#has always been an uphill years long battle...

[alchemistc]

It's not something he thinks about terribly often - no real reason to, until this moment, with an arm slung over Evan's waist and a pair of eyes blinking at him out of the darkness.

Maddie and Howie are significantly smaller than Buck and Tommy. They are. There's no denying it. The bed that probably fits the two of them neatly with plenty of room to spare is just no match for Evan's mile-long legs, their broad chests and wide shoulders. Evan's tendency to kick one leg out from under the duvet and Tommy's habit of sprawling are just no match for this perfectly normal sized bed.

He'd said so even as they were turning out lights, voices low as they bypassed the frankly laughable double in the spare room in favor of the master, and Evan had joked that it wasn't like they didn't end most nights practically on top of one another, anyway, so what did it matter if they were a little cramped?

And he'd been right - at the time. In a California king they barely used half the bed - some combination of torsos and limbs always sliding together, heads tucked under chins and legs tangled together, arms slung over waists and pillows shared between them. Six months past the argument that had tipped them straight out of the honeymoon phase and firmly into 'actually we're just like this and that's clearly not going to change' and Tommy can't think of a single night they've actually laid down to sleep and not ended up a sprawl of interconnected pieces.

And they'd made it work, even though Maddie and Howie's bed is not large enough for two 6'2" men.

It wouldn't be a problem, except for the shadow hovering just a few feet in front of a softly snoring Evan - wet eyes and messy hair and a trembling bottom lip that Tommy is sure other people also find as devastating as he does, in this moment. "I sleep with you?" Jee Yun murmurs, wiping at her snotty nose and blinking her eyes like she doesn't already know Tommy would do pretty much anything to wipe the sad little frown off her face.

It's just.

There's no fucking room in this bed. Sure, if she'd had a bad dream and gone to seek comfort from her parents, there'd have been room, but, as Tommy has come to understand, her parents are significantly smaller than he and Evan and if Tommy shifts his weight in the wrong direction the both of them are tumbling off one end of this bed.

Jee's lip trembles.

"Did you have a nightmare, bug?" Tommy asks softly, and Jee shakes her head fiercely, tucking her chin towards her chest, a hand reaching out to dig tiny hands into the duvet. Stubborn, like the rest of her family, a refusal to admit weakness he's been in an uphill battle to stomp out of her uncle for going on a year now. Evan mumbles incomprehensibly in his sleep, and Jee turns still-wet eyes on Tommy.

"I sleep here with Uncle Tommy?"

Which is not playing fair at all.

When they'd all but shoved Maddie and Howie out the door to go enjoy a long weekend, insistent that it would be easier on Jee if they watched her in her own home, Jee had been ecstatic. She'd bounced off the walls for hours, dragged Tommy around with all the resolve of a child aware she had him wrapped both figuratively and literally around her tiny little fingers (her whole hand could wrap around two of his fingers at a time), insisted on piggy back rides when it became clear that riding on either of their shoulders was just a recipe for bonked heads. She'd tired herself out before the sun had even set, and passed out with her head pillowed on Evan's thigh and one foot tucked in Tommy's armpit, the other shoved under his knee on the couch.

She'd barely stirred when Tommy swung her up into his arms and tucked her into bed, and Tommy had spent a good twenty minutes after the fact furiously reminding Evan that they were not having sex in his sisters bed.

("The biological impossibility of knocking me up aside, you know what it does to me when I see you with kids, Tommy."

"Yeah, well, let your non-existent ovaries quiver with excitement for a few more days and I'll make it up to you.")

The Uncle Tommy thing is new. As in, she's never used it before this evening, nodding off in her seat while she picked at her chicken nuggets, and maybe Tommy had gone so still when she'd murmured it that Evan had actually been a little concerned, and maybe he'd indulged her request for a third episode of Bluey because of it, but he's a grown ass man who can surely let her down gently - sweep her off her feet and tuck her back in to her own bed and sit with her until she passes out again.

Or Jee can employ an absolutely deadly combo of trembling lip and tears at the corner of her eyes and Tommy can cave like the idiot he is.

Tommy assesses the scant space on Evan's side of the bed - knee curled up towards his torso and ankle dangling off the side of the bed, a hand under his cheek as he continues to snuffle in his sleep. No go there. Tommy's flush against him, knees tucked behind Evan's, arm still settled against his waist, and at his back there's plenty of space but if Tommy rolls sideways he's got maybe six inches of leeway between himself and the end of the mattress.

Tommy sighs and rolls. Jee's face lights up. Evan snorts awake and grunts in pain as he gets an elbow to the sternum and a knobbly knee to the give of his stomach when Jee climbs right up over him to shove into the newly opened space between them.

"Jee?" comes the tired voice as Evan shuffles onto his left side to face Tommy and their new company, rubbing at his eyes and smacking his lips like he's thirsty.

"Bad dream," Tommy intones softly even as Jee settles herself between them. There's a sharp knee dangerously close to his groin and a tiny little hand fisted in his sleep shirt and a face shoved into his rib cage, and Evan is giving him that look again.

Evan rests a hand against Jee's back, fingers shifting back and forth across her shoulders while she shifts her weight to find the optimal position. Jee sighs into Tommy's shirt, hot wet breath fanning out over the little spot, and kicks a leg back at an angle that must just miss something soft of Evan's, if the look in his face is anything to go by.

She's asleep before Tommy can count to ten - out like a fucking light in the space between them.

Evan's eyes meet his. It's a conversation they've had in fits and starts for months, now - since the first time he caught sight of Evan holding a baby and nearly had a meltdown in aisle three of Trader Joe's because he'd tucked that idea away years ago.

It's one they really need to have in full. Soon.

Evan's hand shifts, fingers reaching for the bolt of Tommy's jaw, thumb pressing into his cleft and then shifting sideways. "She played you like a fiddle," Evan says, voice soft, grin going wide, and Tommy glances down at the shock of dark hair tucked between them with the sudden realization that of the two of them, Evan is gonna end up being the disciplinarian.

Christ, they're fucking screwed.

He breathes, rubs his face into the pillow, reaches up to cup Evan's hand in his palm, enjoying the stretch of heat across his cheek and jaw.

"Go back to sleep," Tommy tells him, and doesn't fight the pull of a few more hours for himself when Evan sighs and lets his eyes drift closed.

[bbydoll18xx]

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart

Paige Bueckers x reader

KK tries to set you up on live, and things between you and Paige go south.

Word Count: 1.7k

Themes: angst, maybe some fluff?

This is heavily inspired by my love life, so yes, please feel free to feel bad for me thanks xoxo

~

“And oh, my god, he was so fucking stupid,” you exclaim exasperatedly, your longwinded rant having no ending in sight. “Like you’re literally in college and you can’t even hold a basic conversation? And don’t even get me started on his fucking mustache,” you add, gagging dramatically for good measure.

Hands were flying in the air as you spoke, and the girls of UCONN’s women’s basketball team listened amusedly as you complained about your latest failure of a date. You had promised yourself you’d get back out into the dating world after your two year relationship with your high school sweetheart had ended, but that was nearly three years ago. And now that you had gone through every stage of grief and were now (mostly) mentally stable again, you had begun dating to find ‘the one.’ 

However ‘the one’ seemed to be hiding among the frat boys and useless idiots you had been spending your friday and saturday nights with for the last six months. And you were quickly growing tired of their bullshit. 

“And then,” you dragged out the word theatrically, leaning forward to the group of girls listening, “he told me he wanted to do a line of cocaine off my ass! Like who even says that?”

The girls erupt in a fit of giggles and gasps, disturbed by your most recent date. 

You shake your head in mild embarrassment and place your head in your hands. “I can’t do this anymore,” you sigh, trying to avoid Paige’s stare. 

She was always staring, as if she could tell what you were thinking. And to be honest, it freaked you out because if she actually knew what you were thinking, you’d be in some deep shit.

You had feelings for Paige from the first day you had met her, and the battle was certainly an uphill one at that. A little voice in your head whispered mockingly that the reason you had been going on all these dates was to distract yourself from the harsh reality that Paige was just a friend. Nothing more, nothing less. 

And it really fucking stung. 

KK cuts through the silence, placing a soothing hand on your back. “I know what to do,” she says with a knowing smile. You meet her smirk with a confused look, wondering what the younger girl had in mind. “Let’s go on live and find you a boo!” she exclaims, clapping her hands together.

The other girls erupt in laughter at the idea, nodding their heads in agreement. The only one who is uncharacteristically quiet is Paige, who has a funny look on her face. Her nose scrunches slightly, and because you had spent years memorizing every part of Paige, including her moods and facial expressions, you would almost say she looked pissed.

Glancing back over to KK, you let out another long sigh, throwing your hands in the air defeatedly. “Sure, why the hell not?” 

She whoops excitedly, grabbing her phone and propping it up on the table in front of where the two of you were sitting. She clicks on the live, and it was not long before hundreds of people were flooding in with comments. 

“Hey, y’all!” KK greets the fans with a small wave and a huge grin. You try to hold back a grin of your own, but her excitement was infectious, and you felt grateful that your friends cared about fixing your sham of a love life. 

“We’ve got a special guest tonight,” KK explains, and you wave shyly at the camera. You typically did not love all the attention, and you tended to stay in the background when the other girls would go live. 

“Okay, so boom, we are looking for a date for my girl over here,” KK begins, explaining the situation to the people on the live. “Serious inquiries only!” She adds, wagging a finger towards the camera. “She is precious, and some of y’all are straight up freaks.”

You giggle at her words, trying to read the comments. Many of them we’re trying to gauge your sexuality, and upon reading another ‘is she gay’ comment, you decide to clarify. 

“I’m bisexual,” you murmur shyly. It had been nearly 6 years since you had realized you like girls, yet you still struggled with enunciating the fact. 

“Oh girl, they love you,” KK sings, patting herself on the back for her idea. “How about if y’all have some talent, join the live and woo my girl.”

Paige has since moved from her chair opposite you to sit next to you on the couch. Her leg is pressed up against yours, the warmth of her body radiating onto yours, and you bite your lip. 

“Yeah, yeah Paige is here. This ain’t about blondie today,” KK scolds the fans. “Now I want to see some good talent.” 

You turn your head to look at Paige, and she rolls her eyes at KK. “KK, don’t be mean to them,” she laughs, waving to the live. 

In your head you’re thinking that you honestly can’t even blame the fans. Paige was hot. You wanted to see her too. 

KK lets in the first girl, who upon seeing Paige, shrieks and throws her phone onto the carpet of her bedroom. You laugh, and KK lets out a huff of annoyance, deleting her immediately and moves on to find another person.

“This one seems promising,” she mutters, and you play with a piece of hair nervously. Being in front of the camera felt ridiculous, and you wonder how you got yourself into this situation. You are quickly pulled out of your thoughts by another young girl, desperately trying to serenade you and the other girls with a song. You try your best to avoid cringing, but the performance left you with bad secondhand embarrassment. 

A whole twenty minutes pass before someone promising pops up on the screen. A girl about your age with long dark hair and piercing green eyes is waving flirtatiously at the screen, causing you to sit up a little straighter. Next to you, Paige stiffens, and your eyes flit to her on KK’s phone, jaw clenched in a way that has your stomach rolling. You look down and notice her hand was closed in a fist, the other picking at a piece of lint on the couch. 

You avert your eyes back to the girl who was still smiling widely, and you make casual smalltalk with her, feeling warm from the attention of a pretty girl.

Comments are flooding in, and while you’re glad to see that many of them are about what a cute couple you and the mystery girl would make, you also notice an influx in comments regarding how mad Paige looked.

Before you could look over to check on her, she was flying off the couch and stomping out of the room. You hear her door close loudly, and you meet KK’s eye with a confused look. Paige’s departure has the fans going wild, and you whisper to the younger girl that she should end the live. 

“Okay, y’all, we gotta go. Feel free to DM her, though,” KK tells the dark-haired girl with a devilish grin, and she signs off quickly.

“What the fuck was all that about?” you ask no one in particular, eliciting shrugs from Aubrey, Ice, and Jana. 

“She’s been moody all day,” Aubrey says casually, and you pout, thinking about your best friend who was clearly unhappy about something.

“I’ll go check on her,” you mutter, heading towards the closed door of Paige’s bedroom. Standing in front of it, you take a deep breath before knocking.

“Come in,” you hear her mutter, and you enter the dark room, the only light shining from the tv and reflecting off the glassiness of Paige’s eyes. 

You sit on her bed next to her, placing a comforting hand on her thigh. “What’s wrong?” you ask gently, not wanting to spook her. She rarely opened up about the way she was feeling, and you did not want to rush her into admitting anything if she wasn’t ready.

She shrugs, quickly wiping at her eyes, and your heart nearly crumbles at the sight. You rub soothing circles onto her leg and reach up to wipe a stray tear from her cheek. The intimacy of it all is almost overwhelming, and you bite your bottom lip to keep in the feelings bubbling inside of you, threatening to expose everything.

“Just tired,” Paige mumbles, and you peek at her face, studying the beauty of her features. 

Your phone lights up in your hand, alerting you to a DM you had just received from the girl from the live, and you attempt to hold back a wide smile at her boldness. Paige looks down at your screen as you text the girl, Scarlett, back with a giddy expression. 

“I’m going to go to bed,” she says coldly, already moving to get under the covers. 

“Want me to stay?” You ask hopefully, trying to sound casual. Sleepovers between the two of you had become a cherished ritual, and you needed the simple proximity to make you feel whole again. 

“Nah,” she replies flatly, eyes closed and back turned in harsh finality. 

“O-oh, okay. Well, goodnight,” you stutter, temporarily stunned at her poignancy, and you flee her room with your head hung low in rejection.

“Is she okay?” KK asks. You don’t even know how to answer that.

“I have no clue what her deal is,” you mumble. “She’s never not wanted me around, so I think I’m just going to go. I’ve got a girl to get to know,” you add, trying to make yourself feel better.

“We’ll let you know if anything happens,” Ice responds kindly, and you nod gratefully in her direction before you take your leave.

You ignore the anxiety as you walk back home, instead focusing on the flirty messages Scarlett was sending to you. ‘This is what I need,’ you think. Paige was never going to be yours, and now you finally had a real chance at getting over her. 

With your head held high, you vowed that your feelings for Paige Bueckers would disappear. But would they really? Time could only tell. 

~

Part 2

Part 3

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you would be interested in a second part to this!!

[gatorbites-imagines]

Can we see Enji Todoroki (reformed) x male reader who is so unabashedly flirty. Him and the reader working together on hero cases and the reader is so touchy and is trying to go on a date with him.

Enji Todoroki x Hero male reader

Headcanons

Reader has no specific quirk mentioned, cuz I couldn’t think of anything. On the short side, but I enjoyed writing this.

After having grown as a person and reformed as best as he can, I cant imagine Enji sees himself as someone who would go out of his way to date, there’s probably part of him that feels like he doesn’t deserve to be in a relationship.

You two have probably known each other for years and worked side by side for just as long, but your flirting up until then has just been jokes and to keep the mood light because of how serious Enji always is.

After he grows as a person, you start to actually flirt with him for real, though he doesn’t realize that’s what you’re doing. He would just assume it’s the same type of flirting you’ve always done, and just brush it off.

Enji has never been in an actual relationship based on love, since his relationship with Rei was a quirk marriage and he focused so much on becoming strong in his teens, that the thought of dating didn’t even cross his mind.

So, when you start getting touchy with him, like squeezing his biceps or wrapping an arm around his waist, he thinks you are just taking your usual play flirting farther than before.

I can’t imagine Enji is the type to flirt back, even if he returns your feelings. Hes way too stoic and serious, and again, part of him probably doesn’t think he deserves it after everything, or he fears messing that up too.

You don’t let that discourage you though, as you keep flirting with him, hugging onto him, or complimenting him and bringing him gifts and trinkets, which he always ends up accepting even though he scoffs and grumbles about it.

Getting Enji to believe you that you actually have feelings for him is an uphill battle, so you gotta be real determined for it to bear fruit. But when it does, you get to see parts of Enji you never imagined you would ever get to see.

As he starts to gain feelings for you in return, he will start to get the smallest of flushes to his cheeks when you flirt with him. Its barely visible since he already runs very hot, and he’s trained himself to be in full control of his emotions, for the most part. But it’s there.

He has no idea what to do with the fluttering in his chest that you cause, since again, he’s never felt that before, and Enji doesn’t really feel like he has anyone to go to with these feelings.

Of all people, I could imagine he ends up spilling it to Toshinori, most likely on accident. Much to Enji’s surprise, Toshi actually helps him figure out his feelings and how to process them. Enji being Enji would mumble a small thanks and go about his day.

He might clumsily and kinda stiffly try to flirt back, but it just ends up being stuff like him complimenting your form during a fight, or telling you to be careful. You’ll most likely start finding small gifts in your bag or locker back at your agency.

Unknown to himself, Enji starts leaning into your touch when you hold onto him, as he’s probably super touch starved in general. Ends up finding out he’s super sensitive too when you rub at his neck and he almost melts into it.

He kinda reminds you of those battle worn, older male street cats, with their big pouchy cheeks, scars and tired eyes. You joke that if it was possible, he would be purring, especially when he almost arches into it when you run your hands through his hair.

In the end you most likely are gonna have to outright tell him to his face that you like him and want to date him. Enji is still emotionally constipated, but ends up mumbling out that he feels the same, but he has no idea what he’s doing.

Even after you guys start dating, you still flirt with him and get super touchy with him, except now you can also kiss him all over, which always leaves him a little flushed.

Since hes not one to express his feelings much, when he finally does it, it means so much. Like when he kisses the top of your head during patrol, or mumbles a compliment in return to the hundreds you shower him with every patrol.

[yesimwriting]

been obsessed with coryo after watching tbosas 😭 please write more of bestfriend!coryo <3

so so adorable 💋 i love u tehe

me gasping like in that tiktok sound: oh my goodness i love this question!!!

in all seriousness i have so many more thoughts on this dynamic omg

----

thinking about bestfriend!coryo who knows your parents love him, and, more importantly, he knows how to use that to his advantage.

it's no accident, he's put in meticulous effort in making sure that they not only approve of the friendship, but that he's their favorite friend of yours. when it comes to a family as prominent and wealthy as yours, parental approval goes a long way, especially with how regularly your parents leave town for business.

your father's admiration isn't an easy thing to win, but coriolanus is no stranger to uphill battles, and you're worth it. with the way that you look at him, how could you not be?

so he puts in the work: being the perfect student in classes taught by known friends of your father, wearing his best clothing and practicing old capitol etiquette his grandma'am was more than happy to review with him before family dinners that you invited him to, and making sure to keep proper distance between the two of you whenever your parents are around, no matter how difficult it is for him to remember to not hold your hand.

the hardest part is the fact that most of your father's intimidation comes from the fact that he's the exact kind of man coryo wants to be. powerful, respected, and in a position to never worry about finances or status. but he keeps at it, taking more care than usual to make sure that the signs of poverty are never visible in front of your parents.

even if that means purposefully leaving leftovers of the best food he's eaten in years on his plate so that no one will think he's starving. even if you give him a look that only he can feel the strangeness of because even though you've never spoken of his financial status, you can tell that he's not as well off as everyone thinks. that's the only thing about you that digs beneath his skin--you can always tell.

he's unsure if his efforts are working because of your father's constantly stoic disposition even though you assure him that that's your father when he's relaxed.

but then one day, he's over on your father's last night at home before returning to the districts to oversee some business, and your father asks to speak with him in private. you're instantly snapping your head up from your textbook, wanting to make sure that your father won't say anything embarrassing or rude.

he's scared off other friends in the past and even though it hurts, you never fight back too much because your father isn't an easy man to talk back to. but this is where you draw the line. you're not going to lose your coryo.

coryo feels something in his stomach knot, especially at that bewildered look behind your eye, but he's not about to be openly intimidated, so he assures you that he's fine. when you push, asking what topic could possibly involve just coryo and him and be that private, your father says that it's just business from man to man.

coryo has to force down a smile because he knows he'll be hearing no end of it from you as soon as the two of you are alone together. then he starts to think that this might be it. maybe your father has found out about his true financial status or dean highbottom has finally gotten to him and he's about to be banned from seeing you.

he forces down his anxiety and follows your father into the hall. your father's quick to the point, letting him know that he's leaving for another long stretch of time and that your mother's social and professional engagements mean that you'll be alone often. he closes the statement by asking coriolanus to look after you until he returns.

the realization that coriolanus has made it hits him at the same time as the relief and for a second all he can do is stare. then his senses return to him and he's swearing to your father that he'll take such good care of you, your father will have nothing to worry about. then your father's clasping his shoulder and offering him a gruff but oddly genuine thank you, son before telling him to get back to your room before you get paranoid.

it's an odd way to end the moment, but coryo's so busy trying to convince himself to not mentally plan out your wedding (because let's be honest, that's a level of trust from someone like your father might as well be a pre-engagement) that he doesn't think of it.

when he gets back to your room, you ask as casually as you can manage what your father wanted. after telling you that your father just wants to make sure that you're looked after while he's away, coryo expects you to be happy. but instead of reacting positively, you just sort of nod and mumble something polite before attempting to go back to studying.

something in his chest hardens. he's your best friend, who you spend as much time as socially acceptable with, and you two are being given the perfect excuse to be around each other more and you're not happy.

he immediately pushes and you reluctantly tell him that this has to mean that he's in with your father. another thing that coryo thinks you should be thrilled about. the more your father approves, the closer the two of you can be. he's accusing you of being sick of him, of trying to get rid of him, of no longer wanting to be best friends with him.

that has you scrambling to defend yourself. there's little you consider more important than your friendship with him. it's the only bond you fully trust.

so you tell him that your real concern is that your father never gets along with your friends that way, and that the only similar reference point you have is the way he talks to people like him.

you then tell him that the people in your father's social circle aren't like coryo. at the very least, not your coryo, who's never harsh with you and would rather spend parties sitting with you than sharing cruel opinions to impress other men.

all coriolanus hears is that you don't see him the way you see the actually important men. the hurt behind his eyes has you moving to stand and reaching for him. he lets you take his hand but doesn't react, so you explain it as transparently as possible. people that your father likes are mean, and you don't want to lose him to that.

there's something about the way you say it, all round eyes and genuine worry. it reminds him too much of tigris, of the newfound hint of tension in their relationship that's become more prevalent. she's constantly reminding him of what his father's success turned him into.

coryo's pulling you into a hug, whispering promises that you could never lose him. you're hugging him back tightly, hand smoothing circles against his back.

he realizes he means what he's saying. he can achieve the prominence he wants without alienating you. there's a way to be stern with the world and just coryo to you. and even if his edges become a little sharper, he'll keep that away from you and you'll understand.

you may criticize some of your father's views and actions, but you do love him. coryo sees it in the way that you constantly strive for his approval, he sees it in the way your face lights up when he's home. if you can love your father through your disagreements, you can love him as well. he'll make sure of it.

feeling better, he starts semi-playfully chiding you for even thinking that anything could take you away from him. that you should know better than to not see this as yet another thing he's doing for you, for your friendship.

you don't want to admit it, but you're feeling a little bad for reacting like that. after all, coryo was so excited to tell you and you know your father's capable of scaring people out of your life. at least this means that nothing's going to get in between the two of you.

coryo recognizes your slight pout and the apologetic line between your eyebrows. the two of you so rarely argue that even a hint of conflict has you willing to do anything to make things feel normal again.

so he lets himself play into his hurt. you're quick to pick up on it, holding onto him a little tighter. the two of you stay like that for awhile until you break the silence, saying that you're happy that he has an excuse to be around more.

eventually the two of you end up sitting on your bed, both of you silently agreeing that you've done enough homework. instead you focus on reassuring him, holding his hand between both of yours, pressing the occasional chaste kiss against his knuckles and resting your head against his shoulder until he has to go home.

after your father leaves, coryo takes his promise to look after you seriously. he's already in the habit of walking you home after school every day, but he start staying over after every day. the lack of authority figures around makes it a little easier to accept the after school snacks your maid always prepares and sometimes he even lets you send some home with him.

his grandma'am's over the moon when he starts accepting invitations to school social events that he honestly considers painful because he's escorting you. she's convinced that the two of you are getting married and with your family's status and the snow name, there's no door the two of you won't be able to unlock. even though you're still just friends, he rarely reminds her. it's for her own sake, he tells himself, it makes her happy.

the promise to your father also makes him bolder. he feels more assured, more justified in his disapproval of those that show a little too much interest in you.

you still don't notice the way his jaw tightens when some unaware guy gets too close, or think anything of the way that it almost always leads to him grabbing your hand.

he also stays over more, sometimes leaving for a few hours in the late afternoons so your maid doesn't think anything's going on. your family's estate is so large it's easy enough to get him in and out through a secondary exit.

the two of you fall into such a good routine that when your parents do get back, they start trusting coryo even more. your father asks if he can take you to certain social events that normally you wouldn't be allowed to attend and your strict weekday curfew becomes more of a suggestion when he's around.

[halfagone]

Before The Wayne Came A Kane

Martha Wayne née Kane came from a very prestigious family even before she married her husband, the illustrious M.D. Thomas Wayne. Sadly, her family never supported her union with Thomas, so she largely cut them out of her life once she married and that certainly had not changed when she had a son.

Her strained relationship with the rest of her family is particularly apparent when it's revealed, at the release of her and Thomas' respective wills after their unexpected, tragic deaths, that she would not give her brothers or sisters-in-law custody of Bruce. They may be the last of his living relatives, but even in death she would never allow them to touch her baby boy. Hence, his care is left to the head butler, one Alfred Pennyworth.

She did have two sister, though. Two baby sisters, one who had been disowned and disavowed from the family long before her, named Alicia. And one who was far too young to take in her son, even if Martha had allowed it. Her name is Madeline Kane. As the only other acknowledged daughter left from Roderick and Elizabeth Kane, she is left to carry the burden of her older sister's legacy. And what a burden it was, to be constantly compared to a dead woman her family seemed to adore and loathe in strides.

It's really no wonder that the moment she gets the chance, she leaves her family in Gotham to attend a university in Wisconsin. There, she meets Jack Fenton. He can be a little clumsy sometimes, but he has an eye for engineering and doesn't like her for her family's name or wealth. He calls her "Maddie" when she says so, and he doesn't ask about the change.

She falls in love and the two are wedded in the blink of an eye, Maddie pregnant with their first child only a few years after graduation. In her family's eyes, it just further proves that any Kane daughter is cursed and doomed to failure. (Beth understands this. Bette learns this. Kate knows this.)

And all too similarly to her elder sister, when her son is just fourteen years old, she is killed: yet another unexpected, tragic death. Her husband and her daughter perish along with her. Just like her older sister, the only one left is her baby boy.

Only, Maddie wasn't nearly as forthcoming with her will, and there is no guardian marked for custody in his papers. The Kanes, who proclaim they are his rightful family, are more than happy to take advantage of this.

Bruce isn't close to his family, beyond perhaps Kate. But if there is one thing that he knows it's that his parents didn't give his estranged relatives custody of him for a reason. Alfred is stingy with the details, but he can confirm that much.

Bruce is left to fight an uphill battle, helping a mourning boy heal from his loss and fighting his extended family's attempts for custody at every turn.

More ramblings under the cut:

See this guy right here?

This is Jacob Kane, Kate's father, Martha's brother, and Bruce's uncle. He's got the distinct red hair and do you know who else has red hair? Maddie. Jacob is a respected military officer and Maddie, in general, has always given me strong former U.S. agent vibes. But regardless, it makes sense that Maddie would know things or learned how to fight at an early age if her older brother left for military service.

Also, I just love showing Bruce's extended family and how twisted, complicated his family was long before he adopted so many children. And this also helps explain why Maddie is so cagey with her background. She only has Alicia left really, all the rest she keeps out and away for good reason.

But she can't protect Danny from them forever.

Plus, there's this really cool possibility for Danny to stay with the Kanes for a while and explore that avenue before he's ultimately brought into the Wayne fold. Danny gets to see what the upper crust Gotham elites look like with his own two eyes, beyond Sam's stories.

[jo-harrington]

Leave of Absence (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie has royally fucked everything up and he needs to fix it. But after an unexpected emergency back home, he steps up to be there for Reader, just like she's always there for him.

Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.05

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Slow burn, mutual pining, angsty, emotional, fluffy, family problems, death in the family, loss, grief, pain and comfort, road trip, avoidance of feelings, Minor religious themes, mention of Catholic Church/Reader's family is Catholic but no overarching catholicism (that's what my other story is for)

Note: Woof ok this was an uphill battle FOR A YEAR. I'm gonna say the reason that Store Manager Verse exists in its present form is because of THIS CHAPTER RIGHT HERE. Before I could bring my two silly babies here to this moment, they needed to have some serious foundations laid down. Is it the best chapter? Probably not. But I'm incredibly happy that it's here and it's done.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other Eddie stories.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

He was nervous.

"Stacey."

Of course he was nervous.

"Freak."

And what did he do when he was nervous? He talked.

"Hey now, I'm wounded," Eddie laid a hand across his chest, trying to keep the cool guy exterior. "Calling me a freak? Did I or did I not just help you with that flat tire last week?"

He was surprised when Stacey paused, a barb surely caught on the end of her tongue. She even looked a little embarrassed for a moment before her own frosty expression returned and she had the decency to look down her nose at him.

Sticking to the status quo.

"I know you're trying to put my boss under a love spell or hypnosis or something," she rolled her eyes. "So don't act like you would have helped any other time if she hadn't asked. Gotta keep her buttered up so you can get in her pants. Gag."

The typical stab of insult was welcome; the rest of it...wasn't. Not when it came to you. Not after what happened on Sunday. Not when he was nervous.

Sunday...

What started out as a normal night for the two of you had quickly become a nightmare. For him at least.

Well...it had been a dream at first. Hanging out. Food, laughter, music; it was nothing out of the norm for a Sunday night together. But then he had to go and suggest a little weed, where you had some kind of...bad reaction. To try and get your mind off the panic that had quickly taken over your body...he'd done the first thing that came to mind.

The only thing that came to mind lately when you were around.

He kissed you.

And he kept kissing you because you hadn't pushed him away. In fact, you’d kissed him harder.

For minutes or hours, he couldn't quite tell, he was overjoyed and he basked in being surrounded by you, in finding pleasure with you.

Finding pleasure. God, there was that poet's heart Mrs. Mills always told him he had. Almost fucking. Grinding one out on his couch. But yeah...finding pleasure worked too. Because it wasn't just a meaningless romp; he was kind of crazy about you, so of course it was gonna be special. Poetic.

How long had he been on the edge about confessing his feelings and ruining your friendship? He was the only one to blame when it came to keeping his mouth shut; Kyle had been telling him to just ask you out and plant one on you forever. And then Eddie did and it was perfect.

Until it wasn't. Until Wayne came home and Eddie had seen the panic and the fear and the...realization in your eyes, and he knew how badly he'd fucked up. Let alone the fact that you immediately ran away.

You’d been avoiding him for a few days. “Avoiding him,” as though school and work hadn't been putting you on opposite schedules. Still, there were no phone calls. No waiting to take your breaks with him. Only awkward glances as he passed your store on the way to start his shift, or a strained smile as you passed each other in the parking lot as he was coming and you were going.

And now Stacey was…being Stacey.

Had you told her? Complained about him? Made it known to your employees that the two of you had made a huge mistake.

No you would never…

Still, his nerves got the better of him and although he didn’t want to seem desperate, especially around Stacey of all people, he was.

"...did she say that or..." He paused and shook his head. "Where is your boss anyway? She’s supposed to close tonight right?”

Stacey looked a little unsure again and this time it made his stomach turn.

People were usually nervous around Eddie, but he had grown plenty used to that reaction from a wide array of classmates and neighbors.

Once again, when it came to you, especially given the circumstances, things were different. Maybe that's what was happening here? Maybe Stacey knew something he didn't, and you'd told her not to say anything so you could let him down easily.

Eddie was generally a level-headed guy but sometimes...sometimes...it didn't matter if he had a level head because the entire world was tipping on its side.

Who had you told? Stacey for sure...maybe Chrissy? Chrissy always avoided him at school thanks to his resident freak status, Starcourt Mall be damned. What about Mindy? Mindy was your only other confidante outside of him; what did she know? Had she convinced you to...to what? Dump him as a friend? Take the time you needed to avoid him? Somewhere between Sunday and today, had you finally come to the realization that he had been dreading all along. That he wasn't worth your time?

"Um, yeah,” Stacey finally replied and Eddie blinked himself back to reality. She picked at her cuticles and avoided his eyes. Never a good sign. “Well she was supposed to but Mindy was here when I clocked in. She's sick or something, I don't know. Mindy wouldn't say exactly...but she never calls out so..."

“Well where’s Mindy now?” he asked, almost desperately.

“She’s finishing up her break in the back,” she explained with a nod. “I can go see if she’s done.”

She disappeared into the stockroom, leaving him alone in the store.

He was unsure how to feel. Relief coursed through him; you weren’t avoiding him, you were simply not here. But on the other hand, what if you weren't here because you were avoiding him?

What if Stacey didn't know anything but Mindy did. Because no, you never called off. Ever. A fact that you had told him when he suggested playing hooky one busy Saturday when you were overwhelmed by a never-ending mid shift.

“I never leave early. I never take a sick day.”

“Well, shit, did you have perfect attendance in school too?”

“Uhm,” you hesitated, biting your lip naughtily. “I’m not at will to say.”

“Oh, you bad girl.”

"If it isn't our resident Van Halen impersonator," Mindy greeted as she walked out of the stockroom. Her usual sing-songs mom voice replaced by a gentler one as she smiled at him solemnly. "She's taking a few sick days. Should be back in time for your night out on Sunday, I hope."

"She's sick?" Eddie asked skeptically. "Wasn’t she here yesterday, she looked fi--"

"Why don't you give her a call," she insisted. She glanced over to the stock room door and as Eddie tracked her gaze, he saw Stacey eavesdropping. "Actually I was gonna stop by after work. Why don't you go? That way it's not a game of telephone.

"I'm sure she could really use a friend right now."

---

Eddie had never been inside of your apartment before.

He knew where you lived, sure; he'd dropped you off or picked you up a few times, especially once the two of you started planning dates outings outside of the usual Sundays. He'd never even rang the bell, if he was being honest. You usually watched out the window eagerly when you were expecting him to arrive.

The realization hit him as he stood there at the little residential door between the bakery and the furniture store, staring at your name on a little Dymo punch label next to the buzzer that he'd just jammed his finger into, and it filled him with doubt.

You'd been to the trailer a few times. Seen all of his favorite places, tried all of his favorite foods. Listened patiently to his insecurities and issues. Still, you seemed to keep him at arms length, if he didn't even know what your apartment looked like; did you have posters on the walls or pictures of your family? What color was your couch? Or the towels in your bathroom?

He knew so much about you but did he really know you, and did you even want him to?

The door buzzed open and Eddie took the stairs up to your landing two at a time, all the while worrying and overthinking: You weren't expecting him and he was beginning to doubt that you even wanted him here in the first place. Sure, Mindy told him to go over...but was this taking it a step too far?

He started preparing an apology as he closed the final few distance to your door and it swung open--

"I'm sorry I fucked up, I didn't mean to break your trust. I'll do anything...anything...if you'll just forgive me. If you just give me another chance."

--and he saw the sorry state you were in.

Hair and clothes mussed, eyes bloodshot and puffy, a bundle of black fabric clenched tightly in your hands; the shine of tears and snot was accentuated by the incandescent lights in the hallway.

"Eddie," you whispered in a strained, broken voice, then you dropped the fabric to cross the threshold of your apartment and bury your face into his shirt. He panicked for a moment, arms held uselessly at his sides as your tears penetrated the worn fabric at his shoulder, but he quickly engulfed you in a hug.

"I'm sorry," you both spoke over one another, then you pulled back and stared him straight in the eye. "You're sorry? I'm sorry."

"No," you shook your head. "I'm sorry. I...I should have done better, I shouldn't have--"

"I crossed a line and I ruined our friendship and--"

You both continued talking over one another, each half-listening to what the other had to say as you got your own apologies out, until you both synced back up again.

"I fucked up and I'm sorry."

Your shoulders and chests heaved from the cacophony of emotion and a tense laugh was shared between the two of you. Then Eddie came to a realization.

"If you're sorry..." he frowned and let his eyes rake over you again. "If you thought that you hurt or scared me--which you didn't, by the way. It was...it was me, my mistake--why are you crying?"

You worried your lip for a second and a lone tear escaped your eye and trailed down your cheek; his hand immediately came up so he could thumb it away.

"Mindy told me you were sick," he muttered, taking advantage of the proximity to be a little gentler, a little smaller than he was used to being, so you could put your trust in him again. "What happened?"

"Uhm..." you croaked. "I'm not sick. I'm just taking a few sick days. Bereavement days...actually. Little leave of absence. Just through the end of the weekend."

The word was distantly familiar to him; the memories, though, would stay with him forever. Rick picking him up from school, a phone call from Wayne to his boss. An appointment for all three of them to get suits rented...and then some flowers ordered. Shiny shoes that he could see his teary-eyed reflection in.

He swallowed painfully and watched you do the same as you prepared your confession.

"My...uh...my grandpa died last night."

And before he knew it, it was 12 hours later. 12 hours that he spent relatively quietly.

He let you fill the silence; let you talk and cry, only opening his mouth to comfort you when the realization hit again and it got to be too much.

He helped you pack your bag for the trip back home. That was when your grief finally turned into anger.

Towards your family. Towards yourself.

"I feel like it's my fault," you sighed as you showed him how to find a pair of tights that didn’t have runs in them, whatever that meant. "I was the only one who took care of him. Doctor's appointments, took him on walks, made sure he didn't have the food he wasn't supposed to. The works. And I left. It's my fault he's gone. At least, that's the way Michael made it sound on the phone."

Eddie almost didn't catch the last part, said under your breath as you stuffed a shiny pair of shoes into your duffel bag, but he did. He wasn't going to let you do this to yourself; how many times over the years had he questioned how he might have been able to keep his mom from dying? On those days where he needed her most. He knew he couldn't stop you from those thoughts, at least not now but he could do his best to fight them away until you could do it yourself.

"Michael," he spoke up, startling you with the realization that he heard. "That's your brother right?"

"Older brother," you nodded slowly.

"Sounds like a shithead."

"Yeah," you let out the briefest laugh and then fiddled with the zipper tab. "He kind of is."

You complained about perfect Michael and his perfect life until your stomach rumbled and Eddie offered to order dinner for the two of you. When you mentioned that you hadn't eaten all day, he made sure you had more than your fill of beef lo mein and garlic string beans as Monty Hall played on the television.

At a certain point, your takeout carton made it to the coffee table and you started to doze off as your head rested on his shoulder. It was a relief, but only for a second, because you startled back awake and dumped all the clothes out of your bag again.

"I didn't pack the right dress," you muttered. "Aunt Amelia's gonna say something about it. I just know."

So Eddie stayed up with you all night as you packed and unpacked and packed again, uncaring that he had school in the morning or Hellfire that night. Fuck it all. It didn’t matter. None of the doubts and self-hatred and worry that had plagued him all week since Sunday night even crossed his mind. All that he worried about was making sure you weren't alone.

When dawn came, and you tiredly tried to wave him out of your apartment so that he could get ready for class and you could hit the road, he pulled you into his arms and just...held you.

He closed his eyes and rocked you back and forth as you hummed softly and gripped the back of his t-shirt tightly beneath his jacket.

He thought of all the things that he could say in that moment...

Drive safe, call me tonight so I know you got there, I'm sorry, take it easy on yourself, it's not your fault.

...but none of them were able to fall from his lips.

"Welp," you sighed. "This is it."

But neither of you moved.

"Thank you for coming over Eddie. I really really appreciate it."

Still nothing. No forward momentum, no motivation to move on to the rest of the day without one another, no reassuring words from him to give you the strength you needed to go forth alone, and no will for him to leave you.

You'd both be ready when you were ready, it seemed.

But as you finally pulled away from him, and he thought about you getting in your car and driving for what might be one of the toughest weekends of your life, all he managed to say...

"Why don't I come with you? I know it's not a road trip or fun or anything. I know I have school and work but...fuck it. We can stop at the trailer, I'll leave a note for Wayne and grab the nicest clothes I own, and...I'll come with you. I just...I don't want you doing this all alone."

...resulted in him sitting in the passenger's seat of your car for 5 hours as you zoomed down the highway away from his whole life in Indiana to the great unknown of Chicago.

---

You talked for a majority of the drive.

Eddie already knew some things about your family—strict parents, pesky brothers, too many cousins than he could keep track of—but you seemed to want to prepare him because he would effectively meet all of them.

"Big Catholic family and a funeral," you glanced at him from the corner of your eye and shot a tense smile. “It's a lot. You sure you still want to come?”

You’d done that throughout the drive too, asked him if he was sure he wanted to come with you. He’d joked several times already that you’d have to leave him on the side of the road, which you wouldn’t, or turn back altogether if he chickened out.

Besides, he already called Jeff when you stopped at his place to let him grab some clothes, and canceled Hellfire; he wouldn’t chicken out for anything. He needed to be here for you.

If he was being honest, yes he was nervous. He hadn’t met any girlfriends' families before or anything, and this whole situation wasn’t exactly the way he’d ever imagined meeting yours. As you crossed the state border into Illinois, though, your breath got shallow and your hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, and Eddie wondered if you were looking for a way out because you never wanted the two parts of your life—family and friends—to clash.

“I don’t, uh,” he scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I know I’m not someone that…families approve of or anything, if that's why you keep asking if I want to be here.”

"It's not that--" you tried to interject.

"And I know we're not dating or anything but..." he trailed off awkwardly and then cleared his throat.

Well that was one way of sticking his foot in his mouth.

Your head was half turned towards him, jaw dropped, eyes darting back and forth from the road to him.

The thought of opening the car door and bailing as you zoomed down the highway briefly crossed his mind because he fucked up. Why would he say something like that? It was because he was a big dingus, actually, the biggest.

"Uh, Eddie listen--"

"No," he interrupted you again. "Sweetheart I'm sorry, that's...that wasn't fair of me. I didn't mean...I just..."

"No it's ok, we should ta--"

"I just thought that...I know I pretty much intruded on this trip, but I wanted to be here for you. But if me being here is gonna cause more problems for you...I mean damn, I don't mind taking a Greyhound back to Hawkins even. But more than anything, I want to make sure you're alright."

He nervously picked at the loose threads on the holes at his knees and was surprised when you took a hand off the steering wheel and grabbed his.

"Do you know," you whispered, voice barely audible. "I think I would have turned back by now if I tried to come alone. Michael on the phone...god I don't know how my dad's gonna be...or my aunt. I don't want to have to deal with all of that. But I know I need to be there...it's for my Papa, I have to be there.

"It's hard to go home when you've moved someplace else. When you've started to find home somewhere else. And I wasn't gonna say anything. I wasn't gonna ask you--it's too much to ask--but I secretly kind of hoped that you would ask to come along. And I'll never be able to really thank you, Eddie, for wanting to be here. For me.

"But thank you," you shot him a smile and squeezed his hand tightly.

He swallowed thickly and squeezed right back.

"I'll be here for as long as you need me to be, sweetheart. As long as you want me to be."

---

The weekend was a whirlwind, and honestly, Eddie knew he wasn't going to be able to make heads or tails of it until the two of you got home on Sunday night.

The first surprise, shortly after your heartfelt moment in the car, was the fact that you didn't actually live in Chicago. You'd been approaching the city on I-90, you even pointed out the Sears Tower to him. Then you got on an exit and drove for another 20 minutes down North Avenue.

"I feel like I've been lied to," he sniffed petulantly.

"I told you I'm from the suburbs before," you chuckled at his antics. "And it might as well be Chicago, it's all Cook County."

"We're not even driving North, how is this North Avenue?"

"We don't have time for a history lesson, we'll be there soon."

Still, it was exciting. Not exactly what he pictured in his head from watching shows on TV or seeing news reels about the city, but nonetheless different from what he was used to in Hawkins and that was the part he liked.

At a certain point, you reached a stretch of road that featured certain destinations that would live in Eddie's imagination until he could ask you about them--KiddieLand Amusement Park, Riviera Lanes, and Winston Plaza--and Eddie noticed your hands started to shake.

"You ok? There's plenty of places to pull over," he suggested. "I can drive the rest of the way."

"No it's ok," you said and swung a left-hand turn onto a residential street with houses that sort-of all looked the same, sort-of all looked different. "We're here."

You parked on the street in front of a house that you noted belonged to your aunt, and then led him down a narrow sidewalk to the backyard of the neighboring house, where a kid gangly enough to rival Mike Wheeler sat in a plastic lawn chair with headphones on, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes closed.

"Jimmy," you called to him and then kicked his foot. "Jimmy. James Joseph, wake up."

"I'm awake," he startled, knocked the headphones down so they sat around his neck, and stood up. Even with one hand rubbing his eye, your brother's resemblance to you was obvious, and a sense of dread washed over Eddie.

And so it began...meeting your family.

Jimmy was probably the best introduction of them all--there was an ease between the two of you, even with the snide jabs and banter back and forth--and that extended to Eddie. Especially when Jimmy realized that he and Eddie were wearing the same shirt.

"Don't let him fool you, he's a dweeb," you announced when Jimmy got excited over a shared love for Judas Priest, and Eddie hoped you meant your brother, but he couldn't be too sure you weren't referring to him.

There was a brief respite as you both rested for a minute, changed clothes, and ate a plate of some sort of casserole from the packed shelves of the avocado fridge in your grandpa's kitchen. Then it was an onslaught, a domino effect of faces and names that gradually got more important as you got back into the car to head towards the funeral home.

A sea of strange faces that smiled and hugged you and then looked over at Eddie in question, but not in an unwelcome way, and he was glad he'd pilfered a black scrunchie from your bag to tie his hair back respectfully.

You introduced him to this old coworker of your Papa and that great-aunt from Minneapolis and this cousin. He even got to meet your old store manager--a stern, short, blonde woman with victory rolls and shimmering black eyeshadow--who'd come to pay her respects after she saw your Papa's obituary in the newspaper; she honestly scared Eddie a little, but she made him laugh, which meant she was good in his book.

It was all reminiscent of meeting people after his mom died once upon a time, the only other funeral he'd ever been to. When people called and came out of the woodwork in an overwhelming number to offer their condolences. He had been young and sad then, but he was older, wiser, and tougher now. He shook hands and said "nice to meet you" and when people questioned whether he was a boyfriend, Eddie insisted he was just a friend who wanted to be here for you.

It wasn't a lie; still he got a skeptical gaze from at least two elderly women who tutted once they were out of earshot.

Eventually, you got to the front of the room, to the row of chairs that held your immediate family, and after a few tearful hugs, Eddie finally met your parents, your aunt and uncle, and your older brother.

He was surprised to hear "I've heard a lot about you" come from your mother's mouth, but was not surprised to hear the "no funny business under my roof" from your father after a clap on the shoulder. Your uncle said nothing after a short “hello”, just let your aunt do all the talking, and all she could talk about was your appearance.

"What are you doing, honey? What is this you're wearing? For Papa's wake? I hope you plan to wear something a little more modest for my father's funeral tomorrow. And your friend? A leather jacket? A little casual don't you think? What's that dear? Yes, nice to meet you too Edward. Thank you for coming."

Your brother Michael, though...Michael was a douchebag to put it in polite terms, and Eddie could tell that, unlike with Jimmy, the relationship between you was tense.

"You're late" he sniffed judgmentally instead of a greeting.

"We hit traffic and needed to change," you snarked right back.

"So you stopped off at home? Where's Jim? Why couldn't you get him here?"

"You know how he is at these things, he'll show up before they close up for the night. You remember how he was when Nana died. And now he's Mr. Tough Guy. He doesn't like to cry."

Back and forth the two of you went, Michael's accusations and your tense responses. Eddie could feel himself get more and more irritated the harsher it got, the angrier he felt you become. If it was anything other than a funeral--a wake, what was the difference--he would have started in on your brother several minutes ago to protect you.

And he was still tempted to.

But it was like a switch was flipped as someone else approached, and he watched as you changed right before his very eyes. As all the irritation and vulnerabilities left you, and in their place...was the Store Manager version of you he knew and sort of despised. Cold and stiff and everything he knew you weren't by the grace of becoming your friend.

Regardless, it was startling to see.

At the end of the night as Eddie settled into the second twin bed in what used to be Michael and Jimmy's shared room, Eddie realized that your customer service persona had been present for most of the evening, and had only slipped in the presence of those few family members that could see right past it.

Could they see past it? Or was it that you simply couldn't hide behind it with them?

For the whole time he'd known you, Eddie had often wondered what had driven you to Indiana. The job, sure, but...you'd left everything you'd known behind. And hell, for all the times that he wanted to get the hell out of Hawkins, he knew he couldn't leave Wayne or Rick for very long. In his heart he knew the day he finally left, he'd need to be back quite often to see them.

Now, though...when it came to you, he started to understand.

---

The next day, the day of the funeral, you couldn't stop shaking.

Eddie had been nervously second guessing the black jeans--the only non-ripped pair he owned--and Wayne's borrowed dress shirt when he saw you digging through your bag, trembling. It seemed like you were trying to hide it, kept your body moving and grabbing for something, but he noticed immediately,

He snatched the car keys out of your hands before you could get a solid grasp on them when it was time to go.

"It's alright," he reassured you. "Just tell me where I'm going and I'll get us there."

He thought it would be back to the funeral home, but instead you gave him directions to the church. A big old building with stained glass windows and a large statue of the Virgin Mary out in the front.

He could hear the organ music of the hymns emanating from within, and on the hour, the bells from the tower beside the chapel became deafening. For all the Catholic school girl jokes he made at your expense, he didn't realize you were Catholic Catholic.

"You sure I'm not gonna burst into flames if I set foot inside?" he joked to try and ease your nerves and his, but you just shook your head. He watched and suddenly felt helpless, as you began to shake more and worry your bottom lip with your teeth; he was supposed to be here to support you, to reassure you, and instead you looked ready to keel over. "Hey, it'll be ok."

"Yeah," you nodded tensely. "Yeah, let's just go inside."

You didn't make a move though, just rocked onto the toes of your shiny Mary Janes and looked on as tons of people filtered into the church.

Tons of people that, once again, reminded him of the people that had come to pay their respects for his mom. Eddie remembered being there, shaking in his shoes, trying to keep a straight-face, to be strong. To not be a baby because he was 10 years old.

It was just like you said about Jimmy the previous night; big tough guy, didn't want to cr--

Oh.

Realization hit Eddie. The culmination of all the other realizations that had been mounting over the past what? 48 hours? Maybe the past week? The two of you were more alike than he realized. Eddie had just noticed how you'd put up this strong front since you'd been home; the comfortable, safe Store Manager facade was starting to crack. Hadn't he just told you the story about his mom's funeral? How he'd fallen in love with metal because Rick had realized that he needed to process his grief? That he needed to lash out? To cry?

Here he was, trying to get you to laugh, when instead he should have been doing the opposite. But how was he gonna get you to cry? You didn't even cry much at the wake when you'd placed your hand on top of the shiny casket that held your Papa within.

Maybe it just hadn't hit you yet?

Alright, change of plans.

"Your Papa knew a lot of people," Eddie noted, gesturing towards the funeral-goers.

"He did," you agreed, and he watched as your shoulders lost the slightest bit of tension. "He was...I mean you met my cousin last night. The one who wants to run for Mayor."

"Yeah, he's got that yuppie thing about him."

"Well, my Papa could have been Mayor if he wanted," you said with the most conviction he'd ever heard in your voice. "He just didn't want to. Which means he deserved it even more. He was the nicest neighbor, the best friend. He went and played competitive Bocce at the civic center and fundraised for charity and canned his own peaches to give to people."

On and on, you talked about Papa's recipe for this and his idea for that and...

"And the way he fucking chain smoked god damn it Eddie," you hit his arm as he pulled his cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans.

Eddie thought that, at the very least, an emotional story would be the thing that would set you over the edge. Instead it was the pack of Marlboro Reds that he'd picked up when you had stopped for gas about halfway through the drive.

You hit his arm a few times, as you often did when you tried to playfully admonish him for this or that, then your face crumpled. Your shaking ceased as you collapsed against him and buried your face against his shoulder once again, just like you had when he first arrived at your apartment on Thursday night.

He dropped the cigarettes and folded his arms around you, pulled you into the safety of your friendship when it seemed like there wasn't anything safe out there for you right now; when you'd just lost one of the safe places you had in the world.

He whispered sweet words--comforts and reassurances--and he made you laugh once by threatening to punch your brother if he tried to make a scene.

"I'll do it," he goaded you. "I don't care if he's in mourning too. He's insufferable. Hate that guy. Never coming back to Chicago ever if he's still in town. You hear that? I might have to leave right now."

"No," you tugged him closer to you, and he reveled in the feeling. "You're staying right here. You promised."

"I did," he agreed.

The tense hold you had on him got looser and you hiccuped the last few tears you had.

A few yards away, a hearse pulled up to the curb in front of the church, and your brothers and several of your cousins went to start hauling the casket inside.

"You ready to go in?" Eddie asked. "You don't have to...but..."

"No," you shook your head and pulled back from him. "I'm ok. I'm ready."

"Good."

He waited for you to make the first move once again, but before you did, you took his hand in yours and squeezed.

"He would have been...so happy to have met you, Eddie," you looked at him earnestly. "I told him all about you. I think it hurts a little more...knowing that he didn't get the chance."

He squeezed your hand right back and smiled.

"I'm sad I didn't get the chance either. Guess I'm gonna have to work extra hard not to go to Hell so I can shake his hand in Heaven."

You snorted and pushed him away with a soft jackass then pulled him into the church with you saying he would have made the same joke.

---

The next morning, you and Eddie made a stealthy getaway.

Your father had tried to get you both to go to church with them again and you politely declined.

"We need to get on the road so we don't get back too late. I have to open tomorrow," you made the excuse.

Honestly Eddie was grateful; all the sitting and standing and kneeling...he hadn't gotten that much exercise since gym class Freshman year.

But as you soared back down North Avenue, you made a detour.

"I know this wasn't supposed to be a fun trip," you explained. "If you're up for it, we can make the drive back whenever...maybe during spring break or something? The least I can do before we head back to Hawkins, to thank you for coming, is give you a taste of good Chicago food. Especially after casseroles and funeral home sandwiches all weekend.

"It is Sunday, after all."

And that's how Eddie found himself having his first authentic Chicago style hot dog. Sitting on a picnic bench outside, under a red and yellow striped umbrella, the ambient sounds of cars zooming and your banter back and forth the perfect backdrop.

"No ketchup, are you kidding me right now Eddie?" you swatted his hand.

"Why do they have ketchup if they don't want it on the hot dog," he argued.

"It's for the fries and the fries only. You need to have the whole experience. A hot dog with everything, and ketchup on the fries only."

He watched as you unwrapped your hotdog and began picking through the toppings. Hypocrite.

"Wait, I thought you said you needed to have the whole experience, why are you taking the peppers off."

"I don't like the peppers."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Eddie scoffed. "Gonna have to take your Chicago Card away. Oh wait, I'm sorry. Suburb card."

"Oh my god, just eat. Before I leave you here."

He took his first bite and his tastebuds sang, as you munched on a French fry with a cheeky smile.

And Eddie was happy. Happy to be here with you. Sundays were his favorite days, hands down, and he would do everything in his power to keep them that way.

It might not have been the happiest weekend, there might still be some unanswered questions between the two of you. But you were here with him and you were still friends, and after everything that had happened, that's all Eddie could ask for.

Next Part: Closing Time

[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.

[darsynia]

Surprise blurb bomb!

You’re at a conference and a little worried because your boss has enlisted you to present. You’ve got about a day to go, so you’ve been in pacing in your hotel room rehearsing. However, the frustration mounts every time you hear yourself make a little mistake. Your next door neighbor has heard all of this, so they come to knock on your door, checking that everything is alright. When you explain what’s going on, they nod sympathetically, having to present as well. They kindly offer to help you practice, which leads to the two of you falling asleep collapsed on top of each other on your bed. What happens after that? Who’s your babe?

Thank you so much for this!! I chose Steve, and this is teeth-rotting fluff with my signature little characterization moments. I hope you enjoy!!

gif from @askthesuperhusbands

Notes: Pre-Ultron, no warnings, 2,447 words, first draft so I get it out without fussing

Excerpt:

“I get it. Public speaking is hard enough when it’s important, but it’s even harder when there are no friendlies in the audience.” Steve smiles wryly. “That won’t happen here, I promise. I’ll be in the room, because just like with the war bonds, I’m a symbol of what you’re fighting for.”

Always On

“The idea of ‘public relations’ has fallen into disrepute, just like ‘human resources’--and I think their tarnished reputations are related,” you say, hands clutching the edges of the wooden desk chair ‘podium’ precariously balanced on the hotel bed. “I know everyone in this room is well-acquainted with the concept of finding common ground with a myriad of people-- Argh!”

You frown, feeling the judgment of the rumpled sheet hanging on the wall. It’s covering the mirror that had pulled your focus away for the first twenty minutes of this practice exercise, but you still know it’s there. At this point, the sheet is a fig leaf covering your dignity and your inability to stay focused.

It’s past midnight, and the long day is getting to you. The introductory paragraph of your presentation is in the bag, but paragraph two isn’t working at all. It’s your thesis statement, the crux of the whole project, and you know you’re fighting an uphill battle. Without help from the well-respected UNITY Project, the governments of the world might try something extreme to keep the Avengers in line. Each year the group of philanthropists, aid workers, humanitarian lawyers, and other notorious do-gooders meet and choose ten groups to endow aid or oversight on. You’re hoping for the oversight, but it’s a long shot. The group has a sterling reputation, and their clout might be enough to get Secretary Ross to back down.

Your hands ache from where you’ve been clutching at your makeshift podium, but you square your shoulders and try again. “What we’re seeking is a partnership, a way to celebrate this team’s efforts and smooth over their rough edges.”

The sheet is mocking you, so you close your eyes and picture the faceless group you’re going to be appealing to.

“Citizens around the world trust your judgment and their heroism. Together we can ease fears and--” You stop, struggling to remember the word you’d thought up in the rental car on the way to the hotel. No amount of squinting at the note cards does any good. Your notes are rain-splattered and ruined in exactly the wrong spot, of course.

Throwing your head back, you let out yet another miserable groan.

Seconds later, there’s a gentle tap on the door. You recognize the pattern.

“Go away Steve, I’m busy dying of frustration!”

There is silence for over thirty seconds, but you’re not fooled. After counting to fifty-five, you stride over and throw the door open right before Captain America’s knuckles strike the wood again.

“Yes?” Your withering glare doesn’t faze him. Steve just raises his eyebrows and holds his hands up in a ‘surrender’ gesture.

“Three ‘arghs’ in fifteen minutes gets a visit, you should know that,” he tells you with mock sternness.

Hot embarrassment has you stepping back in dismay. “You could hear that?”

“A few words of the speech, too,” he nods, prompting another ‘argh’ from you.

Your choices are to spontaneously develop superpowers so you can drop through the floor, or do as you always do in this friendship--or let Steve Rogers be the hero. Your dilemma must show on your face, because for once, he doesn’t wait for you to ask for help.

“Something tells me the board of United International Continuing Acronym won’t be convinced by those noises,” Steve says, using Stark’s nickname to cover for the way he pushes past you into the room. For a few seconds, the fronts of your bodies brush against each other, and the heat from those few seconds burns through you.

By the time you recover, Steve’s already across the room, clearing his throat. “I sympathize, believe me. Doesn’t matter how much public speaking I’ve gone through, it still ties my stomach into knots.” He turns and gives you a look of teasing determination. “I have a few suggestions, but I’d have to swear you to secrecy.”

Your crush surges up to color your voice with maybe a little too much affection as you say, “Captain America has secrets?”

The look he shoots you has the same sort of heat from seconds ago. “Here,” he says, pulling a folded page from his pocket. “This is a new one, but back when they first put me in tights, I practiced my script in a room set up with some of these.”

Steve hands you a drawing of a crowd of people, some smiling, some frowning, some turning to their neighbors instead of looking forward. It’s got all of the charm of his usual drawings, despite being more simple than usual. When you look up at his face, his sheepish expression tells you why. He must have drawn it right before knocking on your door.

“Steve,” you breathe, touched by the gesture but also the way he’s captured the spectrum of audience reaction. It reminds you of everything he’d gone through to be the man he is now, the man you’ve fallen for as inevitably as a crowd cheers for a brilliant performance. You couldn’t help it.

“Not now, all right?” he whispers, a kind of pleading in his eyes. “Speech first.”

You blink at him. Did he just acknowledge that something’s different between you? What is it about this corporate hotel hundreds of miles from the home that’s turned everything deliciously sideways? He’s already on the next Act, and you shove those feelings aside to focus like he’s asked you to.

“My place was a quarter this size, but maybe we can…” Steve trails off, propping his drawing on the draped wall sheet and flipping off all but the lights above the bed. Somehow it works, limiting distractions and changing the covered mirror into an easel for his thoughtful drawing.

There’s only one problem.

“Are you planning to lurk behind me?”

“Well, I’d sit in the chair, but--”

“Steve!” You can’t even glare at him, because all you can see is the glint of the fluorescent light reflecting off of his shined shoes. He pushes off the wall and steps forward just enough so you can see the kind look on his face.

“I get it. Public speaking is hard enough when it’s important, but it’s even harder when there are no friendlies in the audience.” Steve smiles wryly. “That won’t happen here, I promise. I’ll be in the room, because just like with the war bonds, I’m a symbol of what you’re fighting for.”

There’s no way he could know how romantic that sounds, so you swallow against the sudden tightness in your throat and nod at him.

You start again, and suddenly it works. The chair is a podium. The crowd is real. Steve is somewhere out of sight, rooting for you. You get through the whole thing, and it feels great. You can hear Steve clapping for you through the relieved buzzing in your ears.

Then it all falls apart. When you let go, the chair falls over and smacks you in the face, and the little breeze from your flail of pain knocks the drawing down. Steve rushes over to help, but he bumps into you, and you both fall sideways onto the bed.

The giggles last for a glorious few minutes, and then he says, “Okay, since everything went sideways, can I make it worse?”

You’re lying on a bed with Steve Rogers and his smile is like an early sunrise, so you say yes.

“The concept is good, but you sound like you’re using big words to impress. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s not really us. Tony’s irreverent, Clint’s the salt of the Earth, and Bruce is the kind of scientist that puts everyone at ease, at least until he turns green.” Steve turns onto his back, but he doesn’t get up, which feels consequential, despite his criticism. “Nat’s public persona is standoffish but not pretentious, and I’m--”

“You’re folksy,” you interrupt, still stinging from the unfortunate truth of the word ‘pretentious.’ “The epitome of ‘plainspoken.’”

Steve shoots a look over at you, and you realize those two words are exactly what he meant.

“The guy next door,” you add. Inside, you’re crumbling a little bit. Does he think you’re pretentious? Are you pretentious?

Steve rolls to face you again, reaching out to brush his thumb gently across the place the chair had struck you. It’s covered by your hair, but he somehow knows exactly where it is.

“You still have a full day left of the conference before it’s your turn. I could have colored that drawing and given it to you tomorrow, but that wouldn’t have helped tonight.” He pulls his hand back, but sets it on the bed between you. “That’s what makes us a team.”

You’re confused, but comforted nonetheless.

“You paint with words. It’s not that different from art, and every artist chooses how much effort to put in each piece,” he explains patiently. “It’s the same for this. You’re representing everyone, and that means you have to save some of that energy for the physical part of it. Not everyone realizes that.”

“Oh, God,” you blurt out, sitting up. “You are a symbol, just like you said. You’re always on, even at the Compound! How much energy does that take?”

He looks up at you, and the truth in his eyes is painfully intimate. “It’s not as bad now. When I came out of the ice, it kind of felt like I was still in tights. Always exposed for the greater good.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. It’s your job to book him for events. You’re the one shoving him onto the stage.

“No, no, don’t do that,” Steve says, sitting up and framing your face with his hands. “It was worse before, when it was Tony or some random person at SHIELD sending me out. I trust you. This conference was your idea--”

You scrunch up your face with guilt at that, and Steve gets this look of determination on his face. The next thing you know, he’s leaning forward and kissing you. It’s electric, stage lights blaring, orchestra in crescendo, and the velvet curtain rolling closed on the triumphant final scene to the roaring of the audience applause.

Then he’s pulling back, standing, and running his hand over his face. “That was out of line, I’m sorry.”

“It was a masterpiece,” you say, looking up at him with your hands clutching the blanket and your heart in your eyes.

The way his nervous tension completely leaves his body is even more reassuring than the softly-spoken “Oh. Good,” he lets out. His encore wins all the awards your heart has to give: “I didn’t practice that at all.”

Joy colors your voice. “You’re a natural.”

Steve’s ears turn red, and he says, “Well, I should let you get back to it. It’s past one--”

“You could stay,” you rush to say, standing up and stepping past him to pick up the drawing. Behind you, he makes a strangling sort of coughing noise, and you realize what you’ve said. “To practice!”

That just makes Steve gasp your name, clearly amused and scandalized in equal measure, and you groan in frustration. Feeling giddy just destroys your cognitive abilities.

“The speech! What is it about this hotel??”

“A new medium. Canvas instead of watercolor paper. A speech instead of short stories,” he says, setting the fallen chair back upright.

“You know about those?” you ask, surprised. You’ve made a point of working on them only during your downtime.

He has the grace to look apologetic. “Tony made a comment once, that I’d turn up in one of your stories if I offended any world leaders, when I was sent to the UN Grand Assembly.”

“Shit, I forgot I threatened him with that one time when he was being an ass.” Your grumble ended in a colossal yawn. “What time does breakfast start tomorrow?” The conference is a multi-day affair, and missing the early meal had not set you up to stay awake through the panels today. “I won’t have any time to practice this tomorrow night and you’re right, I really need to clean up the wording,” you add, feeling your elation at the kiss drain away with worry.

“Then let’s keep at it,” Steve says, taking the drawing and setting it back up on the sheet. He turns and gives you as wicked a look as you’ve ever seen on his face. “The speech, I mean.”

You wake up to the alarm with a sore neck, your dress pants digging into your hip, and a bed partner. He’s the farthest from a pain in the neck as a man can get, but falling asleep fully dressed with your head on his shoulder wasn’t the wisest decision you’ve ever made. You pull in a deep breath, trying to clear out the mental cobwebs scattered in happy glitter, and Steve tenses up under your head.

“I’m sorry,” you say immediately.

“Don’t be. I’m the one who should have left you to sleep.”

You sit up so he can slip out of bed, knowing that he needs to put distance between you for his own peace of mind.

“Be honest: have you ever voluntarily abandoned a woman who needs your help?” you tease. “In all seriousness, you were a huge help last night, and I’m sure that was outside your comfort zone. That was probably the most I’ve ever seen you talk outside of lecturing Stark!”

“I didn’t even notice,” he says, pulling the sheet off of the mirror expertly folding it over in the corner of the room.

He’s faced away from you, so you indulge in a back-arching stretch while muttering under your breath, “You have no idea how hot that is.”

“Right back at you,” Steve retorts, looking back at you with the sheet in one clenched fist. “I need to get going. Want me to pick up breakfast for you?”

You’re off script and floundering, trying to reconcile the sexy rasp in his voice with this attempt at professionalism. It’s exactly the kind of relationship you’ve always dreamed of, and you find your heart slipping further into romantic oblivion.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Thank you,” He says, holding out a hand to help you up. Once you’re standing, Steve holds your gaze and lifts his eyebrows in a very clear question. Heart pounding, you nod, and he takes your lips in a brief but fervent kiss. He moves back, pausing at the door. “I just thought of something, but it’s--”

“Tell me anyway,” you interrupt. “You don’t have to alter your wording for me.” It’s maybe too symbolic and cheesy, but you’re sleep deprived.

“I’m looking forward to another collaboration,” he says, flashing you a brilliant smile.

Note: I may have to write a sequel with what happens AFTER, given that I impulsively wrote this and missed that the prompt was 'what happens after that' I feel so dumb haha

[bliss-in-the-void]

Satoru, Suguru, and the Detriment of Their Origins. (How their characters completed each other.)

This is going to be an analysis on how their differences came together and contributed to their downfalls once they parted. I really like how this turned out—it’s very interesting.

Long post, read under cut:

Satoru:

Blamed the Jujutsu Higher-ups for even burdening him and Suguru, who were both sixteen, with the task of escorting Riko—who was only fourteen—to Tengen. The fate of the entire world rested on the shoulders of three kids who were only put in their position because of abilities assigned at birth, and nothing else. The three of them literally had no choice in the matter. Also, because of what happened with Haibara. Satoru deduced that the elders shouldn’t be in charge of sending kids off to their deaths to fight uphill battles.

So, he in turn decides to raise strong allies in the form of students so that they one day can overthrow the elders in hopes of establishing a more fair and just system for sorcerers. Here, he recognizes the need for sorcerers to exorcise curses to protect the populace, but does not agree with the system as it stands.

Note, Satoru before the Star Plasma Vessel incident had barely any motivation to exorcise curses other than the fact that he could do it. He did it for fun. He just liked using his powers. He was always a self-assured person.

Suguru:

Blamed non-sorcerers for generating curses in the first place, and developed a deep hatred for them that was seeded after Toji (a non-sorcerer) ‘killed’ Satoru and killed Riko, as well as after he witnessed non-sorcerers applauding the death of Riko, a fourteen year old girl. He met Yuki, Tsukumo, who introduced to him the idea of getting rid of the source of curses. He also blamed humanity for conjuring a curse that killed Haibara. His turning point was finding two young sorcerer girls, Nanako and Mimiko (~seven years old) caged up like animals by non-sorcerers. It probably reminded him of his own childhood—I can only imagine how his parents must have at least alienated him for his abilities, since they were not sorcerers. It also in part probably reminded him of Riko, and how she’d been a young girl unfairly targeted due to her abilities. It definitely triggered him.

So, his goal became to rid the world of non-sorcerers, so that curses wouldn’t exist. To do this, he had to abandon all of the principles he had subscribed to thus far and become a villain who kills people—but he did it for his cause.

Note, Suguru has always been a self-righteous person. It’s a bit different from who Satoru is. He has had time to think about his place in the world because unlike Satoru, he was born to a normal family and had to find where he belonged himself. Satoru, on the other hand, was told where his place was from the moment he was born.

So, Suguru defined himself as somewhat of a hero who valiantly, selflessly swallows nasty curses to protect the populace.

Satoru never had to define himself. He was already defined at birth. A wielder of the Six Eyes and Limitless, a once in a lifetime anomaly, a scale-tipping, monstrosity more powerful than anyone else.

These origins are both of their downfalls, and this is ultimately why the two needed each other so badly. They did complete each other as people.

As I said above, Suguru had to define himself. He had to affirm to himself that what he was doing was for the good of the people—it was how he had convinced himself society had to run. The strong protect the weak, it doesn’t matter if one had a choice or not. If you are strong, you have a duty to become a protector.

The issue with this mindset is that he has absolutely no attachment to it whatsoever. The only thing it does for him is make him feel good about himself in his early days as an active sorcerer. Even Satoru calls him out, letting Suguru know he “hates righteousness” and that he just “makes himself feel better” by “spouting bullshit”, the bullshit being his ‘heroic’ beliefs. At his core, Suguru believes himself to be a hero of sorts, which is why when things go sideways, he does a one-eighty and decided to kill all non-sorcerers rather than protect them. In his mind, he’s still affirming to himself that he’s the hero. It’s just that now, he’s protecting other sorcerers. The enemy has changed. He’s still the self-righteous, martyr-Suguru he has always defined himself as, sticking his neck out for the good of his cause.

He lost his grip because he was not emotionally attached to being a sorcerer. He was just attached to being a hero. This is why when entering Jujutsu High, Yaga puts such a huge emphasis on digging deep and finding a strong, personal reason to be a sorcerer. He recognizes that he fell short in that aspect when it came to Suguru, and doesn’t want it happening again. Resolve is very, very important so that once doesn’t lose their mind.

Now, let’s take a look at Satoru’s mind in contrast. He is the strongest sorcerer. The ‘honored one’. He always has been. He had bounties on his head before he could walk, and grown adults feared him even as a child. He was always seen for his abilities first and not his soul, so he identified with his powers more strongly.

This caused him to become disillusioned with himself. He believed that being strong was all someone could need, and that he was untouchable. He was relied on by everyone. “Gojo can handle it.” “Just wait for Gojo.” He was the trump card. That’s why he strolled up to Shibuya so nonchalantly—the way he was raised gave him a natural arrogance. It’s not because he’s a jerk. It’s because that’s all he knows. He was raised believing he was all powerful, so what else can he default to? He was literally wired that way.

Unfortunately, because he leaned so heavily on his powers, he forgot who he was as a person. Especially after Suguru, the only person he was able to form a vulnerable emotional bond with, compared him to his powers and left him.

Caveat I want to make about that point: Suguru was the only person who treated Satoru like a human being. Everyone else saw him as the Six Eyes. Because he made Satoru feel seen, because he tried making Satoru a better person (teaching him manners, acting as his moral compass), Satoru grew attached to him. So, when Suguru’s psyche took a turn for the worst and he left Satoru in Shinjuku, the line “are you the strongest because you’re Satoru Gojo? Or are you Satoru Gojo because you’re the strongest?” dealt a fatal blow to his heart. This was the one person he trusted deeply, reducing him to a man with powers, just like everyone else his whole life did. It caused a rift in their relationship. It caused Satoru to rethink his entire identity—how much of himself was based off of his powers? How much of himself wasn’t based off of his powers? Suguru’s presence allowed him to feel more human and less like a creature than he ever had. But those words pushed him back into that constraint.

In chapter 236, Satoru reveals to Suguru that somehow, though he had love for everyone around him, he felt a line had been drawn where he felt more like a creature than a human being.

A TikTok user (lauravpvp) pointed out something that drives this point home. Satoru wears a blindfold over his eyes 90% of the time. As his powers grow, the coverings get thicker and more restricting. He starts with glasses, then bandages, and then the black blindfold. Eyes are the window to the soul—and as he gets stronger, the less he shows them; the less he beard his soul.

We look into someone’s eyes to see how they’re feeling, to connect to them. His eyes are always covered, so he prevents that connection and prevents people from knowing how he feels. He dehumanizes himself that way.

Because of that, when he goes into his fight with Sukuna, he goes believing he’d the strongest and that he would win. It’s all he’s reduced himself to. This blind attachment to his powers, to the idea that he had to do it alone, is what lead to his downfall.

Because he learned the hard way that he wasn’t the strongest.

In his final moments, he reinforces what he had discovered after Suguru left him in Shinjuku.

Strength alone is not enough. Why?

He said that if Suguru had been there to pat him on the back, he would have truly been satisfied.

Suguru, who had to fight to find his identity his whole life—who, because he spent so much time defining himself, helped Satoru define himself in ways that were separate from his abilities. And Satoru, who identified himself with his abilities so much that it reinforced Suguru’s confidence in his own abilities.

They completed each other. Suguru’s moral compass and strict principles held Satoru’s head on right, and Satoru’s confidence and youthful heart kept Suguru motivated and away from the dark.

Without each other, Suguru descended into madness and Satoru lost sight of his human side.

[therealvinelle]

assuming Harry died in the graveyard in book 4 as planned what was voldemorts original plan to do next do u think?

I think we saw the gist of it in canon.

He laid low, let those who believed a long dead dark wizard had somehow resurrected himself look like fools and conspiracy theorists, and quietly went about rebuilding his movement. He waited to jailbreak his Death Eaters until enough time had passed that it'd wouldn't be immediately connected to his supposed resurrection, and he kept his followers in a tight leash, not making any headlines of any kind.

Consider all that he had to rebuild.

There had been a purge of Death Eaters, Death Eaters sympathizers, and everyone remotely affiliated with him after he fell, the Wizengamot was fast tracking people to Azkaban. Those who escaped wouldn't be rushing to incriminate themselves either.

All his spies, all his agents, his entire network where nobody had known who was or wasn't with him, was shattered, and he was starting worse than scratch because last time, people hadn't known what was coming. This time, he was looking at an uphill battle on every front - rallying sympathy to the cause of the most feared man in modern history is still possible, people can always be convinced what they've heard was wrong and Voldemort has been the victim of merciless slander, but it requires more work. Recruitment when he looks inhuman and like evil incarnate meaning he can't really run the charm offensive anymore, also possible but so much harder than before. Infiltrating the Ministry, amassing political power, again still possible but the thing is he already did this and the people he used then have largely been purged and those who weren't have wisened up.

The second his resurrection is acknowledged, the wizarding world goes into a panic. And as it happens, this worked out wonderfully for Tom since nobody had learned from last time, so rather than wise up they dipped right into crisis mode and restored the social power and influence of a man who had been a wraith for fourteen years after death by failed baby slaughter took him out.

I have to think Tom was surprised by that.

His actions in Half-Blood Prince through the start of Deathly Hallows where he esssentially puts the gradually amass power plan on speed and within the year he's committed a coup, reads to me as a response to that. No point being insidious in those circumstances, in fact he can't without risking that the spell will break and people start wondering just what he's doing.

[casual-praxis]

This should not have taken me nearly this long, but it's finally finished! Behold, the redundant relationship chart for my high school au fanfic!

I wasn't sure how to go about this at first, since it's pretty much just a big friend group, but I tried to touch on the specifics. They all interact with one another slightly differently depending on who it is, so I'll try to elaborate a little.

Red and Green are twins, so the usual sibling banter is common. They relentlessly tease each other about their respective crushes, but only because they trust the other not to go too far with it. As the "older twin" (by about seven minutes), Green feels the need to protect Red, who just rolls with it since he likes the attention.

Green and Blue have known each other since middle school, and while they didn't always get along, their rivalry eventually gave way to mutual respect. They're still very competitive, but they've got each other's backs when the going gets tough. Playful teasing is pretty much how they communicate (it only occasionally results in Blue angrily chasing Green around the school, big step up from the occasional fistfight).

Red and Vio, similar to Green and Blue, have known each other since middle school, and Red was the one to give Vio his nickname. The two are close, to the point where casual contact is more expected than not (it's a fairly common occurrence for Red to run up and jump onto Vio's back, with Vio simply adjusting his stance to support Red as the only acknowledgment it happened). Platonic soulmates.

Red and Blue have had crushes on each other for a while. Everyone can see it, except them apparently. They dance around the subject (i.e. flail) out of fear it'll change the dynamic of their group too much, but they're already so soft with each other that it wouldn't make a difference. Many nights are spent with only the two of them in vc, talking aimlessly just to hear the other's voice.

Green and Vio met through Red back in middle school, and while they aren't the closest, they do spend a lot of time together while waiting on Red and Blue to stop lowkey flirting (their version of it, anyway). Green has made it his mission to find Vio his own fashion style, but it's been an uphill battle so far on account of Vio not having much preference for anything. Vio, meanwhile, thinks it's funny to rile Green up, so he goes along with it despite not caring either way.

Blue and Vio, while not seeming very close, do talk way more than the average outsider might think. Blue is the only one in the group so far who knows almost the full extent of Vio's homelife, and while he can't do much to change it, he does his best to offer support (though he will absolutely not admit to it). These two can and will deck someone in the face if they mess with Red (or Green, but Green will defend himself at least).

Zelda and Green are the potential power couple just waiting to happen. They were always loosely aware of each other throughout the school years, but it wasn't until Vio (reluctantly) introduced them that they started to hang out. Green greatly admires her leadership skills and fashion knowledge (they'll talk for hours about it), meanwhile, Zelda finds his charisma and dorky humor charming.

Zelda and Red aren't incredibly close, but still friendly with each other. They're in drama club together and mostly talk about related club work, or Green, usually both. There isn't much to say about their relationship other than they get along and Red is excited at the idea of Zelda dating Green.

Interestingly enough, Zelda and Blue have a dynamic similar to the one Blue has with Green. They're gaming buddies, and very competitive with each other. This bleeds into their casual interactions at school, which always throws some people for a loop since Zelda's gaming hobby is very much a secret. The no-context smack talk is kinda funny to be fair.

Zelda and Vio do not get along. They grew up together because their families were friends, but both view their childhoods with one another very differently. While not outright hostile to each other, Vio tends to avoid Zelda and go silent if she's brought into a conversation. Zelda, on the other hand, would like to talk to "Violet", but his frequent avoidance of her does tend to make her a little bitter.

Zelda and Shadow have an odd friendship. What had started as an attempt to make peace, quickly turned into an unbreakable bond of solidarity. The two are gossip buddies, as well as theater kids, so you can imagine how that goes. They balance each other out in surprising ways (Zelda reins in Shadow's more over-the-top theatrics, while Shadow pushes Zelda to be more daring). They also game with Blue on the weekends, it's chaotic.

Shadow and Vio are a mess. Neither of them understands normal relationships and that's probably the only reason it's working out so well for them. Due to Shadow's history of bullying the group, Vio initially does not want anything to do with him, but once they get over that hurdle, depending on how you look at it, it's all downhill from here. Stalker x Stalker. They're obsessed.

Shadow and Blue, as mentioned before, are also gaming buddies. They usually don't interact much unless Zelda is with them, but they get along fine once they bury the hatchet. Blue is still a little wary of Shadow's intentions in the group, but he can always just punch Shadow again if he steps out of line.

Shadow and Red (who I forgot to draw a line between) get along great despite their history. They're both in theater (not the club) and match each other's energies fairly well. They both "fight" over Vio if he's around, but this usually just results in them hanging off of Vio while trying to have a normal conversation. A surprisingly chaotic duo.

Shadow and Green, much like Red and Zelda, aren't super close but can tolerate each other. None of their hobbies or interests really align, though they might team up to find Vio a fashion style someday. When left alone together they talk about cats. Specifically, Nail Polish, the weird orange cat Red found in a dumpster eating nail polish.

And that about wraps it up. I didn't mean for this post to be this long, but hopefully, if anyone reads it, it'll be at least a little entertaining. I'm excited to work more on this au, even if it takes me forever. ^^

Figuring out everyone's dynamics beyond just "character A knows character B" has been really fun! I look forward to exploring this more hehehe.

[inquisitor-apologist]

Out of all of the MANY missed opportunities and shit in the Ahsoka show, I think one of the biggest was not exploring the really unique time period that the galaxy is in at all.

Like, think about it. The Ahsoka series takes place in ~10 ABY. The Rebellion is gone. The Galactic Civil War is over. The New Republic has established itself. The last Imperial remnants have been driven all the way out into the Outer Rim. People are rebuilding. The First Order and Imperial resurgence is still pretty far off.

The galaxy in Ahsoka is about as peaceful as it ever gets in the main timeline. And they do nothing with it.

What does peace feel like for Ahsoka, who was forced to fight literally every war in the past ~35 years just for being force-sensitive? (Drafted into the Clone Wars, fighting for survival during the Imperial and Rebellion Years, probably returning to the fight in the Civil War because she’s one of the last Jedi/trained force-sensitives) How does she deal with not having a fight she needs to help with? How does she move on from an entire life of exhausting, terrifying war? How does she look at the Jedi coming back, knowing that they’ll never be the Order she chose to leave at 16? Does she want to come back, but not know how? Is she afraid of returning because she knows that there’s no one left to recognize her?

What about Hera, who dedicated her entire life to a war that’s won? The ongoing struggle that defined her childhood, her teenage years, the first two decades of her adulthood is… over. The Republic she fought for, the Republic she gave everything to restore, is restored. How does she adjust to serving in peace? Does the reality of the New Republic compare to the ideal she did it all for? How does she look back on a whole life as a soldier, knowing that it can be over now, if she wants it to be? Is she even able to accept that it’s over, or is she constantly looking for the next threat, the hidden, upcoming war?

And Sabine, who sacrificed her teenage years to the Rebellion, probably her 20s to the Civil War, how does she deal with living on a Lothal that’s long since moved past the need for a protector, in a galaxy that’s completely unrecognizable without a battle to fight? Does she look back at the Rebellion, the Rebels years, as the good old days? Does the rest of her life feel empty and dull without the constant rush of a desperate, uphill war? How does she reconcile a New Republic without Mandalore? How does she feel about the future she always envisioned missing the people she rebelled for in the first place?

But no, Felony was like: Ahsoka sad :( and unemotional bc Vader. Hera smart and 💯% justified about Thrawn. Everyone else just stupid and hates her. Sabine conflicted bc Not Jedi & misses Ezra. Whole family dead 💀 but let’s not focus on that.

Like, come on.

[ddarker-dreams]

Keychains.

Makima x F Reader.

Warnings: Slightly unhealthy undertones bc, y’know, Makima . Word count: 1k. 

“… And after I see how that goes, we’ll meet again in a week’s time to review…”

You want to focus. You should be able to focus, given your serious line of profession, which entails risking your life in a seemingly endless uphill battle against the supernatural. There is no justifiable reason you’ll be able to offer when your superior inevitably picks up on your wandering attention span.

Is it ever exhausting, to be as keenly aware as she is? To her, everyone else must seem like they live wearing horse blinders, bumping into each other, and making a general ruckus. Does she find it pathetic, or amusing?

Considering how difficult Makima is to read, you doubt you’ll ever be able to tell.

“I’m transferring you to our Hokkaido branch, effective immediately.”

This abrupt declaration breaks through the mental wall you’ve built up like a knife stabbed into your abdomen.

“Wait, really? What good can I do up there?”

“Gotcha,” she hums, her eyes smiling where her mouth does not. “You weren’t listening. I assume you are now, correct?”

“I’ve never been a fan of the cold, so yeah, that reeled me back in.”

“What managed to steal my [First]’s attention, I wonder?” Makima muses, muted mischief in her tone. She follows your line of sight — more for show, if you had to guess — finding an array of capsule toy machines to be the culprit. Your cheeks burn and you hang your head in embarrassment when she turns back to face you.

The following silence drags on for a painfully long few seconds. Just when you fear your professional image in Makima’s eyes has been ruined forever, she posits,

“Want to play?”

You sputter, your head snapping up to gauge her expression, which betrays nothing as usual. If your life depended on it, you would still be unable to guess if she was joking or not. She had a penchant for saying the most unusual things without batting an eyelash. It’d always come out of seemingly nowhere, too. She could go from discussing the most bureaucratic topics to making you wonder if your ears are working properly. The present predicament is an excellent example of this.

Really, you should awkwardly laugh and wave this issue off, getting back to the important matters at hand here—

“Be honest.”

“I do,” you say before you can even think to stop yourself. Huh? “I don’t have any change, though.”

Makima procures a 100 yen coin from her blazer’s inner breast pocket. “Win something good.”

For some reason or another, you feel compelled to accept the bizarre offer. Her fingers brush against yours ever so slightly when you take the coin. Without further delay, you make your way over, acutely aware of how silly this must appear to any onlooker. A grown woman dressed in a pressed suit and tie eagerly half-jogging to some capsule toy machines? The people’s hard-earned tax dollars at their best.

Childlike delight at the cute options listed quickly overshadows the self-awareness you felt earlier. Without further ado, you insert the coin and twist. A capsule then falls into your possession with a resounding thunk. Hurriedly, you unscrew the lid, revealing the special prize inside. You have to refrain from exclaiming in excitement — the sweet Pompompurin released only a year prior awaits within.

“Did you get what you wanted?” Makima inquires upon your triumphant return.

“I did! Thank you, Makima-san. I’ll treat us the next time we get drinks, or something,” you clear your throat in an attempt to regain your composure. Here’s to hoping that'll be the end of things. You’ll put your newfound spoil in your pocket, scream into your pillow later tonight, then try and forget this ever happened.

She rests her head on her fist and outstretches her palm. “Let me see.”

You do as you’re bid, obediently placing the figurine into her awaiting grasp. She studies it for a second, then as if arriving at a conclusion, voices another softly spoken command.

“Your phone too.”

Makima immediately sets out to work after you fulfill her request. Your flip phone in hand, she fastens the newly obtained keychain into place. Out of the repertoire of uncanny nightmares that haunt your memories, this might be the sight to trump them all. Your superior studying a dangling Pompompurin with that little enigmatic smile on her lips she so favors. She returns it without further fuss, leaving you to ponder what her intentions might possibly be.

“It suits you,” she decides, her eyes that seemingly swirl like a vortex fixated on your form. “Keep this on always and think of me whenever you see it.”

“I can do that, sure.”

Himeno is so going to be on your case about this later… you’ll need to think of a cover story. She probably wouldn’t believe you even if you did tell her the truth. You make a mental note to never answer your phone in her presence.

“I want one like that too,” Makima nods her head toward your newly decorated phone. You go to take a sip of your water, finding this entire interaction draining on account of how unusual it is. Although, you can count the number of times you’ve had normal interactions with your coworkers on one hand. “Then we’ll match. Almost like girlfriends, wouldn’t you say?”

At this, you almost choke on your drink. She’s benevolent enough to give you time to recover, sitting straight with her hands resting on her lap, while you’re fighting for your life. Eventually, your body sees fit to calm down. Aside from your heart. The traitorous organ is pounding at an unhealthy rate.

How does someone respond to that!? Public Safety has got to get better HR to curtail these sorts of things in advance. Now that you think about it, do you guys even have HR…?

“Oh, uh,” you cough lamely into your fist, “I’d love to help with that, Makima-san, but it’s all up to luck. Those machines can bleed you dry if you’re not careful.”

Perfect, that’s a solid, decidedly cool response that should help rebuild your shattered ego. She places a finger to her cheek while considering your words. After a moment’s deliberation, she reaches into yet another pocket that jingles upon being disrupted. A bulging coin purse is placed on the table and slid over to your bewildered person.

She takes your frozen hand and gently moves it onto the purse.

“If it’s luck that you need... then I’ll be your lucky charm.”

[drdemonprince]

hi, devon. i’m a very socially anxious white autistic person who has been quite active in protests and some related events and actions the last couple of months. i really agree with your opinions on how white supremacy can shift our focus away from community, but i find it nearly impossible to actively parttake in community. i show up with a mindset of actively contributing but feel paralyzed when faced with the chance. i don’t really know how to make social connections in general, but i so badly want to contribute to community. i think white guilt kinda plays into things as well and that makes me so ashamed and then i spiral. ik it’s a lot but do you have advice on navigating a deep urge and feeling of responsibility (as it pretty much is my responsibility as someone who wants to fight for liberation) but feeling paralyzed whenever a chance to connect actually presents itself? i always end up fumbling and unintentionally rejecting people who try to connect w me as well. i used to be very politically active as a teen but that was through organisations with a lot of structure which enabled me to feel more able. i do whatever actions i can, but being hindered by my inability to form connections makes me worried i won’t be able to end up in the communities that fight for liberation in the long haul. i’m ready to this this for the rest of my life, but not alone.

I understand this feeling so much. Please keep at it. One of the biggest problems with the white supremacy brain disease is that it expects us to do more & more quickly than is reasonable or helpful to expect of a person. So it is very likely you are beating yourself up for not speaking up, for not jumping in to offer help, and for not asserting yourself to the degree that you think that you "should," but in reality many of those efforts would be misplaced or self-defeating if you were to embark on them right now. This is a long journey, and white supremacy culture believes in urgency above all things too, and so it's important for you to give yourself some grace as well as to accept that progress for you will be a long haul, and that's okay.

Many people have told me that becoming even a neutral member of a community as a white person is an uphill battle. So many of our impulses and the social tools that we wield actively destroy community. to learn to become a good community member, we have to listen and learn a lot, and keep showing up, and risk looking foolish, inert, useless, or whatever else we worst fear. If you're not doing much right now but still showing up, you might be a neutral member! That's a good start actually. Keep going.

Also try to keep an open heart and an open mind when people of color or longstanding members of the space challenge you, correct you, playfully tease you, or try to include you, even if it feels embarassing or like an attack -- it isn't an attack, but white supremacy brain will have you thinking that it is. If you read my essay Moments of Protest, I describe a moment like this at the Powwow I recently visited. Indigenous men singled me out, brought me into the dances, included me, taught me the moves, and gave me an award even tho I was doing a miserably bad job -- I was MORTIFIED and the white fragile person inside me wanted to run away and apologize for being so inept and never come there again. Instead, I pushed past my stupid ego and kept dancing and felt incredible gratitude in my heart. This kinda thing happens in a lot of POC-led activist spaces too. People will ask you your opinion, tell you how to contribute, correct you, include you, and it will humble you, and it will be scary at first, but do your best to just stick with it and stay present doing the thing, even if you feel red-faced and guilty. Slowly you will get more used to it and you don't reflexively withdraw or push people away. It took me no joke YEARS to get to this point. I used to flee instinctively or even be mad at people for bursting my self protective bubble. You can work through it.

A lot of my usual distress tolerance building advice also applies here (see my substack for more). But I think that if you are already showing up to actions a lot and are self-aware about it, you are on the right track. You just need to keep going. Attend organizing meetings, not just protests themselves if you can. Contribute your opinion when it is warranted. Don't beat yourself up for being silent sometimes and don't beat yourself up for disagreeing with people or having questions and your opinions. Accept conflict as a healthy form of intimacy and dont run away when a moment gets awkward. Just keep learning and retraining yourself and noticing the love that people show -- by offering food, by making jokes, by acknowledging your presence to make you feel welcome, by allowing you to be there and helping you to be a better version of yourself. we all have a long way to go in this work, but you can do it. you're already doing it! you got this.

[isalisewrites]

A ramble on writing where April broke my heart

Hooo boi.

March was a dream in comparison to April.

Emergency gallbladder surgery? Someone faking their death in my server? Good times. I wanna go back.

I have been through much in three short months. April has shown that it's taken a toll. I have missed many more days of writing. I'm still missing them in May. But I'm slowly gripping onto the last vestiges of my raw determination, all while in the face of so much.

I had a falling out with my closest family member that shook me to the core of my heart. I barely slept for most of the month again. Gallbladder surgery has proven to have some complications on my nervous system, making normal daily life difficult where it's hard to sit or lie down without experiencing full body numbness and tingling in various areas, including my hands and fingers. (No, not blood clots. 100% without a doubt it's my nerves.)

If you've followed me here (post one and two) and have read my author's on Terrible, But Great Chapter 30, then you know what went down with my family member. It took so much of my time and energy. I wrote well over 8,000 words trying to reason with this family member, only for all of it to be scorned and mocked. A part of me feels like that energy was wasted. I could have 8,000 more words in TBG, but I don't. This is all I have.

A part of me looks at it and says, "Give it back. Give me back my writing." What happened to January? Or even February? What happened to the girl who could wake up at 4am in the morning, an hour before she had to leave for her hysteroscopy, to power write 700 words?

Some days, I go up the stairs and I'm winded like I ran a marathon.

Some days, if I walk on the treadmill for more than 6 to 10 minutes, I feel like I'm dying.

It's been an uphill battle. The struggle is real, but so am I.

In the last week of December of 2023, when I realized how long it would take me to finish Terrible, But Great, I was overcome with what I call 'The Stirring.' I don't know what else to call it, but it always has an air of mystery and premonition for what it is to come. I thought at that time, "If I had limited time to live, what do I want to do?"

"I want to write."

So, I did.

In 2023, I published a total of 43,000 words in TBG. In 2024, from January to April, I've written 110,604 words and have published 35,000 words thus far. The year isn't even halfway over and I've done better this year than I have last year.

In spite of it all, I'm doing pretty damn good.

There's still hope. I'm not giving up. It might feel like morale is low, but it's not. I'm going to keep going as much as I can through all the hardships because writing is truly the one thing that breathes life into me.

By the end of April, I finished my business class with an essay about how the class shifted my beliefs. This class in combination with all of my health issues and social conflicts sparked an overwhelming revelation and a new rising determination within my soul.

You see, you all have witnessed my love and passion for writing Terrible, But Great, a Harry Potter fanfiction, but I also have original stories that I've wanted to write. Yet, I haven't been able to finish them because I'm always thinking about the market in the real world, instead of what I want and what the story wants. Fanfiction, I can do whatever the hell I want and yall are just gonna have to strap in and hold onto dear life cause it's gonna be a bumpy ride. Original novels, however, are done differently and I've often struggled due to so many factors.

I have ADHD. I am autistic. I have health issues which are rapidly piling up on top of each other. My career choice might not even be feasible for me in the long run, so why I am allowing myself to be pressured into doing more than I can handle with a class load?

I want to write. I want to write. I want to create.

Oh, how I want to create.

So, I will.

Two years ago, I gave up on my dream of writing original novels and earning a living through them. I've since repented of that notion. As I continue write Terrible, But Great, I'm also going to be working on my original novels on the side. Someday, perhaps, I'll be able to earn a living as a published author.

That's my realistic ideal.

I wrote 457 words today, May 9th. That's good enough. The goal this month is to write more than April. I can do that. On the days where prose is hard, I simply write my scene idea in a zero draft style. I don't worry about the prose; I'll fix it later. Every word counts. Every word can be changed. Every word can be made better.

Every word is good enough.

Until next month.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

happy new year everyone!! 🌟✨ it's been almost exactly a year since i first tentatively poked my head into this little space here on tumblr, and being part of the wonderful am/miles/tlsp community here with you all has truly been one of the highlights of my 2023 💗

as i'm sure is the case for most of us, it's been a year of ups and downs for me. i've been lucky enough to experience some amazing things (living in a new city, reconnecting with my creativity, getting my dream job, discovering music that speaks to my soul, making new friends, reading some amazing books) and human enough to experience some less incredible things (chronic pain, family difficulties, discovering my dream job is not in fact my dream job, getting long covid, the ever uphill battle of healing from trauma). through it all, this space has been a continued solace and source of joy, where i've met some truly special people and felt part of a little community where i get to have fun and flail and just be me. i can't even begin to express how grateful i am to be part of a space like this, or how grateful i am to everyone here who makes it what it is ✨

i also just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who has supported me with my writing over this past year, whether that's through kudos or comments or messages or amazing cheerleading/editing help. one of the absolute gifts of discovering this fandom has been the writing fic side of it. maybe it sounds silly, but writing four walls has genuinely been one of the highlights and biggest achievements of my year. writing has always been something incredibly close to my heart, but my degree left me totally sapped of inspiration and confidence, and i'd been struggling for a while to climb out of that after graduating. something about alex and miles just instantly sparked off inspiration in me that i hadn't felt for a long time, and getting to write about them over the past year has reminded me of the sheer joy of creating and the magic of getting to share that with people ✨

it's something that's finally given me the confidence to pick up my own original writing again too, and i couldn't be more grateful to alex and his wonderful lyrics (particularly the entirety of humbug) and to everyone who's supported my fic ventures for helping me reconnect to and explore my creativity. it's the best feeling in the world to finally feel like i'm coming home to that part of myself and carving out a proper space for it in my life 💗

2023 was far from perfect, but it was filled with so many brilliant moments of illumination and i feel i am leaving it with a deeper sense of myself and my path moving forward. i know it's going to be a rocky one at times, but i am excited for what 2024 holds in store for me - and i can't wait to continue flailing with you all over all things milex and to enjoy all the amazing fics/gifsets/posts/art to come!

wishing all of you a year ahead full of wonderful moments and new experiences and fulfilment 💫✨ i really am more grateful than i'll ever be able to adequately express for this space here, and to all the amazing people i've been lucky enough to get to know through it. here's to an amazing 2024 for all of us 💗💞🩷💓💖💕💝

(the photos above are just a random little collection of ones over the past year that i particularly associate with the various things i've talked about in this post)