#i wasn’t at this part yet but i still reread it because i needed to draw this

[miiroren]

nah because alistair and gavin’s first kiss really ruined me

[a-spes]

Hi I was rereading devious lies and I was thinking ab if nat and yn were to meet again and everything, yn would have the biggest trust issued ever. First her best friend took advantage of her and ruined her life, then the ones she considered family turned their backs on her without even letting her explain her side, and ofc how her lover shouted in her face that she's not welcome there anymore and how yn shouldn't even talk with her anymore ever. How the last time the team looked at her it was with anger and dissapointment That and also from the first part where she herself admitted to feeling like a stranger amongst her once friends and family.

Idk what you have in store for us for when you're feeling better and out of the writing block that you're currently experiencing, but I can't wait to read it. Take as long as you need, we're here!

˚ 　 ⋆ ⁺ ₊ ✦ ⁺ ₊ 　 ˚ 　. ˚ . 　 ☁ . 　　. 　 ˚ 　⁺ ₊ ⁺ ✦ 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖘 ₊ . 　 ˚　. ✧ ⁺ ✦ ₊　 　 ☁ ˚　 . ⁺ ₊ ✧ ˚　 . 　  ˚　 ⁺ ₊ ˚

₊ ⁺ ✦ ₊　 　 ☁ 　˚　 . 　⁺ ₊ ✧ ˚　　 . 　  ˚ ˚ 　. ☁ ˚ 　. ˚ 　 ✩ ₊ ˚ . ☾ ⋆ ⁺ ₊ ✧   　　˚ ⁺

˚　 . ⤳ DEVIOUS LIES — Bonus part, 'the scars in our hearts' (6.280 words).

⋆ ⁺ ₊ ✧ ⤳ SUMMARY — Anon request — “ It has been years since the events, and when you eventually got the chance to go back with them, you thought everything would be the way it used to be. except it wasn't. three years, almost four, is a lot of time, and the people you used to know and the building you called your home do not feel the same anymore. Maybe you've been gone for too long to hope to find a place in their new life. ”

. ☁ ˚ ⤳ TAGS & WARNINGS — Natasha Romanoff x Reader, Avenger!Reader, Female!Reader, Other Avengers x Reader (brief mention of them). Bittersweet, (kind of) angst with comfort. Self-doubt, mental health issues, mention of bad coping mechanisms, toxic relations.

˚ . ⤳ MOODBOARD ⊱⋆⊰ MASTERLIST ⊱⋆⊰ TO SAY SOMETHING ✦ Part one. Part two. Part three. ⊱⋆⊰ the scars in our hearts.

˚ 　 ⋆ ⁺ ₊ ✦ ⁺ ₊ 　 ˚ 　. ˚ . 　 ☁ . 　　. 　 ˚ 　⁺ ⁺ ✦ ₊　 　 ☁ ˚　 . ⁺ ₊ ✧ ˚　 . 　  ˚　 ⁺ ₊

You’ve been told that you just needed a bit of time to adjust, because you come a long way, but they didn’t say how long ‘a bit of time’ was. So the months passed, they soon became years, and if you’ve still made no progress, you kept hoping. Every day, you repeat yourself that you only need ‘a bit more of time’ and that, soon, with just a little extra effort, everything will eventually be fine. 

Except that you’ve never been a patient person.

They made it sound easy. They made you believe that everything would go back to the way it used to be in weeks, and you’ve fallen for their sweet words because you were craving for them to be true. You have dreamed of that moment, and every day you’ve spent far from them was spent thinking about the day they would ask you to come back. It is a little fantasy you’ve been holding on to for the past few years, but the tears, hugs, and excuses you’ve spent hours to imagine never became a reality. No, you only got silent glances.

It has been almost three years since you came back, and it still wasn’t enough. Sometimes, you think about letting go of that dream of yours, the one that makes you believe that things could still get back to normal, even when nothing was —; but how could you do something like that? How could you possibly think about abandoning them again when they’ve been willing to give you a second chance? You weren’t ready yet to accept that the home you’ve been longing to return didn’t feel like it anymore, at least not without first trying your hardest to make things right. Thus you kept pushing yourself a bit more everyday, at the cost of your health — which seemed a very small price to pay in exchange for the feeling of being at home again.

Two years is not a lot of time in a human life but these years still felt like an eternity to you, and you’ve never been so aware of how long they have been as when you came back, realizing the gap that had opened up between you and the others. Your life has fallen apart that day, leaving you with such small pieces of yourself that you weren’t able to rebuild on your own —; but them? It is as if they’ve lost nothing. They’ve spent those two years building a life in which you’ve never existed, one that you are now supposed to find a place in. Every day is just a painful reminder of what you have lost, and will never get back despite your hopes. Your dream slipped away just when you touched it with your fingertips.

You have to accept that you are not a part of the system anymore, you are just the pebble that derails the machine, and that ruins everything —; but you should be used to it, shouldn’t you? To that feeling of shame and sorrow that your heart has been carrying for years, that feeling of failure and permanent disappointment.

Some nights, out of habit, you push the wrong door, and you find yourself in the room you used to share with Natasha. Once full of life, it had now become austere. Yet, there is something comforting about being in that room full of old memories, it is a bittersweet feeling that’s both like a heartbreak and a warm hug. You've never been much of a drinker, or at least you've always been careful enough not to get wasted. But you’ve made an exception tonight, because everything seemed to be too much, and you wouldn’t have survived the party if you hadn’t drowned everything in alcohol.

It is the way they kept laughing that got on your nerves, jealousy rising inside of you every time a new joke was told that you couldn’t understand “because you weren’t here” —; but Wanda wasn’t here either, and yet, she laughed along with them, why? Because she hasn’t lost her place with them, she is still a part of the family. They promised that they would tell their stories and explain their jokes later, because it was too long to do it now, but you were aware that it was just a lie to give you the impression that you weren’t on the sidelines.

It wasn’t very effective.

They spent the whole night telling stories that you couldn’t understand and sharing jokes you couldn’t laugh at, and while they remembered things that you didn’t have a chance to live by their side, giving you an overview of all the things you’ve missed, you were silently sitting on the couch, trying to ignore the knot in your throat. You didn’t even try to take part in the conversation —; what could you possibly have said anyway? You are not sure they would have wanted to hear about how miserable your life was when you were gone, how lonely and desperate you’ve been during these years. It would be an admission that you missed them, needed them.

Instead you kept your attention on the bottles of alcohol, at least they would never let you down —; that’s the advantage when the parties are organized by someone like Tony: you will never run out of booze. You were so uninvolved in what was going on around you, that you missed the worried glances that Natasha and Wanda shared, and they didn’t need to talk to understand each other, to know that they both had the same concerns.

Everyone does, but you’ve made it clear in your first few weeks back that you didn’t want their pity. There was no comfort in the way they looked at you and, quickly, their presence became too much. They were always there, never letting you completely alone despite the appearance and trying to meet your needs before you could even ask, pretending that they knew better than you do —; but they don’t. They have no idea of what you need, because how could they when you’re not even sure yourself?

The loneliness you’ve asked for isn’t more comforting, but at least it comes with familiar feelings, some that you’ve learned how to deal with the past few years. On the contrary, you still hadn’t gotten used to their presence, and you had no idea of how to deal with these contradictory feelings that were starting to grow inside of yourself. While a part of you wanted to lean in their embrace, the other rejected their overwhelming affection. A way of protecting yourself that won out, taking the form of uncontrolled anger and, after days of being yelled at and random objects being thrown at their faces, they’ve eventually got the hint that they should let you alone.

They’ve given up on you —; but that’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it? 

You can’t be sure, but you are trying to convince yourself that it is better that way. You’re not worth the trouble, and they definitely can’t spend all their energy trying to save you when people are actually dying outside. You would be fine, you would get through it —; right? Because that’s what you’ve always done, and there is no reason that this time would be any different —; you are strong, with or without them by your side. You just need a little bit of time for your scars to heal and then, everything will be back the way it used to be. 

Except that, despite the appearances, those thoughts never really left your mind. Sometimes, you think about your return and what would have happened if they hadn’t found you that day —; maybe everything would have been easier. For you, sure, but also for them. You are not even sure they would have accepted your return if they had a choice —; you wouldn’t have. At least when you weren't there, there wasn't that constant tension that now reigned over the tower, one that followed you into every room you set foot in. 

So you’ve made a decision —; you would rebuild yourself without them. You would make a new name for yourself, a new life, even if it means leaving them behind. There is this growing will deep inside you, the one that feeds off your anger and jealousy, and it’s the one to get your revenge. You want them to suffer as much as you have, to realize what they’ve done, and regret every of their actions. You want them to crawl back at your feet, begging for your forgiveness because you are tired of being the only one to make efforts.

You have waited so long for them to say or do the right thing, but the moment has never come because they can’t possibly understand your situation, let alone knowing what you really need to get better —; how could they when you ignore it too? Nothing feels right anymore. You have tried a lot of things but nothing works. Your life is now like a jigsaw puzzle whose pieces refuse to fit together. There is no way to make things go back the way they were, you could only keep on pretending. 

And so you did, locking yourself into a routine. Each day you alternate between training, going on missions or attending meetings, leaving yourself little free time. This hectic schedule has the advantage of allowing you to avoid the presence of others and keeping you from thinking too much while making you more efficient —; it is perfect, isn’t it? It is, most of the time but, some days, the illusion falters, and the facade you’ve built shatters, revealing the truth you are trying to hide.

That’s how you found yourself stumbling into your old bedroom, the one that now smells of dust, desperate for some comfort and familiarity. You didn’t even make it to the bed, falling miserably asleep on the carpet —; you didn’t have the strength to get up when you tripped over your own feet, too drunk to take more than a few clumsy steps.

⊱ ★ ⊰

There is only one person in the team who is willing to give you the space you asked for without agreeing to give up on you yet —; and it is Natasha.

You may not notice it, but the woman has always been here for you since you came back to live with them. It must be said that her gestures are minute, almost imperceptible, but they always manage to draw a slight smile on your lips without you realizing it —; she was perfectly aware that if you knew it was from her, you would start hating on those little things that made your daily life at the tower a little sweeter.

She is the one who always accidentally cooks more food than she needed, making sure there was always a portion waiting for you in the fridge. She is the one who makes sure that your favorite cutlery is always clean. She is the one who buys your favorite flowers to put them in the common room’s vase and never lets them fester. She is the only one who has taken the time to make you feel at home with a bunch of details that are so insignificant that you’ve barely noticed them.

But at least it helped soothe the guilt her heart carried, because these actions are proof that she was fulfilling the promises she had made to you a long time ago, in the secrecy of the night, under a starry sky, whispered words that has been immediately blown away by the wind —; “I’ll always be there for you,” she had said. “Promise?” you’ve asked, your eyes full of hope. “Promise,” she had replied before your lips touched, sealing the contract.

One she broke years ago, when she dragged you out of the tower without letting you a chance to explain yourself. The woman is perfectly aware that flowers and some meals won’t be enough to earn your forgiveness, but she still made it her mission to look after you from afar —; because if she doesn’t, who would? You don’t let anyone get close to you, and the others haven’t looked any further, giving up at the first sign of trouble. She doesn’t blame you for not trusting her, or the other members of the team, she just wishes that you would accept at least one of their helping hands. 

But you’ve rejected everyone. 

Even Wanda, with whom you seemed, at one time, to be getting on well which had given the redhead hope. Those hopes had been shattered the day you violently pushed the witch away without any clear explanation, and the woman blames herself for that, for not knowing what to do in order to help you —; because she should know, right? That’s her role, the promise she had made years ago.

If she can’t, if no one can, what will you become?

You may be able to fool everyone, including yourself, into thinking that you are fine, but you won’t get her to fall for your little tricks. She knows the truth. She can see it in your fake smiles, she can read it in your tired eyes. She knows you by heart, she hasn’t forgotten those years spent by your side, and she has become a master at spotting your bad habits and the sublet signs that accompany them. 

So, tonight, she couldn't have possibly missed how firm your grip has been on the bottles of alcohol, nor how quiet you've been the whole time. But it is only when she saw the door to your old bedroom ajar that she understood the extent of your pain. You were hitting rock bottom, you would have never set foot in this room full of memories otherwise. She knew this because she, too, avoided it like the plague, and hadn’t dared return in it since that day, not even to empty it. For five years, it had remained the same.

The woman is willing to give you the space you asked for as long as you are taking care of yourself, it is the silent promise she made, but it is obvious that you have failed to do so lately as she has seen you slowly falling back into your old habits. The ones she thought you had left behind, the ones she had helped you to overcome years ago. She is ready to accept that you could build a life without her, it is a cost worth paying if it’s the one to your happiness, but you haven’t built anything lately. Nor have you been happy, and she couldn’t bear anymore the sight of you destroying yourself, again.

The redhead is tired of the situation. She is annoyed that everyone is playing your games by pretending that everything is fine because it only encourages you down this dangerous path, one that may cost your life one day. She is angry with anyone who takes the easy way out, because it is obvious that it is easier to act as if all that history belonged to the past rather than acknowledge their mistakes.

At first, she had agreed to play along, but it was only because she thought that it was what you needed and that, when you were ready, you would talk to them. Except that it has been a bit more than two years, almost three, since they brought you back, and you still haven’t told a word about it. The woman didn’t know how long she would be able to put up with your silence on this story and your obvious discomfort.

But it seems that the sight of you asleep on the dusty carpet of the room you once shared was the last straw for the woman who decided to step in. You are probably going to hate her tomorrow, but she doesn’t care —; she is not even sure you could possibly hate her more than you already do. She would rather know that you are safe, even if it means losing you a little more so she decides to call your name multiple times.

It is the sound of her voice who wakes you up. It doesn’t matter how deeply asleep you were because you can’t ignore her when she practically screams out your name, and you are inevitably roused from your slumber. When you opened your eyes, a growl escaping your lips to signal your displeasure, all you could see was a blurred figure with red hair that could only belong to one person. One you could recognize anywhere.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, a mixture of annoyance and concern tinged her voice, but you weren’t aware enough of your surroundings to notice it. Maybe if your hand hadn’t been so heavy on the alcohol, then you would have noticed the tone of her voice.

‘I am sleeping, can’t you see?’ you grumbled, but as soon as the words escaped your mouth, the frustration was replaced by a laugh —; this question was stupid, you realize. Isn’t she supposed to be a trained spy, and one of the best, too? Then why couldn’t she see what was right in front of her? Something that obvious? 

Maybe she doesn’t know either because your question is followed by silence. Her only answer has been to sigh and pinch the bridge of her nose. It was going to be a long night, she already knew it, but wasn’t sure she had the energy to deal with that.

‘Come here,’ you said when the woman didn’t react. Your words were accompanied by the gesture of grabbing her arm in order to pull her toward you, the woman losing her balance because of the surprise. 

Since she had found you, you had never asked for her presence. On the contrary, you had rejected and hated her. At best, you would tolerate her presence, but only when your job didn’t give you a choice, and so this sudden change in your behavior disconcerted her, especially the laugh that escaped your lips when she fell on top of you —; it is a sound that she has never thought she would hear again. So pure, so sincere.

‘Get up,’ she coldly says, not amused at all by your little games. If circumstances had been different, she probably would have found your attitude endearing and stayed a little longer in your arms. Except there was nothing healthy about this sudden closeness after months of hatred, so the woman immediately got up, inviting — ordering — you to do the same —; the sooner she puts you to bed, the sooner she can get back to hers.

Tonight, she had no patience. The woman was exhausted, and frustrated —; you weren’t the only one to suffer from the situation. She knows that your clinging state is just an illusion, the result of the alcohol you’ve ingested, and that the very next day you’re going to hate her again. If she wanted nothing more than to believe everything would be okay now, and to find comfort in your arms, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not when she knew she would lose it all again at sunrise. This scene is only a chimera, a reminder of what she had lost several years earlier as the result of her own actions.

If anything happens tonight, you would both regret it. Nothing can come from the actions of two tipsy and exhausted people. Except that your mind wasn’t clear enough to realize it, and all you could think about in that moment was how you were craving for Natasha’s attention. You wanted her to wrap her arms around you and whisper that everything will be fine now, because she is here. You wanted her to promise to never let you down, again. Even if it is a lie. Even if, one day, she will abandon you again —; because that’s what they all do despite the promises, isn’t it? At that moment, you didn’t care about the lies, you just wanted something to hold onto, just an ounce of comfort.

‘I caaaaaan’t,’ you whined, but you didn’t even try to do so. When you stretch out your arms towards the redhead, she gets the hint that you’re expecting her to help you, which she does. The woman knows how stubborn you can be so she grabs your hands and pulls you on your feet, sighing.

Except that you seem to find the idea of testing the limits of her kindness particularly amusing because you make no effort to pull yourself upright, or to stand on your feet —; or maybe you were just that wasted. You’re barely standing when you fall forward, leaving no choice to the woman who has to catch you before you hit the ground.

‘Got you,’ you whispered, a grin on your face, when you felt her arms around your waist.

The thought of dropping you crossed her mind, but all she did was to playfully roll her eyes. The woman should be annoyed by the situation —; right? But how could she when you are so adorable? It has been a long time since she last saw such a peaceful expression on your face. Your eyes were half closed, you looked as if you were about to fall asleep in her arms, and there was a faint smile on your lips. You seemed so content, nestled in her arms with your cheek pressed against her chest, that she hardly dared to move, fearing to break this well-deserved moment of peace. For a moment, it was as if nothing had happened, and the sorrow on your face had dissipated, giving way to a childlike insouciance —; a sight that made her heart melt.

You are the one who broke the silence first.

‘I’ve missed you..,’ you whispered. A confession so unexpected that the woman is not sure if she had understood your words. When her eyes looked down, searching for yours, you hadn’t moved, your eyes still closed. It was almost as if you hadn’t spoken, and that the words had been nothing more than a figment of her imagination. 

‘Me too,’ she softly replied and, maybe, if you had opened your eyes at that moment, you would have noticed the tears that clouded hers — but you couldn’t do that, because you don’t want her to see the tears that you are trying to hold back, right? The one that would just run down your cheeks the moment you open your eyes. 

‘Please, stay with me tonight,’ you asked —; no, you begged. You’ve lifted your head until your eyes finally meet hers, both were shining with the tears that threatened to fall —; you are the first one to give in.

The mere thought of Natasha leaving you was enough to shatter your last ramparts. You have just regained her embrace, you don’t want to be forced to leave her now, not after so many years of hoping to regain the comfort you thought you had lost forever. You have been too stubborn to admit that you needed help, and so you’ve spent years pushing everyone away, thinking that you didn’t deserve their affection. It has been so long that you can’t even remember the last time someone held you this way, with such delicacy and care.

It gave you hope. The one that, maybe, for at least one night, things could be the way they used to be —; just tonight, or even just a few hours. You just want that moment to last a little longer, you don’t want to spend another night alone in your bed, in your cold and austere bedroom with a depressing atmosphere. You want more than that, you want a reason to stay, a reason to try again, and to get up tomorrow —; you want Natasha back. You want your old life back.

Except that the woman won’t give in. It is not that she doesn’t want to, on the contrary, she shares the same wishes that you, but her mind is clear, and she knows that nothing good would come out of it —; you can’t get back to what you used to have. You can’t change the past, nor can you pretend it doesn’t exist.

‘I can’t..,’ she softly replied after a second of silence that marked her hesitation, ‘you know that baby, we both,’ she added, the nickname naturally escaping her lips when she noticed that more tears were threatening to fall from your eyes. 

She wants to say yes, you can read it in her eyes, hear it in her silences —; then why doesn’t she say it? Why does she keep pushing you away when you are eventually ready for her to be back? Isn’t what she has wanted when she spent all those months begging you to accept her help? It is, but she didn’t want it that way, she didn’t want to take advantage of a moment of weakness on your part. She wanted to earn your forgiveness, to show you that you could trust her again, and if she had to work every day until she dies to achieve that goal, then she would do it. 

‘Why not?’ you immediately asked back, ‘you are here, and so am I, and- and our bed is waiting for us,’ you started rambling. You couldn’t speak clearly, the words racing through your head as you tried to convince her, but you knew it was a losing battle. You were so desperate that your hands clung tightly to the fabric of her shirt, as if it could be enough to stop her from leaving. ‘Please,’ you begged once more when she didn’t react. At this point, your voice was nothing more than a broken whisper, ‘just for tonight, we could pre~’ 

‘Pretend that nothing has happened?’ she softly asked, finishing your sentence, and all you could do was nodding. ‘But you know we can’t do that baby,’ she said, hating the way you were looking at her with so much hope, as if you thought that one night in her arms could ease all your problems —; but it can’t. It won’t. 

As she talks, one of her hands tucks a lock of your hair behind your ears. The touch is so gentle that you can resist, and lean into her embrace. The feeling of her hand caressing your head leaves too soon for your liking. 

‘Sometimes, I wish that we could,’ you replied, ‘that I could either forget everything, or go back in time to make everything right,’ you confided in her, sharing your thoughts with someone for the first time.

The words have barely crossed the barrier of your lips that you crumble, because you realize that this wish will never come true. You can no longer hold back your tears, you can only hide your face in the hollow of her neck, hoping she won’t see those. Only, each of your sobs shakes your body so violently that anyone could understand your state in one glance. The woman doesn’t know what to do so she cautiously wraps her arms around you and cradles your body in an attempt to sooth your sobs —; it’s the least she can do.

‘You’ve done nothing wrong, love, nothing was your fault,’ she whispered, and you can hear that her voice is feverish —; she, too, is holding back tears. She can’t bear to see you like this. ‘I am sorry, so sorry,’ she added while she rocks you slowly. Those words weren’t for tonight, and how she had to refuse your proposal, but they were for everything that has happened since that day. Those excuses were for all the things she has done or said since but, most importantly, for all the things she didn’t have the courage to do and the ones she couldn’t. 

⊱ ★ ⊰

The following morning, you’re woken up by Jarvis, his voice echoing through the room, terribly loud and impossible to ignore. A grunt escapes your lips, you were hoping for a few more hours of sleep —; or best, for an eternal slumber. The night before, like the rest of the team, you went to bed late, and the quantities of alcohol ingested are definitely not helping with your condition because you were the victim of a terrible headache. Only, it is impossible for you to ignore Jarvis’ voice. He has been calling your name over and over again for several minutes now, trying to get the attention you are trying to not give him —; but even with your hands covering your ears, his voice would pierces your eardrums.

‘You are not answering me, miss y/n,’ he stated the obvious, ‘do you want me to warn the others that you are sick? My sensors indicate tha~’

‘Please, Jarvis, shut up,’ you mumble, still managing to be polite despite the rising frustration, and you really hope it will be enough for him to leave you alone —; but anyone who knows the AI knows that these hopes are in vain. 

Nonetheless, you have to admit that he is right about one thing: you are not feeling so good —; but who would after attending one of Stark’s parties? He always says that if your head is not sore and your throat is not burning the next day, then you haven’t enjoyed yourself enough. Surely you have enjoyed enough to last a lifetime, although you are not naive enough to swear to never touch a bottle again in your life. Yet, you’ve thought of it for an instant, the lingering nausea making you regret your actions because it gave you the unpleasant feeling that you might throw up at any time.

God, you were weak. So weak that everything was feeling too much right now, even the faint sunlight making its way into your room —; it makes you want to bury yourself alive to avoid all these sensations, and to die. Except you can’t because you have a mission that is scheduled for today and, if you don’t show up soon, they will come looking for you, which is the last thing you want. You have spent weeks preparing for that, you definitely can’t let them down now, especially not because you are just too stupid to know your limits.

You have abandoned them once, you won’t make the same mistake a second time. They won’t be so forgiving this time, no one forgives someone who does the same mistake twice —; no one gives a second chance to traitors. It has been several years since you came back, but you still feel like you are on probation and you need to prove to them that they can count on you. You can sense their hesitation to trust you, even though they insist that everything is fine —; pretending that everything is the way it used to be. It is their new favorite game, but you hate it. Y

et, you don’t have much choice but to play by their rules.

‘Are you sure? Becaus~’ 

‘I said, shut. the. fuck. UP!’ you yelled, not giving him to finish his sentence, already reaching the limits of your patience, ‘what’s so difficult to understand in those two words?’ you growled in frustration, and you can’t help but throw a pillow at the walls. The gesture is useless because it doesn’t even manage to ease the tension you feel, nor does it convince Jarvis that he needs to stop talking because he starts lecturing you about your actions. 

Actually, the only way you have found to shut him up was to get up and join the others for breakfast. Fortunately, only Tony and Steve were there. They are the ones you are going on mission with today, and that’s what they were talking about before you entered the room.  Even though you would rather stay alone, talking about missions is something you can do with little effort because it is easy. You need your brain, but you can turn off your emotions. You do not have to worry about saying the wrong thing or how to avoid an uncomfortable silence. It is familiar, and comforting. It has been a while since you've been sitting at this table talking about something else —; when you are not talking about work, you stay silent. It seems that you have forgotten how to interact with them during those years. 

As they go through the details of the mission one last time, you are playing with your breakfast, not interested in the oat flakes floating in your milk, nor in their voices that forms a dull hum in the background, their words not even reaching your ears —; because you are thinking, your eyebrows furrowed with worry. Except that your state isn’t caused by the reasons they think it is, neither the alcohol nor the mission are in your mind, only a certain spy with whom you shared a moment last night. One you would rather forget because the simple thought of the thing you have said, and done, is enough to fill you with rage and embarrassment.

‘Hi to the moon, here the earth,’ Tony said, snapping his fingers in front of your face to get your attention, ‘were you even listening to us?’ he sighed, but you don’t notice any annoyance in his voice. Only a sickening worry that you can read in his eyes, a feeling that he doesn’t share and doesn’t hide very well. You hate it, when they look at you that way, as if you could break at any moment, as if they needed to be careful —; but you can take it. You can take everything, and you definitely do not need their permanent protection. 

‘No, sorry, I was lost in my thoughts,’ you admitted, giving him a smile that I hoped to be convincing enough to reassure him.

‘Do not worry, everything is going to be fine, okay? We will be here to make sure of that,’ Steve intervened, trying to reassure you about what he thought was the cause of your worries, but his tone didn’t feel comforting to you. If anything, it made you grit your teeth and clench your hand harder around your spoon, increasing your irritation. You don’t really know why, but Steve has been the hardest to get along with since you have come back, maybe it is because of his seemingly false sympathy. 

‘Thank you,’ you managed to mumble, even though you don’t really mean it —; it was still better than the snide comment that made its way in your mind. You even made the effort to smile, one that anyone could see as fake, but not Steve, because he never really pays attention to the others.

The words burn on the tip of your tongue, and you have to bite it to not shout out to him what you are really thinking. You want nothing more than to tell him that you are as capable as anyone around this table. You have proven yourself over the last few months, succeeding in every mission they have given you, what more do you need to do for them to have faith in your abilities again? Reach for the moon? Because you are ready to do it if that’s the price to pay. You are desperate enough to do anything they would ask. 

In reality, you are not worried at all about the upcoming mission because that is not a possibility. You don’t fail, ever, and if you need to give pieces of yourself and mind in order to complete a mission, then you are ready to do it without flinching. 

No, your thoughts were occupied by something else —; or someone else. Something that was more difficult to manage because there is no guide to follow. This person is Natasha, and the cause of your worries is the moment you shared last night because you have no explanation for what happened —; you thought she hated you, and that you hated her. Aren’t you both supposed to despise each other for the pain you’ve caused? Then why do some of you still yearn for her presence? Why didn’t she reject you and, instead, decided to take care of your mess? This even wasn’t meant to be. The redhead is the last person that should have witnessed you in such a vulnerable state, and yet she is the one you have sought attention from, the only one you needed last night —; and you hate that. You hate how your feelings are still the same even after so many years.

That is exactly why, the second the woman that is haunting your thoughts stepped in the room, you left it, pretending that you needed to get ready for the mission. There is no way that the way you walked out of the room, leaving your untouched breakfast behind you, didn’t bring questions to their minds but you were long gone before any of them could say something.

˚ 　 ⋆ ⁺ ₊ ✦ ⁺ ₊ 　 ˚ 　. ˚ . 　 ☁ . 　　. 　 ˚ 　⁺ ⁺ ✦ ₊　 　 ☁ ˚　 . ⁺ ₊ ✧ ˚　 . 　  ˚　 ⁺ ₊

˚ . ⤳ MOODBOARD ⊱⋆⊰ MASTERLIST ⊱⋆⊰ TO SAY SOMETHING ✦ Part one. Part two. Part three. ⊱⋆⊰ the scars in our hearts.

. ☁ ˚ ⤳ TAG LIST — @cd-4848, @chocolatestrawberrykryptonite, @escapereality4music, @fxckmiup, @gemz5, @jusnough, @m0nsterqzzz, @marvelwomenarehot0, @mrsrushman, @riyaexee, @takeyaki, @taliiiaasteria.

[letstrip-teamblue]

Treat you like a lady

• Your boyfriend doesn’t pay enough attention to you. Chris doesn’t like that.

• This is extremely cheesy!! That’s just how I am. Contains smut.

• Word count: 2,031

Sunday

Today is a weekend like any other; you’re lounging on the triplets’ couch.

The tv is playing as background noise. Chris is on his laptop working on new Fresh Love designs while you lay next to him scrolling pinterest. You've known each other long enough that you can enjoy each other's company without forcing conversation. Simply being around him allows you to relax, and vice versa. You can’t find that with many people.

A sex scene causes the pair of you to look up. You exchange looks and chuckle like teenagers at it.

Chris breaks the awkward silence.

“Is it actually that good or is she playing it up?”

“Don’t know.” I shrug and go back to my phone.

I can see Chris’s brows furrow from my peripheral vision.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve never had a guy go down on me before.”

“What?”

You look up from your phone.

“…What.” You echo.

“No, what do you mean you’ve never had head before? You have a boyfriend. You’ve had a boyfriend for 3 months.”

Your cheeks get warm.

Think of a way to brush this off.

“It’s not a big deal. Not everyone’s into that.”

He seems stunned, gaze focused on his sneakers.

“... Do you do it for him?”

A sigh leaves your lips, “Chris-”

“No, listen to me. If he’s not reciprocating then the problem clearly isn't that he's uncomfortable. It's that he's selfish.”

Who does Chris think he is that he can judge your love life?

“This is none of your business.” You scoff.

“I think I should go.” You stand up and grab your bag.

Chris doesn’t give up yet.

“Okay, forget about that part for a second. When’s the last time he took you out? When's the last time he surprised you?”

You're struggling to swallow down a still-beating heart. You're avoiding eye contact with an angry version of one of your closest friends, and you’re trying to block out the possibility that what he's saying could be true.

“I’ll see you later, Chris.”

7:00 pm

Chris: I'm sorry. I overstepped earlier. just think you deserve better.

You read and reread the message. Typing out a reply and deleting it. Maybe what you need is space. You put your phone on do not disturb and crawl under the covers.

Trying to distance yourself from Chris would prove to be a waste of time because you end up having a dream about him.

“Hey gorgeous” a voice whispers in your ear.

It sounds familiar but there’s no one else with you in this room, so you can’t match the voice with a face. Whoever it’s coming from, their voice sounds like silk.

You're twisting your head around to try and find the source. Whoever’s in here with you finds that amusing because laughter follows.

“I'm over here, goof.”

It’s him. He walks over to you with a smile on his face and those big blue eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you asked

“I just missed you.” he says as he grabs your hand and twirls you around.

1:12 am

Well, that’s a first.

Monday

Chris opened the front door.

“Hey, I’m so glad you wanted to come over.” He said smiling.

Your face however wasn’t as cheerful.

“Yeah about that,”

You cleared your throat and walked inside.

“I think we should spend a little time apart. Like a refresh.”

His expression dropped instantly. You can’t keep eye contact. It’s too hard.

“What?”

“It’s not personal, it’s-”

“Did he put you up to this?”

“Chris , this is my relationship, stay out of it.” You say sternly.

“How can I when you’re all I think about?”

The air in the room gets thick.

“What?”

“I mean,” He scrunched his eyes and rubs his forehead. Flipping through the pages of his brain for the right words.

“I could treat you better than him.”

You laugh, “What are you talking about?”

He slowly brings his hand up and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“You know it’s true.”

He takes a step toward me, his breath on my cheeks.

“I can make you feel good.”

You involuntarily gulped, which caused him to smirk. He tries to hide it.

Your mouth moves but no sound emits from it. You feel paralyzed.

He must be bluffing… right?

“Let me show you.” he whispered, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You don’t know exactly when he stepped closer but your noses are now touching.

I need to stop this.

“I have a boyfriend.” You say in a meek voice.

Chris very lightly put his right hand on your stomach. You can feel the warmth of his large hand through your shirt.

“Does he make you nervous like I do?”

Chris' eyes fall to your lips.

“If you want me to stop, I will. Just say the word.”

Shit.

Soft, pink lips touch yours. You don’t kiss back but don’t run away either. Just wanting to take in the dimensions and texture of his lips. He starts to pull back.

Wait, don’t go anywhere.

You press your lips forward, chasing him.

It makes him smile into the kiss, which in turn makes you smile. The weird sensation causes you both to start laughing.

He straightens up.

“I wanna be with you too. Wo don’t know why I was ever with him in the first place.”

Chris can’t contain his smile. He covers his mouth.

“Sorry. I know I should be more… apologetic? I guess? But I’m not. I want you all to myself.”

“Yes, you've made that quite clear.”

You pull Chris back in for a kiss by his hoodie, it makes his insides stir. He places both his hands on the sides of your face, deepening the kiss.

You pull back for air.

“I should go tell him it’s over before things go any further.”

“Ok.”

But Chris goes right back to kissing you. Sliding his thumb across your cheek.

It’s so dreamy. You have to will yourself to stop.

“Ok I’m serious this time!” You chuckle. “Can I come back tonight?”

“I’d really like that.”

4:15 pm

Me: just left his house. whew.

Chris: im proud of u and so grateful.

6:00pm

“How long have you liked me?”

“Almost our entire friendship. I don’t think I realize it until you started dating Andrew.”

Laying on Chris’s chest is the happiest you’ve felt in months. You two have been talking about all the things that made you fall for each other. He’s been rubbing your back for the past 20 minutes but decides to put his hand under your shirt to enhance the feeling.

You sighed and relaxed even more on top of him, closing your eyes.

“Damn, you have some knots right here.”

“Ugh, yeah. That’s where I carry stress.”

“Here, lay on your stomach. I bet I can relieve it.”

Chris moves so you can lay flat. Once you’re comfortable he straddles your hips and brings his hand to the hem of your shirt.

“Is it ok if I bring this up?”

“Mhm.”

He lifts your shirt to where your bra starts ,then gets to work.

Maybe it’s the skin to skin contact, or the fact that your muscles were tense, but his hands feel heavenly. You can’t help but let out a string of sighs.

“That feeling good?”

“Yes, oh my god. Thank you so much.”

He chuckles. “Anything for my girl.”

After a few minutes of the same motions he decides to explore new territory.

He rubs his hands over your hips, your ribs, and now your thighs.

“Seems like there’s a lot of heat coming from your legs, baby.”

“You’re such a good massager it’s hardly my fault.” You tease back.

You try to close your legs together but he doesn’t like that. Keeping a hand right between them.

He brings his mouth right next to your ear. Lowering his voice.

“Do you need relief somewhere else, baby?”

While he talks he maneuvers his hand so it’s nearly flat against your clothed center.

You try to keep it together. You can’t already be at a loss for words.

You nod into his pillow.

“Turn over for me. Let me see that pretty face.”

Your cheeks heat up immediately as you position yourself on your back. The two of you make eye contact and any anxiety you had about intimacy with Chris is gone.

“We can stop whenever you want.” He says before kissing you.

“Let me show you how a real man behaves.”

He smirks and lowers himself to your stomach. Kissing your happy trail. Leaving tiny bites.

Since you’re wearing sweats he slides them off in seconds, taking your underwear with them. He tosses them over his shoulder and they hit some things in his dresser, causing them to fall. It makes you giggle but Chris is entranced by the sight before him.

“Jesus Christ.” He says to himself.

He runs his nose where your leg meets your hip. Kissing further and further. Creating a puddle before he even touches you. He licks your inner thighs. Painting them with purple marks.

Finally, his mouth is where you crave it. He’s apprehensive at first but once you let out your first moan it’s all over for him.

Chris sucks your clit and your mind goes blank. Nothing ever felt like this before.

“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from me.”

When he goes back down he licks a stripe from the bottom of your pussy to your clit.

Your back arches off the bed.

“That’s it.” he says into my skin.

He’s lapping at your folds like it’s water and he’s been in a drought. Grabbing onto your thighs to make sure you don’t go anywhere. Not that you'd want to, but his actions do cause quite a bit of squirming.

“God, you’re everything.”

It almost seemed like he was saying it to himself. Like he couldn’t believe youre real.

“Next time you want something done right, come to me.”

“Fuck yes.” You moan.

When he lifts his face up again, your juices are dripping down to his neck. You’re so mesmerized by the sight you don’t register what he's saying. It just sounds like white noise.

Chris tsks.

“Looks like I fucked you dumb, huh? Poor thing.”

“Shut up.”

You push his face back down. He starts fucking you with his tongue.

“Yes ma’am.”

Jesus

Your thighs tighten around his neck, he squeezes them back as a response.

“You taste so sweet, baby. Like syrup.”

You can’t do anything more than whimper and grind into his face.

Chris grabbed the hand that was clenching the bedsheets and guided it to his hair. You happily thread your fingers through.

He touches you like you're all he asked god for. The sounds coming from you are his favorite song. This is the alchemy he does.

“Oh god,” your voice goes up an octave.

“Are you gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

“Please, so close.”

“Cmon, be a good girl and cum on my face.”

He made you a whimpering mess. Arousal dripping down your legs, down his lips, on the sheets. Chris continues to reach his tongue deep inside you while drawing figure eights on your clit.

In an instant your vision goes black.

The next minute was spent shaking and catching your breath. Goosebumps littered all over my body.

You don’t know when but at some point Chris must’ve turned you so you were laying on your side. He pulled a lightweight blanket over you and was now playing with your hair.

“Hey pretty girl.” He said softly as you opened your eyes.

“Hi”

“You did so well for me.” He kisses your forehead. “I’m so proud of you. Don’t move.”

He quickly wet a washcloth and grabbed a water bottle.

You could drift off to sleep at any moment, but Chris made sure to clean you up first.

It felt nice to be taken care of for once. He made sure you were warm enough. every few minutes he laid kisses on your face. You were too tired to say anything but he could see how happy you were. That was enough for him

[arysbruv]

Can we be friends?

You were a relatively newer student. You normally kept to yourself but you always dreamt of being friends with the main trio, especially with the infamous Suguru Geto. Yet, he always seemed to hate you, even when you openly showed you felt the opposite.

Pairings: suguru geto x f!reader

Warnings and whatnots: fake friendship, Geto still being mean. Geto low-key being jealous but denying it because it’s geto. Use of the term monkey (by geto ofc) Not proofread! Maybe will make a part 3? Geto being oblivious to his feelings.

Chapter 1: Are we still friends? <;- read first! Chapter 2: [currently reading] Chapter 3: sorry, not sorry Chapter 4: green looks good on you. Chapter 5: Runaway Chapter 6: Burn.

Your eyes widen at the text you had received last night. After the whole ordeal yesterday, you had quickly collapsed on your bed and fell asleep, not bothering to change your clothes or check your phone.

What a big mistake.

Your fingers hover over the screen as you read the text message over and over again. It was real. You weren’t dreaming.

You needed to respond.

y/n : hii, sorry I didn’t see your message last night.

y/n : yeah I’m free today at like 2-3 pm. why?

You breath out a sigh, as you put your phone down, thoughts racing through your head faster than an F1 car.

The sound of your notification rings through the room, causing you to quickly seize your phone.

Suguru 💔 : meet me at the cafe at 2:30.

Suguru 💔 : I need to talk to you about something.

You weren’t sure what to do. You quickly answer, agreeing. You flop onto your bed, eyes staring onto the ceiling on top of you. Confusion filling you.

What the hell did he want from you?

Insufferable. Annoying. Wasn’t that what he called you? He didn’t want to be near you anymore right? Then, why was he randomly messaging you to meet him.

It all confused you. You punch your bed, frustrated. You didn’t know what to do. Did you really want to meet him again, alone? He said meet him, not him and his friends, meaning he would be alone.

You grimace and grumble, why does he have to be so damn confusing! You sit up, rereading the message again.

2:30 in the afternoon.

You sigh, standing up, stretching your body.

Annoyance replaces the frustration as you realise what you had just agreed to.

What in the world did you get yourself into?

~

You enter the cafe, hands fidgeting on your bag. You scout out the long black-haired man.

You eventually spot him near the corner, reading a book. Blood rushes to your face as you observe him. You curse your body for having a reaction to seeing him like that. Yet, it made sense.

He looked well-groomed today. His hair tied back into a man bun neatly, one strand freed and covering part of his face. He was entranced by the book, not bothering to look up at you, who was staring at him from the door.

“It’s rude to stare.” He suddenly voices out, pulling you out of your catatonic state. You look away, embarrassed for getting caught staring.

Right. He was still an asshole.

He looks up, closing his book and putting it on the coffee table in front of him. He gestures for you to sit in front of him, which you hesitantly agree to. Like normal, his eyes carried no emotion. It was impossible to read him and understand what was going in that head of his.

“What’d you call me here for?” You say, taking a seat in front of him. Your tone civil as you try your hardest to hide your still prominent feelings for him.

He gives you a smirk. Ugh! Was he trying to lead you on?

“I think we both know that we aren’t exactly on the best of terms.” He says, leaning in front. “So, I want to fix that and befriend you again.”

Huh.

He wanted to befriend you… again. Did you hear that right?

You stare dumbfounded at him. Was he being serious.?You purse your lips, looking at him uncertainly.

“Why do you randomly want to be friends with me again?” You say quietly, unsure of what he was getting at. Surely, there was something that he needed.

“Look, I uh… I think it would be better for us to be friends again. You’re a good girl, and I think that you’re a nice friend. Thus, I don’t want to have to lose you because I made a mistake with my words months ago.” He says. “Besides, Shoko needs another female friend.”

You continue to stare at him. What he said made sense, and this was definitely an optimal chance to get back into the friend group, but something felt off.

“But… You don’t like me in general.” You state plainly, tilting your head at the man in front of you.

His eyes widen as he hears you say that, his mouth opens slightly, before he quickly closes it. To be completely honest, he never thought you would be so blunt on pointing out his faults and disdains. It was true he didn’t really fancy your presence but he thought he kept it secretive enough. Not to mention, he thought you would accept his friendship in a heartbeat with no issue. Isn’t that what you wanted? To be close to him?

You stare at him expectantly. You know you had hit the nail as he stayed silent after your statement. Yet, to know that he actually didn’t like you, it hurt.

“I can’t say that you’re entirely wrong but…” He leads, the first few words already stinging your heart. You didn’t know why you thought wanted he would reject your words and say that you were wrong. You should’ve known better than that.. “I think it’s better for the whole class that we at least pretend to be friends. Shoko and Satoru desperately miss you for some reason.”

You stay silent, the words ringing through your head before you finally process it after a few seconds. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“So… can we be friends?” He asks, looking you in the face, the look that always caused you to blush.

“Fine by me.” You say, standing up, trying to quickly leave the cafe before it became obvious on the fact that you still somehow had a crush on that curse eater.

He, thankfully, let you leave.

~

You stood outside of class, staring at the door. It was the first day of school after agreeing to be friends although fake with Suguru Geto.

You know you had to enter soon, but the prospect of seeing him again and having to talk to him was nerve-wrecking.

“Why are you staring at the door?”

You jump at the sudden voice, turning back to see the man you were trying to avoid behind you. He looked at you weirdly, tilting his head.

“I- I was just thinking…” You say, looking in front indignantly.

He raises an eyebrow at you before opening the door, ushering you inside.

Satoru and Shoko were already in the classroom. They smile at the both of you and wave you over to sit with them. You, gratefully, take a seat beside Shoko. As per usual, you stay quiet, listening to them talk and squabble. You started zoning out as their discussion continued on.

“Well, what do you think y/n?” The mention of your name snaps you back to reality. You look at Shoko who had called you.

“I’m sorry- I was blurred out, what did you say?”

“Since the school break is happening soon, we wanted to go on a roadtrip around Japan. Though, it’s either that or we do something else. So… what do you want to do?” Shoko explains.

“Come on y/n, say yes to the roadtrip! I’ll even pay for all your expenses!” Satoru adds on, giving you a pleading look. You smile at him.

“Sure… I wouldn’t mind.”

Satoru gives you the widest grin before hugging you. You laugh at him, accepting the hug. You glance at Shoko who rolls her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips.

You live in that moment for a while. Not realising how Suguru was staring at your enveloped figure. Something inside him burned as he watched Satoru hold you in a tight hug. He shakes away the thought. It must be because Satoru is holding you. Satoru is his best friend, why would he want his best friend holding a filthy monkey?

The road trip was planned and scheduled. For the first time in a long time, you felt a sense of belonging. The plan was to sleepover at Suguru’s old house and leave early the next day. That was the reason you stood in front of Suguru’s house, your trunk in hand. You tapped nervously on the hard leather cover of the trunk as you waited for someone to open the door. Satoru and Shoko were already there as they were used to going to his house. You, were not.

The door opens, Suguru standing in front of you. Your breath hitches as you see him.

He looked beautiful. His hair down and in a comfortable black sweatshirt. His eyes looked tired but it was obvious he had been smiling as his laugh lines looked more obvious than usual.

“Oh. You’re here.” He says.

You give him a small smile. He stands to the side, letting you in. Before you could even take a look around, he grabs your shoulder, pulling you near. Your eyes widen as you feel his hand grabbing you back.

“Listen. I know we’re ‘friends’ and all, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t exactly like you. So, don’t get any wrong ideas okay? We’re just friends.” He says sternly, looking down at your face. His eyes softening for a second as he took a proper look at your face. He had never seen it that close before. He had to admit you were pretty but no. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not you, not after everything he had said.

You pull away from him, failing to notice how his eyes saddened as you remove yourself from him. Why did he feel that way? He didn’t like you.

“I get it man. We’re friends. I’m fine with that.” You say, glaring at him.

“Good.” He says, ignoring you as he brings you up the stairs to his room where Shoko and Satoru played UNO on the floor.

“y/n! You’re lateeee” Satoru drawls out, patting the spot next to him for you to sit down. You agree, sitting beside him as you watch him and Shoko play a game of UNO. Satoru, getting increasingly frustrated with losing, not knowing Shoko had been secretly passing you cards to hide.

“This game is rigged!” Satoru shouts out after his 11th time losing. “Let’s do something else!”

You laugh, nodding at him. Suguru’s hand twitching as he hears your laugh. He keeps quiet.

You all decided to watch a movie before falling asleep soon on the floor. It had been ages since you had this much fun. As you stare into the ceiling, the world around starts getting darker before eventually you fall into a deep slumber.

~

You awoke to the sound of something moving, you open your eyes, catching a shadow of man walking towards the door before closing it. You sit up, feeling curious on who had left the room. Your throat felt dry.

You needed a drink.

That was your reasoning. Surely there was no other reason for you to follow a shadow that was most definitely Suguru downstairs to the kitchen. You were just thirsty.

You quietly head down the stairs, catching a glimpse of Suguru at the counter of his kitchen, drink in hand. He looked so… broken.

Maybe you didn’t need a drink.

“I know you’re there.” He says.

Nevermind, you did need a drink.

“My throat… I wanted a drink…” You say softly, showing yourself. He looks at you, his eyes showing the distinct look of sadness.

He nods, pushing the jug of water near you and grabbing a cup for you. You poured the water in and took a sip. The air of awkwardness surrounding the both of you as you both stood drinking water.

“Are… Are you alright?” You ask, breaking the silence. He keeps quiet, taking a sip.

“I’m fine.” He says solemnly after a while. You knew better to fight him about it.

After a while, you left to go back to sleep, leaving Suguru all alone downstairs.

It enraged him. Why did you leave him? Why did you stop showing him affection? You were supposed to like him, not ignore him! You… You and your stupid laugh. The laugh that only happened near him but never because of him. The sincere smile that you gave others but not him.

It’s not fair.

It’s not fair, why did they get it but not him?

He hated it.

He hated you.

He didn’t like you. No, you were supposed to like him. That’s how it was supposed to work.

You had to like him. He wanted your attention, your affection, your love. He wanted your all.

So, why weren’t you giving it to him?

Why were you making him give his to you?

part 3

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Can we please get a yandere alucard part 4 🥹🥹 Prettyyy Pleassee 🥹🥹🙏🙏

& Anonymous D asked: Is there a chance you will continue the yandere Alucard x reader storyline part 4? I’m sorry. I’m just so invested in the story. Your writing is good. - D

A/N: It’s been a while so I had to go back and reread/refresh myself. Here they are Part One, Part Two, and Part Three for you to read if you also need to catch up. Or you can use the tag: ‘yandere alucard’ on my blog to see all of the Yandere! Alucard-themed writings I’ve done. 

And a HUGE THANK YOU to @allthegoodbobdylanlyricsaretaken, my lovely beta-reader for this installment. Not only were they kind enough to offer to read this over for any grammar/writing mistakes, but they were so patient with me! I had writer's block pretty bad in the middle of this, and they were sweet enough to give me encouraging reminders. To them- I am so incredibly grateful! Normally, I finish something and just throw it up, so I want you all to know they are why this piece comes off as much more polished. 

I also wanted to thank @rl800 for commenting on Part 3, about how they hope Y/N’s father eventually gives Alucard some sort of blessing for a relationship with his daughter. I was initially planning on killing him off early, but because I like rl800’s suggestion better, I’ve changed my idea for this part to include Y/N’s father as a contributing character. Oh, and as always...

TW!: This is a fictional work about a fictional character. Manipulation and abuse in real relationships are never okay, and it’s never your fault. If you need help, please click on any of these: [x] [x].

Word Count: 3.2k 

If you’d like ambiance for this part, check out this link: [x]. 

*    *    *    *    *    * 

You were rather disheartened to learn that what your Father had was phthisis. 

The white plague. 

Of course, in the back of your mind, you supposed you had considered such reality a possibility, but you could not bring yourself to admit as much. You suppressed those sobering thoughts with various dissensions. 

If it was the plague, how come it wasn’t sweeping through the entire town? Why hadn’t you yet fallen ill? If it were truly a plague, then perhaps it was a milder strain?  

You had warded off accepting the unspeakable for so long that, even now that it was true, a good degree of your mind still refused to believe it. Surely, Alucard was mistaken in some way, despite his seemingly infinite wisdom. It simply could not be true. Then again, your heartache alone could not change the circumstances. 

You were grateful to be shown to your room quite soon after learning the true nature of your Father’s condition. The devastating revelation was the straw that broke the camel’s back— its brutality kicked you in the teeth— unveiling the weeks of fatigue that had been slowly gnawing at your battered bones. Besides the reprieve for yourself, you were extremely thankful to now have aid in caring for your Father, your cordial hosts’ compassion for your father’s condition released the short leash you had once ensnared yourself with, the one keeping you tethered to his bedside. Now you were free to sleep in your private bedroom, hell, on your private floor.

Seated on silky luxurious sheets, feeling the soft night shift’s fabric against your skin, you were forced to reconcile with the present reality: you were only a guest in this opulent room because your Father was ill, and at this point, there was nothing left you could do for him. In all honesty, it sounded as if there was little Alucard could do either. So much of the situation felt hopeless, despite your newfound companion’s assurances to the contrary. 

Alucard announced, quite casually, that should you need anything else, or if he could be of any more assistance to you, his bed chambers were just a few paces down the hall from your own. 

This sense of freedom was foreign to you, and it felt rather suffocating to be seated upon such a luxurious throw, all by your lonesome. Yes, you knew your Father was sick, and quite possibly contagious, but you had yet to catch anything at this point. What would be the harm if you spend an hour or two with him? For all you knew, you could have become immune to this illness. 

Earlier in the evening, you had asked Alucard if he truly expected you not to visit your Father. He firmly, but sympathetically shot the question down. 

‘It is still too great a risk to take,’ he had told you. ‘Your body needs time to be free from stress if you are to hopefully remain without illness yourself.’ 

The frailty of your muscles and the bags under your eyes made it obvious to you and Alucard that you were teetering on the edge of complete burnout. Should you continue to push through at the rate you were going, you’d no doubt join the ranks of your late family members. 

Nevertheless, the silken sheets and large feather-stuffed mattress atop a tester canopied bed did not stop the faint chill of loneliness from ghosting across your skin. You wondered briefly if your Father’s room looked like yours. Or perhaps, it was designed to be more medicinal than comfortable. Was he up thinking of you, just as you were thinking of him? 

It was late by the time your mind had ceased its seemingly endless racing, well into the early hours of the morning. Laid out flat on the bed, robed in a plain night shift with your hair uncovered, you felt an odd equilibrium of settled and aroused. 

You felt small in the extensive room. For example, there was a tiled area intended for bathing off the left of where you lay, separated from the wooden floor by an exquisitely hand-crafted partition. It was stocked with fresh towels, a matching wash-stand set, and pitchers of clean, warned water. Next to the washstand’s porcelain basin was a variety of bar soaps, each one a more exciting shade and scent than the next, and on the lower shelf was a series of glass bottles— shampoos, cleansing oils, and perfumes. Everything was in perfect order, arranged in such an inviting manner. 

The thought that Alucard took the effort to prepare such a collection just for you was almost disquieting. You had hoped he hadn’t gone to too much trouble securing such lovely items before your arrival, especially since it was rather short notice. Then again, perhaps these were just some things he happened to already own within the castle. The place was huge, after all. 

Honestly, you didn't know what would be more daunting, the thought of Alucard giving up his items for your sake, or the idea that Aluard hurriedly procured these new items with your freshly negotiated stay in mind. Both options felt significantly intimate; either act felt like a kindness you were unworthy of. 

As you formed a loose plan to kindly reject Alucard's lavish gifts and attentions, the man of the hour himself came to knock upon your door. 

*    *    *    *    *    * 

Alucard was beaming. No, he was more than beaming, he was practically flying. Well, not literally. Although, that would be no extraordinary feat for The Alucard, son of Dracula and Lisa Tepes. In his years as sole inhibitor and keeper of both Castlevania and the Belmont Hold, his wisdom and abilities flourished greatly, free from the looming threat of time that burdened the rest of humanity. His prowess had come to be unmatched, his dual heritage leaving little he could not accomplish. Alucard possessed the ability to conquer all things if he so wished; all things, except for one.

At the time this bold young woman had trespassed his home, it had been nearly a hundred or so years since the deaths of his last human companions. And while Alucard was not predisposed to loneliness, he was prone to fits of melancholy. 

Even though the castle was alive, it was quiet. It did not provide comfort or companionship the way a human would. Hell— at times Alucard found himself imagining what a close allyship with another vampire would look like among these vast hallowed halls. He certainly had no shortage of vampires and other supernaturally inclined beings desperately vying for the Great Lord Alucard’s attention. 

It was always futile, Alucard had come to learn. Vampires were paranoid and power-hungry by nature and rarely lived long enough to outgrow their newfound bloodlust. Young, power-hungry vampires who sought to usurp Alucard always came to meet the same swift, almost boringly inevitable demise. They did not present any real challenge to him, not anymore. 

It did pain a part of him. His human side, he supposed. Perhaps, it was the influence of his Mother’s memory, the way a sudden ache for companionship— a friend, a lover, an acquaintance, anything— would seize his heart at times. Mother wouldn’t have wanted him to be alone. She wished for him to be kind to humans, even if they could never understand him. She had always emphasized kindness when encouraging Alucard’s journey of self-discovery. Lisa Tepes knew her son would never become the kind of man her husband was, but she wanted Alucard to understand that it was okay. She did not wish for him to be defined by his relation to Dracula but by his relationship with humanity. 

It wasn’t that Alucard hadn’t tried— he had. For years, he had kept himself surrounded by humans, even after Trevor and Sypha, Greta, and the original descendants of Danesti had passed. But as humanity grew more evolved, and began to long for traditions and independence beyond all that his gothic castle could offer, he found himself alone for years in which there was little else to do other than take to his underground coffin and sleep to pass the time. 

His solitude had been weighing on him especially hard for the past several decades or so. But with his isolated routine so ingrained, Alucard could not see a viable way to invite a human into his life. He was aware that out there, perhaps even beyond what was once known as the independent region of Wallachia, several branches of the Belmont line continued to thrive. Of course, Alucard was certain he would be all but a myth to them at this point, something one of their descendants would speak of as they shared ancient stories around the campfire. 

In truth, he did not wish to seek them out. He did not wish to have to seek anyone out. 

Alucard wished that someone— someone worthy— would come to him. He had only found himself desiring such a circumstance for a little under a month when this strange woman, this (Y/N) made her way past his front door. 

‘Perhaps,’ Alucard mused, as he strode down the hallway between his and (Y/N)'s room, ‘There is a God after all.’ 

Balancing the tea tray in one hand, Alucard lifted his other to knock softly upon (Y/N)’s door. If she was already sleeping, he did not wish to wake her. 

Alucard felt a wave of relief wash over him as her melodious voice answered from the other side of the door. 

“Alucard? Is that you?” 

Amused with her question, Alucard opened the door with a carefree smile. “Yes. I’ve brought you some herbal tea. I assumed you would have difficulty adjusting to sleep in such a new environment.” 

His words were perfect: just the right mix of compassion and concern, yet not overbearing or anxious. If he just kept this up, if she could just see how well her life could be here, with him, how simple things would be, everything would work out beautifully. And speaking of beautiful…

Dressed in a simple white night shift, Alucard was taken aback at how elegant and feminine (Y/N) looked while robed in such a plain garment. Her hair, finally uncovered before him, had been unbraided, and let down to naturally frame her face. Her locks were full and lush, no doubt a sign of good fertility in addition to her overall health. This indication of her reproductive health ignited visions in the back of Alucard’s mind of all the different children they would have running around the castle halls. 

Swallowing down the fantasy for now, Alucard retained his external composure. ‘Remember,’ he chided himself, ‘For humans, it must be their idea for it to work.’ 

(Y/N) took the tray from his hands and set it down on the small table, opposite the washing room. It was centered between two wooden chairs, made to accommodate intimate meals between two people. 

“You needn’t do so much for me, you know? You’ve done plenty already.” 

“It is no trouble. I’ve found myself enjoying having someone more than just myself to feed.” Before his bravado could falter, Alucard took a seat at the table, gesturing for (Y/N) to join him. 

“Is it lonely?” (Y/N) asked. The sincere curiosity in her tone caught Alucard off-guard. “I’ve never lived anywhere on my own. I can’t begin to imagine being all by myself, especially in a place of this size.” 

Aiming to keep the conversation light, Alucard opted for a more humorous response. 

“Nonsense. The ghosts and ghouls in the dungeons keep me plenty occupied.” 

“In that case,” (Y/N) smiled, eagerly reciprocating Alucard’s playful parley. “Remind me to stay far away from the dungeon.” 

“Certainly,” Alucard answered, retrieving a cup of steaming tea. “I would hate for you to become the latest poltergeist haunting these grounds. Just imagine what your Father would say.” 

At the mention of her Father, (Y/N)’s smile faltered. Silently, she seated herself before picking up her cup. Taking a tentative sip, her brow furrowed at the odd taste. 

“It’s mandrake tea,” Alucard explained, continuing to swallow his down nonchalantly. 

“And do you normally drink, uh mandrake tea?” (Y/N) asked, politely feigning another sip. 

“It will keep you healthy. Ward off any infection or cold,” Alucard misled. 

Misled, not lied— mandrake root did have healing properties. Truthfully speaking, its main uses were as an anesthetic and a fertility aid. But until (Y/N) was as committed as he to their collective future, it was best she did not know such things. 

“Oh,” (Y/N) blinked in surprise. “I thought it was just used in witchcraft. And that it was dangerous to harvest.” 

Alucard chuckled, shaking his head. “The myth of the mandrake screaming is nothing more than an old wives’ tale, which the Church has exploited in their favor. They claimed Joan of Arc was carrying a mandrake root when she was seized by the Burgundians in the city of Compiègne.” 

(Y/N) shook her head, not quite understanding. “I’ll admit, I’ve never heard of this ‘Joan of Arc’. Nor the city of Compiegne, it must be quite far from here.” 

Alucard smiled, knowingly. “Very far, yes.” 

“Oh.” (Y/N) nodded, this conversation clearly out of her depth. “Well, those people, ah the Church,” (Y/N) corrected herself, “Why would they say that? What did they have to gain?” 

“They sought to cast a shadow over her reputation, and to besmirch any scholars proclaiming the mandrake’s healing properties.” 

“How—” (Y/N) started, “How do you know all this?” 

Alucard shrugged. “The original keeper of this castle collected centuries of suppositories of knowledge, many of which contained science previously vilified by the church. I’ve been fortunate enough to read nearly all which is stored here.” 

(Y/N) forced herself to swallow down another mouthful. “‘Original keeper’?’” she repeated. “I thought that was you.” 

“No,” Alucard said, somewhat decisively. His sharp tone indicated the matter was not up for discussion. “I was not the one who brought this castle into existence. I merely inherited it.” 

(Y/N) nodded again, her posture more notably hunched than before. She forced herself to take a good long sip before swallowing harshly. 

Thrown by all this newly shared information, (Y/N) licked her lips before pressing them together in a tight line. “I know earlier you said that it would be unwise for me to go see him, in the event I’d catch something…” 

“Yes.” 

“And while I certainly don’t like this being this situation, you are the expert here, as well as our host so I’ll respect it…” 

“But?” 

“I need you to promise me one thing. Just one thing, and I swear I will stop pestering you about visiting him.” 

Alucard nodded, encouragingly. 

“You will tell me when he’s dying.” 

Alucard felt the air in the room grow cold. 

(Y/N) said ‘when’ he was dying, as if she had come to that hopeless conclusion already. Did she truly have so little faith in him, that she couldn’t envision her Father recovering? Had he not been firm enough in assuring her of his medical knowledge? Was he doing too little to comfort her? Too little to distract her? Or… perhaps too much? 

Had Alucard’s honeyed words and kind intentions accomplished the opposite of what he intended? Had his constant reassurance acted as a warning for grief that had yet to come? 

This was not good— not good at all. 

Internally, Alucard’s mind was racing through potential future scenarios. 

If her Father died now, she’d have no reason to stay. She’d pack up and leave, and forevermore associate his name, his memory, Alucard’s very existence with heartache. No. 

No, she had to stay! Which meant her Father had to live! But, how?

Alucard was powerful; still, he had no dominion over Death. 

In every outcome, (Y/N)’s Father remained a crucial aspect of his plan. She revered him, she loved him— and most importantly—  she trusted him explicitly. 

‘Perhaps,’ Alucard’s mind supplied, ‘Therein lies the answer to our question. Instead of working so hard to gain (Y/N)’s approval, I could gain a blessing from her Father. If he were to see us as someone worthy of his daughter’s hand, he would no doubt share that final sentiment with her, before his passing.’ 

It was genius, foolproof really. 

If it was made clear to (Y/N)’s Father, that Alucard was the best option for her, and the one most capable of ensuring her safety and happiness… 

If the last thing her Father ever did was command them to be together, no daughter, especially not one as respectful and obedient as (Y/N) could refuse. 

Alucard needn't be so alarmed after all. 

Nodding solemnly, Alucard’s golden eyes bore unflinchingly into hers. 

“I promise.” 

Once the tea had been finished, Alucard bid (Y/N) goodnight, encouraging her to at least try and get a few hours of sleep before the coming sunrise. 

Quietly, he gathered all the teacups back onto the serving tray and exited the room, softly shutting the door behind him. 

For a moment, Alucard stood still. He waited until he heard the unmistakable ruffle of sheets, and the slowed heartbeat of a human finally at rest. 

Shortly after (Y/N) had agreed to bring her Father here, Alucard considered placing a sponge soaked in somnifera under her pillow. Now, Alucard was glad to have decided against it. Her body was beyond tired enough to fall asleep on its own, and it wouldn’t do him any good to set off any suspicions with unusual scents in the room. 

Besides, his plan had a new direction now— a superior direction. She was not the one he needed to charm, oh no. From where he stood, Alucard could also hear the person he needed to charm, coughing fitfully upstairs. 

And it was time, Alucard decided, to pay him an honest visit. 

*    *    *    *    *    * 

Notes: 

Mandrake, which gave Rachel children in the bible- used to be believed to treat infertility, but also loads of other stuff, but the fertile thing is what Alucard is utilizing it for here. It was also possibly in the wine given to Jesus on the cross. It had a strong sedative effect. The myth that could not harvest the roots without being killed up until 1597 (so this would be news prob to the reader, old news to Alu) It was also thought to be a love charm- medieval church cast it out as a demonic talisman, punished Joan of arc for ‘carrying’ one.

The mix called The Spongia Somnifera is From Arabian scientist Ibn Sina (c. 980 to 1037 CE), or Avicenna. In his authoritative Canon of Medicine, he identified certain plants with pharmacological action, such as mandrake, opium, and henbane. He described the Spongia Somnifera: “Opium, juice of hyoscyamine, unripened berry of the blackberry, hog beans, lettuce seed, juice of hemlock, poppy, mandragora. Put these all together in a vessel and plunge therein a new sea sponge, and put that in the sun during the dog days until all the liquid is consumed. And when there is need, dip it a little in water and apply it to the nostrils of the patient, and he will quickly go to sleep.”

TB was also called phthisis, or “wasting,” by Hippocrates. 

Some other interesting sources: Old-Timey Medicine; TB Throughout History; Mandragora: Anesthesia of the Ancients; Mandrake: The Scream of Death; and Gerad’s Herbal Chapter 65: Mandrake

*    *    *    *    *    * 

A/N 2.0: AGAIN PLEASE GIVE A HUGE SHOUT-OUT TO MY WONDERFUL BETA @allthegoodbobdylanlyricsaretaken , WHO VOLUNTEERED TO HELP ME WITH THIS INSTALLMENT. 

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Tag List: @peterpankat ;

Let me know, if you’d like to be added to the tag list by either commenting on this post, mentioning so in a reblog, or sending me an ask requesting to be added. 

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And as always… Please Like and REBLOG! 

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[dragonmuse]

How to be a Dirtbag Fic Writer

I got to do some talking about writing today and I couldn’t stop thinking about it so here are my full thoughts on the matter of being a dirtbag fic writer.

Being the disorganized thoughts of someone two and a half decades into the beautiful mess that is writing fanfic (and a few non-fanfic things too).

What is a dirtbag fic writer? 

 I am talking about someone who is not cleaning up anything. We show up filthy, fresh out of rooting around in the garden of our imaginations. We probably smell a little from work. We will hand you our hard grown fruits, but we have not washed them and we carried them in the bottom upturned parts of our t-shirts. The fruit is a little bruised. It’s not cut up or put in a bowl yet. But we got it in the house! It’s here. Someone can eat it.  

Why dirtbag it? Because the fruit gets in the house. If you’re hemming and hawing, if the idea you want to do seems to be big or you want it perfect and shiny. If you’re imagining a ten thousand step process, so you’re not taking the first step? Dirtbag it. 

How do I dirtbag? 

That’s the best part. You just write. Sit down. One word after the other. No outline, no plan, no destination. No thought of editing. Just word vomit. Every word is a good word. It’a word that wasn’t there before. Grammar sucks? Who cares. Can’t think of the perfect word? Fuck it, put in the simplest version of what you mean. 

Write the idea that you love. The one thing you want to say. Has it been done 3000000 times? WHO CARES human history is long, every idea has been done, probably more than twice. YOU have never written it before. It’s your grubby potato that you clawed out of the ground and guess what someone can still make it into delicious french fries. 

Now here’s the critical part. Write as much as you can squeeze out of your brain. One word in front of the other. 

And then I challenge you this: at most, read it over once and then put it into the world. Just as it is. AND THIS IS IMPORTANT: DO IT WITHOUT APOLOGY OR CAVEAT.  I challenge you, beautiful dirtbag to not pre-emptively apologize. Do not make your work lesser. THAT IS YOUR POTATO! It has eyes and roots and dirt clinging to it because that is what happens.  We are dirtbagging it today. Hell really confused people at do #dirtbagwriter on it.  

Dirtbag writes id, base, lizard brain. Dig in the fertile garden of your imagination. What is the story you tell yourself before you fall asleep? What’s your anxiety this week? Your fantasy? What is going well? What do you wish things looked like? Who is the feral imaginary character you’ve been crafting to take your frustrations and joys out on? 

But, VEE, I wish to have an editor and an outline, use a cool software like scrivener instead of retching up onto a google doc and making it look NICE and PRETTY!

COOL! DO THAT THEN! IF YOU’RE ACTUALLY DOING IT! You should have a process! That’s cool and healthy and necessary for sustainable writing. But if you’re not writing because all of that seems too much? THEN DON’T. 

Did you know fic is free? That we do this from love? From sheer desire? For the love of the game? If you have a process, and the words are flowing, amazing, I love that for you, you don’t need this essay.  If you don’t, let us continue. 

What does dirtbag writing look like? 

It’s messy. It’s a little raw and tatty around the edges sometimes. It’s weird.  It’s someone else’s first draft. Maybe it winds up being your first draft, Idek, that’s your business. 

It’s jokes that make YOU laugh. It’s drama that would make YOU cry if you read it. You are your first commenter. You are your first audience (and possibly continuing pleasure! If you don’t go back and reread your own work sometimes, you might be missing out on one of your favorite authors cause you wrote it for you! Wait until you’re not so close to it. Years sometimes. Then hey, maybe some of this is pretty dang good actually.) 

It has mistakes. 

Dirtbags make mistakes, but dirtbags have published pieces. They have things other people can read out there. 

What if I don’t get good feedback? 

Look, the most likely outcome of any new, untried fic writer (and even established writers trying something new-ish)  is that you get no feedback. That’s real. Silence. It’s eerie, it’s terrible, it sucks. I don’t want to pretend it doesn’t. But nothing is not negative. It’s a big fic-y ocean out there and we are all wee itty-bitty-sometimes-with-titty fishes.  

You should still do it all over again. And again. And again. You get better at writing by writing. You just do. Nothing else replaces it. If your well is dry? Fill it with new things. Go do something new, read a new kind of book, watch a new film,  (libraries have so much good shit, you don’t even have to spend money for so many things if you have a library card), just go for a walk in a new direction. Stimulate yourself. Got a cup of something hot and eavesdrop on conversations. Refill yourself with newness. 

And hey, speaking of, do you leave comments? Because you get what you give. You can build relationships with people by commenting and that builds community and community means places to get feedback in the end. Comments are gold. They are all we are paid in. Tip your writers with ‘extra kudos’ or ‘this made me laugh’. And hey, when you go back for a re-read so you can tell them your favorite part? Ask yourself how they made that favorite part? What do you like about it?  Tone? Metaphor? The structure? Reading teaches us how to write too! 

BUT, okay. Sometimes. Sometimes there is actual bad feedback and people suck. 

You know the best part about being a dirtbag? Unrepentant block, delete, goodbye. You don’t own anyone with a shitty opinion any of your precious time on this earth. You did it for free, you gave them your dirty, but still delicious fruit and they went ‘ew, this is a dirty strawberry, how could you not make a clean tomato?”  Because you didn’t plant fucking tomatoes, did you? Don’t fight, don’t engage. Block. Delete. Goodbye. 

If someone in person, looked you in the eye when you brought them a plate of food to share at a party and they said “Why didn’t you bring me MY favorite? This isn’t cooked well at all.” You would probably write up a Reddit AiTA question about it just to hear five thousand people say they were an asshole.   Fic is no different 

And hey, when you dirtbag it? You know you did. It’s not your most cleaned up perfect version. So who cares what they think? You might make it more shiny and polished next time! You might NOT. 

Ok, but what if I don’t finish it? 

Fuck it, post it anyway. 

What if it’s bad? 

Fuck it, post it anyway. 

What if it doesn’t make sense? 

That’s ART, baby. Fuck it, post it anyway. 

What if what I want to write doesn’t work with current fandom norms? 

Then someone out there probably needs it!  And what the hell is this? The western canon? FUCK IT POST IT ANYWAY* 

*Basic human decency is not a ‘fandom norm’. Don’t be racist, sexist, ableist, fat shaming, classist or shitty about anyone's identity on main, okay? Dirtbag writers are KIND first and foremost. Someone saying you are stepping into shit about their identity is not the same as unsolicited crappy feedback about pairings. In the immortal words of Kurt Vonnegut: "God damn it, you've got to be kind.”

You’re being very flippant about something that’s scary. 

I know. I know I am. I know it can be scary. But no risk, no reward and hell, you aren’t using your goddamn legal name on the internet are you? (please for the love of fuck do not be using your legal name to write fic) You’ve got on a mask. You’re a superhero. With dirt on your cape. 

That niche thing that you think no one cares about? Guaranteed you will find someone else in the world who wants it. Maybe they won’t find it right away. Maybe they will be too shy to comment or even hit a button. But your dirty potato will stick with them. They will make french fries in their head.

You have an audience. But they can’t find you if you have nothing out there. 

Go forth. Make. 

You have some errors in this essay. 

PROBABLY CAUSE I DIRTBAGGED IT.  But I picked this strawberry for you out of my brain, so I hope you run it under some cold water and find the good bits and have a nice snack. Or throw it away. Or use it to plant more strawberries (I know that’s not how strawberries work, metaphors break when stretched).  

#dirtbagwriter 

Go forth and MAKE

[theoldoor]

topaz day bc i love her sm dont u dare say a word about her shes my sister, girl, bestfriend, etc… aventurine likers who doesn’t appreciate her isnt a real aventurine liker bc if u truly liked him YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT SHE’S HIS FOIL. SHE FOILS HIS CHARACTER. AND SHE HERSELF IS ALSO A GOOD REP OF GROOMING VICTIM.

shes the best friend, shes the gal who supports i love her so much and yet she’s seen as nothing within the fandom… its either “omg i hate avenpaz” or talking down on her bc she devotes herself to the IPC like damn ofc she would SHES BEING MANIPULATED TO SHUT YO BUMASS UP. if youre gonna be a gooner or a hater at least hate critically. understand before you hate. hate with knowledge.

SHE’S THE FOIL TO AVENTURINE. JUST LIKE HOW RUAN MEI IS THE FOIL TO DR RATIO.

I feel like she and aventurine being the younger people + under jade’s care is intentional for them to highlight each other’s characters. (even their primary colors are reversed broo… cuz like, aventurine is green and inverted color of green is red and that’s topaz).

im going to go on an analysis ramble here, im not rereading anything ok PUTTING MY LIT STUDENT BRAIN TO WORK HERE

Topaz in a gem itself symbolizes strength, wisdom and calming influence and throughout the story we can see her as a character who was reliable and calculated considering her conservative approaches to the challenges she faced in the quest.

This is a juxtaposition well played by hoyoverse to highlight their decision-making processes - which is a foundation for their character. Aventurine is a gambler. His life philosophy is well known with his iconic quote of “high-stakes, high-rewards”. In contrast, Topaz represents a more calculated approach, even voice line during combat was “low-risk, high reward”.

Aventurine’s appearance and demeanor are misleading. Even his smiles serves as nothing more than a mask to fool others. And his Avgin eyes contributes more to this enigmatic nature - such colorful eyes, yet so dull and devoid of life. Much like hiding a complex hidden world under his “brazen bravado” attitude and flashy outfits. This creates an ironic contrast between how he appears and the “extraordinarily faint self beneath.”

Conversely, Topaz is straightforward and transparent. As seen with her attitude in her quest in Jarilo-IV. She wasn’t afraid to tell her tale of her planet, she was willing to talk it out and came to a calculated conclusion. Topaz’s character is also seen as affectionate and caring, as she was willing to take such a huge price for the people of Jarilo IV - of being demoted even and her care for her little pets in her splash art (+numby). Her strength lies in her compassion and clarity, providing a stark contrast to Aventurine’s deceptive nature - making her a trustworthy figure that emphasizes the irony of Aventurine’s masked intentions.

NOW ONTO THE PART I WANT TO TALK ABOUT

THEIR REACTION TO THEIR PAST.

Aventurine’s past as a slave and his resulting inferiority complex drove him to prove his worth through constant risk-taking. To be fate’s test dummy. To be thrown and tested around. To seek validation from risks. His need to control his fate, yet at the same time threaten it and challenge the blessing reveals a deep-seated desire to overcome his history - to let go yet he’s still stuck because his life is bound to his curse. Although one could argue that the IPC “saved his life”, he would still bite. His life is of no value anyways - he was just a pawn. Such as how Jade would still refer to him as “Aventurine” and not Kakavasha, even though knowing that it was his real name. He was nothing but a coin to the slots. A chance to see if they can reap the rewards.

Topaz, however, focused on building strength and validation from the efforts she puts out as seen with her and the IPC. Her project with Jarilo IV has caused her some distress, even during the Penacony quest as she was still bothered about it. But the moment Jade affirmed her, it soothed her almost immediately. She needed to prove herself to the people who “saved her planet”, to thank them as they gave her her life value. Jade, however, referred to Topaz with her real name, Jelena. Seemingly almost as if she valued her as Jelena, a person, and not a pawn on a board.

Topaz serves as a foil to Aventurine by embodying traits that contrast sharply with Aventurine’s risk-taking and enigmatic nature.

IF YOURE GONNA HATE, UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU HATE FIRST.

Fenrir and Topaz would get along. I wrote him to be Aventurine’s foil after all, they have a lot in common. Even their designs are similar with the color red and bows and the waist belt lol. They’re so best friend coded.

Fenrir would hang around for Numby and Numby is awfully fond of the man. Sometimes Topaz would think that Fenrir is a secret warp trotter because how tf did you write a whole study on language of warp trotter. And also, they both like shiny things. So hell yeah.

I have nothing to say they’re just so best friends.

[digitaldiarystuff]

Our Secret Pt.2

sooo i’m starting to write before the poll is over hope the result stays the same lol

also thank you for not giving up on me💕

you can read part one here

————

pairing: Pedri Gonzalez x Y/N x Fermin Lopez

summary: you are Pedri’s girlfriend and know his friends, one of them being Fermin. It doesn’t look like he likes you very much but what if he likes you too much?

genre: angst

————

That night after Fermin dropped you at your place you had a weird feeling in your stomach you couldn’t quite place, you didn’t do anything wrong, you kept reminding yourself. Fermin is literally Pedri’s friend, he was just doing you a favor and you’re mad at Pedri because he left you alone, that’s it.

After taking a much needed shower to clear your thoughts you laid on your bed hoping to sleep quickly but unfortunately, you weren’t that lucky and had trouble falling asleep. You felt upset about Pedri’s behavior at the party and suddenly realized all the other times he made you feel uneasy in public, there were times he didn’t feel comfortable being seen with you because you weren’t official yet and that’s understandable given the fact that he’s insanely famous but a part of you felt like you shouldn’t be hidden no matter what. The more you thought about it, the sadder you felt but finally, you felt your eyes closing.

The next morning you woke up a little late and with a headache, great, you thought. You found your phone in between your sheets and looked at missed notifications secretly hoping to see a good morning text from Pedri but there was something else. An unsaved number texted you at 8.32 am

Hey, good morning! Hope you’re okay and don’t have a headache or stomachache, I think eating McDonald’s that late was a mistake 😅

You immediately realized it was Fermin and your heart warmed with his thoughtful words, he didn’t have to text you or check up on you but still did it while your boyfriend couldn’t even bother asking if you went home okay. It’s not like he was asleep because you knew for a fact he had practice this morning so he had to be up. You decided not to let it get to you and started typing.

Hey thank you so much for everything, I don’t know how I’d survive last night without you! And yes the nuggets definitely were a mistake lol, hope you’re okay too

You reread the text trying to make sure it’s not weird but why would it be weird, it’s just two friends checking up on each other even though you didn’t even know he had your number before today. He could’ve easily got it from Pedri, right?

Fermin didn’t text you back after that and you thought maybe it’s for the best but you also didn’t hear from Pedri until well into the afternoon when he called.

“Hey” he smiled softly like he wasn’t black out drunk last night

“Hey” you said with slight coldness in your voice but you weren’t doing it on purpose.

“Are we still on for tonight?” he asked without even mentioning anything about the previous night’s events and you were kind of taken aback.

“What’s tonight?”

“We have that charity event, remember, I told you a week ago.” you suddenly remembered him asking you to accompany him to this fancy event.

At first you were thrilled with the idea thinking this may be the night you make your relationship official but he quickly shut the idea down by telling you he’d pose for the cameras out front and meet up with you once the auction starts. You were less excited now but still said yes and forgot about it all till now.

“Oh yeah, sure we’re still going. How are you planning on going there?”

“The boys and I were thinking about getting a limo, can you take an Uber and meet me there?”

“Do you not want me in the limo?” you asked shocked by how inconsiderate he was being. First he hides you from the world and now he wants you to step in an Uber with a fancy looking dress and ride there alone.

“No of course not, you can come get ready at mine then. I’ll be at the house by five.”

“You know what, I’ll find my own way Pedri. You don’t have to worry about me, not that you care.” you said and ended the call feeling agitated.

He tried calling you a few more times but you didn’t pick up, you even considered turning your phone off and not showing up but wanted to have a nice night with him, maybe this could solve your issues.

You started getting ready for the event, trying on 2 different dresses. One was an off the shoulder black silk maxi dress and the other was a dark red spaghetti strap maxi dress with a wide slit on the side and a corset as a top. You took mirror selfies with both dresses and sent it to your best friend who was on top of your messages app and started on your makeup as you waited for an answer. Your phone pinged not long after and you picked it up expecting it to be Elena but was shocked to see Fermin’s name on the screen. You remembered saving his number in the morning. He sent you a single text.

Definitely the red one

Your cheeks heat up immediately realizing your mistake, you sent the photos to Fermin instead of Elena because he was the last person you texted.

I’m so sorry, it was meant for someone else lol

You wrote back but made a mental note to wear the red dress, maybe it was that much better. You anxiously waited an answer from Fermin but it never came and you felt stupid, did he think you did it on purpose or was he being the cold and stoic Fermin you know again? You felt like you managed to make him open up more and made progress in your friendship and would hate if he went back to being distant. You thought about what can you text him that would make him answer but before you could find something your phone started ringing.

Fermin Lopez

You picked it up slightly nervous.

“Hey”

“Hey, are you not riding with everyone else to the venue?” he asked straight away without even asking how you were.

“No, um, I’ll go straight from my place so…” you drifted off not knowing how to explain why you weren’t going with your boyfriend.

“Are you ready?”

“Well, I’ll probably be ready in 15.” you looked at yourself in the mirror, you had the dress on and your makeup was almost done.

“Okay, I’ll pick you up then.” he suggested but his voice was so neutral you couldn’t understand any emotion behind it.

“What? Fermin you don’t ha…”

“I’m on my way Y/N. I’ll text you once I’m outside.” he said and hung up before you could even reply.

You stood there for a few moments trying to understand what just happened, why was Fermin this interested in how you’ll arrive at the venue or how you’re doing and more importantly, why wasn’t Pedri?

You decided to push these thoughts away and put on your accessories for the night but was a little too slow because Fermin already texted you before you could put everything on. You told him you need 5 more minutes and he was welcome to wait in your living room whilst you finish up and he soon rang the doorbell.

You opened the door revealing Fermin in a suit, this was the first time you’ve seen him this formal and admittedly, he looked nice. Actually he looked so good that you had to tear your eyes away from him but he didn’t look like he noticed, he was too busy looking at your figure with wide eyes. This may be the longest he’s ever looked your way but once you made proper eye contact, he immediately looked away.

“Hi” you smiled and hugged him softly, kissing one of his cheeks. He smiled at you and placed his hand on your waist careful not to put it too low. It felt more like a fancy first date than two friends carpooling to a charity event where your boyfriend was waiting for you and the thought made your stomach turn. There was something about Fermin that you couldn’t understand, he was never inappropriate or weird with you but you couldn’t help but feel something and that something scared the living shit out of you.

“You look amazing, told you this was the best dress.” he shyly said and your cheeks turned red with his compliment, you knew he preferred this dress but it was also your favorite. You didn’t wear it for him.

“So do you.” you replied and it was his turn to have reddened cheeks. He looked down at his shoes and didn’t look back up until you spoke again.

“Let me put on my shoes and we can go.”

You went into your shoe closet and picked out the nude heels you had in mind. They weren’t too high but still elevated your look. You dropped them in front of your door and tried getting in them but struggled because of your dress hugging your body tightly, Fermin soon noticed your uncomfortable state.

“Here, let me help you” he didn’t even let you reply and kneeled down in front of you to help you step into your shoes and buckle them, he did one foot and lightly tapped your calf for you to hold the other one. His one hand on behind your calf steadied you while the other helped you and you were standing so close that you could feel his breath on your exposed leg which made you shiver. You placed one hand on his shoulder and he looked up at you, his eyes were filled with yet another emotion but this time you knew it wasn’t something like sadness or anger, it was pure lust and you hated that you also had the same look on your face.

He slowly rose to his feet but you didn’t let go of his shoulder, you felt glued to him at that moment. Fermin must have felt the same because he stood so close to you that your noses nearly touched and he made no effort to pull back, you knew better you really did, you should’ve taken a step back thank him for helping you and go to the event but Fermin had other plans.

He suddenly closed the gap between you two and pressed his lips onto yours in a hasty manner like he had to do it, he did it so urgently as if he needed you and you couldn’t help but move your lips with his placing your hand on the back of his neck. Your judgement was too clouded to stop as he walked you back into your living room without breaking the kiss, he only stopped when your back hit the wall and a soft moan escaped your lips.

“Fermin” you mewled as he was moving his hands all around your body and on your exposed leg.

He pulled back slightly, your foreheads still touching and both of you panting. His eyes opened for the first time since he kissed you and looked straight into your soul.

“Fermin” you whispered this time not even sure if you were asking him to stop or carry on.

“Y/N, I want this. I want this so fucking much but if you don’t, I can get out of here now and we can pretend this never happened. I’ll never bother you again.” he softly said and you were surprised at how calm he was talking contrary to how passionate he was being mere seconds ago.

You closed your eyes to try to slow your heartbeat down, your whole body was shaking a little. You tried to think but all you could think about was his lips and hands on you.

You stood there for a moment before leaning in again and he happily accepted your advances telling you to jump and you obliged not caring about anything else in the world other than Fermin. He was making you feel that alive.

“God, you’re perfect” he said while carrying you to your room and kissing every inch of skin he could find.

“Just make me feel good” you begged him and he nodded eagerly. He was going to do just that.

[rafyki]

Goth! Nico/ Surfer! Percy AU Part 9!

I'm back!! I hope you missed me as much as I missed posting lmao This chapter wasn't planned honestly, I wanted to write directly their beach 'date', but then this happened and I decided it's gonna be one more chapter before the date - sorry xD I bet y'all are tired of this slow burn, but i promise they're gonna get together soon!

(I hope the texting format is easy to read here on tumblr, but otherwise you can read it on AO3)

Enjoy~

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

You can also read it on AO3!!

~~~

Percy: Ehi, Nico! You have the afternoon shift tomorrow, right? Let’s hang out at the beach again after it?

Me: Percy, hi!

Me: So you really do know all my shift hours, huh?

Percy:  What can i say, Im a great obsever

Me: Huh, are you?

Percy: For important things at least

Percy: so is that a yes?

Me: of course

Me: No need to tell you what time I finish, I guess

Percy: nope 

Percy: 20ish right?

Me: yeah

Me:  see you tomorrow?

Percy: yep

Percy: see you tmorrow! 

Nico had been rereading the conversation for the best part of the previous night, and the first thing he had done after waking up had been checking his phone once again to make sure he hadn’t just made it up in his dreams. He knew the short exchange by heart now, yet he kept staring at it, reading it over and over again. Part of himself was afraid it would disappear if he so much as locked his phone and looked away for a second too long.

Their chance meeting at the beach three days prior still felt like a waking dream, like he had hoped so much for something like that to happen that he had started hallucinating. He wondered if hallucinations always felt so real, if they would let you to feel the water splashing against your legs, the warmth of the setting sun on your skin, or the pressure of a hand holding yours, the touch soft and warm, everything and more Nico had let himself dreaming about for the past months. The way Percy had smiled at him had been so beautiful that Nico’s mind probably wouldn’t have been able to conjure something like it if it hadn’t been real.

Still, it didn’t feel real.

Leo and Jason would have probably blamed the feeling on Nico’s self sabotaging tendencies. You’re allowed to have nice things, Nico, they would tell him.

Was he? Could he let himself hope that he could really have this? His heart was going berserk in his chest at the sole thought.

Percy had stopped to talk to him at the beach, Percy had taken his hand and held it while walking in the water, Percy had memorized his schedule and asked for his phone number; Percy had texted him first and asked him to hang out again.

For important things at least.

Percy had said that. Important. Nico wanted to scream.

His phone's sudden ringing almost made him jump out of his skin. It was Jason’s number, but it was Leoìs voice that greeted him from the other end of the line.

“Hi there, goth boy, so how ya feeling for your date today?”

“Not a date, Leo, shut up- and why are you calling me with Jason’s phone?”

Of course, Nico’s traitor heart stumbled on the word date. It wasn’t, and he couldn’t simply assume otherwise, it would make things awkward, wouldn’t it? And so far nothing had ever been too awkward with Percy - Nico surely wouldn’t be the one to make everything between them crumbling down for expecting too much.

“Not important-”

“He lost his phone”, came Jason’s voice. “Again. By the way, hi Nico”.

Nico rolled his eyes at their antics. “Hi Jason”.

“Anyway!”, Leo jumped in. “How are you feeling for your ‘not date’ then?”

“I hate you, Valdez”, Nico groaned, letting himself fall backward on his bed. His heart didn’t seem willing to stop running like crazy anytime soon, his hands were sweating from anticipation and tension.

“You’re freaking out, aren’t you?”

He put his phone on speaker just so he could set it aside, take a pillow, and scream into it.

Apparently, his suffering was extremely funny to Leo, because his obnoxious laugh came as a reply. “I’ll take it as a yes”, he said.

“Nico, I’m sure everything’s gonna be great”, Jason said. “You’ll have fun, get to know him better, and then-”

“Then you’ll finally date, hopefully”, Leo finished.

Once again, Nico’s heart skipped a beat and did a little dance in his chest. He threw the pillow aside. “What if I make a fool of myself though?”

“Well, your boy has made a fool of himself plenty of times already, hasn’t he? I mean, he knows your schedule by heart”, Leo replied. “So I’m sure you’ll be fine”.

Jason laughed at that, and after a moment Nico joined him.

~~~

Nico expected his shift at the kiosk to last an eternity, stretching on and on to keep him apart from finally seeing Percy in the evening. And, truth be told, the first couple of hours were just like that, long and boring and way too slow.

It changed when his phone notified him of a new text.

Percy: i got work today so im coming to teh beach latr 

Percy: ill meet you at the kiosk!

Nico’s heart was starting to become extremely good at doing somersaults in his chest. There were no customers at that moment, so he had time to reply, his fingers shaking just slightly as he wrote back.

Me: alright, I’ll meet you here then

Me: What time do you finish at work?

Percy: What, you wana learn my scdheule too?

Me: It's only fair, isn’t it?

And so, they ended up texting back and forth for a while and, after that, the time seemed to move faster, the day shining brighter, and Nico’s customers’ smile felt just that tiny bit more honest.

Nico’s internal list of the things he knew about Percy kept growing longer by the minute; he liked to text and wasn’t afraid to double text, his spelling mistakes were so atrocious they left Nico smiling and feeling so endeared it was almost ridiculous.

Nico’s nerves eased with every new text, his heart now beating out of excitement and anticipation more than fear and anxiety. The evening couldn’t come fast enough.

Me: Why are you spending so much time texting me instead of working

Percy: Why, arent you enjoying it :( 

Me: not what I said!

Me: i wouldn’t be replying if i weren’t enjoying it

Percy: :D 

Percy: im on break anyay

Percy:  what abot you, youre also on your phone instead of workin

Me: there aren’t many customers today

Me: no one to buy the same old blue drink

Nico put the phone aside for a moment, hiding his smile behind his hand and hoping that no one would think he was a creepy psycho smiling for no reason. He had every reason to smile. Flirting was easier through text, even if he kept spending minutes on end before forcing himself to press send. The downside of it was that it was way more difficult to avoid it when Percy flirted back.

Percy: aww you miss me?

He wrote and then deleted a reply a few times. He was lucky Jason and Leo weren’t there today to see him being like this or they would have made fun of him for the rest of their lives. 

It was strange. Nico was feeling embarrassed, but in an easy lighthearted way, and that made him feel just that little bit braver. Maybe it was because Percy was willingly spending his break texting him instead of whatever else he usually did; maybe it was the fact that he had the feeling Percy was feeling just like him.

He wrote a reply, looked at it for a few seconds and pressed send before he could overthink it too much.

Me: Maybe

Just then, before having the time to send a second text for damage control, a customer came and Nico had to put his phone down to serve them. His heart kept hammering in his chest the whole time, and his eyes kept stealing glances at the phone, hoping to see it ring. It was taking a little longer than usual for Percy to reply, and Nico didn’t know if it was because he had scared him away or flustered him too much.

When it did notify him of a new series of texts, he was still busy with new customers, and it took him all of his willpower not to make them wait while he checked his phone.

Finally, he thanked and said goodbye to the last customer of the queue, he moved so fast he almost stumbled on his own feet; and when he read what Percy had written, his heart was ready to jump out of his chest and start dancing on the counter.

Percy: me too

Percy: maybe

Percy: goot thign were seeing each other in a couple huors

Percy: cant wait

He read the words, reread it again and then again, once again feeling like they were nothing but a pipe dream. He blinked, and they were still there when he opened his eyes again. 

Maybe he really could let himself hope this time.

Me: me too

Time definitely couldn’t pass fast enough. 

[amuromi]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐈𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐈 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐊𝐎 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 5.0k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ I think it’s fun that Gege said Shoko cheated her way into her doctor’s license.

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! unestablished relationship (fwb-ish), pet names (baby), sleepy sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering

The buzzing of fluorescents and the whirring of an overworked laptop fill the frigid air of the examination room. Everything is cold, sterile. Severe chrome and polished tile void of anything that might disrupt the uniformity of it all. Not a scratch on the metal tables or a chip in the pale blue tiling. Even the light is carved into strict form, beams of glaring light bearing down from the ceilings in rings of blinding white. Glass jars and plastic boxes line the counters and the only break from the monotony is the staggered dripping of the leaky faucet but even that has gained an almost rhythmic pattern after listening to it for so long. The truest break from the carefully curated environment is Shoko. 

She interrupts the room like a flower blooming in a desert, something lovely standing alone in a featureless wasteland. She’s sitting too close to her laptop screen, bluish light carving out the contours of her face in harsh monotones. The shadows beneath her eyes stand out, deep bruises staining her pale skin. A cigarette sits between her lips, unlit and stained pinkish at the filter from her lip tint. The same color is printed on the straw of her drink that sits precariously close to her computer. It’s old, not worth saving if it gets doused in whatever caffeine-laden drink she’s sipping, but it would surely ruin her night. She hasn’t saved anything in awhile and you’ve been watching her for the better part of an hour according to the steady ticking of the clock mounted on the wall. It’s creeping close to midnight and your body is starting to ache from being perched at the edge of the examination table for so long. 

An arrhythmic clicking disrupts the metronome of the silence; the clock, the sink, as Shoko pauses in her scrolling to finally type something out. She’s been hunched over this essay for longer than you’ve been watching her, reading and rereading the same lines of text as if she was worried she’d accidentally added a paragraph about the lifecycle of a goldfish into her lengthy thesis about human anatomy. It was something she was well versed in given her medical inclination. It was what best suited her as a reverse cursed technique user. So few existed in the Tokyo branch of Jujutsu Tech and even if Shoko wasn’t going through the exact proceedings to achieve her doctorate, she was meticulous about the classes and examinations she needed to take. Something about nepotism and forgery had gotten her foot in the door and now she was two years into her higher education and only a few months short of the national exam. There was no doubt in your mind that she’d pass with flying colors so it made it all the more frustrating that she was ignoring you in service of her exam preparations.

It had been three days since you’d last seen Shoko and at least twenty-four hours since she’d so much as sent you a text. It was blind desperation that led you here after another call went unanswered for the third time today. She was exactly where you’d expected. There was no worry of infidelity, yet it still felt strange to be so thoroughly ignored. She was a busy woman but hearing her answering machine drone at you for the third time had knocked something gnawingly desperate loose in your head. So here you sat, like a dog waiting for a treat, watching her work on an essay. The edge of the table was bruising the back of your thighs and your back aches from keeping such a rigid posture. All this and she’d barely even glanced up at you when the door opened. Your eyes slip away from her towards her drink. 

There’s a feline urge to knock it over because surely that would get her attention. It would disrupt her environment to suddenly have her drink dripping off the edge of the table, but then she’d probably be annoyed with you, and you’d surely have to clean up the mess yourself. The thought of sticky hands and cold tile digging into your knees kept your hand from tipping as you reached over to grab the can. The straw was a silly quirk likely borne of her oral fixation–the same reason she’d kept a cigarette in her mouth this whole time–but it fit nicely between your lips, and you could feel the tacky spot where her lips had been as you left your own pink print on the straw. It was as close as you’d gotten to kissing her in a long time. 

She’d call you spoiled if she could read your mind, and you’re glad she can’t because you likely would’ve been sent away the moment you’d poked your head in the room looking to seduce her away from her work. You’d gone through extra effort to look nice before coming to see her. Your hair was styled and your makeup done, clothes smoothed of any wrinkles and in the colors she said you looked nicest in. Desperation oozed from you in thick waves and Shoko still couldn’t spare you a passing glance. The clock ticked by another minute. It had been your hope to get her out of her cold little cell before midnight but that plan was crumbling quicker with each passing moment. She’s gone back to scrolling, fingers stroking against the touch pad. It makes your legs shift, thighs squeezing at all the thoughts her endless scrolling conjured. 

It’s seventeen minutes past midnight by the time Shoko sits back in her seat, her chair squeaking at the sudden shift in weight. She stretches her arms and her shirt rides up the slightest bit. Just under the raised hem you can see a slash of skin and you have to swallow a mouthful of spit. She groans as her back cracks and you cross your legs. The break is fleeting because she goes back to typing, but it seems more purposeful. From the angle you’re at, perched next to her laptop because you thought that would be the easiest way to get her attention, you can’t clearly make out the size twelve font, but you like to imagine that every word is articulate and insightful; a perfect thesis paper. And even if it isn’t, she’s made it this far without going through the proper channels. It wouldn’t be so hard to forge her credentials to get her into the exam. She could pass it even without all the expected years of education. She was far more intimate with anatomy, both human and otherwise, than anyone her age had any right to be. It was your hope that she’d come out of her academic stupor to reacquaint herself with your anatomy. Sooner rather than later. But you wouldn’t pout and you wouldn’t whine because she didn’t like that. Gojo is the only one she’ll tolerate acting like that, and their bond is different than what you have with her. 

Girlfriend is far too charitable though you’d like to have such a formal label. You’re a girl that’s a friend at best. One she has wrapped around her pretty little finger. She starts scrolling again. You take another longing sip of her drink. It’s gone flat and tastes like cough syrup but you can feel the buzz of caffeine starting up just from those few sips. Whatever is in the can is going to leave you wired and you hate to think Shoko’s been downing energy drinks in lieu of sleeping. A thousand questions perch at the tip of your tongue; are you almost done, when was the last time you slept? You’d like to ask but it would disturb the clinical symphony of the room and you’d hate to shatter her concentration and further prolong your wait. So you sit in obedient silence wondering why you’ve bothered to wait this long in the first place. 

Shoko hasn’t so much as spared you a glance since her first brief look when you came tip toeing in. Her gaze remains glued on the screen of her laptop, a grayish square reflected bright in her brown eyes. Her lashes flicker as she reads through the lines of text and you try to find something else to focus on. Something that isn’t Shoko’s big brown eyes, or that pretty little mole high on her cheek, or her graceful fingers skating over the keyboard. Instead you focus your eyes on your nails. Freshly done in a purple so pale it’s almost white; the same color you heard Shoko compliment Utahime on a few weeks ago. It’s pretty but as you watch the light dance off the pastel polish, you realize it’s unlikely that Shoko will even notice. 

Another drop of water hits the sink basin and you consider getting up to leave. Shoko hasn’t acknowledged your existence in her space as a positive or negative and the neutrality of her ignorance is starting to grate on your pride. Slowly, you start to descend from the high top table, but before your feet can hit the ground a hand is catching your thigh, keeping you perched on the edge of the table. Shoko doesn’t look up from the screen but her hand is now resting imploringly on your leg. She can’t be bothered to look at you or tell you not to go but her touch will have to be enough. You readjust yourself, scooting back onto the hightop. Her hand brushes mindlessly over your skin, drifting high enough that her fingers drift under the hem of your skirt. The same skirt you’d bought on her recommendation during a trip to the mall. 

“Almost done,” she mumbled so low that you would’ve missed it if you weren’t already staring at her. Her lips barely part around the words and she sounds utterly exhausted. Shoko always seems to have everything together despite always looking like she’s fighting to stay conscious with every blink. Her eyes have gone glossy as though she isn’t paying attention to anything in front of her but her hands don’t stop. Not where she’s scrolling through her essay and not where she’s thumbing circles against your thigh. A few more swipes of her finger and she reaches the final line of the document. Her hand leaves your leg long enough to hit save and close her laptop. The chair squeaks beneath her weight as she finally leans away from the desk, tired eyes pointed towards the ceiling. White light dances across her dark gaze before her lashes flutter closed with a sigh. She gives your leg a gentle pat before pushing away from the desk with a discordant scrape of her chair. It interrupts the monotony that had settled over the room but the disturbance is welcome as Shoko goes about packing up her things. She shoulders her bag and holds out her hand to help you down from the table. 

“Let’s go,” she hums, brushing her thumb across the back of your hand as she leads you out of the examination room. The halls of the school are dimmed and quiet so late into the evening. The sound of your footfalls echo through the emptiness, preceding your arrival just enough for Ijichi to parse who’s approaching. The door to his office is open, spilling white light into the darkness and he cuts through the glowing haze like a towering tree, a willowy silhouette against the bright light. 

“Done for the night?” He asks. Shoko hums, prompting Ijichi to tidy up his office. The jingling of his keys leads the way outside. It isn’t so late that the trains have stopped running but Shoko seems close to falling asleep where she stands and she’d likely only be made more irritable after commuting home on public transit. Ijichi is a blessed pillar of Jujutsu Tech staff, always willing to act as chauffeur for the most minor trips. He knows the way to Shoko’s apartment without the assistance of a GPS and he doesn’t seem to spare a thought to consider if you want to be ferried back to your own apartment. You don’t but an embarrassed flush blooms warm across your cheeks as you realize no one takes any time to consider that you won’t always be where Shoko is anymore. Truthfully, you could’ve gone home hours ago, but you stayed to keep Shoko company, clinging to her like a puppy. 

“Here we are,” Ijichi says as he pulls up in front of Shoko’s building. “Do you need any further assistance?” It’s so formal, though that’s just how Ijichi is when he’s on the clock. You’ve only seen him lose his staunch manners once when Gojo insisted all of you go out to celebrate one thing or another. Instead of poking fun at his civility you thank him for the ride and usher Shoko out of the car. Ijichi waits until you’re inside the building before pulling off. 

In the comfort of her own home, Shoko seems to be a bit renewed. The fatigue still lingers in the way her movements lack the usual precision that must come with the medical training. A hair’s breadth of error in her movement might spell disaster in an examination room but here, she’s free to be less exact. She takes her shoes off at the door and kicks them to the side rather than lining them up neatly against the wall. Her bag is dropped on the couch, nearly spilling over with how she tossed it. There’s a laziness that belies her exhaustion but it seems like the last dregs of her energy drink are still simmering in her system as she deposits you next to her bag, pushing you to sit with a hand on your shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen. 

When she returns, she sets a plate of fruit on the coffee table before padding off to the balcony. No matter how tired, Shoko has never been one to smoke indoors. The scent of the cigarettes might linger in her hair and clothes but her apartment always smells like vanilla and jasmine, courtesy of her favorite scented candles. She leaves the sliding door half open as she leans against the bannister and you decide that she deserves this small moment of peace. Though you haven’t really done much to disturb her in the last hour or so, you suspect she could use a moment of solitude to decompress from the stresses and strains of academia. Instead of following her past the billowing curtains you busy yourself with the tray of fruit, wetting your fingers with pineapple and watermelon. 

Shoko joins you after a while and you nearly melt as she sits close beside you, wiping away a smear of juice at the corner of your mouth. Your thanks gets caught in your throat as she pops her thumb between her lips. If she takes note of your shock, Shoko doesn’t mention it. Instead she turns on some mind numbing period piece and sags into the couch. Exhaustion catches up with her quickly and she falls asleep somewhere at the midpoint of the film, lips parted around kittenish snores. She’s easy enough to carry on account of your combat training. She curls up in your arms, shifting until her nose is pressed against your neck and you stifle a yelp at how cold she is. She’s half lucid as you set her at the foot of the bed, moving her limbs with wooden fluidity as you strip her out of her clothes before tucking her in. There’s just enough consciousness left in her to remind you to come to bed when the movie is over. You’re not particularly interested enough to see how it ends but you do go through the motions of winding down for the night as the movie plays softly in the background. The dishes are washed and the doors and windows locked. By the time you’re yawning yourself the credits are rolling. 

Shoko rouses the moment you slip beneath the sheets, rolling over to wrap herself around you. Her breath is slow and steady against your neck as she tucks her nose behind your ear and sighs. That’s all you expect from her, arm tossed loosely over your waist as she falls back to sleep, but then her hand begins to move. Subtle at first as she traces her fingertips over your stomach through your shirt, then more purposeful as she dips beneath the fabric to tease at your bare skin. Her hand trails higher, taking your shirt with it until it’s crumpled beneath your chin, your breasts bared to the cool air of her bedroom. Her eyes are half lidded and dark in the dim ambiance, lit only by the grayish glow filtering through the curtains. It highlights the broadest strokes of her face as she lazily climbs over you, blanket pooling around her hips as she settles in your lap. The curve of her cheekbones and slope of her nose all glow silver as her hair slips over her shoulders in a tousled waterfall. Her hands have just the slightest chill as she traces her hands up the ladder of your ribs to cup your chest in her palms. Your nipples perk against the softness of her skin, pressing into the gentle touch as she traces her thumbs over the stiffening buds. 

“You should sleep,” you tell her, hand stroking over the length of her arm. 

“I will,” she promises, “after.” She’s been asleep for at least an hour and it showed in her voice, sultry and graveled as she leaned down to press hot kisses over your neck. Her tongue finds the shape of your collarbone, tracing the sloping imprint before slipping lower to wrap her lips around your nipple. 

“I wanted to do this the moment you walked into the exam room.” She confesses. Her words ghost breathy and ticklish across your skin as she slinks lower, leaving wet imprints of her lips against your stomach. She noses against the waistband of your pants, taking her time to pull them down. With each newly exposed inch she presses a kiss against your skin, stopping only to leave a more lasting mark. Your pants are shucked to the floor as Shoko replaces the lost warmth with her body laid between your legs. Her teeth and tongue leave marks against the soft skin of your thighs as she works her way back up your body. She leaves a burning kiss beneath your navel, then higher and higher until her lips are sealing over yours. 

Her legs cage one of yours as she steals the breath from your lungs, tongue dancing over yours as she lowers her hips with purpose. With a shift of her weight, Shoko presses her thigh flush between your legs and your hips move to meet her. Each roll of your hips is like the strike of a flint that sparks but refuses to catch fire. Shoko isn’t much better as she whines pitifully, rocking hard against you with little relief. The sound of your desperate mewls turns to groans of frustration, both of you too desperate for the full shocks of pleasure to stop long enough to shed the rest of your clothes. Shoko decides on a compromise.  

“Here,” Shoko pants, detangling one of your fists from the wrinkled sheets to slide it beneath the waistband of her pants. The warmth is immediate as you slip your fingers lower until they’re enveloped in the wet heat that’s gathered between her legs. Her thigh presses harder against your pussy, pace stuttering as you circle your fingers over her clit. It’s wet and clumsy as she grinds against your fingers. Her whole body trembles as she sits up to toss aside her shirt, hands immediately cupping her chest. Her breasts spill between her fingers as she pinches at her nipples. Between her soft exhales she whines something that sounds like “inside.” Her eyes are half lidded, lashes fluttering as her eyes roll back the second your fingers slip inside her. 

“That feel good, baby?” You ask, gripping her waist as she rides your fingers. She’s nodding, whining a thick deluge of praise between each shallow breath. 

“Feels so good,” she sighs. Her fingers that are usually so dexterous suddenly feel clumsy as she brushes her fingertips over the seam of your lips, chuffing out a soft laugh when your mouth opens to taste her skin. There’s the lingering taste of the fruit she ate earlier spreading sweetly over your tongue as you bit softly at her fingers. And when she pulls away a mess of drool dribbles down your chin and drips onto your chest as she circles her wet fingers over her nipple, hips stuttering as she shivers from the air caressing her wet skin. You can feel the goosebumps raising as you thumb at her trembling stomach, feeling the muscles shift beneath her skin as she fucks herself on your fingers. Her clit twitches under the pad of your thumb as you curve your fingers inside her. She comes with a long whine, head tossed back as she grinds hard against your hand. Her pants are soaked through when you pull your hand out, patting her pussy through the sodden fabric. Shoko shrinks away from the feeling, falling back to the mattress with a satisfied huff. 

In the muted light you can’t see the soft flush you know is coloring her cheeks, but she looks beautiful all the same. Hair fanned out around her head and stuck to the sheen of sweat shining on her forehead. Her lips are glossy and parted as she tries to catch her breath. You pat her hip with your wet hand, unbothered by the mess. 

“You done?” Shoko shakes her head and rolls onto her back, legs untwining from yours as she moves to shove her pants down her thighs. Her panties are so soaked they’re nearly transparent, sticking to every contour of her pussy. Shoko cringes at the slick sound it makes as she peels off her underwear, kicking them to the edge of the bed. 

“You too.” She’s shaky as she pushes herself up to pull down your pants, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your underwear. She gets them halfway down your thighs before her hand is tucking between your legs. She kisses you gently, murmuring “good job, baby,” as she tosses your panties aside. 

“On your back, baby.” She’s regaining some semblance of control as she guides you to lay back against the pillows. The warmth of her body still lingers in the sheets as they brush against your bare skin, but Shoko’s hands are still cold as she maneuvers your body with ease. She can pluck each muscle of your body like a string and she’s always careful of how she moves you. Never stretching too far to strain or pulling so hard it hurts. She straddles one of your legs then lifts the other, wrapping it around her hips until she can get close enough to meet you in the middle.  

Shoko pauses for a moment and you try to catch your breath, taking in the feeling of her cunt pressed against yours. Then, the air conditioning kicks back on with a gust of glacial air and Shoko shivers. The short burst of a movement drags her swollen clit against yours and you keen, falling flat on your back and bucking to recreate the feeling. It’s an awkward dance at first; she’s hot and wet against you, arousal dripping down your thighs to stain the sheets, but you need her just there and she’s rushing to meet you halfway. After another moment of erratic pleasure Shoko leans back on one arm and reaches for your leg with the other. She lifts it off her waist, pulling it over her shoulder until you can feel her shortened breaths ghosting across your skin. 

Her swollen lips are whispering frantic words against your ankle that you can’t decipher, mind too lost in ecstasy to register anything past the feeling of her pussy kissing yours. Locked in the moment, Shoko pushes herself up to lean more of her weight on you. A wanton moan falls from your lips as she grinds down on you. She rest her hand against your chest, thumbing over your nipple as she fucks you into the mattress. You revel in her lack of control as her praises turn to unintelligible slurs, knowing you were the one to turn her composure to ash. She smacks her hand over yours, strengthening your grip as your hands grasp desperately at her hip. The weight of her flesh spills between your fingers as your nails bite crescent shapes into the plush of her hips. 

“Closer, want you closer.” She pants, falling forward and taking your leg with her. It leaves you utterly exposed to her as she ruts drunkenly against you. The sounds coming from between your bodies is sinful, loud and wet as the slick sound of skin on skin. “Fuck, such a good girl.” Shoko praises and you feel how the words pool low in your stomach, heat gathering at the base of your spine as the sweet words start to tumble from her lips with reckless abandon. 

“Always so good for me, so patient–fuck! Sitting so pretty waiting for me, baby. Thank you for waiting.” Heat gathers between her bodies as she balances on her forearm, letting your leg off her shoulder to join the other knocking around her ribs as she cages you to the bed between her thighs. She has you curled up, only half balance on the bed as she holds your hips off the mattress. 

“Feels so good, m’not gonna last.” She whines. “I’m so close.” She cums hard, all shivers and stuttering breaths as pleasure seizes through her body. She’s shaking yet still desperate as she fucks herself through it, using your body for her own satisfaction. Sweat pastes the two of you together when she finally comes down, body going limp as she falls against your chest. It’s hot and sticky as Shoko nuzzles against your neck, pressing wet kisses against your racing pulse. Your own orgasm was lost somewhere in the fray, simmering just under the surface as Shoko cuddles against your chest. She’s so close that you can feel her heartbeat against yours, the quick fluttering slowing to a steady thump as your hands play in her hair. When her breaths start to shallow you wonder if she’s fallen asleep. It wouldn’t be a surprise. The day was long and exhausting, and she’d already been asleep when you joined her in bed. But after a few more beats of silence, Shoko sits up and reaches towards the nightstand. You expect her to grab the half empty water bottle sitting there but instead she finds a hair tie. There’s a look of sultry determination on her face as she pulls her hair back into a messy bun. 

“Your turn, baby.” Shoko has never been one to leave you high and dry, and she clearly isn’t going to start tonight. You can hear the lethargy dripping from her tone but it doesn’t douse the flames of desire still burning in her eyes. She presses a kiss to your parted lips. One, then another, before working her way down your body. She licks at the marks blooming over your through and the sore peaks of your nipples, down the heaving expanse of your chest to kiss just below your navel before her head settles between your thighs. 

“You don’t have to.” The words are full of worry. Far more concerned with her health than your own pleasure. Shoko clicks her tongue and mumbles something about “want to,” as she pulls your thighs over her shoulders. 

Her eyes trail from the sopping mess between your legs up to your eyes and back down again. Your entire body jumps as she drags the pad of her thumb over your pussy, rubbing at your throbbing bud. Her tongue cleans the mess from her finger before she presses her head between the heat of your thighs. Her tongue spreads your folds as she licks up the length of your slit, gathering the cocktail of your joiner arousal on your tongue. As she flicks at her clit, you whimper, head falling back against the pillows. Your ruined orgasm roars back to life, heat flooding your body as Shoko groans against your cunt. The feeling shoots up your spine as your thighs start to shake. 

The sound of your voice is almost pitiful as you cry out her name, bucking against her face. Shoko lets you, flattening her tongue as you set the pace, desperately chasing your high. You come hard, shuddering under her hands as you curl in on yourself, barely lucid enough to miss catching her cheek with your knee. The hand that isn’t searching for hers dives between your legs, wrist trapped between clenched thighs as you desperately curl your fingers inside yourself. Shoko watches you fuck yourself through it before pulling your hand away to suck your soaked fingers into her mouth. When she’s satisfied that she cleaned the taste of your cum off your fingers, she kisses your palm. 

Shoko looks to be on the cusp of passing out as you slip out from under her. Cleanup is only a few swipes of a damp washcloth. She lets you maneuver her limp body so you can wipe away the sweat and slick, and you’re able to get a few swigs of lukewarm water into her before Shoko is fully checked out. Her last half conscious act is tossing her loose limbs across your naked body to pull you closer. Her skin is damp from your haphazard wipe down but you don’t have it in you to care as she tucks her nose into the curve of your jaw, humming compliments as you both dip between sleep and wakefulness. Shoko is barely coherent enough to form a sentence but she slurs it out anyway before trailing off into a soft snore. A promise to make it up to you in the morning when she’s more properly rested. 

[superbattrash]

Do you have any Superbat fic recs? Just kind of stumbled on the ship and am already excited by the notion.

Hiiiii sweetheart! Welcome to the bright and sunny side of superbat shipping ~ *blows dust off my laptop that I haven’t turned on in a month* oh gross, there are actual spiderwebs on it... I'm so sorry, Maggie. Ahem, first of all. Any and all fics by these talented people: @frownyalfred, @superbatdisasterblog, @susiecarter, @sassyresacon1990 (I know I'm forgetting a lot of people but it's been a while okay)

This is just handful of my ultimate favs, if you need more I'm always more than happy to go through my bookmarks!

tell all the truth (but tell it slant) by susiecarter (rated M)

It takes a while for Batman and Superman to work things out, once Clark comes back from the dead. Pretending to date each other in order to explain why Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are in the same place so often? Doesn't help as much as you might think.

Condersing Conditions by LeCadavre_1904 (rated E)

Before Bruce and Clark fall into bed for the first time, Bruce has an unusual condition.

Clark is as obliging as always.

don't push me (cause I am close to the edge) by LinguisticJubilee (rated G)

Kara huffs out a breath in frustration. “Every Kryptonian has a heartsong. And they’re beautiful, but when you listen to one on its own it feels like something is missing. It’s like...they have something like this too, right?” She gestures outward impatiently, and Bruce forces himself not to flinch at her casual use of they. “Only they have words written down instead.” 

“Soulmates,” Clark says, his voice strained. 

The word hits Bruce like a bullet through the lung. He keeps his face perfectly relaxed, his heartbeat calm and regular, as he realizes (too late, he's always too late) that he should have expected this all along.

fallin' for him was like fallin' from grace by Resacon1990 (rated T)

“But Bruce isn’t gay?” Clark points out, and there’s an awkward moment of everyone clearing their throats and avoiding Clark’s eyes until he turns to stare at Bruce. “Are you?”

Bruce blinks for a moment before offering a sheepish smile. “I’m not… not?” he offers, and Clark feels his brain just about short-circuit at the news.

Or, five times Clark finds himself falling for Bruce, and the one time he does something about it

No Church in the Wild by TheResurrectionist (not rated but OUCH ANGST)

"I'll have a contingency plan."

"If you're the first face he sees, you'll need it."

Bruce brings Clark back by himself.

smokin' in the boys' room - by The Ressurectionist (not rated but both blood and dicks, so rated Misha HAPPY) (I cannot tell you how many times I've reread this one GUUUHHH)

Bruce Wayne -- billionaire playboy, owner of, at most, three brain cells -- beaten up at his own charity gala. Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises out of nepotism and dumb luck, whose business wasn’t touched by corruption purely because of incompetence -- Bruce Wayne, airheaded and still generous, still kind, bloody in a stall and trying to hide it. 

His hand clenched on the stall door, crumpling it between his fingers. His eyes weren’t burning yet, but barely. 

“Who did this to you?”

I Would I Might Forget That I Am I by susiecarter (rated T)

Clark Kent woke up, ate breakfast, went to work—the same way he did every day. Ordinary.

Except for the part where Superman hadn't been seen in at least a week and nobody knew why, Lois was acting kind of weird, and Bruce Wayne was insisting that Clark was the only reporter he'd allow to run a feature on the crashed alien ship in the park, since Wayne Enterprises had been granted control of the site. And the way Clark felt every time Wayne looked at him a little too long definitely wasn't helping.

But it was fine. Clark was normal, there was nothing wrong with him, and everything was fine.

Satisfaction Brought It Back by slippin_into_dakrness and SpiritsFlame. (rated G) (This one is my comfort comfort comfort read!!!)

Bruce always thought that Superman's cute shtick of rescuing cats from trees was a bid for publicity—until a confrontation with a magic user leaves him stuck as a cat. He learns how mistaken he was when Superman not only rescues him, but takes him back to a small Metropolis apartment. The opportunity to learn more about the alien can't be ignored, but is Bruce ready for everything he will learn about someone he has only ever regarded with distrust and dislike?

[holylulusworld]

Big girls don't cry (5)

Summary: You are no stranger to heartbreak.

Pairing: CEO!Steve Rogers x Plussized!Reader

Warnings:  angst, strong reader, mentions of former heartbreak, regret, fear of commitment, abandonment issues, fluff, mistaken identity, hopeful ending, a little fun, talk about therapy

Big girls don’t cry masterlist

Part 4

“I wish you love. A love that will give you everything you’ll ever need…”

You fist his shirt, desperate to tell Steve how you feel. Yes, he hurt you deeply but maybe there is a chance that you can work things out. 

There is love between the two of you. A love you don’t want to give up easily. 

You didn’t know he struggled in the past too, believing he always was the self-confident man he is. You understand now that he is insecure sometimes - just like you.

“Steve, I don’t want someone else to love me. I only wanted you to love me,” you hide your face in his chest, wetting his shirt with your tears.

“I ruined our love. I destroyed what we had because of my insecurities,” Steve cries now too. He hiccups and buries his face in your neck. “You will never love me again. I threw the best thing ever happening to me away. What else can I do but let you go to find someone better?”

“Steve, love doesn’t die easily. It’s stronger than you give it credit for. Love isn’t always strong from the beginning. It grows if you give it the chance to do so. Every touch, kiss, or gentle gesture let it grow,” you choke out a sob. “Even after a storm, it can grow if you find a way to forgive each other.”

“I love you so much it hurts not having you around. That day, I wanted to ask you to move in with me,” he sniffs, “I wasn’t sure how to propose, but I got the ring, and then…”

“You messed shit up, Stevie,” you whisper against him. “Why did you have to say these things? Why?”

“Sam and Bucky said I’m whipped, and I got scared that you will make me fall in love even more only to break my heart. Everyone just left me, and I kind of sabotaged our relationship to not get hurt. Instead, I hurt the only person who meant the world to me. I hate myself for it.”

“You’ve got abandonment issues. I don’t think you’ll be able to have a healthy relationship if you don’t seek help. Maybe you need a therapist to help you come to terms with your past. I’d gladly help you, but I don’t think I’m the right person.”

“A therapist,” Steve whispers. “Will you help me find one? I-I trust you and…”

“I won’t give up on us yet, Steve. I’m still angry at you. But mostly, I’m hurt. You didn’t trust me enough to talk about your past with me.”

“You didn’t talk about your past with me either, doll,” he lifts his head to look at you. “I guess we both should try to come to terms with our past. Maybe we can do it together?” Steve looks at you like a kicked puppy. “Please…”

“So…” You sit on Steve’s sofa, looking at the notebook in your hands. “What do you think about the therapist and the homework he gave us?”

“I’m not sure,” Steve places a cup of tea and some cookies on the coffee table in front of you. “It felt good to talk about the things bugging me. But I didn’t like the way he stared at your chest.”

You giggle. Steve is not wrong. Dr. Hansen poorly hid his attraction toward your boobs and ass. Maybe he wasn’t the best choice, but he had the best reviews. 

Steve sighs and opens his notebook to reread the instructions Dr. Hansen gave him during their private session. “He told me to tell you how much I love your body. With my tongue and body.”

“He told you to have sex with me?” You wrinkle your nose. “You’re lying.” Steve yelps when you snatch the notebook out of his hands to get a look at the instructions. “Did he draw me?”

“Uh-that was me. Dr. Hansen was talking about you, and that you’re a beautiful woman. He wanted me to cherish you. I couldn’t help myself and draw you.”

“You’re very talented Steve,” you grin. “Just draw me with clothes on next time…”

“He didn’t see a thing. I swear,” he starts to sweat. “It’s just that the was talking about you, and your appearance all the time and my mind wandered.”

Sighing again you close the notebook. “I don’t think Dr. Hansen will help us. He’s a pervert.”

“Hmmm…” Steve nods in agreement. “I don’t understand all the good reviews. Maybe they are fake.”

“Let me check again,” you grab your phone to search for Dr. Hansen. “Hmm…” You frown deeply. “Crap.”

“What?” Steve looks at you, brows furrowed. “Doll? What’s wrong?” He worriedly places his hand on your thigh.

“I think…uh…I messed up this time,” you giggle as your cheeks heat up. “I noted the wrong address. I wanted to go to Dr. Hanson, not Dr. Hansen. We kinda ended up with a sex therapist.”

Steve snorts. “Well, we never had a problem in that department. Our sex was extraordinary, kinky, sweet, hot, and satisfying.”

“You are telling me,” you groan loudly. “Great. Now I know why he was talking about my sad vagina all the time. I believed he was a creep when he wanted me to tell him about my masturbation routine.”

“He asked you how you touch yourself?” Steve’s head snaps toward you. “I swear, I’m going to kill him. Right now. I’ll go to his practice and murder him.”

“He only did his job,” you point out. 

Steve pouts. “I still don’t like that guy. He accused me of not taking care of your muffin. I don’t know what he meant, but I didn’t like it one bit.” 

You snort, as you watch Steve. “Oh my god. Stevie! You can’t be serious.”

“I’m damn serious.” He slams his fist into the couch. “I always ate your muffins and cupcakes. How dare that man to say I don’t like the food you make.”

“Steve,” you giggle as you place your hand on his shoulder. “He was talking about my vagina, not pastries.”

“What?” All color drains from Steve’s face. His features harden and he’s about to kick the table. “How can he say such a thing?”

“Uh-I kinda told him that you disappointed me. I guess he believed I was talking about your qualities in the bedroom.” You start laughing at Steve’s pissed expression. He grunts as you hold your stomach. “This can only happen to us. We seek help and end up with a sex therapist.”

“Stop laughing,” Steve struggles to not laugh. “Doll, stop laughing. We should talk about our relationship, not laugh about our therapist.”

“I wanna laugh,” you giggle and kick your feet. “That feels,” you snort while laughing, “so good. Stevie…”

After the incident with Dr. Hansen, and your flash of laughter you decided to talk things out with Steve in private. If you need professional help, you can still look for a therapist.

It’s been two weeks, and you are slowly making progress. You talked about your childhood friends and slowly got closer to the core of your problems. Distrust and the fear of getting hurt again.

“You can take your time,” Steve softly says. “I told you about Peggy and the others hurting me. Uh-and my first girlfriend. You know that I’ll not judge you or laugh about you.”

You inhale sharply. It’s been years since you thought about your first love. “It was because of one of his friends’ comments. We were good, and I believed he liked me. One false word from his friend and he decided that I was not the girl he wanted to take to prom. Since then, I never trusted someone with my heart. Until you.”

“And I broke your trust in me,” Steve sighs deeply. “I know I said it before but I’m so fucking sorry. What happened in my past shouldn’t have influenced my life and my feelings for you. If I could turn back time and take the words back, I’d do it.”

“Now that we talked about our past, we should address the elephant in the room. Where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know,” he honestly says. “All I know is that my feelings for you never changed, and that I love you. I just don’t know if that’s enough for you.”

“What about your job? You quit and gave up your career,” you move a little closer to Steve to take his hand in yours. “What do you want to do now?”

“Bucky, Sam, and I are thinking about starting our own business. That was my dream for years. I hated working for that asshole.”

You interlock your fingers with Steve and lean your head against his shoulder. “You’ll stay in New York, right? I don’t want you to move miles away.”

“Of course, I’ll stay close to you, doll. It’s only a vague idea so far. We still need to talk about the details,” Steve leans his head against yours, sighing. “Do you want me to stick around?”

“Hmm…I could get any guy, you know. Including Dr. Hansen,” you grin hearing Steve inhale sharply. “Every guy wants a taste of me.”

“Y-ou wouldn’t go out with Dr. Hansen. Right? He’s still a creep,” Steve stammers. “Please don’t go out with him.”

“I could have any guy, but I only want you, Steve.”

Steve nods. He knows that you’ve got a long way ahead. Both of you need to heal, but if you are willing to give him the chance, he’ll show you what love is…

FIN

Tags in reblog.

[spotsandsocks]

So many choices!! They all sound amazing!! I think I'll have to go with...

🛌🛌🛌🛌🛌

🧠🧠🧠🧠🧠

😧😧😧😧😧

😈😈😈😈😈

Happy writing!! 🥰

Hi thanks for getting me typing! I’m having so many ideas!!!

🛏️

Buck had made it through that by being remarkably interested in the words on a page that he’d reread six times and still not taken in by the time Eddie’s head was on the pillow.

Pretending to be absorbed in his book didn’t stop him noticing that Eddie was facing him, had his eyes open and was looking at him. He didn’t mind, he just noticed. He’d glanced over once and smiled down, Eddie has smiled back, looking sleepy and beautiful and said “Good book?”

He’d lied and said ‘riveting’.

That had made Eddie laugh because he could see the title and knew it was a book about the roles women took up during World War 2, including working on the planes and machinery needed, ‘riveting’ being a key part of that.

Eddie laughed at his joke, he’s pretty sure no one else would have.

They talked a little longer until Eddie’s eyelids had started to flutter and then he was asleep breathing slow and deep. Buck took his turn at watching then, but only for 30 seconds, because it’s creepy watching someone sleeping, then he’d turned the light off and prayed he’d keep to his side of the bed.

Morning light creeping through the curtains had revealed his success in that area. He’d stayed mostly where he was, albeit a little closer to the center now. Eddie too was much where he’d been when the lights were turned out, except his arm is outstretched almost like it was reaching for something.

Still sleepy Buck considers the possibility that maybe it was?

Deciding he can blame sleep he wiggles a little closer still until Eddie’s hand is close enough for his fingertips to touch Buck’s arm. Those fingertips are a little too cold actually so the kind, responsible thing to do is make sure Eddie stays warm.

The rest under hear cos I write long sentences and apparently 60 sentences gives you a very long post!! 😆

🧠 this was a prompt for buddie with telepathic bond from @steadfastsaturnsrings I hadn’t done anything with it but now I have … this is all there is for now… I’ll keep thinking about it

You get three people. That’s it. Three and you cant choose them until you're 16.

After that it’s down to personal preference, compatibility and your own heart.

Not everybody chooses and hardly anyone chooses three. It’s a big decision even stupid teenagers know that.

Buck’s first choice was Maddie. She’d asked if he was sure. She hadn’t chosen anyone yet even if she was so much older than him. Doug wasn’t a believer in taking the bond so he’d said no when she’d asked. She’d said yes to her brother and then she’d left him.

He’d never understood why.

So he’d never asked anyone again. He bonded with Maddie and then she was gone. Seemed like an omen to him.

The second bond happened without him realising it, and neither of them kniw exactly when it happened but he must have wanted it and so must Eddie because you can’t bond without consent.

However the first time he heard Eddie’s voice in his mind was when he’d been buried by 40 feet of mud and Buck was insisting he was alive when he could see the fear in everyone else’s eyes that his best friend was already lost.

😧 amnesia fic

“Hey, no need to scowl at the juice, it’s not done anything wrong.”

That’s a matter of opinion but Josephine’s smile is gentle, she understands how frustrating it is to be stuck like this, not a damn clue who he is or where he belongs. And he does belong somewhere, he knows he does. The ache in his chest proves it, it burns constantly, a deep furious conviction that he has to be somewhere else, has to get back to something important.

The something remains a mystery but he thinks it has to be a family. He just feels like he has a family somewhere and he has to find them again. They probably think he’s dead and he’s not, he’s just lost. Lost everything it feels like.

He tries to remember but there’s just a dark void at the center of him; cold and empty. That’s wrong, he knows that, so wrong, there should be light and laughter and warmth there. He remembers the feeling even if he can’t remember what put it there. He rubs at the ache in his chest constantly, trying to soothe it away, and from there each time his fingers reach for something around his neck that's absent.

Each time his fingers seek and find nothing, he doesn’t know what’s missing, only that he misses it. It makes his eyes sting. He wants to remember what’s missing so badly.

😈 demon!Eddie

Eddie stands there, waiting patiently, allowing the witch who owns and runs this place to sense him and prepare herself. It’s only polite after all, no one likes an unexpected demon even if they’re technically an old friend.

As he waits Eddie lets the peace of this place soak into him. The light that manages to make it through the dusty windows is warm and casts soft shadows across the floor. The air is filled with the scent of old paper and leather, hints of herbs and spices lingering too. Against the walls various cabinets, bookcases and shelves are crammed full of a range of trinkets and treasures, some fake, some genuine, some just ordinary things because even the customers who come here need candles and matches as well as the more interesting things you can purchase here. Eddie’s not here for matches, nor the more esoteric items on sale. He just wants to talk. He has questions and he thinks that this is where he’ll find the answers.

Still and quiet he waits until she’s ready and before too long the curtain to the back room of the store moves and he’s not alone anymore.

She’s cautious because she’s old and she’s wise and she knows that even old friends like him require watching carefully if you want to stay being old.

“Your Highness” her eyes twinkle because she knows how much he hates that, “you honor my humble business with your presence.”

The lady steps forward glorious and beautiful, dark skin glowing, warm eyes teasing him and the curve of her mouth telling him she thinks she’s funny. Eddie narrows his eyes, she’d better not even think about bowing.

“Linda, you know I hate it when you do that.

[floofeeeeee]

Rereading everblaze has been so interesting and I could talk about it for so long but I’m goin to talk about this specific part that had me SOBBING when I first read it (and again the SECOND time I’ve read but for a different reason)

And this is also a reason to complain about the council (I hate them all) (yes ALL of them)

Tw mentions of eating disorders and suicide 



“Instead, all we find is wrong." He turned to stare at Sophie, making it clear he included her in that wrongness,”

I want to talk about this part first before the rest because I find it really interesting. (And because the other parts will be longer) It’s clear to me that the cancel is afraid of Sophie in some kind of way they find her threatening even though she’s proven all she wants to do is help. They’re scared because they know her existence threatens there’s she’s the savior that’s supposed to fix’s the wrongs of their world.their wrongs they know there’s another group out there they know that’s the group that kidnapped Sophie and Dex but instead they fixated oh the black swan because to them it threateners there power and control. they feel the need to keep Sophie under control they need to keep her under their control.

“Sophie foster is not normal.” She closed her eyes as the words rattled around her mind”

This part comes a bit before the first one but that’s because I knew I wanted to talk more about this specifically it hits heard for a couple of reasons I’ll get into.

Gosh…. This part man :( ok let’s start with the fact that the lost cities was a place that was supposed to be where she belong it was supposed to make her feel normal and safe but instead she met with same kind of hate that she got from the humans. Sophie to me feels like a fallen gifted kid someone who was able to get to the top of her class now at the bottom and shamed for it. It wasn’t her fault that she could read minds as a kid and not know how to stop them it wasn’t her fault that she never grew up in the lost cities to learn the ruins everyone grew up learning. And yet they still shame her, for not being normal not being like them because she grew up with humans because she some kind of lab rat someone that’ll hurt there kids and them

They never see her for the child that she is the smart brave funny individual who’s saved their lives more then once no. Because she not normal. she doesn’t act right

As someone who neurodivergent this hits really hard I was constantly told when I was younger by my peers that I was weird. And I’m sure most people who are neurodivergent have a similar experience of being treated differently just because you’re not normal.. 

 “She closed her eyes as the words rattled around her mind”

For so long she been called not normal by almost everyone around her her human mother (even if she never said it to her face) her classmates in school and her classmates now In The place she was told was perfect and safe and were she belong.

GOSH I JUST WANT TO GRAB THEM AND THROW THEM AT THE SUN DIE

She deserves to live a happy life for once :(

“It wasn't until he raised it over her head that she realized what was happening.”

“Two of the Council's bodyguards rushed to her sides, holding her in place as Councillor Emery clamped” the silver band around her forehead.

“The circlet was Dex's telepathy restrictor.”

“The Council was trying to take away her abilities.”

This part makes me sick SICK this was the part that I cried at when I first read it. The realization of what was happening to her felt like I was being hit by a truck. The fact that the council had there bodyguards hold her In Place …… UGHHHHHGGH I want to fall them to in a ditch I swear. they were trying to make her talentless in a weird fucj up way to control her if wasn’t for the fact that her powers are so strong they would’ve forcefully made her disabled. Because that’s what talentless elf’s are to them. It’s how they treat them. It’s how they treat Dexs dad it’s how they treated Brant

I can’t imagine the horror and fear Sophie felt in that moment they had other options but no the reason they chose this one is because they knew it was the best way to keep her under control.

“She knew it was slumberberry tea even before she saw the purple color, and she drank it gladly, downing the whole thing and hoping it knocked her out for a few years—decades-the rest of eternity.”

How do you fuck up so badly that you get a girl WHO REFUSES to drink any kinda of sleeping drug do to the trauma of being kidnapped and drugged against her will. To DOWN like ten of them because of the pain and trauma you’ve brought her.

HOW CAN YOU CAN YOU NOT SEE HOW F UP THAT IS

“Edaline tried to get her to eat something, but she wasn’t hungry”

“All she wanted was more tea.”

I’m thinking back to this post I saw were someone mentioned that Sophie shows a lot of signs of eating disorders. And here it pretty prevalent. Her avoiding eating and avoiding the waking world to me in way makes me think she could be suicidal. She obviously depressed and ashamed. She feels like she should be disowned by her friends and family because she useless now. Or well in her eyes she is. 

“begging begging begging her to wake.”

“So she dove deeper into her drug-induced haze, wishing she could find her way back to the nook in her mind and stay there forever. She'd been happy there.”

“Safe.”

This is where I see it most. All she wants to do is hide in this drug-induced haze, wanting to go back to the nook in her head were she felt Saft warm and happy. But once the drug wears off she back in the living full of a pain and heartache. Where she feels utterly useless and broken. All she want to do is be happy. But because the council are all absolute idiots they decided to make her life a living hell!!! I’ll still never forgive Bronte for inflicting her In Exil still one of the most F up things he’s done.

Anyways I’m tired and if I try to write more it might not come across right oop just know I hate the council !!!

Thanks for reading my nonsense I hope I made sense or a least made a good analysis :D



[drippingmoon]

Merry new year to everyone, again! 🥳💞🥂

I know it wasn’t an event this year, but writing a yearly wrap-up is really therapeutic, you know? So I decided to continue the tradition, and if anyone wants to join me, absolutely view this as an open invitation^^ Introduction is over, and now let’s see what 2023 looked like:

(spoilers: I adored it. I'm also probably going to make this my fixed post, in case anyone ever wants to catch up with me. And also because my second baby, AoS, is growing, and it doesn't have an intro, but I can't leave it out.)

Stats

Aquiver, Aglow: 181k (draft 4) + 195k (draft 5) + hmm, draft 6 is an outlier, because I didn’t rewrite from scratch, so I’m unsure of the written word count. I didn’t change much from draft 5, so I’d say an extra 15-20k. Total word count: 376k+

Remains of a Night: 120k 

Aberration of Sunlight: 134k

This was definitely my most productive year to date. And I got so hungry: the more I wrote, the more I just wanted to keep writing, and honestly? I’m proudest of myself for literally carving writing time whenever I got a spot into my schedule. Mostly it was from 8pm-11pm, but I had a mad run where my only free window was from 1am till I literally felt I was dying… I’ll talk about that separately🤣🤣👌

Though, I'm seriously understating it.

Like a lot of other people, I would have all these hours when I was younger when I didn't have anything to do, yet I'd still find some excuse not to write. "I'm waiting for the right time." "I'm anxious I'm not going to get it right." "Tomorrow! Tomorrow I can start right from the morning, and I'll have more time to write, yeah?" or "I'm too tired now, it's late..." and so the snowball rolled down and downhill and I found every reason under the sun not to write, now that I think about it. Sigh. So much time wasted. But I can't regret it either, because I needed those baby steps at that time.

And now! Now I do what I thought I'd never learn to: I prioritize, and I actually organize my daily stuff so it's not so impossible anymore to have a little bit of writing time. I don't take it for granted either. It feels like such character growth for me, I'm immensely proud of it.

And for the record? This year was a huge improvement over yesteryear mentally, too. It turns out, what I needed to get over my word count anxiety… was to be faced with people who literally didn’t give a fuck about it, and just cared about the story. One of the most unexpected things beta stage managed to do to me… was to quench all my anxieties. It’s as simple as that. I read and enjoy very long books. People also do that. So, I’m very happy to say I’m no longer in a tizzy about ‘quiv. It might kill my chances for trad publishing, it might not. I’ll be happy come what may.

Because it’s so simple how working on ‘quiv or thinking about it makes me joyous, and now I can just enjoy that freely. I will miss writing this story so much. I really will. But at least I’ll have it forever to reread, and I hope this thought brings comfort to everyone who also has problems letting go, like it does to me.

Let’s break it down a little, shall we?🤩

Aquiver, Aglow◇◇◇

My little star of the hour. How fond I am of it.

Like you could glean from above, ‘quiv went through three drafts this year. More specifically: in the first part of the year, practically almost as soon as February arrived. I knew it was getting closer to the final version, and gave me the push to finish all three back to back. I couldn’t justify anymore the bazillion AUs I do with rewrites (basically, WHAT IFs from events, WHAT IF it went this different way, WHAT IF Tyrone actually said this here… and so on and so forth. I wanted to test out as many pathways as possible, and did I exhaust every one of them in existence? Definitely not. I don’t think that can happen, you just keep getting new ideas. On and on. What happened, instead, is that these couple different pathways, at some point, cemented themselves as canon in my mind. I didn’t want to tease myself with alternatives anymore, and that’s when I knew they would be it. Some bits from the first draft, some from the third, some from the second. Some were even draft 6 originals!

It’s a bit of a weird process. I definitely didn’t need to reach draft 3, and meet Mezusa, because I could’ve feasibly made it work with just Yles in the story. It still would’ve made sense, though in a different way. But if I hadn’t… I might’ve missed one of the best characters I’ll ever probably have created, and the story (and Yles) is much stronger for her, if you ask me. 

For that matter, yes, full rewrites every single draft might take a lot of time and effort, but honestly I don’t think I’d ever change my writing process (save for the moments of frustration when I think I will lol) because of the sheer satisfaction of it. Whoever said so long never to settle on the first version, I owe you a beer and probably some curses as well lmao, but very lovingly. You shaped my writing life.

I don’t have much else to share about ‘quiv, other than it’s off with my beta readers my beloved, and maybe a tentative promise that, if anyone wants, you’ll be able to read this precious ball of hope of mine relatively soon. This story is so gentle to me. And as much as I loved to write and work on it, I dearly hope that whoever decides to give it a go, is treated just the same. That’s the only wish I have.

I also don’t know if I’ll go trad or self-published. Instincts say trad, because I fuckin’ suck at marketing (fact), and I know I’d grow resentful if I’d have to put so many hours into advertising when I know I could instead… write. I’m a writer. That’s the only thing I know how to do. Trad, however, might not be as kind on a ~200k as life’s been, so I might not have a choice. If it comes down to that… I’ll just treat it as I do everything. I don't love this story any less if I just write, publish without a fuss, hope that maybe, just maybe, a reader or two will stumble upon the story and we could talk. Maybe we can have the fun of our lives, create some genuine connection. I know that’s applies to a lot of writers. I hope we can accomplish it.

And so, I’ll finish this section of the wrap-up with a kiss to my ‘quiv, for all the warmth it’s ever brought me. It’s come so far, I know it can live distinct from me from now on. It brings me great comfort. And I look forward to the times I’ll reread it, and we can relive our best experiences together. Never thought I’d get to this point. Thank you, ‘quiv.

Remains of a Night♤♤♤

Mwhahaha! And because ‘quiv took all the pressure, this left AoS to be an extremely fun and spirited experience. Literally the chillest I’ve ever been writing. In many ways, it’s more my thing than I expected ‘quiv to be: I get to murder characters left and right, it’s more plot-heavy and banking on the tension created by a creature that horrifies the characters down to their marrow, but still the only way to defeat it is to know it better, which, uh, might have unpleasant consequences for them. It’s got chase and stealth scenes, and it always shoots me with adrenaline to think about them. In short, exactly my jam.

It’s not a new book, nope. You knew it before as Aberration of Sunlight, but from the get-go I felt it would be bigger than ‘quiv. Very fortunately for me, I had a place where to break it, and behold: there’s RoaN (book 1), and AoS (book 2). There might be a third book, which I dearly hope not because titling sucks, but it depends on the Sycamine arc. More on that in AoS.

One last thing to note, before we delve into the story (hoo-ray for earlier drafts, because I can talk more frankly about them). This is the culprit of my 1am writing adventures!!😫❤ My schedule became too packed, then NaNo came round and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to honor how AoS began, because it was last year’s NaNo, aaand I’m happy to say I won NaNo, somehow, with 56k down before I died. At that time, I only had one section left to write (from both books), otherwise, hahahaha, yeah, it wouldn’t have flown. Still, most of draft 2 I’d written in September-October, with my fairy lights, late nights, and cups of hot cocoa, exactly like how life should be<3

Alright. We’re going through them chapter-by-chapter again, exactly because I love seeing the titles so much:

ACT 1

Cracked Visor, Scorpion Grass

I did it! I did! Twas another shower thought I managed to get down in time. Bare broken sentences, but they did the impossible, and arranged this chapter into a structure I adore to bits and won't ever change. (And 'quiv's naughty voice left me alone for once and I could write it properly!) While I don't think I'll ever be happy with a first chapter (not as a concept, but the writing — part of me will always wish that the reader just had all the information already lol), this one is in the right place.

It pays its respects to the story of the broken helmet at the foot of a spaceship, and how it reconnects Madigan with all the people who'd suffered from being tethered to the planets when they yearned to fly, but the Beast punished them cruelly for it. It makes him feel phantoms of their efforts. The tone is exactly what I needed this story to start from: melancholy and numbly hopeless, against the backdrop of the Beasts's echoed cries.

Rain Through the Universe

Unlike 'quiv, because RoaN and AoS are way more plot-heavy, it's not as easy to change things willy-nilly (whereas 'quiv was all about character bonds and dynamics). As such, it's very similar to draft 1. Because of that, I'll frankendraft next (select and combine drafts 1 and 2, rewrite to connect them) and afterwards I'll try something I've always wanted to. (Scrivener keeps hinting at it!) I'm gonna split the chapters into scenes, and focus on those individually and how I can just rewrite them and set their purpose in stone<3 I'm excited!

As for the chapter itself, gods, I love the atmosphere. Just the wreckage of a sundered ship, and Madigan’s sudden madman appearance making a lasting impression on Spica, because how could it not. They no longer answer distress calls in that age, it just means more dead bodies. In fact, they're forbidden to. Madigan instead brings him what he himself lacks: hope. And a lot of crawling around while dreading the Beast's lambent eye opening, and oh my, the moments are really flying by😈👏 extreme fun for me as the writer.

Aberration of Light

If you remember, the books follow two timelines, which will connect at some point. The first and main one is Madigan and Spica’s story. The other is Holloway’s, in the distant past of that universe, and who’s been dubbed the most selfish man in existence. That’s important, because of how the Beast came to be. But that becomes important later. For now, a weird-ass new recruit has joined the ship, and the witchy crew will very soon start making bets if she’s the Beast in human flesh, which really wouldn’t bode well for their future.

Night Falls On Their Reflection

Draft 2 became Spica’s draft. It was high time. He didn't exist in the original idea beyond chapter 2, but he refused to die with his story untold. And now he's one of the most independent thinkers I've ever written. Now he's Madigan's son (yes, even at 25), best friend, back-to-back partner all in one, and I could watch the trust and mutual respect between these two forever. To be sure: Madigan comes up with the dumbass plans, and Spica's only too happy to follow him through everything (it is good fun.)

He's repaying the incredible kindness Madigan's shown him when answering his distress call, after all.

But it goes a bit further than that, doesn't it? Madigan is used to watching over myriad people. He's the Superintendent of his planet, and while he genuinely loves people, kindness is his default. It doesn't go further than that for him. He doesn't necessarily think people need, much less desire his presence there beyond Madigan extending help, and most of the time, he's content with that. Kindness does make him happy. And it should be the same with Spica now, shouldn't it? He's kind, but he's not Spica's family, nor ever will be. Yet he immediately feels a connection with the boy, that has nothing to do with bonding over escaping-a-cosmic-disaster. And so does Spica.

This is the moment when Madigan starts feeling guilty, for stepping where he should not. But here's the beauty of Spica's character: he's nothing if not dead sure of his own feelings, and what he sees with his eyes. It's okay if Madigan keeps unexpectedly taking steps back. For very long, there'd been nobody to support Spica's beliefs. So he does the same, as when he followed his heart to go into dead space: he believes in himself and Madigan, and that their paths aren't meant to diverge. They mean too much to each other for that to ever happen.

(In short, and legend says you can still hear me screeching about these two ten thousand years later, I love these two so much, and especially the parallels between Spica going alone into outer space and loving Madigan.)

(And, okay, obviously all these developments don't happen in a single chapter, but I couldn't stop gushing🤭🥰.)

Who Puts These Tombs in Ice

Overall, I think draft 2’s Luitgart performed worse than draft 1. Mainly it's the setting I want to revert (still an icy, sempiternally dark hell, but with different ice constructions) because some of the beats are a huge improvement, and again, I gotta combine the two. Otherwise, I’m still as obsessed about the Luitgart arc as I’ve ever been, and huge thanks to it for being so strong it could function as an ending of its own, allowing me to split the book.

Gettin’ into spoilery territory, but I have to un-kill Madigan so many times it leaves me in hysterics. That was what I was supposed to fix this draft. It got worse. Considerably.

(One constant: the chapter being a love letter to Madigan, and how his first answer will always be to help the other, no matter if they deserve it or not<3 and finally, finally, he gets acknowledged for it, and the favor returned.)

ACT 2

Lemon-Dotted Days + Remnant

Two Holloway chapters! I’m actually massively pleased with how they’ve turned out. Last year, I said the main issue was that I had an outline, and that never works for me. So I did what I do best and rewrote everything from scratch, and the result is both uncanny and… unexpected.

Unexpected, because I never in my life thought Holloway’s voice would make me laugh so much. He’s supposed to be unsympathetic, but then you get his interactions with Saintlark (the new crewmate, possibly Beast) where they’re contemplating the harvest of a nebula, and he’s harshly critical of it, which gives Saintlark hope… only to go deadpan One Moment Later: if they’d used the nebula to prolong their lives instead of bolstering the war, they wouldn’t have died like clown idiots. 

And, they could’ve maybe stolen immortality from the nebula. They would've had to share it with him, of course. Or he would've murdered them to get it.

That, my guys, is his personality in a nutshell.

I have a lot of feelings on Holloway now, and most involve me huffing and slapping my forehead while groaning, but oh my gods. Was it ever so fun. And wait, wait, wait. Since I'm talking of humor (apparently a lot of comedy fit into this horror lmfao) I have to show you guys the following section🤣🤣👏:

Corpse Snow

The drifters are set howling on the ice. They share glances, five separate vehicles nodding at each other. Madigan revs up the engine, splitting the air with a jet of steam and vibration.

The last of the marines are climbing into the box. A figure flashes past Madigan’s drifter — and he leans over, teeth grinding because of his ribs, and he does his very best to grab someone by the back of their suit and pull. Workout days were never his strength, though. He only succeeds in stopping them in the frost smoke.

It’s Spica dangling from his hand, expressionless.

Lieutenant Hahn instantly seizes on the situation. He throws Madigan a long, withering look. “Whatcha doing, Boss?” he asks softly, about to unhinge his jaw again.

Madigan nudges Spica into the drifter. “Picking up your boy.”

Spica gets the hint and deposits himself into the front seat, glancing from his father to his Superintendent. He seems to give up on whatever’s going on, and makes himself cozy in the frosty spot. And Madigan, of course, pretends not to notice Hahn’s drifter sliding closer.

“And you didn’t consider I might want to have my son with me?”

Madigan looks up and sighs. “Lieutenant, dear Lieutenant,” he starts pleadingly. “Why won’t you show some leniency to a poor, wounded man?”

Hahn’s drifter stops, summoning a breeze across the icy floor that gently rocks the other vehicle. His breathing distorts the comms with static. “And what exactly is my son right now?”

“My trusty navigator,” Madigan answers easily.

“Sir’s emotional walking stick?” Spica pipes in at the same time.

They both look over. Spica’s quietly turned to the navigation, as serene as daylight, seemingly oblivious to how Madigan's expression changes, lightning-fast. He quickly hides it under the guise of a polite mask, as the marines stir and turn their attention on them. They’re snickering.

Lieutenant Hahn throws up his hands, giving up on everything.

This is also the first 30k chapter I’ve ever written. It's everything I've ever wanted to do with ice.

Heart of the Void

The end of the book. Originally, it was the ending section to Corpse Snow, but since it already got so ungodly long, I chipped off that bit and I have to say I’m very happy with how it works as an epilogue! So it ends the frosty, weary journey, and I can’t see the two books as separate yet, but here we bid goodbye to the first.

Aberration of Sunlight♧♧♧

I did the unthinkable and created a fifth arc. This might not seem like much to you, but I was screaming bloody murder you guys😭😭😭. Sigh. It’s so sigh. For so long, AoS consisted of four clear-cut acts, but it was necessary. With the introduction of Sycamine, and making it two books, it was just needed. It’s still one of the worst things I’ve ever done because I was used to four😃💔

(The chapters continue from where RoaN left off – from chapter 10, to 21.)

ACT 3

Retro Spectrum

Sycamine, oh Sycamine. Definitely the break I needed before Days in Darkness. It made for a really neat beginning. It’s calmer, focusing on the knowledge they have on the Beast. It’s also a reflection on Procyon (their main star) and the story of the two straggler dog constellations, and what they'd been running away from. I liked the direction it took. It veered away from the Beast for a bit, so the tension kept expanding in the background. And when it returns, well... maybe they shouldn't have been so eager to see it again🤭.

It suffers from the same syndrome as draft 1’s first chapter… it’s there in the vicinity of the idea, but too much to the left. Not bad for a first attempt. The setting annoys me – I really don't enjoy writing cities, and AoS didn't change that. So, for our next try, I was thinking... maybe we don't need to be on the planet, but up close and veeery personal with it. It's a secret❤.

And, oh gods. I put a moustache-twirling villain in this. And then I couldn’t stop myself from naming some sucker Sweetman Calories. I don’t know what happened to me during those days, but I’m crying🤣🤣🤣.

Toast to the Light

Holloway and Saintlark’s story is slowly coming to an end. Unexpectedly bleaker than draft 1, yet it feels much more sincere. Holloway has a way of saying everything Saintlark needs to hear. No surprise. They did that to themselves.

Dissonant Recognition

Ahhhh, the Madigan-is-slowly-losing-his-grip-on-reality chapter, or maybe he should really stop staring into the suns. One of my favorites<3 Also because it features Moren (!!!) who has a blast staying in the grey morality area, because she doesn’t know if her actions could ever matter, or if she could change anything. Does she just exist? Is she a player or just pawn? Who knows. Besides that, she gets along great with Spica. They form such a teasing duo, the level of mutual respect they felt for each other on sight was a delight to write. My favorite ally of theirs, even if her destiny lies elsewhere.

Night Beneath the Elevator

Best title hands down, dethroning Solgesis. I’m going batshit crazy about the visuals, it's exactly my thing. This half-light slanted over an elevator waiting in a rundown basement to be boarded. And there's something underneath it, and always has been. Something insidiously creeping up and waving its tendril fingers at you as you're just waiting for the fucking thing to ascend. Immaculate, guys, I'm telling you, and I'm cursing my hands because I can't make a wallpaper of this. I want to eat that atmosphere.

Time-sensitive missions, y'all.

And why the heck did nobody inform me I was going to add Command as an actual character and have them talk with Madigan?! That entire convo, made up entirely on the spot but somehow with a direction, made me realize what an idiot I’d been for not doing it sooner. They mean so much to Madigan, after all.

(And Mariya. So much Mariya in these chapters.)

ACT 4

Loop System

Like Who Puts These Tombs in Ice, draft 1 might’ve done it better. Not Spica and Madigan, though, because of the sheer development Spica’s been through and the dynamic he’s managed to form with the crew. It's different from Madigan’s, but similar enough that it’s got Hahn commenting lightly: [Spica’s] picked up quite a few habits from Madigan, hasn’t he? Almost as if they’ve gotten very very close, huh? How about Madigan tell him more?

(I adore writing Hahn.)

Outreach

Another Holloway chapter. Doesn’t have the punch of the kids subplot from draft 1, but this just makes it worse for Saintlark personally, because, this time, the consequences are on her.

Days in Darkness

I knew the moment I first got the idea this would be my favorite chapter. Well, it finally happened in draft 2: when the entire crew is here, this time, and ready for the final countdown, to relive the experience of being trapped in a ship that's disintegrating. No more heroes left behind. I'd been so tired writing this chapter in draft 1, but this time around it was incredible. Everything went up sharply from here, both in terms of events and how on fire I was.

(Maybe less than the gorgon, but I was.)

ACT 5

Echo Terminal

The first of the two log chapters.

I've never written smoother, more visual chapters than in this period. Days in Darkness changed me so much, I was writing day and night by this point and couldn't get enough. Well, I hit my limit in the second half of the very last chapter, but I am beyond satisfied. Even the Beast's metamorphosis took me by storm, because I'd been wondering what the final verbs, the final images, the final design for it was going to be. I didn't expect it to come to me this early, and with such thrill. Those were my very best days of the year, and I toast to them.

(And I knew it was going to be fantastic when Halo's Warthog Run OST started blaring in my head, with as much adrenaline.)

Where, Now? + Solgesis

My beloved. The second and last of the two log chapters, but it’s Noelle Saintlark’s log.

Holloway’s timeline ends here. Or maybe it just gets carried into the future. I thought I’d want to rewrite his parts again, make the plot just a tiny bit more psychedelic and nonsensical because it’s so close to the Beast… but Solgesis put all my fears to rest. Even the formatting and layout is a bit of that special thing I’ve always wanted to try, and it really changes the perspective of the previous chapters. There's a new confession that stands at the heart of Holloway's stories.

Honestly, the only thing that needs urgent working on is the anger at the end of the chapter.

Anger is so hard for me to write sometimes. Not because I don’t connect with it, but because I feel self-conscious writing it. The wildest I felt it was when I tackled 'quiv's chapter 3 and Imera's Turning speech, both in quick succession (before I'd even written draft 1. I'd been taking notes.) Since then... I just thing back to how keenly I'd felt that anger, and I kind of intimidate myself out of it. Kind of like a natural resistence, I quench it from myself. Which is actually hilarious when you think about it. It’s like I’m going I BANISH THEE FROM MY BRAIN because generally, as a person, I dislike feeling and operating on anger. But no worries. I’m going to find a way around it.

Watch me😎.

What Goes Around…

(Now it’s the time for me to start crying some rivers, and, alright, it won’t be visible so I’ll say it: the chapter titles are holding a conversation, guys. They speak to each other. And sometimes it’s both sides of the same coin, like how What Goes Around (comes around) hints here. If you take two chapters, one from the beginning and one from the end (for example 1 and 21) it'll tell you a little secret. Okay, What Goes Around and Rain Through the Universe communicate through their plot, which I can’t spoil but of course it has to do with Madigan and Spica and how they first meet… but there is one title pair that does it best visibly. 

Lemon-Dotted Days and Days in Darkness.

And I hadn’t even planned this. All the parallels I wanted to draw… I feel like they built themselves, guys. They really did, and it makes me so wildly happy I don’t even know how to stop my hands from flailing.

And, with them being 21 chapters, they meet in the middle, on the one unpaired chapter.

Called Toast to the Light.

I friggin’ love everything.

New Sunrise, Forget-Me-Right

Of course, Forget-Me-Right is a play on Scorpion Grass. But it’s also such a gentle name for the chapter, because everything ends here. Lying on their backs, staring out into the universe, and it really, really is over. Just a dark horizon on which stars flare and bloom. And suddenly, that maddened rush to make every sacrifice count, to remember every soul they’ve encountered because the legend says the Beast absorbs you when it kills you – all that suffocating pressure dissipates. Lightness remains. Because they’ve protected each other.

For the first time in my writing journey, blood rushed to my head with such emotion I had to stop writing, which never happens. I had to look up and exclaim, holy fuck. But how could I not, considering how the story ends for the Beast? I am speechless. A lot of gorgeous surprises this draft.

Conclusion□●□

Whew, what a year it's been! As for how 2024 will probably look like, though I don't like making plans: finishing the beta stage for 'quiv, and tackling RoaN and AoS's draft 3. Thaaaat one I'm actually starting on Christmas, when I can (finally!!) reread draft 2 with my mug of hot cocoa (or maybe mulled wine for a change) and, no surprises here, I'm hyper stoked for that<3 <3 <3 I legit can't wait to see where the new draft brings them. I might not have set any expectations for them, but they're vying to keep up with 'quiv and I adore it🤭❤

As for my lovely friends... well, you know by how I spam your tags how much I adore you and wish you happiness forever🤩🥺🥳 I don't know what my activity will look like in the near future, so for now I won't be saying anything, and my semi-hiatus continues. Semi, because you're unforgettable and I crave to see what everyone's been up to and (!!!!) what you've written!

So let's meet in 2024 again, and all the best wishes to you, the reader🥰🥂❤.

[bitchyycapricorn]

Almost There

Peter Parker x Ghost!Reader

Chapter One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Wordcount: 1.7K

Synopsis: Peter enters his apartment that night expecting to find an empty bed. But instead, he comes face to face with your transparent glowing figure.

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of sex, cheating, masterbation (M), mentions of death, mentions of murder, open wounds/cuts

AN: This part and future parts will contain graphic content! Not edited.

Peter looks at Ned for a moment, still trying to understand how any of this was possible. “We have to figure this out, meet me at my apartment at 4, we can start our research then.” Peter says before turning to leave.

“Wait, but we get out of classes today at 12, I can be there by at least 1, wouldn’t that work better?” Ned asks, not wanting to admit that he was overly excited for possibly cracking the case on what really happened.

Peter shook his head, throwing a glance over his shoulder, “No, you need to see Y/N after school. Don’t leave her alone it’s, it’s important to her. It already bothers her enough that we both decided to join a Saturday class last minute.” Ned watches as Peter starts heading back inside to see MJ. He could tell by his voice and the way he was walking that the separation was taking a real toll on Peter. Peter knew it too, even talking about you made his stomach turn and his mind wander back to your soft lips.

“So this neighbor girl,” MJ says as Peter sits back down next to her. “Is she pretty?”

Peter pauses, meeting MJ’s gaze. “Why do you ask?” He laughs nervously.

MJ hums, looking down at her book. “Well, we’ve been friends since high school, I’m your girlfriend now, and yet I’ve somehow never heard of this Y/N girl. It’s just strange is all.”

The guilty feeling from earlier starts to bubble up in Peter’s stomach again as he realizes that of course MJ would be uncomfortable with him talking to another girl. Wouldn’t he have a problem with her talking to a new guy without telling him? “Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. Honestly she just wasn’t important enough to me, didn’t really think of mentioning her because I’m never thinking about her.” Peter lies, shifting his gaze down to his book as well.

“You seemed pretty interested when Ned had news about her though.” MJ counters.

Peter shrugs, trying his best to seem like he didn’t care about you. “Thought they finally got together.” Another lie.

MJ casts Peter another look before letting it go, “I believe you.” She presses a kiss to his lips, snuggling into his shoulder. Peter can feel his heart drop, he needs to get you taken care of so he can focus on MJ and MJ alone.

+++

“Hey sorry I’m late.” Ned says as he drops his bag on the floor. “Y/N and I were playing video games again, she’s like wicked good.”

Peter frowns, his eyes wandering over to the two controllers left abandoned near his TV. “Yeah she is pretty good..” his voice trails off a moment, thinking about you once again. “Not important though, we have some research to do.” Peter opens up his laptop, quickly searching up the elevator explosion eight years ago.

Ned’s eyes widen as he begins to read some of the headline articles. “Holy smokes dude, look at all of these. Six missing children? All before the elevator collapsed?”

Peter furrows his eyebrows, clicking on one of the links. “Parents of 11 year old Y/N L/N claim elevator collapse was a coverup, their daughter had been missing since 10 that morning….” Peter scrolls down a little more. “Ned..”

“Peter?” Ned asks, trying to find where Peter was in the article before pausing as well. “Oh…”

Peter reread the sentence again, “No bodies were found…police believe they disintegrated…that’s not, not possible.” Peter clicked out of the article, hopping over to another one. “They all say the same thing, children going missing, some almost a week prior to the accident.”

“Wait look,” Ned cut in, pointing to a paragraph on the screen. “Some of the children reported a game of hide and seek occurring when parents began questioning the whereabouts of their missing children. These reports were taken days before the accident.”

Peter sat back in his chair, his head swimming with questions. “The elevator was no accident. But then the question is, where did the children actually go? We know Y/N is, mostly dead. But she never mentioned the other kids being around here, and I haven’t ever seen them either.”

Ned gives a weak shrug, still scanning the information on the computer. “The only one who will have answers is Y/N, but she isn’t exactly too open to talking. She broke down when she started to open up about it last time.”

Peter gave a small sign, “Right.”

Clicking out of the article he continues to browse. Stumbling on dead end after dead end. His head began to hurt as the hours tick by. Ned eventually going to lay on Peter’s bed after about an hour of useless or repeated information. At about the four hour mark Peter stumbles upon a website that contains supposed video footage. “Hey Ned, come look at this.” Peter says, clicking on one of the videos. Ned stumbles over to the desk, leaning down so he can listen with Peter. The video appears to be taken in the lobby at night, the faint sounds of crying can be heard from what appears to be below the building. “This was taken a day before the elevator collapsed. The person recording had reported hearing voices of children coming from below the building.”

Ned looks over to Peter hesitantly “Peter you don’t think-“

“Y/N was murdered.”

+++

You hadn’t spoken to Peter in nearly a week, as far as you knew him and MJ were still a stupid happy couple that you never ever wanted to see again. The issue is, you still needed to move your stuff from under the floorboard into Ned’s room. Which is exactly why you decided now would be the best time to go retrieve your stuff while both Peter and Ned were at their Saturday afternoon class. You made your way through the walls and down to your old apartment, floating through the door and into the living room. You look around for a moment, wishing you could stay here once again.

Your attention was pulled away from the room by the sound of a soft moan followed by your name coming from Peter’s room. You furrow your eyebrows, floating through the wall and into his closet where you peak through the sliver once again. Through the crack you could see Peter, his head was thrown back on the pillows while his mouth was agape, his bedsheet barley covering his lower half.

“Ah fuck Y/N,” Peter groans, his hand slowly moving up and down his shaft, completely oblivious to your presence in the room. His actions had started as an innocent destresser really. He had skipped going to class today and opted to watch a movie in hopes of getting his mind off everything until he built up the confidence to talk to you again. But as his mind began to wander vivid thoughts of you kept reappearing over and over again. Your lips being the main focus, since he knew how they felt on his own. His mind of course only wandered from there. Now as he lay there slowly stroking himself all he can thing about was the way your body felt as he held you, and the way you touched his chest as you helped to sew him back up.

His pace got quicker, another grunt leaving his lips as he thrusted up into his hand slowly. “Peter?” You whisper, slowly stepping out of his closet. Peter’s eyes flew open, his head snapping to the direction of your voice.

“Oh my, fuck Y/N, what are you?” Peter stutters, pulling the covers closer to his body.

Your eyes slowly scan Peters body, “You were saying my name.”

Peter’s eyes met yours, his face turning a bright shade of red realizing there was nothing he could say at this point. “I didn’t, I’m sorry it just happened. I was so, and you’re so, and you’re all I can think about.”

You took a step closer to Peter, allowing your body to go solid. A rush of feelings suddenly washes over you, your stomach doing a small flip while the rest of you felt tingly. “Peter do you like me?” Your voice came out just barley a whisper, but he could hear you perfectly.

“I-“ he stutters.

“If I took my cloths off and joined you…would you object?”

Peter’s mind went blank, suddenly you were the only person there with him. Sitting up a little more he shook his head ‘no.’ “You can, I want you to,”

A small smile spreads across your face as you grab the hem of your shirt, slowly lifting it up and off your body.

Peter’s eyes widen “Holy shit,” he says, quickly slipping back on his boxers under the bed. He stumbles out from under the covers approaching ing you quickly. His eyes scan your now mostly topless figure. “What, what happened?” His finger slowly traces the cuts on your stomach.

You look down as well, your eyebrows furrowing at the sight. “I-I don’t know.” You say slowly. The cuts weren’t scars, but rather marks that appear to have simply stopped bleeding, but never scabbed up or healed.

“Y/N, what really happened to you?” Peter says slowly, his finger brushing the wounds.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes, “I really don’t know Peter. I don’t remember anything, not really. I remember the people saying that there was an accident with the elevator, I remember there being others, I remember..” you pause, looking behind you at the closet. “Under the floorboard…” you whisper.

Peter follows your gaze to the closet, removing his hand from your abdomen. He moves slowly towards the closet, opening it fully so he can look down at the floorboards clearly.

“Can you see it? Where it does not fit all the way?” You ask quietly. Peter nods, kneeling down to pry the board from the floor. He struggles with it for a moment before you hear it pop open. He looks down, reaching in to pick up a picture laying face down.

Peter slowly turns it over in his hand, his whole body freezing up at the sight. “What did he do to you?” Is all he’s able to say, as he stares at the fading image.

+++

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