#it's a good fucking lesson in how not doing your own research/hearing the other side out/or even just. blindly trusting one source leads to

[a-cat-in-toffee]

i will say. I do really get how dream has such a devoted follower base. with his stream and video he presented all the information in a way to make the view sympathetic towards him and make himself seem like the good guy. if someone were to only watch those and do none of their own digging or basic fucking research then I get how they would draw the conclusions they do and form the opinions they hold.

that being said why the fuck would you not do your own research and instead trust the word of the guy literally EVERYONE is against

[bluerose5]

You know what would be hilarious? Zevran post faerûn back in Thedas doing magic in front of Morrigan just to watch her lose her fucking mind trying to figure out how she did it

But for an actual prompt, I’d love to see Astarion’s reaction to Zevran being downed in battle

Alternatively, Fenris, Astarion, and Araj Oblodra in Moonrise

Zevran would troll the hell out of Morrigan and anyone else willing to watch. I feel Wynne would have hated this new development more than anyone, though. 💀

For the prompts, I actually have a WIP similar to the first one. It's just more of a Zevran gets injured while Astarion isn't in the party, but I feel they would be similar enough that I'm going with the alternate prompt if that's okay. 👀👀👀

...

Fenris’s blood boiled with rage.

Not only did he despise the necessity of having to infiltrate Moonrise Towers, but he also despised having to play nice with the cultists until they could figure out how to proceed.

Araj Oblodra was no exception. If anything, she was one of the worst ones they happened across throughout their journey, entitled and condescending.

The instant she asked for his blood, Fenris bristled, and his answer rang with a note of finality.

"Ask that of me again," he snarled, "and I'll cut you down for even suggesting it. You will not be conducting any 'research' on my blood."

"Hmph." She all but pouted, yet she was apparently wise enough to know not to push her luck. "Fine, but perhaps we could turn to another matter at hand: your friend."

When her eyes slid towards Astarion, Fenris could hear his own heartbeat pounding behind his ears. His fingers twitched at his side, itching to unsheathe his greatsword. For a moment, he could barely hear her words over the racing of his pulse. He narrowed his eyes at her, his lips curled into a sneer.

Then, as clear as day, she asked a question of Fenris, one that pierced straight through the haze that clouded his mind.

"I assume he belongs to you?"

Behind him, Astarion sputtered, "Ex–Excuse me?"

Fenris felt the air around himself start to shift.

"He doesn't belong to anyone," Fenris snapped. He stepped forward until he loomed over Araj, his gaze dark. "Now, I advise you to think very carefully about your next words." The clawed fingers of his gauntlets glinted in the room's low lighting. "Because they might just be your last. You will show him respect. Understand?"

They were hardly to be compared to one another, since Fenris didn't know a thing about Araj beyond this encounter, but so much about her already rubbed him the wrong way, reminded him of Hadriana. They thought their lives valuable enough that they were invincible in their minds, untouchable, and that all others were merely pawns in their games, to be used and discarded as they saw fit.

Araj scoffed at his threat, tried to act undeterred, but the slight quiver of her voice —the more deliberate delivery of her words— exposed her fear for what it was.

She made an offer, and Astarion declined.

How easy it was for her to fall back into old habits, even with her life on the line.

She glanced at Fenris as soon as she didn't get her way, wrinkling her nose in disdain.

"Can't you talk some sense into your obstinate cha—"

Fenris was blinded by a sea of red.

Her words choked off.

He didn't even have to think about it. Before he knew what was happening, his hand sank deep within the confines of her chest, her still-beating heart nestled within his palm.

Right before he crushed it.

And as he freed his hand, he watched her body collapse to the ground.

"Good riddance," he muttered.

Lae'zel noticed another cultist gaping from the corner of the room, quick to cover for them in the best way she knew how.

"Take her death as a lesson. Question us, and you'll meet your end as she did. Understood?"

They nodded.

"Good," she said, then jerked her head in the direction of the door. "Now, scram."

She didn't have to tell them twice.

While Fenris stood over Araj's body, blood dripping onto the floor from his fingertips, Karlach leaned in to whisper to Astarion.

"Remind me not to piss him off."

"No kidding," Astarion said, but he braced himself before approaching, reaching out to rest a hand upon his shoulder. "Fenris..."

In a flash, Fenris shrugged off his touch, turning on him with a fire still raging within him, teeth bared.

However, at the sight of the others, Fenris felt those flames die down, their presence drawing him back into reality.

Astarion was fine.

He was safe.

Even in the belly of the beast, Fenris would see to that.

[alpydk]

"Fanfic Writer Ask Game"

Oh you want it, you got it! We're into deep, we're into deep❗ 👏😆I want to know it all

❤️💥👻👓🦈🌻💛💭🧪

Oh damn! You got it, you precious demon of chaos! Love it!

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

I have too many that come to mind, The eclipse moment is the obvious one, but that's technically 2 lines so going to with this from Disgusting, tainted, used - "You’d made your bed, and now you had lain in its ethereal sheets." - Such a simple and common phrase but altered slightly and the guilt/self blame behind it sticks with me bad.

💥 What is one canon thing that you wish you could change?

I'm honestly stumped. Like I know, I want more of the Gale/Durge confrontation after the coronation, especially if you're romancing him, but that's not so much a change. I think I'd want the Mystra stuff changed, if anything. I'm not getting on either side of the discussion and what needs changing, only that it needs some proper planning, so there isn't a discussion. Maybe just a better timeline, who this Mystra really is in the scheme of things rather than just metadata and speculation. (Yes, I've seen the many posts.)

👻 What is your wildest headcanon?

That Aradin is a lawyer. He's given it up thinking that being an adventurer would be easier, and this is why he has a (probably very detailed) contract with Lorroakan. He wasn't a talented lawyer, instead one of those intro to the Ace Attorney type prosecution lawyers that you'd get for free. It also explains why he's not that good in a fistfight.

👓 What helps you focus when you write?

Music, particularly if it's not in a language I speak, so Kpop, Breed 77 (Spanish), Rammstein (German). Things like that.

🦈 Which character is the toughest to write?

Elminster by far. Take a normal sentence, flower it up, flower it up some more. Is it understandable? No, then you've not gone far enough. For someone like me who's very straight to the point, writing him hurttttt....

🌻 How often do you read your own fics?

Quite a lot, actually. I'm a huge fan of my own work. I've got everything I like, excess angst, likeable characters, and I update my fics often. Why wouldn't I read it all the time?

💛 What is the most impactful lesson you’ve learned about writing?

That I'm writing for me and me alone and fuck the haters. Like really, as someone who is extremely sensitive to the reactions of others, learning this (and still learning it) has been the most important thing. I still have days where I don't see the notes tick up and I think why do I bother, but then as I'm writing it, sitting in that imaginary world of my creation, I realise that I'm happy anyway, and I don't need other people's validation to have that.

💭 What inspires you and your writing?

Music is a big inspiration for me. I might hear a song or see a lyric and think that suits X character. How can I get that to fit in a narrative sense? And from there it just builds up. The entirety of Eclipse was based on one song alone.

🧪 Do you research for your fics?

I might check up on something if I'm unsure, colours for example or what the name of a specific thing is. I know for Ink Stains I had to look quite a bit into codependent relationships to make sure I was hitting the topic correctly, like I had my own experiences to go on, but it didn't feel enough.

Right anyway - Rugan isn't going to save himself at this rate but thank you for the ask. I really don't get enough (shameless hint to those reading this :p)

[fishmongeringstudies]

six: wandering the city while waiting for a train that'll never come, you stop to wave at a dog on the street only to realize you have mistaken a crumpled bag of mcdonald's for a chihuahua

i almost slipped and died in the shower today. luckily i didn't, because i read somewhere that slipping and dying in the shower makes it a little hard for you to finish writing a manuscript for a novel fictionalizing the events of your freshman spring semester that's definitely going to become a new york times bestseller in about four years' time, but i came pretty close. for a moment i had my hand on the wall and my legs splayed like a barbie doll stuck to a stripper pole and the matchbox world behind the shower curtain was slipping steadily south and heading lower still. and then i caught myself.

several minutes later i heard scuffling beyond the pale, soapy shower curtain and thought there might be someone creeping on me. if someone was creeping on me i had an idea of who it might be, which made the prospect all the more likely and infinitely more convincing inside the grapefruit-sized thing i called my brain. then i heard the clap of god's hands in an ashen sky, and i knew. this was no man made disaster-in-waiting. it had begun to rain.

it didn't rain for long. five minutes at best, two if my grasp on the spatial-temporal continuum is worse than i'd imagined (this is very likely; the stars pass me by faster than i can count them these days), but long enough that anyone who happened to be outside when that first teardrop fell from the sky got a little wet. a little fucked up, if you will, which, hey. good for him. he deserves to get a little fucked up.

but i get carried away. please excuse my personal grievances. this is not a lament, it is a swimming pool. full of tiny colorful fish which flit around at its bottom, chasing strands of sunlight like children on a playground.

the weather forecast says it'll rain again tomorrow, and maybe the day after, too, if the world stays sad enough to let it happen. it makes me nostalgic. when i left in february monsoon season was in full swing, tearing trees from their roots with big meaty hands and making every fleeting boring moment into the kind of gray sunday afternoon on which i imagine the directors of romantic dramas like to shoot break-ups. rain in singapore looks different. it's not a bucket full of water, it's a room. a blue room against a silver sky. your socks stuck to your ankles with the kind of grim determination that makes you almost a little sad to peel them off, to toss them in the washing machine behind the kitchen. there's a little balcony behind the kitchen in the house you left in february, with a washing machine and a ledge for sitting on and a dryer that doesn't work. you used to go there when you wanted to check on the restaurant across the street. from here you can make out the round, blue-rimmed tables that attract students, biking enthusiasts, three am brawls between red-faced european men and their red-faced european friends. if there's noise on this side of the street, it's probably coming from there.

summer. summer reminds me of home. so far i've been telling people that the association is a bad one, and it certainly isn't a lie, but it's not a whole truth either, if one believes in the matter of whole truths to begin with. i'm starting to think maybe there are only skim-milk truths, clotted cream truths, 0% fat yogurt truths. truths that change shape when you aren't looking. we aren't looking most of the time, after all. we're very busy people. all of us. we're trying to change the world.

and for what? who are we trying to save? do you want to live forever? that's the goal, isn't it. i mean it's definitely mine. i won't blame you if the concept of death sits on your shoulder like a fourth generation ipod touch with a broken home button, whispering really fucked up shit into your ear when you're alone. i mean it definitely does for me.

puzzle-girl is in new york now, last i checked. good for her. i hear new york is full of lights and electricity and car exhaust. maybe one day she will learn that friendship isn't an emergency help-line. probably not. my friend thinks she will, thinks we'll come back around in our junior year and everyone will see us stuck to each other again like two grotesque modern art pieces drilled back-to-back into a museum exhibit wall only with a firm mutual understanding of what boundaries are, but i have my doubts.

once someone told me with the kind of half-fake half-genuine smile that makes you wonder if AI technology has advanced far enough to mimic the complexities of stupid hormonal teenagers with really bad interpersonal issues after all that i was blooming. coincidentally all the flowers on campus had suddenly decided to poke their heads out of the dirt like babies busting their way out of refrigerators, guns blazing, hearts shot to pieces, so it's not like he was completely bullshitting me. he was only ninety-eight percent bullshitting me. the two percent is why he comes up in my writing as often as he does, all this time later. like i think he was ninety-eight percent clown but two percent circus, two percent red-nosed reindeer trying to unionize behind a striped curtain, two percent something real. or at least i like to think that way. i'm a writer. we have to pretend there's something to write about. or else what will we write about?

so yeah. one time someone told me i was blooming. at the time i was embarrassed. and then after the story put an abrupt end to itself i was madly obsessed with the idea of flowers jutting out of cracks in the earth, gold pouring forth from blood-wounds, poinsettia eyes, whatever, whatever, and then the flowers started wilting. standing on the path outside my dorm i was like what the fuck? why the hell is everything dying? it's been like three days, god, what are you guys made of, tissue paper?

i was talking to the flowers. which died in spite of my indignation, so that's one for nature, zero for me. good for them. see you next spring, when things will, hopefully, be different. i don't have a plan as much as i have a dream i'd like to see walk into reality on three legs and a pitchfork. but it's a good dream. i promise.

the sky's clear as glass now. it's so bright i could probably stick my hand up there and stir vigorously and then an angel would emerge from the ether, rubbing her eye sleepily with the back of her hand. that's the kind of clarity i'm talking about. making metaphors about christianity-clarity. i am lonely and my dreams are full of beautiful people-clarity.

that's a lie-clarity. loneliness is, as mentioned in a previous installment of the meandering car accident i call this blog, a choice, and i'm too lazy and full of my own slew of interpersonal issues to commit to something like that. but summer is new, and it's like i'm getting used to the body in my basement all over again. how do i step around it, how do i make sure i don't look at its face? and its eyes, oh, those eyes. how terrible. how full of absence.

there will be exactly two hundred students on campus when summer move-ins are finished next week. this school has a population of nearly sixteen hundred. what are we doing?

research. academia. learning a new language. road trips. plane trips. horse riding lessons. research. academia. learning a new language. relationships. spaceships. building a ladder to the moon.

it feels like the sun never sets sometimes. the hours slide into one another like tectonic plates beneath the surface of the world and yet the sky remains just as it looked this afternoon, milk-white and pale as death. a hot summer wind blows and sends the clouds careening sideways into each other, and yet from this distance nothing changes. drop a body in a bathtub and nothing changes. beat someone up and nothing changes. survive thirteen weeks of bad mistakes and then worse ones, midnight mistakes, thursday evening mistakes, the kind of mistake you don't think you'll ever be able to write about, and still nothing changes.

they say there's always a silver lining but what if i want fur instead? let's say i want a fur-lined sky with fur-lined clouds and a little heart-shaped toy that makes a sound when you step on it. let's say i want to be fifteen again. the sky doesn't care. it still looks like a damn sky. the sky doesn't do things out of sentimentality.

it's just kind of there. today i'm just kind of here. today we're all alive. good for you. good for me. good thing my hand was on the wall when i slipped in the shower, so i could get out and dry my hair and then sit down in this shitty weird-smelling lounge with my laptop with the cracked touchpad and my cool elmo slippers, and tell you about this solitary life on mars.

05.26.2021

[shadowturtlesstuff]

you belong with me- thomas

this is thomas’s pov. i like doing both pov (i dont know if you can tell) but there are a few things im working on but enjoy!

“How could-? Are you even hearing yourself speak you fool? No- no. God, you know what I'm done.” I throw my phone on the bed, scaring Sir Issac in the process. I cringe even as I begin pacing back and forth. It was truly absurd, utterly crazy, that William lived in such a world where he would ever consider me being with anyone but Audrey Rose. Whilst we weren’t together per say, it was clear there would be no one else for me. The fact that he had already caused trouble for us once makes this even more irritating. I turn and find Audrey Rose already watching me. Her hair disheveled in a messy bun which tells me she is studying or researching something. I give her what I hope classifies as a smile and watches as she pulls out a familiar notebook, searches for her pen and then writes: Are you okay?

Of course she would ask if I'm okay and not what happened; using our absurd way of talking to each other instead of using the window or even messaging me. I shake my head but smile and make my way towards my window. The wind hits me, sending my hair flying but I embrace the fresh air as I watch her move herself off her bed, cursing at her stiff legs. She has been there most of the day, not moving and lost in her work and music. She curses once more as she hits her elbow on the window sill and she looks truly adorable. “You have a wicked mouth Wadsworth. Did you not learn cursing is unlady-like?” I try to ignore the other thoughts I have of her mouth.

“Fuck you,” she scowls at me. It always makes me smile hearing her curse, she always sounds confident in them somehow, making them seem so real. The first time she swore was the time she failed a science test. Well, not exactly a fail, but she was marked wrong by a substitute teacher who didn't like her so she decided to berate him in front of the whole class, starting with her shouting ‘bullshit!’ as soon as she saw her results.

“I assume dear wadsworth, you want to ask what has made me so irate?” As much as I would rather climb across the gap and make her watch another one of my romance films again instead of talk about it, I know that I should. Otherwise it'll eat at my mind when I go to sleep. As well as it being used against wadsworth in some way too.

“Perhaps,” she says, eyes sparkling with mischief as she rests her head on the wall and brings her knees to her chest, “perhaps I merely wanted to ask if Sir Issac was okay.” I nearly burst out laughing at her. She has a love hate relationship with my cat. She pretends to hate the ‘beast’ but will often let him sit on her lap or pet him whenever she is over here. When I first got him, she stayed round mine for the night and we settled him. Even then she had tried to pretend not to like him but she doesn’t remember that she fell asleep with him curled up next to her. I had to sleep on my chair because they were sprawled out, surrounded by her work.

“Really? You always refer to him as a little pest, whereas as with me, I am your dearest person, of course you want to know how I am feeling. My son is good though, very energetic today.” Said cat brushes against me and I look at him, the memory still clear in my mind. Yet I know I need to stop avoiding the problem, Audrey Rose is too kind to push me into telling her, and will let me avoid it for as long as I need. It is not the worst thing we’ve faced yet I still hate it.  

“I assume you saw the call, well that was William,” she nods, her face already falling at the mention of his name, “Yes, awful. Apparently though, there is a rumor that I'm with Miss whitehall. I don't even remember her first name, but he was convinced of our relation despite my protests. Madness.” I scoff at the sheer audacity of him and his friends. Sir Issac nuzzles into me, knowing that I'm upset and wanting to change that. As well get attention.

“Is this the same William that had convinced everyone I was dating him?”

“Yes.” Anger rolls through me at the memory of that disaster. What hurt Audrey Rose the most is that she truly thought he was a friend. She’d explained that with me she didn't try, but everyone else she had too, so when they'd fallen into easy conversations during lessons she really enjoyed having someone other than me and lize and her uncle to talk to.

“Bitch. Why on earth is he such a problem? Where on earth does he even make this assumptions about us?'' She begins pacing, her mind working faster than her steps as she no doubt recalls everything that happened. I am inclined to do the same. I can still remember her walking into her room, looking at me and falling apart. I climbed into her room and held her letting her calm before she spoke to me. I cried as well, slightly, knowing how much that friendship had meant to her. I'd made us watch a really cheesy film and she'd fallen asleep in my arms.

“I have never once,”I say to drag her back to the present “shown interest in her, nor will I ever.” I drag a hand through my hair. “She's just- a lot.” the first time id met her she was just very loud and demanding, I couldn't stand her. I'd watched her insult so many people for being themselves, for liking childish things, or in Audrey Rose's case, morbid things.

“That is the understatement of the year Cresswell. Besides, you wouldn’t work, she's too- your,” she falls silent, either lost in thought or not wanting to tell me those thoughts. Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink and I smile. She doesn't meet my eye as she sits herself down and I raise my brows as she asks what? As though she didn’t just show me that she has many inappropriate thoughts about me. She curls herself into a ball, hiding in her oversized hoodie, which is mine that I'm not sure she realizes is.

“I’m what? I'd be delighted to know your innermost thoughts of me, Wadsworth.”

“You're absurd but fine I'll elaborate,” she rolls her eyes though, even as the pink deepens slightly. Her eyes focused on my own. So I face her fully, like an astute student in class dying to seek knowledge, “you're too kind, too witty and clever and Whitehall wouldn’t appreciate you enough. You-” she stops talking immediately, as though whatever is in her mind she cant voice. Her face twists into something unreadable and I get the sense that she would rather not ever speak about me being with someone other than her.

“You forgot to mention how handsome I look, or how charming I am, but I'll take it,” she suppresses an eye roll and her smile and ignores the way my voice deepens ever so slightly. I pat Sir Issac off me and earn a whine but he jumps off me. I reach out to her and she leans, her hair ripping free of her bun with little effort from the wind. Her dark curls cling to her face, framing her perfectly too. It makes me want to hold her face in her hands and kiss her deeply.

“I don’t need to inflate your ego further Thomas.”

She inflates my ego every time she smiles at me, whether that be because of my joke or simply smiling at me because I am her friend. “I know but it would've been nice. I did say the inner most thoughts but we’ll get there. Audrey rose-I don’t belong with her, you’re right, my heart would never belong to her especially since it already belongs to someone else.”

She blinks at me, her face falling flat. Silence falls over us and I realize she thinks I'm talking about someone else. And idea forms, one that she may hate me for but one I'm going to do anyway.

“I-” she begins, no doubt going to tell me she wants me to be happy without whomever I'm with. I stand before she can say anything and she stares at me for a second so I motion for her to move. I want to be able to hold her and be next to her. I climb over and set myself on her window sill, leaving enough space for her on the other side. “I hope you are happy with whomever has your heart Cresswell.” I try to hide my smirk at her. Preparing myself for the worst. Preparing myself for her calling me an idiot and that she doesn't like me that way. I wouldn’t blame her.

“Of course I'll be happy. She's amazing. Let me tell you all about her. I met her many years back and was instantly smitten with her emerald eyes and her quick witted mind. How she sings to herself every morning and how her dark curls fall across her face whenever she sits on her bed and reads. I adore her curiosity for the dead and how wicked her mouth is and how delightful it is to watch your mind at work. I love when she shows me a note through the window to see if I'm doing okay and-”

“Wait,” she blurts out, her cheeks red now and eyes bright with shock, “Thomas, are you talking about me?”

I can’t help but laugh. She is one of the smartest people I have ever met yet she, just like I do, struggles with social cues sometimes. Albeit it she is better than I will ever be. “Yes, finally! I thought I'd have to keep speaking forever till you realized it was you.” Not that that would be a problem. As of right now I'd happily list the way her eyes are filled with both relief and shock and happiness and it's a look I want to capture whenever I need a reminder of something good in life.

She scowls at me, ignoring her blush. I take a risk and reach out my hand, moving closer so that her back is straightened on the wall, her attention fixed on me completely. No fake scowl or bright smile, just an intent gaze I can't quite pick apart. I rest my hand on her leg, now free of her (my) hoodie. “Wadsworth, darling, I have been in love with you for some time now.”

I stare at my best friend, my love, as she tries to convince herself this is real. It's truly adorable. Then her eyes widen slightly as she whispers: “I have something to show you.”

She jumps from my grip, running the short distance to her bed and then shuffling through the mountain of books and papers sprawled there until she pulls out a notebook and shakes it, letting a piece of paper drop. It's folded and creased a lot, as though it has been opened often. I watch as she faces me and slowly, her face fixed on the sheet as she opens and holds it out to me.

I read the words: I love you.

I love you.

I read them over and over and over, trying to imprint it on my brain. Her delicate handwriting and her confession reaches out to me and I desperately want to reach out to her, hold her against me and press kisses and make her laugh.

Audrey rose takes her seat across from me and I instantly reach out, holding her leg again. Anything to reassure me this is real. “I wrote that the night after you came here the second time.” her voice is soft, her curls once again framing her face as she looks at me, “Something in me clicked that no matter what you'd find a way to comfort me. Not save me, but work alongside me. I wanted to tell you I just couldn't face it. But I needed to acknowledge it. So I wrote it down, and I look at it every time we use the note system; I try to convince myself to show you.” Audrey Rose would never need saving, never want it, yet her words save my own dark heart that she has felt this way for so long, and we have somehow lived alongside each other and been so blinded by our love entwined with fears that it has taken so long to finally acknowledge them.

I debate pinching myself. Only minutes ago was I miserable and upset, yet Audrey Rose has taken her time to cheer me up. Yet even if I had left it as I am fine, even though she knows me better than that, she wouldn't have pressed for answers; would have waited for me to open up. So i lean in and the world stops as we both wait until our lips are pressed together It's a light kiss, one full of promise and wonder. When I lean back we are both smiling so freely my heart feels as though it too is reaching out to hold Audrey rose. We trade kisses, never wanting to leave this loop but I do lean back away from her. I’m already too drunk on her kisses, I need to breathe, to process this so I can remember it. Once my back is against the wall I pull her, twisting so her back is against mine, leaning into my warmth and I rest my head atop hers. Trying to contain my smiles but to no avail. My hand covers hers and as i look down at her i notice she doesn't bother controlling her smile. It is a magnificent sight.  

“Now would be a perfect time to tell me how handsome I am, my love.”

let me know if you want to be added to my tag list: 

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[tundrainafrica]

Title: Passion Project (2/4)

Summary:

“Ignoring Hange Zoe had become a little passion project he allowed himself to indulge in, in between expeditions and quietly mourning unnecessary deaths in the battlefield.”

Levi tries to ignore Hange but it never seems to last. A ficlet detailing the development of Levi and Hange’s relationship before canon.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Link to other chapters: 1 3 4

A fractured ankle, fractured ribs... for a month....

The important thing is he's alive. Fighting thirty titans… death for most soldiers.

It would be a shame to lose him… We don't get soldiers like that everyday.

The voices were distant but they were the first coherent sounds Levi made out as he adjusted to the waking world. His first instinct after making sense of it was to sit up, only to be greeted by a dull pain and a taut sensation around his chest.

He looked down to see bandages woven tightly around his chest, leaving him almost completely immobile on the bed. Even if he did get to sit up, his numb ankle would have made standing up a tall order.

"You're finally awake."

Levi settled for turning his head to his right. The lights in the room were dim and his vision relied on the faint light emitting from the room to make out the shape of the person by his bedside. "Hange…How long…"

"You were asleep for three days and you'll probably be here for a month." Hange was quick to answer his questions.

Levi was grateful for it. His throat was dry and just the first two questions had already left him burnt out.

"I’ll call Erwin and Commander Keith in.” Hange stood up and turned towards the door. “You woke up at a good time. They’ve been busy with preparations for the next expedition so they’ve only had time to visit for an hour a day.”

After engaging in conversations in hushed voices just outside his hospital room, Hange reentered the room, their two superiors following behind her. The conversation was short and formal and only served to repeat what Levi had overheard outside just a second ago.

One month in the hospital.

Forget about the next few expeditions.

You did a good job against 30 titans.

Levi had attempted a nod the first time, only for his head to protest that subtle movement.

The two were possibly being understanding or were just a little too busy that day. Regardless, as soon as they deemed Levi updated enough of the current events, they left and once again, it was just Hange and Levi in the room.

Hange spoke up. "I thought you were amazing out there."

Her praises were nothing new. Levi found himself more surprised by the fact that the young brunette's voice was much softer than usual as if it was her way of adjusting to the natural silence of the sick room.

Levi kept his eyes trained on Hange and the latter looked to be aware of it. She moved the stool by the bedside and sat on it.

"I managed to count them before their bodies dissolved. Thirty titans…" It was as if Hange had run out of air at those last two words. "You're really something else..." Her voice was definitely softer, but the tone was the same as it always was. It was that same tone that rang so painfully in his ears that first time they met. Oddly, it was starting to sound like music to his ears then.

"But you used too much gas. Maybe I should be giving you a lesson on that." And just like that, with one sentence and one smirk, Levi witnessed the return of that grating tone.

“And how often did you visit?” Levi asked, in an attempt to digress from that topic in particular. The last thing he wanted while stuck in bed was a lecture on carelessness. That ordeal was more than enough of a lesson.

Hange smiled. “I left a few times?”

“You left a few times? You mean you left this room a few times?”

“Yeah?”

“So you don’t visit. You just stay here and…” Levi let his eyes finish that sentence for him.

Hange made no attempt to deny it. She put one hand behind her head and sheepishly looked away. “The hospital room gets pretty quiet and it’s easier to focus here.” She explained.

Levi looked to the side table to see what looked to be books and documents, quickly shifting his attention elsewhere before she saw what could have been disappointment in his eyes. He shouldn’t have been disappointed though. He should have been relieved that her hanging out in his hospital room wasn’t at all motivated by some complex short of what one would see in a stalker. Despite that, he wished she had been there for him.

“Have you showered since then?” At that point, Levi was just looking for ways to take out his own frustrations. He was sure of her answer before she even said it.

Or chose to avoid saying it. “I didn’t have time…”

“You’re fucking disgusting. This is a hospital, you’re just gonna get everyone here sicker with your shitty hygiene habits.” Levi painfully turned to his side, biting back in the process. “Go home and shower,” he managed to say. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Hey! I’ve been waiting for you to wake up and now you’re going to kick me out like this….”

Somehow her annoying protests had made that painful movement all the more worth it. He managed to unearth some scraps of amusement from her momentary fit that fizzled out to a quiet disappointment that had her leaving the room grumbling.

A combination of foot stomping and whiny protests were enough to get Levi's lips curled up and into a subtle smile. She couldn't see that at least from where she stood.

Depriving Hange of those little things she visibly wanted turned out to still be as satisfying as it had been before. And with nothing much else to think then, surrounded by plain white walls, Levi couldn't help but remember the passion project he had started so many months ago.

And it still burned strong, strong enough for him to feel a glimmer of victory at having to hear hushed hissy monologues and footsteps too heavy and loud to have been anyone in a good mood.

The glimmer dissipated faster than Levi had expected and he was immediately reminded that he was alone with just his thoughts.

And he couldn't help but reflect on the fact that Hange's presence would have made his thoughts all the more interesting to engage in.

She'll be back. He told no one in particular. It was a difficult pull to swallow. Alone with not much to do but stare at the blank white ceiling, Levi reflected. And with that reflection came a begrudging realization.

He preferred her there.

                                    Passion Project

The recovery didn't take a month as the doctor said it would have. Within a few days Levi was sitting up. Within another week he was walking, if not limping out of the room. And within two weeks of waking up, Levi was back in the barracks, finding a way to make himself useful among the bustle of preparations for the next exhibition.

Erwin wasn't letting Levi near ODM gear any time soon though. Although Levi was sure he could have gone through a lot of the training on land with at least bearable pain, flying through the air, while keeping one's balance through only cables and gas was another story.

The prospect of exposing their best soldier at an injured state to the danger of titans seemed a little too excessive for Erwin and despite Levi's quick healing, he was still barred from joining the next expedition.

"Why don't you join the research and logistics team for now? I'm sure they'll need some extra hands since they've been working on new anti-titan weapons."

That meant spending all the more time with Hange.

Levi shouldn't have expected any different. Yet somehow he was surprised. The shock possibly only appended by the fact that while he was still in the process of accepting this new arrangement, he had encountered Hange in the lab in the wee hours of morning. No one really expects anyone in the lab at 2am.

He had gone there in particular to survey his new environment without having to exchange pleasantries with anyone from the research and logistics team. He had expected a thirty minute visit at the most to just see what experiments they have been working on and any records to make the process of a first meeting them a little more bearable.

The room wasn't empty. To make it all the better, the only person there at two in the morning wasn't someone he would have explained pleasantries with anyway. Her presence never implicitly demanded that level of politeness after all.

In fact, it tended to naturally elicit the opposite reaction from Levi. "Why the fuck are you doing here so early in the morning?"

He had said it too more roughly than he had intended. She had been a little too focused on mixing a colorful formula on a glass beaker and he had so quickly assumed he wouldn't have gotten her attention any other way. Or possibly, he had just been in the process of stifling a little frustration when he had said that which manifested in that rough tone he had called her out with.

It turned out, she didn't even notice that greeting he overthought.

"Hey four-eyes!" Levi hissed, as loudly as what would have been socially acceptable in the wee hours of morning

To only further add to his frustration, Hange's gradual shift to reality had been slow. When she looked up at him, Levi was sure she wasn't even looking directly at him.

"Oh… Levi!" She managed to say, a few long seconds after they first made eye contact, or at least the first time Levi initiated what should have been eye contact. "It's been a while."

It had been a while. Three days before he had been discharged, Hange had stopped visiting. He had only been discharged two days ago. Which put their last meeting to more than five days ago, a long time when compared to the fact that she had spent every day in the hospital with him.

WIth the sudden shift in Hange’s behavior, Levi put himself through unnecessary torture of attributing it to that one night he decided to ignore her so she could shower, despite the fact that she still had come back every day since then. Erwin had visited after that, even Commander Keith and even the squad he had saved in the last expedition. He had been tempted to ask where Hange was, ultimately deciding against it. His emotional investment in Hange seemed one secret he would rather have kept to himself.

But, by god it was torturous. Although at face value Hange seemed like an open book with the way she was constantly flitting between emotional extremes, Levi eventually realized she wasn't.

Surface level emotions were open for the world to see. With the amount of time he spent overthinking every action she had ever made back in the hospital room, from those long tirades about new experiments to the new black tea her parents would be sending over to the plans for the next expedition , Levi realized there was still a layer of Hange he hadn’t peeled back yet. Behind the heart she wore on her sleeve were emotions, motivations and desires she hadn’t shown anyone yet or possibly did not understand herself. He felt it in every single tirade of passion she threw at his face. The passion seemed true, the words seemed authentic but there was a nagging feeling inside him that he still had a lot to learn about the crazy brunette.

Because of that, Levi had found her to be incredibly unpredictable, only further supported by the fact that she had failed to visit him his last three days in the hospital, not bothering either to have greeted him after he had settled back in the barracks. It wasn’t like she was obligated either.

Either way, he found himself having to seek comfort in the predictability of watching Hange go through the motions of mixing chemical after chemical. After their too casual and maybe too brusque of an exchange, Levi had settled on a stool and quietly watched. She had been too focused to kick him out anyway.

"You know how signal flares have this tendency to malfunction in the rain?” It was Hange who spoke up first despite having been too focused on her little experiments.

“Yeah?” That was all Levi could say. Maybe if Hange had started with any other topic, he probably would have said anything more. That question had reopened old wounds, and it was constantly rubbing salt on them as he waited for Hange to continue. He had always suspected the malfunctioning of signal flares to have caused the death of Isabel and Farlan during their first mission outside the walls.

“I think I found a way to get the signal flares to show even during rainy days. Maybe, if we could get this working, we might be able to prevent unnecessary deaths in future missions.” Hange went for a beaker, mixed a few chemicals together which incited a mini green explosion in front of him. “This could save lives…”

Despite the water Hange had sprayed all over the green of the air, the green remained glowing and strong and the whole show had him speechless.

She shouldn't have known. The way she had so gracefully gone through all the procedure so methodically yet so deftly, in the way Levi never would have been able to replicate had him only staring, his mouth agape.

The color green had never looked so comforting until then. The whole time the green smoke stayed in the air before dissipating into anything, Levi felt like he could have been in a dream.

It had him forgetting whether or not she had eventually probed on the unfortunate deaths of his two best friends.

He ended up opening up about it anyway.

                                       Passion Project

Levi still wasn't allowed to do combat training but Hange was.

And Hange had enough enthusiasm about ODM gear for them both. In that one moment after long hours in the lab, an hour before the sun was to set, that enthusiasm was what had her pulling Levi back into the woods as if the day had just started.

There was less reason to hide behind the excuse of "I'm too tired" given that Levi couldn’t actually train and he never had much to contribute in the lab aside from odd jobs. It's not like he ever employed that excuse anyway.

With his lack of reason to be tired, Levi resigned himself to spending days after training watching Hange go through ODM drills.

"Your cables are everywhere. A titan can just grab onto that if you're not careful.” Levi said. “As soon as your up in the air, just use your gas. It gets you to your target faster than with the cables."

"Should you be telling this to me after you ran out of gas and almost died?"

That was enough once of a comment once again to silence Levi momentarily. Hange didn't stop to assess the effects of that one comment though, having busied herself trying to mimic Levi's ODM movements. Hange had taken for her own one of the larger oak trees in the forest where they practiced. The tree trunk was gnarled and branches stuck out so randomly, Levi had to agree it was a good way to practice.

Even unmoving, the tree was an unpredictable target. It had numerous branches surrounding it that only twisted and turned so wildly that Levi could feel the beginnings of a headache as he attempted to follow each one. If he squinted a little harder, he could even pretend it was a titan.

Hange probably did have a swell time pretending it was a titan. He could hear it in the loud and swift whizzing of chords, the characteristic explosion that came with the release of gas and of course, the excited screams.

You were amazing out there. Hange had said, while a little breathless only a few weeks ago. Levi was never one to take in compliments and had clocked that to a little bout of maybe asthma on her side. Or maybe she had forgotten to take in some oxygen before she said it.

At that moment though, he understood the breathlessness that accompanied amazement. The branches grew so close together that Hange only had the luxury of gaps small enough for maybe only one person to pass through. Hange had whizzed past each branch, dodging them so gracefully, while barely leaving an opening big enough for even an insect to squeeze through.

With the chaotic pattern ---or at least lack of pattern--- at which the gnarled branches spread out, Levi couldn't help but see an artistic dance in it all, and a rhythm to follow. The art, the spectacle that only he that late afternoon had the luxury of witnessing, had him forgetting to breathe.

And he only did breathe when Hange plopped back down on the ground and Levi was quick to notice the deafening absence of the familiar sound of the cables whizzing back into the gear.

Her face was flushed, her skin glistened with sweat. The sunset illuminated Levi’s view and he saw shades of orange and purple reflect on her. She approached him. She entered the shade and within a second, he had lost the view of her he had been so gingerly enjoying.

“I think I get it,” Hange said.

“Get what?” It would have been a ridiculous request for Levi to tell her to stay back so he could enjoy the reflection of the sunset on her eyes. So he kept his response brief, a little penalty for that part of him that even suggested that Hange had been a joy to watch.

“You might be right, I think I’ve been using my cables too much. It’s much easier to move when they aren’t constantly pulling at me.”

Levi stifled a smile. He wasn’t going to show her how sweet it had been to be proven right. Also, a part of him had been a little disappointed she hadn’t denied him that luxury of being correct. He was in the mood for a little argument after all.

“But it doesn’t change the fact that you still used too much gas.” The opening for an argument was introduced soon after Levi lamented that wasted fuel.

Levi opened his mouth ready to mouth off. He hadn’t decided what to say it, ready to leave it to his sharp experienced tongue to discern the best comeback at that moment. He had wanted to insult her movement, the little dance around the trees. Her performance was perfection though and despite being able to come up with shitty jokes within seconds, nothing in her performance had been worth poking fun at.

To his relief, she interrupted him. “You know what though, I figured out something which might be just as useful for you.” Hange unfastened her gas canisters. “Try carrying it.”

Levi held one of them to see that it was still much fuller than what he would have expected from watching her only a few seconds ago.

“I found a way to conserve gas. I notice you used to carry yourself, you’d let the gas pull you. What if you bend your body a bit and curve your back, to make yourself easier for the gas to carry you through? It helped a lot for me, I definitely felt lighter, like I wasn’t resisting as much as I used to. Probably won't be able to maneuver as well as you though."

Levi did not bring his gear then so it had been a little difficult to imagine. By what could have been a silent agreement, Hange unfastened her ODM gear from the cables to the canisters and dropped them in front of him. “ Why don’t you try it?” She offered.

It had only been a few weeks since he woke up to diagnoses of internal bleeding and broken ribs that would have taken months to heal. At Commander Keith’s orders, Levi had stayed in the sidelines, no intention on trying anything with ODM for a while, especially with ODM gear which wasn’t his. ODM gear was custom fit for every single soldier after all.

It had only been a week but as Levi stood there, trying on the gear that should have been a few pounds too heavy for him, his body did not protest the weight. Jumping onto the tree with the help of the cables had felt a little awkward but it could have been the unnatural weight of ODM gear a few sizes too big.

Regardless, it was enough to see the difference. Hange had suggested he curves his back as he bent over and that he moves with the ODM gear. Don’t let the gas pull you.

He kept focused on Hange as she repeated the tips from the foot of the tree. The change was almost instant. The breeze was stronger, the air colder and the rustle of the leaves around him only louder as he moved.

Hidden among the sounds of the blowing wind, the rustle of leaves and the explosion of gas, he heard it. He had been too high up in the air for it to be any louder but it was definitely there, distant cheers, gasps and avid screams. They were the only two there so it could have only been from her.

He never found out how long he had been up there zipping among the branches. He called it a day when the sun was dark and his ribs started to whimper a little, manifesting in the form of a stitch on his right side.

As he landed back down on the roots of the tree, Hange was already there waiting for him. The dim light made it difficult to see the smile on her face. But it was there. Levi found himself wishing for at least some natural light to make it all the more visible.

“You might just be humanity’s strongest soldier,” Hange said as she moved to unfasten the gear for him. “Maybe that’s why you recovered so fast?

                                         Passion Project

“Tea?” Hange asked.

“Tea,” Levi answered

Just like before the injury, they were back to drinking black tea.

Levi was grateful for their history. On his end, he did not need to verbalize any of that. It had slipped into their routine after training to seek comfort in the malty yet astringent taste of black tea.

Somehow, Levi was relieved to realize she hadn’t forgotten that. It had been months since their last tea date after all. They had been occupied by preparations for the expedition, the actual expedition and the recovery that followed, to have continued that mini routine between them.

With the rations of before completely consumed, they had to get their fix elsewhere. They had silently made their way to that specific hole-in-the-wall tea shop Levi would frequent along the corners of Trost district. The exhaustion at having practiced the ODM gear after a long days work finally did catch up to both of them. The only exchange they did comfortably manage while taking the almost one hour long detour to the shop being the mention of that one common luxury between them.

Only after they settled down on one of the benches in front of the shop, when Levi finally had the tea in front of him and the luxury to enjoy the illuminated streets in Trost did he realize one crucial thing.

“Did you know this was my favorite shop?”

Hange gave a light shrug, careful not to jostle and spill her own tea.

“There are bigger shops in Trost. This isn’t really anyone’s first destination” It suddenly felt weird that he was the one a little talkative at first.

Hange took a sip before answering. “I did my research.”

“What kind of research? For someone who forces me to listen to rambles about other research, you’re awfully quiet about this one.”

The brunette sighed. Not one of defeat, but seemingly one of comfort and maybe a little amusement. “I saw you here in Trost during a few days off and I kinda followed you.”

Levi didn’t reply and only waited for her to continue. Having to carry the conversation of a few minutes ago with the last two lines had him a little tired.

“I was a little curious, wanted to see what a strong yet quiet soldier did in his free time so maybe I could learn a bit. I thought that maybe I could actually get stronger if I followed some of your habits.”

Why didn’t you ask me? Levi couldn’t blame her for stalking though. As he recalled pretty quickly, he hadn’t been the friendliest person in the beginning either.

“When you enter the shop, you'd order the exact same thing every time and you had this sparkle in your eyes when they serve it to you… Just like now!”

Levi suddenly felt self conscious of that spark in his eyes. Instead of looking away though, he found himself looking at her eyes, searching for a reason to point out how pathetically her own eyes probably sparkled. As he locked eyes with Hange though as she said it, he saw the way her own eyes sparkled under the dim street lights, only complemented by that wide smile on her face and the music in her voice.

“I guess you really love tea huh? Even the most emotionless soldiers have to have some passion somewhere to keep living.”

A Passion for tea? The way Hange had said it, had Levi almost spitting out his tea at the outrageous claim. The strong passing thought of not wanting to waste that good cup of tea or destroy the mood that accompanied it was enough to hold it back in his mouth.

"Relax, Levi.” Hange said. Levi wondered what kind of face he was making for her to look at him in an almost patronizing manner. “I have my own passions too.” Hange continued. But it’s a relatively new one. Not as old as your obsession with tea probably.”

“What is it?”

“I wanna do lots of research on titans. I‘ve already prepared five project proposals to submit to Erwin already and I think I’m gonna end up writing ten more before this month ends."

Levi had to note that it was the third week of the month already.

[litwitlady]

Send Me Home (1/?)

Read on AO3.

‘The Braves are down to their last at bat, Jeff. And it’s Michael Guerin in the on-deck circle. What’s Ramon’s strategy here? Does he try to jam him up inside or keep firing fastballs and hope Guerin can’t catch up?’

It’s September in Atlanta and the Braves are playing the Marlins. Every game counts as both teams vy for a spot in October baseball. Michael Guerin is a lead candidate for MVP, and he’s always a threat in the bottom of the ninth with two outs and the bases loaded. The sellout crowd roars as his walk-up music begins to play.

I was born to the desert And to the desert I’ll return Sun-soaked and leathered Tattered and tethered Send me home, send me home, send me home

‘Ramon’s got that curveball, Chip. I’m not sure Guerin’s ever met a fastball he couldn’t hit. Especially in the bottom of the ninth. So, I think Ramon starts with the curveball even if that’s exactly what Guerin’s expecting.’

Michael steps into the batter’s box and takes a couple of quick practice swings, eyes wide and watching Ramon’s every move. He squares his hips and lowers his hands on the bat just a touch. It’s an adjustment he’s been working on for the past month or so with great success. Ramon lets loose his first pitch. As expected, it’s a nasty curveball and a pitch Michael has struck out on more than once during his twelve year career. But this time he’s prepared and anticipates perfectly where the bottom of the curve will land. He shoots a laser to shallow right field, and it drops in for a walk-off single. The dugout empties and everyone tackles him as he crosses home plate, one game closer to October.

--------

Later that night, Michael sits on the tailgate of his Chevy, beer in hand and staring up at the stars like so many nights before. Several of the guys had harassed him about going out to celebrate, but he’s not in the mood. He’s never in the mood these days. The winning still feels good and the possibility of the MVP is a dream. But for a long time now, he’s felt like there’s something missing in his life. Something essential, something elusive, something just out of his reach.

The truth is that he’s lonely. It’s a truth he can admit to himself when he’s alone underneath the cosmos watching the stars blink down at him against the wide expanse of space.

There have been relationships along the way. Women he’s dated earnestly. Once upon a time, maybe even a couple he could have loved. When he was younger, there had also been a few men. But none recently. The deeply rooted homophobia of baseball to blame. Mostly anyway. It’s strange now - everyone knows he’s bisexual, a simple Google search is all it takes. But he’s fairly certain baseball collectively decided to ignore his sexuality altogether after he got called up to the majors all those years ago.

He wants to believe he’s not afraid to be seen with men. He tells himself it’s just simpler this way, less complicated. Fewer awkward questions and the focus remaining on his athletic abilities rather than his sex life. Besides, only two major league players have ever come out and they both only did so after they’d retired. He supposes maybe he counts as the third. It’s not the stuff of fairytales, and Michael had learned that lesson during his brief stint in Double-A ball.

That feels like a lifetime ago.

Alex Manes’ new album drifts through the truck’s windows. His low, throaty voice practically purring into Michael’s ears. He’s been a big fan of Alex and his music for several years now. They’re both from New Mexico and the way he sings about the desert rings true enough to Michael that listening to one of his songs sends him right back home. Despite their many issues, he misses his brother and sister so badly sometimes he can barely breathe. Alex’s music reminds him of all the things and all the people he’s left behind - for better or worse. A couple of years ago, he’d had the opportunity to see Alex perform live but he’d turned it down. He still can’t explain why.

The night stretches out before him. Beer and music lulling him into a peaceful sleep until a bright light flashes in his face and startles him awake. He sits up and raises his hands peacefully. ‘Hey, Ernie.’

‘Oh, Mr. Guerin. I didn’t recognize you. What are you still doing here? It’s past midnight.’ He clicks the flashlight off and clips it back onto his belt. ‘Congrats on the walk-off!’

Michael shrugs. ‘Thanks. Didn’t want to go home just yet. Like watching the stars at night. But I haven’t seen you in a while. The grandkids still running circles around you?’

‘You know it! Caleb just turned five and is a holy terror. Michelle is eight going on eighteen. I can barely get a word in edgewise between the two of them.’ His eyes shine even in the darkness, crinkling at the edges.

Michael’s heart aches at Ernie’s easy, simple joy, but he manages a genuine smile thanks to the night’s shadows softening the edges of his jaw. ‘That sounds nice.’ He hops off his tailgate. ‘I’ll get out of your hair. Got an early game anyway. Need to get some sleep.’

‘Well, now, don’t let me chase you off. I don’t mind the company. It gets a little spooky at night. You can always come knock on my door if you ever need anything.’ Ernie opens the Chevy’s door for Michael and shuts it behind him. ‘All these other guys with their flashy sports cars and you in this old rust bucket. You’re a weird one, Mr. Guerin. But I like that about you.’

Michael runs his hands around the cracked steering wheel. ‘Most days this truck is about the closest thing to home I’ve got. There’s still desert dirt in the bed and an engine I rebuilt myself. What the fuck would I do with a Ferrari?’

They both laugh and Michael waves and honks his horn as he pulls out of the player’s lot. The streets are mostly empty, cars keeping to the well-lit interstate at night. He decides to stay on surface roads and take the long way home, radio softly playing old country songs. His thoughts drift to tomorrow’s game and the rookie pitcher the Marlins are starting. His own rookie year had been tough, and he makes a mental note to speak to the kid at some point during the game, ask him how he’s doing and if he’s being treated well.

The streetlights along Peachtree illuminate his path through Brookhaven. He crosses into Atlanta city limits and enters Buckhead just as ‘Lay Me Down’ by Loretta Lynn and Willie Nelson starts to play through his speakers. And all too soon, he turns down his street and opens the cedar gate at the end of his driveway, parking his truck and sitting in the darkness until the song comes to an end.

Climbing out of his truck, he unlocks the front door with his telekinesis, slipping inside quietly and deactivating his alarm system. He’d bought the house in foreclosure, spending most of his money on remodeling the mid-century ranch. It’s not extravagant, but it’s the most expensive thing he owns. He’d even let Isobel fly out to decorate the place within a very strict budget, and he’d had to admit she’d done a great job - one side of his front door Atlanta, the other side New Mexico.

But even so, it has never felt like home.

The first few nights he’d spent in the house had been rough. It was too quiet and too soft and too much. More than once he’d grabbed his ancient, worn sleeping bag and crawled into the bed of his truck. Sleeping hard on the uncomfortable. ribbed metal but beneath the stars he loved so much. The morning dew waking him with the sun each morning.

These days he manages to sleep in bed at night, but only because he’d installed two skylights overhead so that the stars would always be his. And only his. He rarely brings anyone home anymore, preferring their house to his. But when he does, he takes them to a guest bedroom. None of them ever seem to mind how empty the space is or how devoid of personality. Four blank walls and a lone bed filling the room. Why would they? It’s not Michael the foster kid from the desert they’re sleeping with. It’s Michael Guerin the multi-millionaire first baseman with the single-season home run record and the aw-shucks, good boy smile.

Tonight he doesn’t bother turning on any lights. He just pads through the kitchen to grab an apple and a bottle of water, undresses and climbs into bed. He takes a large bite of the granny smith and pulls out his phone, calling Isobel.

‘Congrats on the walk-off!’ He can hear another game in the background. Isobel had never watched a baseball game in her life - including any of his - until the day he’d gotten drafted right out of high school. But now she watches all of them. Or as many of them as possible. Her scouting reports are better than anything stamped official and readily available in the team clubhouse.

‘Thanks. Didn’t really see the ball that well tonight, though. Is Max there?’ It’s stupid to ask when he already knows the answer.

‘Out with Liz. They’ve been inseparable ever since she moved back to Roswell. It’s gross and I miss you.’ The sound on her tv goes silent and he knows she’s settling in for a long conversation. ‘Tell me about tomorrow. Any surprises?’

‘No. New kid on the mound just called up. Got a mean slider. Torres has some pain in his wrist so he’ll be benched.’ Michael finishes his apple in two large bites and guzzles his water, listening to Isobel pound away at her keyboard already deep in research mode. ‘Might get me moved up to the number two slot.’

They spend fifteen minutes strategizing. It’s what they do most nights. Isobel critiquing the numbers based on intuition and her own database of knowledge concerning the human psyche, while he runs statistical analyses and probabilities in his head faster than humanly possible. Michael suggests more than once that she’d make a great scout and that maybe when he retires they can go into business together. He’s told her this a million times, but she only laughs him off and reminds him that she already has a job.

‘A worthless job that doesn’t pay you what you deserve.’ He reaches for the tv remote on his nightstand but can’t find it. Not that it matters. He switches the television on with his mind and nods his head through the channels, stopping on an old western and muting the volume.

‘Philanthropy is not worthless, Michael!’ She sighs loudly to punctuate her exasperation. ‘And my salary is not the point - the point is helping people. Besides, I have all of Noah’s money and can negotiate more pay any time I choose.’

That he believes. ‘How’d your date go last night?’ Asking Isobel about her date absolutely means she’ll push him to share something just as personal. But it was her first official date with a woman and he genuinely wants to know how it went. No matter the price he’ll pay.

‘Really, really, really well.’ He can hear the grin in her voice and it makes him smile. ‘She’s a cardiologist and very good with her hands. Valenti makes a pretty superb matchmaker. Maybe I’ll ship him your way because you could certainly use the help.’

Michael rolls his eyes and fakes a groan. ‘You can keep Valenti. Don’t you think it’s weird to have your ex setting you up on dates? Do you really think he’s the best judge of character?’

‘Kyle knows me better than most. He was my first relationship after Noah and he put up with a lot. I trust him implicitly with my heart and yours. Plus, I was the one who broke up with him.’

‘My heart is fine, thanks.’ He lies smoothly and knows exactly how she’s going to respond.

‘I can’t stand the thought of you all the way across the country in that foreign place with no one to go home to at night.’

He snorts. ‘It’s called Georgia, Iz. And I’m not home enough for a relationship to work right now.’

‘Half the guys on your team - on any team! - are married. So that’s a pisspoor excuse. You keep pushing everyone away. Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I know you, Michael. As soon as you start to feel something, the doors slam shut and you become another stereotypical lonewolf cowboy.’ Her voice is loud now, vehement and self-righteous. They’ve reenacted this scene so many times it feels very paint by number at this point. ‘I hardly ever hear a smile in your voice anymore.’

She’s right and she knows it. He used to love dating, meeting new people. First kisses and first fucks. Last kisses and farewell fucks. He lived for those moments and now he hardly ever looks anyone in the eye. ‘We have this conversation at least once a month. And nothing has changed. It’s too hard right now, Iz. I’m too known to ever really be known. Not the way I would want to be. Not in any way that I would trust.’

There’s no use arguing so they move on to easier topics. Max and LIz’s ongoing romance, details of Isobel’s date, Maria’s remodel of the Pony thanks to a very generous anonymous donation. Every word out of her mouth squeezes his heart a little bit tighter until it’s too much and he says goodnight.

Flipping onto his side, he reaches his arm out to the other side of the bed, running his hand over the cold, unwrinkled sheet. His eyes land on the empty pillow no head ever touches and tries to imagine a face looking back at him. A face that might smile suggestively or quietly murmur goodnight. But he’s unable to conjure anything beyond a blank, shapeless outline. It makes him feel pathetic so he yanks the pillow underneath his own head and forces his eyes shut, trying in vain to quiet his mind. Despite his best efforts, sleep takes its sweet time finding him.

The next morning he’s exhausted but gets to the field early. He’d woken up to a cryptic message from Isobel. There’s a surprise waiting for you after the game! Stick around this time, Michael. Don’t make me get on a plane. He’s sure that can’t mean anything good, but he attempts to put it out of his mind for now.

The ballpark is already bustling with activity. Michael heads into the clubhouse to change. He stops and asks Stan, their hitting coach, for some extra work before the rest of the team arrives. He’s worried about how he’s been shifting his wrists recently and wants someone else’s opinion. The adjustments he’d made last night seem to be working, but he’s worried about straining a muscle or tweaking the wrong tendon. Two of his teammates are already on the IL with wrist pain. He doesn’t want to be next, especially with the postseason race and his run at MVP on the line.

Michael finds Danny Marks asleep in one of the clubhouse’s leather chairs. He swats him on the head on the way to his locker, laughing at Danny’s loud yelp. ‘Fuck, man, you’re always asleep. How did you manage to stay awake on the mound long enough to put together two Cy Young seasons?’

‘Talent, Guerin. Talent. You should try it sometime. Maybe then you’ll win MVP.’ Danny yawns and stretches his arms over his head. Michael glares at him. ‘Don’t worry. You’re still the favorite. Our very own diamond darling. No one else is getting their own personal concert any time soon.’

‘What?’ He sits on the chair at his locker, blinking at Danny in confusion. ‘Personal concert?’ Isobel’s strange text message flashes through his head again while he inwardly groans.

‘Oh, yeah.’ Danny grins and crosses his ankles on the table in front of him, brashly enjoying the way Michael squirms. ‘Alex Manes is traveling down from Nashville just for you - baseball’s most beloved first baseman.’ He throws a toy football at Michael’s head, chuckling when it bounces off his curls. ‘He’s not bad looking, you know.’

‘Stop.’ Danny is Michael’s best friend on the team and the only one he feels comfortable enough to have this conversation with. ‘Whose idea was this? Did Isobel do something? Or was this you?’

Michael doesn’t want this. Not at all. And he can’t exactly explain why. Music is personal to him - profoundly personal. Always has been since he was nothing but an unloved kid trapped in various violent foster homes. It was music that had kept him warm at night and music that had loved him best. The only escape available to him during most of his darkest hours.

Over the years, there have been many artists he’s considered favorites. Most of them old country crooners or folk song heroes. Much like Alex Manes. But with Alex, it’s something more. Something he has a hard time vocalizing. They are both from New Mexico. Both spent a chunk of their formative years in Roswell. Michael has read or watched multiple interviews with Alex where he’s alluded heavily to an abusive father. His lyrics certainly do the same. Lots of kids grow up that way - Michael knows he’s not alone in that particular fate - but the way Alex puts that pain to music settles something inside his chest that has never been settled before.

So the thought of meeting Alex worries Michael. They say don’t meet your heroes for a reason. In his head, Alex represents a sense of safety, a sense of home. What happens when they meet and that’s taken from him? Because maybe Alex is a liar. Or maybe he’s a dick. Either possibility is very real. He’s also a vet, and Michael hates, hates, hates the military. And he doesn’t want to hate Alex. Doesn’t want to lose his music. Cannot emotionally afford to lose his music if he’s being honest.

‘Isobel apparently knows someone who knows someone who knows someone. I just didn’t try and stop her. Or Lena.’ Danny’s wife is Isobel’s favorite human. It’s the worst thing that’s happened to Michael since meeting Danny. The two of them have done nothing but make his life one unasked for surprise after another. ‘Besides, even if you hate it, the team could really use some fun before heading into the postseason. Some good old-fashioned team bonding, my friend. And this time, you don’t get to run away. The guys need to see their captain smile every once in a while.’

Michael sighs and changes into his warmups. Danny’s phone rings and he grins one last time at Michael before disappearing for some privacy. Michael decides to push Alex Manes to the back of his mind and concentrate on the game ahead of him. Stan is waiting, anyway. So he’ll focus on his wrists for now and worry about everything else later. The one thing he does do, however, is pull out his phone and send Isobel a very pointed text.

You should have gotten my permission first.

Isobel’s text response is nothing but the angel halo emoji. Michael wishes his telekinesis was strong enough to travel across state lines because he’d like to throw her phone into the wall. Since that option is not available to him, he sends Max a text instead.

Your sister is a menace.

He pockets his phone, not bothering to wait on an answer. Max tends to be too busy these days. Not that that’s anything new really. Unless your name is Liz Ortecho or Isobel Evans, he doesn’t have much time for you.

The morning stretches by as gametime approaches. Batting practice goes well and Michael works with Stan on keeping his wrists from turning too much when he swings. His teammates have all found out about the concert by the time the first pitch is thrown and none of them will let him forget it. Each time his walk-up music begins to play, Danny leads a small group of particularly bad vocalists in a sing-a-long. All of them belting out the lyrics at the top of their lungs. Michael tries to keep the stupid grin off his face and almost suceeds.

He won’t admit it, but he actually begins to get excited. Doesn’t even mind when Max only ends up responding with a snarky text.

Try living less than five miles from her.

He’d give anything to live five miles from Isobel. Michael loves his teammates. He really does. Atlanta has one of the best team dynamics in baseball. Maybe the best. They support each other, love one another, and when they say family, they mean it. Team dinners and family outings are normal even during the off season. Michael doesn’t avoid spending time with them because he dislikes anyone - although there have been various tiffs in the past but nothing long lasting. He avoids them because he loves them enough to let his mouth loosen too much, all his secrets threatening to tumble out with no regard for his safety or the safety of his siblings.

He knows this because it has happened on more than one occasion. Years ago during his rookie years when living hard and drinker harder were his nightly norm. On any given night you’d find him at the bar, four fingers deep into a bottle of bourbon, mouthing off about moving things with his mind. It wasn’t the booze talking; it was his loneliness. The throbbing homesick ache in his chest that only Max and Isobel could smooth away. Once he knew his teammates were shitfaced, he’d let some little comment slip about his abilities. Half of them never paid any attention to the things he said and the other half merely laughed at him.

He’d told Isobel one night about the things he said and she’d yelled at him solidly for an hour. The next day he’d gotten a nasty phone call from Max and has kept his mouth shut ever since that conversation.

Keeping their secret is important. Michael understands that, but the lying exhausts him. He loves Danny and hates that the most important part of himself Danny and Lena can never know. He loves his other teammates, and he doesn’t want to hide this huge part of himself from them forever. The lying has always made him feel unclean - distant and deceptive. Back in Roswell, it had been easier. He hadn’t had many friends and the people closest to him shared the same secret. But now, the people he sees every single day aren’t allowed to know the real him. It breaks his heart in a way he could never have anticipated, making him feel truly alien.

Michael and Isobel had jumped through enormous hoops to keep his DNA secret from team doctors and drug testers. It’s the only reason he’d ever agreed to her mind influence.

A major league baseball player cannot have telekinetic superpowers, alien or not. The cheating accusations would be immediate and relentless - his career over and his name shamed forever. Regardless of the fact that he would never dream of cheating to advance his career. Besides, he’s self-aware enough - or perhaps cocky enough - to understand that his level of talent doesn’t require any telekinetic assistance. Michael Guerin is just that fucking good.

During his last at bat in the eighth inning, Alex Manes’ face flashes on the digital scoreboard high above centerfield advertising the aftergame concert. Michael concentrates on keeping his wrists tight and imagines that Alex is somewhere in the stadium watching him. He swings at the first pitch - a fastball left too high over the plate - and knows he’s gotten every piece of it by the cracking sound his bat makes. He starts a slow run to first base and watches the ball sail over the leftfield wall. With his signature two claps, he rounds first and enjoys the cheering crowd chanting his name. Stepping on the bag at home plate, his eyes glance back up at the scoreboard, but Alex’s face has disappeared. And suddenly his nerves have returned tenfold at the realization that soon he’ll be face to face with a man he has no idea how to talk to - what to say or even if he’ll get a chance to say anything at all.

Despite the cheers and happy butt slaps from his teammates, the pit in Michael’s stomach stretches wide. In the clubhouse, he checks his phone again and one last final message from Isobel lights up his screen.

He wants to meet you first.

[raineydaywrites]

working on from then til now (part 3 of 5)

link to part 1 (x), part 2 (x), ao3 (x)

As more and more days passed with no sign that Angus had said anything to the Director about what Taako had told him, he started to relax a little, wondering if the kid maybe had chosen not to say anything at all.

Taako didn't understand that, but he wasn't going to question it when that might prompt Angus to reconsider. Maybe the kid had decided not to break up the Reclaimer team. Sure, Magnus and Merle could get the relics too, but the three of them worked well together and all, so it might be too much of a pain to replace him now.

Maybe the kid even decided to spare him because he liked Taako? He'd asked for more magic lessons after the first, and Taako had agreed, because he was still bored, and that first magic lesson had proven surprisingly fun, and Angus had talent. He was hard on himself, but Taako knew how to pick up on genuine talent when he saw it.

He really hoped it was one of those first explanations, and not the one that sometimes snuck into his mind late at night, when the worst thoughts always arrived.

He really hoped that Angus wasn't scared of him. He might be. Had a right to be. Taako had killed a lot of people, and he was a powerful fucking wizard, and he'd even threatened him- jokingly- about what he'd do if Angus ever surpassed him in wizardly talents.

Not to mention the fact that his Umbra Staff had randomly blasted Ango's macarons with fire for no apparent reason. Angus seemed to believe Taako when he said that the Staff had been acting on its own- but what if he didn't?

It was an irrational fear. Angus wouldn't have asked for more magic lessons if he was afraid of him. He'd just avoid him, right?

But irrationality never stopped anxious thoughts from plaguing anybody.

-

Angus didn't know what to do. He liked Taako. He enjoyed spending time with him, and he was really happy that Taako had agreed to keep teaching him magic.

He wanted it to be as simple as that.

But he couldn't forget who Taako was. He couldn't stop thinking that it was a betrayal to his parents to like their killer so much.

He couldn't stop thinking of Taako fondly.

The more time he spent with Taako, the weirder he felt about all of it. The more he found himself loving Taako. The more he found himself hating himself for the betrayal.

He needed to confront Taako, but instead he was befriending him. What was he thinking?

As he let his thoughts stew, he was embarrassed to realize that the Director was speaking to him. Probably had been for a bit, judging by the tone of her voice when she said his name.

"Angus?"

"I- I'm so sorry, ma'am, I got distracted. Could you repeat that?" Angus said, blushing.

"I was asking if you're okay, Angus," the Director said, brows furrowed together in concern as she watched him.

"Yes, ma'am, I'm fine!" Angus said.

"Really?" The Director did not seem to believe that at all.

"Well- no- I mean- I'm having a personal issue. But it won't interfere with my work, I promise!" Angus assured.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help?" the Director said, and she hesitated before sitting down next to Angus on the little bench he'd been on for- he wasn't sure how long.

"Not really," Angus sighed. He wished that she could. It would be so nice if he could tell her everything and have her present a neat solution, but it couldn't happen.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

Angus did. But if he told her, then it would only make things more complicated. If he told her, then she'd have to decide if Taako's abilities outweighed the fact that he'd been responsible for such a tragedy as the Glamour Springs disaster. She was a really good person, and Angus didn't think that such a decision would weigh easy on her mind. He didn't want to make things harder for her.

Maybe he'd tell her, if he thought she could actually fix everything, but he didn't. He was having a conflict of emotions and morals, and he had to figure it out for himself. No one else could do it for him.

Besides which, it felt like a betrayal to Taako to share something like that, that Taako had shared with him in confidence. He didn't want to get Taako in trouble when he still hadn't even figured out how he felt about all of this.

"I don't think- that I can. It's not my story to tell," Angus said, finally.

"I understand," the Director said. "But if you ever need to talk, please know that I will listen."

She stood then, but didn't walk away quite yet.

"But I urge you to talk to someone about it. Perhaps the individual whose story it is. It's important to communicate about your struggles. Sometimes you can't, I know," she said, and her voice took on a very sad, longing tone, and Angus wondered again what her life had been like before this. "But- through all the difficulties I've had, I've found that it's better when you have people at your side. There will always be problems that you cannot be open about, but that makes it all the more important to be open when you can."

There was a sincerity and a weight to her voice that made Angus want to listen to her advice.

"Thank you ma'am. I'll- see what I can do," Angus offered, giving a bright smile to thank her for her words. She so clearly meant them, and it meant a lot to Angus that she wanted to help.

"Good. I hope that your issue eases up soon. You deserve- I only want what's best for everyone," she smiled back at him, and Angus found himself feeling a little lighter.

She was right, much as he hated the thought of airing out everything.

He would never get past this if he didn't communicate about it.

He had to speak with Taako.

-

When Angus had asked to speak in private, Taako had immediately gone tense. This could only be about one thing.

He'd hoped that Angus wouldn't feel the need to talk about the situation ever again. It wasn't exactly something that Taako liked to relive.

But what was he supposed to do? The kid deserved to be heard out. He deserved to deal with the kid's reaction. And anyway, Angus had a sword hanging over Taako's head in the form of knowing Taako's biggest secret.

Taako didn't think that Angus wanted to blackmail him, but he also knew that Angus could and would under the right circumstances.

So he agreed, and found himself in Angus' dorm room, waiting for judgement.

Angus' room was kind of adorable, Taako hated to admit. It was small, and his bed had a bunk that no one used- the moon base had a limited amount of real estate, and clearly the Director had struggled with finding a space that was appropriate for a kid to live in. Angus needed his own room since he was, like, a child and couldn't bunk with an adult stranger, but the single bed rooms were mostly suites, with kitchens and sometimes other bedrooms, which Angus didn't need.

Kid had limited cooking experience, as evidenced by the sugar-less macarons, and he was too short for adult-human sized appliances and too tall for a gnome or dwarf sized kitchen to be very comfortable either.

It looked like she'd settled on taking a bunkbed out of one of the initiate-type dorm rooms, leaving Angus with a little more space and privacy. There was a desk against one wall, and Taako wasn't surprised to see that it was very neat, but the little stuffed toys lining the back of it were a cute surprise. They were clearly decorative, and Taako was sure that the kid would rather be caught dead than playing with them, but it was adorable anyway.

He had a bookshelf, half lined with colorful kids' chapter books, mostly Caleb Cleveland novels, and half with thick tomes in dark colors.

Taako tried to keep the grin on his face from becoming too soppy. It was cute yeah, but he was a stone-cold motherfucker, and he wouldn't be caught turning into mush over a dumb kid.

"So, what's up bubeleh?" Taako asked, dropping into the chair at the desk and leaning it back on two legs, trying to keep it casual.

"I need to talk to you about what happened at Glamour Springs," Angus said, his face drawn and serious.

Taako stopped rocking the chair, but didn't look over at Angus. So that confirmed that Angus knew everything. Must have done his research if he now knew where it had gone down.

"Shoot," Taako said.

"You killed forty people at Glamour Springs because you made a mistake with magic you weren't familiar with," Angus said.

Taako winced at the words like they were a physical blow, but they were certainly true.

Angus paused, but Taako didn't know what to say. What was there to say? He couldn't justify it any more than he already had.

"Two of them were Sam and Dianne McDonald," Angus said, voice wavering and thick. "My parents."

Taako felt his blood go cold and his mind go dark. No. Fuck. Gods, what had he done?

It had been a long time since Taako let himself think of his victims. He tried to avoid it most of the time. But here was a reminder, standing right in front of him, tears in his eyes. He found his mind casting back to that horrible moment all over again, trying to visualize them. Trying to pick them out from the crowd.

But he'd spent so long trying to forget that day, the crowd had just turned into a blur of horrified faces and dying people.

He'd always felt so bad about them that he'd rarely had much guilt to spare for the other victims- the families of everyone he'd killed. The parents and sibling and friends- the children that he had orphaned.

Whatever happened now, he wouldn't protest. His past had finally caught up to him, and he had no right to avoid it.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Angus said, and his voice cracked, and Taako felt a stabbing pain in his chest over it.

"What can I say?" Taako asked, and it was a genuine question. He wanted to say something that would help, but no words would undo what he'd done. "I'm sorry, Angus. I'm so fucking sorry."

Angus just sobbed at that. Taako always hated it when people cried, but he still found himself wanting to comfort the kid. He wanted to hug him and soothe him, which was a big difference from his usual tactic of running from emotions as fast as possible. But would his comfort even be welcome?

"I know you're sorry," Angus finally mumbled.

He brought up his hands to scrub tears from his eyes, pushing his glasses roughly out of the way in the process. He looked so little. He'd been even littler when he'd lost his parents.

Taako had expected anger if he ever met someone who loved any of his victims. Who wouldn't be angry at something like that?

But this was worse. It was so much worse than anger ever could have been. It broke his heart. He hated seeing Angus like this. He just wanted to make it better.

"Babe, come here," Taako said, reaching for Angus. It was instinctive, an offer without any conscious thought behind it. He wasn't good at comfort, but it seemed that his subconscious at least had some idea of how to do it.

He didn't expect Angus to listen. He hadn't expected the kid to immediately dart into his arms and start to cry into his shirt. He let it happen anyway. This was the least he could do after what he'd taken from the kid.

He held Angus close as the kid cried, offering soft comforting noises intermittently, feeling more helpless than he could remember ever feeling before.

Angus managed to cry himself into a state of exhaustion, and fell asleep right there in Taako's lap. Taako had never felt so guilty as he did then, realizing that the kid trusted him anyway. Realizing that he valued the kid's trust. Realizing that he never would have met this kid if he hadn't messed up so bad at Glamour Springs.

How dare he gain any happiness from that? It was selfish to be happy to have Angus in his life when it came at the cost of Angus losing his parents, and his parents and so many others losing their lives. He had no right to love Angus, let alone to be loved back.

Taako had long ago accepted that he was a selfish person, but this went so far beyond that. He couldn't seem to stop it though. And what was he supposed to do? Leave the kid to grieve alone, avoid facing responsibility for what he'd done? Surely that was worse.

Taako picked Angus up, gently, settling him onto the bed. He took off the kid's shoes and his glasses, setting them by the side of the bed for when Angus woke.

He didn't notice his own tears until one fell onto Angus' face as he was pulling the blanket over him, and then, having noticed, it was all he could do to keep his crying silent so as to not wake Angus.

He couldn't walk back to his room like this. He probably shouldn't leave Angus alone either.

Taako sat down on the wall farthest from Angus' bed, and clapped a hand over his mouth to hold back the urge to sob.

part 4 (x), part 5 (x)

[heyheydidjaknow]

FUCK YOU TIME! I’m aware I’m an hour and a half late, but I finished the chapter, so HA. I know nobody cares, but I’m happy with myself. Previous chapter is at the bottom of the page, of course.

Chapter 4

"Why, pray tell, don't you trust me?"

"Because you're being paranoid." Mikey gets into position at the top of the ramp as you scroll through your phone absentmindedly, watching your friends back home sincerely mourning your death. "I am an ex-peer-ee-onsed skateboarder and ninja. This is gonna be epic."

"As someone who saw that episode," you reassure him, sighing at your mother's inactivity online confirming your suspicions for the umpteenth time, "you are absolutely going to get in trouble." The lair is a mess, the ramp more so, and the entire situation is so obviously the inciting incident that you're half convinced that the universe itself is pranking you. You slid the phone into your pocket, not really in the mood to start crying again. "In fact, this is directly related to the theme of the episode. In other words, don't do it."

"Relax, dude." He sets himself up. "I am totally gonna make this jump and it is going to be sweet."

"Theme?" Donatello pipes up from his place on the ground in front of the ramp. "The first major constituent of a clause?"

You blink. "No, the new Subway footlong. What the fuck are you talking about?"

"That's the definition of theme."

"Who uses that definition? Grammar teachers?"

"The dictionary."

You are dumbfounded. "Why would I— do you know how people usually use that word?"

"People usually use that word at all?"

You look over at Raphael and Leonardo, who are on the floor next to him, and who seem completely disinterested. "Do you guys—"

"No. Who uses the word 'theme'?" Raphael rolls his eyes. "Mikey, do you plan on jumping today?"

"Wait, so none of you have ever used that word in a literary sense?"

"There's a literary sense?"

You sigh. "In hindsight, I guess that makes sense, since— Mikey, you're gonna get grounded for it."

"Will not."

"Will too. Donnie, when you inevitably get grounded for this, after your grounding is over, come to my apartment. I'm teaching you literary analysis because that is ridiculous." You get to your feet. "Oh," you say, "before I go, when he grounds you, don't go out. If you get into trouble while you're out, get me, and if he asks why you're tired, say it was a movie marathon, and if he asks which movies, Lord of The Rings. See ya." You run out as you hear the shouts of their father telling them to stop.

You walk back up to the surface via the empty subway tunnel. You had quickly realized that it was infinitely less gross than going through the sewers, and your apartment already smelled enough like raw sewage from the amount of time you had started spending down there. You have considered buying new clothes with your quickly appreciating bank account, but you could not bring yourself to look, even with your new freedom. Maybe it was a lack of motivation? You do not exactly know. More likely is your complete lack of inspiration and faith in your own choices, but what do I know?

You start down the street to your building. You would not go so far as to say it felt like home, but you had become more accustomed to it. You had learned the bellboy’s name, nodded to neighbors. It is not a stunning amount of progress, but it is progress. You spend most of your days now, if not re-watching whatever episode is relevant next, for the first time, cyberstalking people you knew from back home. How courteous of that organization to give you an up-to-date feed of life moving on without you; at least you get to see your cousins.

You do not remember the actual walk. You remember getting to your apartment, walking right by your refrigerator, and collapsing onto the bed.

You feel like shit.

You roll onto your back, going right back to stalking. You are not sure why you bother making yourself feel worse. You tried messaging them to absolutely no avail. You cannot comment on posts, either. You know this. You still grasp onto this shred from your past. It just makes you sad. Why are you doing this to yourself?

You feel a lump rise in your throat. You close the window.

You curl around your pillow, hugging it tightly. You the sound of your fingers against the screen was the only thing to permeate the room. You are following a tangent, looking for a book you were interested in a century ago. Something about a pervert? You forget.

You miss home.

—

You do not even need to look up from your phone; the panting is enough. "I'm going to take a wild guess."

"I know you said to come get you," Donnie gushed, "but it was 2 in the morning and I totally forgot and I was freaking out about this new invention and—"

You set the e-book down, walking over and grasping his hands gently. "Take a deep breath, alright? You're gonna be fine, so long as you chill out and think."

"Baxter Stockman is serious business."

"I know, honey, but you gotta calm down, alright?" You slowly pull him down to sit on the bed.

"He snapped my staff with his freakin hand!"

"You are going to go through at least 2 more of those bad boys. Breathe with me." You inhale deeply. "In."

He mimics you.

"Out."

He follows suit.

"Okay. Are you good?"

His breathing slows. He swallows, nods. "Okay, I'm calm."

"Awesome. Now, I'm gonna give you a mini version of our lesson, alright? Is that okay?" The irony of you trying to calm down the trained ninja is not lost on you.

"Yeah, alright." He nodded.

"Alright. Let's start off with the basics." You sit yourself up properly. "Now, this is a kid's show, right?"

"If you say so, yeah."

"The thing about kids shows is that there's usually a moral to each of the episodes."

"Okay."

You put up one finger. "At the beginning of the episode, you guys got grounded, right?"

He nodded.

"You guys snuck out, and you got into a fight with Stockman. That fight is the reason he's after you, right?" You try to speak relatively clearly and, more importantly, calmly.

"Yeah." He seems to respond relatively positively to this.

"And then,” you continue, putting up a second finger, “Mikey losing the t-pod and not telling anyone is what lead to Stockman getting powerful, right?”

He nodded.

“In both instances, the problem was a lack of transparency, right? Not asking for help for fear of getting in trouble?”

He nodded again.

“So,” you nod with him, “the way to fix this is?”

“To ask for help regardless of whether or not it will get us in trouble with Splinter?”

“Exactly.” You smile encouragingly. “Why?”

“Because that’s the message of the episode?”

“You really are quick to catch on.” You get to your feet. “I’m not surprised you’re the brains of the group.”

“Really?” His eyes lit up.

“Most definitely. Now,” you get to your feet, “as much as I love when we talk, and as much as I owe you a lesson on how to identify these sorts of things on your own, I’m sure your brothers could use that advice right about now.”

“Right!” He gets up. “Thank you, again.”

“My pleasure, my guy. Oh, hit me up when you’re off of your grounding so I can figure out a lesson plan.”

“You got it.” He climbed out of the window. “See you then, Y/N.”

“Kick their asses.” You wave as he disappears into the night.

Your smile slowly slides off your face as you close the window. You pick your phone up to check the time.

You toss it onto the bed. ‘I’m making cupcakes.’ You have not eaten in what feels like a while. You are already out of bed. Might as well.

--

“She called me honey.”

Raphael rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you, there’s no way that a girl like her is going to be into you. You’re delusional.”

“Honey is a pet name!” Donatello’s voice rises slightly. “And—and she invited me to her place after we aren’t grounded!”

“Let him believe.” Leonardo pipes up from in front of the television. “I think it’s nice that he and she are as close of friends as they are so quick.”

“For the record, I’m rooting for ya, bro.” Mikey takes another bite out of his pizza. “Sure, you’re a little creepy, but so is she, so it works out.”

He scoffs. “Aren’t you three forgetting something? Like, I don’t know, that we’re turtles? Is the fact that she’s an entirely different species not a factor?”

“Part turtle.” He speaks incredibly fast. “Our DNA is mutated with—”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re holding onto that technicality real tight, aren’t you?” He stabs the dummy in the gut. “A technicality that I’m sure she cares about.”

“I did the research.” He gets to his feet, running over and grabbing a diagram from his lab. “We’re physically compatible.”

“Donnie. Brother. No.” He stops. “Please tell me you didn’t seriously look into whether or not you could fuck her. I know you like this girl, but come on.”

“I didn’t go out of my way to research how our reproductive system works for this.” He tosses it back into his lab, sliding the door closed. “I did that research a while back. I just had to investigate reproduction on the female end to make sure everything worked.” He stands up straight. “Theoretically, we are fully capable of reproducing with humans.”

“Theoretically?” Leo looks back at him.

He feels his face go red. “Well, there isn’t any clinical research done on the subject. We’re the only ones of our kind, after all, and I don’t have any female samples to use.”

“For fuck’s sake, Donnie, do not ask her for ‘samples’.” He gags. “That’s just fucking gross.”

“I wasn’t going to!”

“You were. I’d bet money on it.”

“Ten bucks says he still will.” Mikey drops the rest of it down his throat.

“Hey!”

“Dude, you’re freakier than I am. I love you but come on.” He lays back on the couch.

“Y’all are just gross.” He stabbed the dummy in the neck, sand pouring out of the hole. “We need a more durable dummy.”

“You could just not break the ones I make.” He sits down on the couch. “That’s an option.”

“It’s a literal punching bag. It’s a show of love.”

The episode ends. Leo walked over to the two on the couch, sitting on the other side of his lanky brother as Michelangelo scrounges for crumbs. “Look, it might be jumping the gun a bit to start researching if you guys can have kids. You guys aren’t even in a relationship.”

“I know.” He rubs his face with his hands. “I dunno, man. What am I doing?”

“Exactly.” He pats him on the back. “I’m not saying it could never happen, but this is a little much.”

He sighs. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“We wouldn’t lie to you.” He gets to his feet. “I’m gonna go meditate for a while. You wanna join me?”

“I’m good.” Donnie hopped over the back of the couch. “I’m gonna go work on this thing I’ve been working on.”

“Alright, man.” He walks off to the dojo.

He steps into his lab, sliding the door closed behind him. He sits at his workstation, a half-finished robot sat on the table. He slides his tongue in the space between his teeth absentmindedly as he goes back to connecting wires.

‘She used the past tense. Had, she said.’ He bounces his knee absentmindedly, reaching for the soldering iron. ‘But she called me honey. She called me hot stuff. Is that an insult?” He tests the joints. ‘I don’t remember.’

He sets his project down for a second. He opens his laptop, smiling gently at his screen saver. It is a photo you had emailed him of the two of you to show you how it worked.

‘I should make a camera. Or find one. A digital one.’ He sighs, closing it. ‘She is absolutely gorgeous.’

He goes back to work, still feeling your fingers around his.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

[marshmallowprotection]

Do you still like V after the events of Saeran's after end? Do you think he's horribly OOC in there or do think he's in character?

I hear so many V stans say he's out of character but I dont think so. It you consider what he's done in the Christmas DLC, in Another Story, and in the main routes of Deep/Casual story he's always been obsessed with Rika and always keeps making bad decisions (or keeps procrastinating making a decision) because he's unwiling to priortitize the RFA over Rika. Ray's after end is just a timeline where he decides to stop hesitating and fully commit to his obsession with Rika. Its him making the worst decisions possible.

If anything, its V's own route that feels OOC because I feel like there's too little chance he would stop obsessing over Rika and fall in love with someone else. But those are just my own thoughts and opinions. I'm curious to hear yours.

Personally, I said this when I was going through my initial reaction to Saeran’s AE so you could read that series if you haven’t already because I put it down in a lot more blatant detail. I’ll leave this free from this tag, though, don’t want to add dislike over there when I know a lot of people are hurt and upset. So, let me just say, SPOILERS AHEAD.

I have to say that I don’t think he was out of character. I sincerely don’t. I think was the game showing us truly how far V is willing to go for Rika and how far he had already gone for Rika. Listen, V’s not my favorite person in the world but I’d say that he went through a lot in his life and he has such a specific personality type that we can’t disregard. Both he and Rika were wrong in their relationship with each other. They both did wrong things. 

V is a victim of Rika’s abuse, that is for sure, but V did say and push Rika to lean more into her more violent thoughts. It had a lot to do with his warped sensibility and what he was dealing with on his own, from his mother, to how his personal understanding of love was twisted and fractured. He said it himself in his route that he was obsessed with Rika and that he would do anything for Rika because that love was an infatuation stronger than any drug. 

The Secret Ending, for example. He was willing to come and get everyone from the cabin. I don’t know what he thought was going to happen when he did that or if anyone would trust him. He’s got such a martyr complex that it pains me and I wish he valued himself more and admitted that he needed to stop this and just talk about what help he needed. I understand that it’s fucked up, and all of this is complicated because the boys cannot be found by the government. 

But, he could have told Jumin. 

He could have done a lot of things but he hesitated and got scared and tried to blame himself and do it on his own. He doesn’t want Rika to die. He doesn’t want Rika to go to prison. He doesn’t want Rika to suffer. Yet, he’s seeing how she’s hurting others and hurting herself and spiraling, and... sometimes it’s hard for me to understand why he lied. He doesn’t know about Mika, the AE said that as a fact, and I don’t know when he found out about Mint Eye. 

But, he lies to cover Rika’s tracks? Is it for Saeran, V? Or, is it for Rika? I’m really concerned that I don’t know the answer here. I know that he tries to help save Saeran and get him out, he really does, but he always hesitates and he always reaches and fails, and I don’t know if that’s because he’s doing it to himself by self-sabotaging or because he legitimately doesn’t know how to get him out. 

V’s greatest struggle in life is how indecisive and unsure he is. He frustrates me a lot. I see where he could find himself and where he could open up and be a good person and be happy. I see it. But, he won’t let himself let go and Rika and he keeps burning as Icarus does as he reaches out for the sun. 

In this timeline, we see how deeply V can go if he lets himself commit to that state with Rika. In Ray’s Route, Jihyun saw us commit ourselves to Saeran and believe in him, and forgive him, and forgive Ray for what happened. However, it was our choice to forgive them... and you know the difference between what went down with Saeran and what goes down with Rika? Saeran was willing to say that he fucked up and that he needed to stop, that he needed to grow, and that he needed to change. 

He apologized and he said that if you gave him a chance, he would love you and protect you. You accept that, but he’s still going to be working on that for a long time in his heart because he knows what he did. His willingness and capacity to grow and admit fault make him mature and respectable. Rika is never willing to admit her wrongdoings. 

You saw that play out in Saeran’s AE from minute one and you can’t ignore that fact. When Jihyun went back to Rika. And, you know what I personally thought was going to happen? I thought he was going to take Rika, leave the country, and fucking run and never look back. I thought that he was going to take all of her sufferings and place it upon himself so nobody would ever be hurt again sans himself because he “thinks he deserves to be punished by her hand for what he did.” 

However, no. 

V did not do that. 

V decided that he would fully immerse himself in Rika. He decided that the best thing to do was to take the wrong lesson from what he saw with Saeran and the MC. He stood by Rika thinking that if he pushed or tried hard enough to let her be himself instead of forcing her to be something else, maybe she would have a breakthrough like Saeran did. However, he couldn’t do that and let her go to jail, could he? Nope. So he had to make a deal with the devil. For Rika’s freedom and happiness, he had to hurt everyone. 

He himself says in one of the floating space thoughts that he needed to research how to commit himself to that. V admits that he knows that he’s wrong to go this far with Rika, both of them admit that they know they’re wrong and that they knew it was wrong from the start. 

We can see him on Day 3 with moments where he is... showing this guilt again and showing us that side of him that we saw before he cracked and committed to his fate with Rika. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like they’re dating or anything here, he’s merely giving Rika what she wants because he thinks it will help her and right what went wrong. It doesn’t. They’re both living in her fantasy for her sake. Rika’s selfish wish is a family where they pretend nobody was hurt and if she gets that... well, that’s one of the BEs. 

V has been enabling a lot of her darker thoughts from the start, and for a while, he realized that he had to do something and he tried to do something by trying to go and remove Saeran from that place, but in the end, he felt like there was nothing left for him to do but commit to Rika and suffer in that selfish wish. V is willing to do anything for Rika, even hurt others when it comes down to it. He hurt the RFA and he betrayed them for RIka. 

This is the worst-case scenario for the kind of person that V can become, and I don’t think it was out of character, I think it was just an aggressive reminder of how far you can fall if you let yourself give up and decide to burn all of the bridges that you have for someone that isn’t good for you. I think what I never expected was the fact that V was there when Mother Choi was killed. I never thought he was there. 

I thought he either suspected it or learned well beyond the fact. But, no, he was there, he helped her move the body. He lied and covered her tracks and that was the moment that Rika herself said that she gave up on everything and fully committed to what she and Mika were planning on doing. 

So, from when V started to enable her in the wrong ways by telling her revel in a devil, to the murder (even though it was a self-defense case, it was still traumatic to blackout and cut someone to save your own life), to Mika and the plans for the cult. It was a recipe for disaster. I never thought that V was there when it happened. That just... 

That revelation to me, his willingness to drug Saeyoung, his willingness to let the brothers suffer for Rika’s happiness... this is revealing how far V could go for the person that we all know as Rika. The situation doesn’t always call for V to go and do something to this degree, but there’s no denying that V is a complicated character with a lot of weight on his shoulders. 

He was never my favorite but... I can’t disregard what has been written and that I don’t feel like it was OOC. I just think it was showing us a reality where he could go too far. I realize that not many people are going to agree with me on this front and that’s okay. I don’t hate V. V fucked up a lot and there’s no denying that, I just wish that he never went back to Rika and he came to us for help in the first place. 

I guess this is a bit more lengthy than I intended, haha. This isn’t to be mean to anyone that thinks differently than me. I really don’t want to get into arguments or anything over this. So, please, no discourse over this. 

TLDR; This is just a reality where V went over the edge, and it’s just a possible timeline where he could lose himself to what he long tried to push back against but he ultimately gave up on himself and let himself be fully committed to Rika’s selfish wish. You can see the guilt and exhaustion in his eyes but he just lets himself become the villain because it’s the only way to protect Rika from suffering and the only way to “kind of” protect the boys. 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

hi ash! i know you said before that you're not autistic you just did a lot of research to depict chris realistically- do you have any advice for finding resources on writing disabled characters that isn't like... horribly abelist? im writing someone with an intellectual disability from head trauma and who is nonverbal, and i want to get it right but everything online seems very autism-speaks-y. im autistic and semiverbal but i dont have an id and i want to be realistic and respectful.

I cannot speak with any expertise or sense of speaking from enough experience to be taken as an expert here, and defer as always to those with lived experience with intellectual disability!

But I will give a few more general tips for what to do when looking to write a character with a neurological makeup that doesn’t match your own, as far as what has worked for me with Chris:

1. The story should never be ABOUT their lived experience if you do not also have it. Chris’s story is not about autism, or being autistic. I would never presume to try and write a story like that because, whatever my intentions, I don’t have that knowledge that comes from living it. I would at BEST be taking the experiences of others, their voices. At worst, I would be someone standing with a megaphone shouting over those who deserve to be heard.

Making the disability what the plot revolves around is... generally just not going to be a good idea, in any sense. It’s moments like this where I feel like it’s best to defer to the writers who have lived it, instead. 

This is not to say “never write someone different than yourself”, because... I don’t think that’s at all good advice. I think that way lies stunted writers who never push themselves. But it does mean “do not center the story on this thing if you have not experienced it and don’t have that knowledge and understanding”.

2. At the same time, don’t try to be coy or dance around or hide the disability behind purple prose or refuse to acknowledge its reality. Trying to make a disability sound cute, or talk around it instead of speaking it out loud, can be minimizing or shaming in ways that I think it’s easy to miss, if you don’t live with that disability yourself! To me, this touches on one of my hugest pet peeves - characters who are written as having a particular neurodivergence in media, or shown on tv, but they never expressly admit to it or name it. 

I know I hesitated with Chris, more because I didn’t feel comfortable giving him a diagnosis until I understood autism better myself, and I do regret how long it took me to embrace that reality about him. I just thought it better to err on the side of researching before I embraced. But I do feel some guilt about waiting so long when I had readers who were identifying so heavily with him, and I kind of knew, but just didn’t feel comfortable owning it yet.

3. On a related note - disabilities in a story that become melodramatic tragedy or turn the disabled character into a ‘redemption story’ for an abled character. This is so, so prevalent in common media and pop culture and once you recognize it for what it is, it’s so hard to not see it in so many places. Think of how many movies, novels, etc contain a disabled character who exists to teach abled people some virtuous lesson about living life to the fullest or ‘what it really means to be human’ blah blah blah blah blah. Don’t do that. Please. (I mean, I kind of feel like you definitely won’t, but I’m just speaking very generally here). If you find the story going in a direction in which abled people learn something from the disabled person, please think very carefully and critically as to why the story is heading in that direction.

Language alone can also be a problem here - think about the difference between openly describing a character moving around their life with a wheelchair vs. calling them “wheelchair-bound” or “reliant on a cane”, when the cane or wheelchair may actually represent freedom to that person - an aid they need, yes, but one that allows them to live with far more agency than they might have had otherwise. 

To describe them, especially from their own POV, as “wheelchair-bound”, may ring false to disabled people who understand that the wheelchair isn’t a cage, but a tool that allows that individual person to feel less caged by being able to more freely leave home.  

(This varies person to person, just providing an example)

4. Educate. Research. And don’t just do so by asking people with disabilities to tell you their stories. I often express gratitude to the autistic readers, those with ADHD, etc who spoke up about Chris, talked about their own experiences, identified with him, found him very resonating for aspects of their own lives. 

These stories, this information, this sharing of their lives was given freely to me, and I’m fucking amazed and grateful for how welcomed Chris was, and how willing readers were to share about themselves when talking about him.

Their willingness to speak about these things is something I treasure. But I absolutely would never believe that a single person owed me the story of their life to make sure I got Chris right. That was my responsibility, you know? I try to keep in mind the concept of ‘emotional labor’. Asking a disabled person to be your resource is asking them to give, and give, and give of themself. They may want to give you that kind of labor, they may not. But I definitely wouldn’t ask it of anyone without understanding it was something they were happy or felt comfortable giving.

Research, on the other hand, is essential. You mentioned things being “autism speaks-y” when trying to research on your own, and oh god, do I feel you. It sucks that autism speaks is the first thing to pop up when trying to research the lives of autistic people - and in my research, I was lucky to already know AS sucks and write them off and anyone who heavily referenced them as not helpful. I can see how someone might not know that, though, and stumble on them and believe they were a helpful resource for writing autism when they... well. Nope. 

Try to think about the express disability you are writing for this person, and why, and then go research! I looked up “books on autism recommended by autistic people”, and found some invaluable books, yes, but also papers published online, websites, etc! Each of them vetted and looked over and recommended by autistic people, so I knew I was getting information that came from people with those experiences and that understanding. A good example - I picked up a book on the history of diagnosis and treatment of autism in the United States, mentioned it here, and @redwingedwhump recommended a book called Neurotribes... which turned out to be immensely more helpful, spot-on, and provided some really excellent foundational information I wouldn’t have found in the first book at all.

There’s a lot of information out there on Traumatic Brain Injuries and their lasting effects on individuals who receive them, so I would start there. What you’re describing sounds like a TBI with lasting effects! So I would start your research there, and also look up being nonverbal separately, as well as combining the two. Make sure you’re not just looking at the top links - often paid ads or problematic organizations that are able to pay more for better exposure - but also scanning for blogs, nonprofits, lived-experiences stories, too.

I found a lot of information on the second or even third page of results i would never have seen if I only stuck to the first. Remember the algorithm on search engines is usually showing you what other people are clicking on, not necessarily the best source.

5. This is one you the asker already know, but I want to include it for general reasons: do not ‘dumb down’ the thought processes of a nonverbal or semi-verbal person. I see this in fiction surprisingly often, and I think it’s this sense we have as abled people (’we’ just meaning I’m including myself) that being verbal is required to have a highly complex thought process, and it’s... it’s just fucking not. Speech and though are related but not completely wound around each other, and the ability to verbalize is not the same as the ability to think. 

Like I said, I know you know this, asker, but it’s something I see in fiction/media and it drives me up the wall. So I wanted to include it.

6. For the love of God, do not use medical terminology unless you actually know what you’re doing/talking about. Many disabled people or those with serious medical conditions become what amounts to experts on their own diagnoses, because they have to. They have to be experts to receive the care they should be able to rely on. If you constantly fuck up terminology - trust me - it will be noticed, and it will take people out of the story or hurt their ability to suspend disbelief while reading.

There are ways to do medical scenes/conversations with doctors that avoid falling into this problem! I would just be very very careful to heavily research before using any complex terminology.

7. This disabled person does not exist to evoke pity. They are a human - nuanced and multi-layered - living their life, and their story should always, always reflect that. I don’t really have anything else to add to that.

I would love to hear further advice from anyone with anything else to add.

[ongaku-ato-kakikomi]

Tiptoeing In Death (2)

This is a series. Please check the Masterlist to read the chapters in order.

Masterlist.

You stop in the middle of your bedroom’s entrance when you see one of the stupid jock ghost looking around your room, though you rapidly shake your head and continue your way in like you haven’t seen him. Luckily for you, he seemed to have been too engulfed into looking at some of your sketches on the walls to notice anything, the boy almost like he’s admiring them. 

He jumps up when you open your closet’s door, seeing his head turning towards you from the corner of your eyes. He doesn’t seem to do much more than what he was doing before you came in, but you tense up when you hear a chuckle as soon as you pick out some pajamas. 

“I’m getting a show already? Niiice...”

Feeling more than disgusted, you decide to not do the initial plan of changing in here and instead walk out of the room, clutching the fabric of your pajamas in your right hand while you get towards the bathroom.

“Hey, wait! Where you’re going?” You obviously don’t answer, simply grinding your teeth as you continue your way. “Ooooh, I get it. A shower, huh? Even better!”

‘For fuck sake, how did Veronica managed to get two of these idiots attached to her?’

Sadly, this isn’t the first time one pervy ghost tried to take a peek at your naked body… and so after a lot of research in weird books you’ve found in old libraries and a few tests with the help of Andrew, you found a symbol that can block the passage to a room from a ghost. So… now… there’s a giant symbol drawn onto the bathroom door along with one on the bathroom blinds, which means that you can do your hygienic stuff in peace.

You can’t quite stop the proud smirk gracing your lips when you lock the door behind you, your grin stretching out as soon as you hear the loud complaints from the ghost boy getting muffled by the door.

“What the- Why can’t I get through!? Kurt, I can’t get through!”

“I already told you, Ram. You can’t just try to walk through the door, you have to concentrate-”

“I fucking know that, but it’s not working!”

“Will you two just shut the fuck up!?”

“Mind your own business, Heather!”

Good. Now you know all their names: JD, Kurt, Ram, and Heather. No last names yet, but then again, you almost never learn those. If you wanna know more about why these ghosts are following Veronica around, you must wait for her to share her story with you…

… if she ever wants to share her story with you.

You quickly change in your pajamas while they’re fighting right outside the door, taking the opportunity soon after to brush your teeth in front of the sink. Once you’re finally done, silent enraptured the atmosphere all around, your head slowly turning towards the door.

They’re all gone now… right?

You give out a yawn just as you open the door, having to suppress a scream when you notice JD standing right on the side. He stares at you with it blank white eye, the blood splatter on his head looking worse than before. You blink rapidly and rub your eyes while you pass by him, acting as if you just had a brain freeze because of how tired you are. You don’t even give him a side look; that guy seems to be the smartest of them, you can’t risk giving him any hints that you can see him.

You feel a chill run down your spine when you hear him follow you, feeling his glare piercing through your back as if he wants you to die right there. From what you can tell, JD is a ghost with a lot of suppressed anger in him, using that anger to push anyone who might get close to Veronica away. At least, he’s angry enough to want you to disappear, even though you literally just met her today.

You scream when the phone suddenly starts ringing, putting a hand on your rapidly beating heart to try and calm it once you realize that there’s no danger. You walk towards the phone with JD close to your trails, almost trembling as you pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Honey, hi! How did it go? Has Veronica moved in?” 

You give out a fond smile at the sound of your mother’s voice. “Hi, mom. Yeah, she moved in today. She seems nice.”

“Oh, I’m glad! I was afraid we might have picked someone dangerous to live with you-”

“Well, anyone can be dangerous.” You take a few strands of hair out of your face, watching JD’s reflection in the window in front of you. “Isn’t that what you taught me?

“Yes, yes, you’re right… but she had quite the traumatic history, so I just wondered…”

“Mom, what happened to her is none of my business. You’re not supposed to tell me anything, remember?” 

“Yeah, she’ll tell you if she wants to, I know.” 

You tense up when he approaches his face to yours, probably trying to hear your mother’s voice better. “Mom, it’s late. I’m gonna head to bed. Kiss dad goodnight for me?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Have nice dreams.”

 “You too, mom.” 

She hangs up before you, your hand gently putting the handle back to its place before you walk back towards where your room is. Lucky for you, JD doesn’t follow you in and simply watches you from afar with a deathly glare, the boy still looking towards your form even after you close the door behind you.

Tonight might be a long night.

--------------------------------------

The next day, you open your eyes to see none other than Andrew’s face right in front of you, the little drowned kid having watched you sleep with wide-opened eyes all night.

“... Hi.”

He blinks a few times, a grin forming onto his lips. “Hi.”

“You know that watching me sleep is extremely creepy, right?”

His grin stretches out. “Huh-huh.”

“I mean, you might be my best friend… but I would like you to not do that in the future.”

He rolls his eyes at you just as you sit up, stretching your arms up in the air while yawning. “Sure… but only once those ghosts will be completely gone. Someone needs to protect you while you’re unconscious.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him after you stand up. “Well, how nice of you.” 

“Complain all you want, but you know I’m right.” He turns around when you walk towards your closet, waiting for you to change. “If those guys know that you can see them, you know you’ll be in danger.”

“I know.” 

“I mean, you remember what happened last time, huh? You almost died-”

“I know.”

“And then we had to seek that old woman to know about a ritual-”

“Andrew… I know.” You send his back of his head a look just as you finish changing, brushing your hair with your hands to try and tie it to a ponytail. “I learned my lesson, we’re not gonna repeat that story again.”

“Of course you won’t, I won’t let you.” He turns around after you finish putting your hair in a ponytail, a frown settled on his face. “Which is why I will stay with you today.”

You stay silent for a while, then give out a sigh. “You know that’s just gonna make them suspicious of me, right?”

“I don’t care.”

“They’re gonna see a drowned ten-year-old boy follow me around all day, they’re gonna wonder if I didn’t kill you or something.”

“Well, they’re gonna see me at some point anyway, I’m linked to you!”

“And they’re linked to her.” He follows you towards your door, giving him one last look before you open. “Okay, look… you can follow me, but no talking to me whatsoever, alright?”

He gives a groan. “... fine.”

A smile soon graces your lips. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

He rolls his eyes just as you open the door, both of you stepping out.

------------------------

“You should take your own apartment.”

Veronica ignores JD’s voice in her ear, concentrating on eating her cereal like any normal person would do. She can also hear Heather, Kurt, and Ram fighting a few meters away, the subject not being important enough for her to actually listen. Though it does sound better than hearing her crazy ex-boyfriend’s voice all the time.

“Take. Another. Apartment.”

“I can’t….!” She whispers those words, hoping that it’ll be enough to quiet him. “This is the only place that would take me, okay? So shut it. Don’t make me remind you that this is your fault.”

He quiets down immediately, flashes of his last moments coming back into her head. She shakes them off and takes another scoop of her cereal into her mouth. She doesn’t know you, but you seem nice and, judging by how you’ve been acting, you don’t know anything about her past. Which is a miracle... considering that her town’s deaths have been on the news for months. 

But if it means she can be normal to one person for just a little time, she'll take it.

"Enjoying my cereal?"

She almost chokes on her food at the sound of your voice, redness creeping into her cheeks when you laugh. She turns shy eyes towards your form just as you prepare your own breakfast: a simple red apple.

"I'm sorry… was I not supposed to?"

"Of course you can eat. What's mine is yours." You take a bite out of your Apple, sensing her a cheeky smile that brings a genuine onto her lips. "What are you gonna do today?"

"Oh, well…" She looks down at her bowl for a moment before she gives out a smile. "I was thinking of going on campus. Seeing where my classes are before they start next week."

Your eyes widen with excitement. "That's a great idea! Oh, and if you want, I can be your guide."

"But I don't wanna bother-"

"Hey, I have nothing to do today, it'll be my pleasure." You take another bite of your Apple, raising a finger as you give her a serious look. "One condition though."

She feels her stomach turn in worry. Maybe you know who she is… are you gonna ask her to not let people know you live together? She wouldn't blame you if you did.

"Um… what is it?"

Your lips stretch out into a large grin. "No cars. We walk there."

She can't help but let out a laugh, her shoulders relaxing from relief. "Well, I don't mind!"

"Good." You send her a wink before disappearing into the hallway. "It's a date. Be ready in an hour."

She feels her cheeks heat up at the mention of the word 'date', even though she knows that you didn't mean it that way-

"Stop it." 

She tightens her grip on her spoon when she hears his voice. "... Stop what?"

"Being nice to her. I don't like it."

"Well, watch me, then." She stands up and walks towards the sink, putting her empty bowl in it. "Because I like it. And you have nothing to say in the matter-"

"A drowned kid is linked to her, Ronnie." Her heart drops into her stomach just as her eyes widen, shocked as to what he just said. “You know what that means, right?”

She doesn’t want to think about it. She doesn’t wanna think you could have killed someone so young, not when you’re this sweet and generous towards her. You have to be a normal and kind girl, not a psychopath. She can’t deal with psychopaths anymore-

“I’m just trying to protect you, Ronnie.”

She breathes in loudly before she lets it out, her hands tightening onto the counter. Can he shut up for just… one second?

“You need to leave this place, Ronnie.”

“Four of you are linked to me, JD.” She grinds her teeth, imagining his face in her head. “I think out of the two, she’s the one who should run away.”

“Those idiots deserved what we did to them-”

“Hey, who you’re calling an idiot?”

“Yeah, who you’re calling?”

“You three! I’m calling you three idiots!”

“Don’t you dare put me in the same basket as those two morons! I’ll have you know that I’m a goddess!”

“Yeah, a super annoying goddess!”

“And we’re not morons! I don’t even know what that means!”

Veronica just gives out a loud groan of annoyance as their voice continues fighting right behind her, internally hoping for the next hour to go quickly.

Spending time with you sounds so good right now.

[scienceoftheidiot]

So you know what it’s wednesday you’re getting an infodump on Desden’s blindness.

Beware. I’m a biologist. I’m a nerd. And I’m a teacher. You know what’s coming, right ? 

I just reblogged an extremely interesting and great post about writing blind characters that I advise you to go and read now (I haven't finished yet) because it's just full of info and contrary to usual posts like that it's not guilt tripping or anything. I love this post and OP for this. However I've noticed there's a bunch of advices I don't follow myself and I felt like I could expand and why and how I think it's not a bad thing. Here's the first one : don’t make your character blind through an accident. Because drama. 

So yeah. Desden lost his sight due to some kind of accident. Which is thoroughly described by a mysterious bystander’s flashback in chap.3. So that’s not a spoiler. But how can a brick through the head make you blind ? 

Brain. Brains are evil. You know I got a PhD in biology : I am sad to admit I couldn’t go through with my love of neurology because it was competing with my love for bacteria and parasites that can kill you and happily live everywhere. Life’s though. No neuro for me, welcome to viral ecology (viruses are obligatory parasites, sue me). But not only can’t I help being a nerd... I have an uncle in my family who lost part of his vision from a brain haematoma (not due to trauma, but the result and how it works is the same). Who’s also a nerd. (And a PhD in physics cause like that’s what nerds do, right ?) And he explained in details how he lost his vision (and gained back some of it over time) to us.

If you cut blood supply to parts of the brain for long enough, this part will die. Logic. Head trauma can do that and more. So, what happened is that Desden’s visual cortex got cut from blood supply for a relatively long amount of time (he can thank the extremely cold weather of the day it happened, which makes your body turn into “low survival mode”, when the “accident” happened for 1) being still alive and 2) not losing more than most of his sight, some balance, and a bunch of memories). But the brain is a funny little thing and some times it does stuff (not going into the haematoma part, I’m not a doc, it’s long and not very relevant, but it has to be taken into account cause it’s what can make part of the lost sight reappear). So Desden was totally blind for a while, then his brain managed to get some of his sight back. Very little. 

But what and how does he see ? 

See, the brain is constructed so that the visual cortex’s position reflects the visual field you have, except in reverse. Sorry. I’m a teacher. I’m going to add a schema. But in French because I actually work with this (well. Nope. They changed the program but I have old program lessons lying around just in case) and I’m lazy today. Just look at the pretty colours. It shows you what I just explained very badly because I’m used to use schemas, but here’s what you need to understand. 

SOOOO. Basically make most of the colour disappear except for a very small part of blue at the far right of the visual cortex. Meaning that in the end, what Desden can see is an extremely reduced part of peripheral vision. Try to fix your eyes on a point in front of you and describe what is at the far corner of your left eye. Good luck. (and let me tell you I know I have extremely good peripheral vision myself, it’s still composed by what your brain KNOWS is around. From seeing it with the other parts of your field of vision. Because your brain is constantly MAKING UP what you’re seeing from a lot of information including past ones when you didn’t even think about it but your eyes brushed that part. Your senses are fucked up. Deal with it. Your brain is playing tricks on you right now.)

This is why, btw, he’s often described tilting his head on the right. He doesn’t have much control on his eye movement so he tries to get some info on people (mostly light and colours but since his visual memory is fucked up, it’s not very useful)

His eyes move. He just doesn’t really control them. In fact they’re often if not constantly moving because head trauma is often linked to the apparition of a nystagmus, which is a rapid eye movement to the side or up and down - my brother has that, vertical, did you know it existed ? well I do. A friend of my parents has a horizontal one that is a lot more visible. Constantly. She’s not blind, her brain compensates this. Brains are both evil and awesome. Deal with it.

Oh and his eyes are perfectly normal. Even quite pretty, as he describes them himself. He still wears sunglasses because his brain doesn’t like strong light which give him migraines, because it has a hard time processing visual info. 

His eyes also work perfectly (well as perfectly as they did before his accident, which is okay but a little nearsighted) which leads to the only thing that sounds like a superpower that isn’t one : blindsight. If you research it you’ll learn about people who can do absolutely crazy things like catch stuff that’s thrown at them or avoid most obstacles on a path while being totally blind, because BRAINS, AGAIN. Your brain doesn’t only process visual cues through the visual cortex; there’s a slight part in the “primitive brain” or “lizard brain” that does, too. So basically Desden’s body can see stuff but he’s not aware of it consciously. He’s NOT using it and he’s NOT as good as the people I cited above. But for example he has insights he souldn’t have on people’s moods, because his lizard brain picks their faces up. Not always, and it’s often more when someone’s in a VERY bad mood that SHOWS. And since he’s not aware of it he takes that as hints from his other senses. It’s NOT compensating for his blindness - if anything, it’s a silly trick. BUT I AM A NERD, REMEMBER ?

Anyway. Now you know. Desden still lost his vision through an accident which, as said in the reference post i’m refering to (haha) would be bad if it was used for drama but, in fact, I try to avoid most of it because apart from the accident, which is witnessed by someone else who is important to the later plot, nothing from Desden’s life before or after it is described in details. My novel starts 9 years after the accident. He’s got time to get used to being blind. 

*I* know everything that happened in his life, or most of the important things anyway, that lead to the opening of the book, but you will only get scraps of it because it’s not what’s relevant. It’s important for the construction of the character, but what I want to show here is not Desden’s journey through being used to being blind. It’s his journey through accepting his family heritage, which has nothing to do with being blind, and sharing it with the rest of his family while it stayed hidden to them until then because the person who kept this before him was an arsehole. There are a lot of plot points that are linked to Desden’s blindness, including said arsehole arseholery (I be good with words), but it’s not the point of the book. 

Y’all know I’m a Daredevil fan. That’s where I got the idea of a blind character (not only), but now erase that from your mind. Desden doesn’t have any superpower that compensate his blindness. He’s got pretty good hearing because he’s used to use it a lot more than when he was sighted. It’s not better. He loves music, but he’s absolutely tone deaf so forget the blind piano tuner/musician cliché (this is a joke in one of my AUs, in fact)(explanation : in France, which is the country I research for because I’m French and my story takes place in France, the most prominent school for the blind used to primarily teach people to become piano tuners during the 20th century). He’s got a very good nose, but that’s just how it is, and since I’m using my own experience of rediscovering my sense of smell after years of living with smoking people (don’t smoke) (yeah, even you, Desden) I know it’s not superhuman. In fact my own nose is pretty shitty compared to my mom’s. Who is a fucking hunting hound. Anwyay I digress. 

Desden often chases any comment that restrict him to being “the blind guy” by stating stuff he does or likes to do, like “I’m also a good tarot player but no one ever mentions that” or “my brownies are the best ones and I don’t even need to add pot to it”. This is how he feels about it. He’s blind. It’s okay, it’s part of him. But it’s not his sole characteristic. 

I think I’m done here. I haven’t touched on other people’s reaction to him that much, and if you’re interested you can ask questions. Basically remember he’s a 1,98m guy, with broad shoulders, and that’s the first thing you see from him. Also there’s his guide dog Kalinka. 

Lot more things to talk about, not that much time. So if you’re interested in knowing more, poke me, and I might write more about my character. 

Lastly and more importantly : if you see things that you can correct in this post, please do so. As I said, I’m a nerd, but I’m not a neurologist. I’m going the vulgarized version. And I like to be taught things. So if you see mistakes, tell me. 

Peace ! 

[nanasarea]

M’lady ii I zch

Prompt: You never knew helping an old woman would give you the responsibility quiet this big, but it’s a good thing you don’t have to share it alone. 

Genre: crack fluff

Pairing: ladybug!reader x chat noir!chenle

Word count: 2.5k (literally the longest i’ve ever written omg)

a/n: slight spoiler for miraculous ladybug if you haven’t seen the finale yet haha also this is so long overdue and not proofread i apologize also pollen and hyuck’s interaction where he’s like “fuck that bitch up” is @jaemallow​ ‘s idea so thank you so much, moonie, i love you! 

prequel to M’lady  (kinda)

Indent + italic = flashback

“When I first got here, you hated me!” Chenle said “What? No, I didn’t!” You tried convincing him, to which he only gave you a “don’t bullshit me” look. “Fine, maybe a little.” 

“Who is he anyway?” You asked, the disgust in your voice very noticeable, which is what your friend, Ryujin mentioned first when answering.

“Woah, don’t get too excited.” She said, laughing.

“His name is Zhong Chenle. He recently started attending this school. He use to be home schooled but his parents finally let him come to public school. I heard everyone is surprised that he’s not going to a private school, since his family is so wealthy.” Ryujin explained as your attention stayed on the tall boy sitting in the 3rd row. 

“Why now?” You asked.

“Ask him, why don’t you.” She winked before going to sit on her seat.

All day, all you heard was Chenle, Chenle, Chenle, it’s all people talked about.

Sure, he was cute, and wealthy, and he might have wowed everyone with his piano skills while you waited for your music professor to come to class, but what you couldn’t understand was why. 

“A little?” He asked, laughing. 

“I did think you were cute if that helps.” You joked. 

“Now, I know we’re not suppose to say too much but when did you get the box?” He asked. 

You kept thinking about Chenle, all day. So much so that you got distracted on your walk home and didn’t even notice the old lady almost being run over by a  motorcyclist.

Fortunately, you snapped back into reality at the right moment, so you could help her out. 

You ran towards her as fast as you could and tried to guide her away from the motorcycle before it could run her over. 

“Are you okay, ma’am?” You asked, concerned for her safety. 

“Oh, why thank you, young lady.” She thanked you warmly before she turned to face you. 

“You seem very kind.” She added.

“No problem! I would like to think everyone would have helped in my situation.” You nervously said.

She took your hand and said “One would like to hope, but not everyone is as kind as you.” She smiled before giving you her goodbyes and leaving your side. 

“Ma’am, you forgot th-” “I assure you, I never forget anything.” She cut you off before you could ask her about the box she left in your hand. 

It was a small red oval wooden box with black dots all around. You decided to put it in your bag and open it once you got home, which you did.

You stared at it for half an hour, wondering what it could be and if you should actually open it or not. You finally got the courage and opened it.

“Hi, y/n! My name’s Tikki!” The small being greeted, which caused you to fall back along with your chair.

You let out a scream before asking “What are you? Who are you? Why do you know my name?” You asked. 

“I’m a kwami, as I said, my name’s Tikki-” “A k-kwami? What’s that?” You asked. 

“Kwamis are divine, sprite-like beings who embody "abstract" concepts. They give certain powers to people with Miraculouses, transforming them into animal-themed super beings!” She explained as you continued to stare at her in confusion. 

After she finished explaining how the old lady was the guardian of the miraculous and when she met you, she knew she had to give you the miraculous of creation.

She also explained that when you say “Tikki, spots on.”, you transform into a ladybug-themed superhero and to switch back, you just have to say “Tikki, spots off”.

On top of it all, she explained the powers of the lucky charm and so much more.

“But why me? How could I posses the power of creation?” You asked. 

“No worries, y/n, master Dupain-Cheng makes no mistakes! I would know, I was her kwami when she was your age!” Tikki smiled before telling you the story of how her previous master was the same as you. 

“What about you?” You asked, wondering how his first encounter with Plagg went.

“He was a handful, he kept asking for cheese.” He laughed

He was making his way to the car when he saw an old lady almost trip and fall but he thankfully got to the elderly in time to save her.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” he asked “Yes, I’m fine, young man, you are very kind.” She smiled as she put a hand on his bag.

“My apologize, at my age, you don’t really have your balance anymore.” She laughed.

“Do you need help with anything?” He asked, smiling.

“No thank you! I’ll manage, kind sir. Have a good day!” She said quickly before making her way back home.

“Chenle?” His assistant asked, to which he quickly ran towards the car.

Once he got to his room, he threw his bag onto his desk, only to find a box flying out of it.

“That’s...strange...I don’t remember owning such a box.” He said to himself before taking the box into his hand and staring at it.

“When did you get in my bag?” He asked before opening the box and seeing a small flying creature staring at him.

“Hey, you’re cool! Like a genie in a bottle or something.” Chenle excitedly said

“Yeah yeah, I met him once, he’s a big show off. I’m way better. The name’s Plagg. Nice to meet you! Do you have any food? I’m starving!” and with that, Plagg started flying across Chenle’s room.

“Hey! Hold on! What even are you?” Chenle asked .

“I’m a kwami, I grant powers, yours is destruction, understand?” Plagg asked.

“Not quite.” Chenle answered.

“Good, now where’s the camembert?” He asked before searching the room.

“D-did you not hear me?” Chenle asked.

“Camembert and then we talk!” Plagg commanded.

After getting him his precious cheese, Plagg started explaining. Not that it mattered, since it made no sense, but Chenle at least learned about the guardian and his powers.

“Let me get this straight. All I have to do to transform is say Plagg, claws out?” Chenle asked to which Plagg nodded before Chenle felt his transformation starting.

“Woah, awesome!” Chenle yelled before running to the nearest mirror.

“I do look very cool and handsome if I do say so myself.” he commented as he continued to check himself out in the mirror.

“I have to admit, the first time I met you, or ladybug, to be specific. I thought you were cute too.” Chenle replied, blushing and looking down at his iced chocolate. 

After the day you met Tikki, you had done some research on kwamis and Miraculouses, when you weren’t obsessively questioning everyone’s liking to a certain new classmate.

This day, you were hanging out at your friend’s place. It was suppose to be her brother’s birthday party but you couldn’t help but read the book you downloaded on your phone on the history of Ladybugs. 

“No offence, but you are going to have to put down your phone and enjoy. If not, I’ll be sad.” The brother said as he sat down next to you. 

“Sorry, Jeno. I was just doing some research.” You apologized. 

“What on?” He asked, causing you to panic, as you had no time to come up with an excuse “Sorry, rude to pry.” Jeno added before you could answer. 

“No worries.” You chuckled before saying “Nice guitar” as you saw him moving forward to grab it.

“Wanna hear me play?” He asked “Of course!” You replied, smiling at him. 

“What does she even see in him?” Chenle asked on the other side of the room.

 “Maybe the fact that he actually talks to her?” Jisung laughed at his best friend’s pout 

“You know what? Who even asked you.” Chenle scuffed as he took a sip from his drink.

With the nighttime approaching, Chenle’s annoyance grew, but so did Jeno.

You see, if Jeno hated anything, it was people calling him unfunny. Yes, it was a joke most of the time, but it hurt.

When his friends called him unfunny, he just laughed along, but once other classmates, who only see him at school did it, he got mad. It got to the point where you noticed a purple butterfly fly towards his guitar.

“ Oh no.” You whispered to yourself.

“Jeno watch out! There’s an akuma flying straight to your guitar!” You yelled but before you knew it, it had already made contact with his guitar, causing his whole body and guitar to be covered in a purple substance before he transformed.

This caused everyone to run away from him, including you and including Chenle. 

“So, I’m guessing this is the part where I have to transform and do my thing?” You asked the floating kwami, to which Tikki nodded happily. 

“Tikki, spots on!” You yelled as you felt your clothes changing. 

“Plagg, claws out!” Chenle yelled in the bathroom, unknowingly not so far away from you. 

You ran out to catch up with Jeno, or his akumatized self. 

“Meow, who are you?” The sudden comment stopped you in your track, causing you to turn around and see a tall boy in a black catsuit. 

“I’m guessing your the infamous Chat Noir, who’s going to accompany me in taking down Hawkmoth?” You asked, to which he just stared in confusion. 

“Hawk what now?” He asked.

 “Did your kwami not tell you anything?” You asked, chuckling at the confused boy in front of you.

“Plagg...likes to eat more than he likes to talk.” He nervously admitted before you realized the situation you were in. 

“I would love to give you a history lesson, but we have some people to save, so shall we?” You asked, so he nodded before you started your chase after Jeno.

“And I was super jealous of Jeno.” He added “Why?” You asked.

“You gave him a lot of attention! Plus, he looks like that and he can play guitar! Can you blame me?” Chenle laughed.

“Oh please, you have nothing to be jealous of.” You jokingly winked at the boy.

“At least I didn’t get akumatized that day because of him.” He added.

 “That would have been a disaster.” You agreed. 

“Like that time we had to ask Haechan to help us.” Chenle jokingly scuffed.

 “Oh my god, don’t even.” You sighed. 

It was just another normal day. You were hanging out with Ryujin and some other friends when you heard a loud bang come from the town square. 

“That means ladybug is on her way. Gotta go, need more content for my ladyblog!” Ryujin yelled, to which they all followed. All but you, since you had to convince them you were too scared. 

“Scaredy cat.” Ryujin joked as you quickly excused yourself to “hide.” 

“Y/N, I think you’ll need some help this time.” Tikki commented. 

“But I have Chat.” You reminded.

“More than Chat this time. I’ve heard this sound before and trust me, you’ll need the bee miraculous today.” Tikki explained, to which you just sighed and made your way to master Dupain-Cheng. 

“Master?” You asked as you entered the room. 

“Yes, dear?” She asked.

“Tikki said I might need another miraculous today?” You said, nervously.

“Ah, yes, Pollen. I had a hard time with this one myself.” She giggled, fondly looking at her miracle book before placing it on the floor in front of us.

“Is there anyone you know you can trust with this?” She asked as she gave you the box.

 “A specific person did come to mind actually.” You answered, smiling at the box. 

You quickly arrived at Haechan’s house and knocked on his door. You went to the same school and shared some mutual friends. From what you heard, he does a good job at anything he does, so your mind first went to him. 

“Lee Donghyuck, this is the bee miraculous, which grants you the power to immobilize your opponent. You will use it for the greater good.” You smiled at him once he opened the door, to which he smiled fondly and looked at the box and back at you, as if to ask you for reassurance.

You nodded and moved the box closer to him, which made his smile even wider. 

He opened the box and the small bee kwami started flying around him before stopping and saying “At your service, my king”. 

“You will return your miraculous once the job is done. Can I trust you?” You asked, to which he nodded while placing the hair pin into his hair.

“To transform, just say “Pollen, buzz on.”, my king.” Pollen said as the building next to them exploded. 

“Oh no you didn’t. That’s my best friend’s house.” Haechan angrily sighed. 

“Pollen?” He asked.

“Yes my king?” Pollen asked, to which Haechan scuffed and said “fuck that bitch up” in a smug tone. 

“Pollen, buzz on!”

Once you caught up with Chat Noir, you explained to him that you needed an extra hand today, to which he only scuffed. 

“Who even is he? Besides, I’m the only help you need, m’lady. We’re purrrfect together.” He smiled at you with almost literal heart eyes. 

“Hey, tuna breath, you need me, so buzz off.” Haechan commented before Chenle sighed and rolled his eyes. At the end of the day, he did fuck that bitch up as he promised, but he also annoyed the shit out of Chat Noir so you had to promise him not to ask Haechan for help again.

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize you were my purrfect match sooner, bugaboo.” Chenle said, winking at you before his ears turned into the color of your superhero suit. 

“To be fair, your hair does change slightly when you transform. Mine doesn’t.” You laughed.

“But still, those beautiful eyes don’t change.” He said, to which you only blushed while sipping on your iced chocolate. 

It was nice looking back on your hero adventures with Chenle, who you would never have guessed was Chat Noir.

Tikki even said it’s funny how you developed crushes on both of them but never noticed they were the same person.

If it wasn’t for the ring, you might not have even noticed now. After you both found out that day after school, you both awkwardly decided to ask one another out. 

“Finally! And to think I had to listen to the whole “do I like y/n or do I like ladybug?” rants, ugh.” Plagg complained, to which Tikki and Chenle’s eyes widened while your cheeks heated up. 

“To be fair, I wasn’t so quiet about you either.” You confessed, trying to soften the mood. 

While you placed your drink back on the table, your eyes focused on the tv in the corner of the small cafe. 

“It’s Nadja Chamack! Don't be bemused, it's just the news! Today, we’re reporting live from town square where another civilian has been fallen victim of Hawkmoth’s akumatization!” You heard from the tv and looked at Chenle. 

“I guess that’s our cue.” You laughed before you both ran to the bathrooms to transform.  

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #433

“i really wish that you could help, but my head is like a carousel: i’m going ‘round in circles”

Would you rather visit Rome or Spain? Rome. Do you really care what’s going on in celebrities' lives? Depends on the person. If I have a big interest in them, like Mark, then yes, because I care about that person and want to know they're well. Have you ever broke a plate/bowl? Accidentally. Has anyone ever drunk called/texted you? I don't think so. Can you do a backwards London bridges? Hell no, I'd bust my ass and spine. Are any of your pets “overweight”? Why the quotations? But anyway, no. Has anyone ever bought you a ring? Yeah. What has been the most traumatic experience of your life? Does it still bother you? The breakup with my first real bf. And well yeah, it resulted in PTSD. It sounds so overdramatic, I know, but I'm not even remotely exaggerating. Live a day in my head and tell me it's not actual trauma. If you knew you had the right person, would you marry them today? God no, not right now. I am not in a position to be married right now. Think back to your most important relationship, was it all your fault it’s over? My damaged side wants to say yes, but I know to be realistic, we both failed in unique areas. He didn't communicate, and I just put too much weight on him. What was your first alcoholic drink? A Mike's Hard Lemonade. What were the first lessons you ever took? Ummm I want to say choir? Did you ever go to a mental hospital? Multiple times. Do you believe that weed should be legalized? Yes. Have you ever had a significant other with a mental disorder? Yes. If you could transform into something, what would that something be? Uhhh idk. Maybe a cat? Out of 10, (10 being really shy) how shy are you? Oh, easily a 10. When was the first moment you discovered love? I actually don't really know the moment I realized I was in love w/ Jason. It was a gradual thing, so no one occasion stands out. What’s the best mistake you’ve ever made? Well, I suppose accepting Jason's Facebook friend request because I thought he was a different Jason. I can't think of many good mistakes I've made... Even the one I mentioned, it's debatable how good that one was. I really do wonder how different my life would be if I declined it. What do you think of frogs? I love frogs! They're so cute and derpy. :') Who did you last worry about and why? My cat, because he was apparently hiding somewhere and Mom couldn't find him. Who did you last feel sorry for and why? Sara, because of health stuff she's dealing with. Is there a name that you can’t stand but it’s the name of a loved one? It sucks, I feel like this burning in my stomach a lot of the time when I hear "Ashley" because that was Jason's girlfriend after me. But I have a sister with the same name. Are you currently looking for a new place to live? I'm not, and I don't think Mom actively is, though we both want to move. When did you last make up a baby’s bottle? I don't think I ever have. Well... maybe once? idr Do you believe there’s a devil? No. Have you ever felt an earthquake? No. Have you ever been on an island? Yes, actually. Did you watch the last presidential inauguration? I've never watched one. Have you ever been a fan of The Killers? I don't consider myself a true "fan," no. I only like two songs that I know. Do you have your own lighter (why or why not)? No, because I don't need one? Do you believe in miracles (why or why not)? No. I just don't. Everything has the have a cause and reason. How often do you sleep naked? Never. Are you looking forward to your prom? If you already went, how was it? I went twice, and it was fun. I especially loved having the pictures taken that I regret wiping from the face of the earth. Prom itself was pretty bland each time, like you can't hear shit and they just play awful music, but still. I was a teenager with a very fairytale outlook on love and wanted to just feel like I was in one I guess. Do you prefer Quizno's or Subway and why? I don't think I've ever tried Quizno's, actually. What’s one of your best memories from during a rain storm? I don't know. Why did you need your most recent x-ray and what were the results? It was to see if I broke my foot, I think? If that's the one, then no. I also had my legs x-rayed at some point to see if they could find any damage there because of my extreme weakness in them, but there wasn't. Do people more often mistake you as being younger or older than you are? I actually don't know. Have you ever made out with someone you weren’t dating? No. Do you know anybody who was abused? Yes. Have you ever touched an elephant? No. How many siblings do you have? I have five I "count," but I do have another half-sister on my dad's side that I don't know. I want to, but yeah... it just hasn't happened. Do you get bored of your girlfriend/boyfriend easily? I've never gotten bored of any s/o I've had. Who do you want for president? I voted for Biden. Do you think abortions are horrible? No. Forcing someone to undergo what can easily be considered a traumatic experience is horrible. Do you enjoy drama? Ugh, no. Have you ever had a guinea pig for a pet? I've had a few. Were you/are you popular in school? No. I was very much under the radar and mostly stuck to myself and a small group of friends. What brand clothing do you wear the most? No clue. Have you ever studied any new age or occult religions such as Wicca? Yes, actually, when I was leaning towards Neo-Paganism. I did research into some of its branches, such as Wicca. Are you a wrestling fan? Not at all. I honestly think it's dumb. What’s the longest movie you’ve ever watched? I want to say Troy? It never felt THAT long to me though because I love it. Have you ever been on a subway? No. Do you think spending a ridiculously large amount of money on one designer item is stupid? It sure as hell isn't for me; I lean towards people can spend their hard-earned money on whatever they want, BUT I do feel that they could still spend their money on more important things. Do you find baths relaxing? No, they gross me out. Do you have any hats? I probably still have the hat Dad got me at a Carolina Hurricanes hockey game somewhere, but idk where. Has any part of your house ever been flooded? Not on the interior, no. Have you ever been interested in learning about murderers or murder cases? Not especially. Is there anyone that you’re worried about right now? Who and why? I'm just about praying Sara's new med for her POTS helps. I think me worrying how Jason is doing after his mother's death is gonna be a permanent fixture in the back of my head... If you won a lot of money, would you donate any of it? To what organization would you donate it? Oh, absolutely. I'd have to do some research first, but the Trevor Project comes to mind immediately, as well as ones that protect wildlife, help the mentally ill, fight cancer... Are you a competitive person? What are you most competitive about? Not really, no. I have my areas where I'm more likely to feel it than others, but it's generally mild. I'm not too sure what I'm most competitive about, but maybe outdoing other hunters in WoW since that's my main class that I've played religiously for years. Have you ever adopted a stray animal? Yes. What do you appreciate most about your parent(s)? The fact they somehow still support me even though I'm like... this. I feel like I should've exhausted their faith by now. Do you believe America should legalize drugs? If you think they should legalize only some drugs, which drugs do you think they should legalize? I only support the legalization of weed. What is your biggest turn-off of a person (besides physically)? Arrogance, probably. Or being aggressive/explosive. What song cover do you like better than the original? "Sound of Silence" by Disturbed, for one. That one's easy. If you could find one long-lost friend of the past, who would it be? Megan. I want her to know I forgive her and miss her friendship. What holiday do you enjoy the most? Christmas. (: Were you born in the state you live in? Yep. Have you ever lived in a house that has been broken into? No, but almost. Who do you know that watches the most sports? Probably my dad? Idk. Do you like South Park? Not really. Are you good at bowling? No. Made out for more than 3 minutes? Three minutes is nothin' lmao. Have you ever gone snorkeling or scuba diving? If yes, what’s the coolest thing you’ve seen? No, but I'd love to. What’s your favorite filling in chocolates? Caramel. What do you remember from sex ed class when you were younger? Abstinence was the only option. Heteronormativity. What’s the first instrument you ever played? Ha, a recorder back in elementary school. Have you ever had a friend break up with a bf/gf for you? Essentially. We didn't date, but that's why he broke up with her, because he wanted me instead. Do you see a bright light at the end of your tunnel? I don't like thinking about this. I can only hope there is, but I doubt it a lot. Have you ever waited in line overnight for something? No. Is there such a thing as being too rich or too poor? "Too poor" is very obviously a thing??? "Too rich" is more complicated to me, as I can see both sides to it. Like it's your hard-earned money, but at the same time, is it really necessary at a certain point? Like start donating regularly or something. Do something good. Do you think having an expensive phone is a good investment? Depends on how expensive, I suppose, and what you use it for. What’s your largest bill? Electric, gas, phone, etc. I don't have any of my own bills. It's embarrassing by this age. Do you like your job? I'd like to even have a job... What is your favorite song and why? "False Flags" by Massive Attack, because it's so poetically haunting in its message of how fucked up politics are. Its monotonous tone also adds another layer of sadness to it, like a reminder of how "normal" and bland and unsurprising everything is, no matter how horrible... I could honestly probably write an essay on how I interpret the song, especially if you add in the incredible symbolism of such a simplistic music video. Are you introverted or extroverted? I am very introverted. If you’re married and your spouse cheated on you, would you forgive them? Nope, byeeeee~ Who knows the real you the most? Sara, really. How old is the oldest person you’ve had sexual relations with? He'd be 27 now. Have you been upset the past few days? My PTSD has been kinda vicious the past couple days, especially today. Then earlier at my nephew's b-day party I had to nearly bite my fucking tongue off with that family's political bullshit. My anger really flared up a few times hearing despicable shit, but I think I concealed it fine by just not saying a word. What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever thought of doing for a job? Nothing "crazy," really... Who was your first celebrity crush? Jesse McCartney had my young heart, ha ha. When did you last see or speak to someone you dislike? Why do you dislike this person? Today, at my nephew's aforementioned b-day party. I in specific don't like my sister's husband because he's sexist, racist, homophobic, bigoted... I could go on and on. We don't just have "different opinions," we have different morals entirely. When you listen to music, do you generally sing along, or just listen? I almost always just listen. I don't sing a lot. Can you remember the last time you felt emotional? What was the reason? Today. PTSD is a bitch. What if you were told that your life has to stay exactly as it is right now, and nothing will ever change? How would you feel about that? Quite honestly, I don't think I would want to live anymore. Have you ever been to the hospital for something really serious? I'd consider an OD on cold medicine to be serious, but then again, I experienced almost no effects from it. Idk if I just got fluids fast enough or what, but whatever it was, I'm thankful for. Are you excited for winter? UGGGHHHH BRING IT ONNNNNNN. Have you ever had a moment with someone you like that seemed like a movie moment? Many. What are you listening to right now? "Down In The Park" by Marilyn Manson. What’s your favourite flavour of iced tea? Tea is gross. Have you ever been to a casino? If so, which one(s)? No. Have you ever visited a sex shop? I haven't. Have you ever ridden a bicycle through a busy city? NOOOOOOOO. I could never do that. What’s your favourite place to get pizza? Literally Domino's, lmao. I am so basic. Do you have a lock number or pattern for your phone? No. There sure isn't anything important on it. What’s the most number of people you’ve ever lived with? Five.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Lethobenthos || Mike Hanlon x Reader

⊳ Ch. 2: The Butcher's Daughter⊲

A/n: on the off chance that y'all know about butcher shops and meat or whatever, im so sorry cause even though i did a bunch of research, I know it's still pretty inaccurate so please don't come for me 😂 EDIT: I am crying cause I have 950 followers 🥺🥺🥺 I love each and every one of you guys, thank you so much babes 💞

Warnings: Alv*n Marsh being Alv*n Marsh. He briefly leers at reader. There's no comment, but it still needs a warning i feel. Also, long ass chapter. I truly don't know how to write short chapters, yall. Brief mention of animal death (natural causes) and signs of a PTSD attack. Marker for PTSD attack will be labeled [●●●]. Safe reading loves

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

- 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟗 -

    ℕ𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 of Costello Avenue Market, sandwiched between Terry's Barber Shop and one of the finer footwear retailers in town, was Derry's very own, Quality Meats. A quaint little shop - as quaint as butcher shops come, that is - right smack in the middle of the street, just across the road from the Capitol Theater. It was always a treat for Y/n L/n when the annual fourth of July parade was in full swing, she always had the best seat in the house from her bedroom window. It sat just above the shop, and truly had the best view overlooking the street. But the parade was weeks away, and it couldn't come soon enough.

    For now, she was stuck in her daily routine at her father's butchery. Every morning it was her job to prep the shop before it opened, check the stock, and assure that everything was in order. Her father oversaw the shop but most of his time was devoted to preparing and tending to the meat in the back. This also left the task of receiving, inspecting, and storing meat upon delivery to her.

    Her favorite part of the week. Because it meant seeing her favorite person, Mike Hanlon. He was the delivery boy who supplied some of their best selections, straight from the famous Hanlon Homestead. But this was not what thrilled her, what thrilled her was the company of the thoughtful boy. They had met the previous year when her father had hired him for deliveries, Mike had just taken up work at his grandparent's farm and the two quickly hit it off.

    Mike was her saving grace. She never had the stomach for her father's work, and despite their weekly heated arguments on the matter, she'd get stuck with the tasks. At the very least, he didn't force her to work in the back in the meat locker. Not anymore. He had learned that lesson the hard way when he dragged her in despite her kicking and squirming - he figured she was just being dramatic, throwing a fit. But low and behold, it all ended with him clearing out the locker for sterilization when she got sick.

    Now the only times she ever stepped foot inside was to get to the back door, which is something she didn't do - something she couldn't do - without plugging her nose and blocking out her peripheral vision as she slipped through the back door to greet her best friend.

    An occasion, she feared, that she faced as she glanced impatiently at the clock on the wall for the fourth time on this hot June day. Mike was usually pulling up outside the store by now, hell, she clocked out at four to spend time with Mike and it was already three forty-five. Well, three forty-eight according to the shop's clock which one could always rely to be just three minutes fast no matter how much you reset it.

    From her spot behind the counter, she had a limited view of the sidewalk outside. A variety of people passed, but none of them were Mike, the person she most wanted to see. And it certainly didn't help that a crowd of people were bunching up near the door, blocking her view of the window.

    Three sharp notes from the counters bell broke her from her trance, throwing her harshly back to reality. A rather intimidating man stood on the other side of the counter, he was quite tall and everything about him put Y/n on edge.

    "Sorry sir," Y/n mumbled, not feeling very sorry at all. "How can I help you, today?"

    The man seemed to rethink his anger, though she would have preferred it over the new look on his leathery face. A wry smile stretched his lips and Y/n did not fail to notice his wandering gaze, only proving her first impressions to be correct. She felt her skin crawl and she did not fight the disgusted look cementing on her face.

    "Just don't let it happen again, sweetheart. Now listen up, I'm in a hurry," Christ, she thought, even his voice is unnerving. "I need a pound and a half of the ground round beef."

    "Right away, sir," she says, through gritted teeth. "One moment,"

    Y/n hated when people ordered when her father was in the back, even though it happened often. Not just because she despised such tasks as grinding the meat and preparing it, but talking to the customers was never a favorite of hers. This was a fine example why.

    Instead, she slipped into the back where they kept their stock that wasn't on display and began preparing the meat with a wrinkled nose.

    "Fucking creep," she mumbled.

    She wished she could say this was the first time something like this had happened, but unfortunately, Derry was filled with scummy people. Something did seem familiar about him though, she might have seen him here before. It'd make sense, Quality Meats was the only butchers around for miles.

    Deciding she didn't want to dwell on it any longer, her mind began to wander. Anything that wasn't the man waiting out front really, thankfully that was easy enough. Hopefully, the rest of her workday would go by much quicker so she could meet with Mike. He said he had a surprise for her, and she had been wondering about it all day. The very thought fills her stomach with butterflies. Well, Mike did that all on his own, anyway. He always brought out that side of her. A bubbly, giddy side of her that always seemed to lose any sense of time around him.

    Just ten more minutes, she thought. Just power through.

    With the order all prepared, she returns to the front counter to find the man leaning against the counter in boredom. Great, now I have to redo the counters, too. When he spotted her, he straightened up and gave her a disapproving once over.

    "What took you so long? I'm in a hurry. Fixing your hair couldn't wait, or something?"

    Oh, a sexist fucking creep, she mentally corrected herself.

    A snarl curled its way onto her face, but before she could make a bitter remark her dad's voice boomed across the shop.

    "Well, if it ain't Alvin Marsh," The man in question moved his attention to Y/n's father, and remarkably enough, a somewhat friendly smile appeared on his face. "Good to see ya,"

    "You too, always a pleasure,"

    Y/n watched the exchange with shocked uncertainty. It frankly appalled her that this man was capable of being friendly, and even in such limited time in his presence. More importantly, she wondered, how could her father know this man? Why would her father know this man? Everything about this Alvin Marsh guy set her teeth on edge, and the only word coming to her mind for how to describe him was... slimy.

    "So," the butcher asked, gesturing around the shop. "is there anything I might be able to help you with? Or has my daughter taken care of you, already?"

    Y/n watched with great disdain as the man returned to her with another pointed look, glancing down at the packaged meat ready to go. He looks as if he's mulling it over, and finally, he clicks his tongue.

    "Sure," he nods, looking back to her father, chuckling dryly with one elbow back on the counter. "when she found the time,"

    "Ah, I see," He nods, sending a disapproving look to his daughter.

    "Y/n," he sighs, nodding in the direction of the back of the shop, still a stern look upon his face. "Go wash up and clock in early, I'll take care of Mr. Marsh, and the rest."

    Her mouth parted, ready to argue - not out of disappointment, for there was none, but to defend herself - when her father cut her off with a warning look.

    "Now?"

    She sighed heavily, her head rolling with her eyes as her arms snaked around to her back to untie her apron. At least she didn't have to pretend to care anymore now that she was technically off the clock. Her feet dragged across the ground subconsciously showing her frustration. As she made her way to the back when she heard that godawful grating voice again.

    "Unbelievable, isn't it? There's just no respect anymore."

    Y/n rolls her eyes when she hears her father chuckle. She sighs as turns the corner and hangs her apron up.

    "Yeah, I got one of my own at home. Gorgeous little one, feisty too. But one hell of a mouth. Real bitch sometimes,"

    Wide-eyed, and seeing red, Y/n is unable to take any more and heads farther back, slamming the door behind her, not caring if she took the fall for it later. Hell, she just might take the meat locker over that. She's shaking with rage, and his words echo in her skull still as she washes her hands. Her hands begin to sting and she realizes she had lost herself in thought and was just about to wear her skin down under the water as she scrubbed. Y/n shook her head, killing the water and drying her hands when her mind finally manages to break away from the creep when she thinks of the time.

    Fuck, it's already five!

    Quickly, she heads for the door to the meat locker, her nose already plugged when she pushes it open. Luckily, these trips were always fairly quick given the back door to the ally was just a few steps away, but what she saw when she stepped inside completely threw her through a loop.

    The back door was wide open.

    Upon first glance, she figured her father had opened it, and even though that was the most logical explanation, it didn't make sense. He never left it open. Not when he wasn't there. He was a stickler about that. Her head whips around the locker, but she was the only one. Fighting the urge to take an anxious deep breath, she creeps forward and peers around the corner, not knowing what to expect.

    Her E/C eyes widen happily and relieved when she realizes it was only Mike. But her happiness vanished just as soon as it had come when she saw the state he was in, nevermind the fact he was laying in the heap of recycling!

    "Mike!"

    He jumped as she stepped out into the light, the entrance to the meat locker was quite dark from where he sat. And before he knew it was her, all he had seen was something moving in the shadows towards him. Y/n felt her heart tighten at the sight, something clearly must have happened, and it must have been bad for him to be startled by her.

    Not unlike herself, though, he seemed to calm significantly when he realized who he was in company with. And yet, he still wasn't speaking. His eyes just bore into the darkness of the entrance, still panting heavily. Thick beads of sweat slid down his face.

    "Mike," she knelt beside him, subtly checking for any signs of injury. "what happened?"

    "I..." he gulps, finally breaking his gaze away and looking at her. "don't know."

    Her eyebrows raise a bit higher in question, and curiously she searches his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"

    Despite the comfort of her gaze, he breaks himself away from it to look back into the dark abyss, fearing It would come back. Whatever It was. And as he does so, he swears he can still hear the rattling of the chains and the bleating of a goat, and the very very very back of his skull was the chilling sound of a clowns laugh.

    "Mike?"

    He realizes he hasn't answered her yet, and quickly he shakes his head 'no'.

    "Here, let me help you," she rises to her feet, extending her hand.

    He gladly takes it, and despite his lingering fear from his encounters, she still manages to send a spark through his skin just with her touch. Little did he know, she felt the same way. Y/n pulls him to his feet, and already, his attention is centering away from the locker and towards her. She's watching him carefully, and only now does he fully process the intensity of the worry held in her eyes.

    "I-I think I'm okay," he stammers, chest still heaving with his labored breathing. "really."

    Y/n nods after a moment, concluding he must be telling the truth. Over time she had picked up on Mike's body language, including all of his tells. For instance, she could usually tell when he was hiding something. He'd always tug or scratch at his ear. Or when he was lying, the ends of his lips would twitch up. Almost as if subconsciously offering a guilty smile before quickly suppressing it. But Y/n found no such thing, and she felt the muscles in her shoulders relax.

    "Good," she sighs with a weak smile, her eyes falling to the ground. "Here,"

    Her hand leaves his and immediately, they both miss each other's touch but say nothing of it. She steps around him and begins picking up the many packages of meat that had spilled out of the basket. He joins her, just as soon.

    "Oh," he steals a glance at her, a small smile creeping up on him. "thanks."

    It goes away just as fast, his heart still aches from how hard it had been beating. Y/n does not fail to notice his darting glances over her shoulder at the meat locker. They both rise to their feet, and Y/n casts a confused glance over her shoulder before turning back to him.

    "Are you sure you're good, Mike? You don't seem yourself,"

    He sighs, not entirely sure himself. His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, and his lips part to speak but the words die in his throat when he hears the sudden and obnoxious revving of an engine nearby. He flinches, head jerking in the direction of the sound.

    A ghostly expression washes over Y/n, and her anger visibly rises in seconds.

    "Was it Bowers, again?" She scoffs, just enraged at the thought of him and she even begins to stammer as she grasps for an insult, anger clouding her brain."That-That bigoted fucking... dickhole!"

    She stomps her foot and huffs, unable to properly deal with the overwhelming amount of anger and exhaustion building up in her. Mike looks at her with the tiniest hint of a bemused expression. His brow shot up and he almost felt a chuckle come out. Almost.

    "Dickhole?"

    "I know, I know," She chuckles dryly, the ends of her lips twitching up. "Shut up,"

    The chuckle in his chest breaks loose and he feels as if another piece of stress has been chipped away. A long process in the making, but it was better now that she was here. Mike had yet to find out, the same went for Y/n. Mike placed the packages he had collected thus far back into his basket and Y/n popped her head back inside to grab a small bin by the door. She brought the small container over, placing the few packs of meat she carried inside and the two filled it in a matter of seconds. Any trace of a smile has fallen off her face as she looks back up at her best friend, shrugging.

    "Well, he is," she defends. "All of them are. They're wrong in the head, Mike,"

    "Can't argue with that," He shrugs, sending a grimace down the alleyway where the Bowers gang had just disappeared. "Need any help?"

    "Nah, I got it. Thanks though," she grabs the bin, holding it against her frame and sends him a short smile. "Be right back,"

    He answers with a curt nod, his sweaty palms unknowingly rubbing against his jeans out of nervous habit. She disappears back into the darkness, and Mike immediately feels the weight her absence leaves. The guard she had coaxed down had returned, plaguing his mind as several scenarios spiral out in his brain.

    He couldn't tell her about the clown, he'd sound crazy! Hell, maybe he was. At least that's a what small voice told him in the back of his head, but deep down he knew what he saw was real. Real to him. Shaking that terrifying image from his brain would be harder than he thought.

    Don't forget the turtle.

    Mike shook his head, bewildered at the intrusive reminder his brain sent him. It was a strange sensation like the thought was not his own. It was a gentle voice speaking directly to his subconscious like a radio with interference. And yet, it didn't frighten Mike. Not at all like the dark, intrusive thoughts that had been occurring lately. This was soothing and gentle. Nonetheless, the message sent his hand flying for his pockets.

    Relief swept over him when he felt the small lump in his right pocket where the gift resided. He smiled to himself at the thought of giving it to Y/ n. He had been working on it all year, a small wooden turtle he had carved himself in the many free moments he had stolen on his grandparent's farm. Mike couldn't quite pinpoint the exact moment he had decided to make a turtle, or that it would come to be such a big secret he would keep until he could give it to her. He had just sat down one day and started carving as if something had compelled him to do so.

    And now here he was, ready to give her the small carved necklace. Mike was quite proud of it, not only was it his first carving but he had managed to secure it nicely in a thin - but sturdy - string of twine. Mike takes the time to spare a glance at the darkened doorway where his best friend disappeared, before his hand descends into his pocket, his heart hammering against his chest. His hand fishes amongst the pocket of denim and lint where his fingers find the cool touch of wood and twine. He pulls out the necklace and it dangles in the air as he carefully inspects it.

    Was the twine fastened tight enough? Was the belly of the shell smooth enough where it would rest comfortably on her chest without splintering? Most importantly... Would she like it?

    He sure hoped she would, given her connection to the reptile. She spoke often of it, the turtle that visited her dreams. Y/n never thought much of it, it had become merely a topic of conversation meant only for small lulls but she did find it funny the reoccurring figure. She described it as being the same turtle somehow, and it was never a threatening presence but a calm one. Like a guardian almost. It was a small and silly feeling that abandoned her by the time she was up and awake but little did she - or Mike - know just how deep the connection ran.

    These were all thoughts that flooded Mike's mind but he quickly has to put them and himself at ease. The hiss of the airlock to the meat locker and the backroom reached his ears and quickly he stuffed the necklace back into his pockets. When Y/n returns, looking far less than relaxed do all of his previous worries evaporate into the humid summer air. His hardened stare never leaves her troubled frown as she locks up the side door, all the while he grabs his bike.

    The pair falls into a comfortable silence as they head for the back of the alley where Y/n's bike was hidden. All that hung in the air was her defeated sigh that had accumulated after a long and stressful day, and the buzzing of cars as they passed by on the main road behind them. His worries now gone in the wake of her newfound stress he pulls up a curious brow as he walks his bike alongside her.

    "Rough day?"

    Y/n laughs dryly, nodding to her best friend as they round the corner and picks up her bike. "You could say that."

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

    The town of Derry was quaint and rather cozy upon first glance. Quite a charming spot on the map with its snug downtown streets filled with local businesses such as Quality Meats. And one couldn't help but admire the long and beautiful running waters of the Kenduskeag stream that bled out from the Penobscot River, under the town and out into the Barrens stretching past the old train yard. The Barrens were the stretch of woods just outside of town.

    And it was precisely these woods that the pair had found solace in the cruel and evil world they called their home. Months after their meeting, they had both explored the Barrens and to their luck, they had stumbled upon the Fort. The Fort was what Y/n and Mike called the large pit they had discovered past the train yard and just over the stream. You had to swing across an old rope swing they had found, but that made journey all the more fun. They almost hadn't seen the Fort behind the fallen trees walled around and piled over the top.

    The way the trees had fallen it had created a rather spacious room just below the earth. When inside, one could see through the branches slats and out into the rest of the Barrens without being easily spotted. It made the perfect hideout from those who wished to see them harmed, and it also made a wonderful makeshift amphitheater. It was often they would look up from their conversations and see the wildlife walking around just feet away, still unaware of their presence.

    This is where they found themselves now, deep amongst the thickets, far away from their everyday troubles. It wasn't until they had abandoned their bikes at the stream to cross and venture deeper inside did they finally feel the effects of the change in scenery. At long last, the weight that settled on their hearts and troubled minds began to evaporate slowly as they inhaled the fresh and pleasantly overwhelming aroma of pine and fresh dirt. It blended perfectly with the dewy oak that hung in the air after the past week's summer storm, as did the gentle breeze that managed to reach them after a long journey through the trees.

    The sight of the Fort puts the last of their darkest thoughts to bed - for now. The crunching of twigs is the only sound that reaches their ears as they approach their haven. It is then that it occurs to Y/n, the birds have stopped singing. Come to think of it, she hadn't heard any birds in weeks. It was quite unusual considering these woods of all places were where their song carried the loudest. It was as if they were all... hiding.

    She realized even the atmosphere felt different, and not just in the Barrens. It had been a thought blooming in the back of her mind for the past few months; that the town had been cast into a dark shadow. While Y/n had lived in Derry all her life, it had always felt mysterious to her. But this was different, it was darker. Like a cloudless storm had rolled into Derry, with no intention of leaving.

    Mike brought her from her trance, pulling her gaze back down to earth from where it was previously fixed on the treetops.

    "I feel it, too."

    "What do you think it is?" Y/n asks finally.

    Mike's lips crease into a flat shrug, eyes flitting to the ground as his shoulders briefly rise.

    "I don't know," he sighs, his gaze trailing up to where hers laid in the treetops as if expecting to see this so-called storm with his very eyes. "But it's nothing good,"

    Her hardened frown turns back to the forest floor, blinking several times as she reached for a thought that was fast asleep in the farthest corner of her brain. It almost didn't even feel like a thought so much as a part of her brain itself. But it quickly dissipates as calm washes over her, taking with it any budding anxieties. She could almost laugh, none of this made sense. Y/n had been waiting all day to be here with Mike, and now she was.

    Y/n wasn't going to let anything ruin that. Or so she hoped.

    A coy smile plays at her lips as she picks up her pace towards the Fort, and swiftly she navigates through their hidden entrance. Her hopeful attitude is just infectious enough that it takes to Mike, and warmth blooms in his stomach as he quickly follows her. His feet bring him to the entrance of the Fort, and through the slats, he can see Y/n settling in.

    The sight of her relaxing brought a small smile to Mike's face, and quickly he joined her inside. The welcoming effect of the Fort just as soon touched him as it had her, and never had he been more relieved to see the sight around him.

    Soft light from the gas lantern bathed the small dome inside the earth, illuminating the many mossy branches perched above their heads. Several discarded wooden boards lay tucked into the dirt beneath their feet, creating makeshift wooden floors that had long been covered in several spare blankets they had brought. While the dome was just that, it was not a perfect circle. It was a bit uneven but this gave the pair the advantage of a single corner. This is where they kept the single beanbag they had managed to get their hands on.

    It was just as they had left it, a warm and cozy corner of the world that belonged just to them. It smelled just as the forest around them, only more intensified in their close courters.

[●●●●]

    Y/n stumbled away from the bean bag suddenly with a horrified shriek, her band coming to rest shakily over her mouth as she backed into the dirt wall behind her. Mike jumped to her side, eyes wide and fearful as his mind conjured every horrible possibility. The fear from the alley returned.

    "What? What's wrong?"

    A heavy sob was building in the far back of her throat, her wide e/c irises were beginning to dilate and her limbs trembled. Mike recognized within moments what had caused her such distress, having recognized an attack of hers like this only twice before. But the pain of seeing her so distraught was burned in his brain so he might never forget. His hand that had come to rest on her shoulder now brought her into his embrace. As she stumbled numbly into his arms he saw her eyelids screw shut, and several heavy tears were squeezed free.

    "Hey," he whispered soothingly, his hand rubbing circles in her back. "Hey, it'll be okay. You're not there anymore, you're not there. You're not there..."

    Slowly but surely her breathing becomes less ragged, and he can feel her head nodding into the crook of his neck as she takes in his words. Y/n's sniffles are loud in his ear but he couldn't care less. Mike just wanted her to be okay. He only now realizes he was still muttering sweet nothings into her ear as he feels his mouth grow dry.

    "We're okay, Y/n. You're safe."

    She takes a long and trembling breath that he can feel in the crook of his neck. Her breath brings out goosebumps on his skin but he quickly banishes the thought away in her troubled state. When she speaks, her voice is barely audible, even from beside his ear.

    "Thanks, Mike,"

    All he can find himself doing is pressing a flat smile to his lips, his eyes glazing over sadly at the limp pigeon in the corner behind the beanbag. The sight brings a strong and forceful wave of sadness that washes over him, but he knows it is not quite the same kind of sadness as she is experiencing. Finally, after almost twenty minutes have passed, she breaks away, sniffling.

    Mike feels the weight on his heart triple in size when she pulls away to reveal her puffy eyelids. The whites of her eyes are laced with red veins, and her trembling lips let loose a few shaky breaths. Immediately, she does all she can to wipe away the tears, but the evidence of her sadness remains. She shakes her head, disappointed in letting herself show this side and chuckles bitterly as she clutches her aching chest.

[●●●●]

    "I'm sorry,"

    "No," he says, shaking his head. "Don't do that, okay? You should never apologize for this. For feeling anything. You have your own baggage, just like everyone else."

    She chews the inside of her lip in a nervous habit, heat creeping up in her neck.

    "Sor-"

    He eyes her warningly, and she bites back a sheepish smile and clears her throat. "Okay."

    He studies her for a moment, not aware he is even doing so as her swollen eyes trail sadly across the room where the pigeon lays. He can hear a mournful whine building in her throat before he cleared his own with a somber expression.

    "It's okay, I'll take care of 'em."

    A weak, thankful smile flickers across her face and she watches thoughtfully as he rises and crosses the fort to the pigeon. He grabs one of the spare towels they kept around - sometimes the old rags they spread across the wooden grates would need a quick replacement, as they discovered the hard way - and knelt before the limp bird. Y/n finally rises to her feet decidedly and slips past Mike and outside the Fort without a word, a rusty trowel now in hand.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

The pair now stood before a small lump in the dirt, their heads pulled down with gravity as they stare at their feet. After Y/n had dug a small grave, Mike had buried the old pigeon, and the two had managed a small eulogy. Hosting a small funeral for a pigeon is certainly not what the two had envisioned their day would look like, but oddly enough, it was cathartic for both of them.

Mike was hardly old enough to remember his parent's funeral. The same could be said for Y/n, and like Mike, she hadn't exactly been emotionally or mentally present for her mother's funeral, for when the time came she had still been in quite the state of trauma. Y/n didn't like to talk about it, and in their year of friendship Mike had only recently found out, but she had been the one to find her mother's body as a very young child. So it was no surprise the familiar sight of the limp body brought her such distress.

    As her glassy eyes stare numbly at the mound in the dirt she feels a soft yet somehow calloused hand slip into her own, giving her palm a light squeeze. Her head feels heavier than normal in her crestfallen state, she notices, as she picks her stare up off the ground to look at Mike. He wears a small and gentle smile for her and gestures past her head towards the Fort that lies beyond only a few feet.

    "C'mon. We should settle in before it gets too much later."

    Her thumb flitters across his skin in response, and she nods. The two of them make their way back to their hideaway, the sounds of the earth beneath their feet filling the pensive silence once more. When they enter, her eyes flicker to the seat she was previously ready to occupy. A small shudder passes through her and she instead chooses the pile of blankets across the cramped room.

    Mike settles in beside her, his hands flying back to his pockets again to ensure the turtle remained on his person. Sure enough, the small wooden necklace could be felt floating amongst his things inside his pocket. He breathed a silent sigh of relief, one she would have caught had she not distracted herself with the task of fishing out their stored away activities. A deck of cards was pulled from the small and rusty tin lunchbox they kept there for storage, soon to follow was an equally rusty - and rather dusty - silver spoon. Y/n shrugs with the spoon in hand.

    "We could play Spoons or something?" Y/n suggested half-heartedly, her eyebrows falling into a curious frown. "Or was there something else you wanted to play?"

    He gulps nervously though he doesn't quite understand why he was even nervous in the first place, it was Y/n! Then again, all the more reason for his heart to be aflutter... It was Y/n.

    His sweaty palms return to his jeans and he wipes them anxiously hoping to keep his hands dry, and he sends her a weak and nervous smile.

    "I um," he cleared his throat, and she emptied her hands, curiously turning all her attention to him. "I uh, wanted to show you something I made?"

    "Oh," she says, a bit taken aback. "Yeah, okay. What is it?"

    Any and all responses he had gone over previously in his mind vanished into thin air, leaving him speechless. All he could do at that moment was fish into his pockets, his fingers lacing around the string as he pulled out the necklace. It dangles in the air, the soft golden light from the lamp beside them illuminated the many grooves engraved into the wood that created the illusion. It sways back and forth before their eyes, but his gaze is set not on the turtle but her.

    Her eyes had widened in reverence, and he could feel his heart swell with pride. She shakes her head in disbelief, the ends of her lips tugging up in a smile.

    "This is incredible, Mike!"

    He can feel a heat in his cheeks and the tips of his ears that could rival the summer sun. His grin widens bashfully.

    "Thanks," he says, gesturing towards her with the necklace, inwardly cursing at himself for this moment not going as smoothly as he had hoped. "It's, uh. It's yours. I made it for you. This was the surprise I was telling you about."

    Her attention is on him now, and he can feel his heart skip a beat. He notices that the swelling in her eyes has gone down a little, but the smallest of beads pool in her eyes. She was welling up a bit.

    "Mike," she breathes. "Thank you. I... Don't know what to say, I feel like "thank you" isn't enough."

    He shrugs as she takes the necklace into her hands to examine it more closely, her thumb tracing the shell of the wooden reptile as she gapes fondly at it. Unbeknownst to Mike, her stomach won't stop its series of flips. Finally, she looks back up at him, and he's happy to see the first genuine spark of glee in her eyes he had been longing to see all day. The pride in his chest grows even bigger knowing he had been the one to make her feel better, even if it was only a little.

    "I love it." She says finally.

    Y/n takes the necklace by the twine, parting it in two as she brings it to her neck. Her eyes are travel across the fort as her tongue pokes out from between her lips thoughtfully as she attempts to secure the necklace in place. She struggles for several moments, muttering a few frustrations to herself as she fumbles to tie the knot properly without it slipping from her fingers first. Seeing this, his own stomach doing a flip, Mike scoots himself closer and gestures to her neck.

    "Here, let me," he offers.

    A heat rages up from her neck and to her cheeks and ears, not unlike Mike had moments ago but she complies and turns herself so he can reach the back of her neck. He takes the twine from her hands, their fingertips grazing briefly creating a matching storm of butterflies in their stomach. And as Mike sets to work on the knot, neither of them can see the brilliant grins stretching across their faces that they wished to hide from the other.

    "There you go," he mutters shakily, praying she can't hear his voice wavering.

    She does, but it only sends her heart racing faster. She mumbles a 'thanks' as she turns back around, and sends him another thankful smile as she simpers down at the turtle that now hung from her neck. Already her fingers had snuck up to her neck to fiddle with the turtle, and a warmth washes over her.

    Y/n does not know whether it was her nearly intoxicating feelings for Mike, his kindness, the reassuring presence of the turtle, or perhaps all of the above, but she now felt a great deal better. It was as if a great weight had been taken off of her shoulders, the banishing of great unease as she wore the necklace now. Perhaps it was all in her mind, but Y/n rather enjoyed the strength the gesture had brought her.

    And maybe, just maybe, Y/n could take on whatever the future might throw at her.

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Black Lives Matter m resources, what you can do to help. Link in the comments below, can be accessed on any computer.

Support black owned businesses! There's this great app shared by @lovechlmt on Twitter, which I found on a post from Tumblr but either way I downloaded the app and it is a great way to find black owned businesses in your area! Please download and use if you can! It is called Black Nation

As I've heard, there is a wonderful website that provides therapy specifically for black and other poc, so you can speak to someone who shares your experiences and can truly get you the help you so deserve. Particularly black women. Its a simple url: therapyforblackgirls.com

Here's the description provided from @ madamblack on tumblr for the info:

"This reminds me, if y'all haven’t heard of therapyforblackgirls.com please visit if you need a therapist. You can search by mental health need, location/distance, insurance, etc.  I believe there are some that provide a sliding scale payment method for those without insurance.

If you’re not quite ready to make the jump, there is a podcast you can listen to as well as articles and links to help answer some of your questions about mental health and/or therapy.

The purpose, as I understand it, is to provide a place where black women can go to find culturally sensitive therapy. Some specialize in family/couples as well.

Take a look."

[Link]

I'd also like to provide additional resources that were added on to this source, this being a collection of free therapy resources found by @ ntbx on tumblr:

[Link]

As well as Black Minds Matter UK resource from @ girthcobain on the very same post.

[Link]

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Taglist:

@loversclwb @bibliophilesquared

Let me know if you would like to be added!