#every so often i write a chapter where you won't like it if you don't like Aspen

[strongheartneteyam]

Realize where you belong.

Pairing: neteyam sully x female!human!reader/female!dreamwalker!reader

Neteyam is aged up.

Chapter 2

CW: angst, reader hates her life, neteyam is like her "secret admirer" but he eventually becomes obsessed, so, it gives off some creepy vibes, possessive neteyam, forbidden love, neteyam is REALLY protective over her, neteyam isn't really fond of humans (hates them) and only makes an exception for reader, TRIGGER WARNING for a few depression symptoms (such as reader holding back tears and looking miserable really often), stalking, obsessive behavior & possessiveness

Synopsis: Reader is unhappy with her human life. She works for the lab as a cook. She's a Dreamwalker and she spends every free day she gets walking through Pandora's forests. In one of those days, Neteyam sees her but she doesn't notice him. He falls in love, seeing how happy she is amidst nature. Neteyam finds out she's actually a human in an Avatar, so, he finds a way to go where her real body is. He hates to admit it but, seeing her in her human body, he realizes he still loves her. After watching her, he notices how she's always happier when she's in her Avatar, so, he develops a deeper connection to her. However, he becomes obsessive. Reader has only heard about him, the famous son of Jake Sully and future Olo'eyktan, praised for his great achievements as a young Omatikaya. After getting reader's attention, Neteyam asks her to choose to live forever in her Avatar, becoming his mate and making tsaheylu with him, gaining a new home as a fresh member of his tribe. Reader is scared and torn, since, even though she's intensely attracted to him and only truly enjoys life when she's Dreamwalking, she doesn't really know him and she's afraid of dying when trying to go past Eywa's eye. But Neteyam just won't give up on her that easily.

♡ This is Reader's Avatar

☆ This is the official playlist for this story, the songs I listen to while working on it.

•

Finally, this fanfic is out!! lots of people seemed to love the tiny sneak peek I posted so... I hope you guys will love the fanfic itself too hehe I'm so relieved I could finally post it ooof My environment is the worst EVER rn & i haven't had any motivation or focus to write lately BUT i seem to be getting out of that damned writer's block I was in (ITS THE WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD UGH HATE IT TO DEATH)

Not proofread. My life is a hurricane, so, we don't work with proofread stories here. Hope you find it in your hearts to forgive me, my angels :')

na'vi words:

yawne - beloved

tsaheylu - the neurological bond the na'vi make with their mate, through their tendrils, at the end of their long braid.

Chapter 1

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I love your touch, cold as ice

And I love every single tear you cry

I just love the way you're losing your life

Oh, my baby, how beautiful you are

Oh, my darling, completely torn apart

Gone With The Sin (HIM)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Neteyam would look at you every moment he could. He didn't have that much free time since he was the Olo'eyktan's son and had so many responsibilities weighting on his shoulders. But he would always make any sacrifice he needed to make to find time to see you. Even if it meant using the few hours he had to himself to contemplate you. His sad, gloomy-eyed, beautiful girl. You were not actually his yet, but, he was determined to make that change.

Neteyam saw you holding back tears way too damn often, so, he was always deeply worried about you, and, that was one of the reasons why he was always creeping around, high up in branches of trees located in Hell's Gate, watching over you, almost every day, ready to help you, defend you from any danger, to say "screw it" to how out of the blue it would be if he - a stranger, a male na'vi stranger - just came up to you and said "hey, I've been watching you for a while, and… I'm so, so in love with you. Please, leave this damn idiotic human life you live and let Eywa help you be transferred to your Avatar body for good, just like she helped my father. You're so insanely pretty like this - and I have never felt attracted to any female of your demon kind before, so, believe me when I talk about your beauty - but you look even prettier when you're in your Avatar form. Let me make you my mate, let me make you the future Olo'eyktan's mate. I can give you a far better life than the one you have now"

He knew he was just a weird alien boy (as the humans would probably say), stalking you, always up in the highest tree branches he could find and reach, watching a girl while she cooks - as it was your job - like a hunter watching their prey. But he meant no harm. On the contrary, he meant to take care of you, to save you from it all. Because he wasn't blind. Neteyam saw how unhappy you looked while peeling potatoes (he knew what they were because his dad who was once human told him and his siblings about how delicious that vegetable from Earth tasted, especially when it was made as French fries) to cook on the high-tech stove the humans used to prepare their meals in and prepare mashed potatoes to those damn lab guys who invaded his Planet and did nothing but harm.

Neteyam thought it to be unnecessary. His future mate could easily prepare the same potatoes in a bonfire he would light up for you in the Omatikaya forest. He knew they would taste even better roasted in the natural fire than just plainly cooked in that energy fueled cooking device the humans used. He could give you a life so incredibly better than the one you had right now, it pained him to see his yawne working so hard to feed every damn scientist in that cold, air-conditioned lab while not being as appreciated and thanked by them as you deserved to be. You could be preparing food to feed his children instead, the sons and daughters he would give you, if only you accepted becoming his forever mate.

He hated the humans. They didn't know how to lead a proper life. But you were different.

Neteyam knew how breathtaking you looked in a na'vi like body because the first time he saw you, you were in your Avatar body - as you were a Dreamwalker - and that's when he fell in love with you. But he learned to love your human body too. He could never hate you, even in your human form. You were the only human he did not despise.

The day Neteyam first saw you, he was out in the forest to hunt and gather food, collecting bladder polyps, lionberry seeds and trying to kill a hexapede, so, he could bring all of it home and him and his family could eat a nutritious dinner.

That's when he heard a squeaky, funny laugh. It was a female voice, he recognized. Neteyam followed that sound just like he was a sailor and the girl whose laugh he heard was a mermaid, bewitching his senses and drawing him closer.

When he saw you, it was like his heart was going to explode in a thousand pieces, so fast it was beating inside his rigid ribcage, so strongly the blood was being pumped through his arteries. He knew he had to make you his mate, to have you forever.

Neteyam had always been a practical and rational young man, he had to be. He was the eldest son and had to look after his 3 younger siblings and not show a single sign of weakness when his father would scold him in a harsh tone, whenever any of his siblings - specially his younger brother, Lo'ak -, got into trouble and somehow, Neteyam ended up having to take responsibility over their actions. "But that girl… that beautiful, ethereal girl… she makes me believe in things I've never even considered before. I know it sounds stupid to say that about a girl I just met, only some minutes ago but I don't care", he thought. Only he and Eywa herself knew the raw, powerful feeling he was experiencing at that moment. He just wanted to let go for a while. To not force himself to be all brains, zero heart for once, just once. And you were gifting him the opportunity to do just that. Your beauty was so enchanting, it could leave any creature in awe.

His father had once told him about Christianity, one of the most popular religions back on the glory days of the Planet Earth, and, of course he didn't follow those beliefs, his spirituality was completely based on Eywa, the Great Mother, the spirit and moving energy of Pandora, but, if the beings called "angels" his father talked about were real, Neteyam was utterly sure that they could only look like you.

You were perfect. Every curve of your body, every bioluminescent freckle, every pattern of your stripes, your long dark braided hair falling like water on your flawless back, as you kept smiling and touching every single flower you could see, playing in a foolish way, just like a child. He felt a primal urge coming from his guts to make tsaheylu with you right there, right at that moment.

So many thoughts roamed through Neteyam's mind: "I need her… right here, right now. She's… ugh… I've never felt anything like this before… What's going on with your stupid mind, Neteyam?! You can't just choose any girl to be your mate, you'll be the next Olo'eyktan, remember?! The best choice would be a girl who has a calling to be Tsahìk. Maybe your parents will try to arrange a marriage, to find the perfect match for you. Damn! Who am I trying to fool? She is the only perfect match for me…"

Neteyam started to watch you go about the forest every chance he got.

When he found out you were actually a Dreamwalker, a human in a body created in a laboratory, a hybrid of demon and na'vi, a freak... It was like his world was falling apart, piece by tiny piece crashing on the floor. How did he not notice your fifth finger before?! Was he that much under your spell, that blinded by how beautiful and charming you were?, he asked himself.

So, he told himself he was going to find a way to at least see what your true form looked like. He hissed at the thoughts and feelings you had caused him the whole way to Hell's Gate, where the laboratory was and where he knew all the humans that stayed in Pandora and had an Avatar stayed.

When Neteyam saw you in your human body, he got hit by something as strong as lightning. The moment he sniffed your sweet scent (the smell you had in your Avatar had notes of your original human scent, as your DNA was used to build that body), the moment he recognized that melodious voice… The expression in those eyes, that smile, that laughter… it was you. His yawne.

He didn't understand how that was possible, what he was feeling. Nevertheless, he realized he still loved you. His heart still beat fast for you. It didn't matter which physical form you took. Na'vi or human. You were you. And he loved you. Madly.

His people had a great contempt towards the ones who Dreamwalked. They were "demons in false bodies", like his grandma and his mother always said. And Neteyam himself felt the same. Worse, he had felt disgusted by the love and desire you made him feel, back when he watched you wandering around the Omatikaya lands, when you would jump like a little kid, so happy playing with the bioluminescent, neon plants of the forest.

But, still, that feeling lingered inside him. The attachment, the deep affection, the devotion… He could not comprehend it.

All Neteyam could grasp was that he hated all humans, but you were the only exception.

Even though you were originally human, you had a na'vi heart. He just knew that. As crazy and impossible as it sounded, he figured out it was true. And that blew his mind. That sorrowful girl he was seeing cooking in a small technological kitchen was not the same one he had seen at the forest. But it was, at the same time. It apparently made no sense, but it actually did. You were not where you belonged. You did not belong imprisoned among those four walls that the other humans kept you in. That you were keeping yourself in. You belonged free amidst the Pandoran trees. You did not belong in those big human clothes. You belonged in a comfortable loincloth and a big leaf necklace covering your beautiful breasts, letting the wind hit your skin.

You seemed out of place in that environment you were currently in. And that made Neteyam feel something so overpowering. He knew it was useless to try and fight it. He was not even sure if he even wanted to fight it anymore. That feeling was good. It felt just like what he felt when he thought you were a na'vi girl. He even felt attracted to you, even though he still thought you looked much prettier in your Avatar body.

He was fully aware you were one of the demons. But you were not like the rest of them. You were special. He could tell that. He could tell you'd be a hundred per cent happier if he could convince you to become na'vi. And that's exactly what he was planning to do. He still did not know how, but he would find a way.

༊⁀➷

Taglist:

@crazy4books1

@samistars

@lik0

@miri-belle

@nerdybouquetofkittens-blog

@xxunnie

@your-girl-mj

@sereisstuff

@darktyrantwinner

@henhouse-horrors

@explosiongamora

@yeosxxx

[willows-writings]

Of Butterflies and Consequences: An Until Dawn Interactive Fanfiction

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Chapter 1: Friendship: Ten Hours Until Dawn

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OBaC Masterlist

a/n: Ok guys hi!! So this chapter is gonna start with a bit of world building I won't lie. It's really just to establish who you are in this world and where you stand with everyone.

cw: past death, mental health struggles, mentions self inflicted pain

tags: @lousypotatoes @moyo5653 @morgy3456 @pecxiebu @ohantonia (I'm so so sorry if I didn't get everyone!!)

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one year later

Blackwood Mountain was a gorgeous as you remember it to be. You had been there more times than you could count, more than anyone else in the group. Either with Hannah and Beth for a weekend of gossip and hot cocoa, the entire Washington family who treated you as one of their own, or just you and Josh who would insist on lighting every candle in the house to establish a "romantic atmosphere".

All those visits and none of them took place in the past year.

Hell you don't think anyone has been up to this lodge this whole year except for the police.

Josh had invited you up here two days before everyone else got here to "tidy it up" was his excuse. But really you think it's because he knew he wouldn't be able to handle the first few days here alone.

Ever since the incident you stuck by each other. Your parents knew what had happened had been traumatic for the both of you and more often than not let you sleep over at the Washington's house. On the nights when you didn't, you would often wake up to Josh crawling through your window to sleep with you close to him.

God, you would do anything for Josh, anything at all, but at the same time you were mourning your best friends as well. That's why the two of you clung so close to each other. Having been dating almost a year before the incident it drove your already close relationship even closer together instead of farther apart like most people thought it would. You know even if you hadn't been dating and still just friends you would have stayed with him through thick and thin.

Josh had a hard time, had moments of rage, where he's punch a wall till his knuckles bled and either you or his parents would have to patch him up. His moments of depression where he would scream and cry and tear at his skin and all you could do was hold him and sob with him. Bargaining where you would both sit up at night and ask the universe why? Why them? Why not anyone else?

Inseparable as you were you know Josh had his moments, where he needed a few hours, or a day or two alone. You did too. You always knew to keep an eye on him during those moments, sending him little texts that reminded him that you loved him, asking him how his day was. It worked, and you know no matter how long those moments were he will always greet you with a hug and kiss as well as whispers about how much he missed you and loves you.

You think therapy helped, Dr. Hill seemed like a nice man, and even though at first Josh just seemed worse after the sessions he gradually started to get more and more positive. You know even before the incident Josh had struggled with mental health but before it had been manageable with some therapy, coping strategies and a few pills. After the twin's death, he was prescribed a butt load of pills to take. Sometimes it baffled you how he could remember even the smallest detail about you but completely forget to take his pills for a week straight! You took to writing reminders around his and your room, setting reminders on yours or his phone or just reminding him when you were together, which was often. But in the past few months, he had really been improving. You would show up at his house and he would proudly exclaim he took all his medicine for the day without you even asking.

You were proud of the both of you. Josh hadn't talked to anyone but you and his parents for the first six months but after that, he slowly started to reach out to Chris again. Josh even told Chris a bit about his therapy which is a huge leap in the right direction! He even started talking to Matt again in recent months. He had texted all the girls recently as well! Just little things like a post that reminded him of them or a "how's your day?" As for Mike... you knew he had reached out but not as much as he did for the others. It counted, it was all steps toward healing.

As for you, well, it was hard to talk to them at first. Logically you knew it wasn't their fault but a part of you needed to blame something other than the cold weather so you lashed out on them. It was easy to forgive Sam and Chris, you can't remember much from that night but you know Chris had nothing to do with it and you're pretty sure Sam even stood up for Hannah. Everyone else, it took you a few months to be able to talk or text them more than small talk or a passing comment. Eventually, it got easier and things almost felt like they were before.

About 4 months after their death you walked into the nearest tattoo parlor and walked out with a new tattoo. A butterfly on your right arm, the exact same one Hannah had. You remember going with her the day she got hers and holding her hand through the pain of the needle. Since you had been a few months younger than her at the time and therefore still 17 she had looked at you, winked, and said.

"Y/n the second you turn 18 I am making you go through the same pain I just did. Don't worry I'll let you squeeze my hand this time."

You had laughed and Josh and Beth had laughed when you told them Hannah's promise. But when you showed Josh the tattoo this time he just hugged you and cried.

Since then life has been as close to good as it can get, you had started taking classes at the local community college and you and Josh had been talking about moving out from your parents to buy an apartment together. It was good, you were doing good. That's why it took you by complete shock when one night, as you lay on your side scrolling through your phone and Josh spooned you and watched over your shoulder, he announced he wanted to go back to the lodge.

"What?" You had exclaimed, turning the phone off, sitting up and turning to face him.

He lay on his back and made a noise of affirmation "Yeah, and I wanted to invite the whole group up too, the good ol' annual trip." As he talked his eyes slowly drifted from yours till he was staring at the corner of the room nervously.

"Josh... I want whatever you want you know that, but are you sure this is something you want or do you feel obligated?" You remember once Dr. Hill had told you that if Josh says something out of character you should ask him to clarify if it was him saying it or the grief.

"I-I think it would be nice. You know like a one year anniversary thing, to celebrate them and their lives." His eyes moved and met yours again, "I can't keep avoiding them forever, they are my friends, and even if we're not as close as we used to be I still want to see them. Besides I think Hannah and Beth would have wanted us to be happy at some point."

You stay quiet, shocked by his sudden vulnerablity. But Josh, being Josh, opens his mouth again in a poor attempt to crack a joke.

"Can't stay wallowing, swaddled in blankets forever can we?" He grins lightly.

You let out a groan and bend down to meet your lips with his. After a few seconds of kissing you drawing away, but only a bit so your face is still leaning over his.

"Josh I think it's a great idea, I'll help you plan it all, I love you."

He smiled and leaned up to meet your lips.

And so after helping him set up a quite dramatic video (on par for him) inviting all your friends up and arriving two days early, it is now the day everyone is set to arrive.

"Today is the one year anniversary of the dreadful tragedy that took place on Mount Washing-"

You turn off the small radio you had been listening to and sigh. You're standing in the kitchen with a glass of water in your hand wearing pants and one of Josh's various band t-shirts. At least Josh had seemed chipper this morning, you couldn't say the same for yourself but that might just be slight elevation sickness.

Speaking of Josh he had left a bit a go to see if anyone had arrived yet. You suppose you should go out and join him but it's sooo cold out there.

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Stay inside, stay warm

Try to find Josh

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

SOMETIMES, you'd like to know who your mother was before she became your mother.

You want to know where the acidic and corrosive elements that precede each of her statements come from. Perhaps she acquired it from your father—someone even more poisonous than she was. However, from how it blended with her expression every time she said: “a man’s heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing!” you can't be convinced otherwise that before she met your father, she wasn't like that—that she was once a loving girl before he wrecked her and made her your vengeful mother.

Time heals all wounds, they say. And yet, as far as you know, your mother's is still dripping with blood. Rotten. Maggot infested.

You believed it was exactly what she wanted—so that it wouldn't heal, so that she wouldn't forget how much it burned and constricted her. Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it, and she will undoubtedly carry it with her until death. “A man's heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing,” she says, as if she's sure you'll forget what happened to her—to both of you. As if losing the love of her life was hereditary. “Don't you see, sweetheart? We are a paradox of contrasts and twins.”

You're still wondering whether it was a warning or a prayer. Good mothers ensure with all their body and soul that the past does not repeat itself, that their daughters do not embody everything they might become – their mothers. God forbid they dragged themselves across the floor, trembling fingers stretched stiffly clawing at doors that had been long since being slammed shut. However, your mother wasn’t always a good mother, and she often swore over her mother's grave that you would feel the same way she did.

And yet, despite her curses and how much you hate her as much as you hate your deadbeat father, apparently a sense of familiarity is what you're searching for.

Perhaps, that’s what made him catch your eye.

Soft footsteps were created when several pairs of ballerina pointe shoes came down the hallway after the performance ended. Smiles and laughter were among them—a familiar sight; the audience was satisfied with their performance, and they were sure that the ballet director had no more notes for them because, firstly, Marie, the main ballerina in the role of Giselle, had become the center of conversation thanks to her gifted movements, leaving no room for talking about little "building" errors for the other dancers. Second, this season has reached its end, which means they won't be showing "Giselle" again for at least the next few months.

“I saw you sneak chocolates before the show, El.” One ballerina teased.

“They're for energy!” Eloise insisted with a grin.

The ornaments on their heads moved as they both laughed. You flashed a smile but didn't dare enter into the conversation. Satin-clad feet kept moving in the direction of the corps de ballet dressing room door. More laughter and gossip ensued as you passed through the door to the small vanity you shared with another dancer.

"So where are you going after this?" someone at the next table asked, not at you.

You turned around, periodically glancing in the mirror to wipe away the last traces of makeup. "I don't know! Somewhere that can help me relieve stress, obviously. Soph?” Claudine directed her question at another, still not you.

“Sorry, girls, but I have to sit this one out. My mamma has been protesting about me coming home late lately ever since she saw some protests on TV. You two have fun without me.” Sophia declines—that leaves Jules and Claudine alone then. You were ready to return to your own thoughts when Sophia's hazel eyes fixed on you and called your name. "What about you?"

Claudine turned to you, her lips forming a teasing smirk. “Gonna go home and practice some more, no doubt,” she teased. “Live a little for once! Come out with us.”

You focused on untying your pointe shoes while the other two laughed. “No thanks, I'm tired. Think I'll just relax tonight.”

Rather than a teasing smirk, now Claudine's lips resembled a declaration that she was correct once more: "Look, I'm right, aren't I? She's still the same boring girl. No surprise that the best role she can get is dancing as a leaf in the background." It's no longer a myth. It is no longer a myth that other dancers—old and new—only see a robot prodigy, soulless in her single-minded pursuit of perfection. Your movements were full of precision, tempered by years of being under the training of a Russian coach your mother sought out for you. And yet your body is sharpened for nothing more than the purpose of being a vessel. Hushed jokes about you selling your soul to the devil for your skills.

“Aww, not even for one night? Loosen up that tight bun of yours?”

You shoved the last of your things hastily into your bag, not paying attention as someone else's hairbrush and chapstick were forced to sit on top of your toiletry bag—you can always return them tomorrow. The other girls are still laughing while you swing the overstuffed duffel over your shoulder.

“Goodnight,” you say tensely, clutching the strap of your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white. Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your shoes and hurried out of the dressing room, their taunts echoing in your ears.

London streets glistened wetly as you made your way down the sidewalk. The recent rain left dark spots on the pavement. You pull your coat tighter around you, shivering in the damp night air. As you passed a rowdy pub, loud voices and laughter spilled out onto the street. Warm light and the smell of beer beckoned from within, but you hurried on without glancing in, not wanting to face anyone's eyes.

The entrance to the subway glimmers under the streetlamps. You descend the stairs slowly, your shoes clicking on the concrete steps. The underground platform was nearly empty at this late hour. A lone figure dozed on one of the wooden benches, and a teenage couple whispered together further down the tiles. Your eyes roam over the tiled walls and ads for shows you'd never see—anything to avoid looking at other people and risking a confrontation.

The screech of brakes announces the arrival of your train, followed by beams of lights illuminating the dark tunnel. You boarded the mostly empty carriage and sat down, watching the dark tunnel walls pass by. On the opposite side, your weary reflection in the glass glances back at you.

Soulless.

Soulless ballerina.

TWENTY-THREE YEARS HAVE GONE BY: Thirteen times, you were part of the corps de ballet in Swan Lake. And now, the new director—whom they “imported” directly from somewhere in France to replace the old one—announces that the next season will be Swan Lake. You don't have anything against it—why should you? Thirteen times. Thirteen times in the corps de ballet, and this time will make no difference to you; just another faceless dancer in the flock, never the Swan Queen—they wouldn't risk a soulless ballerina in the spotlight. But wouldn't audiences grow bored of the same classic retold so often?

"Now now, I know you are all tired of this ballet," he said calmly. "But we will be doing something different - a new interpretation, with a fresh artistic vision. This will be Swan Lake as you have never seen it before. Rehearsals will focus on bringing new emotional depth and dimensionality to these iconic roles. Who knows – maybe some new faces will emerge for leading roles. I’m looking forward to seeing what you all can do. Now let us begin."

The familiar piano notes of our warm-up piece drifted through the studio as you took your place at the barre, fingers curling around the worn wood. You close your eyes and focus on steadying your breathing. Even when your muscles hurt from fatigue, you persist through well-known stretching exercises with a focused effort. Your eyelids flutter open, and out of the corner of your eye, you see the new director watching silently at the edge, his sharp eyes taking in each dancer.

“One.. and.. two.. and..”

As you move on to tendus and plies, you let the rhythm of the count wash over you – “.. three.. and.. four.. and..” Your burning thighs, your stretching calves, your flexing toes. "First position...and plié. Second position...and tendu. Third position...and rond de jambe." and the coach's familiar count. Your mind wanders as the dancers continue, thinking about the director's words about seeking new depths. Stealing a glance through the mirror, your eyes returned to the man—his ringed fingers in front of his lips as he pondered.

The music continues to play, swelling with a crescendo. You concentrate on your movements again, lifting your legs high according to standard and extending your lines through fingertips.

You found your eyes drifting to the director's reflection in the mirror more and more. The coach's voice faded into a blur as you studied his intense expression, watching for any sign of interest or approval. But time and again, his gaze passed over you without pause, lingering instead on Claire or Amelia as they executed perfect pirouettes or graceful penche poses. A familiar ache of longing and envy twisted in your stomach. No matter how hard you focused or how flawlessly you hit each position, you remained invisible to him.

Your breaths are shallow, and your head is whirling. Your eyes couldn't stop following him; he was walking around watching dancers who weren't you. He spoke to the coach, then stepped back with his hands linked behind his back. Still not you. As the music nears the end and the dancers have transitioned into combination movements, he still doesn't look at you.

You know the truth: this will be your fourteenth Swan Lake, and you will once again blend into the anonymous corps de ballet. The reflection of a woman in the mirror—your reflection, somber with lifeless eyes and dull hair pulled back in tight bun. The director stated that he wanted to bring forth new depths and emotional aspects to distinguish his Swan Lake from those of other opera houses, therefore it's fitting that he didn't choose you. As an empty ache expands in your chest, you accept the truth: this is your fourteenth Swan Lake, being another swan for the fourteenth time.

The director won’t choose you.

He won't choose you.

He won't choose...

You.

He chose you. You don't know why or how.

An hour later, you find yourself standing in Studio A, facing uncertainly across the hardwood floor. Five of the girls sat at the end of the room while the director watched Claire give her interpretation of Odette in her white swan act. You watch her movements critically, noting the slight wobble in her lower back and how her port de bras could be straighter. Her pirouettes needed more control and spotting—you counted two extra turns that threw off her balance. Then she launched into the black swan's sinister variations. Gone was the white swan, replaced by a vixenish temptress oozing sensuality from her pores. The director made a few thoughtful comments you didn't quite catch before dismissing her.

The director breathed out your name and you were quick on your feet. He crossed his arms over his chest as you took your place in the center. You looked at the girls behind you through the mirror reflection, then at the director, then signaled the pianist to begin.

The famous White Swan melody plays, and you start. Plie, tendu, glissade—your limbs moved through the steps as they had a thousand times, polished, technically perfect. Your movements rely on muscle memory, analyzing your every move through a critical lens. First pose: left arm extended, back straight, neck long. Check. The second one: right leg stretched to the sky, toes pointed to the max. But was your ankle tilted just now? You furrowed your brows while making a mental note to adjust. Entering another glissade, you land on the ball of my foot, keeping your plie low. One.. and.. two. You count the seconds, nitpicking any imperfections.

“Slow down, dear, find your breath.” The director's voice cuts through your thoughts. Find your breath? You were in complete control of your breathing, hitting every mark precisely as the music demanded. What more should you find?

You barreled ahead through the choreography, unwilling to let up on your own rigid standards even as he continued offering feedback. "Loosen your shoulders...savor each moment rather than rushing to the next...let us see you feel the music, not just hear it."

But you are feeling it. You feel every crescendo and decrescendo—you stay in rhythm with the music as the score enters the ritardando section. How could he say you didn't feel the music when you lived and breathed each score? You knew this piece inside and out. From the opening notes, you have remembered not just the choreography but every key change and tempo variation. By the time you sank into your final pose, you were a bundle of nerves.

“Your technique is superb, but so tightly wound,” the director said. “Try to loosen up your lines and embrace the artistry, not just the steps. Now, show me your Black Swan.”

As the dark notes of the Black Swan coda swirl, you pour all your focus into hitting each precise movement with flawless technique. You arch into an arabesque, extending your working leg to the maximum while maintaining perfect turnout. Your spot was fixed, and your balance was unwavering. You continue through the practiced motions, and you fly into your final fouetté combo. As the last note faded, you struck your ending pose.

Slowly, you straightened your body and lifted your gaze to meet his, pressing your sweaty palms together tightly. The director remained silent, hand in front of his mouth, and looked you up and down in a way that made you want to flee. But, you restrained yourself, waiting patiently for his consideration. The pressure in the room was so intense that it made you suffocate.

After what felt like eternity, he gave a small nod – neither acceptance nor rejection. “Thank you, Mademoiselle, that was… illuminating. Please check the cast list tomorrow morning – we will announce our decisions then.”

The compliment is ambiguous, with two implications that you know tend toward the negative. Your anxiety failed to calm down, and all you could muster was a hushed thank you before you left the studio in a daze, questions still swirling around unanswered like always.

Now here you are, unfortunate enough to be under the wailing sky of London with minimal cover from a shuttered cafe. The dense fog and wind impede your eyesight, making it difficult to see the towering structures. On the left side, several cafes and pubs radiate their orange lights from within, beckoning anyone in need of somewhere to go for a quick drink or two. Anyone but you, apparently.

The city streets felt hauntingly deserted through the deluge of falling water. Shivering even in your coat and tights, you knelt down and tightened your scarf. Puddles of water begin to form in the potholes, and you desperately hope that the rain will stop soon; you still have a long ride home on the subway to prepare for tomorrow.

Just then, a splash of heavy footsteps caught your attention.

Through the sheets of rainfall, you glimpsed a tall figure hurrying down the sidewalk, taking in what little details you could discern. His leather jacket and boots, yet the way he hunched his broad shoulders against the storm conveyed a certain roughness. You squinted to make out his face, only to find it covered by a mask and a hood pulled too low. It's unsettling, but disturbingly, it makes you enthusiastically guess what lies beneath it—was he handsome or scarred? Young or weathered by experience? It intrigued you so much that you didn't realize he was only three steps away from you.

As the stranger approaches, you take more details that should have set off alarms. His all-black leather jacket may have been fine material, but it was worn and faded. And although broad-shouldered, his build spoke more of hardened muscle than gentility. Everything about him screams danger. When he drew up beside you, you intended to duck past and continue on your way.

But something held you rooted to the spot.

Now, two strangers stood side by side, between them were raindrops dragged cruelly by the cold wind. His towering figure was as still as a statue; for a man his size, he was skilled enough to be almost invisible, almost. The scent of him washed over you then—alcohol, but not the refined wines and spirits of high society. This was something rougher, meant to burn away thought rather than enhance it. Beneath that, cigarette smoke and a musky men’s cologne, attempting to cover something.

The man is still silent, and you should've taken this as your second chance to leave. There are only two possibilities for a man like him: a perverted stalker or a serial killer—most likely the latter, because for what reason would he decide to take shelter under the awning of a dark bankrupt cafe with a woman when the surrounding pubs are still serving happy hour?

While the stranger settles against the wall, you notice his large hand drift casually into his pants pocket. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in panic wondering what weapon he might pull out – a knife, or worse. All instincts screamed to run away, but your feet remained rooted to the ground, frozen.

“Nasty night.”

Your body comes to a complete stop. The air is forgotten, and you wonder if you really heard him speak just now or if you were just hallucinating. He has a roughness to his voice, gravels, and a low range with a hint of timbre muffled by his dark mask. Unknowingly turning toward him, you stared at his side profile until he met your gaze, and you swiftly looked straight forward again.

“Uh, y-yes, quite a storm,” You stuttered in reply, cursing your trembling voice. Gripping your duffel bag tighter, you tried not to say anything that might offend him.

Minutes pass, the rain as the only noise. Finally, he spoke again, "Subway, yeah?" Between the sound of the rain and his muffled ones, you tried hard to make out what he was saying. After fully understanding it, you give it a nod.

“Yes, the subway. Though it may be closed by now with the weather.”

The man pulled out a pack of cigarettes. From the corner of your eye, you knew he was taking off his mask. Your heart beats fast as you resist the urge to turn your head, settling to look at the dark street in front of you instead. Smoke wafts between you both, creating faint, short-lived tendrils in the air.

The two of you were in silence. You wanted to talk to him again but didn't know what there was to say; it could be that he just wants to smoke with a company, a quiet company. He let out a puff of fresh cigarette smoke, and you inhaled it all. Toxins are bad for the skin and lungs, and yet you're better off suffocating than giving the impression that you're disturbed.

“Subway's closed, like you said. No sense waiting in the wet.” He took the last drag and threw the cigarette butt into the gutter. “Come on then. Pub's the best place for now.” His voice muffled again – he had put his mask back on.

You hesitated at his offer, biting your lip as you weighed the options rapidly in your mind. On one hand, the rain shows no signs of letting up, and this awning provides only a little protection at best. But to follow a strange man through the streets, alone, allowing him to take you to a spot where inebriation may be present—where his worst pals might be waiting. Girls your age being spiked is something you hear about a lot.

Shaking your head, you manage a small smile. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I'll be right here. Best not to trouble you further on such a night.”

He tilts his head, his eyes peering from the mask's shadows as if reading your unspoken fears. Does he see the consideration behind your polite refusal—how now you are a vulnerable woman, and this relative anonymity without further conversation is a safe option, despite the discomfort? Within his dark eyes, there was a stirring that you didn't understand. Pity? Or mockery? Under his towering height and massive body, you were nothing but a frightened rabbit.

Gusts of wind drive cold droplets under the awning. You suppressed a shiver, hugging yourself tighter. “Really, I'll be fine. The rain can't last forever." A forced laugh follows your words.

You seize the chance to stare back at him. It was impossible for you to know what calculations were going through his mind, or what emotion lay beneath that mask. It's pretty unfair, you think, that he can hide under a hood that nearly makes him invisible in the dark of night while he can see all of you—a greasy-haired woman hoping the man in front of her will respect her dumb decision. It's the least he can do.

Just when you think this staring game would go on for another minute, he turns his gaze. “Suit yourself, love.” His voice comes out gruff, and your heart drops thinking you've let him down (but, for what?). "But you'll catch your death waiting in the rain."

A pang of guilt crashes into you as he turns his shoe the other way. For safety's sake, you rejected him, thinking you're being sensible; but there's an authoritative voice in the back of your mind telling you, "He's the first nice guy in a long time, and look what you gave in exchange for his kind offer." Self-doubt is playing in your heart. His back was already turning, boots squelching away into the rain.

“Wait!” You called after him, hating how small and frightened you sounded. He paused and searched back, eyes questioning through the mask. Steeling your nerves, you step into the downpour. “I'm coming with you.”

If this guy thinks you're an indecisive woman who can't even commit to a decision for more than five seconds, thank goodness he didn't say anything other than give you another stare. He led the way as he went, holding the door of one of the busy London pubs. More liquor and tobacco smells. You both entered, bringing a burst of damp wind with you. The warmth and noise within are a shock after the storm outside.

He steers you towards the fireplace, shrugging out of his soaked jacket. “Get yourself by the hearth,” he said, nodding to an empty chair. “Dry off.”

You did as he said gratefully, holding your hands out to the flames. The colors returned to your cheeks; fear slowly evaporated away.

“What'll you have, love?” He asked, and you frowned before understanding. Oh, drinks.

“Something light,” is all you say, eyes lowered again. The man gave a nod and went to give the bartender the order.

He returned not long after, setting the drinks down and taking the chair opposite to yours, stretching out his long legs toward the fire. You took the gin with a murmured “thank you.” He settled with his own—whiskey in a glass, neat. You glanced at the remains of rainwater dripping heavily from his clothes in a growing puddle at his boots. The drinks were enjoyed in companionable silence, still trying to find calm after the storm's fury.

The fire crackles merrily as you sit. Finding your voice, you clear your throat gently.

“Thank you, for…” Your fingers tapped nervously on the glass. “Well, for everything, I suppose.”

His eyes lifted from the flames to meet yours, and you offered a small smile. “I’m (Y/N).”

As the name slips out, you berate yourself. How stupid, giving up something as personal as your name! This man was still a stranger, no matter his kindness so far. For all you know, bad intentions could be lurking behind that calm gaze even now. But in the cozy glow of the fire, your sense of awareness wavered, lulled to sleep in a false sense of security.

He merely nodded, moving his hand to the mask hook over his ear without expressing much emotion. Your eyes widened, and your heart was pounding. The breath in your lungs stilled in anticipation as the fabric peeled slowly back, inch by inch. Is he about to...?

The man removed his mask, appearing at ease and lacking in secrecy. He looks at you, and you quickly look aside, pretending to offer him a little privacy. You wait for him to finish, to put it on again, but he never does. Is it okay to look-

Deciding to no longer be the uneasy one (since the guy looks completely unconcerned as he takes a long sip of his drink), you follow suit and allow the liquid to cascade down your throat. There's a slight thump as your glass hits the aged wood. Your curiosity is piqued even more by the fact that he hasn't made any moves to wear it again. Slowly, you raised your gaze, meeting that unveiled gaze – a secret not meant for your eyes.

Blonde eyelashes – pretty. Faint shadows hung under the eyes. Light stubble. Scars dotted his jaw, thin white slashes earned from unknown origins. His nose sat slightly off-center, clearly broken more than once in past altercations—bar fights, perhaps? Though something about the precise thinness of the lines didn't seem right for brawling. Regardless of which one, he is clearly no stranger to violence, and being near him is enough for someone to sense the danger he was capable of.

But, there is something about that powerful jawline, the intensity found only in his hooded eyes, spokes of steel and intricate details that defy explanation. Fire in his eyes. Even after taking off the mask and grasping it between his lengthy fingers—just when you think all the curtains have been exposed—he still remains a mystery.

(And you're just another gullible woman who believes she knows how to solve the puzzle.)

You wait; surely he will offer his own name in return now that you've bared yours. But seconds ticked by in the silence, and still he said nothing.

A flush crept up your neck at the realization that he had no intention of reciprocating. Did you misread this entire meeting? Why did he bring you here if not to talk? You observe his stony profile, wishing you could see past him. Did he intend to remain a mystery—an enigma full of intrigue? Or is it actually a test to see how long your curiosity can last?

Your fingers fidget with the condensation on your glass. Under this new tension, the easy silence fell away. Seeking an escape from the awkwardness, you looked for something, anything. Your gaze landed on a group of regulars in the corner, laughing boisterously.

“Do you, um, come here often?” You ask lamely, cursing your inability to make small talk. But there was an amused glint in his eyes that put you back at ease.

“Aye, I'm 'ere often enough,” he replied, taking another sip. You assume he finds humor in your discomfort, rather than mocking it. The knot in your shoulders loosened, and you relaxed into a smile again.

For good or ill, this man stirred something deep inside you—and you're desperate to scavenge for light, safe conversation topics to continue the conversation.

“So, um, what kind of work do you—” You catch yourself, cheeks warming. Too personal to ask a stranger met by chance. You let out a dry laugh. “Sorry, I don't mean to pry. It’s just… making conversation.”

At the small thud of his glass meeting the scarred wood of the table, your eyes darted up in surprise. Already empty—have you been so lost in thought that you missed him finishing? A swell of questions rose inside you as you watched his movements for a clue. Would he signal the bartender for a refill, extending your time together? Or was this the end—the strange encounter came to a close because you somehow offended him for prying too much?

“Military.”

Unexpectedly, he gave a single-word reply. Military—that explains a lot, from his physique and bearing to the scars and the lingering scents that cling to his coat.

"Oh!" was all you could think of as a response. More questions swim to the surface, demanding to be asked, but you quash them, not wanting to risk being presumptuous a second time.

Feeling indebted, you then offer, "I do ballet, with the Metropolitan Opera." The words slip out before you can check them, and inwardly you curse yourself once again. 

Great. Name, job, and workplace. Why don't you give him your address next?

You bit your lip. Risking a glance up, you hope he won't take your openness as foolishness. His quiet acceptance has so far calmed your nerves, and now you find yourself craving that ease again.

“Must be rewarding,” is all he offers—you grow accustomed to his terse responses. Plain, perhaps even half-hearted, but you smile as though he had read you a lovely poetry full of flattery.

“Yeah, it's really rewarding to dance and like, share that joy with others.”

Liar. What can a soulless ballerina have to share? So far, frustration is what you inflict on your director, and criticism is secretly a “reward” for your fellow dancers. You understand perfectly well, from the top of your head to the balls of your toes, that there is no joy that you can share. However, this man didn't know. He doesn't know who or how you are. Since the very beginning, you have spoken truth to him; allow this one deception to pass.

Your fingertips made a gentle squeak as they rubbed across the condensation on your glass. “If I may ask… what inspired you to serve?”

For a moment, he was quiet, considering with eyes turned to the flames.

"It was a calling, I suppose," came the gruff reply. “The world had its darkness even then. Felt a duty to stand against it.”

After providing an answer, the two of you returned to silence. You gazed thoughtfully into the flames, thinking of how you might spark another conversation that didn't rely solely on question and answer. The last thing you want is for him to view you as overbearing or pushy.

“What drew you to ballet, then?”

It was unexpected for him to pose a question, and you were taken aback when he did. Your lips curved into a smile as you thought about the answer, and your mother's role in starting it all.

"Well, I think it started because Mom thought ballet was 'cute'." A tone of amusement permeates your voice. “She had no idea about the art or discipline—she just wanted to see her little girl swirl and spin in frilly costumes. But I had fun dancing, dressing up, and listening to the music...”

Somewhere in your head, your mother's voice echoes again. Bitter and resentful, encased in an everlasting nightmare. Your mother stood in the audience, and you ran towards her, tutu skirt fluttering gently. She wiped her eyes and knelt down in front of you, whispering, "You were marvelous, sweetheart," as she drew you in. She smiles, but it stops short of her eyes. Then a string of apologies, saying that he’s gone—that she knew he had promised you to be here, but he's gone. Dad is gone. And he'll never see what you can do.

“My first real performance, in elementary school… I was so proud when the curtain fell.” You continue, remembering another face that has long been a ghost in the past.

("Why did you let that man walk away?")

You clear your throat softly. “After that, it just felt right, you know? Like I'd found where I belong.”

Liar.

Steering away from the bitter past, you change the direction of the conversation again. “Are you from around here?” It's a simple question, maybe even stupid. His accent alone makes it plain he grew up in this land, but, no matter how long you've lived in England, you have a small grasp of regional dialects within the country.

“I mean, I know you're obviously from here—your accent kind of gives it away.” You waved. “I just meant—is this area home for you? Or are you from elsewhere originally?”

The barest upturn of his lips catches your eye. Was that a smile? On this gruff, grumpy stranger who has only revealed so little so far? Your heart beats at the sight, rare as a summer snowflake. He reached into his pocket, took out a cigarette, and held it between his dry lips. The lighter ignited, and white smoke was blown out.

“Manchester, originally,” he said, intonation hanging. He took another drag of his cigarette before exhaling slowly and adding, “A different world now. You?”

“I've been in the city for years now, but I'm from San Francisco.” You said. “When the chance came up to transfer here from my old opera house back home, I leapt at it. Felt it was time for a fresh start, to spread my wings and live on my own. And maybe get out from under my mom's feet—love her to bits, but she can be a bit much sometimes.”

From your own remarks, you can't help but question if mothers are as harsh on their sons or if this is solely reserved for daughters. Girls are taught to keep close to home and their hearts, while boys are free to roam and explore. Is it any wonder, then, that spreading your wings felt like escaping? You wanted to ask him but ended up lacing your tongue tightly.

The fire's burned low, just embers burning gently in the fireplace. Time passed unnoticed as the two of you sat chatting quietly. But outside, the rain began to subside until it was a fine patter on the roof.

“Storm’s passed, seems.”

As he speaks, you glance up to find his guarded mask has fallen once more into place. The easy openness that had soothed tired nerves now closed again – strangely making you bereft. A feeling of melancholy welled up in your chest at the thought of parting, of kissing away the intimate bubble the two of you had crafted and going back out there into the cold reality where you would be strangers again. Your fingers fidgeted in your lap as you searched for words.

“I suppose you're right… it has eased off some.” Your voice came out small and awkward to your own ears. Licking your dry lips, you added, “thank you, for your company. It was…nice, not to feel alone.”

 He stood up, stretching his tall frame. After this, the spell of the evening will evaporate, and everything will return to the reality of loneliness once again.

“C'mon then, let's get you home,” he said gruffly, offering a hand to help you up. His strong hand envelops your smaller one—rough yet tender, sending warmth through your limbs that have little to do with the fire now dying.

Pushing through the heavy doors, the night air is a contrast to the warmth of the pub. Thick fog covered the streets, rain-slick stones glistening under the street lights. He waved at the first cab that passed—and you prayed it wouldn't stop so you could buy a little more time with him.

It stopped. The night was set to end.

He holds it while you slip inside. Through the open window, your eyes met his; he crouched beside the window, broad shoulders hunched. He's talking to the cab driver, but you can't hear it—not when your heart flutters madly in your breast over a single question. The ache of still not knowing his name. It seems wrong, unfair, that he knows you so well, yet you know nothing of him in return.

The cab lurches into motion, snapping the spell. Panic rises in your throat; you can't let him disappear into the night—to the back of your head like another passerby.

“Wait—please! I don't know your name."

Before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out in a desperate rush.

The second ticks by as you wait. He finds you foolish, for sure—just another desperate, nosy girl who wants to play detective the second she sees a puzzle. The clinginess in your request must have given the impression that you were a fool in love—gullible and name-obsessed.

Something shifts in his dark eyes, and you hope it's a wall crumbling away. Then, in his low rumble – “Simon.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, almost parting your lips in question before—

“Name's Simon,” he repeats.

(And the sun breaks through storm clouds.)

SUPPORT ME THROUGH KO-FI! CHECK MY WRITING COMMISSION.

[phantomarine]

Hey what were you trying to say in your “it gets good at page 1001” post

Was it more of a comment directed at yourself ( self degradation), is it satire about perfectionism,

Is it supposed to be inspirational for Beginners webcomic creators, or we’re you just in a bad mood?

More of a warning against self-sabotage, because I see it so much. Sometimes it's tied to perfectionism, sometimes it's the opposite - people surrendering to imperfection when they don't really have to.

Creator chat incoming. I'll put it under the deelybob for anyone who wants to read it 👇

I've been in the webcomic sphere for several years now and I've seen so many people introduce their comic with 'I know it's very long and not easy to read, and I won't be going back and changing anything about what I've already made - but please critique it so I can make the rest of the pages better and attract a bigger audience from now on.'

And that's a hard thing to respond to. If a reader can't get through all those existing pages without being confused or bored, then how can they get to the good stuff that lies past them?

So much of gaining an audience is about actively making it easy to 'fall into' a work. Without that easy entry point, it's always going to be an uphill battle to build an audience, no matter how good the later chapters get. There are outliers, but most webcomics won't be those outliers, especially with thousands of them available nowadays. Some people love the grind, but most people will jump to a new tab and try to find something less frustrating.

And webcomic creation is particularly cursed by its very nature. Creators are hesitant to go back and edit pages, even once they've figured out more details about their craft or story structure. It's mostly because of the seeming permanence of it all - the art takes ages and the words feel unchangeable if even one other person has read them. To go back and edit is to publicly admit your failings, right? That's how it feels. What do you MEAN you didn't get it right the first time? You were supposed to do it live, and do it PERFECTLY!

But ideally it shouldn't be any different than prose writing, which is ALL ABOUT finding the story in those edits. And because your story is digital, you can go back and change things whenever you feel like it. A webcomic is fluid.

And if you're thinking 'I should just redraw my whole first chapter' - NO! Hell no, old art can be a part of the appeal! It's far more about finding little tricks to convey your story/characters more clearly. I have read some first chapters with janky art that made me fall completely in love with the story and cast. It's not about the art - as with all things comic-related, it's about conveyance.

Examples I've seen and some I've used myself: A single extra page with a meaningful interaction can solidify the theme of a character's arc. One additional 5-to-10-page scene can help add visual context for an offscreen event where there was none before. Adding a map can tell people where the characters currently are. Changing a character design can help if they get often confused with another character. Redoing your lettering to make it more legible is a huge one too.

In the end, I just don't want people to be afraid of small edits. When I got feedback about the bad clarity of my own work, I knew it would take some time to fix those problems. It wasn't fun to think about or to do, but I'm glad I did it in the end - because it would have limited my audience tremendously. With just a bit of extra effort, I opened a door that wasn't there before, and it now leads more people even more easily to 'the good stuff.'

tl;dr You started your webcomic for a reason, and you're learning more things about its characters, story, and craft every day. Don't be afraid to go back to old pages and inject some of that wisdom through editing. Even a little can go a long way.

***Caveat: If your goal is to just create chaotically, with no goal of gaining an audience, you are a wild and free little thing, and I am in awe of you. This whole rant doesn't apply to you, and you are stronger than me.

[thefandomenchantress]

Chapter 2 Episode 15 Spoilers below!

Since Ace being the culprit has brought about so much pain to ace lovers, including me, I figured I'd make a list of all the good things that him being the culprit brings to us. Even though Ace will (probably) be executed next episode, that doesn't mean that nothing good came out of this, right?

-Ace's backstory may be revealed much sooner than expected! Before we would've had to wait for chapter 3 or chapter 4 and so on, but since Ace will be gone soon, almost everything not revealed next episode will get told to us in a bonus episode! (I think every dead person gets one of those? Idk if that's officially confirmed). I doubt Teruko's gonna find, like, Ace's diary in chapter three detailing his life story, so if we're ever getting the Taylor Lore™, it'll be in a bonus episode! Plus, a bonus episode would come out a lot faster than the whole of chapter three, so more Ace content sooner no matter what happens in it! And there's always the chance he gets picked for an FTE, since dead people are on the list of options.

-Ace canonically has neat, fancy handwriting. Begone rumors of Ace having illegible, traditionally boy-ish handwriting, he actually writes like a 19th century scholar and I find this very funny. More evidence for my 'Ace likes reading and writing and wanted to become a romance author' crack theory, since he also reenforced his particularness about vocabulary in chapter 2 part 2. (Our only remaining question: Does Ace actually have terrible spelling ('responsibel'), or did he just think Eden would?)

-Ace is very good at being sneaky and often overhears things he shouldn't. I can't wait for this to be used as a plot device in numerous fics ("XANDER YOU'LL NEVER GUESS THE SHIT I JUST HEARD DAVID SAY ABOUT YOU WHEN HE THOUGHT HE WAS ALONE").

-Ace will have to be included in the dead (formerly a) trio posts forevermore. Get ready for Xander-Min-Arei-Ace shenanigans.

-Now that the cast has been forced to acknowledge that being dumb and angry aren't Ace's only traits and that he's just as human as the rest of them, Ace is much less likely to be seen as just those two things by the average viewer. Ace's popularity, or at least the amount of dislike towards him, seems to have shifted since the last episode, and I'm happy more people are able to enjoy what his character has to offer now. He's a cool little guy. I've literally NEVER seen the Ace Markey tag this busy before.

-We got so many cool Ace CGs guys. SO MANY. Including one where he's hanging upside down on the swing set and looks weirdly cute for someone in the middle of a murder plan.

-Also new sprites! The DRDTdev gave Ace a redesign knowing full-well that it would only get a singular chapter of use, and I massively respect that. We already got some new sprites in part 2 of chapter 2 so far, and I'm guessing next episode he'll probably have at least one more breakdown sprite before he dies.

-For someone who no one in the cast liked, he's definitely going to leave an impact. He's finally made at least some of the cast realize what happens when they ignore the issues right in front of them. Ace shouts about how everyone hates him and sees him as an insufferable idiot? Eh, probably nothing, we don't have to worry about that. Sure, multiple people told him he's gonna die next in here, and he almost got murdered, but that won't amount to anything. What's he gonna do, murder someone--WAIT SHIT Ace step away from the Arei I repeat step away from the Arei-- (plus Teruko parallels). I'll probably go more in-depth about this sort of thing in a different post.

-WE NEVER GOT TO SEE WHAT'S UNDER HIS GLOVES. Kyoko and Mukuro both had hand-related secrets that connected them to the plot later on, does that mean Ace will have some sort of relevance to the mastermind or overall lore later on? Like a Mai tattoo situation? (Or maybe it's another thing that may be alluded to or discussed in the bonus episode)(Or left to interpretation but I hope not because I have so many theories).

If you have any more suggestions for other good Ace-related things the culprit reveal brought us, let me know and I can add them to the list! We need as many good things as we can think of right now...

[imeanyourmomsprettyhot]

this might sound weird, but could you write a story where aemond has a younger sister and he laid his eyes on her and one night he goes to her room and they just have a talk or something like that and it ends with smut?

Secret Visits || Aemond Targaryen

masterlist

about: female targaryen!reader, thigh riding, slight fingering, sex

summary: you are aemond's little sister and he visits you in your room after dinner.

all characters are of age!

Family dinner was barely something to look forward to. The only thing talked about for months, is the iron throne, princess Rhaenyra's children, and how Aegon is the true heir of the throne.

I eventually stopped listening to our mother's rage some time ago because I never really saw a point in it. Aemond seems to have the same way of thinking, as the only thing he does is look at me the whole time. He does that quite a lot in the past few months and every now and then, I reply with a smile, or I start a conversation with him.

Me and Aemond always were the closest among all of our siblings. We share the same interests and we actually enjoy spending time together. So it was no big surprise when he stood in front of my room the other night, and we read books by the fireplace. And it looks like he did the same this night.

When dinner was finally over, and we all left to get ready for bed, Aemond knocked on my door. I'm only wearing my thin, white sleeping gown, as I opened the door.

"Oh! Good evening, Aemond.", I smile at him.

It seems like he dismissed my guard.

"You shouldn't open your door, dressed in basically nothing, little sister. Only the gods know who could be standing in front of you."

"You're probably right.", I laugh.

Aemond is right with most of the things he says. It often makes me feel really stupid, to be honest.

"Is there anything you want from me?", I ask him, shivering at the cold air entering my room from the hallways.

A book appears from his back, that he now holds up to his chest.

"I know mother won't let you read about the great warriors of our house, so I brought this from the library for you., he softly taps the cover.

"By all the gods! You're amazing Aemond!"

He smiles at my excitement, as I let him into my room.

I sit down on the floor at the fireplace, while Aemond seats himself in one of the chairs. I immediately start reading the first chapter. I barely notice Aemond looking at me anymore, since I'm so used to it by now. I don't know why, but he seems to enjoy it, just sitting there and watching me read.

"Aemond?"

"Mhm?"

"What does it say here?", I ask, holding the book up to him.

Mother never allowed me to learn High Valyrian, so whenever there is a passage in one of my books, I have to ask my brothers for translation.

"Come here.", he waves his hand.

I get up and walk over to him, handing him the book. But with one quick motion, he pulled me onto his lap.

"You mean this?"

He points at a random sentence.

"No, this one-ahh."

A moan escaped my mouth as Aemond started grinding his thigh in between my legs. He holds onto my waist, slightly pushing and pulling me for- and backwards.

The pleasure from my clit moves through my whole body, and the book falls to the ground. And another moan slips through my lips.

"A-aemond...", I yearn for him.

He responds with his leg grinding faster. He increases the speed he makes my body move, as well. I'm not able to hold my moans back anymore. They fly over my lips, one by one.

"I want to hear you, princess.", he chuckles from behind my back.

My moans get louder, and I let him do whatever he wants to do with my body. I'm under his spell, fully.

He increases his speed even more, and I quickly feel my climax coming. I moan even louder as I finish on him. My body falls back, where Aemond catches me, his head right beside mine. I look him in the face.

"What are you doing?", I breathe heavily.

He keeps looking at me, a smile forming on his lips. With his hand, he pushes my head to the side, coming for my neck.

Aemond places rough marks on my skin, leaving me again with nothing but pleasure. At this moment, I start to notice the erection in his pants. He starts biting my skin, sending shivers down my spine, right to my pussy.

"You like that, don't you?", he smirks at my skin, "There's a large wet spot on my pants already."

He whispers in my ear. The vibration of his voice moves through my whole body. I goosebump, as his hand wanders down to my pussy. Aemond starts massaging my clit with his index finger, earning a loud gasp.

"Do you like that, little sister?", he mumbles.

I moan a 'mhm' as an answer. I crave more of this pleasure, so I try moving my hips upward, to get more of this ecstasy he puts in me. But Aemond presses my body on his, making me unable to move any further.

"Say it. Tell me how much you like this.", he huffs.

"Aemond, I like being touched by you.", another moan escapes my lips, "I want you, Aemond. Please!", I beg.

Within seconds, he made me stand up and turn around, sitting now legs-spread on his lap. He looks me in the eyes, biting his lower lip.

I'm so mesmerized by him that I didn't even notice, he opened his pants. He pushes me up, slightly, positioning his cock on my entrance. And with one motion, I am sat, his dick buried inside of me.

I gasp. So loud, the whole Red Keep must've heard it. Aemond presses his hand on my mouth.

"You have to be quiet, little sister. We don't want anyone to hear how good I fuck you, alright?"

I nod.

Slowly, I start bumping up and down, coating Aemond's shaft with my juice. His head falls back immediately, and he lets go of my mouth.

His cock throbs in between my folds, and the room is filled with Aemond's growls and my moans. With every time he enters me again, there's a new rush of pleasure running through my body. A new rush of energy that moves through us, over and over again.

I cry out, as his hand seizes the back of my neck, while his other hand caresses my back. Quickly, his mouth meets the skin of my throat once again, as his tongue runs up to my jaw. He licks my skin with such slight touch that I start to giggle from the tickling it sends to me, meanwhile the pleasure coming from between my legs.

Aemond now started to move his hips as well, shoving his cock even deeper inside me, pounding in and out with an even faster paste. I couldn't care for anyone hearing right now. There's no way I could hold my moans and my cries back any longer.

Aemond's groans get louder and deeper, while his thrusts get sloppier. My legs start to tremble beside him. I feel his dick pulsating, as my knees get weaker and weaker, and a knot in my stomach builds up.

It takes a few more thrusts of Aemond for the knot in my stomach to untie, as my climax rushes over me. For Aemond, it takes a few more whimpers from me, to take it over the edge, before he releases himself inside me.

"By all gods.", he pants heavily, "You're perfect, little sister."

Moments later, we still remain in the same position. His cock inside of me, still pulsating like crazy. Aemond started kissing me - very sloppily. His tongue twirling around with mine, and connected by a string of salvia.

[ginnsbaker]

Maybe You Were The Ocean

Summary: Wanda was... an open-ended chapter in your life.

Word count: 6.3k+ | Tags: Heavy Angst, Character Death, Bittersweet ending

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Requested by @gingiesworld:

Y/N and Wanda have been together for a while and Pietro calls Y/N one night, needing a lift home from a friends party. On that night they get hit by another drunk driver and Pietro dies on impact. As time goes on and the other driver is arrested, y/n still blames themselves for Pietro's death. Even though Wanda continuously tries to tell them otherwise but they won't listen. They then yell at her "why don't you blame me? You should hate me for your brother dying." Before walking out. Can be either a happy or sad ending buddy. Whichever you decide

Author's note: I changed some minor details in the request, hope you don't mind Gingie. Thank you for this gut-wrenching monster, it allowed me to practice writing in past tense (so out of my comfort zone lol). Title is from "black flies" by ben howard, listen to that as well when you read ;)

Masterlist

-

Now

You haven't been to something like this in what seems like ages.

That something being a wedding.

And if you were to keep count, you'd realize you've been to more funerals than weddings in your lifetime so far.

Your best friend looks like a goddess in her white dress—and anyone with eyes can see that the groom is the luckiest man on earth.

You’re fixing your hair in front of the mirror when she approaches, wearing a smile that you’ve never seen on her, a smile you’d never be able to put on her lips yourself. It’s a smile reserved for him—that lucky bastard.

She gently taps on your shoulder. “You’re going to make me cry if you keep looking so stunning,” she teases, her voice light with laughter.

You chuckle, your eyes meeting hers in the mirror. “It's your day, and nothing can overshadow how beautiful you look.”

“Promise me something,” she says suddenly, her bright eyes locking onto yours.

“Anything,” you reply without hesitation.

“Promise me that you won’t stop looking for this kind of happiness. Promise me you'll find someone who puts that same smile on your face,” she whispers.

Your throat tightens, words caught somewhere between heartache and hope. “I promise.”

Then

You were eight years old when you moved to a new neighborhood.

At that age, it felt like the scariest thing that had ever happened to you. Your parents divorced, your mother got full custody, and once the judge made that call, she packed up everything familiar and moved you to a new state: New Jersey.

It was what she could manage back then. This place was nothing like the spacious suburbs you remembered, and your new apartment building seemed no bigger than your old living room back in California. The place had just one bedroom, and it was hard to tell where the dining area stopped and the kitchen started.

You resented her in the way a child might, not fully grasping responsibility or consequences. You were upset she took you away from your friends and the comfort of your old life. You didn’t see back then the bruises hidden beneath her shirt, the ones your father left. You only learned about them when you turned eighteen. By then, your resentment had faded long ago.

A week after moving into that aged building, you encountered the twins next door, Pietro and Wanda Maximoff. Initially, you met Pietro when his mother sent him over with some food to welcome you and your mom to the neighborhood. It wasn't until you and Pietro became inseparable friends, spending every possible moment together, that you met Wanda.

When you did meet her, you weren't fond of her. She seemed aloof and mostly kept to herself. Unlike her expressive brother, Wanda seldom voiced her thoughts, making conversations with her feel uninspiring. 

You and Pietro often clashed with Wanda over the television. You both wanted to play video games while Wanda preferred her sitcoms. Pietro would let Wanda watch her shows briefly before forcefully switching channels just to annoy her. Eventually, Wanda would retreat to her room in tears, and Pietro would steel himself for a reprimand when their mother returned home.

You would give Wanda a piece of chocolate because you felt bad, but you never asked Pietro to stop, fearing he might stop being your best friend. In return, Wanda would lend you her pocketbooks you’d never quite finish.

You hadn't realized it back then, but that dynamic would continue well into your teen years. With Pietro stirring up trouble left and right, you being caught in the middle, and Wanda, from a distance, observing you with cautious interest—perhaps wishing it had been her who brought the welcoming food instead of her brother.

Now

The wedding isn’t going to start for another hour. There have been delays due to the weather.

With the archways and open corridors adorned with blooming flowers and drapes, the venue looks nothing short of magical, even with the looming clouds. From where you stand, you extend your arm, letting the light drizzle kiss your skin. Each droplet feels like nature's way of playing with the day's emotions—adding both melancholy and charm.

Someone nearby remarks, “You know it's considered good luck when it rains on one's wedding day.”

You merely smile politely in response.

“Are you a friend of the bride’s or the groom's?”

“The bride,” you reply.

“Oh, fantastic! Maybe you can convince her to finally see she’s way out of his league!”

You shake your head at the joke. It’s not even the first time you've heard it today.

Then

It wasn't until you were fifteen and Pietro, seventeen, that the troubles you found yourselves in became more serious. 

It had also been a few months since Pietro introduced you to drugs other than weed. At first, it was just an occasional joint passed around at a party or behind the school building. But Pietro wanted to try riskier substances. You weren't as keen but didn't want to be left behind by your best friend.

One evening, after trying something a bit harder than usual, you and Pietro were wandering the streets, laughing way too loud. In his intoxicated state, Pietro suddenly swung at a parked car with his bat, smashing it. Almost immediately, patrol lights shone bright, and stern police voices could be heard from almost everywhere. Pietro got cornered, but sheer panic made you bolt. Ditching your best friend felt terrible, but the terrifying thought of jail—especially knowing the mess it'd be for your already stretched-thin mom—made you keep running.

Still shaken, you made your way to Pietro's apartment, knowing you had to be the one to tell his mother. Her reaction was a storm of emotions—anger, fear, desperation. She demanded you stay with Wanda while she went to confront the nightmare at the police station.

“I think I'll just head home,” you murmured to Wanda, not wanting to impose any further.

She glanced at you, her eyes searching. “Have you had dinner?”

You hesitated, then lied. “Yeah, I ate earlier.” The truth was your mom had been away for work for three days, and the fridge was almost bare. 

The small home you came to know felt overwhelmingly spacious as you sat alone, burdened by the guilt of having left your best friend behind. But mere minutes after sinking into your worn-out couch, a knock came at your door. Opening it, you found Wanda, a bowl of steaming paprikash in her hands and a soft smile on her lips.

“I thought you might be hungry,” she said.

Your face lit up in relief at the sight of the food, more grateful than you could express. Just as you were about to thank her, your stomach betrayed you with an embarrassingly loud growl. Wanda let out a genuine laugh, and for a brief moment, you felt like a burden had been lifted.

“Guess I was right,” she teased, handing you the bowl.

As you eagerly began eating, Wanda settled opposite you, her expression growing serious again. “What were you two even thinking tonight?” she asked softly.

Swallowing, you sighed, “I tried to stop him, Wanda. But I couldn't talk him out of it.” 

Wanda looked down, her fingers playing with a loose thread on the couch. “I don't blame you,” she finally said, her voice gentle, “I never do. In fact, I sometimes wonder how much worse he might've been without you around.”

A moment of silence hung between the two of you before Wanda whispered, more to herself than to you, “I'm so worried about next year.”

Curiously, you looked up from your food, "What do you mean?"

“Pietro's turning eighteen. He was supposed to get a baseball scholarship, but with this run in with the police, that’s probably hanging in the balance now…” she trailed off.

Your heart sank. You had known Pietro had big dreams tied to that scholarship, dreams that now seemed to be teetering on the brink. "And what about you, Wanda? What's your plan?"

Wanda took a deep breath, and her face lit up slightly, “I got accepted into Columbia. It's amazing, really. But…” She sighed, looking down, “Even with the scholarship they offered, I can't afford it. Plus, with everything going on, I think I need to be here, help Mom out, you know?”

“That's tough,” you whispered, feeling a pang of sadness for the bright future she might be putting on hold.

She nodded, “I'm thinking of starting work and maybe attending community college for a bit. It's not Columbia, but it's something.”

“That's... that's just unfair,” you whispered, setting down your bowl, your appetite momentarily forgotten. “If there's anyone who deserves to be at Columbia, Wanda, it's you.”

Wanda looked up, her eyes filled with something you didn’t recognize.

“I wish things were different,” you continued. “I've always thought of you as one of the most intelligent people I know. And not just smart, but kind... genuinely kind.”

She took in your words, the distance between you two closing slightly. “Thank you,” she murmured, her gaze never leaving yours.

Then, with a flash of resolve, she inched closer. “There's something I want to do,” she began, her voice a whisper. “Something I've wanted for a long time, but it never seemed right. I don't think there'll be another perfect moment, another chance. Not after tonight.”

Before you could process her words, she was leaning in, the space between you disappearing. Your eyelids dropped, and for a heartbeat, everything else melted away as her lips met yours.

For the longest time, nothing made sense to you. That was, until Wanda Maximoff kissed you.

Now

Your best friend's walk down the aisle feels like the longest part of the ceremony–at least to you. The sight is so magical that time seems to stand still. When you snap back to reality, the priest is asking if there's anyone in the crowd who wishes to object to the marriage.

Nobody breaks the silence which lasts a mere two seconds. It's a rarity these days for anyone to object. They only happen now in movies. Modern weddings are more intimate, almost closed-door affairs. The guest list is meticulously curated, ensuring anyone with a complex history with the bride or groom remains absent.

You watch the ceremony unfold, every word, every shared glance, making you feel more trapped by the promise you made earlier. You'd promised to chase that very kind of happiness, the kind that was unfolding right in front of you. Yet as you watch, there's this nagging feeling at the back of your mind, asking if you ever really will.

What they have feels like a world apart from where you're seated. 

You try to be genuinely happy for your best friend, and on many levels, you are. But you–you’re the last person to believe you deserve even a fraction of such a miracle.

Then

The kiss, as Wanda had promised, never happened again.

At least not for the duration they remained neighbors. Soon after, she and Pietro moved to another town for their studies. As for you, you and your mother also moved shortly after their departure, to a nicer neighborhood that’s closer to Manhattan where you also transferred schools.

For five years, you didn't see either of them. No calls. Nothing on social media. But that didn't stop them from occasionally drifting into your thoughts. Especially that memory of your first kiss.

That was until one night, while dining alone in a midscale Soho restaurant, you looked up to find Wanda as your server.

She wore a simple black uniform that most servers donned, but she carried it with an elegance that made her stand out. For a moment, you thought she didn't recognize you, as she professionally presented the menu and described the evening's specials without missing a beat. But then, as she was turning to leave your table, she paused and looked directly into your eyes.

“It's been a long time,” she said, her voice becoming more familiar as she shed her professional facade.

You nodded, struggling to find the right words. “Yeah, it really has. I didn't expect to see you here.”

She smiled, a little sadly. “Life takes us to unexpected places sometimes. I... well, I needed a job while I finish my degree.”

You both chatted briefly, catching up on lost time, but Wanda was called away to attend to other patrons. As she bustled about, you found it difficult to focus on your meal, your gaze repeatedly drawn to her fluid movements around the room.  Every so often, your eyes would meet, and she'd offer a fleeting smile, a touch of color rising to her cheeks.

After a while, you signaled for the check. Wanda was quick to bring it over, her fingers brushing against yours as she handed it to you.

“How's Pietro?” you asked tentatively.

Wanda hesitated, her eyes betraying her composure. “He was released from prison about a month ago,” she began, taking a deep breath. “It was tough, but he's doing better now. Trying to change, you know? And he... he misses you.”

Baseball never happened for him. College too. You wished you hadn’t lost your connection together. Perhaps you could have made a difference.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured. “Life just... took over.”

Wanda nodded with understanding, but remained silent.

As you prepared to leave, Wanda slipped a note along with your bill. It read, “It was good to see you again. Maybe we shouldn't wait another five years?”

Beneath these words, Wanda had also written down her phone number.

-

You waited a total of three days to call Wanda.

Wanda was... an open-ended chapter in your life. It wasn’t that you hadn’t been with other women since she stole your first kiss, but she remained a persistent afterthought in every relationship of yours that ended. 

It didn't help that you'd left a bookmark in her chapter, aware that revisiting it had the potential to alter the trajectory of everything.

The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered, “Hello?”

“Hey, it's me,” you hesitated for a moment, wondering if she would recognize your voice after all these years, “From the restaurant, the other night?”

There was a brief pause, then her tone softened, “I hoped you'd call.”

You were grinning so hard that it didn’t occur to you that you hadn’t responded to her in a while when she gently teased, “Took you long enough.”

“Three days isn’t that long,” you defended with a slight chuckle.

“Well, in the grand scheme of things, no. But in the context of us? It felt like an eternity,” she admitted.

And it truly felt that way. Finding Wanda over the past several years hadn't been impossible or even especially hard. Yet, both of you had consciously let things drift. You had navigated through college, and Wanda, well, she'd been engaged in whatever endeavors she had pursued.

But that night, it felt right to call her. And you hadn’t realized you were waiting to find her again.

You and Wanda scheduled to meet some time during the week and the conversation should’ve ended there. But neither of you wanted to hang up, and Wanda quickly asked about your college experience and the new neighborhood you'd settled into after their departure. By the time you both ended the call, nearly two hours had passed, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

It was evident; the bookmark you'd placed hadn't lost its page and it was easy to ease once more into its pages.

Now

The sun has set when the newly-wedded couple finally arrives at the reception.

You're seated at a table filled with strangers, but your best friend made sure to place you next to a woman she's been raving about—one she's suggested more than once you should date.

Her name is Natasha and she’s gorgeous beyond words. She's so striking that you find yourself wondering if she's even your type. Typically, you've steered clear of people who seem universally more attractive than you, a defense mechanism to sidestep lingering insecurities from over the years.

But as she leans into your personal space, you can’t help but respond to every question and laugh at every joke she throws your way.

Maybe it’s safe to let yourself enjoy this, even just for tonight.

Then

It was scarcely two weeks since that encounter with Wanda at the restaurant, and there you were, in her bed.

It was cramped and the air conditioning kept failing many times during the day. 

But you didn’t care. 

You had known this woman for almost your entire life, and you'd waited just as long to be in her bed like this: with your arm growing numb under her weight, her head resting on your chest, and your nose buried in her hair.

She stirred slightly, her fingers tracing patterns on your chest. “Did you ever think...?” she began, voice hesitant.

“Think what?” you prompted, adjusting slightly so you could see her face.

“That we'd end up here, like this?” she whispered, her eyes searching yours.

You smiled, thinking back. “I don't know if I let myself think about it. But I hoped.”

She chuckled softly, her breath warm against your skin. “I had a feeling you'd say that.”

The sheets beneath you were thin and had seen better days, but it didn't matter. The world outside, with its faint hum of city life, seemed so far away. Yet, the world outside seemed irrelevant. All that mattered was the rhythm of her breathing syncing with yours and the warmth of her body next to you.

Every so often, she'd shift, mumbling half-formed sentences that would make you chuckle.

“Is the penguin wearing a bowtie?” she murmured in her half-asleep state.

You laughed softly. “What penguin?”

“The one in my dream,” she mumbled, snuggling closer to you. “He's quite the gentleman.”

“Sounds like a classy penguin,” you teased.

She smiled faintly, her eyes still closed. “He reminds me of you, in a way.”

“Oh? So, I'm a penguin now?” you quipped, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“In the best way,” she whispered, pulling you closer. “My dapper penguin.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Only you would dream of something like that.”

“And only you,” she murmured, lips against your chest, “Would be there in that dream with me.”

-

While Wanda seamlessly reintegrated into your life, with Pietro, however, things weren't as straightforward. His past, speckled with run-ins with the law and a battle against addiction, made you and Wanda wary of him, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You could tell he was on the mend though, especially when six months into your relationship with Wanda, Pietro was able to hold a job for that same duration. Yet, his living situation with Wanda was far from ideal. Their apartment was snug, to say the least. His room was barely big enough to fit his bed. 

You wished you could help, but with college expenses looming over you, your hands were tied. The thought of asking Wanda to move in with you played on your mind constantly. It seemed like the ideal solution: she would have a more stable environment, and Pietro could fully occupy the apartment, giving him some semblance of independence.

“What do you think about moving in with me? I know it's soon, but…” you asked her one night in the quiet confines of your dorm room.

“I don’t think I’m allowed to live here with you,” Wanda said, a bit amused at your suggestion.

“I didn’t mean here,” you replied. “I meant finding an apartment for the two of us.”

“That’s just adding more expenses, Y/N. I can’t let you do that when you can stay here without any costs,” Wanda countered.

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. “It's not about the money, Wands. It's about... us. Having a place of our own. And it would also give Pietro the whole apartment.”

Wanda's eyes met yours, searching for a hidden meaning. “Are you saying that because of Pietro? You think he's a burden?”

You quickly shook your head. “No, no, it's not that. I just... I see how much you worry about him.”

Your fingers found hers, lacing together as you both sat on the edge of your bed. “I get it,” you began, exhaling softly, “But I thought about Pietro too. He’d have the apartment all to himself. More space, more independence.”

Wanda's eyebrows knit together in concern. “And what if he…” she hesitated, searching for the right words, “Relapses or needs me?”

You tightened your grip around her hand. “We wouldn't be too far, Wanda. And maybe giving him that space and trust will help him more than you think.”

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I know you're thinking of what's best for all of us, but Pietro's situation has always been so... fragile.”

Wanda looked at you, her eyes filled with emotion. “I'll think about it,” she whispered.

“Take your time,” you replied, pressing a soft kiss on her knuckles. “Whatever you decide, I'm with you every step of the way.”

“Promise me,” Wanda said, her eyes hardening, like she’s on the verge of tears or something worse. “Promise you’ll be with me always.”

You leaned in, brushing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Always.”

Now

“It’s not everyday you find the person you’ll be spending the rest of your life with.”

Short and sweet, but that's your whole speech, cliches and all.

“I never thought I'd see the day,” you start, nodding towards the newlyweds with a smirk. “But hey, miracles happen.” You raise your champagne glass. “To two people who finally figured it out. Cheers.”

Your best friend laughs, rolling her eyes affectionately at you. “Trust you to keep things real,” she murmurs, clinking her glass with yours.

And that’s when you see her, amongst the cheering crowds.

In the middle of all the people, she stands out. Always has. It doesn't matter where or when, you can always spot her. Your heart skips a beat, just like it always does. It's like everyone else fades a bit, and she's the only one in focus.

Wanda Maximoff. 

Pristine in a scarlet trumpet gown, her hair pulled into a tight, strict bun. A few stray tendrils of hair have escaped the bun, framing her face in a way that gives her an almost ethereal quality.

As you take a moment to really look at her, you notice the fine details. The way the light catches the small diamond earrings she wears, making them shimmer just so. The delicate curve of her collarbone, revealed by the gown's off-the-shoulder design. And her eyes—always her captivating eyes–that hold an entire galaxy, scanning the room until they land on you.

The shock in her eyes mirrors yours, and for a moment, everything else blurs. Your legs wobble, threatening to give way beneath you. The room's atmosphere grows thick, or perhaps you're just struggling to catch your breath.

Beside you, the bride and your best friend, Maria, notices your sudden change in demeanor and follows your gaze to its source. 

“Are you okay?” she asks.

You manage a shaky head shake in response, pushing through the crowd to escape the room. But you can hear Maria, not too far behind, calling after you.

Then

“So, Maria,” Wanda began once your friend had left and it was just the two of you in the cafe. You had been so keen for the two of them to meet. But with Maria spending a whole semester in Germany as an exchange student, their only prior meeting had been a brief video call that interrupted one of your dates with Wanda.

“How did you two get so close?”

“Did I never tell you about that?”

Wanda shook her head, taking a sip from her now lukewarm cappuccino.

“Freshman year. We were looking for this book and it only had one copy in the school library, and believe it or not, we reached for it at the same time,” you recounted with a wistful smile.

Wanda's face shifted ever so slightly, a change you didn't quite catch.

“We both really needed it badly, so we promised to take turns using it, and we ended up studying together for weeks.”

“That sounds like something out of a movie,” Wanda mused, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup.

“It kind of felt like that,” you admitted, laughing softly. “From bickering about who would get the book on Mondays to sharing our notes and coffee breaks. Before we knew it, we were inseparable.”

Wanda hummed, her eyes flitting restlessly around you.

“What is it?”

Wanda shrugged. “Nothing.”

You frowned slightly, knowing her well enough to see past her facade. “Wands, come on,” you coaxed. “Talk to me.”

She looked away for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “It's just... it's hard sometimes, hearing about these memories you shared with someone else, when I wish I had been there with you.”

“Wanda,” you began gently, “There are moments in your past that I wasn't a part of. But what matters is now. Right here, with you.”

She sighed, her posture deflating a little. “I know. It's silly, isn't it? To be jealous of a close friend of yours.”

“If it makes you feel this way, then it's valid, no matter how silly you think it might be,” you assured her.

She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. “Growing up, our worlds were confined to that same apartment building. The people, the routines, everything was predictable. And now... being out in the world, seeing you connect with others, it's just... intimidating. And, honestly, a little scary.”

You paused, smirking a bit. “You know,” you began, but Wanda cut in, “What?”

“It's just...Do you even know how happy you make me?” you said, a bit sheepishly.

She looked like she was about to say something, but you quickly added, “Seriously, Wands.”

Wanda blinked, clearly taken aback. “You have this strange way of turning things around,” she said with a soft chuckle, her face turning a shade pinker.

“Because I love you.”

Neither of you had said it up until now. And it’s quickly evident that it was the right thing to say, at the right moment.

She took a deep breath, her fingers fidgeting with her cup. “You always jump in headfirst, don't you?” Then, looking up into your eyes, she added softly, “I love you too.”

You grinned, feeling a weight lifted. “Took you long enough.”

Now

The grand ballroom doors open with a soft whoosh, the muted melodies of a string quartet drifting into the cool night. You step out quickly, breathing in deep gulps of fresh air, your heart pounding against your ribcage. Memories of Wanda Maximoff, which you've tried hard to keep buried, surge to the forefront of your mind.

Maria, noticing your abrupt exit, quickly follows you out. “Hey,” she calls out softly, her heels clicking on the stone path as she reaches you. “Are you okay?”

“Why is she here?” you exclaim, the pitch of your voice inching towards a sharp octave.

Maria gently grabs your arm, offering solace. “I had no idea she'd be here. I promise. She must be someone’s plus one.”

You swallow hard, trying to steady your suddenly spinning surroundings.

“Y/N?”

“I'm okay, Maria,” you say, forcing a weak smile. “Sorry about this. It's your wedding, and you shouldn't be out here with me. Go back, enjoy your day.”

She looks conflicted, torn between staying by your side and going back to her new spouse and guests.

After a moment, Maria steps forward, enveloping you in a tight hug. “Promise me you'll be okay?”

You nod, hugging her back. “That’s too many promises in one day. But yeah, I’ll be okay.”

It’s just Wanda, you tell yourself.

Just the girl who could always bring out that special smile in you—the same one Maria had when she said, “I do.”

Then

The call came unexpectedly in the middle of the night.

You and Wanda had been dozing in her room for a few hours, following a particularly exhausting fight that concluded with even more exhausting—and mind-blowing—make-up sex.

“Hello?”

“Y/N!” You instantly recognized Pietro’s voice. “Hey, listen, can you pick me up? I'm at a bar,” Pietro said, his voice tinged with guilt and slight slurring. “I... I swear I didn't do anything. I got promoted to store manager and I treated a few colleagues to celebrate. I'm a bit tipsy so I... I'm sorry to bother you.”

There was a pause, and you ran a hand through your hair, exchanging a glance with Wanda who now sat up with a worried look.

“Which bar?” you asked, trying to keep yourself calm.

“Mike’s Tavern,” he mumbled, sounding embarrassed.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your keys from the nightstand. “Alright, I'm on my way. Stay put.”

Wanda frowned, her gaze conflicted. “I want to come with you,” she said, her brows furrowing together in concern and sleepiness.

“You should stay,” you said, sliding into your jeans. “It's a bit of a drive to New Jersey. You've had a long day, and you need to rest. I'll handle this.”

She bit her lip, torn, but finally nodded. “Please be safe. Call me if anything happens, okay?”

“I will,” you said, leaning down to give her a brief kiss on the forehead before making your way out.

-

You didn't call Wanda on your way back from New Jersey, but not because nothing occurred.

Rather, something did happen, and you weren't conscious enough to make the call.

-

You and Pietro made it to the hospital.

Wanda was an emotional wreck, grappling with the challenge of dividing her attention between her brother in ICU and you being wheeled into a separate ward.

An hour later, she didn't need to decide any longer.

Pietro Maximoff's time of death was called just as you started regaining consciousness.

-

The days following Pietro's death were a blur. You'd wake up, immediately feeling the weight of the world pressing down, your every moment drenched in guilt in the form of alcohol and, sometimes, your own vomit. 

Though you weren't close to Pietro anymore, he was slowly turning his life around. And while a drunk truck driver caused the accident, your own haste to get back to Wanda made you reckless. 

That choice haunted you daily.

That choice made you believe that Wanda hated you in secret.

You began avoiding Wanda, her presence a haunting reminder of the brother she lost and, in a twisted way, the brother you felt responsible for losing. The relationship you cultivated turned into something that only existed as a label. Otherwise, it didn’t exist at all. It faded, just like the gash on your face that you acquired from the accident.

Nights blurred into days, and sometimes, it was hard to tell which was which. Friends would find you in bars or on the rooftops, looking worse for wear, lost in your thoughts. Yes, Wanda grieved, but she was also lost without you by her side. She yearned for your comfort, your grounding presence; instead, all she got was your voicemail.

The breaking point came on an evening when she didn’t hear from you for two weeks. On a hunch, she decided to visit your dorm room. The last thing she expected was to find Maria there. While the situation was innocent enough, to Wanda's overwhelmed and grieving heart, it felt like a betrayal. Maria, sensing the rising tension, made a hasty exit, leaving the two of you alone.

Wanda's eyes glittered with rage and sadness. “Is this it?” she demanded. “Is this how we handle grief? You shut me out and bring her in?” 

You looked away, the walls you had put up to protect yourself now seeming like a prison. “It's not about Maria,” you murmured, your voice empty, almost lifeless.

Wanda's red-rimmed eyes searched yours, looking for a glimmer of the person she loved. “Then what is it? Why do you keep pushing me away?”

“Why don't you blame me?” you suddenly screamed, tears blurring your vision. “You should hate me for your brother dying!”

For a few moments, there was a deafening silence, interrupted only by your quiet sobs.

Wanda's hands cupped your face, forcing you to meet her eyes. “I've never blamed you. Not once.”

You remained quiet, refusing to let Wanda lift your chin from your chest.

Wanda continued, “Life is a series of 'what ifs' and 'maybes'. You can't control everything. And neither can I. We both lost him, Y/N. I don’t need more loss by losing you too.”

“Maybe you already have,” you whispered, finally looking into her eyes.

Wanda's voice cracked, “You can't be serious. What are you saying?”

You felt drained, worn out. “I don't know how to be us anymore, Wanda.”

She looked devastated. “So you're just walking away? Because we're hurting?”

You just wanted to be able to breathe again. You just wanted all of the pain to end, even if it meant letting her go.

Wanda's face crumpled, her voice rising. “So, that's it? You're just giving up?”

You could barely muster the strength to speak. "I just think... maybe it's easier this way."

“Easier for whom?” Wanda yelled, unable to hold everything back any longer. “I don't need easy, Y/N. I need you. But if you're so set on this, then be honest with me.”

You took a deep breath, your throat tight. “I think we need space, Wanda. A break.”

For a moment, it looked like Wanda might collapse. She took a step back, her gaze cold and hard. “You think a break will fix this? Fine. But don't expect me to be here waiting when you come around.” 

Without another word, she turned on her heel and left.

The last image of Wanda Maximoff etched into your mind as you closed her chapter.

Now

You half-expect her to seek you out after you left the reception. So, when the familiar scent of Wanda’s perfume wafts over, you keep your back turned, taking a long drag from your cigarette rather than acknowledging her arrival.

“Can I bum one?” she asks, her voice softer than the last time you heard it.

You hand her a cigarette without a word, watching her closely as she lights it. Her fingers, slender and pale, bring the cigarette to her lips, and she takes a long drag, exhaling with a sigh.

She looks so different, yet so achingly familiar.

Her hair is red—a detail you missed earlier. But now, standing this close to her, you can pick out everything that’s changed about her.

And you hate how good you are at doing just that.

For a few minutes, both of you stand in silence, letting the smoke swirl around in patterns before it gets carried away by the wind.

Wanda breaks the silence. “It's been a while.”

“Did you know it was Maria’s wedding?” you ask, finally gathering the courage to look at her.

She hesitates, exhaling a plume of smoke before admitting, “Yes, I did. But explaining to Steve our... complicated history and why I'd refuse to be his plus one seemed harder than just going with it.”

“Steve?”

She looks down, taking a moment before murmuring, “Steve’s my fiancé.”

Your eyes instinctively flit to her left hand, landing on the glimmering diamond ring. It's large and hard to miss, and you almost want to laugh that you hadn’t noticed before.

There’s a long pause between you both before you find your voice. “Congratulations, Wanda.” And to your own surprise, you genuinely mean it. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, an action you still find so endearing after all these years. But you’re not supposed to find anything about her endearing anymore. They’re not supposed to make your heart race. They’re not supposed to make you feel light-headed with desire.

It hits you painfully just how possible it is to stand mere inches from someone, yet feel oceans apart.

Wanda takes a deep breath, releasing it shakily. 

“You know,” Wanda says, her voice soft, “I never really got to apologize for how things ended between us.” She shakes her head slowly, tears forming in her eyes. “I was angry, hurt... lost. And when you tried to come back, I was already seeing someone else. By that time–”

“–so much has happened and I’ve hurt you too much,” you finish for her, a pained smile on your lips. “I’m sorry too.”

Wanda's breath hitches, and for a moment, she's transported back to your dorm room. She's spent a long time wondering what might have happened if she had stayed. But that choice belongs to a different timeline, a version of her that might have been braver than she feels now.

You pause, glancing at your hands before meeting her eyes. “Are you happy, Wanda?” A part of you hopes she's found happiness, yet another selfish part wishes she hasn't—because if she hasn't, maybe there's still a space for you in her life.

Wanda meets your gaze, her eyes shining with a clarity you hadn't seen in years. “I am happy,” she confirms softly.

The unexpected rush of emotion tightens your throat, and your eyes mist over. But you fight it, forcing a big smile that wrinkles the corners of your eyes. 

“That's great, Wanda,” you say. Your heart aches a bit, thinking how happiness can feel like a double-edged sword.

Reading your expression, she asks, “What about you? Are you happy?”

You promised Maria you won’t stop looking for the kind of happiness that brings people together. 

So, now you hang onto the hope of that promise. 

“Getting there,” you answer, the corners of your mouth lifting ever so slightly, “I will be.”

[willowser]

sometimes i get the very strong urge to write a comes back ??? fic for bakugou but the more i think about it, the more i realize how emotionally taxing and honestly horrifying it would be.

you and bakugou spend a few years in that weird will-they-won't-they stage before you officially start seeing each other seriously, and then it takes some time to adjust to having a pro-hero for a partner — so it's not always easy. until the time goes by and you have a break up scare or two and things finally level out, and you figure out how to talk to each other and you fall into the beautifully warm comfort of just being together, in love.

and then he fucking dies. in a heart-explodey, blind-in-one-eye kind of way.

the two years that follow are just — time passing, like pages in a chapter you can't understand the words to. you know grief in a way you never could have comprehended before, you wonder what it's all for and how you'll go on. you're angry at him for sacrificing his stupid life and angry at the world for taking him from you, but you're so deeply, down to your bones, heartbroken over losing him.

and you're not the only one; more than any of his friends that you see, deku is the one who is there for you the most. calls you daily and pulls you out of bed, makes sure you eat because he knows that's what kacchan would want. lovingly flings out a few gruff insults that make you laugh until you're both crying in your kitchen. it means something, maybe, that you both can just mourn in the presence of one another, without judgement or care.

your relationship gets a little — dependent. not romantic, at least not for you, but it's like you need the other person for the bits of bakugou they hold that you don't. the memories and the laughs and the bad times as well as the good. the secrets katsuki would never tell you, and the tenderness izuku was never shown.

it never gets easier. every day is just another day. if you think about it for too long, it all comes crumbling down. you're almost having to disassociate through your life just to make it, and that's hard when the whole city mourns him, too. but you do it. every single day, even on the worst of them.

izuku calls you a little more than two years after, in the middle of the night.

sounding way too awake and out of breathe, though you don't think that's necessarily out of the ordinary, considering his profession. he's a very hyper-fixation kind of guy; you can only imagine what hobby he's picked up and also mastered in the last 48 hours.

he asks if he can come pick you up from your apartment because he "needs to show you something important" and you agree, even if it doesn't feel like it usually does, when the nights are long and you both need someone to talk to. this feels — urgent. a bit worrisome.

you don't know where he takes you, but he's quiet the whole way there. in an old sweater, hair mussed, bags under his eyes like he really hasn't slept in the last 48 hours.

("stupid flighty fucker," katsuki would say, sometimes, when the weight of the world was weighing too heavily on the number one hero's shoulders, and even if he would huff and puff and grit his teeth, you'd notice him checking his phone more often than usual. taking every phone call that came without hesitation.)

you almost want to tell izuku that, in the car, because that's what you do, that's how you've kept him alive between the two of you; kacchan would make a point to tell you that's not how generators work, in the shitty horror film you and deku go see, that kacchan wouldn't dare sit through.

("no, he would," you argue, solemn as the lights in the theater warm back to life, as it empties. "he would."

and after a long, heavy beat, izuku would agree. "yeah. he would.")

izuku brings you somewhere that's too clinical to be as quiet and as dark as it is: inside, the walls and floors are sterile with anti-septic but the lights are off, in every hallway. the only visibility comes from a small lamp that's in a lobby of sorts, and there is a small handful of people you don't know, at all, already there. waiting.

you say his name in a small, concerned question, and when he takes both his hands in yours, they're warm and too wide and sweaty. his eyes glow, but in a way you don't recognize. everything he says to you is — gibberish, a mish-mash of worry and half-sentences and all the warning bells are going off in your head.

"y-you can't freak out, okay? you have to—i can explain all this when...when the time is right."

"you said that you would give anything to have kacchan back, remember? you said—you would do anything."

"i know this sounds—i know how this sounds, okay? but nothing is impossible!"

"i just need you to trust me."

and up until now, you had no reason not to. but you're not sure when he slept last, or even when he ate last, or why he's muttering things about his quirk, how he and katsuki are connected somehow, in ways he's not able to explain.

or why you can faintly hear the steady beeping of a heart monitor just beyond the only closer door in this wing of the hospital.

[rosella35]

Kaleb's Bad Day: Part I

*clears throat* It's been a while, G/T community!

I don't get as much time for writing anymore with my uni degree in its final years, but this is a one-shot I've been working on for an obnoxious amount of time now based on a prompt I got a while back: What if Kaleb, my borrower character, shrunk in class?

To set the scene since the last time I updated Borrowed Courage was in 2022 *sobs*, Kaleb and Brooke live in a world where the borrower race was discovered 10 years ago and unbeknownst to humankind, many borrowers use a drug called "Upsize" to temporarily grow to human size and blend into society. This one-shot is canon but probably won't be added to the main story for timing reasons. It's set roughly 2 months after Brooke first discovered Kaleb's secret identity as a borrower.

Part II will be up tomorrow - I hope you like!

Content warning: contains angst, swearing and nudity (not graphic).

****

“Alright. For the rest of today, I want you to work independently through the exercises in chapter two of your textbooks. I’ll be floating around if anyone has any burning questions.” Mr Bell instructed the class. From his seat at the back of the room, Kaleb gritted his teeth in frustration. On any other day, he would be more than happy to follow his teacher’s instructions; learning about human history was one of the things he’d enrolled in school for in the first place. From a young age, Kaleb had been fascinated with the way the giants that owned the world had came to be that way, while his kind— the borrowers— had spent their lives hidden away in the shadows. Today, though, he was only half paying attention. Kaleb ran his hands through his scruffy brown hair, finding it increasingly difficult to ignore the incessant pounding that seemed to reverberate all the way from his skull to his fingertips.  

Something was off. 

It wasn’t uncommon or him to be getting headaches from going consecutive days using Upsize, the drug that allowed him to attend human school at five feet nine instead of five inches tall. Even so, they hardly ever set in this early in the week, and were never an issue unless he was moving around too much. This one felt different. It had barely set in twenty minutes ago and was already driving him crazy. With a pained sigh, Kaleb tried to preoccupy himself with opening his textbook to the designated chapter. It felt weird to consider, since borrowers didn’t get sick nearly as often as humans did, but… maybe he was coming down with something.  

From the seat adjacent, Brooke Tucker glanced up from her own work to frown across at him. “Are you good?” She whispered, leaning forward with her hand on her chin. 

Kaleb immediately stiffened, surprised she’d even noticed his discomfort. Am I that obvious? “I don’t know.” He said uneasily. “My head is killing me.” 

The human girl’s brow creased in concern, an expression she rarely ever directed at him. If he weren’t so distracted by the pain, Kaleb probably would’ve been flattered. “Could be a migraine.” She suggested, before adding in a lower voice. “Do borrowers even get those?”

“Yes, we get migraines.” He whispered back, rolling his eyes. Since she’d discovered Kaleb’s true identity back in September, the human girl had made it her mission to find every opportunity to tease and mock him about being a borrower. Still, Kaleb couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something about this particular headache felt familiar. No way. That’s impossible. He dismissed, turning back to his textbook. “It’s probably nothing.” He assured her.

That was when he felt it.

BADUMP. 

A sudden wave of pain reverberated through his body, making him sit bolt upright in his desk like he’d just stepped on a live wire. It was a sensation Kaleb knew all-too-well, because he’d experienced it every afternoon after school for the past four years. 

His Upsize was about to wear off. 

“Shit.” He hissed, feeling the colour drain from his face. His mind reeled, struggling to make sense of why this was even happening. It was like one of his worst nightmares come to life. He should’ve had more time. He always had more time. Had Rodney messed up his dose? 

Kaleb ground his teeth together, forcing himself to focus. There was no time to dwell on the ‘why’. He had to get out of sight, and fast. 

BADUMP.

The room spun as he was hit with another rapid full-body ache, and Kaleb almost collapsed out of his chair. He felt himself start to shiver uncontrollably, the primal fear of being seen overwhelming his senses. “Kaleb, what the hell’s going on with you?” Brooke’s voice echoed somewhere beside him. “You’re making a scene.” 

Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit. Kaleb didn’t have to look up to know that the whole class was staring at him, a tingling feeling that sent his borrower instincts to flee into overdrive. He glanced across at Brooke, gazing unblinking into her judgemental grey-green eyes like they were his lifeline. In that moment, he made a decision.

“Why’re you staring at me like that, it’s creeping me—”

“Come with me.” Kaleb blurted out. 

That was all the warning Brooke got before he’d clamped his hand around her wrist and launched out of his seat, dragging her along behind him. 

“Sorry Mr Bell, we’ll be right back!” He announced in a rush of adrenalin, practically stumbling out the classroom door. Brooke, who had been too bewildered to react to their sudden exit, finally came to her senses as they entered the empty hallway. She ripped her hand out of his grasp, ears reddening in second-hand embarrassment from what had just gone down.

“What the fuck was that about?” She hissed, though her expression shifted to concern when he leaned heavily against the wall several paces in front of her, clutching his head. For the first time, Brooke noticed the raw, unsuppressed fear in his eyes.  

“I can explai—” Kaleb started, but broke off with a startled yelp when he felt the shrinking process finally kick in. He could only catch a glimpse of Brooke’s startled expression before the ground rushed towards him and he was swallowed up by his human clothes that were suddenly hundreds of sizes too big. Within the span of a few seconds, he found himself back at his original five-inch-tall height and buried beneath the course folds of his t-shirt, chest heaving from the lingering adrenalin and body frozen in terror as the reality of his situation dawned. 

Brooke, having witnessed the whole thing, did a double take. “What in the—” One second Kaleb had been standing there in front of her, and the next… Her eyes fell to his unoccupied pile of clothes, and she swore, realising what had just happened. 

“Kaleb? Brooke? Is everything okay with you two?” She froze at the sound of Mr Bell’s voice from inside the classroom, his footsteps growing closer and closer.

Panicking, Brooke scrambled to scoop up the bundle of Kaleb’s clothes, quickly locating the squirming figure buried within, and shoved them behind herself. The second he felt her fingers close around him and lift him blindly into the air, Kaleb’s heart leapt into his throat. He shivered involuntarily, the sensation of powerful human hands around his entire frame serving as a stark reminder of how little control he had over their current situation. All he could do was make himself as small as possible in her grip and trust Brooke to handle things with the teacher. 

“Y-Yep!” The human girl said, turning around just as the Mr Bell poked his head out the classroom door. Her hands tightened protectively around Kaleb’s smaller form under the clothes, feeling his tiny heartbeat flutter like a bird’s against her fingers. She cleared her throat awkwardly in attempt to compose herself. “I mean… actually, Kaleb wasn’t feeling well. He went ahead to the nurses office, but would you mind if I go too? J-Just to make sure he’s okay.” 

The teacher gave her a strange look, and Brooke held her breath, waiting for him to notice the bundle of Kaleb’s clothes behind her back and effectively blow her cover story. After a moment though, Mr Bell’s expression softened to concern. “Oh, of course you can.” He said with a nod. “I hope he feels better soon. Don’t worry about missing the rest of the lesson. I’ll email the two of you supplementary work later today.”

She managed a strained smile. “Thank you.” 

The moment he disappeared back inside, Brooke took off down the hall, her mind stalling on what she was supposed to do next. There was no way she could actually take Kaleb to the nurses office without exposing him, and it would be too suspicious if she just up and left the building in the middle of class. She cursed. There was really only one place that would give the two of them some privacy, which made her uncomfortable even thinking about, but Brooke didn’t really have a choice. 

Resigned to her fate, she made beeline for the girl’s bathroom. 

Locking herself inside a cubicle, Brooke let out a relieved sigh. She sat down heavily on the closed seat of the toilet, turning her attention to the bundle of Kaleb’s human clothes in her lap and the tiny muffled voice she could suddenly hear through the fabric. “Can’t breathe—!”

Eyes widening, Brooke loosened her hold around the clothes. It seemed silly now, but in her haste to get to somewhere private, she’d almost forgotten that Kaleb had been with her the whole time, buried underneath the layers of denim and cotton.  She was about to reach in to try and pull him out, when she realised that somewhere amongst the folded material, Kaleb was not only borrower-sized but naked. Face heating up at the thought, Brooke sat back against the toilet and cleared her throat awkwardly. “Okay, you’re safe to come out. We’re alone.” 

Sure enough, it wasn’t long after she’d spoken that Brooke noticed a miniature head of scruffy brown hair poking out through the of one of the t-shirt sleeves as Kaleb revealed himself at last. He blinked rapidly in the harsh fluorescent lighting, scrambling to cover himself with his blanket-like clothes. Without his usual shirt and tan jacket combo, he seemed almost smaller than usual, his bare shoulders slim and pale and his breaths short and fast. Fragile was the first word that came to mind. Intuitively, Brooke knew that compared to humans, borrowers really were fragile and vulnerable, but those were never words she’d associated with Kaleb. Now though, he wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that his entire body trembled like a scared animal in her hands. 

That didn’t stop her from glaring daggers at him. “What the fuck, Kaleb!” She hissed. “You almost gave me a heart attack!” 

Kaleb flinched instinctively, his hazel eyes shooting up to meet her now much larger grey ones. Brooke’s angry expression faltered. Shit. He looked terrified— even more so than the time she’d found him on the apartment roof all those weeks ago. She swallowed, turning away uncomfortably. That look in his eyes… It didn’t suit him at all. 

The two of them didn’t speak for several minutes, awkward silence permeating the cubicle. Kaleb took that time to try and compose himself, his full-body tremors slowly dissipating as he tried to calm his pounding heart. It wasn’t easy to do by any means, but he appreciated Brooke’s patience. Finally finding his voice, he tilted his head to meet her eyes. 

“S-Sorry.” He said, holding the material of his shirt around his nude frame with white knuckled hands. He licked his dry lips. “No one saw… did they?”

Brooke sighed, making a conscious effort to shift to a gentler tone of voice. Now probably wasn’t the time for their usual teasing banter. “No.” She reassured him. “Just me.” 

Kaleb visibly relaxed at that, minuscule shoulders slumping under the thick material of his shirt. “Thank god.” He breathed, almost too quiet for her to make out. So he hadn’t been seen by anyone else in the class. Just knowing that was enough to ease a significant portion of his built up anxiety. With a clearer head, Kaleb finally paused to take in his surroundings, and his jaw immediately dropped when he caught sight of a toilet roll as long as he was tall. “What the—” He exclaimed, looking up at her with an aghast expression. “Is this the girl’s bathroom—?!” 

Brooke held back a snort as his tiny face turned beet red with embarrassment. Much more like the Kaleb she knew. “You didn’t exactly give me much time to think of a better place to go.” She pointed out, sitting up straighter on the toilet seat. “And while we’re on that topic, what the hell happened to you? Isn’t your wonder drug supposed to last the whole day?” 

Kaleb flinched at that and peered down at his smaller form, pathetically dwarfed by the clothes that had fit him perfectly less than ten minutes ago. Already, without the disguise that was his human height, he was starting to feel like the fraud he was; just another borrower trying and failing to carry himself with the same level of confidence and liberty as a human. “I-I don’t know.” He mumbled. “Maybe my uncle messed up the dose.” He wrapped the the fabric of his shirt sleeve tighter around himself, feeling more exposed than ever. “This has never happened to me before.” 

“Clearly.” Brooke said. “If I hadn’t been there to cover for you, you’d’ve been screwed for sure.” 

She felt him shiver at that fact, almost making her regret her choice of words. “You’re right.” Kaleb looked up at her again, his expression earnest. “Thank you, Brooke. Really.” 

Brooke blinked. That was unexpected. She shifted in her seat and looked away, hoping he wouldn’t notice her blush. With their current size difference, that was unlikely. “I-It’s fine.” She said. “So, uh… what now, then? Do you have any more Upsize you can take?” 

Kaleb pursed his lips. “I don’t keep any spare pills at school.” He admitted quietly, shuddering again despite the course fabric around him. “With Upsize, you need to wait at least an hour after shrinking before you can take another dose. It’s supposed to give the medicine a chance to leave your system, kind of like a cool-down period.”

“Right, of course that’s a thing.” Brooke sighed. She tried racking her brain for an alternative solution. “Well then, can someone come get you? Surely Evie would. I bet she’s bored out of her mind back at the apartment without having me to spy on.” 

Instead of laughing at her poor attempt at a joke, Kaleb looked horrified. “I can’t just leave early!” He exclaimed. “I’ll miss maths next period. Mrs Crowley said she’d be giving out final exam tips today!” 

Brooke couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re kidding.” She started, holding back a disbelieving laugh. Looking closer at his tiny, pleading features though, her smile faded. “You’re not kidding.” She deadpanned, groaning. “Come on, Kaleb. How the fuck are you supposed to come to class like this? You don’t even have any clothes!”

Kaleb’s cheeks heated up and he pulled the shirt sleeve a little tighter around himself as he was reminded of his current nudity. “I can get clothes.” He insisted, his usual confident demeanour returning in full force. “I have a spare set in my locker. Climbing gear, too.” 

Brooke would have face palmed herself if her hands weren’t still cupped around his tiny frame. She regarded him quizzically. “Well that’s great, but isn’t your whole thing supposed to be not getting seen by the rest of the class?” 

Kaleb shook his head. “I don’t have to actually come to class. You could just, y’know, let me off into the air vent and I can listen in from there.” He suggested, giving her a clumsy shrug from amongst the bundle of clothes. 

Brooke just stared down at him, completely lost for words. “You’re crazy.” She muttered. “You’re actually fucking crazy. You literally almost shrunk in front of our whole class, and now you want me to just let you go off into the walls so you can catch some stupid exam tips?” 

“Brooke.” 

She didn’t hear him, her voice rising in annoyance as she continued. “And then what? Am I supposed to just stay back and look for you after class, like that’s totally not suspicious at all?!”

“Brooke.” 

“Ugh!” She wanted so badly to bang her head into the cubicle door. “Why do I even get myself into these situations? I swear, ever since I found out about you and your stupid little secret, my life’s been a fucking disaster—!”

“BROOKE!”

She broke off with a start at his exclamation, caught off guard by how loud he’d managed to sound despite his obvious disadvantage in size. Brooke bit her lip, breathing heavily through her nose. She almost jumped when she felt a slight pressure on her thumb. Kaleb had reached out to touch it with his much smaller hand, stroking the digit in attempt to reassure her. “You good?” He asked. 

“Y-Yeah.” Brooke replied weakly, her mouth dry. She didn’t want to say anything but the feeling of his tiny hand on her finger felt so… weird. Kaleb almost never initiated physical contact with her when he was borrower-sized.  

He nodded, meeting her eyes again. “I’m sorry.” He said with obvious embarrassment. “I got a bit ahead of myself there. I guess I just thought you’d want me out of your hair so you could get back to class. If you can help me to my locker, I’ll call Evie to come pick me up, and I’ll just email Mrs Crowley about the exam later.” 

Brooke sighed at his words, a much simpler solution coming to mind that she was probably crazy for even suggesting. “Or you could just come with me.” She pointed out, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement when he blinked up at her. “What? Did you forget we have the same maths class?” 

“Come… with you?” Kaleb repeated, looking thoroughly unconvinced. “As in, on your person? Where would I even go—?” His broke off, eyes trailing upwards to the chest pocket of her oversized denim jacket at the same time hers did. His face lost several shades of colour, and he shook his head firmly, despite knowing deep down that he might not have any say in the matter. “No way. No way. I’m not gonna sit in your pocket all day like some house pet, Brooke! That’s just… that’s just embarrassing!” 

The human girl smirked down at him. “Well, would it be any more embarrassing than being tiny and naked in the girl’s bathroom?” Her hand inched up to ruffle his hair teasingly. “I mean, unless you’re secretly a pervert?” 

Kaleb swiped at her already retreating digit. “I’m not a pervert!” He snapped, pointing his own diminutive finger up at her accusingly. “You brought me here, not the other way around!”  

“Relax, I’m just messing with you.” She giggled. “You’re always so easy to work up like this.” 

Kaleb bristled. “Yeah, well can you blame me? When I’m like this, there’s five extra feet of you to piss me off!”

“Fair point.” Brooke smirked. “So, what’s it gonna be then?” Her hands edged closer around him, as she impatiently tapped her foot against the tiles. “I can’t just keep sitting on the toilet for the rest of the day.”

Kaleb sighed, turning his gaze downwards in defeat. He had to admit she was right about that. Stalling was only prolonging what they both knew had to come next. “Fine. I’ll come to class with you.” He hesitated. “Just… can we please get my clothes first?” 

Brooke looked at him, shock evident on her face. Did he really believe that she wouldn’t let him get changed? It was humbling to think that with Kaleb like this, without his bag or climbing gear, he was essentially putting his life and his autonomy in her hands. Just knowing that made Brooke soften her voice ever so slightly. “Um, yeah, of course. There’s no way you’re coming with me in the nude. That’s fucked up.” 

Kaleb breathed a sigh of relief at her reassurance, offering a grateful smile. “Okay… Well, in the meantime, could you grab me a piece of toilet paper? To cover up, I mean.” 

Brooke blinked, glancing across at the roll beside her. Hesitantly, she tore off a small strip of toilet paper between her thumb and index finger and handed it down to him. Kaleb took it, ducking under his sleeve for a moment to tie it around his waist like a towel. He looked down at his handiwork, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’ll do.” He muttered to himself, letting the oversized shirt sleeve fall away so that he was standing at his full five-inch height in her cupped hands.  

Despite herself, Brooke almost did a double take when she saw his bare chest for the first time. There was no denying it; Kaleb was ripped. The thought had never occurred to her, but considering his active lifestyle, she really shouldn’t have been as caught off guard as she was. A little more of a tan, and he could’ve belonged in a body building magazine. She tore her eyes away before he caught her staring, but that didn’t stop her cheeks from heating up. 

She coughed. “Right. Ready to go then?”

“That depends.” Kaleb smirked knowingly. There was really no way he could have missed a stare that size. He took a bold step forward in her cupped hands and flexed his muscles tauntingly. “Did you want a closer look?” 

“W-What?”

“Who’s the pervert now, huh?” He teased, throwing the label right back at her.

“Shut up!” In that embarrassment-riddled moment, Brooke reacted in the only way she could think of. She poked Kaleb harshly in the chest. Like always, he staggered backwards with a yelp at the impact, but this time neither of them had taken proper stock of their surroundings. As if in slow-motion, Kaleb tripped over the folded clothing behind him, simultaneously jostling free the poorly secured knot holding up his toilet paper toga. All hope of modesty gone, he fell flat on his back with his legs gracelessly splayed… within full view of the human girl holding him. 

The two of them stared at each other in silent shock for several seconds, and Brooke wished she could bleach her eyeballs. Instead, she opted for the next best course of action.

“AHHHH!”

[ladykailitha]

A Heads Up and a Schedule Update

Just a few things to go over with you today!

Posting schedule

What's Next Story Wise

Halloween and WIP Wednesday

My permanent tag list

1- First up, my posting schedule. The days AREN'T changing. This is just an update on which stories will be released.

This Sunday is the last chapter of Icarus (metal band) and I will start posting its sequel "Around the World" and it's epilogue "The Rise of the Fallen".

Because I want to get as much of "Around the World" out as possible in the spooky month, it will post starting on Tuesday, Oct. 22 and will post one chapter every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday until it completes. Then once it is done, "The Rise of the Fallen" will premier at the first Sunday AFTER "Around the World" is done. So if it ends on Oct. 31st then it will come out on Nov. 3rd. But if it ends on Nov. 5th, the epilogue will premier on Nov. 10th. Does that make sense?

"The Rise of the Fallen" only has two chapters so there is no need to rush them out. So the two chapters will release a week apart.

The Hellfire Club (stripper) is nearing it's completion and will have 13 chapters. It will continue to release every Friday ending on Nov. 22.

Now, depending on what finishes first, "The Au Pair Boy" (nanny) will premier the following week. So if the Fallen verse ends first, then it will come out on a Sunday, if Hellfire does then it will come out on Friday Nov. 29th.

As always I am constantly writing so as these finish I move onto other stories and will begin posting new stories once they get at least 3 chapters in backlog. Which brings me neatly to number two!

2- What's next story wise?

I have so many ideas (waves at my Discord chat, if you know, you know).

Some really interesting ideas that I've come up with recently are:

Noir AU

Mafia AU

FB Prompt

Amnesia

Steddie as Dragon Dancers (which I haven't written up for Tumblr yet)

And any or all of them will be used as I finish the other stories. If you have one you'd really like to see, put a comment or tag in and I'll see about moving it to the top of the list or at least closer to the to the top.

3- Halloween and WIP Wednesday.

I won't be having WIP Wednesday on the 30th, because I'm doing the Trick or Treat ask game on the 31st.

This is how I will be doing it. I will have two pick wheels up on my laptop. You send Trick or Treat (with the name of a current WIP) and the first wheel determines whether you get a trick or a treat. A treat is a snippet from that WIP or if it's a trick it will go into the second wheel where it pick a number and I will answer the corresponding ask from this list.

Just like with WIP Wednesday you can play as often as you like. You know me I love asks. Any remaining asks will be answered the next week as part of the usual WIP Wednesday.

4- Permanent Tag List.

It's that dreaded time of year again. Trimming and rearranging my tag list. About every six months or so, I go through all my stories and if you haven't liked, reblogged, or commented on a story in the last three months, I give you a whole month of me constantly, almost aggressively tagging you to respond whether or not you want to remain on the list.

I do this because sometimes people fade from a fandom and I don't want to keep tagging someone who isn't interested in my writing anymore. It's not fair for them, and it's not fair for the other people who want to be on the list but can't.

If after the month and you haven't responded or if you respond that you want to be removed from my list (which I am 100% okay with I promise!) you'll be removed from the and refill any vacancies to the list.

I have a hard max total of 40, and depending on how many I lose this time that might go down.

THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO REQUEST TO BE ADDED TO THE LIST PLEASE!!!

I already having a waiting list of SIX people who comment, like and reblog my stuff all the time that I want on it. And they will be given top priority to be added. @fearieshadow

@dreamercec @blondie1006 @kultiras @thesecondfate @sadisticaltarts

If there is any room after I add them, then I might be open to requests. But again it depends on how many is left. Like if after the six get added and I have 37, then I'll open for three more. But if I have 35, I might lower the hard limit to the 35 so more casuals can get a chance to be tagged in a specific story as my story tag lists have a hard limit of 50. Which means as it stands only 10 casuals can request to be added at this time.

So starting on Nov. 2nd I will send out the call. And every Saturday until the end of Nov. I will repost (not reblog as a reblog doesn't RE-notify you) with how many days you have left to reply.

Then on Nov. 30th I will trim the unanswered and the removals from the list and add the wait list. Then if there is any room I'll do an open call. If there isn't enough room for all six, I will use a pick wheel to fill the list to keep it fair. Same will go for the extras if more than required amount to fill it goes over.

[silverskye13]

Will enby Helsknight/trans Tanguish/top surgery scars/stubborn avoidant Welsknight in a gender crisis make it into the main story of RnS? Like, a full acknowledgment of it? Because yes, us on tumblr are aware (and happily bully RnS Wels for it) but I’m curious to how it may be brought up in the main storyline instead of rambles and drabbles. (Don’t get me wrong, those rambles and drabbles are what get me through the day. But my best friend, who isn’t in the MCYT fandom whatsoever, just caught up with RnS and doesn’t use tumblr, and besides spamming her with tumblr posts I wanna know how much I can revel in the glory of the skrunkles with her!)

That is a great question, actually. And the answer is I don't really know.

So this is one of the downsides to writing things chapter by chapter. If I had gone into this going "oh heck yeah they're trans", this would've come up in the plot way sooner. It's nice information 1) for all the trans folks reading and 2) because it has the potential to inform the themes in the narrative. This whole story is about two chief things I think: death [the inevitability of] and identity [what defines you and why]. Why should you care if literally no one else (including the universe) does? That would be so cool to speak about in terms of a trans allegory! Why do you care about gender when it's just one thing in a world of crazy things? Or at the very least, how does it inform your identity? But this is a change I made on a whim suddenly, and I know Exactly Where I Want This Plot To Go, so trans topics and allegories as Plot Points probably won't happen.

On the more technical side of introducing trans characters -- how do you do that without just dropping "oh btw they're trans" in? Like, how do you make it a relevant thing to talk about, that doesn't feel forced or shoehorned in, especially this late in the story? Probably me overthinking, but I read it done wrong so often. It gets tired. And if I ever work on my original stories, there are trans characters in there! If I can figure out how to Do It Well in a fanfic, then I can figure out how to do it in original fiction someday maybe. So I kinda wanna take the introduction seriously? I've actually been thinking about it so much I've thought about rewriting the intro to the next chapter ahaha [it already needs rewritten in general, there's a lot going on, but the intro was going to be Helsknight waking up from something, and he sleeps shirtless, and not addressing top surgery scars then would be kinda silly I think.]

I can say at the very least, Gender Avoidant Wels probably won't factor in the story much. He is a character, but I don't think he'll become Enough of a character to faithfully address something like a trans self discovery arc. At best his issues with gender might be mentioned in passing.

Sorry! I know you probably want a better answer! My answer is basically: I don't know I'm still working on it. I want it to be there, but the capacity it's there is undecided.

That being said, I've been sitting on this glorious ask since the shenanigans started and the temptation to just Do That grows every time I read it:

[jayenator565]

My Tanthamore Comfort Fics

We were talking about comfort fics in the Tanthamore discord and I realized I have too many for a normal sized reply, so here's a tumblr post instead. In no particular order i've reread these fics...maybe too many times.

I'm just gonna list em by author cause that's easier. Keep in mind we may have different definitions of the word comfort.

@commanderbuffy

650 ft2 - Ok so like envision these girls have been best friends for forever and they've been secretly pining for ages, no sense of personal space, they can read eachother like books AND they were roommates!

The Tanthamore Affair - This fic has everything, one bed, fake dating, celeb au, the fic that changed the meaning of a certain emoji and all the tropes you could want really

@badlance

We've got to find other ways to make it together - this one line says all you need to know

"It is the greatest irony of Jade Claymore’s life to be a certified genius who is nevertheless in love with an idiot."

@spybrarian

More Than Just Survival - as far as 5+1 fics go this one has me in a CHOKEHOLD

I scream at your chest for as long as I must

one night at the start of the end of the world

@ilovemyships (i think you need an AO3 account to read these gems)

you won't believe it (they think we're lovers)

don't wanna pressure (but friends don't kiss friends)

@acre-of-wheat - Acre's way with words should be studied

Network Connectivity Issues - I have never related to a character more than I relate to this Jade

The Dark

The Bite

@jlmichigan

Out of the Cuirass - one of the first tanthamore fics I ever read actually and I still come back to it every so often

@stbot

lay down your armor (come lie bare with me) - saintbot has a catalogue lemme tell ya but this one for tanthamore is just so heartwarming

@overkill-max

Escaping Fate - the Kit runs away fic that everyone needs

Dil3mma (idk their tumblr right now sorry)

A Sword And A Shield (And Everything In Between)

Deja-Brew - the loveliest coffee shop one shot

Jad3dEt3rnal (idk if they have a tumblr either)

This Daydream is Dangerous - cuddly vampire Jade, need I say more?

ana_chronistic (idk if they have a tumblr either x3)

Oops. I proposed. - fake dating x 100, fake proposal it's like fake dating to the next level and I love the growth of communication and pacing in this.

@barmaid-anon

do what you feel now

you want a good girl that does bad things (to you)

fulfill (an obligation) or keep (an arrangement)

we simply don't have time to unpack why these are comfort fics, we're just going to accept it and keep going.

@thecsquirrel

Sword and Shield - I love this look at what post S1 life could have been like for the gang, revisiting Nockmaar, seeing Galladoorn, getting into the evil Elora storyline with Graydon, spending more time with the Nelwyn and in the Wildwood it's just everything

@wigster07

What a pleasant surprise - a fic of one of my other comfort fics, I know it's like fic-ception in the best way possible. If you liked Tanthamore Affair I have an inkling this will be right up your alley

@isabrella @jade-claymore @allthefakepeople @resurrecho

those rumors they have big teeth - BAND AU need I say more? I don't need to but i'm going to, this fic has everything Kit and Jade in a band, Kit's leather pants, gay-ifying songs, MAMA MIA, totally gay best friends who have basically been dating for years but won't admit to it, Jade gets to be a bit problematic as a treat, inner band fighting, what more can you want?

@swashbucklery

meet you where the spirit meets the bones (tanthamore 90s werewolf au) - its a SERIES of these repressed gay DORKS and they're werewolves, there's such a charming way to how this author writes them I legit can't even with these two gays

@onlyshestandsthere

these walls come tumbling down - look, we don't have time to unpack why there's so many were-related supernatural esque fics on my comfort list and I know this is only 2 chapters in but I can already feel the comfort in all the hurt ok I dont even have to wait I already know i'm gonna be rereading this like monthly

I'm gonna have to stop there even though I know i'm still missing some! If someone asked me what my favorites are we'd be here all day XD

[lovebugs-and-snakecharmers]

LBSC Lukanette Month - September 2024

Welcome to LBSC Lukanette Month 2024! If you're in a hurry, skip on down to the prompt list below, but be sure to check out the rest of the post for information about where and how to post for maximum visibility. Just to be clear, even though we call it LBSC Lukanette month, ANYONE can participate. There's no membership card and you don't have to join the discord or follow the blog.

You will notice we have many more than 30 prompts here - because there's no such thing as too many prompts. This way you can pick and choose which ones speak to you. As with all of our events, the rules are quite laid back (although we do have some hard and fast rules at the bottom of the post regarding the type of content). You may fill as many or as few prompts as you like, as often as you like, in whatever order you like, in whatever format you like (sprint, minific, 30 chapter epic, whatever makes you happy). Our official event dates are September 1 through September 30, but if you post outside of those dates, we'll still reblog. If you're inspired to write something that you wouldn't otherwise have written, our goals are met, so don't fret about the rules - unless rules inspire you, in which case, take the first 30 or the last 30 prompts and write one prompt every day.

If you are having trouble finding a prompt that speaks to you, you can also check out the LBSC Smooch Roulette generator or take a look at our past sprint prompts.

Please make sure to tag @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers in the body of your post so that we can be sure to reblog your work and include it in our final summary post!

If you post to AO3 please tag LBSC Lukanette Month 2024 and add your work to our collection here.

Feel free to drop any questions in our ask box or join our discord group.

Blue

Pink

Blackout

Locked In

Getaway/Vacation/Road Trip

Out of Town

Street/Craft Fair

Laundry Snuggles

New Pet

A: says something stupid B: laughing "Shut up. I love you."

Broken chair

Big Changes/Little Changes

City Walks

Streetlamp

Music

Shipwrecked

Memory loss

Bonfire

Thief

Headphone

Escape

Dorm

Myth

Planetarium

Change

Voice

Opposite

Improvise

Complications

Fancy Dress

Silly Costumes

Stars

Scales

Compass

Rhythm

Lightning/Spark

Mischief

Notebook

Melody

Secrets/Surprises

"Do you trust me?"

"I can't believe our first date ended in the emergency room."

"Why do I feel like you enjoy getting yourself into danger?"

"Are you okay?" "That was really attractive."

"You're a terrible liar." "I don't know what you mean." "You're smiling."

"I missed my chance once. I won't miss it again."

Rooftop

Free fall

Fate

Concert

Bridge

Piercing

"It‘s not what it looks like!"

"I already take care of 18 little guys so what‘s one more?"

"Is that my hoodie?"

Ink

Fortune

Famous

Panda

"Love is a choice, and I've made mine."

"Look, I know I don't deserve a second chance. But I'm hoping you'll let me have one anyway."

Unexpected

Stage fright

Nail polish

First tattoo/piercing

Secrets

Promises

Learning to drive/ride a bike

Airport

Luggage

Regret

The Rest of the Rules:

NSFW responses are permitted but characters must be 18 or older and the fic should be tagged accordingly. This is a Lukanette blog and a Lukanette event, so while Lukanette does not need to be the main ship, it needs to at least be included or referenced and considered endgame (in other words, they don’t have to be together by the end of your work, but the intent is that they’re headed in that direction, and if they're not, it's a tragedy, not The Best Thing For Everybody). The decision about what qualifies for reblog rests solely with the LBSC moderators. If a piece hasn’t been reblogged within a couple of days, either the mods felt the piece didn’t meet the criteria or it was simply missed; you are welcome to reach out in the asks to inquire which.

[olderthannetfic]

I'm curious about people's opinions on this.

I recently saw some complaints about people writing het omegaverse and how it should only be for queer relationships and there seemed to be some drama over it and claims that het ships are ruining it. And because I tend to enjoy drama more than I should I read a long twitter thread. Now, the omegaverse isn't my cup of tea. All I really know about it is, wolves, Mpreg, dominance and submission. But it is very popular. Nearly all of my fandoms and ships will have a few omegaverse fics on every one of their AO3 pages. (Nearly all of them are M/M ships)

So I guess, what are the issues of people writing het omegaverse? Or should this be another case of Don't like Don't read and let people have their fun? Or does it just not really work for het ships?

--

Yes, het will totally ruin the weird dog dicks AU. Absolutely.

There are no ~issues~. People should write whatever the fuck they want. But if you want to explore whether it "works", you have to delve into what makes omegaverse tick actually, which is more than just wolves+mpreg.

One common use of the trope is to make someone 100000% the top 5eva. This is the type people often mock or complain about in m/m, and it works much the same in f/m. This is what showed up in that stupid omegaverse lawsuit situation: indie het erotica/romance novelists are now using this as a way to structure their fsub rapey ultra alpha hero stuff, and one of them decided she was the original and no one should steal her idea. (Soooo original.)

The Alphaest Alpha to Ever Alpha is a fantasy, not realism, no matter how many dicks the ship has, so it's not any stranger to go "No, he's really, really on top!" about the dude in het than about one of the dudes in m/m.

If this trope is hot to you, it's hot. If it isn't, it's not any stupider with het than with slash.

But that's not the only thing omegaverse gets used for. It's also used for the diametric opposite: debunking the idea of someone naturally being super, duper default on top. This kind of fic often does something with betas and actually engages with the idea of a three-biological-sex system (instead of betas being how you get rid of the characters you don't ship). It will have alpha/alpha relationships or omegas topping or omega-->beta trans characters or all manner of other gender/sex exploration.

I don't read a ton of het in fandom, but I do read m/m/f, and I've read fics where each chapter is a different scenario where the three are some other omegaverse combo. This is where you'll often see female alphas and male omegas and various takes on exactly what that would look like. There's no reason het couldn't also be used to explore sex and gender stuff.

And, really, some people just find knotting hot. A story being het won't change that.

[02chois]

FAIRY OF SHAMPOO ✧ bunny duo unite

pairing: idol au! soobin x fem! reader

summary: soobin found his own fairy of shampoo. the one that makes him smile whenever they show up on screen, and even manages to brighten up his day whenever he's upset. but this feels a little familiar, isn't it? he hopes it won't be like the song they released. he wants to be able to face the fairy that casted a spell on him without the screen between them.

word count: 1k words

content warning: written + texts, k word, profanity

author's note: I like this chapter a lot 🥹 please tell me what you think! feedback is always appreciated 🫶

PREVIOUS ⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆ NEXT

You sat down in front of the phone, your face inches away from the screen as you tried to read every single comment. But to no avail the auto scroll was too fast and eventually you gave up reading everything.

"Photo time? Okay, last photo time before I go!"

You backed away until you could see your whole body on the screen, you sat with your legs crossed on the floor and did several different poses. A peace sign, apple heart, and bunny ears using your whole hand on each side of your head. A giggle escaped your lips when you caught a comment from one of your members.

"It's not cringe when I'm doing it! And I'm not an old lady," you rolled your eyes, "just because I'm the oldest doesn't mean I'm ancient."

The comments were panicking and having a field day from your poses. Most of them were calling you cute and half were crying emojis. An amused smile curled on your lips, you've done your part and they found you cute. Does he think you're cute, too? You lowered your gaze and remained quiet. The soft humming of the centralized air-conditioner filled the room. Why were you even thinking about him at this time? It could've been later when you're not live and thousands could see your expression right now. The last thing you want is for Bunnies to get worried about you.

The sound of the door opening snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned your head to the door behind you, and thankfully whoever walked in couldn't be seen on the screen.

"Oh shi— I'm so sorry," his voice, however, was loud enough for them to hear.

Your eyes widened when he locked eyes with you. He was panicking and wasn't sure what to do as he stood there on the side frozen. You gave him a thumbs up and a reassuring smile before turning back to the screen.

"I'll see you guys later! And yes, I promise that I'll post later for the ones saying that I've been inactive." You waved your hand and used your free hand to press the end live button. The screen displayed the total watchers you had and the hearts you got throughout the past two hours.

"All set. You're free to roam the room!" You took the phone from the stand and turned it off. You plan to give it to one of the staff later on.

Soobin took a brief glance at you before he made his way to the bundle of bags from across the room. You watched him from the center of the practice room with a small smile. The shuffling of duffle bags and your calm breathing filled the room, his sneakers squeaking ever so often as he turned to fetch another pair of shoes from below the speakers.

There was nothing but silence, but the both of you preferred the comfort in the stillness of the room.

The sound of paper tearing made you look at him with confusion across your face. You walked over to where he was but not close enough that you could bump into him, instead you reached for your bag and arranged the clothes you used for practice. You tried to take a peek at what he was doing, but his height alone cannot be conquered. You couldn't look over his shoulders nor do you have the ability to see what he was writing anyway.

Once he was finished, he placed the pen down. He let out a breath before turning to face you, clearing his throat to get your attention. "Can we exchange numbers? It's okay if you don't want to, that's absolutely fine with me—"

"Yeah, sure!" You cut him off.

How could you say no when he's so adorable. He was so nervous, too. The look of shock remained on his face as you tore a piece of paper from the notebook, you wrote your number and other info before turning to face him.

You extended your hand, "here's mine." He took the paper from your hand as you did the same.

Soobin felt like he was dreaming. It was as if he was standing on clouds and that one wrong step could make him fall and wake up from this dream. It was that easy, yet he had to do drastic measures like shoving paper in your sandwich. But it was Beomgyu's idea and it didn't work. If only he knew confronting you about exchanging numbers was this easy he could've done it way earlier.

The note you gave him has your number and a cute little doodle of a bunny right next to a short note. It says 'bunny duo unite.'

You're so cute.

"Thank you," you let out a light laugh, "you are too."

Soobin's ears were flushed red. He couldn't believe he just said that out loud and in front of you on top of that. The warmth spreads throughout his cheeks to the back of his neck, he wants to hide away from you. Why do you do this to him? The effect you have on him is dangerous. The urge to pinch your cheeks was strong, he wants to hug you and shower you with kisses so bad. He wants to be with you and see you smile. He wants to be the reason why you're smiling. You're his sunshine, his fairy of shampoo.

"I… uh, have to keep going. I still have practice with the others. I'll see you." Soobin gave you a shy smile, his dimples visible as he did so.

You watched as he grabbed his things and quickly made his way towards the door, and once the door was closed you collapsed on the floor. Your legs felt like it was giving up and it felt like it was jelly the whole time you talked to the blond. You swear that you stopped breathing for a moment when he was near you. A deep sigh escaped you, closing your eyes as you tried to calm yourself.

Your heart was pounding against your chest. If he was close enough, he could possibly hear the pounding of your heart and it would only double your embarrassment. The feign confidence was only a show so that he wouldn't feel like he was doing something wrong.

Now, you have to get home and tell the others about this. And surely they're going to be proud of you.

TAGLIST: @dakota-04 @captivq @sserafimez @openingssequence @luvsoobs @cursedcursives @hueninv @storminacloud @fatoompie @lvrjjun @goldennika @niccoverse @eundiarys @aestheticsluut @spritin @silvsie @ttyunz @joti17 @spagettae @softcabur @ghyulia @wonyoungsvirus @lcv3lies @ilik3milfsl0l @hueneve @fanfangying1304 @adajoemaya @soobsdior @loveradhikabloggerworld @thepencilkorner @curly-fr13s @invusblog @stepout-09-15 @shysakuno @i520sn @floweryongs @rosabella1009 @itspalaly @boba-beom

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How do you come up with your fic titles? And what were some of the hardest ones to pick:]

This is such a good and hard question. I've been thinking about it for hours.

Hoo boy i had some things to say I guess

Ones I regret:

I've never fallen from quite this high, florida man dub, i was your willing accomplice honey, when the frost is gone there you'll find mulberries.

My favorite title is probably Hits Different. it's just so perfect for that fic where they, you know, hit each other, but also their relationship hits different AND that was the song i was obsessed with when writing it. Too perfect.

I hate coming up with titles but i recognize the title is very important to the fic. I use a lot of Taylor Swift songs (all of my hot girl summer bingo fics were named after TTPD songs) and John Dunne poems. Two fools is from a a john dunne poem: "I am two fools, I know, / For loving, and for saying so" (shine here to us is also from a john dunne poem called The Sun Rising, which i also used for a teen wolf fic "All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy")

Otherwise, I name fics based on what they're about and/or a pun. Circling Back (fun fact my boss said this very same thing the other day and it made me internally laugh)

Wait, here's a funny screenshot of Chelsey helping come up with that title

Let me familiaize you (which is about George accidentally making Patches his familiar but also means, like, let me catch you up on the tea but in corporate speak).

I also have two PWPs with biblical names or allusions - A pillar of salt in front of sodom, which of course references Lot's wife turning back as the arch angels were destroying the city for the sin there. The other one is Like Moses at the Burning Bush which is an awesome title and references the moment when god calls to moses to go back and save his people--a real call to action, so to speak. but this was a more direct in-joke between me and some friends from a discord server, which i won't explain because it will make no sense to anyone else. I have often felt that I need this to be a triology and thus need a new pwp nasty boy to complete it. (can i use you up could have gone here but i was sticking to the TTPD names then)

Here is a screenshot of me bothering dizzy to help name this fic (and I can share it now because the thing it references has already come to pass)

Can you imagine crying in the club about a fic called "Bloomer Sooner"???? lmao

bless dizzy's heart for being like "your titles are usually better than that"

For Merry men making merry - I wanted a title that referenced this was a Robinhood AU. Here's me bothering Taizi about if I should change it or not

And then we can't not talk about the one time I have changed a fic's title after it was posted, but before it finished uploading:

the Sapnap mpreg abortion fic (my beloved). It was originally called... okay i actually don't remember but my author's note says it was from "fresh out the slammer" which is not my favorite song on TTPD. But yall.... the fic title of this fic is so perfect that I'm mad at myself for not thinking of it originally-- I'm having his baby (no i'm not) like come on that's a perfect title

I like my long fics to have only one or two words in the title (learned that less from i've never fallen from quite this high--but i named that one before i had fandom friends to bother for their opinions. in fact, that was the fic that made me my fandom friends yay)

Hits different, just one touch, shine here to us, deep in dream, Anagnorisis

Oh! Deep in the dream of a game--i knew I wanted the title of that one to reference the end poem (because the end poem is sprinkled into every chapter of that story if you squint) and someone who is no longer in the fandom came up with that line of the poem and I agreed it was perfect. Shortening it to deep in dream also just makes me laugh.

Anagnorisis is an experimental phase of naming something pretentious and it didn't super work out. People are confused on the name, understandably so. The word itself is a dramatic term meaning "the point in a play, novel, etc., in which a principal character recognizes or discovers another character's true identity or the true nature of their own circumstances." Which was my funny way of showing you guys that there were two side of the story and kinda foreshadowed george's realization that dream is coming at things from an entirely different perspective and that it would be revealed to him in time

See the Elephant is also a really good title, i think, because it's literally about an elephant soul mark, but also, this fic came out right after the grituation. See the elephant as a phrase means "Experience more than one wants to, learn a hard lesson; also, see combat, especially for the first time" which kinda felt applicable for us all coming out of the trenches for George.

Theres hope out the window is from a twenty one pilots song literally about guns and gun violence, which is also what that fic is about (underrated fic imo)

Continuously Unraveling New Thoughts: CUNT hehehehe. This one i just wanted to see if anyone would make the acronym and not realize. like "CUNT!Dream is so patient!"

Shameless.

And here is Extra coming through with the blueprint

For vis-a-vis, my beloved microfic, here's my call to the people on what I should name this thing. I usually don't listen anyway, but Flower had such a good suggestion that my jaw dropped

The Curse and Cure of the Internet -> very hard fic to name. I had written that line in the fic itself and it just kinda jumped out at me as the title. And it worked. I really think it works well as a title and inherently makes sense to that fic in particular.

Presently in London - just kinda funny because it was written for Dream's birthday, so present, but also he went to visit London so he was presently in london. A pun. I do love those.

Anyway this has gotten long enough. Titles are so fun. The fic really starts to feel real when i have a title and can start referring to it that way!