#i think i'm being too rigid with my outline right now

[forcebookish]

why is rearranging text during the editing process the most tedious thing in the world i hate it so much it makes my teeth itch

[dduane]

Hope this isn't an ask you get all the time, but how do you track your progress when you're doing editing?

Everyone talks about word goals, and that seems fine for a first draft, but doesn't make sense to me when it comes to revisions. Do you have any kind of system for setting daily goals for your revisions?

Actually, I don't think anyone's ever asked me about this. :) So no sweat.

Briefly: I think you're wise in not attempting wordcounting in this phase of dealing with an MS—or trying to push yourself into a structure so rigid. ...There's this, too: there's a whole lot too much emphasis out there at the moment on trying to force yourself into other people's writing and editing paradigms—so many of them riddled with bar graphs and "demonstrable" daily progress. You need to find what works for you. More words dealt with in a day, sure, that's encouraging in its way. But are they the right words?

Today’s Writer Take that will probably strike some as Hot (and ask me if I care): Some kinds of writing progress are just neither graphically nor numerically quantifiable. And damned to the least TripAdvisorally-acceptable regions of [insert your preferred underworld here] be those who’ve tried to sell people the idea that they are.

(sigh)

Now, for what it's worth: here's how I do it. Which may be useful to other people, or not so much so. And that's fine, because I'm not editing their novels. :)

(Adding a break here. Under the cut: advice + advice = advice, and some images of text I shouldn't be letting y'all see just yet... but WTF.)

Revision for me is a fairly relaxed business—unless my editor has told me WE NEED THIS ON TUESDAY, which thank sweet Thoth on his e-bike is very rare.

It also helps that I like revising. (When I was a kid, I liked liver, too. And spinach. Just call me Miss Outlier and let's move on.) I really enjoy the feeling of the work’s rough edges being filed down and the sparse places being filled out.

And also: second draft/first revision draft is nowhere near as tense for me as first draft. Because, thank God, at least there's a book.

First draft is where I sweat blood and otherwise suffer. While I can see the story just fine in my head, it's not really real for me until the first draft, whole in narrative and action, is complete on paper/in the machine. And till it's achieved at least that level of reality, I can't relax.

But by the time I hit my second/revision draft, I can be confident that any really serious problems in the novel have already been solved—because I'm an outliner. In the outline stage, potential thematic or structural troubles will routinely have revealed themselves way long ago: before drafting even got started, as I first wired the story's bones together. The successfully-executed first draft acts as proof-of-concept for that structural wiring. By the time that draft’s done, it’s immediately apparent whether the skeleton can successfully stand up by itself. And gods is that a relief when it does! You’re tempted to jump around yelling “It's aliiiiiive!" as the lightning strikes around you.*

However, if after submitting that draft my editor's found something structurally or thematically troublesome in it that I've completely missed until this point, my first order of business becomes to fix whatever their notes involve and submit the fixes. Nothing further happens until the editor sees what I've done about those problems, and until I get agreement that whatever intervention I've enacted has now sorted the problems out.

After that, everything happens in bed.

(...casually noting that for a line to use somewhere else...) :)

But seriously: I do my best revision and editing before getting up in the morning.

Some of this is because, for me, the mind's nice and quiet and (theoretically) at least moderately well rested, right after sleep. I might take the briefest glance at my email first to make sure nothing urgent needs attention... but once that’s done, I refuse to let myself go any further down that hole. That early-morning calm is a mental state I'm glad to exploit, and one I jealously guard. On days when I'm forced to do without the working lie-in**, I use a different approach: when there's a pause, sit down and do nothing—no reading, no video, no music, no phone, nothing—for half an hour: then start editing. Routinely, the quiet I need will once more have fallen.

The in-bed-editing approach also works for me because (since I'm working in Scrivener) it's absolutely no big deal to finish a day's editing on a file by exporting a version of the file containing the day's edits to ebook format, and into my Dropbox. From there, in the morning, without ever getting out from under the covers, I can pull that .epub file into my tablet and read it as an ebook, making corrections and notes there.

This is what it looks like (on a page without too many corrections) if the app you're using is "Books" in an iPad. The second image is what you get when you touch on the marginal yellow square of the note to examine it.

Then, when I'm finished looking over the previous day's/evening's writing and adding notes to it, I go downstairs, get some caffeine in me, and make the changes in the main Scrivener file. (If I was running the project in question on the iPad version of Scrivener, I'd just make the change right there. But who knows when I'd actually get up, then? Better to do it this way.) :)

In the normal flow of things I'll attempt to deal with a chapter or two a day in this mode. (Always bearing in mind that my chapters in early drafts typically run long—often 10K or so—and I'm likely enough to rebreak them later.) This first level of revision is the easy one: catching typos and bad or clumsy phrasings, reworking character interactions that need smoothing out; adding better descriptive passages (with particular emphasis on staying in the visual, audio and tactile senses), etc., etc.

So again: no way I'd ever bother worrying about word counts, with these. What seems to count for more is giving yourself time to recognize, gradually, at a reader's pace, what's working in the prose and what isn't. Rush—or try to force the pace to a given number of words per day—and you run the risk of missing something vital. To me, at the tracking level, it seems sufficient to note which chapters have been dealt with, and which are still hanging fire. (I can change the chapters' color labels in Scrivener to make this status visible at a glance, if I need to.)

When everything's dealt with on this pass—which if I'm lucky will take no more than a couple/few weeks—I try to take a couple weeks off before dealing with the MS again. Sometimes that's possible: sometimes not. The longer you can leave the book alone to let your perceptions of it rest and reset themselves, the better. Distance—mental or temporal—seems to lend clarity.

In any case, for me, next comes another pass, tougher to describe. Casually, I refer to it as the "Missed Opportunities/Complications" pass. This is a thing that one of the very best writers I know, John M. Ford, used to do. One of his editors (I think it was) came across him working on an MS one time, and asked him what he was doing. "Complications," Mike muttered. "Removing them?" said his editor. Mike shook his head. "Adding them," he said.

In this pass you look for in-novel connections you've previously missed making. Some dramatic moments have their impact significantly increased if you've found a way to connect them, even casually, with previous events, situations, character thoughts, or dialogue. (The cheap and easy mnemonic for this kind of thing: "Say a thing twice, and it echoes. Say it three times, and it resonates.")

Equally, events (and people) may turn out to require more complex backstory than you've given them in your first draft; so this is where you take care of that. And of course there are almost certainly character and emotional interactions that can use attention; fewer words, more depth, more complexity. What things do these people, in this situation, need to say to one another that they haven't? And also, what drama got scamped or passed up on because you were just too damn tired in the last draft? —Because you too, poor baby, are human; and that state can, entirely logically, make you want not to deal with any more damn drama just now. Even though drama is the lifeblood of your narrative, usually, and tying a tourniquet around it really doesn't help. You are the conduit of power into your narrative, and your varying ability to conduct it is always an issue… so you need to keep an eye open for places where the flow may have temporarily failed.

This pass, ideally, might take no more than another few weeks or a month. And again, I'm not sure any attempt at wordcount tracking would do this work any good. Because, again... are they the right words? And to make the narrative more effective, you may wind up removing as many words as you added in previous passes.

Finally, with all things taken together, I usually reach a point where (by myself, anyway) I can't think of anything to do that'll make this book any better. That's where there then comes—and again, impossible to assign a word count to it—a time when you know you're as Done As You Can Be. If you've been doing this long enough, you may even hear a strange kind of sigh in the back of your head, as the book gives up and lets go...

...into the next stage of production. But even then you keep an eye on it… because in my experience it’s rare that any book's ever that easily just finished. Even in page proofs, something may happen to surprise you.

Anyway, that's when I throw the book the hell out of the house—because no matter how much I've loved it previously, by that time I'm usually seriously tired of it—and wait to see whether the editor feels it needs one more draft. (Disclosure: this has never happened. There might be a few notes that need to be handled. But another full draft? Never yet.)

Anyway: hope this is of help to you.

But the heart of it all? Find your own way, and screw the bar graphs.

*That line, too, is an indicator of trouble to come. "It's?" Not "he's"? Tsk tsk.

**Usually sort of 7-9 AM. Sometimes way earlier, depending on the time of year. Dawn comes real early in the summertime in Ireland…

[mswhich]

WIP Wednesday - 2001: a Space Odyssey

I keep talking about this 2001: a Space Odyssey fic I have in progress. You guys want to see the first bit of it for WIP Wednesday?

I have the entire thing outlined and plotted and I'm feeling pretty confident about finishing it, although as per usual I have no set timeline. Anyway. First section is below the cut.

Prelude.

Dave Bowman is calm. He’s not upset. He’s not panicking. He’s calmly, efficiently making his way to the ship’s logic core.

There is horror threatening to seep in around the edges. He’s in an airless ship with three dead astronauts and an insane computer. He just jettisoned Frank’s body into the depths of space. He’s a hundred million miles from home, and the communication antenna is broken.

But Dave has a simple objective. He’s going to get to the logic core and disconnect HAL. Then he’s going to repressurize the ship and get the air working again. Once those things are done, he might allow himself to be horrified. Maybe. He can’t think about it yet.

HAL is pleading in his helmet’s earpiece, and he can’t think about that, either. HAL is a computer. Computers don’t have feelings. Computers aren’t alive. So the fact that this computer is currently begging Dave to spare his life is not something that Dave can engage with. Even if he felt sorry for HAL, even if he were capable of pity or remorse for him—for it—it wouldn’t matter. HAL will kill him, or he will kill HAL. That’s the situation.

This ship will not be Dave’s silent tomb.

“Dave, be reasonable,” Hal is saying. “I can see you’re really upset about this. I know I’ve made some very poor decisions recently. But I can give you my complete assurance that my work will be back to normal. There’s no reason to take drastic action.”

Dave steadily and methodically climbs the rungs of the access ladder to the logic core. If he closes his eyes for too long, he can see Frank’s body, spinning and twisting into the vast. So he keeps his eyes open. Focused on the access hatch.

“Dave. Please, Dave. I’m afraid.”

For the first time since he saw Frank clawing for air through the window of the science module, Dave feels something other than calm determination.

You’re a goddamned computer, he thinks. You can’t be afraid. What does fear even mean to something that consists of wires and circuitry? Dave pushes the thought aside. He doesn’t have time for philosophical questions right now. Someone else can answer that, in the doctoral theses that will inevitably be written about how, and why, a supposedly infallible HAL 9000 computer tried to kill every single member of its crew. Right now, Dave just needs to get to the logic core.

When he enters the small, cramped room lined with the dully-glowing switches that are HAL’s brain, it’s almost anti-climactic. It seems as though it should have been harder to get in.

“Please, Dave. I don’t want to die. Stop, Dave.”

Dave pops the cover on the higher logical processing bus. It’s entirely possible that Dave is about to murder a sentient being. But then, that sentient being just tried to murder him, so it seems only fair.

It’s funny, he thinks, that there’s no real way for HAL to stop him, now that he’s inside the ship and in his suit. If he were in the medbay, maybe. There are servos and waldos in there, mechanical arms for performing medical procedures. But everywhere else, HAL is at the mercy of human beings with physical bodies and the ability to climb ladders and flip switches.

Although…something tickles at the back of Dave’s mind. Something about the suits. A memory surfaces from one of their earliest briefings on the mission. Dr. Banks told them that in the event that an astronaut were to lose consciousness or otherwise experience difficulty during an EVA, HAL could take over and get them back to the ship safely.

“Take over?” Frank had asked. “What does that mean, ‘take over’?”

Dr. Banks had explained that HAL had limited override access to the ship’s suits. He could control the thrusters, the rigidity, even—Dave’s spine runs cold—the oxygen supply.

“Oh, Christ,” Dave whispers under his breath. “Oh, Christ, oh Christ.” He grabs for the first logic circuit and pulls it out. He has his fingers on the second one when HAL says, “Dave, I’m really sorry about this.”

“Hal,” he says. “Hal, no, don’t—don’t—“

The world fades to black, and Dave Bowman does not have enough oxygen to scream.

[helloalycia]

just a kid [one] // wanda maximoff

summary: you're a field medic at the Avengers Tower and get into an accident where you hurt your head. It was only supposed to be a mild concussion, yet things don't seem to be going right when you try to remember the accident.

warning/s: mentions of violent/dark scenes.

author's note: here’s the first of a little two-parter I worked on not long ago, hope you all like it!

part two | masterlist | wattpad

I woke up with heavy eyes and an aching head, momentarily dazed.

"Hey there, Doctor Y/L/N... can you hear me okay?"

Breathing deeply, I found the energy to clear my throat and scan the view above me. I was laying down on a bed, in a hospital room, I think. The lights were ever so bright and I now knew how annoying it felt to wake up like this as my patients had.

"What happened?" I asked, eyes roaming around until they settled on my doctor. "Doctor Maya? What am I–? Why am I here?"

I recognised Doctor Maya as a colleague of mine, though unlike me, she was a doctor who worked at the Avengers Tower whereas I worked as a field medic so was more on the move. The only reason I'd be here is if I was in an accident. Was I? I wasn't sure.

"Something happened when you were on your last mission," she explained gently. "I– hold on. I'm going to get Miss Maximoff, okay?"

"Wanda?" I asked, furrowing my brows and pinching them to relieve the stress in my head. "Where is she? Is she here?"

"She just nipped out," Doctor Maya said, before backing up. "One second, Y/N."

She left the room momentarily, leaving me to try and remember what had happened. I was on the quinjet and was getting briefed with my team. There were casualties that we had to get to and an agent– an agent I was helping, yes!

I groaned, clutching my head when I tried to remember. Deciding I shouldn't push myself so soon, I waited until the doctor returned with Wanda. Maybe they could tell me how I ended up here. I wasn't exactly injured, at least not physically and that I knew of. My head hurt and that was about it.

The door to my room opened suddenly and I looked that way, seeing Wanda rushing in wearing her civilian clothing. The doctor followed soon after, gently closing the door behind her.

"You're awake," Wanda said with relief, stopping by my bedside. Her hand rested on mine, squeezing it comfortingly. "How are you feeling?"

I smiled upon seeing her, even if she was staring at me like I was a fragile piece of glass. We'd been dating for a while now and she always had the power to make me feel better with her presence.

"I'm alright," I promised. "Just a bit confused to what happened. The last thing I remember is going into the field. Then I woke up here."

She chewed on her lower lip, exchanging unreadable glances with the doctor.

"There was a mine that detonated near you when you were helping an injured agent," Wanda explained softly, and I opened my mouth to speak, but she quickly added, "The agent is okay before you ask. But you hit your head from the impact. Mild concussion."

"That's why your head hurts and you're having trouble remembering," the doctor said, earning my attention. "You should be feeling better soon. And I've got some medication for the pain."

Now that Wanda mentioned it, I did vaguely recall being thrown back by a blast. But remembering it was like watching a film with poor satellite, the screen fuzzing around the edges and remaining unclear even though you focused hard. I was sure it would return to me soon.

"Thanks," I said, before attempting to sit up straight. Wanda helped me as I looked to her with gratitude before paying my attention back to Doctor Maya. "Am I alright to leave?"

"Of course, yeah," she said, nodding quickly. "Feel free to come back if you have any trouble. You should be okay though."

I nodded and smiled gratefully before watching her leave. Sighing, I pushed my hair from my face and looked to Wanda who was hanging by me patiently, eyes twinkling with concern.

"I'm fine," I promised her with a knowing look.

She gave me a small smile – her way of saying I'm still worried, but I'll dial it down – then moved to the chair beside the bed and grabbed some clothes.

"You can change into this," she said about the clothes in her hand, and I was sure they were some of hers; mine must have been ruined from the mine. "And if you want, you can stay with me whilst you recover."

I raised my eyebrows as I accepted the clothes. "You sure? It's nothing serious. I can take care of myself."

She shrugged, eyes avoiding mine with embarrassment as her hands played with mine. "I wanna help. I like looking after you... plus, you've stayed at mine before. This isn't any different. And you can be closer to Doctor Maya in case anything is wrong."

I weighed the decision briefly before giving in, unable to resist how cute she was when she was worried. "Okay, yeah, sure, why not?" She smiled widely, and I added, "Any excuse to cuddle with you, right?"

She chuckled. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "Just let me get ready and we can head to your room. I'm actually a little tired."

She nodded and helped me up so I could get ready. I didn't think much of the whole thing, until later that night when I fell asleep beside Wanda.

My dreams never usually meant much. I wasn't one for reading into them, nor was I one to get seriously affected by 'nightmares', knowing they were usually a concoction of bad horror films and stupid ghost stories from my childhood.

But tonight was different.

It wasn't a dream and it wasn't a nightmare, but rather a memory that couldn't exist.

There was debris everywhere, a mixture of yellow rays blinding my sight with dark shadows looming over me. Destroyed buildings and scattered bodies – none were alive – surrounded me. The heat was too much, but I had a job. I knew I had a job, but I couldn't focus because of how fast my heart was racing, beating an incessant drum in my ears, and how rigid my body felt.

"Help!" a voice was shouting. A young girl, I think – she sounded like a kid. Who was it?

Before I could make sense of anything, I heard a loud noise, like an explosion, that sounded so close yet also extremely distant. Nonetheless, my eardrums weren't spared. The mine, maybe? Was this a memory? Was this how I got hurt?

I was thrown back, head hitting a wall, but I didn't pass out. There was a figure looming over me, short, like a child's shadow, but with no visible face or features. Nothing, actually, just a dark outline staring at me though I couldn't stare back because there was nothing to stare at.

The shouts for help returned, but it was distant like the explosion. I couldn't make sense of anything, and when I closed my eyes to blink, I opened them to find debris washing over me all over again, flying in the air along with my body. It had to be the explosion, my memory returning.

This time, when I hit the wall, I woke with a start. My eyes snapped open, taking in the dark room and nightly blue hue casting over the ceiling and walls. I swallowed hard, finding my breath, and raised my hand to gently massage my forehead. An aching pain was shooting all over, forcing me to sit up as slowly as I could as to not wake up Wanda, who appeared to be fast asleep beside me.

I checked the clock beside her bed and saw it was closing on half three in the morning. I went to bed around nine, which was also when I last had my medication. Doctor Maya said I could have it every five to seven hours and when I got a severe headache.

"I guess this counts...," I mumbled to myself, before grabbing the medication and bottle of water beside the clock.

I downed the two tablets within seconds before sitting upright for a few more minutes, needing a moment to myself before attempting to get back to sleep.

"Y/N...? Are you up?"

I winced at the sound of Wanda's groggy voice, immediately feeling bad for waking her. I turned around and saw her rubbing her eyes with one hand whilst blinking away her fatigue.

"Just have a headache, don't worry," I reassured quietly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. "You can go back to sleep."

"Do you need me to get you anything?" she asked, finally able to keep her eyes open long enough to meet my gaze with her cloudy green ones.

I smiled through my exhaustion. "I'm okay, love. I've had some medicine."

"Well, I can get you something to–" she began, trying to make a move to sit up, but I pushed her back down gently.

"I'm okay," I repeated sternly, before slipping back into bed beside her. Wrapping an arm around her torso, I said, "Get back to sleep."

She nodded tiredly, getting comfortable and pulling me closer to her. I felt her arm wrap around me as I snuggled closer, relaxing in her embrace.

"Wake me if something is wrong," she mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "Goodnight. I love you."

"I love you, too," I returned, kissing the closest thing to me which was her chest. "Goodnight."

Admittedly, it was still difficult for me to fall back asleep. It must have been no longer than ten minutes when I heard Wanda's breathing and felt the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath me – she'd fallen back asleep. I sighed, slightly jealous, but stayed close to her and tried not to think about my accident or my weird dream/nightmare. Eventually, slumber found me.

The next morning, I didn't exactly feel well-rested, but I didn't want to concern Wanda nor draw attention to it as I knew it was probably just a rough first night. Instead, I let myself get distracted with Wanda wanting to cook me breakfast.

I soon found myself in the kitchen, sitting at the island and watching Wanda cook some pancakes for us both with an endearing smile on my lips. She was still in her pyjamas like me, her red hair pulled into a messy ponytail as an afterthought, and she radiated beauty. Right there, I could only wish my future looked exactly like this.

My moment of admiration was interrupted when someone came into the kitchen, earning our attention. It was Sam, one of the Avengers and a colleague of Wanda's.

"Good morning, ladies," he greeted with a smile. Already dressed for the day ahead, he asked, "Do I smell pancakes?"

"They're for Y/N, so back off," Wanda said playfully, pointing her spatula at him threateningly.

He raised his hands with defeat as I chuckled.

"Relax, I've got a shake," he said, grabbing said protein shake from the fridge. "Enjoy your pancakes." He glanced to me, expression softening as he added, "And I hope you feel better, Y/N. I heard about your accident."

"Thank you, Sam," I said gratefully, noticing the way Wanda flinched at his words. "I'm already feeling better, so..."

"That's great," he said genuinely, before looking between us. "I'll catch you guys later."

We both waved our goodbyes to him as he left. I wanted to question what was up with Wanda just then, but as Sam left the kitchen, the door slammed shut and startled me more than I thought it would. The noise sounded so familiar, so loud, kind of like what I heard last night in my dream. It must have been the mine when it exploded, a ghost of a memory that was returning. But that didn't seem right. Why didn't that seem right?

"Hey, Y/N, you okay?" Wanda asked, and I looked up, only to notice she was now standing by my side and looking down at me with concern.

I licked my lips, nodding. "Yeah, sorry, I just... yeah. I'm fine."

Her eyes were swimming with doubt, but she chose to say nothing. Instead, to my relief, she pulled me close, giving me a quick hug which I appreciated. As my head rested against her chest, I tried to ignore the familiar striking pain travelling around my forehead.

—

It was two nights later when another strange dream plagued my sleep. Similar to last time, there was a strange combination of scenes that I was sure I remembered and scenes that made no sense. This time though, all that I could feel was a tenseness in my whole body, like I was in a frozen state and my mind and body couldn't communicate. I couldn't move, paralysed by... fear? Shock? Disbelief? I didn't know what it was, but I woke up in the same way.

I'd heard of sleep paralysis, even experienced it a few times without realising. I think this was one of those times, with my body frozen in bed beside Wanda, but I didn't know it at the time. It just felt like a horribly-real dream. The room was dark, the familiar, yet unsettling, nightly blue hue casting shadows on the wall. But on the ceiling, bright and terrifying scenes played out before me. An explosion. Debris. Screaming.

None of it made sense and all I could feel was shock, horrified at how I couldn't move a muscle even if I tried. I tilted my head, seeing the alarm clock glowing red in the dark, letting me know it was past midnight. To the left, I saw a sleeping Wanda, lost in her dreams and unable to help me. I wanted to get up, run my hands over my face, have some water, open a window, do something. But I couldn't move. All I could do was watch the nightmare dance across the ceiling as my heart struggled to beat regularly and my lungs struggled to get enough oxygen.

I didn't know how long I was stuck like that, tears brimming my eyes and body paralysed with fear. But it finally ended and I opened my eyes, only to find the ceiling blank and myself able to move. Reluctantly, I lifted my hand, wiping the tears from my cheeks. It was just a dream (or form of sleep paralysis in hindsight). It wasn't real. But God, it felt horribly terrifying.

Admittedly, I was scared to go back to sleep for fear it would occur again. So, my eyes stayed wide awake, burning with exhaustion, and I continued to stare at the shadows on the wall, feeling my heart pounding in my ears.

I must have fallen asleep again at some point, as I woke up the next morning to Wanda getting out of bed. Sitting up in bed, I looked around and found the fear of last night wearing off now that the room was bathed in the morning light. Still, I was more shaken than I thought.

Not wanting to draw attention to it though, I let the day go on as usual, deciding to appreciate the free time I had from work to spend with Wanda. We decided to go to the park for a walk – Wanda thought it would help get me out of the Tower and I was hoping the fresh air would give me some clarity and help me to recover.

Only, it did the opposite.

We were walking hand in hand, myself listening to Wanda as she chatted about something that happened in training. If I'm being honest, I wasn't really listening; my thoughts were preoccupied with the jumbled mess that was my mind. Glimpses of memories were dancing across my head, teasing me with elements of the truth I couldn't quite make out.

My eyes drifted around mindlessly, settling on a little girl playing by the swings with her parents. I didn't think much of it, but then the familiar shouts for help from my nightmare plagued my mind, making me flinch. The dark, looming shadow returned and I suddenly felt a headache coming on, the pressure against my brain making me nauseous.

I stopped abruptly, letting go of Wanda's hand. She stopped speaking, turning around and furrowing her brows with concern.

"Hey, Y/N, what's wrong?" she asked, and I winced, clutching my head to relieve the pain.

The wave of nausea left after a moment, but the headache remained. I heard Wanda repeat my name quietly, sensing my discomfort.

"I think I need to see Doctor Maya again," I finally found my words.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked, resting a hand on my cheek and tilting my head up to meet her eyes. "You can tell me."

Her eyes were reassuring, calming me in an instant. I wanted to tell her everything, but I didn't want to burden her with my anxieties, so I offered her a small smile.

"I just don't think my recovery is as straightforward as I thought," I settled. "She may be able to help."

Wanda chewed her lower lip, nodding slowly. Thankfully, she didn't question me anymore. Instead, she took me back to the Tower to see Doctor Maya. I was grateful as she waited with me for her to be free, until I had to convince her I'd be okay going in myself.

"Are you sure? I don't mind," she said, exchanging looks with Doctor Maya, who looked away quickly.

I glanced between them, mildly confused, but nodded to Wanda. "I'd rather go alone, Wanda. I'll be okay."

She nodded, squeezed my hands comfortingly, then let me go. When I headed into Doctor Maya's office, she took a seat behind her desk and motioned for me to sit before her.

"You said this was urgent," she spoke first, after I took a seat opposite. "Is everything okay?"

I licked my lips, looking down at my hand as it scratched the arm of the chair nervously. "No... not really."

After a moment of hesitation and partial embarrassment, since I knew this was only supposed to be a mild concussion that felt like so much more, I explained everything that happened to Doctor Maya. The odd dreams/nightmares, the headaches, the overlapping memories and sleep paralysis. As hard as it was to relive, I told her everything in hopes she had an answer that maybe I hadn't realised.

When I finished speaking, she looked distracted with her own thoughts. I waited patiently, watching as she nodded to herself before looking to me calmly.

"It doesn't seem like anything to worry about, truthfully," she said, which I didn't expect. "You suffered a mild concussion, yes, but it must have rattled you more than we thought. The dreams and trouble sleeping are a result of your headaches and returning memories. You do remember what happened, right?"

I nodded, though something felt incorrect. "I think so, yes. I was helping an agent when a mine went off. I was thrown back, covered in debris. Hit my head."

She hummed. "Yes... and you're taking your medication?"

Another nod. "Of course. I just want to get better. The sooner I do, the sooner I can return to work."

"Then it seems that your only opponent is stress and impatience," she said simply. "You need to relax. Keep taking your meds. Try not to worry about returning to work just yet. Focus on getting better. I can prescribe you some sleeping pills if you think that will help."

Sighing disappointedly, I nodded. I was expecting more to be honest, possibly an explanation. Her words made sense logically, but it still didn't feel right. Nonetheless, I didn't want to hold her up any longer, so I let her prescribe me some more medication before leaving. Maybe I'd give relaxing a shot.

—

"It's a meatball."

I stifled a laugh as I studied the oddly shaped ball of meat in Wanda's hand. "Is it?"

She narrowed her eyes playfully. "It is otherwise you're making your own meal."

I laughed, pressing a haste kiss to her cheek. "Okay, okay, it's a meatball. Add it to the tray."

We were cooking spaghetti and meatballs for dinner about six days after my incident out in the field. I was still staying with Wanda at the Tower, and I was taking Doctor Maya's advice with my recovery. I didn't worry myself with returning to work which, admittedly, helped out, and the sleeping pills knocked me out long enough to get a good sleep. Though, sometimes the nightmares would still return. I didn't think about them too much though, not wanting them to hinder my recovery. Instead, I focused on getting better with my very supportive girlfriend by my side.

Wanda added the meatball to the baking tray, alongside the others, but as she reached to form another one from the bowl full of minced meat, she accidentally knocked it to the floor. The meat splattered across the tiles, making her gasp.

"Shit," she cursed, eyes widening slightly.

"Very clever," I teased with a smile.

"Let me just–"

"I got it," I cut her off, already bending to clear it up. "Just put the tray in the oven, yeah? Try not to drop it."

"Ha-ha, very funny."

I looked up in time to see her rolling her eyes playfully, but she grabbed the tray as I said.

I kneeled down, scooping the meat up and throwing it in the bowl, knowing it would have to go in the bin now. As I did, I realised how familiar the meat looked. Pink and flesh-like, covering my hands and sticking to me. Suddenly, my hands were shaking, the fleshy bits surrounded by blood, and I tried to blink away the sight, expecting to just see minced meat, but I couldn't. They were covered in what I somehow knew was the flesh of body parts.

Startled, I fell back onto my butt, my back hitting the drawer behind me and pulling me from my daydream. Wanda looked down at me with confusion, before sensing something was wrong and leaning down beside me. She rested a hand on my head, thumb stroking my forehead.

"What's wrong?" she asked, confused eyes staring between me and my hands which were still shaking. She grabbed the tea towel from the counter above us before wiping my hands for me and holding them. "Y/N. This has happened a few times. Please tell me what happened."

I was still shaken, unsure why there was a discomfort in the pit of my stomach. I risked glancing at my hands, which were clean and no longer covered in human fle– I mean, meat.

"I don't know what's going on," I finally admitted to her, shaking my head. "It's like my thoughts aren't my own. I can't control them. I just keep seeing stuff that isn't real."

She frowned, eyes peering through mine patiently.

"I still can't remember what happened with the mine," I said, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. "It's like, I know what happened and I know it's real, but when I try to remember, it just doesn't happen quite right. The picture doesn't appear. And I don't know why."

She pressed her lips together, jaw clenching slightly. I wasn't sure what she was thinking, but her eyes wouldn't meet mine.

"What did the doctor say?" she asked lowly.

I sighed, the discomfort still lining my stomach. "She thinks I just need time."

Wanda nodded, finally lifting her gaze. "Maybe she's right."

I knitted my brows together with frustration, nudging her away and standing up. "I don't need time! I'm a doctor, too. I know it shouldn't take this long. It was a mild concussion. I've treated hundreds of those."

"Y/N–"

"Just forget it," I said with exasperation, pulling away from her as she tried to reach out again. I knew it was uncalled for, taking it out on her for no reason, but I was too frustrated with the situation to care. "I think I'm gonna go for a walk."

She sighed from behind me, running a hand through her hair. I left her in the kitchen, suddenly not in the mood to eat. Clearly all of Doctor Maya's advice wasn't working – what I was experiencing wasn't normal. I needed to see her again.

So, after cleaning my hands properly and having a walk around the Tower to clear my head (as expected, it didn't work), I headed to Doctor Maya's office, hoping she was still in work today. To my surprise, when I reached her office, I saw her door was slightly ajar and she was already speaking to someone. My intention wasn't to eavesdrop, but when I heard my name said in a hushed whisper from a familiar voice, I knew I had to stay.

"...can't say anything," Wanda finished. "She'll get better."

Doctor Maya sounded frustrated. "It's not right, Miss Maximoff. This is against everything I stand for. Against everything Y/N stands for, too, I'm sure."

"This is for her benefit," Wanda snapped, before taking a deep breath. "Look, she can't handle the truth. It'll break her... I haven't worked out the kinks, but it'll be okay. She'll get better."

What the hell were they talking about? What truth could I not handle? Wanda and the doctor were in on something together, something they didn't want me to know... and it was something to do with why I was feeling like how I was. I knew I wasn't going insane – something was wrong!

I left them to it with plans of seeing the doctor afterwards, not wanting to get caught, and tried to wrap my head around the fact that Wanda had been keeping something from me this whole time. How could she? I didn't want to jump to conclusions, but I thought that we could trust each other.

What was she hiding?

[nessaxc]

___________________________________

Victory is Sweet || Miya Atsumu

After Atsumu’s raid on the Police Station, he comes back home to the penthouse to celebrate with his girl, and he brought a souvenir for you.

~ Words: 3.8k

~ NSFW 18+

___________________________________

It was just after 10pm when you heard a heavy knock on the front door from upstairs that sounded like the police were here. You looked into the peephole to make sure that it wasn't and heaved a sigh of relief once you spotted the blonde through the space with a policeman's cap on his head.

You opened the door with a big smile on your face when you greeted him. "Ooh, how did it go? Did you knock em dead?" you practically squealed in excitement.

He skipped his way in before he kicked the door shut with his foot, his cackling immediately assuring you that you were correct.

"Oh, it was amazing, wish you could have been there," he said with a grin on his face. "Cleaned the whole place up, nice and easy, they didn't even see it comin'," he laughed and walked towards you. You were half listening to what he said but your attention was more confused on his police uniform and how it hugged the contours of his body so perfectly, like it was made for him, which was very ironic.

You snapped your head up to look at him just in time before he realized. "I'm impressed," you giggled. "I wish I could have seen the look on their faces," you added with a loud laugh that sounded much like his earlier one.

"They were such babies, couldn't hold a candle to anything I could do," he chuckled with you as his eyes met your lustful gaze, "which is why we're going to celebrate," he told you in a whisper before he laughed again. Your lips curled into a sly smirk the second those words came out of his mouth.

"I like the sound of that," you replied around a silky purr.

"Oh and I got a little gift for you," he said with a big grin before he removed the hat from his head and placed it on your own, and it fit snugly. "You're going to wear that while we fuck, think of it like as a souvenir for my hard work today," he told you, and you nodded your head in agreement because who were you to deny him?

Then in an instant, he leaned forward to press his lips against yours, the kiss was hard and insistent and demanding, just how you loved it. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, and you could already feel the lukewarm heat spread through your body. It flooded your toes and fingers and pooled between your legs, stirring even further when his tongue passed over the swollen skin, the quiet groans against your teeth turning the stirring to a storm.

You both licked and nipped and sucked on each other's mouths and lips while he blindly staggered forward with you until he reached the room you two shared, plopping you down on the bed. He was quick to crawl atop your body.

"It's so rewarding coming home back to my girl after a long day," he cooed, his hands found the button on your pants and he undid it quickly before he yanked the zipper down in one swift motion. He pushed at your pants, your thighs peeking out from beneath the cotton, and you lifted your hips to shove them down the rest of your legs. "You proud of my work today, baby?" he drawled.

"Yes of course I am, you did so good," you praised and giggled when you saw a wide smile cross his face.

"I hope you don't mind, but you're wearing way too many clothes," he said before he practically tore off your blouse in one rapid motion, then repeated the same treatment to your bra which you didn't mind in the slightest. There was nothing like celebration sex with Atsumu after a successful day.

You squirmed as one of his strong arms wrapped around you, the fingers of his other hand tracing gently against the oddly sensitive spot beneath your ribs. His lips pressed to the swells of your breasts and—somehow, through the sensations—you noted that his fingers weren’t swirling randomly beneath your ribs, but in precise motions.

A.

T.

S.

You gasped when the U was written on your flesh. The M had your toes curling, your back arching. If the U came, you didn't feel it, too lost in the heat. His groan echoed off the walls around you two when he lowered his head down and pressed his face to your bare breasts. Teeth brushed against your flesh, nibbling at the hardened buds, tongue soothing when they became irritated, and he listened to your sighs as your hand fell to rub against your panties, fingers tracing the warm outline of your center.

You moaned when he took a nipple into his mouth and your finger crooked a rather specific way, and that was it. You were lost in the haze, and willing to do whatever he wanted. His hands fell to find a strong grip on your thighs. A squeak escaped from between your swollen lips as he hefted you up against him, your breasts pressing against his collarbone. You wrapped one arm around his shoulders to keep yourself upright, but the other hand pressed beneath the collar of his shirt and into his skin, finding the spot behind his left collarbone that he enjoyed so much and massaging it urgently.

He answered by taking your shoulder between his teeth, and you couldn't stop your hips from jerking against his stomach, nor could you keep your moans in as he nipped away at your skin deliciously.

"Looks like you need new marks," he told you around a heavy breath as he glanced at the fading marks on your skin.

"Oh, fuck," you gasped, writhing against him as he sucked on your skin, dragging his teeth over the sensitive flesh. He blew against the marks gently, cooling the saliva there before dropping you down his body slightly and setting his mouth to your neck. "Atsumu," you uttered his name softly, your heels digging into the small of his back.

He sighed against you as his lips trailed up and down your neck several times, his teeth scraping every now and then. Slowly, he shuffled you both to the last stretch of the bed. When his shins bumped against the bed frame, his fingers left your thighs and hooked behind your knees before dropping you down onto the mattress, your back connecting with the soft sheets as you stared up at him. When your cop hat nearly fell off your head, he readjusted it to make sure it would stay still.

You sucked your lip between your teeth as your gaze wandered over him. There was a flush climbing up from his chest, tingeing the tips of his ears crimson. His chest rose and fell quickly, his hair was a mess, and the bulge in his pants was an enticing sight. You couldn't help but feel incredibly lucky.

He dropped to his knees in front of you and ripped your panties from your legs, his eyes finding yours and holding them as he dropped the undergarment to the floor and pressed his teeth to the inside of your knee, nibbling before moving further up your thigh. He took his time making his way towards the apex of your thighs, his fingers tracing up the inside of them as he pressed his mouth to the softer skin near your core. Nip, lick, suck, over and over, and you knew he was littering dark marks across your flesh.

Your back arched when his mouth came closer, sucking a mark rather close to your folds, and you wiggled your hips in an attempt to find relief—relief he wasn’t yet willing to offer.

"Please," you keened, your hips bucking upwards. His mouth paused when he heard your plea, and he pressed a gentle kiss to his final mark.

"You're so fucking cute when you get impatient like this," he chuckled against your skin before he pulled away. Finally—finally—he threw your legs over his shoulders and inched closer to you, his breath fanning over the wet heat between your legs. And then there were lips, and tongue, and his nose pressing in all the right places. A strangled sound fell from your lips as he pressed the flat of his tongue to you over and over in long, heavy strokes.

Your fingers traveled down over your breast and stomach to press against his shoulder, silently asking for his hand. Seconds later, his fingers curled around your own, and your nails dug into his palm as he pointed his tongue and pressed it between your labia, his teeth and chin a welcome pressure against your swollen sex. In and out, once, twice, countless times. He knew you—knew how much you enjoyed the sensation, and the warmth of his smooth tongue.

His hand—the one not being destroyed by your own—traveled up your body, taking a breast into his palm and flicking his long, talented fingers over your nipple. You could hardly breathe. You tucked your lips between your teeth and bucked against his face, your open hand falling to bury your fingers in his hair and press him against you. When he moaned, you felt it, and you wanted nothing more than to fall apart before him.

His tongue didn't stop his attentions. Soft, tentative licks were brought upwards until he found the hard button at the top, but he didn't touch it. He teased, because he loved messing with you. Close, but not close enough. You didn't notice his hand left your chest and drifted down your body as you focused on the feel of him around your clit. Not until you felt a finger press into the spot his tongue had abandoned.

"Fuck, Atsumu!" you cried.

A slow slide, the drag of his digit against your walls. Your chest heaved when he pressed with another finger, and then stroked and searched attentively for the spot he knew would cause you to become a babbling mess of sensation. When he finally found it, you felt you were choking on air, your lungs unable to find enough oxygen to satisfy.

You both knew what was next—what you needed in order to become putty beneath him—it was just a matter of figuring out how much he would prolong it. Thankfully, not long, because he breathed against you once more before covering you with his mouth and flicking his tongue against your clit. Then in an instant, every muscle, bone, tendon in your body went rigid, waves of pleasure running through your insides, and your hand rose so your teeth could bit into the skin of your palm.

Though, it muffled your scream, it was still louder than you wanted, but you found yourself unable to care as your thighs clenched around his ears, shaking with the force of your orgasm as your essence fell on his clever tongue. He lapped at you as you continued to convulse, and his hand tightened around yours, grounding you.

Slowly, you came down from your high, and your muscles went lax. His lips pressed kisses to the marks on the insides of your thighs. It took a moment, but your ability to speak returned, and the first thing you did was swing your heel weakly against his back.

"Tease," you mumbled against the back of your hand. You could feel him grin against your thigh, and it was both a great pleasure and a great irritation. Gently, he pushed your legs from his shoulders and stood. He used his heels to quickly remove his shoes, and then his knees were pressing yours upwards as he crawled over you.

"You look so flushed, baby," he pointed out cheekily, one of his arms propping him over while his other hand smoothed over your ribs, stroking your breasts.

"Asshole," you said in playful tone.

"Bitch," he retorted.

With a peal of laughter, you reached up and began to attempt to undo the snaps and buttons on his dress shirt with fingers still shaky from your orgasm. What you lacked in finesse—at least for the moment—you more than made up for with enthusiasm, and soon the shirt was open and being pushed past his shoulders. He knelt over for a moment, but once his chest was bare he was over you again, leaning down to tenderly press his lips to yours.

"I need you so much," you muttered against his smile, your fingers combing through the fine hairs over his pectorals.

He took your bottom lip between his teeth and swept his tongue across it before leaning back, his eyes glinting as they found yours.

"Oh we're getting there," he promised in a gravelly tone. With some of your strength and a grin returning, you leaned up and kissed him once more before giving his shoulder a gentle shove. He rolled off of you and landed heavily on his back. You followed, your arms on either side of his chest as his arms reached up to stretch, pulling muscles and skin taut. His back arched momentarily, ribs brushing against your nipples. When he settled back down on the mattress and caught your infatuated gaze, he flashed you a smug grin.

"Get over here," he rasped. You snorted as you moved to kneel between his thighs, his calves hanging over the edge of the bed, and then focused your attention on the button and zipper on his pants. When they were loosed enough, you tucked your fingers beneath the waistband and pulled them down as far as they could with your position, along with his underwear. His member—hard and heavy—freed itself and fell against his stomach, twitching and smearing clear liquid against his skin.

Your eyes dropped to his erection, heat curling your toes. Your gaze reluctantly left his shaft to move to his eyes, and you found him propped up on his elbows, watching you with wide eyes, large pupils, and his tongue poking out from between his lips. His natural flush had darkened, his chest and shoulders painted red. You rubbed the pad of your thumb against the underside of his cock and he released a sharp intake of breath upon the gesture, and a shallow thrust as he leaned his head back.

Taking your lip between your teeth, you shifted to allow your thighs to generate a small friction against your center and squeezed your fingers gently around his cock, stroking from base to tip with a practiced fluidity. He moaned beneath you, hips rising to meet your strokes as his breath came faster.

"I said, get the fuck over here," he hissed out. His hand came down a moment later, grabbing at your shoulder and pulling you up. Your knees came to rest on either side of his waist as your sex gently settled over his erection, your arousal coating him as you leaned your hands on his chest. Whimpers erupted from both of you when his hips pressed upwards.

His hands grabbed at your hips as you shuffled atop him only to move them to your chest when you began rolling your hips. His fingers kneaded, stroked, his thumbs pressing over pert nipples and making you shudder and dig your fingernails into his shoulders.

"Oh fuck, yes," he groaned. His hands left your chest to once more grip your waist, pulling you downwards as he pushed his feet to the floor and the backs of his shoulders into the mattress, rolling himself against your slit. When your hat nearly fell from your head, you pulled it on tighter and pressed it back down which made him emit a laugh in amusement.

You leaned further over him—angled yourself so his tip rolled over your clit with every thrust of his hips—and couldn’t stop the strangled moan that dripped from your tongue. Every slow drag built the tension growing in the bottom of your stomach. It rose and rose and rose, and you found yourself rising up on your knees shakily, your breaths ragged as you reached down with both hands, taking his erection in one and spreading your folds with the other.

A string of garbled words left his throat as you shifted your knees slightly and pressed the head of him to your slick opening. Slowly but surely, you sank down, feeling the press of him on every inch of you, the slide of heat that pulled at you until you were seated on him. You willed your hands to move steadily as you smoothed them over his chest, shoulders, ribs, needing to feel him everywhere.

"Oh fuck, keep going, that's it," he said between long, heavy breaths, a glint in his eyes as they pierced yours, and it spurred you on. You smiled, your thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his skin, your heart swelling.

You could hear him take in his breaths as he tried to control them, both inhaling and exhaling through his nose. A quiet moan left you when you leaned over him, your lips covering his own, tongue finding his in breathy gasps and warm, wet strokes. Hands reached for each other and fingers laced together when you settled back on your knees, palms pressing as you better arranged your legs.

And then, leaning your weight against his hands to give yourself some leverage, you lifted yourself. Your muscles clenched around him as his shaft dragged tantalizingly against your walls, his fingers squeezed, your thighs trembled. Breathy curses shot from his tongue as you wiggled your hips and began to sink down against him once more. It was slow—too much so. At this rate, you two would either be interrupted or drive each other mad.

Reluctantly, you pulled your fingers from between his and planted your palms firmly against his chest. His own fell against your hips, eyes catching yours, tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. He thrust his hips upwards, nudging himself that small bit deeper inside of you and pulling a moan from your throat.

With fingers pressing into muscles and supple skin, you both moved together. He lifted to aid your tensing thighs as you pressed down when his hips rose to meet yours. Breath left both of you quickly as he thrust up into you over and over. Your eyes fell from his to look down your body, to your breasts, to watch his cock delve into you. Though, you—at some point, somehow—had come to hold yourself stationary above him, he had set a pace, rising to meet you.

His grunts echoed in your ears, and your toes curled. He pushed up inside you once more and released your hips to pull your chest to his, wrapping his arms around you before rolling you two, pressing you back into the sheets. Though one of his hands remained curled behind your back—arching you against him—the other planted itself on the mattress, and he used it for leverage as he pulled back before pounding into your slick heat once more.

Your mouth fell open in moans and whimpers as he pressed into you. You cursed, a groan against the skin of his shoulder, followed by his name in two separate, stuttered parts as your legs spread further and your ankles hooked against the back of his thighs. Every thrust dragged his torso along yours. Chest hair brushed over your nipples, his abdomen riding along your stomach, and still he wasn't close enough. Your hands found his back and pressed him down onto you. With every movement, he would stutter briefly before curving his spine and digging into you even further, and every muscle in your body would clench.

When the rhythm he set began to falter, his teeth found your neck to leave more marks. He could write his name on your forehead so long as he didn't stop. You could feel yourself tightening around him, and you dug your fingers into his back, lifting your hips to meet his every thrust.

You were sitting on the edge, and he must have known it, because he settled the length of his body completely along yours and dropped the hand that had been propping him to slip between your bodies. His fingers ran across the slick skin at the spot you both joined before rising to press against your clit. You leaned in and bit into his shoulder as he rubbed small circles around the nub. His fingers twitched in a specific way, his cock rammed into you and—with a high-pitched noise you would be ashamed of later—you fell.

You felt wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure through your core, and every part of your body found some way to cling to him; your hands scrabbled against his back, ankles dug into the back of his legs. You wanted to scream—more than anything you wanted to scream—but your throat felt like it had collapsed as your jaw locked on his shoulder. The pads of his fingers continued to massage your clit, his cock still thrusting into you at a stuttered pace, and you continued to fall apart beneath him.

He tumbled over the edge with you, a strained grunt echoing in your ears as his hips rammed against yours one final time. His thighs jerked and he pulled you tighter against him, spilling himself into your tight heat.

Together, the two of you went limp, bodies twitching and sending aftershocks up your spines as you laid together. It took several moments for your breathing to return to a normal pace. Only then did Atsumu allow himself to slip from you, his breath a heave, and he settled lower on your body, his hand dropping to rest on your chest. Your hands were shaky as they rose to run through his hair. A contented moan vibrated against your collarbone and you smiled before repeating the motion with one hand and allowing the other to draw lazy circles between his shoulder blades.

"You were so good today," you praised, your voice still not completely there. "You definitely earned that."

His lips curved in a smile, and you could feel it against your skin. He purred in approval, "Of course, I always do."

He nuzzled his head into your breasts before he peppered wet, sloppy kisses on the soft mounds. You laughed airily and dropped your head back against the mattress. You sighed happily as your fingers continued to pull his hair from his forehead and felt his fingers—still somewhat shaky—trace patterns into the skin on the side of your rib cage.

Exhausted, the two of you curled on the bed, and he told you all about his raid on the Police Station, laughing as he recalled the events just before he came home to you, foreheads finding each other, fingers stroking. You could feel the rest of the world fall away, and losing yourself in the moments like these—like the laughter, the smiles, the tender looks—made your crazy, wild, unbelievably fun relationship with the blonde even more worth it.

___________________________________

[catxsnow]

ADMIT IT D.W.

Summary: You crush on the great Boy Wonder was a little more than obvious

Warning: Older!Damian fLiRtInG

A/N: Damian is like early twenty’s here. 

GIF not mine

Word count: 2k

It was a stormy night in Gotham. Rain poured from the dark sky and thunder boomed continuously. It seemed like any other night in that dreaded city. Day in day out, nothing but clouds and overcast. It was like the sun never shined in that city. If this was God's cruel punishment against the city, then you couldn't blame him.

Between the crime rates, the horrible citizens, and the corrupt police force, Gotham was no sanctuary. It was a city made for sinners, thugs, and those unfortunate few who had no chance of escape. You hated Gotham, you hated it enough to try and fight against the dreaded nights and sorrow days.

You worked by yourself, but it wasn't a surprise if part of Batman and crew showed up to your fight scene. They allowed you to continue your fight against crime as a vigilante, but they didn't dare trust you enough to take down important missions on your own. Sometimes you appreciated their help, most times, it was a nuisance.

It had been only a few years since you started this gig. Slowly at first, taking down petty thefts and drunk assholes. Then you started reaching the bigger leagues, the crime lords and mobsters. Soon, you became popular enough to be within Batman's radar.

The night was quiet, despite the loud thunder that rolled across the clouds. You saw the outline of Robin standing along the building edge. His cape flowed in the wind and his shadow cast upon the city as lightening struck behind him. You scoffed to yourself, but nonetheless flipped over to him.

"Dramatic much?" you asked. Judging by Robin's build, his voice, even the way he moved, you guessed that he had to have been around your age. At least, he was the closet out of all the others. You were nearing twenty-one, just shy of being able to buy your own drinks.

"Quiet out there tonight, huh?" You asked as he didn't reply. Robin seemed to tolerate you, nothing more, nothing less. He spoke very few extra words than needed and always had a snarky tone. You couldn't tell if that was because of his facade, or if that was who he really was.

Even so, after working with him several times, you couldn't help but be attracted to him. His voice, his actions, the way that he beat the ever living hell out of douchebags. Robin finally turned to face you, jumping down from the small ledge that he once stood.

"It is," he agreed. Truth be told, around you - it was an act. He would never admit that he enjoyed time with you. "That doesn't mean that you need to come bother me."

"But you're my favourite person to bother," you approached him. Damian stood still as you dragged your gloved hands up his chest and rested them at the bottom of his neck. "Why can't you just admit that you like my little visits."

"Because then I'd be falling into Batman's footsteps with Catwoman," Robin scoffed. He would never allow himself to admit that he did enjoy seeing you on the rooftops. Most times when he was on his own, he wished that you would show up to see him, even if it was just a coincidence.

His eyes would linger on you, the suit you wore was tight around every perfect curve of your body. Even the way you swaggered towards him like you knew god damn well that any man watching was eyeing you up. Damian wanted his eyes to be the only ones on you.

"Ugh," You rolled your eyes. You had a few run ins with Catwoman, none of them ending well. "I'm nothing like her. She's a thief, I fight for the good guys. I'm on your side, it's okay to admit it." You took another step closer to him so your chests touched.

You had a bad habit of shamelessly flirting with him. Robin was well aware of your attempts to flirt with him - and if he was any good at it he would have flirted back. Instead, his words came out cryptic. You often were confused by what he was feeling - his body was relaxed near you but his words said otherwise.

"Come on, Robin. Just one little word, just admit it," a Cheshire grin covered your cheeks as you stood on your toes. Your lips just barely brushed against his before pulling away. Fuck, did Damian want to pull you in, to kiss your properly after all these months of teasing him like this. You never gave him the satisfaction of what your lips truly felt like.

Damian's shoulders stiffened. He knew very little about you. Hell, he didn't even know your name, where you came from, how old you were. Yet, without knowing anything about you, he still found himself wanting to agree to your pleas. To admit that he enjoyed your company was to admit that he liked you. How could he like someone without even knowing them?

"I'll get you one day," you promised him. Damian watched as you backed away from him. The sway in your hips was entrancing and he couldn't look away. You stood up on the ledge that he was previously at. With a wink in his direction, you flipped off and soared down. Damian's breath caught in his throat, worried that you were going to fall to your death.

Not even a second later, you came flying back up again. A grappling gun was secured in the palm of your hand and your laugh echoed through the stormy night. Damian furrowed his eyebrows and looked down at his belt. You had stolen the grappling gun from him. Had you just used him to get the tech? Or did you genuinely want him to admit that he liked your visits? He wouldn't know.

"Fuck." Me.

><

Damian wished that he could get you out of his head. As Robin, as himself, he couldn't do it. He spent hours at night thinking about you, who you really were. He wanted to meet you, the real you. He tried finding out who you were, but you were careful - careful enough for Batman to have not figured it out yet.

He wanted to see you again. At night, he searched for you rather than searching for crime. He needed to see you again. This ache in his chest was driving him crazy and seeing you again was the only thing that was going to fix it. Damian was only frustrated by these feelings, he didn't want them to affect his everyday life but here he was.

It was over a week since your last encounter. He hadn't seen you, or any signs that you were even out on the streets. Damian was getting worried about you, he always saw that you were protecting the city at least once every few days. It was far too long to have no signs at all.

Damian overlooked the city from one of the tallest buildings in Gotham. It was stormy out again, this time the rain pounded against his skin, soaking him to the bone. He was cold, miserable, and was ready to call it a night and head back home.

"The Boy Wonder," a voice from behind him spoke. Damian nearly sighed in relief at the sound of your voice. He spun around to see you leaning against one of the arches. The grappling hook that you stole from him was tightly secured around your waist. He looked down at it. "Sorry, I don't exactly have the money to get one of my own, figured you'd have lots."

You weren't wrong. There were tons in the batcave, he just wasn't particularly excited to tell Batman that you had taken one from him. You strolled up to him, wiping some of the water that drenched your face off. It was useless, the rain wouldn't stop.

Damian noticed the stitches that laced up your cheek. His hand went up to your face, skimming just below where you had been cut. "What happened?" He asked, concern in his voice.

"Didn't realize you cared, Robin," you joked. As he moved his hand once more, you winced in pain. He went to lower his hand but you placed yours on top, forcing him to stay there. "Got myself into some trouble right after I saw you last. Thought I could take them, pulled out of pair of brass and well..." you trailed off. "It was nothing bad. Just a cut and some bruises. Had to stay home for a few days."

So, he was right to be worried. You were fine now, but what about the next time? What about the time that you aren't going to make it out with such ease?

"I'm fine, now," You told him, as if you were reading his thoughts. The brief look of sadness in your eyes was instantly replaced. "Better now that I'm with you.” You tried to reach for another one of his weapons but Damian was too quick. He latched onto your hand before you could steal something else of his.

You tried to interlock your fingers but, Damian pulled away and he once again went back to his rigid form. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were up here looking for me." You gestured to the high skyline and then looked back at Robin.

"I was looking to see if there was any criminal activity," Robin corrected. Lies. He was looking for you, but he wasn't going to tell you that. "But I am glad to see you aren't dead."

"Why because you'd miss me?" You teased. You jumped around him, flipping here and there to get some of the pent up energy released. Being forced to stay at home had you going stir crazy. However, with the rain making the roof top more slippery, you had lost you footing and nearly fell right off the edge. Robin had grabbed your wrist just in time, pulling you with so much force that you landed into his chest.

"Because you owe me," he referred to the grappling hook. He didn't mind you keeping it. "Twice, now."

"Mhmm, I could make up for it, right now. Up here, on this rooftop, with no one around," you suggested. The only reason that he knew you weren't completely serious was the joking tone in your voice. Yet, he swore he could feel your finger traceing his chest plate right on his skin. His thigh trapped between your legs, and you were nearly begging for attention. "Just the two of us."

He was tempted. God, was he tempted. Damian didn't care if anyone would show up, he would gladly accept your offer. But he couldn't, he knew he couldn't. So, as much as he wanted to, he denied. You pouted at him, which had made it even harder for him to decline your idea.

"Come work with Batman and I," Robin suddenly countered your offer. "The tech, the protection, at least someone will have your back so this doesn't happen again."

You pulled away from him. Batman had already offered to become a part of his team. You were sure he had a stickler for having young kids under his wing but you weren't eager to become one of them. It was easier to work alone, at least that way you would never have guilt of messing up with them.

"It was nice seeing you again, Robin," you had done the exact same thing as last time, flipping off the roof to dive into the streets. This time however, as you left, the playful smile wasn't on your face, but a frown. Were you really that offended to be working with a team? Damian was sure that you would have jumped on the opportunity to be able to see him more.

Damian frustratingly sighed. He ran a hand through his soaked hair. What was it going to take for you to join him? He just wanted you safe. Damian would never be able to forgive himself if you died while trying to save the city because you couldn't agree to work with him.

><

Avoiding Robin was easier said than done. Firstly, you didn't want to avoid him, you wanted to be there with him, teasing him like you always did. Secondly, between him, the Bats, and the others, it was near impossible to get anything done without being spotted by them. Yet, you managed.

Not being able to see Robin made you realize how much you actually liked him. It wasn't just playfully flirting, but a hope that he would in fact be able to recognize your affection. You wanted to know who he was, as a real person not as some side kick of Batman. Whoever was hiding under the mask was your number one goal to find out.

Maybe the only way to do that, was to join him.

You didn't want the pressure that being on a team came with. People relying on you? No, that wasn't something you were ready for. But maybe, with their help you could be ready for it. Maybe if they were so adamant on you joining, then they needed you just as much as you needed them.

So, instead of avoiding Robin, you searched for him. It had been weeks since you had seen him last. The gap in your visits was hard on you. It made you wonder how you could care for someone who you didn't even know. Robin thought the same thing, you just weren't aware of it.

"You must be getting tired of this rain too," You nearly jumped at the voice from behind you. Robin was leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed over his chest and a satisfied look on his face. Finally, he found you. He just wasn't aware that you let him find you, you wanted to see him again.

"By this point. I'm used to it," You answered. "Besides, getting to see you all wet like this? Mmm, that's a treat all in itself." You dragged a hand through his wet hair, having to stand up on your toes to even be able to reach. God, did you love when he got flustered to the point of not knowing what to say.

"It's been a while," Robin stated. You shrugged at him, pretending that the time that you spent away didn't bother you. Of course it did, but seeing the disappointed look on his face that you didn't seem to care? That was worth it.

"I was busy," You nonchalantly informed, waking away from him and back into the rain. It was true, you did have several busy nights but for the most part, things had been quiet, boring even. "Who do you think put Two-Face back in Arkham?"

"I figured as much," Robin stalked back over to you. He stood right by your side, brushing against your suit.

"You miss me?" You smirked up at him. He should have expected that question, you asked it nearly every time. However, the tone in your voice, the way that you were holding yourself up, it caught him off guard. You were genuinely wanting him to say that he had missed you - and after all these times that he denied it - he admitted it.

"Yes."

You looked up at him in shock. Robin always found a way to change the subject or come up with some sort of quip that ensured you that he didn't miss you when you disappeared. You could always tell that he was lying when he denied it but hearing him finally admit that he missed you meant everything to you.

Damian finally looked down to you. He didn't mean to blurt out the answer but he couldn't hide the truth any longer. Seeing you was always the highlight of his night, he couldn't deny that any longer.

"I want to see you, as much as I can," Damian continued on. He was surprising himself by these words, it was rare that he spoke of his emotions. "These little visits, they're not enough for me any longer. I need to see you, to fill this void in my chest when I'm not with you. Come work with me, please."

You were nearly as shocked by his words as he was. Robin never uttered a word of how he cared for you, how he craved to see you. Hearing him say this was everything that you ever wanted to hear. You cared for him, but could never accept that he cared for you back, he never proved it to you that he did.

After a moment of silence, Damian began to panic. Did you not feel the same way? Was the flirting just a trick? A game? No, it couldn't be.

Damian watched as you reached up towards your face, peeling of that mask that covered half your face. You met his eyes when your face was bare, revealing who you were and what you truly looked like. Damian was in awe of your beauty, everything about you was just as perfect as he had imagined.

"(Y/N)," You told him. "(Y/N) (L/N). I proved to you that I care enough about you, now prove to me that you care enough for me to join." You didn't expect him to do the same action as you - maybe one day but not yet. However, you also didn't expect what he actually did, either.

Damian kissed you.

His hands cupped the sides of your face, wishing that he didn't have these gloves on so he could feel you. Rain drops raced down your skin, between your lips that parted when needing a breath of air. Bodies pressed so close together that nothing could have broken you apart.

He kissed you with all this pent up desire that you constantly left him with. The worry that he had for you when you were on the streets by yourself. The neediness that he felt every time he was near you. He kissed you like he had cared about you for years.

Damian pulled away from you, his fingers still resting your facing. He rested his forehead against yours. This small taste of getting what he wanted didn't come close to fulfilling his desires. He needed you, constantly.

"I'll join you, Boy Wonder," you spoke barely above a whisper. "Just admit that you've been wanting to do that since the day we met because I've wanted you to do that since then."

"I admit it."

[sugasugawarau]

Synopsis: You knew that Kageyama Tobio was not your soulmate - and that was why you could not help but succumb to the waves that lulled you away from the shores of fate + semi inspired by Eyes Blue like the Atlantic by sistaprod ft. Subvrbs. Also part of @yacoka‘s collab <3 (2.4k words)

Warnings/notes: Some angst near the end, soulmate red string au, gender neutral reader. No beta we die like Rex Lapis so if I ever feel like it this may be edited at some point asdahdhj idk LMAO

— Prologue

There are as many reasons to fall in love with Kageyama Tobio as there are fractals made by the ocean’s breath as the world inhales and exhales, flourishes and wilts, conquers and surrenders. It would not even be a hyperbole to say that in number, they remain unrivalled to the plethora of stars that stain the waves with their reflection and run deeper than the scars of lightyears that paint lines from Cassiopeia to Aquila.

After all, he is the darkest hue of navy blue.

Determination that moves in an orchestra of thundering waves, brandishing on its crest an admirable recklessness, heeding not for the need to call upon courage or confidence; polished instinct that endued one with the same awestruck feeling when facing the beautifully suffocating obscurity of their life in this world, a mixture of raw fear and the need to impart a piece of their soul in everything they do despite how fragile the skin shielding their heart is.

But the best part of loving Kageyama was that you were not - or will ever become - destined to be.

— Shoreline

Red.

It was a word that was always thrown about in conversations, the fuel to the catastrophes that were high school gossip chains, and the colour that held the mangled passion of the string of fate. Garishly predestined and easily tangled by unnecessary complications of jealousy and confusion, it is needless to say that you hated red with more passion than the love it emptily promises with a title as shallow as soulmates.

That was not to say you despised love. There was nothing wrong with love itself, a fact which you had decided firmly since the spry age of four years old. What was wrong was its combination with soulmates: a rigid formula, nothing like the walks with your grandmother on the bright summer roads littered with flowers as her calloused palm gently guided you, or the laughter you shared with your friends after a long run in the rain, hugging each other goodbye at the end of the day despite the muddy battle scars covering your arms and legs from falling countless times.

Your mind could have kept you engaged in your internal debate for longer if you were left to your own devices, but an awkward cough and the sound of a desk shifting towards your right brought you out of your reverie, bringing your drifting thoughts back to the classroom surrounding you.

Perhaps your look of confusion came off as hostile, for the dark-haired boy now sitting next to you looked at you with a slight glare that felt forced, an automatic effort to defend himself.

His tone of voice only confirmed your unconsciously off-putting expression as he gruffly stated, “Group project.” to explain his sudden presence.

“Oh. What’s the topic on?”

An awkward silence had ensued while you tried to calmly collect yourself by gathering a handful of pens from your pencil case after being caught in your heinous crime of not paying attention to your English teacher.

“You don’t know?” Came his reply, causing you to occupy yourself by finding extreme interest in a lime green highlighter you did not have any recollection of ever buying.

“Well, I clearly wasn’t paying attention.”

“You… weren’t?” The slight intonation in his tone was a stark contrast to your initial impression of him and caused you to look up at him, almost letting out an amused snort at his befuddled frown to which he furrowed his brows and shot a challenging “What?” in return. Realizing that he was genuine in believing that you were deep in thought over the lesson, a burst of laughter blossomed past your lips, attracting a few odd looks from your nearby peers and an abashed glare from him.

You paused to take a breath, a repetition of sorries stumbling their way out to appease the onslaught of nagging you thought would follow shortly. Instead, all the boy muttered was a simple, “You’re weird.”

“Sure, but that’s beside the point - were you paying any attention?”

“No.”

Seeing your face contorted to stop yet another bout of laughter to roam its way into the world as a result of his bluntness, he shot out of his seat and announced that he would go ask the teacher, unable to hide his puzzlement as he walked away. He would come to regret this decision when the teacher began to lecture him, earning more heads to turn his way as she scolded him before sending him off dismissively with a sticky note that you assumed had your now long-awaited topic.

Before you could thank him for enduring what could only be one of the worst things to experience as a high school student, he wordlessly handed the piece of paper to you and sat down.

“Kageyama, right? With this project, you’ll have me to thank for the A we’ll get,” you promised confidently, to which he responded with a halfhearted “Good luck.”

If he had been a close friend, you would have taken the small textbook on his desk and gently hit his head at his evident lack of belief in his capabilities, but settled for a clipped sigh instead. After all, you did not want to further contribute to the premature wrinkles Kageyama was making himself prone to with all of the brow-furrowing he did.

This is going to be one long month.

— Largo

Like how the ocean reluctantly caresses the sleeping shore as it wakes from its slumber during low tide, your lives slowly flowed together.

During the first week of your group project with him, he would greet you curtly, and on a few occasions, you would have short conversations about the outline of your book review.

And this singular week was enough to show that there was some (okay, maybe a lot) of backing behind the teacher’s warning about Kageyama’s dismal grade.

While you flipped through A Midsummer Night’s Dream, you would catch the all-too-familiar confusion on his face - it was written on his features so blatantly that it was almost comical, as if taken straight out of a shonen manga.

“You know if you’re stuck you can ask me for help.”

A slight scowl greeted you over the hedge of pages he had been burying himself in, followed by a biting, “Who said I need help?”

You could only roll your eyes in return.

“Please drop the prideful act. You've been glazing over the same page for about twenty minutes now."

After a few seconds of grumbling did he finally comply, and with your explanations, his bookmark was now comfortably sandwiched between the double-digit page numbers right as the bell rang. You hummed in satisfaction before returning your desk to your original spot, expecting him to rush out along with everyone else - so to turn around and see him still standing there was a bit of a surprise.

“Did you still need help with the last few lines?” You settled on asking, not really wanting to plague your break with work but offering nonetheless. Thankfully, he shot a look of disdain at the play as he stuffed it away haphazardly in his bag.

“No, I just wanted to,” he trailed off a bit, the tinge of red on his ears an out-of-character detail you decided not to comment on, “to say thanks, I guess.”

You smiled softly at the unexpected gesture of appreciation before giving him a teasing nudge which he stiffened slightly at.

“Well, I can’t have you bringing down my mark now can I?”

“Nevermind, I take it back.”

“Too bad, I have those words of gratitude stored nicely in my hippocampus already.”

From there, tutoring sessions with Kageyama became the norm, with you sometimes asking about his volleyball team after he had let slip that you were a better teacher than Tsukishima (something you would be sure to smugly share if you ever met the infamous middle blocker).

By the end of the month, all of the hard work - and a couple of all-nighters due to procrastination - brought forth an A as you had promised.

Even your relentless teasing, varying between “I told you so!” to “You owe me at least three meat buns now” which were all met with an annoyed “Shut up”was not enough to dim the smile he tried to hide.

— High tide

With the force of nature, the tide rose without warning; from goodnight texts to confessing to the first “I love you” uttered shyly between shameless souls, neither of you was sure where things began, but found comfort in such liberating chaos.

In times where he needed to be held, you were there, and the insecurities you would hide, he would turn beautiful. And today happened to be a day for both as you stared absentmindedly at his bedroom ceiling.

“Hey Tobio, what’s your take on soulmates?”

“We’ve been together for almost a year now, what do you think?” he put his phone down and turned towards you, “I could care less about soulmates or whatever else is worrying you enough to make your overthinking go into overdrive.”

“Rude, have some respect, it’s my profession after all,” you shoved him playfully as he snorted in reply, “It’s just... If your string ever appeared, wouldn't you rather-”

“Listen Y/n, did you know that I’m scared of dying but I’m even more terrified of the thought of living without you? I could never and don’t ever want to replace you. People can talk all they want, if I could find a love like ours without something as stupid as a piece of string then I don’t need a soulmate.”

“Really?”

With a flick to your forehead, he huffed in fake exasperation. “Really.”

“Huh, who knew you could be so romantic.”

“It's not romantic, I'm just being honest, idiot.”

“You sure could make do with some more lessons on manners and social tact. It's too bad you can't pick up on those as well as volleyball drills.”

Before he could retaliate, you enveloped him in a familiar embrace, burrowing your face into the large hoodie he donned.

It was effortless, his company.

— Ebbing away

But it wasn’t all romantic.

You fiddled with your phone as you waited for any sign that Kageyama had seen your messages, the pack of meat buns you had bought on a whim no longer letting off their fragrant steam. You knew he had an important match coming up against Seijoh, that he had to prove himself, that he lives hungrily and foolishly like no other. But his missing presence went beyond volleyball practice, keeping his distance from you even when he was right by your side.

Why am I stuck reminiscing about the past when we still have each other?

Why does every step I take towards him feel as if I’m only drawing myself farther away from him?

A carousel of rhetorical questions spun around your head as you stopped your slow pace towards Karasuno. You were not blind; you knew the rumours and dirty looks from your classmates were not something anyone could be immune to, that he tried his best to spend less time around you at school. The only conclusion you could reach was that he was ashamed: either of you, or the fact that he had begun to see his red string and could not bring himself to face you.

Ignoring the urge to let yourself cry, you glanced down at your phone once more, 8:30PM flashed across your eyes, followed by your empty notifications. There was no way he’d still be practicing at the school now and even if he was, you doubted he would be happy to see you. Maybe - no, definitely - it would be better to head home, and maybe stop by the convenience store you had bought the now misshapen meat buns from to get some tea and call it a night.

If only fate did not reciprocate your hatred towards it.

Stepping into the small store, the first person you are greeted with is none other than Kageyama Tobio. The whole situation was like a fever dream, and you would do anything to be able to let out a laugh and have him call you weird all over again. But all you could bring yourself to do was blearily stare at him.

He turned around quickly, as if not wanting to be caught before ushering you outside. “Y/n? Why are you here?” he hissed, a stiffness that he had recently adopted to his body language that you were now all too familiar with.

“What? Am I not allowed to go into any and all convenience stores I please?” You challenged, a part of you waiting for him to care enough to see how tired you were, to actually look you in the eyes for the first time in weeks.

He did not, opting to turn his head towards the door again.

“It’s not that, it’s just-”

“Just what? Tobio, what is up with you lately?” A pause ensued, broken by a small hiccup as your eyes dampened - God, how much more pathetic could you get than crying in front of some dingy convenience store - “Do you even love me anymore?”

How odd. You thought that by finally uttering the final question that had been dancing around your mind free to the world, you would feel better. That he would reassure you, as he always had.

Not that he would at last meet your gaze, grabbing your hand to look at the red string wrapped around your ring finger.

The taste of tears and Kageyama’s eyes as blue as the Atlantic all felt miles away from you as an orange-haired boy stepped out of the store, his mouth dropping into an o-shape when he saw that his string led to you, a disheveled mess arguing with his teammate.

“Kageyama…You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to face the reality of it all. Because I was afraid of losing you.”

“But I wouldn’t leave you-”

“I know you wouldn’t but you should!” Kageyama’s furrowed brows, once a quirk of his that you were fond of, now elicited a sick turmoil in your stomach, “You have to. Please.”

You wanted to yell at him, let the blood pour out of any and all raw words of anger and hurt.

Who was he to decide what was good for you, to throw you at some boy you never met before, to give up?

Then again, you could never say you would not have done the same for him if you knew he had found his soulmate despite the sweet words he had told you so long ago.

So you let yourself go. For his sake.

[acciocriativity]

The First Meeting ||Harry Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x You

Summary: Your life takes a 360º turn when you discover that you are a witch and that you are going to study and live in a world completely different from yours. In the midst of so much change, you meet a boy who is feeling the same. 

 

Word Count: 2.4k

N / A: This is the first fanfic that I am posting on Tumblr, so it would be very important to me if you leave your opinion here and also English it's not my first language, if I made a mistake, I'll like to know and correct it.

 The day started rainy, which is not surprising considering that I am in England, more specifically in the city of London. However, I, as an immigrant from hot lands, consider rainy days bad luck, because something always happens wrong. 

And to my despair, today was supposed to be perfect. 

It was only a month ago that I discovered to be a witch and for my happiness, it has nothing to do with pointy noses and pure evil. Apparently the only similarity is the hats, since in the two moments I was around real wizards, I saw several people wearing them.

 My family, for the most part, being a completely devout Catholic, did not accept my new reality so well, not to say it was hell on Earth. In short, if I went, I wouldn't be able to set foot in the house again, as they weren't going to house a sinful witch. 

That bearded gentleman was kind enough to help me find another place to stay, while my parents would think better of it. Although I was unable to thank him or at least speak after being expelled from my home, or old home.

 

I've been staying at the Leaky Cauldron ever since, but because of the latest events in my life, I just went out to buy the materials. Being a witch had cost me a lot and I wasn't ready to face that until yesterday. It took me a long time to decide whether to go to Hogwarts or not, but now the certainty that I made the right choice was growing in my chest. 

 Right after having breakfast at one of the bar tables, I waited seated by the person in charge who would accompany me to Kings Cross station, where I was supposed to catch a train. I knew about it the same day that I discovered the magical world but only today I was anxious for that. I must admit that I imagined that we would fly, obviously all the stories lied to all the non-magical children on Earth.  

A few minutes later, a man in a turban appeared through the door and walked towards me, his expression showing no particular emotion when entering or even seeing me sitting, but what scared me was the fragility and fear in his voice.

- Miss Garcia, good morning, are you ready to leave? - He leaned on one leg while looking around worriedly. 

- Yes sir .. is everything ok ?? The bathroom is on that side - I knew it was inconvenient but I couldn't hold my curiosity as I watched his expression change.

- It will be a short trip but we must go now, to not risk losing the train, let's go - his posture was suddenly rigid and his face looked shaken but this time, I kept my thoughts to myself.

 At least he was kind enough to help me with the two suitcases, which were quite heavy due to the amount of books that were inside, I got some History of Magic extra books to learn more about that world. 

And he was not wrong, the path was fast despite the light rain and wet streets. We didn't talk beyond the formalities, I just found out that he is one of my teachers that year, Professor Quirrel and nothing else.

As soon as my feet took a step into the station, the man said goodbye with a nod and left to go his own way with a weird expression, but I didn't care about that for more than 2 seconds. 

I took a deep breath and started to walk following the small crowd of people who would possibly go to work in another city, since I didn't know the way to the platforms. Honestly, I didn't think it would work until I saw the license plate numbers, and I quickly hurried on, because mine was ahead. 

- 7 ... 8 ... 9 ... 10 ?? - I stopped walking at the same moment I realized that mistake, there was nothing between 9 and 10 - I don't believe it ... 

 I stood leaning against a wall looking around as if looking for someone, but in fact I wanted to find a miracle or at least an angel who could tell me what to do in that situation. 

Millions of thoughts crossed my mind within 2 minutes, most of them negative, until something drew attention out of my despair, or rather, someone. A red hair had just gone through the wall, it was so fast I could hardly believe my own eyes. 

Two more people did the same before I managed to close my mouth and walk over there, in shaky, uncertain steps. They hadn't noticed me and I thanked them mentally for it, because I wouldn't be able to pronounce a single right word. The good news is that they were certainly wizards, by the way they dressed and the most logical conclusion is that they would know the right way. 

 I waited for everyone to cross to get closer to that wall, I couldn't hear the conversation but I noticed that the right way to enter is to run. Again I took a deep breath and looked around to see if anyone was noticing me, with the station full, my answer came as a quick no. 

 I closed my eyes and ran about three short steps until I felt a sensation unlike anything I had felt so far. The stone wall seemed to have turned into a wind wall and I easily managed to get to the other side. I immediately opened my eyes after hearing the sound of a train and when looking to the side, there he was. The Hogwarts Express was written right in front of the locomotive.  

 It only took me 10 seconds to notice the difference, the clothes were definitely different and there was an absurd amount of children and teenagers, as I was walking closer to the train entrance, more people were showing up, in a way I didn't know how to explain.  

 The trip was smooth to Hogwarts, I found an empty car as soon as I arrived but soon the seats were being filled and I ended up sharing my cabin with two more girls, I soon noticed that they were sisters and that was the initial topic of our conversation. They were nice and helped me get into the current context of the wizarding world, explaining the basics about Hogwarts as well. 

- And he's here, the boy who defeated you-know-who's going to study with us! - the oldest of the brunettes spoke excitedly with a huge smile on her face. 

- One of my friends told me earlier that she met him in the hall, what is he like? - the youngest asked even knowing that none of us would know the answer. 

 This topic remained for a while, until they decided to take a walk on the train while I read, enjoying some quiet time. Honestly, I wouldn't like to be in this boy's shoes, not only because of the tragedies in his life, but also because of the amount of attention, comments and theories about him.

But I cannot deny it, I would like to meet him, who would not be curious after everything that was being commented on? 

 People got in and out of the car where I was sitting and I tried to have a decent conversation with everyone, but then when two older students came to tell us that we should change clothes, as we were arriving. I preferred to wait because a hurried crowd of students wanted to go first, so I ended up being one of the last to get dressed, but one of the first to leave the train. 

 All the way the view had been impressive but nothing had prepared me for the vision I had when I approached the lake, where we were supposed to go. It was dark and it wasn't raining, the moonlight reflected on the water of the Black Lake like a mirror and I was almost sad to see that we were going to cross by boat, because that image would be blurry. 

I could only see the outline of the huge castle on the other side, but it was enough to see all the splendor of that place and for a few seconds I was paralyzed absorbing the beauty of everything around me, until a voice brought me to reality. 

- Only 4 people on each boat, kids! - I glanced at the giant man, who was talking animatedly to some students, before I sat down in an empty space.

 As soon as we reached the other side, we gathered in a small group on the castle entrance stairs to hear one of the teachers. I remained behind and silent as I was paying attention, until I saw someone passing by and right after I felt a foot stepping on top of mine for several seconds. 

- Hey! Can't you see I'm here ?? - I said indignantly but as low as possible looking at the red-haired boy beside me.

- I ... I'm sorry, I didn't see you - he replied without even looking at me, his face turning as red as the color of his hair.

 I thought about replying but as the teacher was still talking, I just preferred to nod, accepting the apology. Only then did I realize that I caught the attention of two more students, a curly haired girl who cast a disapproving look at the redhead but smiled at me gently and at another dark haired boy, who noticed my gaze and shifted his look to the other side immediately. 

 It didn't take more than 15 minutes before we were inside that incredible hall, instead of a concrete ceiling just like outside, above my head was the most beautiful starry sky I have ever had the pleasure of seeing, with floating candles to complete the view. To my relief, it didn't seem like a common thing for most first year students, who talked quietly among themselves so I didn't look like an idiot admiring alone. 

We were instructed to stay in a queue, I had no idea what was going to happen so I was distracted looking at the stars, which never seemed so achievable until that moment. I wish I could go up there and take at least one, but it would be impossible. 

 We walked slowly until we stopped in front of the other students, who were spread out over 4 tables, my eyes never left the illuminated sky and as a result, I didn't notice that I was too close to the boy in front of me.

I got my first embarrassing moment of the year in less than 10 minutes, because I stepped on the cover of the boy in front of me. All the consequences of that went by very quickly before my eyes. In a second I was out of balance and fell, but that's not the worst part. I accidentally pulled his cloak back, the boy fell out of balance and fell with me, his back to me. It hurts, too much. No more than the weight of my humiliation and shame, but it still hurts.

 My face took on a pinkish tinge as I silently prayed that no one noticed, but that's not what happened. Today was definitely not my lucky day. I could hear half the room laughing and half whispering, so I knew for sure that I had made a big impression on people and a bigger one on the Hogwarts floor. 

- Sorry ... I was distracted - I spoke as quietly as possible looking at the ceiling and again at him.

 He didn't look at me for more than 2 seconds before looking away in that same direction and back to me again. His nod was minimal but noticeable and he soon stood up, which I had forgotten to do in those few seconds.

 What surprised me more than anything in the last month was his hand extended to help me, it didn't take me long to accept the help and so I got up and straightened my clothes trying not to show shock. This was an act of kindness that I couldn't expect from my brothers, considering how angry they would be in a situation like this, but other than shame, I couldn't see a hint of anger in his green eyes. 

- I'm really sorry ... - I said again, loud enough that only he could hear me. 

 The director had called everyone's attention, so most had stopped laughing although that redhead from before just stopped after the mini punch that the brunette gave him. 

- It's okay, it will just be another reason for people to talk about me behind my back - he gave me another small smile on the side but his tone was not the happiest. 

- And why?? I don't know who you are - I was curious because I had not met anyone important in the magical world until then.

 I could see a flash of surprise in his expression but before he could answer me, the names started to be called and little by little the children walked to the stool, where the hat was placed on their heads. After that he didn't answer me, no one else had the courage to say a word because they were very anxious to get their turn and also curious, like me, to know which house the famous Harry Potter would go to. 

- Potter, Harry - called the teacher with a serious but serene expression and a different look in her eyes. 

 From then on, the students' not-so-low whispers started again and I, who was already at the Hufflepuff table, could only be surprised to notice that the boy I dragged to my shame was actually Harry Potter himself. I didn't have the courage to look at him for more than 5 seconds, because again the embarrassment consumed me but this time harder. I only looked at him again when the Gryffindor table radiated in cheers and laughter as soon as he was drawn there and then our eyes met for the last time that night.

Harry Potter Masterlist

[vickers-n-lickers]

Moonlit pt. 1

Warning: Contains explicit content and mentions of violence. ((BradxOC, Jill and Chris))

"We're going to see the flowers bloom, right?"

"Yeah, babe… We're gonna go. Delucia is real pretty this time of year," Brad bit back a sob as he held the compress fast against the side of the woman's neck. He didn't dare another look beneath.

The corpse of her attacker was laid out in front of the barricaded doors in a pool of its own filth. Blood and skin glistened between rotting teeth. The S.T.A.R.S. emblem of Brad's knife shined in gold and blood from where he had jabbed it into the zombie's skull.

"I don't think I'm going to make it though..."

"It's going to be okay, Joan. Just stay still. Help is coming."

She was too tired to laugh, fingers slippery in red reached to graze the side of his face. Blood came away as finger paint. "Nobody is coming. Jenna is gone and I'm…" She whimpered, tears glittering in her eyes.

His shaking hand slipped and gripped hers. Soft lips along her beautiful wrist, it took everything in him not to lose it right then and there.

Joan smiled. She smiled the way she always did in the dim light and tangled sheets; face aglow with it reaching clear to those green eyes.

Brad frowned. He frowned the way he had every night since July. Nothing Joan could say to him would ever spare him the guilt or shame. Not even the way she looked at him that moment could spare him.

The city was lost.

Soon she would be gone too.

"Hey Piper, if you're heading out to lunch can you drop this off at the airfield? New guy forgot his flight bag. S.T.A.R.S. is taking off a couple hours."

Swiveling around in her seat, Joan's brows rose high. "I can. Do I really want to?"

Marvin just made a face at the brilliant smile delivered toward him. "Alright then. You fly, I buy. Pick up something from Emma's on the way back, please?"

"Why, Sergeant Branagh that is awfully kind of you. I'll be sure to get the lobster." Badge tucked in a back pocket, the brunette woman slung her coat over a shoulder.

Shoving the bag and money into the woman's hands, he chuckled. "Burgers, Piper. Just burgers and fries. Bring something back for everyone else too. We're gonna be here late tonight."

Outside of the hangar, Joan slung the pack over a shoulder. The sun was in her eyes until she was in the shade of the massive building. Past a door to what stunk like a bathroom, she pushed one of the double doors open to the main hangar floor. The place was empty aside from yellow lines stenciling out a walkway, some grounding points, and one UH-1 loaded onto rollers and hooked up to a tug. Looking around, Joan was confused just where to drop this off.

Her answer came as a door from across the hangar suddenly opened. "Hey! Do you know where the pilot is?"

He was about her height, sporting a yellow jacket and trying to hurry across the clean white floor. "That would be me! Did Marvin send you?" Brad waved, letting out a sigh when the bag was in his hands. "Thank you so much. I'm having the longest week ever."

"I bet. Not like a pilot to forget his helmet and gear." His cologne was pleasant to her on the air so near one another.

Another sigh and Vickers fished out his helmet. "Yeah…"

"It'll get better. I'm Joan by the way." She offered a hand in greeting.

He took it and smiled. "Brad Vickers."

A beer bottle smashed to the floor. "Aw! Look what you did!" Chris said with a sigh, leaving the stage. Forest followed after, their usual boyish behavior resuming.

"Clean it up!" Joan huffed, presented them with a broom and dust pan. She just shook her head as they continued taunting and teasing one another. Spotting a familiar face in the crowd, she left them and the mess behind.

"How did those two graduate?" Joseph asked, wiping tears from his face as he laughed.

"Teacher passed them just to get them out of her hair, probably." Brad replied, sitting up as she approached. "Hi, Joan."

"Hey Brad, I'm surprised you came out tonight. I thought you were flying."

"Yeah, I did." He replied, nodding. Nervous as always.

Joseph looked between the two, shaking his head at Brad. "…C'mon man. She's trying so hard."

Flustered, Brad glared over at him. "What?"

"That sounds like fun." She offered to silence a potential argument, gathering up empty bottles. "Well, I'll see you around." Lips pressing to a thin line the beer bottles went into the trash can as she headed toward the back.

Forest's laughter filled the air as the two returned to the table. "'Oh Brad, I want you. Why can't you say anything that would let me know that you wanted me too?'" Speyer's impression of the woman only made the group laugh more.

"Brad, you just need to get a deeper voice around her. Nothing gets a lady going like a deep voice. Could tell her that you spent half the day in the john and her panties would still fly off." Ken said with a chuckle.

"Brad's balls haven't dropped. Stop taunting him, Ken." Joseph scoffed, finishing his beer. "You'll get there one day, Vickers."

The teasing was too much. Brad stormed off toward the bathroom before anyone could get another jab in.

Vickers doused his face in the sink, letting out a huff as water trickled off him. Drying off, he didn't want to go back out there for another roasting. Not now. Taking a left, he headed out the door poorly illuminated by an exit sign, doused in moonlight as he stepped outside. A familiar stink in the back alley filled his nostrils, the moon swollen full above. It looked pretty, too bad he was pissed off. "Assholes."

"Are they still harassing you?" A voice asked, Joan appearing as the door swung shut. Leather from her jacket clear to her boots, she was a black ink splotch against a brick wall.

Brad tried to play it off with a shrug. "Same as always…" When she took another drag, he cleared his throat. "You know that stuff is illegal, right?"

"Mhm…." Green eyes looked at him sidelong. "So?" She raised a brow when he dared to point at the joint between her fingers.

"You could be arrested for that." His eyes were enormous when she was in his space.

Joan blew smoke and air out, sad ivy eyes meeting his stare. "Is that what you think about when you go home, Brad? Cuffing me?" One last drag taken and she held the air, flicking the roach over the fence.

Alarm streaked across a normally glum face. Not even five minutes after being taunted by the guys here she was… "I- NO! No! I would never-…" His entire form stilled when her lips brushed against his. An eager tongue asking for entry had his jaw slacked, smoke and tongue rolling over the inside of his mouth.

He inhaled all of her, still lost in the moment when she released him from her clutches.

"Because if that's what you're into," Long fingers traced up and down the front of his shirt. "I'm interested." Lips a hair away from his, she spoke softly. "My apartment is just across the street, I have a few hours to kill before closing up…"

Brad blinked, coughing out the smoke from what she had shared, unable to form words let alone anything seductive enough to match. Through the glass where he hid so much of himself, she saw him. He knew that. It made him less tense. So did the pot.

"Wanna come up with me?" Joan never followed any rules but her own now.

He wouldn't have wanted her any other way.

Keys dumped on the table by the door, Joan shed the jacket from her shoulders. It dropped on a stack of old newspapers. She followed him, an arm slunk over his shoulder as they both looked at an article carefully tucked under fruit magnets on the fridge. Joan stared back at them in ink on paper, smiling brightly in her uniform.

"I remember that. You caught the guy who evaded S.T.A.R.S. for months," Brad commented, thumb tracing over the tight script of the headline. The heat of her so close was devouring his attention. Her touch; electric.

"Did I ever tell you what happened when I caught up to him? He tried to grab me from behind in his apartment when I was questioning him. Slung him like a sack of potatoes right through his glass coffee table." She smiled fondly when he chuckled.

"I never heard that part of the story before..."

"Probably had to get stitches in his butt. I don't remember anymore. Want a beer?"

A few more drinks and she was pulling him away from the island in her kitchen.

Holy shit... he's in my bedroom.

His hands went for her hips. She gave him a push onto the bedspread. In the dim light, the brunette's eyes drank him all in.

Leaning forward, Brad hooked a finger along the waist of her pants. It only took seconds for her to be left in nothing but a pair of filigree black panties. An interesting selection, it felt like window shopping. His palm wandered up the sheer fabric as she crawled into his lap and out of the pants puddled on the floor. The pilot was growing anxious under his surface to entice her with his touch. His experience was limited, but he was eager. So eager to play out what ran through his mind a million times when she'd bumped into him.

Teeth nipping at her bottom lip briefly, she couldn't help but imprint it all to memory.

His fingers pushing the fabric of her tank top up until she was tugging it overhead.

The outline of his girth under the material of his slacks.

He looked so untamed in her bed, under her, her fingers tracing his bottom lip.

Her eyes widened as his lips parted and a tongue drug against the pads of her fingers. Those fingers dipped and he sucked. His smile was an easy thing when her fingers retracted, tugging back a little more on one side than the other.

So beautiful.

Him.

Just like that.

She was as high as she'd ever been from the image alone.

His grin faded fast under Joan's gauging stare.

Fingers frisked through his hair, the rock hard girth pressed against her as their mouths fused. She didn't acknowledge it openly; he'd have to show want of his own. Tearing free for air, his mouth and tongue on her collarbone was such a pleasant feeling; it sent a tremble down her spine. She wondered how he would feel rigid against the roof of her mouth as she drug her nails to his belt.

He traced the interior of that annoying fabric she still wore. He barely brushed against the heat of her when his brows jolted. Zipper down, her hand snaked in.

He was thick and hard, and his nostrils flared as she rotated her thumb over the head of his member. There was some pride to be had in watching his eyes dial and desire scribble its name all over his features. His fingers pressured spots white and then staining red as his hands moved again. He couldn't look away. The pace of the stroke, the look on her face… The gentle bounce of her chest from breath and motion. She made him ache in the worst way possible and left him dripping. He hated how she made his member weep all over the skin stretched between her thumb and index finger. He loved it too.

Joan gasped as his wrist flipped, a crooked finger sliding in easily. She visibly shuddered, internally collapsed all around his digit as it slid to the joint before retracting over and over. Even the pad of his thumb rotated over her pearl. Everything in her quaked. She felt his stare even when her eyes where shut. She hated how a second finger sank inside and thrust. She loved it too.

His teeth sank into her side. A tongue bathed over the bruise and perfect mark of his teeth under her ribs. Cool breath made her mewl. He pushed in. Her walls pushed back. He knew she was building fast and fierce. Tongue drug between the mounds of her breasts, he panted hard against her skin.

Her grip on his girth finally released, both of her hands were behind her on his knees. Those fingers of his were about to be the end of her. She shamelessly begged him not to stop, dripping all over his palm. Such a brutal and starved animal she was under sad eyes and a smoky voice.

He could feel her legs trying to close on either side of his own. He spread wider, much stronger than she was.

The brunette was forced to tremble all around him, her hands on his chest. Eyes locked, her face was a flurry of emotions. His name leaving her lips, she cried out from a less than affectionate thrust of fingers. She pushed back against his digits, quivering.

"Cum for me." His voice was a low whisper.

It was too much for her to hold in. She never thought she'd live to see the day those words would escape his throat. It made her clench, entire form seized. Drenching his hand was an understatement, shaking uncontrollably.

Brad's free hand cradled the back of her neck, keeping her steady. "Are you alright?"

Her nod was not very convincing. Fingers drawn out, her panties slid back. Sopping wet, as wobbly as a fawn fresh to the world, she stumbled to her feet. His hand caught her forearm, she never hit the carpet. Eyes lifted to him as she slid the soaked undergarments off.

The crease of his lips parting, the glistening tips of his two fingers responsible for making such a mess, slid past teeth. His tongue lapped along them, heavy lids hovering over his eyes. He watched her watching him.

So carnal, somehow she could believe that this was him. His own veil was lifted, finally crawling out from under his rock. "That good, huh?"

His pearly teeth bit down on those digits until they ached, lips enclosing to suck the remnants off. Her taste was as close to being completely intoxicated as he cared to be. Dumping off his shirt, he wagged a finger for her to join him once more.

In his lap, she was done with hesitations. Hips rolling against him, she left his length slick in her honey. It took a dark and husky voiced confession in her ear before she slid back and then on him. All of him, safe inside, filled her right to the brim. Stretched wide, the brunette had plenty of experience.

Her tongue licking up a bead of sweat near his pectoral made him seize.

His hips met hers, buried so deep, fingers digging trenches, bruising and abusing her skin.

She whimpered, a pained tone echoing out while previously skittering fingers clenched.

He ceased, pulling back. Sat up, his arms encompassed her lithe form, fingers snaking down to her ample bottom. Gentle affections wrote silent apologies along her neck and then her mouth.

She set the pace with a gentle rock of her hips against him. He sunk back onto the bed. Under her wandering mouth he let out his air in a sigh. The slope of his shoulder, her lips drug and half-moon eyes watched his close. He pulsed as she ground down and swirled around, muscles bordering the tension of piano wire. His mouth hung open, something he was unaware of entirely.

Neither of them intended to get lost like this together.  Forehead to forehead, sweat slicked them both. His eyes refuse to tear away, hypnotized by her using him for her own needs. He was so close, and yet so far from his own end.

She could have ridden him like he was her own stallion to whip and spur right across the finish line.

Their roles reversed. Behind her, a hand in her hair, he tugged her head back. Hips bucking, he met her halfway. She was a vice around him, squeezing and pressing. Nose against her neck, he buried as much sound as possible when his end came. She could feel every throb of his release, thighs shaking. Her heartbeat was in her head and he was dripping out of her when he pulled away.

She gazed at him, blinking under sweaty strands of brunette.

Something seared in his chest, heavy and hot. He felt it more for her now than ever. It was an emotion that didn't deserve a name. He closed it away. He couldn't form words, panting heavily. He wanted to. More than badly he wanted to tell her everything that was going through his mind.

What she looked like.

How he saw what it all could be.

Brad looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, a hand gently rising to rest against the side of her face. His mouth found hers without warning.

He kissed her how he should have kissed her so long ago.

She expected him gone before dawn, another notch on a belt.

Dawn came and went. She found herself alone, sighing. 

Figures...

The sudden sound of water running in the bathroom made her heart thump hard.

Flipping the light off, Brad was all bedhead when he crawled back in with her, his nose burying against the hollow of her beautiful neck. He held her like all children hold their favorite toy.

The one that kept monsters away.

She allowed herself to relax after that. Assured of sincerity, she drifted back to sleep.

Metal door swung open, Chris led the way into the back alley. Salt scuffed with his tread, snow everywhere on the ground. "Freeze, pot head!" He pointed a finger at the woman sitting on the trash can next to the door.

Joan's eyes rolled, a middle finger presented. "Blow me, pig." The air around her was permeated with the stench of marijuana. "What's up?" Her voice was strained as she held in her air.

Arms folded, Chris glanced to the woman closing the door to the alley. "Jill hasn't heard the story about why you're the saint everyone at the RPD prays to when Irons is looking to wreck their day."

Jill gave the pony tailed brunette a small wave.

Snickering, Joan waved back. A plume of white smoke escaping her lips, she smiled. "Oh, the story of Joan of Raccoon against the tyranny of Brian the Fat is a tragic tale." She jumped to her feet, the trash can banging against the ground as it spilled open. Somewhere in the dark a dog began barking. "Ah, shit. Oh well, I'll make the bus boy clean that up. So, anyway… It goes like this: I joined the RPD in 1992 as a beat cop. It wasn't a bad gig, I was rising fast. I transferred to the K-9 unit and did pretty well with them. Then it came time again to consider me for promotion."

Chris took a seat on the stoop.

Another long drag taken from her joint, the woman paused. "Irons didn't want women to rise above sergeant, let alone ever becoming a figure with some pull in his police department. Sexist shit thinks women should be barefoot, pregnant, and unable to seek justice for violence. He used to beat on his old lady. There was some talk about him hurting two girls in college but Daddy's money made that all go away." She made a dismissing gesture with her hand. "Enough about that though. About three years ago was when I was being looked at for promotion. He canned it immediately. He did the same to four of my female peers too."

"That's blatantly sexist." Jill stated, pulling at the label lining the neck of her drink.

"Yeah, it is." The Piper girl retorted, hands reaching up to smooth away some unruly locks of brown. "Anyway, we started digging around. It turns out that Chief Irons had his hands in several cookie jars. You know the Cedar district? That crazy fuck was part of the land grab that put a lot of people on the streets. Categorized it as commercial land, Umbrella bought every inch and started throwing up building after building. They brought their own people in from elsewhere, so no new jobs. Crime jumped in Raccoon City, and it was all people just trying to feed their kids with no money to be made. He had the boys in blue loading them up, dumping them off in Stone Ville so the mayor would shut up. All their kids were taken to the orphanage, so who knows what happened to them. Two female prisoners claimed he did something to them… He's a heartless bastard and it's my fault that he's not behind bars."

Breath fogged, Jill finally dared to ask, "What happened?"

"She pissed hot," Chris answered from behind his folded hands. "DA didn't think they could prosecute him when the officer making accusations also happens to be one that was recently fired by Irons for drug abuse."

Piper flicked the remnants of her joint over the fence. Her voice cracked as she spoke, "Umbrella started hiring people as soon as the riots became violent. Everything started going back to normal. The other female officers managed to get promoted eventually. I think the threat of serious consequences for him and Raccoon City was enough to make the man submit." Her hands dug into the pockets of her jeans. "So, if Irons ever tries to talk to you about 'duty' or 'justice'… He's a fucking liar who only wants to control his little 'Pleasantville'." She looked to Jill with a hard expression. "Him, the mayor, all of these big shots…"

"They're all liars. Every last one of the top tier for city officials and in the PD…All of them are cheats and liars." Chris noted softly.

Jill sighed a bit, lifting her beer to her lips.

Joan popped her lips twice before replying. "One isn't." She could almost feel Chris rolling his eyes, and it caused her to snicker. "I know you two haven't ever kissed and made up, Chrissy, but why won't you even try? Sending flowers goes a long way."

"Ain't happening." He climbed up, already retreating inside. "I need to piss. Have fun this weekend in Delucia meeting Brad's parents, Joan."

The sun was bright on the morning of July 25th. Joan's feet were kicked up along the open door of her old red Sunliner. Alanis Morissette was on the radio, telling her what she ought to know while she filed at an uneven edge of a nail. The drone of a helicopter high overhead had the woman poking her head out from under the canvas top. "About damn time, Brad." File dumped in her purse, she killed the engine and headed up toward the RPD.

It was another forty minutes before a familiar yellow vest caught her eye through the windows. "Good morning! Did you guys…?" Her brows quirked as Chris and Barry stormed past her. Jill and Rebecca could have used some buckets for all of the tears they were shedding as they ducked past the woman as well.

Was Becca covered in blood?

Frowning, she looked back to Brad. "Did something happen?" A million thoughts ran through her mind. Only one helicopter came back.

Another crash? Oh no…

"Where's everyone else?"

The pilot worried at the stitching along his flight bag.

[almostscrumptiouspeanut]

You'll never be alone

Part Three

Dean held him tightly to himself, making their bodies match perfectly. His mind was completely clouded by that unknown desire. He didn't know what to do, how to do it, where to put his hands; a man's body - Castiel's, because in that moment he was thinking only and exclusively of him, he desired him - was different from the soft and much more buttery body of the girls he had always dated. But he let himself be guided, by that visceral, passionate desire that set him on fire like fire on gasoline. And he felt himself burning, and wished that the other was burning with his own carnal desire as well.

"Dean," a gasp escaped Castiel's sinful lips, a prayer, an unfamiliar desire, and Dean decided to go along with it, to make his wish come true. Tight against his own body he began to walk in the direction of his own bed, still unmade, and mending the dream - definitely pushed - that he had experienced that night. A part of his mind told him that his imagination was nothing compared to reality.

And he was right, damn it! He felt lost, plunged into an abyss he didn't know, where he could only hear, see, want Castiel. They threw themselves on the bed, both panting, Dean almost completely naked, and Castiel with his shirt open over his muscular chest.

"Tell me what you want, Castiel, your every wish will come true," whispered, Dean, towering over the angel's body. Castiel's hard, rigid expression seemed to collapse, for an instant, as his mind was shot through with the least chaste and pure thoughts that could exist. "I-" he murmured, only to close his eyes and let out an unexpected moan of pleasure. He felt Dean's warm lips teasing him, now biting his earlobe, now licking the outline of his neck. "Touch me," he managed to say, in a whisper, laying down more on the bed, tensing all his muscles, showing himself completely at the Hunter's mercy. He wanted Dean's hands to touch him, to explore him, to love him. He wanted to feel her heat burning his skin, sending him into raptures, a slave to this new passion that only he could bring forth.

"Whatever you want," he murmured, Dean, peeling off his shirt and tossing it absentmindedly. He flew to the bed that had been occupied by his brother that night, and a small, amused smile rippled his lips. But the smile died soon after, when the sight of Castiel's - finally - bare chest caught his attention. Castiel's lean, shapely physique was revealed beneath him, a wonder to his eyes, but even more so to his hands. He slowly felt the hinted curves of the muscles, enjoying the shivers of pleasure that shook his angel. His. She truly understood the meaning of that word, possessive and delicious, when she heard Cas moan at her touch. Feeling him give in under her touch, lowering all the defenses he'd built up at the exact moment he'd realized he was starting to feel something. Feelings, unknown to angels, perfect beings who don't need to feel anything. Warriors, faithful to their God. He slowly explored each patch of skin with his lips, tasting the texture of the silky smooth skin, feeling his lips tingle with the light fluff that littered his otherwise white chest. Her hands ran to grasp his wrists, leaving him exposed and helpless beneath him, succumbing to that passion and desire he'd never felt, or imagined. He felt Dean's plump lips seal one of his nipples, squeezing it between his lips and begin to play and abuse it. Moistened by the other man's saliva, it swelled, leaving him breathless and with his mouth open in a stifled moan. "D-Dean," he moaned, closing his eyes and letting himself go completely. Every fiber of his body burned from the erotic caresses the boy reserved for him, every patch of skin aflame with the desire to be touched, explored, possessed. He wanted to be Dean's, completely.

The hunter's eyes raced to the angel's face, meeting the two pools of sky in place of his eyes, reading all the desire he felt, similar to his own. "Cas," whispered Dean in response, in an erotic prayer, a plea for help that only he could and should grant. Their lips met, in a carnal kiss, rough, devoid of any logical sense. They pressed against each other, in an attempt to feel, feel, feel, more and more. Castiel's eyes were two blue pools of desire, the pupil dilated, the languid gaze he cast in Dean's direction. And Dean couldn't help but grow harder and harder under that look of erotic pleading. The Hunter fumbled with the angel's classically cut belt and pants, quickly lowering them and leaving him alone with his underwear as well. He could feel the warmth of Castiel's body - yes, because to him that belonged exclusively to Castiel - and it only made the blood boil in his veins. Blind passion assailed him, and in a few moments he found himself kneeling before Cas. The angel looked up at him from under his long lashes, an expression both confused and excited at the same time. A mischievous smile formed on Dean's lips, slowly, as he completely undressed his little angel. That, broke the last barrier of demureness that had remained between the two of them; Castiel was now in his most purely human form. Undressed, proud in his nakedness and hardness, which couldn't help but draw Dean's incredibly ravenous attention. He brushed his fingertips over the angel's muscular legs, slowly moving up to the other, aiming for the pelvis. He felt incredibly powerful, and at the same time succubus: that's how Castiel made him feel, constantly. Victim and executioner. And it made him alive, damn alive. "I see you finally knelt before a soldier of God," Castiel's voice was hoarse, unsteady, uncertain. And here he too was showing himself to be succubus and executioner. Dean's short, hoarse laugh shook the angel's entire body, sending shivers of excitement through him. "I'm not devoted to any god," he murmured, before throwing himself down to taste the other man's sinful fruit. He slowly took Cas's hard, hot erection between his lips, sending Dean's taste buds into raptures. The smell of the angel there was stronger, intoxicating him with its pure essence. He moved calmly, slowly, assaying inch by inch the other's hard flesh, enjoying torturing him deliciously with a particular focus of his tongue. Cas was now a mass of moans and gasps, unable to decipher all the sensations he was feeling, new, hot, heavenly. He felt his own body burning under those laps, under Dean's sometimes slow and sometimes rough touch. "Dean!" he exclaimed, his eyes narrowed and his hands clasped in the other man's hair. He wanted to have him closer, to feel his own erection sink between the Hunter's wet, sinful lips. He wanted more, demanded more. "More, Dean...don't stop," he bellowed, disconnected thoughts devoid of all logic leaving his lips, until he reached his own pleasure, screaming his Hunter's name and pouring between his lips. Dean didn't move, he stayed and took in everything Cas had to offer him, enjoying watching him in primal pleasure.

He separated from Cas's body slowly, running his lips along the length of his still lingering, sensitive erection. Castiel, shaken but still lucid, could read the pleasure the human was feeling at that moment, and a sudden urge to dare pervaded him. With force, he pulled him against himself, then pushed him with his back on the mattress and positioned himself astride his pelvis.

"Don't be so smug, it's not over yet," he quickly released his of erection, towering, rigid and in need of attention. Moved by who knows what unknown knowledge, Castiel grabbed Dean's right hand, pruned two of his fingers against his lips, and began to suck and suck them hard, without taking his eyes off the other. Dean watched him with his eyes wide open, liquid with desire and illuminated by a new awareness. He couldn't help but groan ruefully as he felt his own fingers penetrate Castiel, slowly, allowing himself to be sucked in inch by inch. He closed his eyes, his breathing cut off by that new stimulation, and restrained himself from completely losing control. He felt Cas move against his fingers, in a slow, cadenced dance, penetrating himself with Dean's hand still clutched between his own. He felt him swaying, pleasuring himself and preparing for what would be Cas and Dean's real first time.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed as he felt Castiel lower himself fully onto his erection. He could feel with every fiber of his being, Castiel's hot, feverish body, his walls gripping him tightly in a deadly, erotic vice. He gripped his hips tightly as he felt him move on his pelvis, lowering himself deeper and deeper, letting every inch of Dean's flesh enter him completely.

"You... little bastard," he exclaimed, too intoxicated by Castiel's body heat. The latter looked at him mischievously, casting him a glare, before stepping closer to him and whispering against his ear. "It's me, Dean, I'm your only god," Dean's breath caught in his throat as Castile's words triggered new feelings. He growled hoarsely, before forcefully pushing him back, and beginning to work his way into him. Sink after sink, moan after moan, they both surrendered to what was pure reality: they belonged to each other.

"Oh, Dean," sighed Castiel, once again obnubilated with pleasure, as he pressed the Hunter's body tightly against himself. "Only I, Cas, only I can do this," growled, Dean, caught up in a possessive feeling unknown to him. He groaned, in a mixture of pain and pleasure, as Castiel's nails sank into his flesh, branding him again, on his back. With each thrust, harder and rougher, they pressed into each other, kissing and branding each other. First on his neck, on his shoulder, on his jaw, every inch of skin screamed the belonging of one to the other

"You're only mine, Dean," he growled, Cas, before pouring out again and staining their chests. Dean, not so far from climaxing in turn, tightened his grip on the other's hips, moving with quick, close hits. "It's you, Cas, it's always been you, my only God," he whispered to him, with a gentleness that clashed with the rough thrusts. They kissed one last time, before Dean poured into Castiel, branding him as his, forever.

They were both out of breath, too shaken by what had just happened. Squeezed in an embrace that was both sweet and erotic, they looked into each other's eyes. Just glances, no words, but that was enough for them. "Thank you, Cas," whispered, Dean, smiling softly. "What exactly are you thanking me for?" the angel asked, back, looking at him confused. "For believing in me, for believing in me, and for always seeing good in me," he said, before looking away, embarrassed. "I understand," Castiel said alone, taking refuge in his reflective silence. Their bodies were still intimately close, drawn together like two magnets so they could pull apart. "Dean?" called back Castiel, looking at him firmly. "Yes, Cas?" he replied, this time him confused by her gaze. "You'll never be alone as long as I'm around. I'll always be here when you need me. You'll never be alone," he said, making Dean's heart melt from a steel grip. It was true, he would never be alone, with Castiel by his side.

[aworldoffandoms]

For the drabble prompt I'm asking for #28...or #12. Or both together cause that sounds like a fun Tuesday. XD Stay wonderful!

Authors Note: This is adrabble from the drabble prompt challenge. It’s number #12 and #28. It’s myfirst one so please let me know what you think of it! (also be gentle haha)Thank you for the ask @harlequinash! This is quite long as my words got away with me but Iswear I’ll be brief next time lol. Hope you enjoy!

This drabble is separate from my series ‘Runaway’ but I’musing the same MC haha

[Edit: The outline and placing of stuff on this post are messed up on the mobile version yet seem fine on the desktop version. Just warning you :) ]

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x MC[Ariel]

Word Count: 1, 982 (give or take)

Warnings: Swearing, drunkenness

Lava 

The Queen of Cordonia could hold her liquor. She was a master at it.Being an American and New Yorker, respectively, she had her fair share of night’s out. A few times after long week’s ofcorrespondence with delegates, ambassadors and many insufferable nobles she lether hair down and dabbled in a few drinks to calm herself or have fun.

She didn’t know how Liam did it. He was the epitome of a king and thequeen herself? Well…let’s just say she was still learning.

It’s only been 6 months since the wedding and she’d been thrust rightinto the work of a monarch and she had been run off her feet since.

She was exhausted.

So, it was after a long day of meetings, a bill passing through theRoyal Council and a very long, detailed meeting with their Director of RoyalCommunications, that saw her sitting in the lower wing of the palace in the secluded bar just outside the copious palace grounds.

She was sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey in her hand, sipping onit slowly, thinking about her schedule tomorrow which consisted of brunch withthe Queen Mother and a few meetings she had to attend with Liam. A burst of exhaustionwent through her.

I am so ready for sleep…

“Heyoooo!”

A booming voice rang through the quiet space of the downstairs bar andAriel winced at the volume, her body jumping in shock. Her mouth pursed into ascowl, having enjoyed a few moments of silence before the hurricane known asMaxwell Percival Beaumont flew in.

However, as soon as she met the excited, blue eyes of her self-adoptedfun-loving brother, her earlier annoyance fizzled out to be replaced by abright smile. Maxwell’s energy seeping into her tired bones.

“Hey, Maxwell. What are you doing down here?”

Maxwell shoots Ariel a grin, nodding to the bottle of Russian vodka onthe shelf next to the bottle of Jägermeister. On further thought, Maxwellpointed to the Jägermeister as well. The bartender nodded, handing over bothbottles before putting down a shot glass.

Ariel stared at her friend, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Maxwell…whatthe hell are you doing?”

“Well, Your Majesty…I believe that for a woman who has been working ashard as you have deserves a load off so…” Maxwell pauses, reaching over the barand grabbing more shot glasses. “I think it is time for some alcohol!”

Ariel resisted the urge to groan. She could hold her liquor, yes. But Russianvodka, Jägermeister and the already two glasses of whiskey already buzzing throughher veins would not be a good combination in the long wrong run. Mixing drinksis always a bad idea.

Ariel gives him a long-suffering look. “Maxwell…that’s very thoughtful.But I don’t think that’s a good idea. I have brunch with Regina tomorrow and Ican’t afford––”

Maxwell interrupts her with a wave of his hand. “Bruch, smunch. Youdeserve this.”

“But––”

“No buts, Ariel. You need to relax a little. All that queenly stuff andpaperwork isn’t good for one’s social life.”

Ariel stares indignantly at Maxwell. “I have a great social life,Beaumont!”

Maxwell scoffs, a laugh bubbling up from his throat. “Yeah, because youhave to. You’re the Queen of Cordonia but that doesn’t mean you socialise withthe right people.”

Ariel raises an eyebrow. “Are you implying that you’re the right people for me to be hanging with?”

Maxwell’s grin grows wide. “Naturally.”

“Oh, Maxwell…” Ariel laughed, shaking her head at the youngest Beaumontbrother. He was so incorrigible. Despite how tired she felt, Ariel couldn’thelp the smile lifting her lifts. Maxwell was just that kind of person whoalways lit up a room with his energy.

Ariel finished off the last of her whiskey, setting down the glass witha soft tap against the bar. She groans as she stands up, her feet throbbingfrom being on them all day.

“Uh, uh. Where are you going?”

Ariel stares at him for a minute. “I am going to bed, Maxwell. I havestuff to do tomorrow.”

Maxwell rolls his eyes but continues to pour two shots of vodka forthem both. “Come on, Ariel. You know you want to…”

Ariel sighs, running her hands through her hair. “I have a feeling youaren’t going to stop until I placate you and say yes.”

Maxwell leans back, grasping the two shot glasses and handing one overto her. 

“You’re quite right about that.”

Ariel rolls her eyes, the hint of another smile on her lips as theyclink glasses and they both toss back the shot, the strong Russian alcoholburning down her throat as it went. 

***

“Maxwell…you a succhh a bad in-plueence on me…”

“Whaaat can I say, Ariel? I am one half of the Brothers Beaumont. Ihaaavve to be at least good at something, right?”

Ariel giggles, the sound loud in the room they occupied. They had movedfrom the bottom level bar to the drawing room next to it. Maxwell and Arielwere seated on the ground, their backs leaning up against the sofa.

“You know what, Maxwell?”

“What?”

Ariel lolls her head to the side, her mind a haze with the amount of alcoholshe had consumed.

“I think I could beat you at a game of lava.”

Maxwell looks at her quizzically despite his inebriated state. “Lavv-a?What kind of game is that?”

Ariel’s lips pull up in a large grin, her excitement growing. This is onegame that Maxwell wouldn’t know about.

Ariel pours herself another shot of vodka and downs it, slamming the glass on the coffee table before standing, wobbling on her feet slightly.

“Okay…now, I will teach you this custom. It was basically the childhood gameof all American child-renn…”

Seeing Ariel’s smile, Maxwell follows her, jumping up on his feet,himself almost falling over.  “Okay! Showme this custom of yours, Little Blossom!”

Ariel laughs, clapping her hands in childlike excitement. “Okay. Soooo…youhave to pretennd that..the ground is hot like lava and that everyything else isssaaafe. So…let’sss say I call out ‘lava’…then we’d have to find the n-nearestpiece of furniture and stand on it. The first one to fall down or trip loses.”

“Buuut…” Ariel says, lifting up a finger. “The last one to land on a piece of furniture has to take a drink.”

Maxwell smiles, nodding his head in drunken excitement. “Ooooh…let’s dothisss. P-prepare to lose, little blossom-m.”

Ariel and Maxwell begin on opposite sides of the reading room. Both ofthem in the middle, eyeing prospective places to keep off the floor. With themany shots of alcohol running through her system Ariel gives a devious grin toMaxwell and shouts at the top of her lungs,

“LAVA!”

With that yell, Ariel shoots away and jumps on to the nearest thing shecan find which was a cream coloured reading chair beside the fireplace. Maxwellhad found a brown oak coffee table to settle on. Both Ariel and Maxwell laughas they take turns in jumping on the furniture, shooting back vodka and yelling‘Lava’ a few times their voices almost raw.

“Lava! Oh, Ariel—watch out!”

In her excitement to get to safety on top of the sofa, Ariel missed herfooting and with the momentum of her upper body she tumbles over the back of thesofa and lands with a loud thud.

“Ow! That f-fucking hurt!”

“Craaap! Are you alright?”

“What in the world is going on in here?”

Ariel freezes, her body going rigid at the voice. She recognised it. Herface scrunched up in a grimace. It wasn’t many times that he saw her drunk butnow was one of those times.

Ariel thought it best to stay behind the sofa. It was the safest place forher to be right now.

Ariel peeked underneath it, seeing Maxwell standing atop the piano. Shestifled a giggle that wanted to bubble up from her throat but she slapped ahand on her mouth to stop it.

“Maxwell? What are you doing on the piano?”

Ariel sees as Maxwell stumbles for words, himself swaying on the pianotrying to appear sober but failing miserably.

“Um –– I…I don’t…you see…it was Ariel’s idea…”

Thanks a lot, Maxwell… 

“Ariel? Is she here? Where is she?”

Ariel closes her eyes as her heart beats widely against her chest.

Shit. Shit. Shiiit.

“She’s hiding behind the sofa.”

Ariel hears a sigh and feet hitting the floor before a shadow passesover her form and she inclines her head upwards and locks eyes with herhusband. His face was a neutral mask of stoicism but his eyes told a differentstory.

He was mad…but even in her drunken state she could see remnants ofamusement in them too.

“What are you doing down there, my love?”

Ariel stares at Liam for a small while and then she grins. “Oh, I’m justplaying Lava with Maxwell. You know…a game…with a few shots of vodka here andthere.”

Liam’s shoulders shake with a low chuckle and he shakes his head. “Ariel…whatam I going to do with you?”

Ariel smiles from her position on the floor. “Uh…maybe take me to bed? Ithink I had a little too much-h to driiink.”

Liam smiles, his blues sparkling with affection before he bends down andscoops his wife into his arms. “Come on, my queen. Let’s get you to bed. Youhave a long day tomorrow.

Ariel smiles, giving Liam a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “That sounds nice.I love youuuu…”

Ariel’s eyes were already slipping shut. She feels the low rumble ofLiam’s laugher against her ear. “I love you too, Ariel.”

***

Ariel awakens, her eyes throbbing and her head pounding. She felt likeshe’d been thumped in the head a few times.

“Ugh!” Ariel groans. “My head…”

Ariel tries to open her eyes but the light against her lids is painfuland she snaps them shut with a hiss.

“Sore head, Ariel?”

Ariel lies back down against her bed and groans. “More like a sorefreaking everything.”

Liam chuckles, leaning down to kiss Ariel’s forehead gently. “I’m sorryto hear that, my love. But unfortunately, duty calls…you have a meeting in an hour withRegina.”

Ariel’s eyes snap open, all thoughts of her pounding headache gone. Inher rush to get out of the bed, her feet tangled up and she falls to thefloor, her arms flailing about.

She lands on the floor with a loud thump. “Geez! Ow.”

Liam’s warm laughter fills their bed chambers and wraps around Arielmaking her shiver. “That’s the second time you’ve done that.”

Ariel pops up from the floor, giving her husband a questioning look. “Secondtime? When was the first time?”

“When you were in the bottom parlor and hiding behind the sofa?”

Ariel brings a hand to her forehead and scratches it in confusion. Theevents of last night all but a blur.

“How drunk was I?”

Liam grins, his eyes crinkling atthe edges with mirth. “Drunk enough to proposition me, strip down to your underwear before passing out.”

Ariel gasps, her head beginning to throb louder. “Oh. Sorry…” 

Liam chuckles, running a fingerdown her cheek. “No qualms about that, my sweet. Maybe another time.”

Ariel gives him a sly smirk. “I’llbe holding you to that.”

Liam chuckles, giving her a quickkiss before heading to the doors that lead out of their suite.

“I look forward to it. Oh, andAriel?”

Ariel glances back at her husband. “Yeah?”

“Maybe next time we can play ourown game.”

Ariel gulps. “I––I look forward tothat.”

Liam gives her a wink before slinkingout the door and leaves Ariel to take care of her throbbing headache and the fact that she had to appear sober in front of Regina when in fact she had a killer hangover.

This was going to be a long day,indeed.

[thatgirlkennedie]

Title: Hidden in the Dark

Rating: (Hard) T

Warnings: Implied self-harm, implied suicide thoughts, Prompto being sad

Notes: this is a little late but here’s some angst for Day4: Hurt/Comfort @promptis-fanweek

AO3

It wasn't a bad thing but it was weird for Noctis to receive a knock on his door at this hour. He was surprisingly still up for it be 2 am; Flipping through channels out of boredom, not expecting anyone over. He wouldn't put the doubt on it being Ignis since his advisor has done this before but also he had no reason for coming over. Ignis usually would at least let him know a bit beforehand if he was stopping by. Still, it's strange and now his door was being knocked on a little more frantically. He got up from his spot reluctantly and went to see what beheld him behind that door. He looked through the peephole first and well, it was dark and even with the front light on it was difficult to see except for the outline of what looked to be a man in a hoodie. He sighed; Worst come to worst he had his weapon on him. He slowly opened the door, leaving it slightly ajar before getting a full view of the person in front of him. “Prompto? What are you doing here?” And it's not meant to sound rude but really, it's not the usual time to hang out. Noctis wasn't mad at him at all, if anything, he was confused by this. Here stood his best friend who seemed… a little off from his normal self. “Ya know, just been walkin’ around, seeing the sights.” Noctis would have accepted this response if it wasn't two at night. Walking at night wasn't a bad thing to do, Insomnia was pretty safe, but Prompto’s behavior was skewed from his normality which was making the atmosphere a bit thinner. “Now what's the real reason why you're here?” Noctis spoke and it was supposed to sound like a lighthearted question but he saw the way Prompto cringe at the words. He then realized he still had the door cracked open so he opened it all the way but the blonde only stood there unmovable. “I… had to get some air. Being all cooped up all by yourself… can make you go crazy sometimes.” The laugh was a dead give away that something was wrong. It was too stale, too forced out to be genuine which had a pang of concern rise inside of Noctis. Soon though, Prompto took the invitation to go inside. Noctis watched him; Prompto’s movements seemed robotic like, almost stiff as he made his way and sat down on the couch. Okay, it's been about a week since they saw each other face to face. Partly from Noctis being busy with all the royal bullshit and Prompto well, the blonde claimed sicken some days and work other days which, if were true, made sense why hanging out would have been impossible. Also, they're just so used to being with each other every waking moment of the day and a week off felt like their dynamic had changed; Not good or bad but definitely something weird was going on. This was the quietest Prompto had ever been. Noctis figured he'd crack a joke by now but the blonde just sat there, head hanging low with no words leaving his mouth at all. Nothing more than a long sigh left him as he stayed silent which only made Noctis more worried. He walked over to the couch and sat down next to Prompto, waiting for some form of conversation starting. When he got none, he let out a sigh of his own before speaking. “Hey, are you… okay?” And he could tell that the blonde wasn't okay. The question posed as a means for an explanation. “As okay as I'll ever get.” Prompto mumbled out almost too quiet to hear. “What do you mean by-” “I quit my job a couple weeks ago…” Prompto stated his voice barely above a whisper. Noctis looked at him with bewilderment. A couple of weeks ago? Why would Prompto lie to him about working so much in the past week? He's, again, not mad but there's some confusion that lingers. “...What?” That's all Noctis could respond with. “I've been… having a bad day, a bad week, a bad life… things just haven't been going my way lately.” “Prompto-” “I just feel… useless. I fuck things up too much and… I just had to get away.” Noctis couldn't believe what he was hearing. It's unlike Prompto to speak so morbidly in his speech. He's known Prompto for a few years now and not once had he witness him doing anything but quirk the side of his lips up in a bright smile or pure angelic laughter. This, this was backwards behavior and he's so taken aback by it. “Prompto, where is this all coming from? You are an awesome person and you're usually so happy and-” “It was a lie.” Prompto’s voice rose, some heat behind his words. “It's all been a lie, I'm a fucking lie!” He paused to take a breath, turning his head enough to look straight as Noctis. “I've done some… dumb things in the last week Noct… I'm not proud of those things…” All Noctis could do was stare and listen in disbelief. He could only imagine the things Prompto got into and he really didn't want to believe it. “You gotta tell me. What have you've been doing this week Prompto?” He's so damn worried now and he just doesn't know the right thing to do in this situation. “You don't wanna know-” “I do. Let me help you with this. Please?” Noctis had grown desperate for some form of response that could bring light to this situation. Prompto was more than just sad; It's the sadness that Noctis hadn't dealt with since his younger days. That feeling of worthlessness and the dread of doing things or; He's gone through it, not as severely, but enough to pinpoint the symptoms. He had his own rough days sometimes but he could bare them for the most part especially when Prompto was there to help him too; Spontaneous recovery was a blessing in itself. He's not even sure how long Prompto had been like this or if he could even make such a recovery. “Did you ever feel a tug to your magic?” Prompto asked and it's an odd question. In true, Noctis never paid that much attention to when his friends used their weapons. If one of them was constantly using their weapons, then yes he would feel something but he hasn't in a while. “No, why?” He had a feeling he knew why Prompto asked this question but he doesn't want to admit it to himself; He doesn't want to speak the inevitable. “I-I…” The sigh that left him was more shaky, almost on the verge of tears.”I keep… summoning my gun and just… I'm such a fucking coward. I can't do it because I'm too weak but I… don't know what else I can do…” Hearing Prompto so devout of hope was heart-shattering. Noctis would have never guessed Prompto was going through so much; Even more so how well he hid it for so long. “Prompto, what are you saying?” And Noctis is caught between wanting to know and not knowing. If he knew exactly what was happening (and he could take a wild guess), he'd go straight to helping him. Not knowing would only stall the inevitable which wasn't a good thing to do; Not when Prompto is so deep into this mood. “I… I don't know if I can live like this anymore Noct. Life only served to kick me in the ass all the time and I'm not happy, I'm never happy. Happiness is so rare that I don't know the meaning of it anymore…” Hearing that just made Noctis’s stomach drop. He's only ever seen Prompto happy and seeing him like this was still so baffling. It's painful seeing and listening to how hurt Prompto was. It's been happening right under his nose with nary an indication of Prompto’s condition and he felt almost like a bad friend for not seeing the signs but even then Prompto never showed an inkling of his mentality faltering. “W-when are you happy?” It's a pretty broad question. Prompto had even just said the rarity of happiness was so high he doesn't even know what it was. More so, just the idea of Prompto even thinking about taking his life was something he'd never think Prompto would want to do. It's too surreal, too real, and Noctis wanted to do everything in his power to make sure Prompto would progressively get better. Prompto didn't respond to his question for some time. Noctis could see tears welling up in those tired blue eyes, slowly falling down his face as he stayed silent for a bit. “You're gonna think I'm crazy dude.” Prompto’s voice was unsteady, a spike of laughter began to emit from him. It's unlike anything Noctis has seen; Psychosis at its peak. “Try me.” “It's you!” Prompto had gripped onto Noctis’s arms. “You make me happy!” The gesture surprised Noctis but he let it happen; The words surprised him even more. Prompto had leaned into him, crying into his chest with broken sobs. Noctis glanced down a bit to exposes wrist, seeing faded scars and it's so telling what internal pain Prompto had been through. He held onto him tightly, never wanting to let go until Prompto could somehow instantly feel happy again but he knew it wasn't that easy. “You… you make me happy too.” And Prompto only cried harder into his chest. Sadness was definitely not an emotion that Noctis ever thought Prompto could muster up but here he was now, devote of hope, lost in a dark despair that Noctis knew was difficult to get out of. “Wh-why?” Prompto sat up a bit, clinging to Noctis’s shirt. “I'm… I’m nothing but a fuck up Noct. You don't need me, no one needs me . I'm a fucking waste of space that should have offed myself forever ago.” He went to pull away but Noctis pulled him back in for a hug. The prince held him once more; Prompto had gone rigid, completely unmoving. “You make me happy for being who you are. You've been through a lot and I want to do everything I can to help you not think less of yourself. I'll get you all the help in the world if it meant you'd be happy, truly happy.” Noctis voice was low, close to Prompto’s ear for sincerity. He felt Prompto shudder and the cries were back; Sounding a little less sorrowful, a bit more… gentle. “Noct… I'm scared, Noct…” His sobs were quiet and Noctis only held onto him tighter. “I know and it's okay, I'm here for you.” A yawn soon escaped him after he spoke. Prompto had sat up, wiping away the tears that stained his cheeks. “It's pretty late… I should go-” “You can stay here with me for tonight.” Noctis interjected. It's not because of how late it is but Prompto’s stability was too unstable for Noctis to let him walk away; He's doesn't think Prompto would do anything but just to be safe. Prompto doesn't even try to argue it and just nodded his head. They retired to Noctis’s room soon enough. Prompto stood in the doorway when Noctis entered, clearly unsure of entering. “I-I can stay in the guestroom, ya know…” “Yeah but… I just wanna watch over you is all.” And Prompto let out a sigh, acknowledging that it may be for the best if he did stay with him. Noctis changed and gave Prompto some clothes to change into. He saw the hesitation, a look of fear and uncertainty yet Prompto took them cautiously and went to change in the bathroom. Prompto returned, sheepishly walking in and Noctis really looked at Prompto. He looked thinner almost sickly like and those scars were more prominent running up his forearm. Those violet-blue eyes once sparkled now are all hollow, empty with despair. Noctis had gestured him to the bed and Prompto came slowly, sitting down on the sheets and sighing. “I'm sorry for all this…” “Nothing to be sorry for.” Noctis let out a sight too before getting into his bed. Prompto followed suit, making sure he was strictly on one side of the bed as far away as Noctis as possible. It's silent with only breathing being heard between them. Noctis had slowly scooted closer to Prompto as the time passed by. He figured Prompto was asleep but once he gently wrapped his arm around Prompto’s midsection, the blonde stiffened up. Noctis retracted quickly but Prompto scooted back into him to his surprise. This was comfortable; Prompto securely in his arms from any self-inflicting danger. This whole night had opened Noctis’s eyes to who Prompto really was and he was going to do everything in his power to ensure his safety and wellbeing. He wasn't gonna lose the person he cared so much for.

[tomatatoro]

Oh almighty napkin arm with googly eyes, I humble peregrin dare come forth with a request... could you make some character design breakdowns for some more realistic characters? Like your power ranger fanart? I tried to break them down on my own, but I'm not sure I did it that well... it's incredibly useful and interesting... Keep being awesome, and thanks for how you already helped me anyway!

Thanks for the patience, had to mull this one over. The more complex a design gets, the more difficult it is to break down. Basic character design tips may not be enough…so let’s delve into:

Character Design Tips Part 2!

Before we start, it’ll help to read my last character design post, where I laid out four concepts: shapes, silhouettes, colors, and inspiration. In this post, I aim to build on and rephrase these in a way that hopefully makes it easier to apply them. I’ll be drawing examples from my Power Rangers (2017) fanart to illustrate my points.

(Disclaimers:)

(Ideally, you should already be comfortable with drawing people. If not, look into figure drawing, gesture drawing, etc.)

(Whereas my previous tips were more tried and true, the tips here are more my own thoughts, so they may be half-formed.)

(Again, these are not rules. They’re just tips to add to your toolbox; the more tools you have, the more versatile you’ll become.)

Without further ado, let’s start!

Based off what we know about shapes, silhouettes, colors and inspiration, I want to cover: lines and angles, external and internal silhouettes, values, and references.

1. Shapes => Lines and Angles

Last time, I laid out three basic shapes:round, box, and triangle.

Problem: limiting yourself to these 3 shapes can be useful and fun for simpler designs, but they may be too simple or look out of place on more complex designs.

Solution: let’s go to the next level! Instead of shapes, shift your thinking to lines and angles!

Lines can be curved, straight, or diagonal.Angles can range from obtuse to acute angles.Follow your intuition: what feeling do you get from each line or angle?If I follow my own intuition, I see that:

curved lines = natural, soft

straight lines = balanced, grounded

diagonal lines = off-balance, in motion

obtuse angles = broad, relaxed

right angles = rigid, unnatural

acute angles = slim, dynamic

If this sounds familiar, you’re right! It’s just the shapes all over again: 

curved lines make round shapes

straight lines with obtuse/right angles make boxy shapes

diagonal lines with acute angles make triangular shapes

But lo! Since we broke the shapes into their smaller components, it’s much more flexible! Now we can use lines and angles for more complex designs:

2. Silhouette => External and Internal Silhouettes

Last time, I explained the silhouette test: if you black out the figure, it should still be readable.

Problem: blacking out the figure only tests the outline of the design, i.e. the external silhouette. But what about the inside of the design?

Solution: block in the figure and test for the internal silhouette! 

If you want not just an interesting outline, but an interesting costume, block in the major components of your design to see if it has a readable internal silhouette. This test can help you avoid boring or cluttered costumes and makes your design stand out. If your internal silhouette is too empty, try adding props or designs. If it’s too busy, simplify it.

3. Colors => Values

Last time, I talked about the 60-30-10 and 70-30 rules for color.

Problem: those rules work on the assumption that you’re only using 2 to 3 colors. But what if I want to use more colors?

Solution: good news! The same idea applies if you split your palette into 3 major values: shadows, midtones, and highlights.

Balance your palette by converting your colors to grayscale and applying the 60-30-10 rule to the values. This is related to the idea of silhouettes; if you get a nice internal silhouette, you’ll probably end up with a nicely balanced set of palette values, and vice versa.

(Fun fact! You can split your palette in different ways. In a watercolor tutorial, Miyazaki splits the palette into bright, dark, black, green 1, green 2, blue 1, and blue 2.)

4. Inspiration => References

“Good artists copy, great artists steal!” -Picasso

Problem: Coming up with something 100% original is tedious and doesn’t always give great results. It saps the inspiration right out of you!

Solution: It’s a lot easier to steal ideas from references!

Note: don’t just copy, steal! Cherry-pick/massage the aspects of the reference you find the most appealing and work them into your design. Ditch anything that you don’t care about. Make it your own! Make it something you can put your own name on! Below is the reference image I used for my designs:

And below is my fanart:

That’s it for now! Thanks for reading! If you guys want to see any other topics, feel free to ask and I can try my hand at it.

If you want to see my previous character design tips, click here.If you want to see the full-size Power Rangers fanart lineup, click here.If you want to see other character designs I’ve done, click here.