do you hear me? And if you leave?” You found his hand with your good one to lace your fingers together and squeeze, his eyes fluttering closed, as did yours. “I swear to God I’ll go stand in an alley in my pajamas and scream that until you have to come protect me from every mugger in the Kitchen. Which will only prove my point that you’d never let anything or anyone hurt me.”  He choked out a quiet, watery laugh, letting you bring his head back down to your throat. His tearful groan at the affection just made you cling to you tighter. “I love you,” he hitched out. “I love you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry. God forgive me, I’m so, so sorry.” 

“I love you, too, Matt,” you whispered, burying your face in his hair. “It’s not your fault. Don’t let your nightmare knock us out this easily. Get back up. Stay, and fight for me, for us. Can you do that for me?”

You felt his eyes fall closed, and for the first time since he’d woken up, you heard a different kind of resolve in his voice: one that was far more familiar, far more welcome, solid and warm and steadfast, a strength you’d happily build your life upon, as he let your love seep in through the cracks to at last chase away some of the dark.

His breath eased out against your skin, soft and familiar. “I… ok. I can do that.”

“Good.”

[distressedjellyfish]

Things I think about with frequency

Amy March

How we deserved to see Amy and Laurie's wedding, and them falling in love, and just more of them

How Amy March is hated by many because LMA based the characters off her own sisters, and Amy was obviously written with some bias (as were all the sisters), which shines through and makes us feel similarly about Amy that "Jo" felt about her younger sister.

That line where Amy says "I've been second to Jo my whole life" hits A LOT harder when you realize that Louisa's (Jo) middle name is May, and her younger sister, who she based Amy off, is named May, after LMA's middle name.

I think that people see Amy as this vapid little bitch because she always knew she wanted to be a wife, and she knew she wanted to be rich. But what people fail to consider is that a lot of the time the youngest is the one that sees all the flaws in their family’s lives and feels responsible for taking care of them, even if its not expressly stated. Jo was a wild card. She was free to do as she wanted and nothing could stop her and God love Marmee for never trying. Meg was docile and almost polar opposite of Jo, and as the eldest sister she felt the same burden but lessened because yes she had typical Eldest Sister Syndrome where she had the need to take care of the family, but she also was the first, and therefore had no pre-set markers and expectations that she needed to meet or surpass. She wanted to marry and all that, but it didn't super matter about finances to her. Beth was unable to do "better" than her sisters "mistakes" flat out. And its not through any fault of her own, its just the way it was.

Speaking from experience, its always been clear to me that as the youngest of 3, I would have to do better. My half brother got a girl pregnant on his gap year when he was 18, so I was never allowed to take one, even though it would have probably helped in the long run. My half sister has always been mean to my parents, and won't let my dad see his only biological grandkid, which rips my dad apart, so of course I feel the pressure to have a child to give my dad a bio grandkid to dote on like he does with his non-bio grandkids, even though he's never outwardly expressed to anyone ever that he feels any disconnect from my niece because they aren't related, or that he wants me to have kids for any reason other than he wants them.

Anyways, my point is that Amy felt that pressure from a young age, hence always saying this or that about marrying rich. Add onto that when Aunt March tells her she's her family’s only hope of not being in the lower class/lower middle class for the rest of their lives. And just because that's the only time we see it, but that doesn't mean that there weren't other similar conversations had. Do you really think Aunt March never made her snide comments about the family and their status in front of Amy?

Amy's entire character revolves around this point, she's focused on being a proper lady, being delicate and pretty, in hopes of one day being able to bag someone rich, for her family.

Obviously, she falls into infatuation with Laurie when she meets him at the ripe age of 12??? She idolizes Jo, and Laurie is basically just the boy version (with some exceptions). He's also rich, young, handsome, and charming, and adores the family for who they are, including all their flaws. He's exactly what Amy had been saying she would marry, with the added bonus of him loving Jo the way she is, the exact opposite of Amy, proving that there are rich lovely men out there who will love you even if you aren't perfect, even if you falter. He's proof she can have the life she knows she needs to have for her family, and also still enjoy it and not be stressed all the time about being perfect.

Of course Laurie loves Jo first, for very similar reasons that Amy is infatuated with him. At 15, his whole life has been spent at dinner parties with girls the exact opposite of Jo, all proper and lovely and so so similar to one another, being told he'll marry one of them, everyone expecting him to be polished and well spoken and everything that no 15 year old boy wants to be. So then in comes this whirlwind girl who is completely different, a breath of fresh air that never wants to marry and can't ballroom dance for shit and laughs too loud, and shows him that life can be the Something Different he so desperately craves.

And of course, he ends up with Amy. He was Jo's best friend, so for 6 years all he knew of her was the way she was presented through Jo's eyes. A bratty little girl, who was the same as the other vapid girls he knew, that wasn't worth a thought. And he never paid her any mind because he spent 6 years thinking Jo loved him back, so why would he think of other girls? Then, at 21, he is essentially dumped by the love of his life, and travels abroad to find who he is without her. He meets Amy again, the girl who was always happy to see him. Of course he's going to spend time with her, she's familiar enough to feel like home, but different enough from Jo that it doesn't hurt. And there's the added validation of her liking him, which sometimes you need after your heart has been ripped apart. Plus, she's the only one he really knows in Paris. So they spend time together, and in that time he learns that she's not at all the way he's seen her over the last 6 years. Where he always saw someone not very bright, with a dim personality, that didn't stand up for anything or really rock the boat unless seriously provoked, who would do anything for him, he now finds a strong, funny, kind, beautiful girl, who is very intelligent and has a deep understanding of how cruel the world is (maybe ((definitely)) moreso than her sister) and knows how to manipulate said world in such a way that she can come out close to on top, who cares about her family enough to put everything else aside in order to become the person they need her to be in order to support them, who would still do anything for him but will absolutely call him on his shit and put him in his place when necessary. And how could he not love that?

She's not all that much like Jo, sure, but she is so much more. And she deserves so much more than people calling her his second choice.

Also I think that its criminal that most people don't see that obviously Jo loved her family but she loved herself more. Her sense of duty was to herself, and finding the place that would make her happy. She was also kind of a brat? Things didn't go her way? Editor is a dick? Boy critisizes her writing? Tantrum.

Whereas Amy loved her family more than herself. She was willing to put aside her dreams in order to support her family, and growing up was very rarely bitter about it. She decided, on her own, that her family was her number one priority, and that regardless of the fact that she could be happier doing other things, she wanted to do what she could to provide for her family. She knew how the world treated women, and she learned how to take that, and general criticism, on the chin.

Personally, I think that Amy is a way better character, and I'll die on this hill

Amy March

[ani-iu]

[𝟑] 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐃 | 𝐀𝐝𝐚𝐦 × 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: annoyances to lovers; forced proximity; mutual pining; developing relationship; religious imagery & symbolism; explicit language; misogyny; Adam being Adam; he falls first and harder; sexual tension; eventual smut; religious guilt; explicit sexual content; clingy Adam; happy ending; light angst; character study; not canon compliant. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: a gory description of a character's death, stalking, suicidal thoughts.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6,4k.

// what do you think it takes to get into heaven, little ballerina?

𝐘ou were always told that, after God, you should fear men.

The saying never sat right with you. Why did you have to feel that way about either of them? Wasn’t God supposed to be loving and kind? What is there to fear? And then there was the man. If God didn’t frighten you, why would you feel any different about someone created in His image?

In hindsight, you should have simply listened to what you were told instead of burdening yourself with insignificant whys and hows. Sometimes there is no deeper meaning to the words, only a bitter reality — that man is the most terrifying being out there, and God allows him to be that way.

And as much as you desperately want to forget and move on, that reality keeps coming back to haunt you.

Once your ears pick up the faint yet still persistent erratic beat of drums on the other side of the wall, not even the simple pianissimo notes filling the air with the help of a clunky CD player can drown the noise out. And although it doesn’t seem like the other dancers mind the disturbance too much, to you, it causes more than a few misplaced steps in a carefully crafted routine. 

The percussive sound slowly merges with your heartbeat, simultaneously pounding inside of your ribcage until even the clamorous voices of girls inside the studio become overshadowed by the dulled thudding.

Your body becomes frightened to the point you are unable to move. Just like all those times when you would sit with your back against the front door, motionless, and only the sheer forcefulness of the frantic banging — which always started with a deceptively light knocking — would manage to make your body noticeably recoil.

You never tried hiding somewhere in your home because, as hard to comprehend as it may be, the safest you ever felt was when crouching down behind that door. Knowing where he was and what he was doing made you feel like you were in control of the situation, even if you weren't.

Either way, there was no point in trying to hide from him — he knew you were on the other side. You could feel the perverse and sick pleasure seeping through the cracks with every loud thud that human flesh made as it collided with the door's wood, drawing frightened gasps from you.

You kept thinking about all the acquaintances and faceless passersby you might have offended, leading one of them to take such action against you. You never learnt what you did, because one day it all simply stopped.

But even after one year of complete silence, you still can’t find peace. To everyone around you, your stalker simply disappeared, and you need to move on, but you know it’s not that simple. You are just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was quiet before the storm.

At present, by the time you stumble into the claustrophobic locker room at the back of the studio, you are hyperventilating. Your uncoordinated walk, unbefitting of a coryphée, causes you to miss the entrance, bump into the left side of the doorway, and then bounce to the opposite side, hitting a small table. The sequence of events leads to an empty glass falling and breaking into shards before your feet.

Just like that, the sharp sound snaps you out of your panic attack, and it’s quiet again — only a faint classical piece, barely audible, provides some sort of background noise to the dimly lit room and your overworked brain.

Like a child enthralled by the first snow, you maintain eye contact with the sharp shards of glass. Indeed, in various sizes and shapes, the shards shimmer on the ground beneath the fluorescents, resembling snowflakes.

Mesmerised, you bend to pick one of the pieces — the biggest one, so perfectly curved and seemingly broken off at a perfect angle, giving the edge a slanted look. It would be easy, so easy to just— fuck!

You loudly gasp and put your finger into your mouth. The blood from the freshly acquired cut coats your taste buds with a sickly sweet metallic flavour, and your stomach churns with disgust for yourself — repulsed by your own inner thoughts.

Stepping back, you bump into the edge of the table again, but this time grab it to stabilise yourself. You couldn't believe that you even possessed such thoughts somewhere within your mind. Sure, you could blame it on the moment of weakness, but it was also no excuse to contemplate hurting yourself!

You needed some fresh air.

Still slightly dazed, you scan your surroundings for the exit door, only now spotting another person in the room with you. The girl’s grey leotard and matching threadbare leg warmers tell you her name even before she can take her head out of her locker. It's surprising that she remained unfazed by all of the commotion that you have caused.

"Rina?" You try, but it doesn’t get her attention. "Hey, Rina! I’m going for a breather!" 

This time, she at the very least reacts, simply giving a thumbs up and going back to whatever she is doing without sparing a single word. She doesn’t even pull her head out of the locker.

That is enough for you as your hands push the heavy back door of the dancing studio, revealing a seedy alleyway — far from the glitz and glam of the imposterous fairytale fantasy that is ballet. But the state of your surroundings matters very little when you lurch over the railing and dry heave. One deep breath after the other, and you almost calm yourself until a voice shakes you to the core.

"Wow, hey, black swan. You okay there?"

An involuntary shiver runs down your spine as you turn your head to the side to look at a raggedy-looking guy crouched down on the bottom steps that lead to the bar next door.

At first, you ignore him. You distract yourself by slicking a few errant strands of hair back into your bun, but when you notice that he is still waiting for an answer, you feel guilty for unwarrantedly giving the stranger a cold shoulder. You know you don't owe him a conversation, but...

"Got a cigarette?" You brush the sleeve of your leotard against your lips and straighten yourself up.

The guy smiles at you and places his half-smoked cigarette between his lips while pulling a pack of Marlboro Reds out of his jacket. Definitely a musician, you silently speculate. Not to mention the pair of drumsticks peeking from the back pocket of his ripped jeans.

He taps the pack and presents you with a stick, which you take. You place it between your lips, and when your eyes flutter towards the stranger, he already has a lighter waiting for you. So, you lean over the railing, jutting your head so he could light it for you. 

You inhale the smoke, and the simple word of gratitude comes out of your mouth like a puff of smoke that follows it, "Thanks. You work here?"

"Heh, yeah. I play the drums for extra cash." He points his thumb behind him at the back door of the bar.

Called it, they all smoke the same brand.

"Thought you looked familiar."

He chuckles at that, and silence falls between you two. There is no need to break it; however, you can't shake the feeling that his silent stare gives you until he clears his throat and tries to restart the conversation again. 

"So, you’re here for the long run, huh?"

"Sorry?"

"Many ballet dancers have brief careers, or at least that’s what I heard! But your clothes look new. My sister wanted to be a ballerina—"

"What little girl doesn’t?" You cut him off, not liking the way the stranger analyses you, but at the same time, you can't help but berate yourself for assuming the worst from him.

"My point is," the brunet says, flicking the cigarette he’s smoking downward a few times to get rid of the excess ash. "That shit is expensive. You come from money, then?"

"Why? You want me to sponsor your shitty band?"

"Ouch," he chuckles, and stubs out his cigarette, having the gall to try and act coy. "It’s not shitty. And don’t you like that sort of music?"

At that moment, his voice grows lower, bordering on sultry at the end, if not for the insinuation his words carry. They stab you deep into your gut like a knife, and his cockiness seems to be twisting the blade to inflict more damage.

Most people, upon first meeting you, guess that because of your profession, your taste in music is just as classy. And even if, at one point in your life, you would have dismissed the man's words as light-hearted, perhaps even slightly flirty teasing, having a stalker changes a person's perspective on many seemingly insignificant things.

The man wasn’t just a familiar face or someone working in an adjacent building that you might have seen a few times in your peripheral vision to somewhat recognise but still view as a stranger. No, the man had been the source of all your suffering for the past three years. Even in the entire year that he was gone, he still didn’t fully leave — the damage he did to your psyche is irreversible, and no amount of punishment will ever be sufficient. 

You hold your breath, trying to remain calm, but standing so close to him is making you lightheaded. How long was he going to play with you?

"So, um, I was wondering—"

You don't wait for him to finish what else he might add once the awkward silence proves too uncomfortable for him — turning around so quickly it makes your head spin and your stomach curl in on itself. 

You need to get away, and you need to do that now. 

He scrambles onto his feet, the movement followed by the gritty sound of gravel and a desperate call of your name, which you didn't give him. The false saccharine tone is gone, in its place, a commanding warning of what he might do to you if you don’t listen.

You tug on the horizontal crossbar on the back door with frantic urgency, but the latch doesn’t budge. The metal is cold and dotted with raindrops from the morning storm. You hear him getting closer, but you don’t dare to turn and look how close he is. Too close. He will always be too close to you, and there is nothing you can do.

Your eyes blur with tears as you finally manage to pull the heavy door open.

"Rina—" 

But as you come face-to-face with her, the fellow ballerina's unblinking eyes cause you to lose your voice mid-speech. The milky whites of those round eyeballs stare back at you with a sick familiarity — as if you had seen something so bleakly empty before.

You can’t blink either. Blinking would mean you could escape those eyes. Blinking would mean you—

That’s when the whiteness blinks back at you, and that’s when your world falls from its axis — all of this is not real. It's not happening right now; it's just a memory. The stalker behind you won’t catch you, and Rina is not your friend but a lifeless stand-in for a real version of her.

You are in Purgatory.

You are dead.

Suddenly, a familiar figure invades the blank canvas that your view has become, pacing back and forth in a complete state of disarray across your line of sight. You didn't even notice when you got back from... whatever that was. 

"Can you fucking behave for one second?! Fuck, I was about to call Sera!"

The sudden loudness of Adam’s voice pierces the staticky ambience of the void, making you jump in your skin. In a blink of an eye, he towers over you, taking you by your upper arms and shaking your pliant body for good measure, as if the action will magically put your scattered thoughts back into place.

"I—"

Patient, the man is not. He doesn't give you a chance to think, not to mention put together a decent sentence.

"What did you fucking read?!" Adam shakes his hand in front of your face impatiently, which only makes you annoyed. "Hey?! Are you there?" 

"Fuck off, Adam! Can you let me digest everything first?!" You smack his hand away, but that’s when he takes your face into his grip, claw-like black fingers digging into your cheeks and pulling your face closer to his. You scrunch up your nose and furrow your eyebrows as you glare the beast in the face.

"Tell. Me. Everything. This is no longer the time to be petty. Forget everything that happened up to this point and speak, or keep acting like a brat, and I will have no choice but to tame you like one."

"The only one who needs to be tamed is you." You mumble back as best you can while having your lips puckered up like a fish from the way Adam squishes your cheeks. He clicks his tongue but lets go of your face, silently praying that you would start talking about things that matter right now. And you do, because Adam is looking uncharacteristically serious enough for you to comply. It's not as if you don't want to know what the hell was with that nightmare sequence of a memory. "I swear I didn't read anything! You gave me the colouring sheet, and the drawing on it triggered my memory. But it was different from other times. I used to just sort of hang around in the background while it all unfolded in front of me like a movie, but this time I was reliving it. I didn't even realise that I was in one. At that moment, I lived through my past like it was the present."

"It wasn’t all that bad, seeing you are still your insufferable self."

"It’s like looking into a mirror, isn’t it?" You hum, however, there is still something bothering you. "But I have to ask, is the Purgatory an entity and not a place? I feel someone watching me in my memories, and I highly doubt it's God."

Adam stays quiet for a moment. You stare at one another in complete silence until he breaks off the eye contact by turning towards the desk and picking up a page from the pile that is now smaller than it was when all of this began — the unread pile — only to shove said thing in your face. "Doesn’t matter. I need you to do one more thing for me."

However, you turn your head away just at the right moment.

"No, I don’t want to."

"It’s not what you want!"

"Leave me alone!"

"Stop being so difficult and do as you are fucking told!"

"You don’t know how it feels, Adam!" You cry out, facing him once again. He doesn't say a word as he silently stands with his hand on his hip — the dreaded document still in his grasp. "Watching yourself suffer and not being able to look away! My life was miserable! I had an active stalker, and I had to move around, leaving friends and family behind, only for him to find me over and over again! I don’t want these memories! I don’t want to remember anymore! I was happily oblivious until I got a taste of curiosity. I see why it killed the cat now."

"Listen—"

"Did I kill myself? I did, didn’t I? That’s why I’m in Purgatory, right?"

"Pull yourself together, woman! If that were the case, you would be in Hell. No questions asked. It must have been something more convoluted." Adam tries to reason with you, and surprisingly, you don't argue with him, but from the way your eyebrows pull towards each other, Adam knows that everything he just said was nothing but empty words to you. "Well? Are you calm now?"

You nod, and Adam raises the page with a memory again to your eye level, which in turn causes you to screech as if blinded by the sun. And here Adam thought he made progress with you.

But something is not right.

"It's empty." You deadpan. 

"You don't say."

"How did this even happen? I thought you were in charge."

"The memory took you along with the ink on the document. It all evaporated in front of my fucking eyes! Only when you started reliving it did the words reappear one by one. If you are not living through it, I can't see anything. All of the remaining pages are like that." The angel gestures towards the piles. "Nothing like this has ever happened before. The Purgatory... it is an entity of its own — a type of archaic angel, and we are inside of it. But it does have a very black and white view on things, and that's why it needs to have someone who can supervise it."

"Look at you, acknowledging my question when it suits you." Your words are directed towards him, but instead of focussing on Adam, you look to the side, as if by some miracle the Purgatory just spawned the most beautiful scenery for your starved gaze to feast on. It's your petty attempt to piss him off some more for not telling you about the Purgatory when you brought up the topic to him. And speaking of the dreaded place, it looks like Purgatory needs someone not only competent but compassionate as well for it to do its job efficiently, and they decided to put Adam in charge of the whole place? He was about to send you downstairs without a second look!

"You should trust the first human a bit less, little ballerina."

By now, you know that the silence, no matter how short-lasting it might be, is like an open invitation for the shades to make themselves known. Their soft, silky, siren-like voices are akin to the ripples formed by a stone skipping across a pond — each undulating circle, bigger than the others before it, mirrors the way their voices grow louder. Sure, you have gotten used to their breathless, nonsensical whispers, but they have never provided commentary for the conversations you have with Adam.

"There’s no point in trying to pass through anymore. You’re already too damaged. Just like us."

Adam is saying something in the background — you can hear his voice but not the words he’s speaking all the while you continue to stare off into space, unblinking.

"You should stay. It’s a better fate than the off chance of falling to Hell."

"...Is that so?"

It looks like you interrupted Adam mid-speech.

"What?"

"The pages... they are that way because I didn't follow the rules, right? It's all my fault." You speak again after a minute of silence, right before Adam has a chance to. That's a surprise, usually, he's quite quick with his responses, so he must agree with you. Coming up with a soothing lie requires more time than speaking the ugly truth. "Then what's even the point? Just leave me here. I’m already a damaged soul. How useful would I be in Heaven, if I even went there in the first place?"

There is an air of despondency around you, and Adam's stomach drops as he searches your face for something. "…Is that what the shades are telling you?"

Your silence is enough of an answer for Adam.

"Come on, where did that sharp tongue of yours go?" He chuckles, but his smile is too weak and doesn’t infect you. "I’m not leaving you here." The angel declares stubbornly. 

"Stupid choice, really."

Adam is about to argue with you when he notices that, although you might be speaking to him, your eyes move to look to the side at something that is not there in the flesh but rather in spirit. Without wasting any time, he grabs your chin and redirects your gaze back towards him. "Eyes on me."

You don't argue with him. "So, how am I even supposed to trigger the memory if the memory page is empty?"

"Okay, let's see. Is there a dominant smell that you would associate with the previous memory?"

Rotting trash… piss… vomit… the herbal stench of alcohol from broken bottles mixing up with sewage water…

"Cigarette smoke?" You question as if Adam would now. However, he blindly takes your suggestion and goes with it, completely trusting your intuition. With a snap of his fingers, Adam summons a lit cigarette, making you panic.

"Wait! I don’t want to go back to that memory! Adam, don’t you dare send me back—!"

Your desperate cries fall on deaf ears as Adam takes a puff and blows the acrid smoke right into your face, causing you to choke on it.

Inhale. 

Exhale.

Inhale.

You exhale the puff of smoke as you lean against the driver’s side door of your car, mentally preparing yourself for the day before driving to the studio. A pack of cigarettes is still in your non-dominant hand as you look at it, deep in thought. That’s all you seem to be doing these days — getting lost in them.

A picture of a single opaque cornea stares back at you from the squished and torn box as you take another drag of your cigarette every few minutes while maintaining eye contact with the warning label. The cigarettes you are smoking were once your father’s favourite — he buys stronger ones now. When you bought your first pack, you got so overwhelmed by the variety that you picked the ones you had seen your dad purchase when you were younger. Years later, you still smoke the same ones. It’s the last thing about you that is consistent.

"I feel like an imposter at everything I do." You flick the butt of the cigarette to the ground and stomp on it before unlocking your car and getting inside. At one time in your life, you lived a walking distance from the ballet studio; now it takes you an hour of driving through the desolate countryside roads to get there.

Is it all worth it? You don't know anymore.

But even if the drive is long and boring, at least you know that nothing can get to you while you’re in your car, and if someone were to follow you, you could quickly get to safety. To you, boredom is good because it's safe, and your boring, metal safety bubble is the highlight of your horrible days.

Until you hear the click of a gun behind you.

You look in the rearview mirror only to see the man you have been trying to outrun this whole time. The reflection of his wild stare as he holds the barrel of the gun pressed into the skin at the back of your neck is like a nightmare you wish to wake up from. You weren’t secure anywhere, not even in your car. What more can he ruin?!

"You finally opened the door."

His voice cements the nightmare as reality, and your face scrunches up as the realisation of your situation's direness throws you into a whirlwind of despair. You don’t swallow down the scream fuelled by unadulterated hysteria anymore. You throw it up, making the small space of your car impossible to be in.

You don’t want to die. But perhaps your only escape from this — the ultimate solution — is death? Maybe it isn't, but in that split second, you seal your fate.

"You got into the wrong car, fucker. You want to kill me?! I will take you with me."

Suddenly, you press on the brakes, causing the man to jerk forward and lose his grip on the gun. Not wasting any precious time, you press down on the gas and force the car to swerve off the road into a guardrail at full force.

"You crazy bitch! Stop!"

The least you can do now is pray to God for your soul to find salvation. You close your eyes and tighten your grip on the steering wheel, feeling at peace despite your fear of pain and the unknown that awaits you. A death by your own hand will never be as painful as the one done by that monster's. You know for sure that he wouldn't grant you the pleasure of eternal rest inside a cold, dark casket. No, he would torture you, and you will not give him that satisfaction.

The next time you open your eyes, everything in your body hurts — no, burns. The way that ice burns. 

You don’t yell, don’t plead for help — the only sound coming out of you is this sickening hissing sound of a punctured lung as your chest moves up and down with every strained breath your body forces you to take in its efforts of clinging to life.

Near you lays the man's body, mangled without recognition, or it looks that way; the vision in your right eye is gone, so it's hard to tell for sure. Inadvertently, you drag your limp arm towards your face, only for your fingers to disappear inside an empty eye socket. That means that the milky eyeball in front of you, covered in gritty pavement crumbs, is your own. You stare at it until your vision blurs, and all you see is white.

You drown in it. In that white… blinding... emptiness.

"You killed someone."

It's impossible not to hear his growing acrimony towards you as he vocalises your sin. Adam’s voice is the epitome of nothing, devoid of its usual obnoxious tone and a barely noticeable rasp, which becomes more prominent when he hasn't spoken in a while and disappears as soon as he clears his throat.

"He was going to kill me! I—I had no choice!" Your hands shake as you put one palm against your mouth in absolute horror of what you just relived, but you also feel the need to defend yourself against the angel. "I didn’t want to die, nor did I want to hurt anyone! Even if that someone was a person that wished harm upon me! I had dreams, I had a future! It just—" you choke back on tears. "At that moment, I felt like that was it."

You wish you didn't have your memories back. Trying to explain yourself to Adam felt so humiliating, as his imposing height forced him to look down on you. You felt unworthy of his presence.

"You—" Adam feels his throat tighten. He isn't upset with you — he is furious at Sera.

As soon as you mentioned feeling like you were being monitored in your memories, Adam knew that it couldn't be Purgatory because it simply doesn't have consciousness. It's a dormant entity that — when it came into existence — was given simple instructions to either condemn or forgive. A certain seraph, on the other hand, not only had the motive but also a multitude of eyes to assist her. Perhaps Sera's curiosity was piqued by Lucifer’s brat’s childish delusions regarding redemption. That would explain why he couldn’t simply send you down like he did with other souls. You weren't special — you were a test subject. Despite being a truly good person who lived a virtuous life, you committed the ultimate sin, which is a direct ticket to Hell. Yes, you killed a terrible, poor excuse of a human being, but you had no right to do so because it's not up to humans to decide who lives or dies.

Sera wanted to see if Adam could judge a soul without bias.

Adam doesn’t believe in second chances. In that regard, he was no better than the archaic Purgatory. But who could blame him for seeing things as absolutes? Adam had a first-row seat to see what second chances amounted to. Eve, a woman who was created specifically for him and a literal second chance at love, betrayed his trust and left him, just like Lilith before her. But now, the normally clean-cut line between sinful black and divine white has become blurred into an uncertain grey, and as Adam looks at your terrified face, he realises that he doesn’t have it in himself to let you fall. 

No, Adam couldn't send you down to hell. Your doe eyes are too bright, and your skin is too fragile and porcelain-like, almost brittle to the touch — it would break the moment you stepped into the Pride Ring. You looked angelic, even as a human. He couldn't even begin to imagine how beautiful you would look with a pair of wings and a halo.

"Adam?" The said angel could practically hear your lips quivering. He didn't realise he had left you there with your thoughts, which were no doubt eating you from inside. "Adam, you must have someone you care about! "Please imagine them in my place, and then pass judgement on me."

Adam does have someone he cares about, and that’s why he is already thinking about his first kill for the next year’s extermination. You can't read his twisted, vengeful mind and interpret his silence as a sentence to eternal damnation.

"Oh," you say, your voice lower than usual. Not even in the afterlife do you have autonomy. You were stupid for trying to fool yourself into believing that you did. "I’m going to—"

"Shut up!"

You stop yourself mid-sentence from his outburst.

His next words are much softer, like hot milk soothing a sore throat. "I won’t let you go there."

However, before Adam can declare his final verdict on your soul's fate, the Purgatory acts according to its own evaluation. The white ground, which had not a speck of other colours on it this whole time, suddenly begins turning red — bleeding from underneath your feet and growing into a big puddle that surrounds you like spilt blood. You feel the heat emanating from it, and then it cracks.

"NO!"

Just as the ground gives in underneath your weight, Adam catches your wrist.

"Adam!"

"You are never going there." He declares, but you don't miss how his voice trembles a bit at the end. You look away from him and down towards there that he’s talking about, but Adam digs his sharp claws into the skin of your wrist, successfully bringing your attention towards the hurting part of your body. "You keep looking at me. I won’t let you even get a glance of that wretched place!"

And then you have the nerve to smile at him, "I think the choice is already made, and you don’t have a say in it." You ease your hand out of his hold. "I’m sorry that we got into that argument. I didn’t mean to. But you did say that my actions here won’t affect my fate, so I guess that doesn’t really matter."

"Don’t you fucking dare release my hand! You hold onto it, bitch, or I will get you something to be sorry for!" Adam tugs your dangling body up by your hand and hugs you tightly to his chest, wrapping his golden wings around you securely like a safety blanket for good measure. His face presses against the top of your head as you hear his voice booming in your ears. "Evaluation has determined that this soul is worthy of Heaven!"

Only when Adam sees the familiar surroundings around the two of you does he allow himself to loosen his grip on your body. Thank God that Purgatory doesn't have any influence on angels, because otherwise, he would have thought that he's dreaming this all up.

"Happy rebirthday, gorgeous. Welcome to Heaven." The greeting is nothing like the one he gave you when you first met in Purgatory.

But when he doesn't get any kind of response, not even a twitch out of you, his fingers gently stroke your cheek, hoping to get some kind of reaction out of you to make sure that he wasn't too late and didn't accidentally bring a shade into Heaven.

You are shaking like a leaf under his touch — terrified, still gripping onto Adam’s robes with white knuckles as if the possibility of falling is still there. As if you can’t feel the white wings sprouting out of your back and don’t see the shimmering, iridescent glow of your halo above your head casting a subtle shine on your hair. Your skin tone is a few shades lighter than it was when you were in Purgatory, but for the most part, you still look more or less very human. Adam is quite certain of that. After all, there is nothing in his way that could hide anything unusual from his eyes.

"I don’t have anything on." You finally tilt your head to look up at the first man with those big, infuriatingly beautiful eyes of yours.

"I have eyes, angel."

A thin layer of golden blush coats your face as you press yourself against Adam in hopes of hiding away. "Don’t look!"

His hands, resting on your naked hips, barely noticeably move up and down your body and supply Adam's starved mind with the most vividly descriptive images that no amount of ogling could ever successfully manage to capture.

"I won’t."

Adam would love to stay like this forever, but Heaven isn't a time capsule like Purgatory is, and although in the afterlife time is meaningless, there is more tedious bureaucracy to be done.

"Do you mind if we take a more scenic route? I doubt you are in any shape to use a portal."

"Walking is fine, but, Adam, I'm naked." You hiss, as if what you just said is the most blasphemous thing Heaven has witnessed. The real sin is that Adam can't enjoy the view.

"I will carry you, no worries."

He could conjure something for you to wear, but Adam doesn’t specialise in dressing up women. He has significantly more experience in undressing women, but that's unnecessary since you're already naked. And what you don't know won't hurt you. You can't be mad at him for not dressing you up if you don't know he can do that with a snap of a finger. But the lack of clothing doesn't seem to bother you too much.

Mesmerised, you peek your head out of Adam's embrace to look all around yourself. Having become accustomed to the stark whiteness of Purgatory, you are overwhelmingly awestruck by all of the pearlescent colours surrounding you. Heaven looks quite futuristic, unlike anything you imagined. Truthfully, you don't know what you expected — perhaps something more traditional-looking, Gothic even. It looks as though everything is made out of vibrant stained glass, from the sharp-looking corners and pointy sky-piercing roofs to the glassy ground. The entire promenade resembles a hall of mirrors at carnivals, easy to get lost in.

The building you two enter is commodious and bears a striking architectural resemblance to a Gothic cathedral, while still maintaining the soft pastel colour scheme of Heaven. The sound of Adam's heavy footsteps travels through space, catching the attention of small animal-like creatures who, you guessed, work here.

Adam carefully lowers you to the ground until your bare feet are flat against the cold marble. His next move is to open up the cocoon he made out of his wings, a decision which you are against until you notice that you are already dressed up in a white linen tunic that reaches your knees and completely hides your arms under its moderately wide sleeves.

While you are busy guessing where the clothes came from and wondering why you haven't felt them on your skin until now, Adam can't help but curse himself out inside his head. He couldn't believe he got jealous of the freaking cherubim getting a chance to see you naked that he took it upon himself to dress you up. But all self-deprecation disappears when you turn to face Adam with an excited smile. For a minute, he fears that you somehow read his thoughts.

"Well, do I look worthy of Heaven?"

"Why don't you see for yourself?" Adam shrugs, grabs you, and twirls you around to face a shiny column. It's the first time you see how you look after becoming an angel, but nothing surprises and excites you more than the wings — soon you are arching your back and twisting your neck just to look back at them.

"I can fly?!"

Before Adam has a chance to respond, the small cherub guides you by hand towards the front desk and offers you a leaflet. "Everything you need to know will be found here! And if you have any questions, don't be afraid to contact our headquarters. That's why we are here!"

"Oh, I thought," you are about to turn towards Adam, but the cherub swiftly seizes your attention once more.

"You’re in Heaven now, which means that you are under the care of our department, dear, not the first man. And after we are done with a few more documents, you will be free to live your afterlife as you please!" The little creature gestures to a desk behind them, and you noticeably shiver at the sight of the paper pile. Not again…

You turn back to Adam, feeling an ache in your chest that is difficult to ignore. You got used to Adam’s presence. As much as he could be an annoyance, he is the reason you are safe here.

"Oh, so... I guess this is goodbye? Will I ever see you again?"

"Hm, I don't know. I’m a busy guy, and you're not the only angel in heaven. You're gonna have to make an appointment if you want to come for a chit-chat." However, based on the way your face falls at his words, Adam’s joke is seemingly not as amusing as he thought it to be. With a sigh, he outstretches his arms, and you move in for a hug without any hesitation. "You are losing your edge, angel. Don't tell me you got attached or something."

You remain silent in response, then, after a few minutes, slowly move back and offer a small wave as a goodbye.

"Bye, Adam."  

I'm a huge fucking hypocrite, Adam thinks to himself as he watches you go.

"Bye, angel."

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Shanks rocks up to Lucky and Buggy’s wedding

Interacts with Lucky for like a minute: “you know what, this is nice, real nice, how about instead of it being your wedding (to buggy) it becomes mine”

Got inspired, did a little drabble

Frankly, this whole situation was embarrassing. Not only had you stupidly promised your hand in marriage to a god damn clown, you had now allowed yourself to be captured by said clown. Ashamed was not a strong enough word for how you felt.

Luckily for you, you'd been able to afford yourself some time away from what is regrettably your fiance by insisting that it was traditional for the bride and groom to not see each other right before the wedding. Admittedly, you didn't care much about it, you just wanted to give yourself some time alone and a chance to escape.

This was made difficult thanks to you being stuffed in a wedding gown by a very nervous seamstress that you're 99% sure was here against her will and being locked in the dressing room once she was finished. You weren't about to give up, though. Maybe you could squeeze yourself out of the window?

The escape attempt was shot down almost immediately by a knock at your door. Without waiting for an answer, whoever it was unlocked it and let themselves in. You'd assumed it was Buggy being unable to wait to see you in the wedding gown, but instead a red haired man came in. You can't help but wonder if he's lost, his clothing looks far too casual to be wedding attire.

His smile was warm and he held out a hand to you, "It's nice to finally meet you! I never thought I'd see the day where Buggy got married."

You had no idea who this man was, but politely returned the handshake regardless. His hand was rough and calloused, he most certainly didn't lead a leisurely lifestyle. The sooner you could end this interaction and send him on his way, the sooner you could make a run for it. You laughed awkwardly, "Yeah, I never thought I'd see the day either."

The man raised a brow at your response, but didn't comment on how forced it sounded. You attempted to pull your hand away when the handshake went on for longer than you deemed necessary, but his grip was too tight. It wasn't until you pulled again, harder this time, that he realized what he was doing and let go.

Even he seemed a little startled by his own actions. He scratched the back of his head and chuckled, "Sorry about that, my crew and I were up all night getting ready for the wedding when we caught word of it. I guess I'm a little more tired than I realized." His eyes gave you a once over, fully taking in the gown you were wearing, "Oh, and you look lovely by the way, I can see why he's in such a rush to get a ring on your finger."

"Oh, thank you, that's so kind of you," your voice was borderline monotone. "Also it's fine, don't worry about it." His excuse made sense. With how many people there were that would happily end Buggy if it meant even a slightly improved chance at being with you, the wedding was rushed to say the least. You're pretty sure Buggy was actively hunting down someone to officiate the union as you spoke.

You honestly hadn't expected to see any guests here beyond Buggy's own crew, which again raised the question of: Who are you talking to?

Might as well sate your curiosity and ask, "So... Are you a friend of his?"

His brows raised and his eyes widened slightly. Were you supposed to know who he was already? Oops. He spoke up before you could wrack your brain for clues as to who he was, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that he didn't mention me, he's always been a bit... Moody. I'm Shanks, we grew up together."

Your jaw hit the floor. Shanks? THE Shanks??? The guy that Luffy couldn't shut up about?!

"Y-Y-You're the guy that gave Luffy his hat!" You pointed at him with a shaky hand as all decorum and manners went out the window from the shock of knowing who you were talking to.

Shanks laughed loudly, "The one and only. How is that kid anyway? Seems like he's still getting himself into trouble just like the old days."

"Calling what he gets up to 'trouble' is putting it mildly," that boy can't take two steps onto an island without toppling a government. "He's great though, especially after rescuing Ace."

"I was relieved to see him get out of there safely, too. It's still a bit hard to believe that Buggy is the one who pulled it off, though."

Ah. Yeah. It was hard to believe for you, too. And even more difficult to accept just what that meant for you. You deflated as you were violently reminded of your current situation, "Yeah, I can't believe it either."

"Is everything alright? You don't seem very excited about the wedding," Shanks narrowed his eyes at you, scrutinizing your face for any hints as to why you were acting this way.

You weren't sure if confiding in him was a good idea. He clearly held a level of fondness for Buggy, so it was debatable if he would want to help you escape or keep you here. But... It's not like you had much to lose at this point.

"It's, uh, kind of a funny story. You see, I might've said something along the lines of 'if you save Ace, I will marry you', but like, I didn't think he'd actually be able to do it. So now I'm kinda stuck in this mess where he thinks I really meant it, but I didn't, and we're getting married in like ten minutes give or take and I don't know what to do?" You can only hope that your hastily thrown together explanation not only makes sense, but also earns you some sympathy.

Shanks lips were pursed as he stared down at you, "I did find it odd that your door was locked from the outside."

Hope sparked in your heart. In a fit of desperation, you threw yourself at Shanks and held onto him while looking into his eyes pleadingly, "Please, if you can just get me out of this room, I will really owe you one!" You're sure that the Straw Hats can't be far behind. If you can just get to the shore, they'll likely be there and ready to save you.

His hand rested on your back to keep you steady. Then, it started to gently glide up and down the exposed skin, which felt distinctly not like it was for your comfort. Horror seeped into your very core as you saw an all too familiar gleam in his eyes.

No, please, no. This can't be happening again.

"It would be a shame to let this dress go to waste... Maybe we can continue this on the Red Force? How does that sound?"

Suddenly, the door was thrown open and you saw an absolutely enraged Buggy standing in the entryway. "What are you doing here?! Get away from my wife!"

"But you aren't married yet, she could still be anybody's wife," Shanks tone was teasing but the look in his eyes was anything but.

That set Buggy off and in an instant he was throwing knives right at Shanks who dodged them with ease. You were shoved off to the side as Buggy kept trying and failing to land a hit on Shanks. While the red haired pirate was trying to engage in some witty banter, the clown was having none of it and just shrieked various insults at him.

Using the chaos of the altercation, you quietly slipped out of the room and made a run for it. There wasn't a chance in hell that you were going to stick around to see who won that fight. Because either way, you would be losing.

[ohnococo]

Helping Hand | Bartender!Geto x Server!Reader

Geto is always so helpful when you’re stressed…

❥ WC: 1.2k // SFW

❥ Notes: a request for Geto with a bit of an oral fixation. This one is set in this restaurant au.

❥ Warnings: SFW, light flirting, asshole customers mentioned, ice chewing (I know some ppl hate it lol), finger sucking, gn!reader

minors / ageless blogs blocked on sight

Margarita, Mai Tai, Long Island Iced Tea - seeing Suguru this often during your work day thanks to the new Happy Hour deal would normally make your life a lot easier. He’s kind, flirty, even takes your drinks out to your tables himself, knowing his personal touch usually increases your tips (which he insists on you never splitting with him, pointing out how quickly his jar at the bar fills up night after night). With the amount of assholes that had come in today, even his smiling face - and Yuki’s not-so-subtle attempts to play wing-woman as she helps him with the 2-for-1 onslaught behind the bar - had been unable to lift your spirits.

There was a tipping point between alcohol making customers more pliant (and open to putting a little extra money on the table at the end of their meal) and alcohol making them irritable and impatient. So far today your section seemed to almost exclusively be diving right into the latter end of drinking.

This particular table had more or less cannonballed right into being assholes. Mad that a special from last year isn’t still on, annoyed that they couldn’t get a specific booth during the busiest time of the week, changing their order once it’s already been sent back to the kitchen, eating most of it before complaining it was incorrect. Now they were parked at the table, ordering more drinks, racking up a bill you already knew you were lucky to get the change in the bottom of their purses as a tip on top of.

Suguru has a keen eye, even when he’s swamped and pouring drink after drink, so he’d been extra careful with every order you’d sent back from them. Filling drinks to the brim, low ice, a little extra on the garnishes, and he’d reminded you every time you came over to grab them that he’d have brought them over personally if only he could get a second to step away from the bar.

Alas, even with Yuki there alongside him, you were just that busy tonight. The offer still gave you butterflies, something you suspected that Suguru knew all too well as he seemed to always manage to break away from whatever he was doing if only for a second to send a smile your way as you pick up drinks.

This visit to the bar rewards you with his smile as usual when you rush over to grab the latest batch of drinks, but this time he lingers a little longer than he had earlier in the night.

“Hey.” It’s said softly, barely audible over the chatter of the packed restaurant and the dissonance of the TVs playing various sports games, but it earns your full attention nonetheless. “Take a breather if you need to, they can wait.”

He nods towards your table, and you follow his gaze, wanting to take his suggestion but not wanting to make your work any harder than it already is. “They’ll complain…”

You look back to him just as he shrugs. “They’re going to complain anyway. I think that’s their main hobby.”

You laugh, happy to let a little of the tension building in your shoulders release, and Suguru notices right away, “There you go, just relax a little. Here, I’ll join you.”

He dips beneath the bar for a second, bringing up his own water he had stashed away beneath, and taking a drink as he leans against the bar. He tilts it back far enough to pour a little ice into his mouth, before an idea hits him for while he’s got you captive for a minute. “Want me to pour you a drink?”

“Suguru…”

“Non-alcoholic, obviously.” He smiles, in a way that tells you the non-alcoholic part may just be in quotes. The flash of his teeth and his lowered lids actually has you considering it for a moment, then considering other ways to relieve your stress as his mouth distracts you.

His jaw tenses as he bites down on the ice, and his eyes stay on yours as he hollows his cheeks and moves the cold fragments around in his mouth. He pushes it to one side with his tongue, brows lifting in a way that exposes just how obvious you are when he draws your attention to his mouth like this. Not that you were ever able to be subtle when he was always chewing on ice, or moving a toothpick around in his mouth, or any of the other things that he surely must know highlight his perfect jaw and soft lips…

“Don’t worry, you’re allowed to say yes.” His voice pulls you from your train of thought, something you’re grateful for as you know you can’t let yourself get too distracted tonight.

“Sorry Suguru, I’m only half way through my shift. Gotta stay sharp.”

He nods, look of disappointment and acceptance battling for prominence on his handsome face, before chewing the last of the ice that hadn’t melted from the heat of his mouth as he slides the drinks closer to you across the bar. “Fair enough, maybe later.”

“Yeah, later sounds nice.”

You take a breath as you pick up the drinks, preparing yourself for whatever complaint your table will come up with next, and turn to face them.

Suddenly, Gojo goes whizzing by, plates counterbalanced perfectly on his tray, though you aren’t quite so lucky with your balance as you jolt back and out of the path he’d already corrected, spilling one of the drinks down your hand as he throws a quick apology over his shoulder on his way over to his own section.

“Shit…” You turn back to the bar to set the drinks down on cocktail napkins, only to find Suguru already reaching over to top up what had spilled, saving you potential hassle from your table.

You take a few extra napkins from the pile and lift your arm to dab at the drops running down it, happy you at least weren’t going to be stuck with the deadly sticky combination of grenadine and orange juice splashed on your top, and shoot Suguru a relieved smile as he wipes the outside of the glass before resettling it’s straw and sliding it back over to you.

“There you go, good as new.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

You reach for the drink, only to be stopped by a gentle hand on your wrist, with a breathy sigh of, “Wait.” coming from Suguru’s perfect mouth.

You expect an extra garnish, another napkin to clean your fingers further, or one of the other million gestures Geto has in his arsenal to make your job a little easier. You expect anything but what he actually does as he pulls your hand to his mouth, eyes still on yours, and quickly sucks any remaining stickiness off of each of your fingers one by one. It’s quick, an action done with a casualness as if it were entirely normal, though the glint in his eyes as he carefully observes you for any signs of discomfort betrays the reality of it all.

He releases your hand and pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking at it as if it would provide any lingering taste of your fingertips. “All clean.”

Then he sends you on your way, because the assholes at table 6 are waiting after all. Though they’re the last thing on your mind as you leave the bar with your head spinning.

Dividers by @//cafekitsune

[donaweasley]

Everything is Fair in Love and War

Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Plot:

You had met the twins at Hogwarts; you’re a year junior to them. Although you are best friends with both of them, you cannot help your heart’s inclination towards the younger one. During one of your stays at the Burrow, some feelings threaten to spill out but…will they?

Warnings: None, really. Just some high school mischief and fluff.

Read time: ~11 mins

Note: I've assumed that the reader is 14 years of age here but you're free to put in any number you like! And you can put the reader in any house you wish to!

Next Chapter: A Walk in the Dark

The three of them - Fred, George and (Y/N) - were hanging out in the twins' room. Ron and Ginny were confined to the kitchen by their mother, courtesy of the fight they had earlier in the morning.

"Freeedd!" Mrs. Weasley's sharp voice shot through the house.

Fred groaned while the other two chuckled, knowing very well that he was only one step away from being pushed into a chore.

"What is it, mum?" He asked in an almost equally loud voice.

"Come down here, I need you to put these dishes on the shelves."

"But Ron and Gin are already there!"

"They already have enough to do. Just get down before I shout myself sore."

"I'm keeping (Y/N) company! She's our guest."

"One of you would be enough to keep her company for a while. Now get down here before I confiscate your broom!"

The last three words finally urged Fred to move towards the door. George and (Y/N) sniggered only to receive a death glare from him before he wearily walked out.

"See, told you I'm mum's favourite twin", George smirked, and plopped down on the vacant space that Fred had left beside her.

"Ha ha ha. Yes, I can see that everyday."

"Do I smell sarcasm?"

"Do you?" She sniffed the air. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Huh! Whatever you say, darling, I know I'm the favourite one. And not just for mum." With the last word he leaned in slightly, and playfully kicked her leg while giving a smug look.

(Y/N) felt her cheeks warm up because no matter how much she denied, he was right. He was definitely her favourite twin, too. But the questions that clouded her mind were, "Does he know that I have a crush on him? Shit!! How? Am I that obvious?"

If he knew, there would have been nothing more embarrassing and painful to be teased by both brothers only to eventually face rejection.

No. Not happening!

She mustered her courage, gathered all her emotions that were scattered around George Weasley, and decided to play cool.

To push her rising discomfort away, she kicked him back. Lightly.

"In your dreams, Weasley!" (Y/N) tried to sound vain but facepalmed herself mentally when the words sounded pretty shy.

Idiot me!

George simply laughed and kicked her again. This went on to and fro for a while until he accidentally hit a little hard.

"Aah!" She shouted and tried to kick him harder but George had much quicker reflexes than she’d probably ever have. (Y/N) immediately found her legs wrapped in his, unable to move them at all.

"Leave me, Weasley!"

He simply laughed at his friend’s miserable state. Now, George has this infectious laugh that always left its effects on her.

And soon, through an avalanche of laughs cascading from both of them, she was hitting his arms and back.

There were rare, almost zero incidents, when (Y/N) had actually won a fight with either of the twins. The only way she could win was emotionally. Sometimes. Their tall and strong frames effortlessly dominated her on any given day.

And the same happened again.

She was already partially imprisoned by George. The remaining of her limbs were soon held tightly in his hand. In one hand.

Oh! Why am I so tiny before them!!

She tried to jerk herself free but in vain. Obviously.

"George!! Let go of me!"

"You should've thought before you started hitting me."

"I didn't start! You did! You kicked me first."

He made a face as though he received the biggest shock of his life.

"What?? That was just...just...a touch! I'm sure you barely felt it!"

"No, it was not! Now", She was grunting by then, trying to free herself, although she would never confess that she was rather enjoying it thoroughly, "leave me, buffoon!"

"I'd expect some respect, missy!"

"Okay, how about", she pretended to think, "baboon? You have the exact same kind of limbs. And face, too!"

"What? Are you blind? You call this handsome and charming man a baboon?"

"Hah! You are very delusional, I must say then!"

"M not! You're mental, I must say then."

"George", She drawled out his name, "you're so taallllll! Look at me. I'm so tinyyyy! Let me goooo." She tried to make puppy eyes and pout.

He sighed. "Alright. Say 'please'."

The girl pursed her lips and looked away. That, she wasn't going to say.

"I didn't hear anything yet!"

"Fine then. I won't say it. Keep me holding all day long. Your mum will come to my rescue", she shrugged.

"Okay!" And he wrapped his arms around her tightly, and started tickling.

"Not fair!" She squirmed and shouted, trying desperately to free herself but failing.

"Y’know it: everything's fair in love and war", he panted as he tried to keep a tight hold on his prey and continue his torture.

"Oh! So, we’re at war, are we?" (Y/N) was laughing like a maniac by then. Her cheeks and tummy were hurting.

"No, darling! I’m in love with yo-"

He almost mumbled the last few words. The most important words, at least to (Y/N). And then he stopped abruptly. Both in words and actions.

Her head shot up to face him.

What the hell was that? What did he just say? Did he mean it?

(Y/N)’s thoughts were screaming and running wild inside her head. She could feel her ears burn.

Thankfully, she wasn't the only one who went red in the face. George's face was as red as hers was.

They sat frozen, with her still locked in his grip.

"I... I...", George tried to say something. She wanted to hear something. That thing. But all they could do was stare into each other's eyes.

"Is this the moment then?" she thought. "Will he... Shall I... Does he..."

But alas! Before any of her wishes could come true, George snapped out his trance. He quickly released her from his grip, and looked at the floor, thus snapping her out of her trance as well. Suddenly they both found the floor pretty interesting.

There was an awkward silence looming in the room. (Y/N) felt thrilled, disappointed, hopeful, shy - all at the same time. It was like her mind was having an emotional indigestion.

Shoving all thoughts behind into the closet of her mind, she turned towards him.

"Let's go dow-", they both said together. Thankfully, the laughter that followed, although a nervous one, chased the heavy and uncomfortable silence away, making the air easy and breathable again. But the hint of pink that had settled on their cheeks wasn’t going anywhere easily.

He got up and offered her his hand. "Downstairs", he smiled.

"Downstairs", she agreed and took his hand.

---

Meanwhile, in the kitchen...

"Aah!"

"Leave me, Weasley!"

"You should've thought before you started hitting me."

"I didn't start! You did! You kicked me first."

"What?? That was just..."

Fred looked at his mother with an exaggeratedly helpless face, "See, mum. This is exactly why I didn't want to leave them alone. One of them is going to get hurt."

"Okay, how about...baboon?"

Molly sighed and shook her head while Ron and Ginny exchanged funny glances.

"Oh! So, we’re at war, are we?"

"No, darling! ..."

And then there was silence. An abrupt silence. All of them paused their work and looked up towards the twins' room.

"D'you think one of them is dead?" Ron asked with wide eyes.

"Oh! Shut up, Ron! George must have hit (Y/N) and now he's regretting it", Ginny justified. "He's going to regret it so much!!" Her eyes lit up with the idea of her friend taking revenge on her brother.

"Did they finally kiss?" Fred quipped.

Three pairs of wide eyes shot towards Fred.

"Bloody hell!"

"Already?"

Molly simply gasped.

Fred threw his hands up in the air. "Just guessing!"

All the Weasley's could clearly see what (Y/N) and George could not: that they fancied each other. A lot. So, it wasn't the idea of them being together that shocked them but the thought that they could finally see through their friendship and acknowledge their feelings was what left them speechless.

The more the silence lingered the higher their curiosity peaked until they heard footsteps descending the stairs.

All eyes were fixed on the stairs, waiting to find an answer and cool down the questions that were bubbling in the pits of their stomachs.

---

George and (Y/N) made their way downstairs rather quietly, hand-in-hand though. Holding hands was perfectly normal for them but the silence was unusual, unless they were on to some mischief. And it felt pretty weird. The unspoken tension between the two was still hanging in the air, and her stomach churned at the thought of the possibilities that might be going on in George's mind.

As they reached the final flight of stairs, (Y/N) realised that the rest of the family were staring up at them as though they were anticipating a dinosaur to descend into the living room. George, too, had evidently noticed it because he stopped in his tracks, trying to gauge the situation.

"You all okay?" He asked with furrowed brows.

(Y/N) was sure she noticed Molly's eyes flick between their faces and their interlocked hands. But before she could even think "why", she was knocked off her feet.

"Did you two kiss?" Ron blurted out.

"What??" They shouted in unison.

As if the existing tension wasn't enough, it felt like thunder had exploded between them, exactly where George and (Y/N) were standing. With a jolt, they released each other's hands and stepped away as much as the staircase would allow them to. The pink on their cheeks turned to deep red, and she found herself at an utter loss of words.

What a ridiculous question!! In front of Molly? In front of Molly?? In front of George? What would he be thinking? What if he's so embarrassed that he never speaks to me again? 

Wait! Why did Ron say so in the first place?

Her train of thoughts got interrupted by a flustered George shouting at his little brother, "Have you gone bonkers?? Why the hell would you say so?"

"So, you did not?" Fred sounded sceptical.

(Y/N) stepped forward boldly, "Of course, not! Why are you all looking at us like this?" In contrast to her bold step, her words came out in a squeak.

"Oh! Nothing!" Molly looked as though she had suddenly returned to Earth. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the whole situation. "Carry on", she said, and went out of the house casually as if nothing that had happened was out of place.

George and his partner-in-crime, both utterly baffled, looked at each other, trying to make out what just happened. None of them had the slightest clue.

They went down the remaining steps very cautiously, as if the slightest action might trigger another weird question. All the siblings were pretending to work diligently but their faces gave away the knots in their minds. Gingerly, they made their way to Ron, knowing that he'd be a much softer target than either Ginny or Fred.

"Ronnie?" (Y/N) placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, (Y/N)?" His voice was absolutely cool as though nothing odd had happened.

"D'you mind explaining?" George stood facing his brother.

"What?"

"Ron", George almost growled which startled us all.

"Okay! Okay!"

Through a rush of words, he explained their ideas and speculations, ultimately leaving both George and (Y/N) red-faced again.

When he had finished, Ron received a good smack on the back of his head, the action instantly reminding them of Snape.

"I didn't say anything! He did!" Ron shouted, pointing towards Fred.

"Uuuhhh...I was just... guessing?" Fred raised his hands in the air in surrender.

"It isn't funny", a red-faced George warned him.

"Noted!" His twin nodded enthusiastically.

The guest in the Burrow didn't know what to say. Or how to react. A part of her was hopping like a little girl because they thought that she and George were a thing. But George here was furious about the whole situation. Her heart dropped. She tried to look annoyed and faked a scoff but probably her eyes gave the disappointment away because she noticed Fred looking at her in a rather odd way.

Little did she know then that George was reflecting her thoughts. That he was pulled into the same whirlpool of conflicts that had messed up her mind.

They sat down at the table to lend a hand to Ron and Ginny while exchanging awkward looks and smiles with each other.

***

Taglist!! Let me know if you wish to be added...or removed.

@scram1326 @ariaterum @persephone13 @gimme-gimme-georgie-weasley @nunanuggets @lolhelpimtired @madmadgirlperson @dontfallinlovelol @r4ttusr4ttus @emilykolchivans @queerponcho @loveforweasley @turvi @lovers-111 @waitforiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit @justafangir1 @the-holy-trinity-l @minatozsana @baddiebbarbietngz

[mya-valentine]

Here it is again! :)

Can I have a angst request about My oc Chiu, while talking to someone in the hallway, and unbeknownst to her, Class 1-A was in the main room of their dorms, and she accidentally reveals within earshot how she was TW: Abused in a psych ward in a attempt to “beat her quirk out of her” from ages 7 to 13.

(It’s why she’s so self-deprecating and afraid of others, and why she would refuse the help of Class 1-A.)

(What she said :()

Embers of the Past

The day had been long, filled with training and classes that left Class 1-A drained but buzzing with the energy that only came from pushing their limits. As evening set in, most of the students found themselves lounging around the common room of the dorms, sharing stories, snacks, and jokes to unwind. It was a rare moment of ease, where everyone could feel the warmth of camaraderie—a reminder of why they were all here, together, as aspiring heroes.

Chiu had slipped out quietly, intending to escape the noise and find some time alone in the hall. She wasn’t used to this—having friends, being part of a group where she was welcome. She’d avoided making deep connections with anyone, afraid of the walls she would inevitably build between herself and the others. They didn’t need to know her past; no one needed to see that darkness.

Yet tonight, one of the support course students, who’d caught Chiu alone in the hallway, recognized the distant look in her eyes and the way her shoulders seemed to carry an invisible weight. They asked her if she was alright.

At first, Chiu tried to deflect, shrugging with her usual guarded demeanor. But something in the gentle, understanding tone of her classmate softened her edges, just a little. She hesitated, debating how much she should reveal. But the loneliness she’d kept locked inside for so many years clawed at her. She could feel the words fighting to escape, despite every instinct screaming at her to remain silent.

"I... It’s... been harder lately," she admitted, voice barely a whisper. "Everyone’s been so kind to me, but... I... don’t deserve them. Not after what happened... with the psych ward, Father..."

Unbeknownst to her, her voice carried further than she thought. In the common room, the chatter started to fade as classmates leaned forward, straining to catch her words through the quiet hum of the dorm.

Chiu continued, unable to hold back the years of buried pain and self-loathing, her voice trembling. "It... It wasn’t his fault they sent me away, to that place." She clenched her fists, her fingers digging into her palms. "All those years of abuse... being caned, hit, having those drugs forced down my throat... they... they said I was useless. A danger to society."

The air in the common room grew heavy, her classmates' faces frozen in silent shock as they listened. For many of them, this was a glimpse into a side of Chiu that they’d never seen before. They knew she was distant, often brooding, but they’d never imagined the pain she carried.

Chiu’s voice dropped, but it was loud enough for the rest of them to hear. "They say I can trust them, this class... but that’s what everyone else said to me all those years. Trust me, they’d say, over and over."

Ochaco’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with horror as she exchanged a look with Tsu, whose usual calm expression had morphed into one of deep sadness. Midoriya, too, looked pained, a fierce determination in his eyes as he took in Chiu’s words.

"I’m a monster," Chiu whispered, voice cracking under the weight of her confession. "And that’s okay. I’m useless, and that’s all I’ll ever be."

At that moment, Kirishima rose from his seat, fists clenched. He looked at Bakugo, whose usual explosive anger was tempered with a strange, quiet fury. Without a word, they both nodded, signaling a silent agreement that they couldn’t let this go unanswered.

As Chiu continued to speak to her classmate in the hall, oblivious to the listening crowd in the common room, Bakugo strode to the door, his eyes blazing with determination. He opened it, and before Chiu could even react, he was there, standing in the doorway with the rest of the class filtering in behind him. The entire Class 1-A had come to confront the darkness she’d just unwittingly bared.

She took a shaky step back, stunned, face paling as she realized they had all overheard her.

Bakugo looked at her, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, yet filled with intensity. “Whoever told you that you’re useless… or a monster… they were wrong, Chiu. You’re stronger than any of those assholes who tried to hurt you.”

Todoroki stepped forward, his gaze steady and filled with an empathy that he, of all people, knew how to offer. "You’re not a monster, Chiu. I know... what it’s like to have a past you’d rather forget. But whatever happened then doesn’t define who you are now."

Ochaco moved to stand beside her, gently reaching out. "You deserve kindness, Chiu. Whatever they did to you, it doesn’t make you any less worthy of the care people want to give you now."

Chiu stared at them, the fierce loyalty in their eyes, the warmth in Ochaco’s hand on her shoulder, and the unyielding support surrounding her. It was overwhelming. Part of her wanted to pull back, retreat into the walls she’d built, but something within her faltered, allowing their words to sink in.

“It’s not that easy,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “I’ve spent so long being afraid… of what I might do to the people around me. I can’t put any of you through that. I don’t deserve to.”

Kirishima stepped forward, his voice gentle yet firm. “No one’s asking you to carry that alone. We’re here, Chiu. We’re all here for you.”

Midoriya took a shaky breath, fighting back tears. "Heroes... heroes don’t give up on people, Chiu. And we won’t give up on you. Let us be there, even if it’s hard to believe. We’re not going anywhere."

Chiu looked at each of them, the familiar faces she’d pushed away for so long now looking at her with unshakable support. Her defenses wavered, and she could feel the tears building in her eyes, memories of years of pain, isolation, and mistrust cracking her exterior.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” Tsu added, her soft voice steady. “Let us be your friends~ribbit.”

The silence that followed was thick, charged with the weight of shared understanding. Finally, with a barely perceptible nod, Chiu allowed herself to believe, if only for a moment, that she could trust them. That maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t a monster, nor useless, nor beyond redemption.

And in that moment, surrounded by her classmates, she felt the first flicker of hope she’d known in years.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[fatuismooches]

its like... late and i need to dump all the little angst scenarios i think of in my dumb little head (i didnt include all of the harbingers because i didnt have ideas for all of them... sob sniff) (i need someone you understand and u are the #1 fatui lover in my heart)

After the funeral of the readers beloved, the tsaritsa never know that the readers tears were harsher than her blizzards (this sounds so corny but it's late plea)

The reader begging their harbinger s/o not to go on a mission in the nation the traveler is at because they're so paranoid that they'll end up in a coffin as well. (this could work in the same universe as the previous one) (Oh No .)

Dottore's lover feeling inadequate to his intelligence, so they end up staying up until ungodly hours studying and Dottore doesn't notice due to his lack of a need for sleep, causing them to collapse due to exhaustion while helping Dottore with his experiments

Columbina's lover practicing so hard for a duet they're supposed to perform that they end up losing their voice the day before the performance

Capitano's lover growing frustrated yet feeling selfish at him treating them like glass. They know it's because he's being overly weary of his strength, but they'd rather be crushed in a hug than treated like a porcelain doll that'll crack at the slightest gust of wind (it took me, way too hard to spell porcelain it was humiliating .)

Back to the handmade gift darling for pantalone.. Pantalone's darling who feels so frustrated because they know their gifts will never amount to the beautiful accessories he can just buy, unable to realize it's the love behind them that Pantalone cherishes

La Signora's lover wanting to be someone she can rely on, but it's early in the relationship and her heart has not yet melted for the reader. The reader wonders if it's their fault, not knowing La Signora just doesn't know how to deal with pure hearted love again.

Scaramouche's lover being mistaken for a caretaker because of the height difference /JOKING ILL BE SERIOUS

Scaramouche's lover often feeling themselves get closer to succumbing to their mortality. It's the little things, but it makes them oh so paranoid.. They've done everything to try to stop it, hell they even went to The Doctor about it against Scaramouche's wishes, but there's nothing that isn't.. inhumane that can happen. If they take the offer is up to you to decide <3

(cw; vomit) Arlecchino's lover who is a performer, who gets so nervous and paranoid about messing up that they end up vomiting backstage, causing the performance to have to take an emergency intermission/delay depending on how large the role the reader was playing. (I don't think she'd know immediately? i think she'd have to hear some like, other actors gossiping about it to realize)

- 🎈 is going insane

🎈 ANON WHO HURT YOU..........

Though only Harbingers were allowed to be at the funeral for another Harbinger, out of courtesy, you were allowed to be there as well. Did you care about the looks you were getting from the others? No. All you could see was your beloved's coffin that they should not be in. They should be by your side, still in this world. But they weren't and would never be ever again. Should you have tried harder to convince them not to go? You should have accompanied them at the very least. Maybe you could have protected them somehow. But no one can turn back time. (We know reader is gonna be on the Traveler's ass from then on... they are NOT safe. Reader gets a personal apology and head pat from the Tsaritsa though... she knows what they're going through.)

STOP THE DOTTORE ONE ACTUALLY HIT ME CUZ THAT'S SOMETHING I'D PROBABLY DO 😭💔 It was so hard sometimes, always comparing yourself to him, not to mention, you knew other people looked down on you because surely there was no someone like you could ever compare to the intelligence of the Doctor? And well, they were probably right, but that didn't make it hurt any less :( Yet no matter how much you tried you always felt inferior to his brilliance, and in fact only managed to hinder him more with your lack of performance.

You were so scared about not being able to live up to Columbina's voice, that you'd only mess up and thus damage her reputation and embarrass the both of you to all of Snezhnaya. You could not bear for that to happen and forced yourself to practice even more by yourself without Bina knowing. She is far more upset by the fact you hurt yourself rather than the performance :( (But she will have to call up Dottore for a quick remedy dw)

CAPITANO 😭😭 It bothered you a little bit at first, but you thought as the relationship moved on he would too, and he would realize that you're not as weak as he thinks, and he should have more faith in himself! You're wrong. It's been months and he's still scared to even do the basics of affection. And it's driving you crazy. You just want your husband... to *be* your husband! You want to hug him and be picked up bridal style and be carried and all of the sort! You're going to have to have a serious talk with him and hopefully Capitano will understand before he loses his spouse 🚶‍♀️

breaking down at Pantalone's... 🎈 ANON ARE U OK. You loved making handmade gifts for your beloved but you couldn't help but compare them to others. How could your little trinkets ever hold up to the expensive and professionally made ones? Yours were practically nothing to them, there was no real value in them and were easily discarded. You start to get a bit embarrassed by them and stop making it, to which Pantalone is confused. (Little do you know Pantalone much more cares for the sentimental value of your gifts, the fact that you pour so much time, energy, and most importantly love, into it, warms his heart far more than you'd ever know.)

SIGNORA MY BABY NO. She hasn't been vulnerable in so long, to the point where she doesn't even know how to open herself up again, especially in a romantic manner. She loves you, she really does, but she simply cannot give herself to you completely yet. It's a long, enduring process... one that you would absolutely wait for no matter the duration. Unfortunately, the communication skills are not the best as Signora doesn't know how to convey this to you nor do you know how to bring it up.

HELP SCARAAAA 😭 If you're taller than him then he'll definitely always be salty about it 💀 But ahem. Moving onto the angst. You are literally so big brained because I kind of wrote something like this for a Scara fic but scraped it but!! YES!! I imagine after reader hears Scara's backstory, all the people he has lost and was "betrayed" by, they would never want to put him through that kind of suffering and pain ever again. You do not want to be another "betrayal" in his life. And who else knows the answer to immortality, a longer life, better than the Doctor he's been working with...? The scientist promises that it won't hurt... not too much at least. He'll see what he can do... with some compromises in return.

You always loved performing, but even you got the jitters. Sometimes. Well, most of the time actually. And it was even worse when you knew your lover would be watching. You were terrified of messing up, to not living up to her high standards. You could handle criticism but thinking of the possible sharp and harsh words Arlie could give you made you sick with worry and fear. Unbeknownst to Arlecchino, she had no idea you were so caught up with what other people thought.

Not you giving me mega brainrot,,, these will permanently be etched into my tiny little brain

[layraket]

Day 16 - Necrosis

Character(s): Colors (Green and Vio) (LBS)

Words: 1106

Summary: Vio is wondering how would it work for a shadow being the process of dead

Whump scale: 2 (see the full scale here)

Warnings: Discussion of death, implied character death

-

It has been some months since they came back to their home, now just patrolling around and helping their father with monsters.

Zelda managed to imitate the magic of the Four Sword and gave them an amulet to split. It’s not permanent, it would last only two days and will need to recharge, but it’s some progress.

The first time they split again was in front of their father, he didn’t take it too bad—He freaked out a little, but it wasn’t that bad— and made his mission of raise them all together. Blue at first didn’t though that this was a good idea, but at the end he accepted.

Green and Vio went for a walk around their house, ending up siting on a big rock next to the river.

“I had missed this river” The leaf-like hero commented, watching the fish and crabs in the water.

“It’s smaller than I remember. There should be even more crabs” Vio always looked for the familiar, practical things to comment and analyze.

He got more and more attentive through time since their adventure finished, preferring to overanalyze almost anything he saw.

“Maybe it’s because of the season, the river is bigger after winter, remember?” Before his brother gets to try and search for more reasons he wanted to give him a simple answer.

“Mm, maybe it’s true” His eyes have been more unfocused since the last time he saw him, very distracted too.

Silence fell between them once again. Green wanted to help his brother; he knew that Vio was hiding something that bothered him.

A sigh made him turn his attention again towards the violet hero “Do you know how Necrosis works on injures?”

“What.” That’s a very weird and normal thing for Vio to ask at the same time.

“It’s when premature cells die, unable to regulate ingestion of components” He grabbed a leaf that fell close to him. “When the cells get infected or trauma it causes them to start dying, causing inflammation or making it impossible to heal that injury”

This talk reminded Green of that one book that Vio seemed interested a while ago, something about “Cellular process of death” or something like that. He didn’t pay attention too much to that kind of books.

“Huh, really? I didn’t know that” Now thinking about all the injuries, would they get at some point something like this?

“Yeah, if not threated it would start expanding” The leaf Vio grabbed some moments ago was slowly getting peeled off from its veins “It is not mortal though, unless the infection is in an organ”

That was. A little disturbing.

“Most I know is how it works in normal hylians, and a little on animals. But in different races it gets a little weird” The skeleton of the leaf was almost clean now.

“What do you mean?” This already got Green’s attention. How much time did Vio spend reading without them noticing?

“For example:” He grabbed a small rock “For gorons this works as a process of solidification, the cells that allow free movement and flexibility for their bodies start dying, just leaving the different minerals that make their skin act like rocks”

Huh, that made some sense, Gorons always seemed like weird lizards for Green “So, they get these minerals into their bodies by…”

“Eating” The violet hero knocked a little the rock that they were sitting on with the other one “That’s why they need so much a good quality of rocks and minerals. In Eldin there’s a lot of these”

“Right” He’s barely processing the information, but not every day Vio starts sharing so much of what he reads.

“Going back with the process, the death of their cells will leave only minerals, which will solidify into pure rocks, making the risk of losing some extremity for an injury like this a possibility” He hit the rock harder, until it cracked. “If we take the solidified part and crack it open, in the center there will be a big concentration of various minerals crystalized.”

He showed Green the rock open in two, in it being visible a small geode with maybe quartz and bits of iron. It was pretty.

“So that’s why even if their bodies are really strong they take care of all injuries with caution” He remembers seeing gorons fuzz over cuts, declaring that they didn’t want it to get infected. Maybe it was because of that.

Vio hummed in agreement and went back to the leaf, almost finishing peeling it to only leave the skeleton.

“For most races is almost the same, maybe exceptions with plant-based ones and some kinds of monsters, but I still need to learn about it” The skeleton of the leaf was now completely clean “Together with how it works with magic-based beings.”

“Magic-based? Do you mean…” His gut had a feeling.

“Creatures that their flesh was created by external means, like invocations and corporeal spirits.” He put the skeleton of the leaf in one of the pieces of the rock, making sure that it didn’t break.

“But it would work different, right?” Green tried to make sense what Vio told him moments before “If this is the death of cells making it impossible to heal a wound, those that were made by magic would be able to heal themselves?”

“It’s possible” Vio’s eyes seemed now distant “Maybe with a specific kind of magic, or maybe with the element that the being was created from, but it isn’t completely sure.”

“Mm…” There’s something that he wants to ask, but he wasn’t sure if it would be appropriated.

The fact that Vio had been searching information about this makes his stomach have a bad feeling.

“No, I couldn’t find anything about this process in shadow beings” The violet hero declared suddenly in a neutral voice.

That took Green a little for surprise, maybe he was easier to read that he though.

“Maybe in another book? Zelda has a lot in the library at the castle” He knew the state that Vio was, even if he hasn’t tried to tell any of them.

“Maybe.” He closed the geode with the other half of the rock, with the skeleton inside. “If someone had the right amount of energy and was able to recreate a source of this element, a new body could be formed with functional cells. Maybe even stronger ones.”

“It would need a lot of research to get”

“Yeah. I suppose.”

…

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I could’ve helped him. I know that if I…”

“Maybe you could’ve, but it happened.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Nobody does.”

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

So I’m 27 next month and I don’t know what to do. I had been studying at college/university in 2019 but dropped out due to my health, tried to get a job but failed, and then a family member died and the pandemic hit all in 2020, and then obviously there was all the lockdowns and I was forced into signing up for benefits here in the UK and it’s 2024, and I’m still unable to get back into work and I’m still seeing a psychologist and I just don’t know what to do anymore as I feel like my life is slipping past me and I’m not able to do anything about it, I know I’m not stupid and I know I’m capable and have career aspirations but also family aspirations. I’ve never had a boyfriend and while I want to have a good career I also want to get married and have children more so, I love kids and I feel like I’m never going to get either. I mean it’s three years until I’m thirty years old, and if I sign up to go back to university then it’s three or four years before I graduate and then years trying to build a career for myself.

Oh anon, I feel for you. I really do. I've several relatives who are (and were) similarly stuck - some of them were impacted by the pandemic years, and others were impacted by the 2008 global meltdown - so I know how hard you're feeling everything.

A few things to keep in mind first:

Everyone does life at their own pace. You are exactly where you're supposed to be because that's exactly where you're meant to be. You are doing just fine being right where you are. As long as you keep putting one foot in front of the other, you'll get to wherever you want to go, even if you take a few detours along the way.

When we judge ourselves by other people, we have a tendencey to compare our worst days to other people's best days because we're our own worst critic. (I blame social media for that - people only share the best things on social media which makes it look like everyone is happy little clams living picture-perfect lives while you're stuck down here in the muck trying to shovel out from two years' of rain.)

I think you'll find that there are more people who feel like you than people who'll say they're living their best life and they wouldn't change a thing.

27 is pretty young, and so is 30 for that matter. If you look at the whole scope of life, what is 'another 3 years' but a drop in the bucket, especially if it will make you happy? You may not have anything to lose if you go back to school now, if that's really what you want to do. But if your heart isn't it, or you'd be doing it because it's what you think you should do, then that may not be the right thing for you. And that's okay!

I don't know a whole lot about the UK in terms of career choices, higher education,a nd job opportunities so I don't know how practical or realistic some of my advice could be. But here goes.

Does it have to be a professional/academic program? Maybe there are trade schools or vocational programs you can look into instead. I think the UK might call it Further Education colleges? (We call it community college here in the US.)

And if you love children, what's stopping you from working with them now? You could become a nursery assistant or a midwife, a nanny or an au pair. You could volunteer with an organization that focuses on children or youth services, or maybe work for one as a receptionist?

One of the things I've learned from my cousins' experiences pulling out of the economic collapse or COVID-stasis is that sometimes the unconventional path is better, luckier, and more successful. So don't think you have to go for a professional degree. There are other options out there. They may be harder to find, but they're there.

I know you can do it, anon. You're already brilliant enough to ask for help, and trust me - that takes a ton of gut.

If anyone has any advice or wants to support our Hopeful Anon, please share in the comments or send in your suggestions! I will use the anon advice tag.

[margarrivergod]

fic recs

id say it’s about time i did another fic rec drop- i have some good ones in store so hold your panties

BSD (skk)

“A Hundred Ways to Kill” by CabernetCat

Rating: E

Words: 90,556

Warnings: NA

Description: Eccentric CEO Dazai Osamu has been trying to die for the past seven years. Failure after failure gets him thinking: if you can't kill yourself, get someone else to do it. When he hires a hitman to do the job, it turns out this plan may not be so simple.

🗣️: this fic is really fun. I’m still reading it but it’s definitely more of a fun read then something sinister or dark (maybe that’s me just being used to reading heinous shit💀)

“Stay” by the_most_happy

Rating: M

Words: 23,699

Warnings: NA

Description: From the Port Mafia dungeon to the depths of Meursault, Dazai and Chuuya keep finding each other. They fall in love all over again — or, maybe, they never stopped. That’s all.

🗣️: Now i’m a HUGE supporter of all of this authors works and this story is NO different- skk is so stupid i love them

“Take Your Heart” by Riley_writes

Rating: E

Words:48,182

Warnings: creator chose not to use warnings

Description: An infamous art thief has been going around, stealing pricey pieces of artwork from museums, galleries, auction houses, and private collections alike. When the case lands on the desk of Detective Nakahara Chuuya, will he be the one to catch this thief?

🗣️: Another fic that i’m still reading BUT ITS SO GOOD- silly goofy- it has that perfect blend of silly and serious that i love to see in bsd- i’m definitely going to read more of this authors work if that’s any indicator

“picking a flower that blooms on the heart for you” by burgundytshirt

Rating: M

Words: 44,525

Warnings: NA

Description: The question is obvious at this point. To die, or to ask Dazai for help? Chuuya is so choked by this question that his breakfast is lodged in his throat, unable to be swallowed. (Or, Chuuya would much rather die than let Dazai find out he has hanahaki disease.)

🗣️: keep in mind this is a translation of the og fic but don’t let this deter you cause it’s A MASTERPIECE- this same author translated another beloved fic called “the liars house” and they are both 🤌🏼- i’m not the biggest fan of hanahaki fics but this one is the exception- THE EXCEPTION

“The Harder They Fall” by the_most_happy

Rating: M

Words: 7,336

Warnings: NA

Description: Chuuya left the Port Mafia a year after the Verlaine incident. Meanwhile, rumor has it that the Demon Prodigy became boss the day Ougai Mori traded Oda's life for a Skilled Business Permit. Dazai murdered his predecessor in cold blood. Chuuya is nobody's dog, and walks in the light. They are not partners anymore, right? Right?

🗣️: stupid idiots finally gaining a conjoined braincell ahhh fic

“I threw away this human form of mine” by love_island

Rating: M

Words: 118,816

Warnings: creator chose not to use warnings

Description: Dazai was facing away from the door, so he couldn’t see his new roommate, but Ango could, and his face went pale. That, coupled with the excessively aggressive entrance, told Dazai enough to know who it was. Dazai sighed loftily and turned around slowly. “Hey there, shrimp,” he drawled. “You lost, or am I actually stuck with you?” Motorcycle Guy dropped the two duffel bags he was holding. Dazai watched his face as it morphed from confusion, to recognition, and finally to anger. “You!”

🗣️: “and they were roomates” ahh fic featuring ✨trauma✨

“Baby Executive” by BlowingYourMind

Rating: T

Words: 101,652

Warnings: NA

Description: Dazai's normally boring morning was shattered when a small pair of arms wrapped themselves around his knees and big azure eyes blinked up at him partnered with a stupidly happy grin. Or Chuuya is hit with an ability that reverses his age.

🗣️: If all goes wrong rely on BlowingYourMind to give a story you can chew on- this story has EVERYTHING i love it

“My Body is Your Body (I Won't Tell Anybody)” by thereweregiants

Ratings: E

Words: 26,499

Warnings: creator chose to not use warnings

Description: Thanks to a rogue ability user, Dazai and Chuuya find themselves switching bodies. ...yeah, there's no way this ends well.

🗣️: Basically you get your fav duo bickering over shampoo as they body swapped for a few days - shit does get serious but nothing intense

MTP (sherliam)

“floriography” by jellyfen

Ratings: M

Words: 79,599

Warnings: NA

Description: "I am a façade, Sherlock Holmes." Tensions rise when William Moriarty becomes the next target of an elusive serial killer.

🗣️: I just got into the mtp fandom and this fic is a popular one but it still deserves the shoutout cause OML- characterization? spot on- plot? phenomenal- sherliam? gay- what else could you need

MDZS (wangxian)

“hunters seeking solid ground” by Attila

Rating: E

Words: 23,633

Warnings: NA

Description: “Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian repeats. His heart clenches. He wants—but he’d really meant to have this nightmare stuff down before they met again, so he wouldn’t find himself relying on Lan Wangji’s nearness. He’s not supposed to go back yet. But he’s so tired, and his will crumbles. “Yeah,” he says. “All right. Take me back to Gusu with you.”

🗣️: this one is a lil angsty and sweet- you deal with wwx being a stubborn hardass and wangxian being stupid, but they figure shit out

“Wrong Turn, Right Place” by diamondbruise

Ratings: E

Words: 71,309

Warnings: creator chose not to use warnings

Description: modern!wwx takes a wrong turn and ends up in the cultivation world

🗣️: if you take ANYTHING from this list it’s that you MUST read this- this is the funniest shit i’ve read in awhile- modern day wwx beefing with cultivator lwj over robes is not something i’d expect to read but heavily enjoyed nonetheless

[arimiadev]

2023 Year in Review

2023 has come and gone—it feels like it was just a week ago that my grandma was complaining that Thanksgiving and Christmas were too close together, and now it’s January. I spent the last 2 weeks of 2023 sick (I still am), which made it go by like a blur.

2022 was a fresh slate for me, with a new job, a new home, and new projects. 2023 was a year of finding a new rhythm—figuring out how I work best and molding my work time around that rather than trying to make myself go against the flow.

Working from home is truly a blessing and a curse. I do think that it has more positives than negatives (especially right now as I’m able to work while being sick and don’t have to take time off), but navigating around the negatives is tricky. The main problem I’ve faced, aside from lack of interaction with non-family, is that it’s harder for me to focus on work when I end up spending almost all of my awake hours at my desk, either for my fulltime job or for VN development or for relaxing.

I’ve had to mix things up, usually taking my laptop to other parts of the house or even working outside of home some days. Even if it’s only for a few hours, it helps reset the fatigue of being at my desk all day every day. It doesn’t always work, and one problem I ran into for most of the year was being unable to focus on writing. Art and scripting are more “mindless” for me, I can do them with a video or voice call in the background, but writing is something I’ve always struggled to concentrate on.

This year was my first year attempting NaNoWriMo, though a more casual version of it. A few other devs were also entering NaNoWriMo to work on their projects so I hopped on too. I wanted to use the hype of the event to push myself to focus on writing, and it worked! My goal was to hit 30k total words in the month across multiple projects—which is about what I write in half a year—and I hit it.

Projects

Canvas Menagerie continued to be my main project in 2023. I was able to release several new demo builds for the project, mainly redoing and improving artwork for the game. My art has been improving a lot the past couple of years which is a good and a bad thing—it’s good because I’m improving and it’s bad because it means I have to redo or edit older game art!

I was also able to finish writing Act 2, meaning that Canvas Menagerie is 2/3rds written! A lot of good progress was made on it this year and I hope to continue (and maybe finish?) that this year.

I also got a trailer for it by Hatoge, a fellow BL developer! It came out so nice…

My other main project for 2023 was Lost Lune, a project I started in 2022. It was meant to be a small-ish project for Winter VN Jam 2022, but I ran into some issues with the story structure.

Lost Lune is a story I like but have had a hard time figuring out how to put the world and characters into words. I have an understanding on how the plot progresses, but due to a few different reasons it’s been hard to actually write it. One reason has been the unconventional format for the story, with it flipping between the past and present in a linear way. The other reason I’ve had a hard time with it is the character personalities—Weiss, the main character, is much more forward, blunt, and promiscuous than characters I’ve written before. It’s also the darkest setting I’ve ever written in as it’s set in a post apocalypse.

Thanks to NaNoWriMo I was able to get over 9k more written for the story, leading to about half of the story currently being written. I’d like for the project to be finished this year, but it’s hard to say when.

A small project I worked on for Ludum Dare & Otome Jam this year was a short game featuring some of my oldest OCs, where you play as a witch returning home and helping her father’s delivery service. I wanted to make something more experimental than what I usually make and something just for me.

I ended up adding some extra features to it but never released the updated build, so maybe sometime in the future…

My last project for this year was Asphodelium, my Winter VN Jam 2023 entry. I’ve had a hard time describing it, but basically it’s a dark slice of life romance about the members of a disbanded adventurer’s guild after stopping a doomsday cult at the cost of killing their former leader who betrayed them. Hazel, the one who dealt the final blow, has had the hardest time moving on—until one day he’s approached by a man with the same face as their dead leader.

This was a story I got the idea for sometime in September and began writing on a whim in the middle of October and ended up writing a majority of in November for NaNoWriMo. I didn’t expect the script to get far but here I am, 40k words later…

I finished the script and most of the art in December but was unable to completely finish the game because I got sick before Christmas. Just another WIP to finish this year…

Articles

This year I didn’t make as many articles as in years prior, a trend that will probably go forward. I do still want to write articles on marketing and visual novel dev, but I feel like it’s a waste of time to rehash old topics or talk about social media algorithms and such.

One thing I started this year for articles was interviews with fellow developers, starting with my friend ingthing. I don’t want my articles to be just my own opinions, so I want to get more voices out there. In 2024 I want to do more interviews with other devs to share their views on development.

With a record high amount of games we had to judge for Spooktober VN Jam this year, I wrote up a post about my takeaways from the jam with some commentary from my fellow judges. I was blown away by the response the article received, with it being one of my top 3 articles of all time now.

My last blog post—I hesitate to call it an article—that I wrote in one frantic day somehow was my favorite of the year. After months of radio silence from Aniplex US about Mahoyo, the first TYPE-MOON (pure) visual novel to be released officially in English on Steam, I did a deep dive into why they had forsaken such easy money by refusing to market it. The end result? Well, we’ll probably never know why, but it’s clear that someone at Aniplex made the decision to not give a budget to their marketing teams for Mahoyo and instead let the fans market it themselves.

Art

This year was a bit sparse for full artworks, with a majority of them being for Canvas Menagerie. I got a lot more comfortable drawing his hair!

I also got more into Holostars EN this year with the introduction of the second half of Holostars Tempus, the Vanguard unit (but mainly Gavis Bettel). I was following Tempus from the beginning and was a big fan of Magni and Vesper, but Bettel won as my kamioshi. He’s also the only one in the snapshot above (for August) that’s fanart, as the rest are OCs.

Goals

2023 Goals:

Fully write Act 2 of Canvas Menagerie: Canvas Menagerie is currently split up into 3 acts, around 50k words long for each act. I was able to finish the first draft for Act 2 in October! It ended up being much shorter than I estimated, but that’s how things go sometimes.

Release demo for Lost Lune: …Well, this kinda happened but not really. I wanted to release a longer demo for Lost Lune as the current playable build is more like a teaser—it’s very short and only features 2 out of an estimated 20~ days. I did however end up reprogramming the playable build, changing the main character from a side sprite to being on screen with several other visual changes. I’m much happier with this direction for the game.

Write more consistent devlogs: This also didn’t really happen as my intention was to write an article a month, but with our physicals Kickstarter earlier this year, other things took higher priority. I also realized pretty early on in the year that I’m tired of writing about social media algorithms and want to write about more interesting game dev and marketing topics, like case studies and such.

Open a merch shop: This was the first goal I accomplished this year! It was also the easiest since it was already mostly set up. You can see the merch shop for my games here—I think it’s pretty cute.

2024 Goals:

Fully write Act 3 of Canvas Menagerie: Self-explanatory. I want to get to a first draft state for all of CM. I doubt I’ll be able to finish the game next year unless I get a whirlwind of inspiration as it still needs around 40-50k words, 25+ CGs, 5+ character sprites and more, but we’ll see how far I get.

Write more of Lost Lune: I was able to write over 10k this year for Lost Lune while working on other stuff and in 2024 I want to get close to finishing the script if not finishing it.

Release the full version & an artbook for Asphodelium: Due to getting sick at the end of December, I wasn’t able to fully release Asphodelium. It’s pretty close to being done so it shouldn’t take long to finish it. I also want to release a (digital) artbook for it, as I have a lot of design notes for the LI. It’s also been quite a while since I released an artbook so I want to try making one again.

Go to an out-of-town convention: All my life, I’ve only ever attended the anime conventions in the Memphis area. Despite Memphis being a big city, the conventions here…aren’t really ran by people who want to expand it or even really change anything, so for the past decade it’s been in stagnation. At Studio Élan we’re boothing at more conventions this year, and I want to help! I’m hoping to go to Offkai Expo this summer.

Share more VNs I like: Thanks to rejoining Tumblr in late 2022, I’ve become more acquainted with visual novel players over there and I want to talk more about visual novels that I play. There’s a lot of great games out there that people just don’t hear about, so I want to talk about VNs more.

I feel like in 2023 I was starting to find my “thing”—I really like talking about VNs and I want to share unheard of and underrepresented developers to others! I’ve become bored of making generic marketing articles but I’ve found joy in making posts in collaboration with other devs or sharing other VNs.

2024 is a bit of a scary year and has me rather nervous, but I hope we’ll all make it through it. I want to finish some of the stuff I’ve began and I want to share more lesser known visual novels.

I hope this year will be better for us all. Until next time!

— Arimia