#it's rather descriptive but hopefully it's not too upsetting

[the-painted-siren]

Glass Houses

Chapter 2 of Serpents and Shadows <<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>>

Summary: Lloyd wakes up, safe within the walls of the monastery and his family’s embrace. Or so it seems.

Funny thing about this chapter. It got so long that I had to split it in two. Which, along with the fact that I added three more chapters to the outline, means more content for everyone. Isn’t that great?

Warnings in the tags, be sure to read them if you think something might upset you. This fic’s rating is T.

When Lloyd wakes, it’s to the scent of cool mountain air. Sunlight, warm and gentle, pools across his body in an encompassing wave. A breath works through his lungs, rising and falling with his chest. Slowly, the bear beginnings of a smile pull at his lips as all the sounds of the monastery hum around him, full of life.

‘Alive, alive, alive,’ he chants to himself. 

By some sheer miracle, he and his teammates made it through the Oni's invasion completely intact. Even when they'd been on their last fraying threads of hope, even when they'd thought they'd lost it all—even when Cole had fallen—they scraped by and made it out. And that realization floods through Lloyd hard and fast, first welling up in his throat, then releasing in a broken sob.

"Thank goodness,” He whispers, his voice splintered and hoarse. "Thank goodness."

He doesn't know how long he lays there, throat thick with a deluge of relief, and eyes burning with unshed tears and heartache. It’s like he’s a kid again. Young and scared and unable to process the sea of emotion always frothing within, never understanding the need to let them flow through him but learning to all the same.

‘Breathe,’ a voice from a faded memory tells him. Its deep, warm tone rings as clear as a spring day. ‘Breathe, Lloyd.’

In 2, 3, 4… Hold for seven seconds… Out for eight.

‘Breathe.’

1… 2… 3… 4…

‘Feel the air moving through you. Through your airways and through your lungs.’

Hold for seven seconds… Out for eight.

‘This will pass. Breathe, son.’

“In and out,” Lloyd murmurs. A thick ache blooms in his head as he grinds the heels of his palms against his eyes. “This will pass. You’re alive.” 

Once the trembles in his body have stilled and his heart has calmed, Lloyd fully lets the warbling birdsong and his teammates’ rowdy chatter pull him into the land of the living. With a groan, he pushes himself upward, and finds himself doing a double take.

How he didn’t see or hear the telltale shoji sliding open he doesn't know. But there Nya stands, eyes wide and steam curling around her from the piping hot cup of tea in her hands. 

“You’re awake,” she breathes out. 

She doesn’t hesitate. Her long, confident strides carry her toward him, weaving around the threshes of house plants that Lloyd’s crammed into every nook and cranny of his room. No movement of hers is wasted, even as one of the bigger, leafier ferns tries to smack her in the face. With a few swift motions, she sets the cup down on his dresser and plops down onto his mattress. Immediately, she pulls him into a hug.

Lloyd stiffens at the sudden contact. Panic blitzes through him before gradually making way for comfort and warmth and the peace of mind to fall into her embrace. He goes slack against her frame, his body finally resting for the first time in over a month. In spite of it all, after so much turmoil, he can relax. He can feel safe again. 

He supposes that’s always how Nya is. How she’s always made him feel. 

She’s strong and sturdy, a calm harbor in a raging storm. A lighthouse shining in the distance, guiding the way home. A grounding presence during the long and lonely nights spent in the resistance. She’s his sister and one of the most important people in his life and she’s… she’s crying, Lloyd realizes. 

It’s not the audible sort of crying, of course. Nya has never been an obvious crier. No one in his family is—blood-related or not. Either due to training or other unspoken reasons. And that… they’re confronting that later, Lloyd decides. Or at least, he might. After he does a headcount. But for now… 

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, bringing his arms up around her. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” 

“I know.” Nya’s voice wobbles as she speaks. But when she pulls back to look at Lloyd, her expression seems at ease. “But you need to stop having so many close calls. No more getting crushed by buildings.” 

Lloyd returns her relief in earnest— “No promises- ack!” —and promptly earns himself a punch to the arm for his wit. 

“I mean it,” Nya says, eyes narrowing. “I’m too young to be getting grey hairs.”

And with that, she flops backward and all but crushes Lloyd’s legs underneath her weight. 

From where he’s still rubbing his assaulted arm, Lloyd shoots her a look of the utmost displeasure, one eyebrow raised. Grey hairs will be the least of her worries once he’s up and about. “Hey, Wojira-incarnate. Do you mind?” 

“Nope,” Nya remarks. She snaps her fingers and points at the still-steaming cup of tea nearby. “Do you mind? Drink your tea. It’ll help.” 

Lloyd rolls his eyes so far back he gets a headache. Nevertheless, he plucks the cup off the dresser and sips carefully at the rim. Right away, its warmth flows through him, along with a contented purr starting in his throat. Chamomile, with hints of vanilla and honey. Exactly the way he likes it. Fine, he’ll forgive her this time.

It almost surprises him how easily they’re able to slide into this atmosphere of peace. But between the small comforts of home—of hot tea and friendly banter, of the happy look on Nya’s face as she basks in the sun, Lloyd can’t complain. War and vengeance have disappeared over the horizon. Silence no longer means the difference between life and death. “For now,” takes a masterful stroke with a mental broom and leaves everything in a fulfilled solace, far from anyone’s mind. 

“How long have I been out?” Lloyd asks at length. There are only dregs of tea left in his cup when he sets it on his dresser. 

Nya’s eyes slide open. She seems thoughtful, with her eyebrows creased, lips drawn into that deep-thinking frown that only she and her brother are known for. “A couple of days. You’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness since then.” 

Lloyd nods along. That’s… a lot better than he expected, considering everyone in his family has spent upwards of a week in the hospital before, save for Zane. The way the battle against the Oni had been waging—the hair-width scrapes from death, hope devoured and tensions running high—it could have been much worse. It could have ended in blood and tears and total annihilation.

But it didn’t. 

This time, everybody lived. And it’s with a sure amount of satisfaction that Lloyd credits his team—his family, for this victory. The other ninja, always two steps behind him, powers and weapons at the ready. Pixal, coming in clutch with the entire Ninjago national arsenal packed into one mech. His uncle and mother, who hurried to evacuate as many people from the city and surrounding villages as they could. 

And Lord Garmadon... 

Lloyd frowns. 

Garmadon is due a lot of the merit of their accomplishments. 

Loathe as Lloyd is to admit, it’s mainly because of Garmadon that they managed to grasp at the straws of survival. Garmadon, who Lloyd mulls over with no small amount of broken trust and righteous anger, came through for their little rag-tag group with the Armor of the Golden Master and the Tornado of Creation. He had saved them all. 

There’s a sort of clarity in the realization, one that comes with a sudden understanding of why the ninja hated hearing about his father defeating the Great Devourer all those years ago. 

Speaking of…

“Where is he?” Lloyd asks in a hollow tone. “My… father…” 

The word tastes like burnt cinders and coarse sand. 

Nya’s eyes spear into him a little too intensely. Even sprawled back over Lloyd’s legs—which are starting to go numb now if he’s perfectly honest—she manages to convey herself. There’s a dark swirl there, something like concern or worry. Then the space between her eyebrow’s wrinkles and oh, Lloyd knows all too well what that means. By instinct alone, he braces himself for the inevitable tsunami about to wreck his mental state all over again, as if he hasn’t had enough of that the past couple of months. 

With a sigh of the utmost pity, Nya pulls herself up. 

“He’s here in the monastery,” she tells him. Zero enthusiasm available. Zero. “He never left.”

A bolt of shock shoots through Lloyd.

 “What…” comes in a stunned whisper. “He’s… he’s here?”

Garmadon had stayed? 

“Ye-aaah… It’s hard to explain.” Nya plants her feet on the ground and offers Lloyd a reassuring smile as if it could chase the dark clouds in his mind away. “If you don’t want to talk to him, that’s fine. None of us will make you. But it won’t do you any good to make decisions like this. We should go join the guys, get you something to eat.” 

Decisively shoving down his complicated thoughts on all that, Lloyd opens his mouth to retort. “I’m not hungry.” 

He only lies there long enough to regret it, what with his stomach disagreeing rather loudly. Nya giggles in response and Lloyd knows it has to be because of the pink flushing up his cheeks. 

“Sure, bud,” she says, reaching over to ruffle his hair. Oh, she’ll pay for that later. “But Zane made pancakes and I don’t know about you, but I really like Zane’s pancakes.”

“With chocolate chips and peanut butter?” Lloyd asks, nearly drooling at the prospect. 

Nya's lips curl up in disgust, even as she reaches out to help Lloyd to his feet. “Heathen. But yes, that’s always applicable.” 

All the better, Lloyd thinks. Because truth be told, he misses his family and he figures that any excuse to see them is all worthwhile, seeing as he’s going to need a metric ton of support from them in order to deal with his father. 

It’s an unspoken thing as they travel to the kitchen, that Lloyd leans on Nya for support, that she lets him do so without trouble. That trust is silent but understood and expressed only through the light shove Lloyd gives her shoulder and the much harder one she returns that almost knocks him off his feet. It’s touched upon only by muted, muffled snickers that carry them toward gleeful shouts and… clanging metal? 

“Ha! Take that!” 

“Oh, you are so in for it now!” 

Lloyd has his answers soon enough. As he and Nya enter the kitchen, they’re greeted with the morning light-filled sight of their family all comfortably squished together into the same space. Kai, like always, is the first to notice him. He gives them both a blinding grin, mid-clash with the Sword of Fire holding back the Nunchucks of Lightning.

“Hey, there you are!” 

With an almost whip-like quickness, he feints back with the Sword of Fire and whirls in the opposite direction just to kick Jay to the ground. He strolls over to them with all the casualness in the world, almost instinctively sheathing the blade to his back as he ignores Jay’s wails of despair. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he continues once he’s drawn Lloyd into a close embrace. Kai radiates heat like a furnace, toasty and comforting and happily so. Lloyd can’t help the wave of quiet joy that rumbles in his throat and sinks down to his chest. And he doesn’t mind the muted chuckling that resounds back from Kai. 

Realizing no one has acknowledged his display of melodrama, Jay hastily pops up and layers himself on top for his share of cuddles too. 

Before long, the rest of Lloyd’s family gathers around to exchange words of assurance and affection with him. Cole, of course, wastes no time in sweeping Lloyd up into a bear hug. It doesn’t take long for his mother to do the same.

“No lasting injuries?” Misako asks after she’s got ahold of him. 

“No lasting injuries,” Lloyd confirms. “Surprisingly.” 

“Thankfully,” Misako amends. She frowns briefly, a miserable look if one’s ever seen it, then opens her mouth as if to tell him something. Her voice escapes her and even though it does, Lloyd can guess what she wants to say. He doesn’t spy his father anywhere near here, but he’s bound to be an important topic of conversation. Sooner rather than later.

“I believe this is cause for a celebration,” Zane interrupts. He lowers a stack of pancakes down to Lloyd’s eye level, leaving the thought of Garmadon to dissipate from his mind. “The only major wound sustained was Cole’s concussion. Which he should be resting.”

The temperature in the room drops a few degrees as Zane offers Cole an icy glare. Cole, not missing a beat, simply folds his arms and matches him eye for eye. 

“It’s a minor concussion,” Cole replies.  

“A concussion nonetheless.”

Lloyd rolls his eyes so far back that sparks shoot across his skull. For his part, he’s just glad that the spotlight has swerved over to someone else. Quickly, he slips out from the team’s little cluster dedicated to harassing Cole and finds a seat at the kotatsu. Seconds later, Kai and Nya sneak over. As silent as the touch of a feather, they take up squishing Lloyd between the two of them, each nursing a cup of bitter coffee while they watch tv—which they’ve termed Jay’s beat-up, old laptop for the time being.

There is, for a brief moment’s time, a collision between Lloyd’s shoulder and the hilt on Kai’s sheath that kindles a bunch of questions, so much that Lloyd finds his eyes darting between the dull gleam of the Sword of Fire and the news report right in front of him. 

Eventually, Gayle Gossip’s sunny personality wins out. He can find answers later. 

“Continuing on, as you can see here, Borg Industries has taken a hard hit to its north side with what seems to be the remnants of foreign vegetation. While most information has eluded us, we can make one thing certain: the ninja have saved us again, vanquishing these Bringers of Doom. For now.”

“Aw, man, we’ve seen this already,” Jay gripes. He fumbles for the trackpad on the laptop, muttering something about unwanted reminders as he tries to play something more lighthearted and manages to start the opening theme of the Starfarer movie. 

If there are complaints about Jay’s choice, they fall on deaf ears. Lloyd hums along to the music much to the obvious disgust Kai radiates to his right and the gushing over Lieutenant Andi that Nya lets out to his left. 

‘This is nice,’ Lloyd thinks, as all his favorite sounds and people come together again. It’s a kind gesture from the world that some things are beyond doubt, such as the fact that everyone will survive. 

That everyone he loves will be okay in the end. 

They’ll always find their way, no matter how long it takes. 

The Starfarer end credits come faster than Lloyd would like but by that point, he’s gone through two servings of pancakes, a plate of fresh strawberries, and almost three cups of Longjing tea. He can already feel Master Wu’s stare of disapproval at the fact but the part of him that usually cares shrinks down to a speck of dust as he approaches the sink with his dishes. He chitters something to himself that matches the chirping birds and windchimes carried by the current of air flowing into the monastery.

One particularly noisy bird with blue and orange plumage makes itself known on the windowsill. Lloyd moves over to the little thing in one fluid motion, holding his hand out to offer it a perch. Though an animal lover at heart, Lloyd can never explain why they love him back. 

“It may be a gift of your heritage,” his father remarked once when this same species of bird visited their house. 

“I thought my heritage had four arms and a lot of attitude.” 

“Now you listen here, you little-”

Lloyd hears the laughter he shared with his father so long ago. It’s a soft sound, accompanied by compassion and fatherly love in the form of hair ruffles and side hugs. To some extent, Lloyd can still see the outline of his father’s face and waves of hair that were so much like Lloyd’s own. As the bird flies off, he pulls back into the kitchen to continue washing dishes when a flash of grey and black shifts outside the window. 

A shot of ‘hold on’ races through Lloyd’s muscles and effectively freezes him in place. Soapy dish still in hand, he steps back over the window and peers outside. 

Adjacent to the window, standing on the unshaded veranda, the angles of a familiar figure blur then come into focus. Grey-white tresses of hair, hunched shoulders clad in the usual dark colors, and a jacket Lloyd hasn’t seen in years caught in a tan—golden tan—grip. All things from a time long past. 

Lloyd feels something ugly and fierce swell up from within, rolling like thunder and churning like the sea during a storm. 

The sound of a plate shattering rings out from far away. 

Lloyd stumbles back, nearly tripping over his own feet. A whole myriad of emotions rains into his bloodstream. Fury, hot and burning. Sorrow, cold and encroaching. Joy, fleet and flickering. 

‘That’s… it was…’

A strangled breath tears out of Lloyd’s throat before his hands can go up to muffle it. A sob hitches in his chest, scrapes around in his lungs like sand, rises up to cloud his vision. Before he can process, the walls start to rock and wheel about. The inside of his mouth tastes like copper. An instinctive, scorching hum begins in the cavity of his heart and spreads out to his shoulders and hands and the tips of his fingers. His powers claw at his skin, howling to be let out. Screaming. Protective.

Somehow, so quickly, a rush of red grabs him by the shoulders. 

“Lloyd! Lloyd, what’s happening?!”  Kai sounds distant when he shouts. “Talk to me!”

“Oh, sh-” Nya’s curse breaks off. “I forgot to tell him.” 

Kai’s expression contorts and a garbled mess of words spills out of him. “Nya!” 

Lloyd can hear birds chirping. He can hear the singing forest and the roaring waterfall and the foaming of the waterwheel as it creaks outside the old Monastery of Peace, lulling him to sleep on an otherwise still night. He can see the gardens and the river path he used to tread so diligently, side by side with his father. Those were memories that the Sons of Garmadon couldn’t take from him. 

“Lloyd!” 

“No!” Kai’s octave-higher screech pierces through. “You get out of here!” 

“Kai! That’s not helping.” 

“He’s not helping.” What must be Kai’s hand rubs circles into his back, soothing and grounding. “Hey, buddy. Have you come back to me? Do four, seven, eight. Breathe in and out, okay? Four, seven, eight.”

Vital life force. Four, seven, eight. Lloyd can do that. He had just been doing that this morning, right?

‘Alive, alive, alive.’ 

In two, three, four… Hold for seven seconds… Out for eight.

“Breathe, Green Machine. It’s gonna be okay.” 

That’s right. This will pass. Everything will be okay. Lloyd will be okay. 

Everything sharpens around Lloyd with a forceful breath and comes crashing down onto the hallway floor. His mind, though numb with the constraint of fading panic, latches onto the sensations around him. He sees the scars on his hands, the ring on Nya’s finger, the gloves on Kai’s palms. He can feel the stroke of Nya’s comb as it brushes through his hair. He can hear Kai’s dampened murmuring. He can detect the scent of ash Kai always seems to have. 

“Hey, you doing alright?” 

When Lloyd looks up, Kai’s brow is furrowed with worry. With his tongue tied in his mouth, Lloyd can only offer a nod. There’s a huff from Kai that almost, almost escapes Lloyd’s attention. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell him,” Kai says, his gaze going somewhere behind Lloyd. It’s with stilted recognition that he can feel Nya wind up for a comeback and the urgency to settle it summons the rest of Lloyd’s senses back from his stupor. 

“She did tell me,” Lloyd says, laying his head down on Kai’s shoulder and effectively enacting Lloyd’s Law—no being on the planet shall move from their position if the Son of Garmadon has claimed them as a resting place. “She told me that my father was here. I just…” 

“I just forgot to mention that he was… back to normal,” Nya finishes. She sinks down onto the floor next to Lloyd. 

Understanding opens out across Kai’s face. “Oh.” 

“Oh,” Nya echoes back. “Sorry, Lloyd. I should have told you. I guess I was already so stressed out, I… didn’t think to bring it up.” 

“It’s okay. I understand why you didn’t say anything. It happens.” 

“Still. My stress doesn’t outweigh the fact that I should have told you.” 

Lloyd shrugs, hoping to communicate that he doesn’t want to continue. He doesn’t blame Nya. She didn’t mean to forget. She apologized. It happens. Thankfully, she seems to get it and drops the subject along with the weight originally sitting on his shoulders. He blows out a wisp of exhaustion from where he rests against Kai’s shoulder. 

Though there’s no one to see it, Kai’s absent stare bores into the closed kitchen shoji. Lloyd feels Kai’s shoulders shift beneath him before he speaks. 

“Well, so much for it being a good day.” 

Lloyd glowers at the same spot, now irritated with the statement. Sure, he knows Kai can be pessimistic, untrusting even of the most innocuous things. But it’s not like Lloyd needs more negativity right now. Not after what just happened. Extra thankfully, Nya seems to get that too. Because she reaches across the way and punches Kai in the stomach.

[charonarp]

Here's a little sneak peak on what to expect on the page talking about the Tu'la region!

(Aka, basically most of the information out of what's likely going to be 2-paged section since there's not a lotta info on Tu'la lol)

Totally not sharing this because I made art I'm proud off .>. (Edit: I just realized there's some information I forgot to put into this, so the final version will have a few more words :p It's just the characteristics on cursed Meif'was - aka people who were cursed into being Meif'was)

I've said it before (somewhere), and I'll say it again. I want this pdf to be as beginner friendly as possible, whether it be for both new players and new DMs.

I won't be adding detailed stuff from specific sources, or be blatantly taking things from copyrighted material and directly placing them in here (I think the closest thing that might be iffy is stuff I've taken from Daggerheart that's intended to help players and DMs create custom societies/communities, but hopefully it's okay since I'm only taking the name and basic descriptions they give rather than the entire card). - This feature can also be applied to existing regions to flesh them out if you want to take things into your own hands and explore regions that have not been explored yet in MCD/DR.

Now, if you read it, I'm sure some people might be a bit upset that there's no homebrewed Meif'wa race made from scratch. Here's the thing...there's a lot or races in D&D 5e (2014), and there's even a "Lineage" rage from Tasha's, which essentially allows you to make your own race.

And to be honest...not much is known about the characteristics of Meif'was outside of them looking and occasionally acting like cats? Besides that, I couldn't really find anything that could help them stand out as their own race.

So, instead of making it a whole thing... I've instead put down a suggestion that, since the players are the creators of their characters, that they should be able to use any race (within reason) to define their character's appearance and function. This will also be applied to the Lu'pine/werewolf race, in some degree.

Personally, I'm someone who tends to view races, or "species" as they're now called since the 2024 version, as a guideline. Simply put, if I want my character to look a little strange or have a unique feature from the norm, I'll take a race that suits it best and change it up.

Take Tieflings for example. Tieflings are depicted to be devil/demon-like, but in most cases, even in D&D's Forgotten Realms, demons and devils can look like a lot of things, and there's even some anthropomorphic entities that are classified as demons/devils. What's stopping you from playing a fox-like character with an infernal heritage? Or someone who looks like a basic human but with infernal traits?

There's also the Owlin race, which is depicted to being an anthropomorphic owl that can be medium or small sized. I'm someone who likes to draw human faces, so what's stopping me from playing a human-looking guy with large bird-like wings?

I want this PDF to encourage creativity and out-of-the-box thinking. I've played with many players and GMs who are way too stiff with their creativity, mainly when it comes to character creation.

Sure, a human is meant to be generic, but what's stopping you from making them be more doll-like thematically? You're not changing the way they function, but you are changing the way they appear and behave. Systematically, this way of creativity is harmless.

There are subraces of all kinds, and all of them can't be covered entirely in official content. Another reason I'm not adding homebrew races or classes into this is not just because of balancing reasons, but because some DMs might not be open to homebrew, or some players might get nervous or uncomfortable with homebrew creations (like I am).

I do plan on making a page that'll be a kind of guide on how to "mix and match" certain things, though mainly in the terms of backgrounds. Did you know that, apparently, you can change your background feature to whatever feature you want if you're not happy with it? I DIDN'T UNTIL EARLIER THIS WEEK!

I'm also adding a few examples of homebrewed rules some games tend to have, since I'm sure some (or most) members of this community are not experienced in D&D 5e on a personal level. (Examples are bonus action healing potion, secret death saves, etc. I will be throwing in a personal rule I made for my games as an option.)

Anyways, enough of me rambling. Here's a closer shot of the Meif'wa guy I made! Was gonna make three to show range, but I got tired and I ended up liking him a lot -w- No name for him though... But I might just keep it that way for fun lol

Hydrate!

[moreespressoformydepresso]

Heyy, it’s been a couple of days since I’ve posted, even longer since I’ve been consistent. I would say I’ve been busy but that would be a lie because I haven’t actually had less time than usual to post. Truth is some stuff’s gone down, partially on this very platform, and it’s made it very hard to post. If you don’t want to read a kind of venty angsty personal post the TL;DR is I’ll get back to posting semi-regularly once I’ve dealt with some stuff but I promise it has nothing to do with the people who interact with my blog. You’re the highlight of my day even if it’s “just” a like and I’m sorry for the recent dip in posts.

I don’t wanna go into detail because surprise! I don’t actually like going out of my way to create drama with people and one person involved has essentially harassed me on every platform we share. That’s why I haven’t spoken about this before, and I’m only saying this now because I realized I’ve forgotten to respond to several reblogs and I don’t want anyone to feel like I’m ignoring them or abandoning this blog or anything. Basically, I feel bad about leaving without explanation and also I kind of want to vent? So without getting too specific: A close friendship recently died a slow, torturous death over several months, slowly getting worse until the other person threw me in the trash like I meant nothing. Then he came back two weeks later and tried to guilt trip me for being upset at him for how he treated me.

In that two week period some stuff went down on Tumblr here and well… there’s no way to sugarcoat this, so I’ll be blunt: it’s made me terrified to post anything on here. Every time I want to post something I feel sick to my stomach with dread because what if it’ll happen again? Or, alternatively, what if I’m next? And it sucks because I’m not even 100% sure it was aimed at me, but it lines up a little too perfectly and maybe I’m paranoid and it’s all on me but maybe it’s not and if that’s the case… I’d rather be wrong, for once, but the problem is that there’s no way to know for certain. I’ve been stewing in this weird, complicated mishmash of emotions and confusion and I honestly have no idea how to deal with it. I thought time would help, as it usually does, but clearly this is a special case.

Before anyone says it, yes. I’m aware that this is a subtweet, which is not a cool or nice thing to do unless it’s a joke between friends. That’s another thing that made me not want to post this. I hate being mean to people who aren’t mean to me first, and as I said I have no solid proof from a trustworthy source without ulterior motives that this had anything to do with me (which is what I usually use as my standard for when to start hitting back) but I just can’t seem to let it go. Every time I have an AU I wanna share I get this creeping, uncomfortable, clawing feeling crawling underneath my skin and tightening in my chest and I hate it. I hate it so much I cannot even describe it properly.

It makes me wanna scrape my skin off with sandpaper and scrub myself clean from the inside out with an iron sponge. I wanna claw my heart out of my chest and shake it until it stops feeling like this and the only comfort here is that I’ve found some fancy new descriptions to use in my writing. Speaking of: I’ll post on AO3 again soon, hopefully today or tomorrow, but just like with my blog I’m so drained of energy and I feel so nauseous about posting I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it again, which sucks because I love posting on all these platforms! It shouldn’t feel like a chore but it does now and I don’t know if there’s anything that’ll ever make it fully go away. It’s become more manageable, hence why I’m posting this, so I’m clinging to the hope it’ll all ebb away at some point. Until then though my posting schedule is gonna be even more inconsistent than it usually is, so I’m very sorry about that. Hope you all have a wonderful day and I’m sorry about the venty post I’ve subjected you to 😅

[uriekukistan]

how do you … hhow do yiu start writjng. like how do you. opening paragraph…. how do you begin..

sksjdj sorry this took so long, i genuinely rewrote my answer 3-4 times 💀 took me a few hours to figure out how i wanted to answer this tbh bc usually i don't even know what im doing either

also im by no means a perfect writer, i’m still working to improve with every fic, so pls take this w a grain of salt, everyone writes their own way as well…hopefully this isnt too long or annoying or preachy or anything.

i always have an outline of my fic ready before i start writing, regardless of if it's super vague or highly detailed, i also try to think about what the character(s) want from the situation(s) and potential ways that could create conflict (not in an angsty way per se but in a plot moving way). knowing this is super helpful for deciding where to start because different types of openings are good for different stories.

ideas i use a lot!

-> character intro! this is my most commonly used way to start a new story. i like to make sure my MC is in the first sentence so the reader knows who the story is going to focus on. this does have a potential to go wrong, bc essentially, there's the good way and then there's my immortal 💀

when i say to use a character intro, i mean like their mindset/beliefs as they pertain to the plot, main conflict they're facing, or how they're feeling at that moment, rather than "basic info"

ex: megumi fushiguro is 15, has black hair and green eyes, and he's a jujutsu sorcerer and is in his first year at jujutsu tech. in his free time, he reads. he loves animals. he was abandoned by his parents at a young age, so he's wary of others <- boring, bland, sparks 0 interest

VS: Megumi was never a fan of love. Not in books, not in TV shows, not in movies, and certainly not in real life. He hadn’t so much as considered having romantic feelings for someone in fifteen years of living, and he wasn’t about to start now. Definitely not now. Not after what had happened. <- interesting, gives insight into how megumi thinks (and how strongly), sparks interest bc what happened??

hsiao doesn't want to date a coworker because she has a dangerous job, but has a crush on saiko. urie can't express his feelings because he's spent ages bottling them up, and now he needs to grieve someone he didn't realize he cared for until it's too late. establishing these things is really important, and should be done eventually either way.

i think this method works best for stories focusing on a conflict that's more internal because it sets up the characters psyche, but can still be used for external conflict effectively!

-> dialogue: another one that can be tricky, and gets a bad wrap sometimes, but it can very much be used well. it's good to use if the story is focusing on interpersonal conflict, especially if it involves a lot of arguing. usually, i throw the reader into a high tension, fast moving scene with dialogue, sometimes one with a confrontational start, sometimes in the middle of an already brewing interaction.

-> strong feelings: this works best with negative feelings, so i use it mostly for reeeeaaaallly angsty fics. physical pain, extreme sadness or guilt, grief, rage, or high stress work really well for this, because they're feelings that tend to consume everything else. you gotta be ready to dedicate a few paragraphs to really good descriptions that make readers feel. it's a bit intimidating to write and has the potential to overwhelm readers as well, so i tend to reserve it for fics that i intend to be really heavy and upsetting, no happy ending/comfort type fics

-> straight into action: gonna be honest, i try to avoid this one as much as possible unless it's in a multi-chapter fic where the characters/conflict have been firmly established. used outside of this, i think it works best with actions that are literal beginnings, or it feels like part of the story is missing. things like waking up, opening a door (staring at a blank page trying to write..........)

lil tips ig

★ shorter sentences: my usual writing style has a lot of lengthy sentences, but when it's the first thing a reader sees, it slows down the pace immediately. of course, there's a place for long sentences as well, but the average reader is going to go for something that grabs their attention quickly.

★ u don't have to start from the beginning!! honestly i get this from writing academic essays, but sometimes it's easier to write the beginning after you wrote the rest because even if u think u know where ur going, it can change as u write it. tbh once i wrote fic almost entirely backwards 💀

slfkjgnkjnsfglk i hope this was at least somewhat helpful, honestly i wasn't sure what to say, but i'm really excited to see ur fic!!! ik u have a lot of things planned, so i'm sure once you get the first words out there, the rest will start flowing !!!

[captaincaptainfisher]

(Sorry it's been so long since the last of these ^^;; I got distracted with Hollow Knight. Pure Vessel is kicking my ass rn)

Growth records, entry 16.

It hasn't been long since the previous recording. A small update on the pups- they are confident in their steps now, though the blue one struggles on solid ground with his webbed feet. In the future, I plan to conduct some kind of experiment involving the swampy regions of my structure, but... I'm skimming through this bit. There is much else to talk about.

Socks has brought me yet ANOTHER DNA sample from beyond the portal... This is the last one I'll be making a record of. He shows eagerness to go back out and find more, and I cannot continue giving in-depth descriptions for each one... Which, I will bring up at a later point.

He managed to convey that I should make this one another pup. And I did, though he received quite a scolding from the two females for doing so without their knowledge. This slugpup is far stranger than the others. He shot out of the machine like a cannonball, and took mere minutes to recover before he was not only walking but practically bouncing off the walls. I am taking this as a sign that he is... Healthy. Though I would rather like the cartoon springing noise to cease. It has been several hours.

He is red in colouration, and... Has one very large eye in the centre of his face. Along with two more on the tips of his ears. He has no discernible mouth, but has somehow managed to consume a ludicrous amount of food. He is... Ah... If Socks hears me say freak of nature, I will likely be getting the cold shoulder for the next few cycles, so let's say... A biological marvel. That sounds more pleasant.

He is very friendly, at least, and very affectionate. He will be a welcome addition, provided he has an off switch at some point...

And now... Something that is both good news and bad news. After so many cycles more than it's siblings, I induced the birth of the white pup.

It is alive, at least. But it is very small. It has not cried, nor has it ceased it's shivering. It is currently wrapped in fabric, sitting on my lap. The poor little creature fits into the palm of my hand... ahem. I risked a brief physical scan before returning to keeping it warm, and believe I have identified the reasoning for it's late arrival. I have been unable to discern a sex, so it will remain it for now. It's covered in thin white fur, and has several tentacle-like protrusions coming from it's back. Most importantly, it, too, has one eye in the centre of it's face. Unlike it's hairless red sibling, there is an incredibly complex mechanic attempting to exist within it's tiny little body.

It appears it would serve the same purpose as the creature known as a vulture grub, shooting a small pillar of light into the sky to summon a vulture as a defence mechanism. I have no idea why the machine has attemped to do this, but the mechanic is achieved... Well, mechanically. The vulture grub is, like the vulture, biomechanical. The pup is entirely biological. I have no idea how it's even possible that this was achieved on a non-mechanical organism, but... Well. The more complex an organism, the more opportunity for problems.

At this rate, I will be pleasantly surprised if the pup is still breathing by morning. Socks may be upset that I did this during the night while he's asleep, but he is so much more emotional than I... I believe he may have hindered my progress rather than helped it.

(Editor's note- It may sound as if I am choking up during this recording, but I am not. I do not do such things when my experiments fail.)

A smaller piece of news. I will stop reporting the addition of new arrivals here. If many more come, then I will begin another series of recordings entirely to document each one. Hopefully, not too many more... I love my slugcats, but I only have so many hands.

To end this recording... I have decided to employ the help of my slugcat friends to grow a tree atop my superstructure, where the rain does not reach them. I will have to plan this so it doesn't interfere with my communication arrays, but I believe with all the new arrivals lately and with Socks seemingly ever-eager to find more, a safe, communal home where food is plentiful may be-

(Editor's note- I had to cut out a few moments of very unpleasant noise here. Forgive the sudden cutoff.)

Aheh... Sorry about that. The pup decided to suck on my data pearl... This at least means it seems to be gaining strength. Perhaps you will make it after all, eh, little one? Just please don't eat my hardware.

Recording ends... Eugh... It's all slimy.

[aphroditesacolyte]

Meryl and Diosia

Ch 12. // Wake. Up. // Read on AO3

Masterpost

Summary: A dream grabs hold.

Content warnings: "you will be eaten" vibes, these guys aren't getting anymore normal from here, probably some profanity, some descriptions of violence/murder/being eaten, themes of grief and strong emotion, please read at your own discretion, thank you!

~Approx word count: 3,151 words

================================================

A shark isn’t so scary without its teeth, and an angler-fish isn’t so alluring without a light. It made Bondi feel much more secure in the current circumstances to know that, however, there wasn’t any trust in Diosia keeping his promise. A starved, desperate siren? The moment he could fly, someone like or simply Meryl himself would immediately be on the menu.

So, he’d do what he needed to keep Meryl safe. Of course, he hated to lecture Meryl, but this was important. Meryl’s life teetered right on the edge of awful fate, as it had for far too long now. The bile of thought crept up through his conscience, tainting him. He pictured it so vividly, what could happen—what would happen if Meryl wasn’t afraid. To have one’s own flesh torn and grazed, taken up and devoured by a monster, to have ones tears spilled against another’s tongue, to have one’s blood trickle down their lips and throat, to be utterly melted in their core… that was to love Diosia, and it infuriated Bondi that Meryl couldn’t see that.

Luckily, Meryl acted more fearful and dazed than anything else as they swam back from what Bondi could only pray was the last time that they’d ever see Diosia; Meryl appeared perturbed by seeing the siren. Previously, he thought that meant nothing and that regardless of Meryl’s disgust, Diosia could tug him back in with as little as his voice. Now, however, it was important.

It was foremost to Meryl’s survival that he kept that disdain, that fear, even if the display of such emotions made Bondi’s heart ache. Regardless of the sour taste it gave, he’d have to scare Meryl into never going near Diosia again. It would hurt. Meryl being anything but his kind, cheery self was upsetting to Bondi, creating a longing to protect, to keep his innocent, compassionate being forever safe—to shield it and huddle it and shelter it far away from every wretched creature like Diosia.

The thought that Meryl could be reduced to a meal by anyone at all struck a throng of crushing rage all boiling through his heart and veins, giving way to determination. He would keep Meryl safe.

It started with Meryl understanding what went on. How he had visited Diosia every few nights to see how the injured siren was getting along, and how he slowly began to natter with him, until eventually Diosia apologized all on his own, and everything was cleared up. Once he explained this to Meryl, he hoped there would be no guilt on Meryl’s end. Meryl shouldn’t feel obligated to help the siren—it was doing just fine on its own.

There was no need for further closure—it had been provided—and there was no need for ever meeting eyes with such danger again. He needed to instill this belief, and so long as it were shared between them, he hoped they would be safe. Otherwise, Bondi would have to go to further lengths against the siren.

Hopefully it knew better.

None of this embitterment was shown on Bondi’s face, its glowering breath hidden deep within his chest where it would be found by none else, unless torn up and foolishly unearthed.

“Hey, Meryl? I want to make sure we’re safe first but… we need to talk about what happened and… him.”

Meryl muttered back, “Okay, sounds good.”

The sound came to further agitate him; the passivity that Meryl held had always frustrated Bondi, not due to it being annoying, but rather so detrimental to his close friend. He wished the merman used his voice, though, this was a time that a lack of boldness and demand may come to be better for them both. It comforted him to know that Meryl wouldn’t fight.

 Even so, he could feel the tension rise as they traveled through the trunks and branches of the kelp, nearing his home. Eventually they made it to his spot, quite cozy and now gift-free—he’d have to check where Meryl put them all sometime.

There was no need for any attachment. Not to that beast.

”Meryl.” He spoke, and drew attention over easily;  “Diosia is a killer.”

“I-I know.” Meryl murmured.

The blue eyes were pained with a keen awareness, it made him worried sick.

“I believe I have already informed you; Roka’s sister disappeared a few months ago.” Bondi spoke on, grimly, “No one knows where she went.”

He scanned over Meryl, and took note of how his expression seemed to indicate a recollection of her; Bondi’s own heart still ached whilst thinking of her. She had been a sister to him, she had been family.

“That could’ve been—”

His temper snapped, and his eyes flickered with grieving anger. “It was him. You know it was.” He hissed.

He saw the desperate, wide-eyed denial in Meryl’s innocent face.

”I don’t think you understand how serious it is. It’s easy to think someone disappearing is scary and terrible, but it’s hard to understand what it really entails. She was killed, Meryl, and I know you didn’t know her well, but I did.”

Meryl’s lips pressed together tightly, creating a thin, sad line.

”Do you realize what it’s like, Meryl?”

A saddened love burned in Meryl’s eyes, a desperate, desperate feeling of sympathy. The look grounded him, that look of love and understanding. Meryl understood the pain well, even if he were yet to feel the wound himself.

“Do you realize what she must’ve felt? How the world must’ve been for her then?”

Meryl rasped, “Bondi, I am so sor—”

“It had to of been terrifying, Meryl.” His arms crossed tightly over his chest, as if to further bury the pain that swelled and ached within him, and then found the strength to continue on in a slight croak, “Do you know what it means to be killed by a siren? Have you heard the stories?”

“I… only when I was younger. I don’t remember. I know what being eaten is, I just—”

Bondi let himself become timid, his voice soft and lingering, reminiscent in a hollowing, decayed way. “I know a story similar to it; you know the story of Selkie, don’t you?”

“The mermaid who follows a river stream because she wants to find a pearl?”

At this point, he claimed control of his tone. It became factual, a cadence of a history teacher, or a dull mentor. He went on, “Yes. She’s adventurous and kind, and one day goes out looking for a pearl amongst the bed of the river Ictalurus, fabled to be the home of both treasures and beasts.”

“I already know how the story ends, Bondi—”

“She’s swallowed up whole by the catfish that lives there, and Selkie is lost.”

Meryl argued, softly, “Diosia isn’t a catfish.”

“But he could swallow you whole like one.”

Meryl recoiled at this brazen remark; a hateful curl of his hand indicated his shock, and Bondi felt suddenly snared by the reaction. Still, he continued on;

“Sirens are monsters. His jaws will part, wide enough to take you in entirely. They aren’t like us. They don’t kill their food and prep them first, they pick something up, and they bite in, or they skip it entirely and just swallow. They’re too ravenous, too savage to do otherwise.”

“I’m lucky to have never experienced it. Imagine a sweltering net, crafted out of a dozen manta rays all sown together, pressed to your face to the point that you can’t breathe. It’s slick and suffocating: that’s what it would be like in his throat.” Bondi growled.

He went on, “If you’re lucky, you might just asphyxiate before the pain begins, but with sirens, the chances are low. They’re creatures of hell itself, Meryl. They are made to punish and torment our kind, and nothing more.

“If you survive being swallowed, it only gets worse. It starts to tingle, so lightly and subtly that you might miss it in the dark, dark panic it will put you in. It’ll get worse and worse, and then it’ll burn. It’ll rise up, and the taste and scent of acid consuming your own body might just be enough to make you puke.

“And that wouldn’t change a thing. You’d be luckier if he tore out your intestines and ate them while you watched, but he’s fascinated with you Meryl. He wouldn’t make it merciful. He doesn’t know mercy.”

But unlike Dioisa, Bondi did. He let himself fall silent, and let Meryl fall into his arms.

It was a tight, trembling embrace between them, one that jarred all feelings out of him and left him tearful as well. Meryl burrowed into him preciously, and he returned it as the unwanted poignance leered over him still.

“I’m sorry.” Bondi murmured.

"I love you, Bondi."

“I love you too, Meryl.”

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

The rough grit of rock against Meryl's back was a reminder of the conversation he had just been in, only last night. He huddled further into the grit within his little den, his teeth rolling over his lower lip as it became bitten raw by thought. When he looked at the culmination of every event and everything that had occurred thus far, the immediate, logical thought was to avoid the siren at all costs. Then, when he looked to what he wanted—what he longed for—it was Diosia.

Maybe everyone was right, maybe there was no such thing as a good siren. But then, if they were right about someone like Diosia—were they right about him? The thought stung like an open wound.

Bondi didn’t seem to think poorly of him, nothing that he knew anyways, and Bondi was always very open about those things: opinionated. Bondi wouldn’t fake a twenty-or-something-year friendship, he knew that, but he wondered if Bondi wasn’t being entirely honest with him. Did he think he was stupid?

He felt stupid.

It was foolish of him, utterly foolish at every turn to ever go back to Diosia at all, let alone willingly. What made it worse was that for as many bad things and reasons he should stay away, he could find good ones. The only thing Diosia had done that was slightly unjustifiable in his mind was to hurt Bondi, otherwise, he didn’t mind all that much. It was funny considering how scary he thought Diosia was.

Diosia, someone who could take everything from him in the blink of an eye, hardly more than a few simple movements of the hand to do so, and only have to lick his lips after—that’s what Diosia was. But that felt too simplistic in his mind, Diosia was more.

Diosia was patient, in his own odd, diluted way. He listened carefully, became attentive to all details of his being. He charmed Meryl greatly despite the fear he instilled; the allure Diosia had was hypnotizing.

He was patient, he was charming, he was attentive, and, though the thought came shallowly, so very handsome. And it was nothing more than a part of Diosia’s being, these were all things natural to him. He didn’t choose to be hypnotizing and enchanting, he simply was. Meryl loved it—almost envied it, even—how someone could naturally be so appealing and pleasant to be around, so enticing. Meanwhile he stressed out over whether or not the pitch and octave of his voice was annoying or not—Diosia’s voice was perfect.

He was perfect, at his core.

A perfect being who did wretched things, some that he couldn’t blame him for, that he had almost begun to darkly sympathize with, and others he just couldn’t understand. He couldn’t understand why Diosia would go out of his way to harm someone other than to eat them.

Besides, Meryl remembered it so clearly. Diosia had promised he wanted no other mer; the powerful, velvety growl replayed in his head over and over again.

Diosia had no business trying to hurt Bondi.

He saw Bondi as an obstacle though, Meryl understood that, as somehow, he could imagine it making sense. Bondi wanted him to have nothing to do with Diosia. It was a logical conclusion to deem Bondi an obstacle in their way of being together, but it wasn’t the case at all.

It wasn’t Bondi who pressed some sort of rift into their relationship, it was Diosia. Diosia who tried to kill his best friend, and Diosia who threatened to eat him, consume him, envelop him entirely and suffocate him in the process.

It was Diosia’s fault, his flawed thinking.

Meryl did not feel without blame of course—he really should’ve kept Bondi out of it, away from that flawed thinking. But he was realizing now that he wasn’t the true cause of Bondi’s wounds or Diosia’s mess. Diosia chose to act poorly, and now they all suffered the consequences.

He thought over what he had seen of Diosia once more, the terrible claw marks dragging down his face, and his heart twinged in empathy. To see Diosia hurt wasn’t as painful as seeing Bondi hurt, not even half as much, but he still hated it so.

Plus, at the very least he should be owed an explanation- a full explanation. Bondi explained that Diosia apologized and that regardless Diosia was still dangerous, but he didn’t even know why Diosia did it, what he was thinking. And why had Diosia ignored him when he sought him out? Yes, he was owed a complete explanation, although Diosia clearly wasn’t going to get up and deliver it, so he’d get it himself.

He pushed out of the mouth of his little den and swam bold and quick in the broad daylight.

He knew exactly where he was going and exactly how to get there. It was all clear in his mind, and yet still said mind was rushing, anxious at the thought of seeing Diosia again for more reason than one. Would Diosia be willing to explain, or would he just start up with the games he always played? What if Meryl didn’t play along and what if he did? More calculations did him no good, he was acting on what he felt was right in his heart.

Even if it may have been wrong.

Quickly the ocean floor began to slope up, telling him he was close to shore. From there he sped along to the estuary, catching the sight of all its shelters of greens and browns, welcoming vegetation under the bright sun.

It wouldn’t be hard to spot Diosia now, in the night the black colours concealed him, but they’d surely expose him in the afternoon, when the sun permitted not a shadow in sight. Unless Diosia had left this spot and hid himself away. In that case, Meryl wasn’t so sure how to find him. However, considering this was where he lounged last night when meeting Bondi, it was likely this is where he’d be staying. Meryl got the sense Diosia was quite fine with sleeping wherever he happened to be; Diosia was comfortable and confident. And perfect.

Meryl slowed as patches of sand along the shore became more familiar, the glimmering waters that reflected the sun itself ever so slightly blinding him as he did so. The patches were bright—they glared at him the same way the water did, while shiny plants breathed normally and the creeping of a bird or a snake gliding across the ground and surface of the water was normal and all the same.

One of the patches were unlike all others, for rather than the yellow grains the most prominent sight was someone sprawled out across it, basking in the sun. He lied on his side, an arm supporting his head while the other was set out against the warmth of the soft sand. His body held only the most subtle of movements, the rise and fall of his chest, for he was otherwise relaxed and still, and a wing notably arched over him and casted some shade over his body.

He slept on his right side to spare his injured face, but in doing so displayed it clearly, as well as many other cuts all along his clothes and body. The position was so passive, so gentle, Meryl immediately felt bad for him.

His hands sunk into the beach’s blanket, cozy and comforting as he leaned over and peered at Diosia, who still slept as blissfully as ever. It was a little endearing.

When he first came, he had been planning to be very stern with Diosia, a cut to the chase. Now he felt as if he could melt into the sand and fall asleep right beside him with how peaceful it looked.

He is NOT cuddly, Meryl scolded himself.

I wish he were.

He inched closer and murmured, “Diosia.”

Diosia shifted ever so slightly, almost burrowing into the sand as he did so.

Meryl reached out and gently placed his hand on his shoulder, immediately gaping at how warm he felt. When he looked back, hazy eyes were slowly taking in his presence.

“H-hello, Diosia.”

He pulled his hand away, heart beating and face set ablaze from the predator that laid out before him who was hardly fazed or bothered by his presence. He wanted to curl up and hide from the piercing yellow that flicked over him casually. Quick to cave in, he was at the very least beginning to cover his flush, bright face.

Diosia still hardly moved, remaining timid and passive as he murmured, “Mmmmm-Merrrrryl...”

“H-hi.”

Diosia smiled ever so slightly, taking slow, lumbering motions, and began to stretch.

“Is—“ he took a long pause to stretch himself out, but half-way through sleepily gave up, flopping down against the sand once more. “—important…?”

Meryl finally reclaimed his focus. “Yes, Diosia. It’s important.”

With a large yawn he answered, “Oooookay.”

The weight of sleep pressed heavily into Dioisa’s features, almost as if the siren hadn’t ever woken up. Enervated by the mere existence of the sun, Diosia was almost lulled to sleep before the conversation even truly began.

“Why have you been ignoring me?”

Diosia gave a tired sigh. “What do you mean?”

“After your fight with Bondi.” He elaborated, gently.

Diosia tilted his head towards him. “Hm?”

“I went looking for you and you weren’t there- anywhere I looked, actually.”

“Oh,” Dioisa uttered, and drowsily pushed himself to a sitting position, where one wing curved beautifully and the other drooped down, spread across the sand. “I’ve been here since then…I’m...hhh…sstuckk.”

“What?”

Diosia sighed in the same tired way, dismissing the question as he curled back up on the ground once again.

“Diosia.” Meryl scolded, raising his tone.

Diosia closed his eyes, ignoring him.

“Tired.”

“Please.”

“Nnn-no.”

Meryl couldn’t fight him on it, helplessly watching as Diosia started doze back off to sleep. All he could do was flop down beside him and wait.

================================================

<- <- <- Last Part | Next Part -> -> ->

[optiwashere]

It's BAFFLING. I'm sorry for piggybacking off of your reply, but hopefully you understand why I'd like the distance from them when I get through my points.

There's a lot in that person's response I find hilarious, but there's some genuinely pretty horrible stuff and it's actually upsetting to see this posted so brazenly. Hopefully it's a lack of self-awareness and not intended to be what it reads like.

In fact, I'm going to ignore the rest of the response to really hone in on the first full paragraph. Not even the whole paragraph, actually. I won't get into the queer readings of Shadowheart's story or how deeply it's resonated with a lot of queer people who experienced repressive, regressive childhoods in religious upbringings that wanted to deny them who they are. I won't even talk about the inherent trans allegory I and many other non-cis folks see in her story, as much as I want to.

People can like whatever characters they want. That should be obvious, but I'll state it out front so my stance is clear. It means actually nothing to me that they don't like Shadowheart, but the lack of self-awareness in the comparison feels disingenuous at best. Not to mention the very nasty implication that only cishet straight men like her by bringing up an entirely different topic rather than the AO3 tags, which are not necessarily smutty.

And where do I fit into their version of who counts as women and queer people?

I'm a woman who likes women and I love her. I've written a frankly enormous amount of fanfiction about her. There are countless WLW and queer people that like her, and many of them follow me/I follow many of them. I enjoy some of the smutty art but don't like the 3D model porn and find it deeply unappealing. I also write smut about her. It's 99% of the time focused on her character more than the actual fucking, too. I'm just using myself as an example, but there are tons of people in my shoes writing and reading Shadowheart fanfiction (smutty or not!) that suddenly don't belong in their artificially exclusionary description of women and queer folks.

To exclude all the cis women and trans women that like Shadowheart from their take that she's for cishet straight men? Excluding NB folks, trans men, and honestly every other queer demographic from their interpretation of the queer subgroup? Denying us is part of that implication, and I'm going to hope (probably naively) that they don't realize what they said.

I'm absolutely appalled to see someone post that and feel like it's a strong take worth any space on their blog. Worse, I'm annoyed that I wasted my time reading that drivel, because even if it's not intended as the TERF rhetoric it's grossly adjacent to then it is, at best, an honest to goodness "our noble vampire vs. their barbarous Sharran" post.

A common issue in fandom spaces is female characters ignored in favor of their male counterparts, and one of the biggest reasons I see given is that the women just aren't as interesting as the men. They're placed in lesser roles with less story impact, less personality, less character development, so of course the men get more fan interest.

With that in mind, here's 9 sets of characters who DO have comparable characterization, plot relevance/presence, and personal development -- and how many tagged works each character has on Archive of Our Own. Spoilers: it's pretty bad.

[theinnerunderrain]

Lure the Midnight Hour [Yan!Childe x Nun!Reader]

Warnings/Tags: Yandere themes, mentions of murder and violence, religious and philosophical concepts, description of blood, slight age gap between the characters (Reader is 17 and Childe is 16) there's no romantic feelings or implications involved.

Word count: 1.8k!

Enjoy!

-

"Bless me, Sister, for I have sinned. This will be my first confession, and hopefully my last."

As the young man spoke, you listened intently, your mind already pondering how to respond to whatever challenge he was encountering. Your heart opened to his word, constantly reminding yourself that one must not judge a sin of another, and can instead only listen and pray for them to beg for forgiveness. Due to the late hour of the night, the reconciliation room was somewhat cold, and the only source of warmth was from a candle that hung on the other side of the room, barely casting any light against you.

"I think I have killed a man today."

As your mind struggles to carefully digest his words, your blood starts to run cold at what he reveals.

Is he being sincere?

The majority of people typically confess to their lesser crimes or something they feel ashamed about during the two years that you have spent listening to confessions. The word "kill" has never before been spoken in your company.

"Like an actual human being, I can still hear his screams in the back of my mind. He was begging and begging, asking me to spare his life."

He sighs, as if irritated at his victim for pleading with him to spare his life. His lack of sympathy concerns you, because the average person would probably just spare the person's life and carry on, but this does not appear to be the case for him.

"Nonetheless, a promise is still a promise. We fight with the promise of exchanging lives for the victor."

A duel then? You don't know much about the regulations of two-on-two sparring, but you imagine that throwing your life on the line has been prohibited for fifty years, due to the amount of casualties that it has prompted before.

"He was the one who suggested it in the first place."

Although you couldn't see him, you could tell that the man was huffing slightly from the other side of the screen. His arms were mostly crossed, and his lips were twisted into a frown as he spoke.

Maybe it's not a sin after all?

Since the other man may have been the first to establish such a rule, and the young man in front of you may have been forced to participate in such a duel?

"But in the end, he was too weak."

But his following statements made you reconsider your opinion. For someone who was admitting guilt to murder within the monastery of God, his sentiments were surprisingly frigid. You would have inferred that this young man was still under twenty from the tone of his voice and speech habits. The way he spoke was rather lighthearted, similar to the tone a young child would constantly speak in.

"So I ended up killing him."

You faltered for a moment as you tried to find the proper phrases to use.

"Do you regret doing what you did?"

You questioned while gazing aimlessly into the statue that was hanging in front of you. However, all this actually accomplished was to attempt to soothe your anxieties in the hopes that God would help you communicate with this child.

"Though I ought to, I have no feeling. Just emptiness"

He gave a burly response, as if he had heard this inquiry a thousand times before. Even yet, you began to wonder if his previous exposure to the query may help to explain his generally impassive demeanour.

"I must, however, apologise to Sister. I am aware that hearing someone profess to killing someone is certainly upsetting."

"...No, it's alright. Everything within the church will be judged fairly in the eyes of God."

Despite the fact that anything confessed in a religious setting must be kept private between the confessor and the listener. His abrupt admission of using violence did not make you feel any better of having to keep such a tedious act under the rug. If it wasn't for the strict rule within the church, you would have left the moment he confessed to his crime.

"You know what? On second consideration, I believe I should leave. I feel a little guilty for impeding your pursuit for affirmations."

Normally, according to your instructions, you would have prevented the person from departing and encouraged them to a seat so they could take a moment to relax. Yet, you were unable to genuinely utter those words whilst praying for the sick man to leave this church, you felt a little terrible for wishing such a thing from God. You were aware that he may perform more tedious deeds if left alone with the outside world, but what could a simple nun like you possibly do?

"May I receive your blessings before I leave?"

You hesitated before reaching up to the screen with your palm outstretched in an effort to bless the young man.

"Grant this man the wisdom, understanding, and strength they need to follow in the footsteps of-."

Suddenly, his bloodied hand shoots through the screen and grabs hold of your wrist forcefully, leading you to shriek out in horror as his nails pierces through the layer of your skin.

"I..I need you to let go of me right now."

You spoke, attempting to keep your voice stable but failing due to your fear. You struggled against his hands in an attempt to loosen his abnormally tenuous grip, but your efforts were fruitless. Perhaps he was some sort of warrior? That would explain his abnormal strength.

"Sister, but before I do that. May I ask you a question?"

Despite the misery he was subjecting you to, the man speaking on the opposite side of the screen had a fairly cheerful tone to his voice. However, you must admit that it is to be anticipated given that he just publicly admitted to murder in a church, a place of worship where God prevails. You wondered if this man was even a believer of God, or if he was simply an atheist, seeking to play some cruel prank upon you.

"....Yes, go on."

You responded, pleading with your benevolent God to deliver you from this immense suffering. With your other hand firmly clenching your rosemary, you whispered a few brief prayers in the hope that the person on the other end of the line wouldn't hear you.

"Do you truly believe murder is a sin?"

What kind of a question is that? Given that everything is within God's authority, any action that results in the taking of another person's life is obviously sinful. Once you've committed such a terrible sin, perhaps not even pleading for forgiveness will be enough to redeem you.

"It is."

For a brief moment, there was silence in the room, which made you feel uneasy than you already were. As you waited for his response, you could feel sweat starting to accumulate on the center of your forehead, despite the cold temperature within the dimly-lit room.

"But doesn't God always claim the lives of those around him? He would end the suffering of everyone if he were sincere in his desire to preserve his people.

Normally, you would have reprimanded someone for uttering such a vulgar question, believing that they were ridiculing God..However, you could tell that the man sitting in front of you was being genuine since his tone lacked any trace of sarcasm, only an interest in nature.

"That is true."

As you spoke, you closed your eyes and sought to swallow your dread in order to think of a response that would soothe his concerns and encourage him to leave the church.

"However, we must remember that we are merely mortals and not some sort of transcendent being. We are only grains of dust in the universe, regardless of whether God exists or not."

He thoughtfully listens to what you suggest, never once opening his mouth to speak in response. His hold on your arms begins to loosen up a little. You even ponder whether he was actually paying attention to what you said, seeping every word into his heart.

"We must therefore lead morally upright lives, even without a God."

You finish your speech, fluttering your eyes open once again, drawing in a deep breath. The man on the other line hummed carefully, as if he was gradually allowing your words to sleep into his kind.

Finally he spoke.

"I see, Sister. Thank you so much for your philosophical guidance. I will keep that in mind."

His hands drew back to the other side of the panel as the hold he had on your arm entirely released. You grimaced as you raised your arms to your face and noticed that some of the warm blood that was oozing down your forearm had already dried up.

Despite having seen blood before, you have never enjoyed having to directly touch blood because it always made you feel soiled. As the sound of the chair grinding against the floorboards finally travels through your ears, a wave of relief floods through you.

He's leaving.

"Thank you for having taken the time to listen to my confession."

A mess of orange curls could just about be seen through the darkness as he stood up in the dimly lit room. Have you recently seen those curls somewhere else? Orange hair wasn't prevalent in the area, although his hair could potentially be blonde and just appear orange due to the lighting of the room.

That isn't plausible, though. Perhaps what transpired has left you feeling a little jittery.

"Ah before I leave," the young man paused and peered through the booth separating the two of you. You were relieved that the room was rather dark and that you had opted to wear a white veil while attending to the confession, maybe you should wear a veil everyday. His blue eyes stood out against the shadows; they were soulless eyes that mirrored a demon's existence in many dimensions

Perhaps he was a demon in disguise, lurking to take and savour every inch of your soul.

The mere thought induces a frigid shudder to travel down your spine, that's just absurd to think about.

"I'll be sure to return again, since I had a very fun time conversing with you. Be sure to be here on every Thursday, strictly at 10 pm."

You cowered in despair as you struggled to remove the blood off your forearm after he left the reconciliation room.

Why did he have to stain you like this?

As you scrub your skin with an emergency towel that is hidden beneath the desk, tears are on the verge of streaming down your face as you murmured a few words of blessings, trying to reaffirm your mental state.

No, perhaps you were correct. He could have genuinely been a ferocious devil masquerading as a person.

That would merely account for his lack of humanity.

There's no way a normal person can be so, apathetic.

[haifengg]

Pairing: RengokuxGN!Reader

Note: Hopefully this is the first KNY work of many. Requests are currently open, so if you find a work of mine for some other random that you enjoy don’t hesitate to request it for The groups stated in the blog description.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He shows his affection by acts of service. His definition of ‘I love you’ is ‘I will do things for you’. Rather than wanting you to do stuff for him he loves it if he can be of help and if you rely on him. Of course there are days when he’s worn out and needs being taken care of but mostly he’s full of energy.

B = Before (What were they like when they had a crush?)

Painfully obvious. He would ask everyone about you. Talk about you relentlessly. Try everything to be around you more.

At some points your mutual friends would go to you and beg you to go on a date with him just to make it stop.

C = Confession (What was their confession like?)

After that whole story I don’t think it needed a confession. As Rengoku was aware. He probably would have loved to properly confess but ��� yeah he kinda blew it.

D = Date (What was the first official date they went on?)

For the both of you the first date wasn’t an actual date. It was just one of the times he rescheduled everything to be with you on some actual lame thing like … studying or whatnot but because this man was so obvious there had already been sparks all over the place.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

I suppose you would already know before it even happens. His demeanor and way he behaves when you’re around would already have changed. I can see him trying to pull through and hoping for things to get better but once he notices that won’t happen he break up very fairly. If you already live together he’d move out. Just because his romantic feelings for you have changed doesn’t mean he doesn’t still care about you. And since it is him breakingup he’d want you to be as comfortable as possible with the change of situation. (Maybe he’d even ask mutual friends to check in on you from time to time.)

F = Fights (What would fights look like? What are things that upset them?)

It’s difficult to fight with him because a) he can be _intense_ and b) storms out and doesn’t come back.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

His Love language is (apart from acts of service) physical touch. Therefore I can’t see him talk much rather than listening to you and hugging you on the sofa or holding your hand across the table.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Rengoku yearns for physical touch. He hugs you often, at all different kinds of occasions and in so many different ways. He pulls you closer by your waist when introducing you to someone or puts his arms around you on an escalator.

I = Intimacy (What is their favorite form of intimacy? Do they have problems with it?)

Getting ready together. It is important to him that you take good care of yourself. He enjoys seeing you do skin care and taking vitamins because it’s a sign to him that everything is in order.

Rengoku also enjoys taking you out to eat for the same reason.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Uhm… hm … difficult. I’d say he would only get jealous if there is a reason. For example that you talk about them too much or spend too much time with them (to the point you don’t have time for him anymore) or if there’s a shared past/trauma. Other than that I suppose he’s chill bc he knows and trusts you.

K = Kisses (Are they a good kisser? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His favorite place to be kissed is the back of his neck. When you hug him from behind and place a small peck in his neck. He loves it.

His favorite place to kiss you is inner thighs *coughs* you didn’t get that from me.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Of course. I suppose if you read this you’ve seen him with his brother. And please, those genetics really gotta be passed on.

M = Messages (How often do they text his S/O?)

Since Rengoku is usually at work he doesn’t text much. One thing you like about him is being serious about everything he does but that also includes following the no-phone rule at his workplace almost up to 100%.

I can also see him not texting you ‘good morning’ but leaving a note on the table when he leaves home. ANd definitely kissing you goodbye if you’re also awake that early.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Most of the time Rengoku comes home late. Once you confronted him about it (bc you’d like to see your boyfriend once in a while and actually have dinner with him) but when he explained it to you all your anger just poofed away. It turns out that he had been staying late in the office to help some new coworkers with their chores. It turns out that their boss is pretty pernickety so it established soon that experienced employees help the new ones.

After you made sure that said coworkers are either male or married you let it go. But you also made sure you got your message across and Rengoku promised he would try to come home earlier.

O = Opinion (Would they ask for their S/O’s opinion a lot? How important is it in terms of decisions?)

He gives a lot about your opinion since your taste in certain things is one of many traits that made him attracted to you.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Since Rengoku is not just a saint himself but also an experienced team leader at work he has an insane amount of patience. If he should get angry or annoyed he’d stuff it down and get real quiet. Maybe he avoids you for a few hours and then goes back to normal.

Confronting him or fighting with him is probably really difficult.

Q = Quizzes (How does a bar trivia night teamed up with them look like?)

This. Man. Is. So. Motivated. But doesn’t know shit. Rengoku would enter the competition extremely eager and ready to declare war but eventually wouldn’t know how to answer anything because he genuinely doesn’t follow pop-culture.

His face would stay the same tho. The same confident and dumb-ass  crazy smile he’d put on every day.

R = Remember (How much do they remember about their S/O or their relationship in general?)

He remembers a lot. Not everything but most stuff. Especially the things you’d like him to forget immediately after they happened. Stuff that made you embarrassed? He’d remember you constantly and tease you.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Rengoku is protective. No doubt. But since he knows you can stand up for yourself he sometimes also enjoys just being you cheerleader and watching you rule.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Depending on how much effort his partner puts into it. Sometimes Rengoku would love to go full out but he learned how to dial back and how less is more. What he really enjoys are weekend trips. Getting away and just enjoying the quiet with you.

U = Unique (What makes them unique as a S/O?)

Rengoku is a man that oozes respect. For nearly everything and everyone but most of all for you. He is someone who knows his own flaws and works on them relentlessly. He is also the most loyal boyfriend one could find, willing to work on a relationship that’s worth so much to him.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Semi. I mean, sure he is clean and everything but since he has his one look and never changes everything about it he surely doesn’t pay too much attention to these things. If you’d mention a certain look you’d like to see on him you would also have to go shopping with him because there isn’t much reliance on his fashion sense.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without their S/O?

Definitely.

X = X-Ray (How transparent are they?)

Rengoku probably doesn’t tell you everything but will disclose if you  ask. A lot of things have happened in his life before they met you and he doesn’t want it to weigh on you.

Y = Yuck (Everyone has flaws. What is theirs?)

Dude can’t whisper.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Insists on going to bed together. Since most times you don’t see each other much during the day because of your different work schedules - he enjoys brushing teeth together and the little bathroom talks you have from time to time. Watching you get upset about something that happened that day, threatening things with a toothbrush sometimes is the highlight of his day.

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[smiletimeisrunningout]

"Well, how did they put it? Angry swans charge at you like... ah, little demonic beasts that will make far too much damage for their size. I'm almost quoting here. So my moniker has been used by my closest friends in that manner instead. Those men were only trying to steal food so of course I'm not too upset-I was upset, don't misunderstand, I don't condone scaring innocent people who can't properly fight back, let alone trying to rob them, but there have been time in which-well, honestly, I don't think I was so... that I fully deserve that description, you know. In any case, it's very difficult to anger me. And my... fighting style hopefully won't need to be displayed here." While she wasn't angry at them she was still glad he hadn't seen the exact way she had brought them down, given that she'd like to keep some semblance of femininity.

"It's fine, I'll make dresses work," she told him, because telling him that she'd rather keep something that at least let her display some of her most useful assets would likely scandalize the man.

"Indeed we must," he agreed, looking back once again, because the man seemed to confirm his wife's story that the lady had been fighting while she ran and that was simply baffling. Even more baffling was that now the lady seemed to be compensating his wife with something after their indiscernible talk and not taking a no for an answer. "I told you. You must take it if only for my peace of mind. Sadly we must part ways now, it's a very busy day. Oh, how sad that we must leave immediately when there is such good company here," this time Emma spoke to the baby in her arms while they were joining the men, "Your son is adorable, my heart is already in his hands." "Thank you... and thank you for everything, of course, for-for my wife, which... I'm told you rescued fighting three assailants, and that's..." Emma gave him one assessing look and smiled, forcing herself to return the child to his mother, "If the Major hasn't already taken credit, believe me, I wouldn't have gotten too far without him, he's simply too modest." "Ah, yes," the man was blatantly relieved that the world was still the one he knew, "Of course, but I still thank you for your bravery." Emma grinned, "And you are very welcome. Shall we go, Major? I'll need your assistance to get on that horse." And then he could have his breakfast.

"You get angry?” Ben asked, sparing her a skeptical glance. “Thus far, I have seen you perplexed, mulish, and jarringly chipper, but never angry – not even towards those highwaymen who rest-assuredly deserved your wrath.”

Sighing at Emma’s conjecture – must she speak so openly about the female body? – he avoided her gaze and replied, “Men have worn dresses – gabardines, to be precise – since at least the Middle Ages. Perhaps we can find you one of those instead. I’d say the less likely you are to kick someone, the better.” Especially since at this rate, the victim would surely be himself.

She yet again floored him with her compassion – why did she care for him? Surely, their acquaintance was not enough to merit such devotion? – and mercifully, something distracted Emma and dragged their conversation to a halt.

“There!”

Following her gaze, Ben straightened at the sight of a couple alongside a small cabin. “Swan, wait a moment,” he entreated. “Perhaps they don’t wish for-” She took off running, not even pretending to heed his request. “Swan!” he hissed again, then cursed before chasing after.

Thankfully, the woman seemed delighted to see Emma again and the princess, in turn, was equally thrilled to find the victim unharmed. After glancing toward the husband (who seemed equally bemused), Ben offered him a faint smile and nod.

“I am in her debt, and yours for rescuing her before I could. Her distraction may be the only reason my wife lives.”

Ben’s smile wiped clean. “Oh no, uh…I am afraid Miss Swan had the entire affair in hand,” he assured the other man. “I arrived in the thick of it, but everything was under control – I merely escorted her to ensure your wife was safe.” Returning his attentions to the two women, he promised, “And as for your debt, it is completely unnecessary. I may not have known Miss Swan for very long, but I can assure you of this: she never once considered this an issue of repayment. And neither do I. In these trying times, we must protect one another, should we not?”

[innerunderrain]

Lure the Midnight Hour [Yan!Childe x Nun!Reader]

Warnings/Tags: Yandere themes, mentions of murder and violence, religious and philosophical concepts, description of blood, slight age gap between the characters (Reader is 17 and Childe is 16) there's no romantic feelings or implications involved.

Word count: 1.8k!

Enjoy!

-

"Bless me, Sister, for I have sinned. This will be my first confession, and hopefully my last."

As the young man spoke, you listened intently, your mind already pondering how to respond to whatever challenge he was encountering. Your heart opened to his word, constantly reminding yourself that one must not judge a sin of another, and can instead only listen and pray for them to beg for forgiveness. Due to the late hour of the night, the reconciliation room was somewhat cold, and the only source of warmth was from a candle that hung on the other side of the room, barely casting any light against you.

"I think I have killed a man today."

As your mind struggles to carefully digest his words, your blood starts to run cold at what he reveals.

Is he being sincere?

The majority of people typically confess to their lesser crimes or something they feel ashamed about during the two years that you have spent listening to confessions. The word "kill" has never before been spoken in your company.

"Like an actual human being, I can still hear his screams in the back of my mind. He was begging and begging, asking me to spare his life."

He sighs, as if irritated at his victim for pleading with him to spare his life. His lack of sympathy concerns you, because the average person would probably just spare the person's life and carry on, but this does not appear to be the case for him.

"Nonetheless, a promise is still a promise. We fight with the promise of exchanging lives for the victor."

A duel then? You don't know much about the regulations of two-on-two sparring, but you imagine that throwing your life on the line has been prohibited for fifty years, due to the amount of casualties that it has prompted before.

"He was the one who suggested it in the first place."

Although you couldn't see him, you could tell that the man was huffing slightly from the other side of the screen. His arms were mostly crossed, and his lips were twisted into a frown as he spoke.

Maybe it's not a sin after all?

Since the other man may have been the first to establish such a rule, and the young man in front of you may have been forced to participate in such a duel?

"But in the end, he was too weak."

But his following statements made you reconsider your opinion. For someone who was admitting guilt to murder within the monastery of God, his sentiments were surprisingly frigid. You would have inferred that this young man was still under twenty from the tone of his voice and speech habits. The way he spoke was rather lighthearted, similar to the tone a young child would constantly speak in.

"So I ended up killing him."

You faltered for a moment as you tried to find the proper phrases to use.

"Do you regret doing what you did?"

You questioned while gazing aimlessly into the statue that was hanging in front of you. However, all this actually accomplished was to attempt to soothe your anxieties in the hopes that God would help you communicate with this child.

"Though I ought to, I have no feeling. Just emptiness"

He gave a burly response, as if he had heard this inquiry a thousand times before. Even yet, you began to wonder if his previous exposure to the query may help to explain his generally impassive demeanour.

"I must, however, apologise to Sister. I am aware that hearing someone profess to killing someone is certainly upsetting."

"...No, it's alright. Everything within the church will be judged fairly in the eyes of God."

Despite the fact that anything confessed in a religious setting must be kept private between the confessor and the listener. His abrupt admission of using violence did not make you feel any better of having to keep such a tedious act under the rug. If it wasn't for the strict rule within the church, you would have left the moment he confessed to his crime.

"You know what? On second consideration, I believe I should leave. I feel a little guilty for impeding your pursuit for affirmations."

Normally, according to your instructions, you would have prevented the person from departing and encouraged them to a seat so they could take a moment to relax. Yet, you were unable to genuinely utter those words whilst praying for the sick man to leave this church, you felt a little terrible for wishing such a thing from God. You were aware that he may perform more tedious deeds if left alone with the outside world, but what could a simple nun like you possibly do?

"May I receive your blessings before I leave?"

You hesitated before reaching up to the screen with your palm outstretched in an effort to bless the young man.

"Grant this man the wisdom, understanding, and strength they need to follow in the footsteps of-."

Suddenly, his bloodied hand shoots through the screen and grabs hold of your wrist forcefully, leading you to shriek out in horror as his nails pierces through the layer of your skin.

"I..I need you to let go of me right now."

You spoke, attempting to keep your voice stable but failing due to your fear. You struggled against his hands in an attempt to loosen his abnormally tenuous grip, but your efforts were fruitless. Perhaps he was some sort of warrior? That would explain his abnormal strength.

"Sister, but before I do that. May I ask you a question?"

Despite the misery he was subjecting you to, the man speaking on the opposite side of the screen had a fairly cheerful tone to his voice. However, you must admit that it is to be anticipated given that he just publicly admitted to murder in a church, a place of worship where God prevails. You wondered if this man was even a believer of God, or if he was simply an atheist, seeking to play some cruel prank upon you.

"....Yes, go on."

You responded, pleading with your benevolent God to deliver you from this immense suffering. With your other hand firmly clenching your rosemary, you whispered a few brief prayers in the hope that the person on the other end of the line wouldn't hear you.

"Do you truly believe murder is a sin?"

What kind of a question is that? Given that everything is within God's authority, any action that results in the taking of another person's life is obviously sinful. Once you've committed such a terrible sin, perhaps not even pleading for forgiveness will be enough to redeem you.

"It is."

For a brief moment, there was silence in the room, which made you feel uneasy than you already were. As you waited for his response, you could feel sweat starting to accumulate on the center of your forehead, despite the cold temperature within the dimly-lit room.

"But doesn't God always claim the lives of those around him? He would end the suffering of everyone if he were sincere in his desire to preserve his people.*

Normally, you would have reprimanded someone for uttering such a vulgar question, believing that they were ridiculing God..However, you could tell that the man sitting in front of you was being genuine since his tone lacked any trace of sarcasm, only an interest in nature.

"That is true."

As you spoke, you closed your eyes and sought to swallow your dread in order to think of a response that would soothe his concerns and encourage him to leave the church.

"However, we must remember that we are merely mortals and not some sort of transcendent being. We are only grains of dust in the universe, regardless of whether God exists or not."

He thoughtfully listens to what you suggest, never once opening his mouth to speak in response. His hold on your arms begins to loosen up a little. You even ponder whether he was actually paying attention to what you said, seeping every word into his heart.

"We must therefore lead morally upright lives, even without a God."

You finish your speech, fluttering your eyes open once again, drawing in a deep breath. The man on the other line hummed carefully, as if he was gradually allowing your words to sleep into his kind.

Finally he spoke.

"I see, Sister. Thank you so much for your philosophical guidance. I will keep that in mind."

His hands drew back to the other side of the panel as the hold he had on your arm entirely released. You grimaced as you raised your arms to your face and noticed that some of the warm blood that was oozing down your forearm had already dried up.

Despite having seen blood before, you have never enjoyed having to directly touch blood because it always made you feel soiled. As the sound of the chair grinding against the floorboards finally travels through your ears, a wave of relief floods through you.

He's leaving.

"Thank you for having taken the time to listen to my confession."

A mess of orange curls could just about be seen through the darkness as he stood up in the dimly lit room. Have you recently seen those curls somewhere else? Orange hair wasn't prevalent in the area, although his hair could potentially be blonde and just appear orange due to the lighting of the room.

That isn't plausible, though. Perhaps what transpired has left you feeling a little jittery.

"Ah before I leave," the young man paused and peered through the booth separating the two of you. You were relieved that the room was rather dark and that you had opted to wear a white veil while attending to the confession, maybe you should wear a veil everyday. His blue eyes stood out against the shadows; they were soulless eyes that mirrored a demon's existence in many dimensions

Perhaps he was a demon in disguise, lurking to take and savour every inch of your soul.

The mere thought induces a frigid shudder to travel down your spine, that's just absurd to think about.

"I'll be sure to return again, since I had a very fun time conversing with you. Be sure to be here on every Thursday, strictly at 10 pm."

You cowered in despair as you struggled to remove the blood off your forearm after he left the reconciliation room.

Why did he have to stain you like this?

As you scrub your skin with an emergency towel that is hidden beneath the desk, tears are on the verge of streaming down your face as you murmured a few words of blessings, trying to reaffirm your mental state.

No, perhaps you were correct. He could have genuinely been a ferocious devil masquerading as a person.

That would merely account for his lack of humanity.

[rheiple]

Gator Love

-Song Fic

-Part 1

DESCRIPTION: This is just a bunch of scenarios for the lyrics of the song.

READER'S PRONOUN: They/Them

PAIRING/s: Montgomery Gator x Reader

WARNINGS: Cussing

Tunnel of Love Remix

By ilyTOMMY

.

.

.

.

Okay, like criss-cross applesauce, lil' baby, caress me

"Oh Monty, are you ok?" You whispered, loud enough for him to hear.

The gator only huffed in response, he didn't have the energy to tell you about it...Not that he would actually tell you anyway.

He didn't wanna make you worry about him being upset by just you talking to Freddy, it's childish and you might hate him for it.

And so, he only told you that he's tired and not wanting to talk about it.

"Ah, I see." You smiled, knowing that forcing him to talk about the problem of his would make it worse. 

You stand up on tippy toes to cupped his cheeks, gently stroking them to hopefully make him relax. "Do you... Want to cuddle it out?"

He looks away, not wanting you to see him blush... But he can't exactly control his tail wagging really fast, like a dog wagging it's tail excited to play... Just like how he's excited to cuddle with you.

You giggled, finding it cute that his is wagging at the mention of cuddles. You can't help but tease him, to which he grumbles in annoyance.

"I'm sorry big guy, I can't help it! You're being too cute!" You pinched both of his cheeks, making him grunt from the sudden attack.

He let out a low growl, a warning that if you do it again... Well, he wouldn't do anything bad to you, not that he'll tell you that though.

You snickered, not taking his warning seriously about stopped your teasing nonetheless. "Alright tough guy, I get it, let's go cuddle now, him?" You didn't really needed to wait answer anyways, you're already holding his hand and dragging him to his room.

Monty took one look at you and sighed. Man, he can't help but think of what he did to deserve an angel like you in this neon prison...

...Maybe the reason why he has an angel like you in his life is the fact that he hadn't killed Freddy..yet..

I been doin' all this shit, just hopin' that you impress me

When I level up, girl, I'll buy you diamonds and jet skis

You stared with wide eyes and mouth agape at the shiny item in front of you.

"So... What do you think?"  Monty asked, looking at your face to see how you react to his gift for you.

He doesn't show it, but the Gator is rather nervous that you hadn't said anything ever since he showed you your birthday present that he bought for you.

He worked so hard to steal earn money to buy you a gift, he even threatened  asked a few co-workers to show him one of the best jewelries to buy online.

You still went silent for a few minutes, until you look at him with a...A frown.

Oh.

So you don't like the gift?

Of course you don't! He should have known you're not a jewelry person, he feels stupid and disappointed on himself for not knowing that! He should have gotten you something useful instead! Or maybe you didn't like the color? Maybe?

Agh, those lying fuckers! He should have known they didn't actually showed him the most beautiful jewel! When he sees them next time he swears he'll-

"Monty! This necklace is amazing, really! But..." You look to the side, scratching the back of your neck, feeling really bad that he had to spend something so expensive for you. "The necklace, it looks really expensive and I..."

Oh.

OH!

He let out a sigh of relief. Holy shit, he thought you hated the gift, he's really glad that you didn't!

But he has a new mission, and that mission is to make you realize that you deserve whatever worthy this earth has to have. 

"Don't worry about that Doll, it's your birthday, yea? It's your special day today and I wanted to make you feel extra special." He reassured you, placing the gift on the palm of your hands, then closing it with his. "You're angelic ass deserves anything this world has to damn offer."

"You're saying that as if i'm a devine being!" You laugh, finding it funny how he sees you as an angelic being, you can't help but think about showing him what an actual angel looks like.

"There's the smile." Monty whispered to himself, admiring how beautiful you look when you laugh...

...You wouldn't mind if he took a picture of you, would you?

And your girlfriend, that might be the one that I'm texting

Roxy let out a loud growl, "I swear when I see that fucker, I'll beat his ass!" She yelled.

"Language, Roxy." Freddy reminded her, he didn't really need to ask her who she's talking about, for he already knows it's Monty. "The children might hear."

"He keeps sending me pictures of him and Y/n hanging out like they're on a date!" She raised her hands up in the air, clearly mad and jealous at the fact that he's able to hang out with you today while she's at Parts and Service.

Freddy and Roxy are currently in Parts and Service, some kid thought it'd be sooo funny to throw Roxanne a golf club reeeaall hard and is now stuck at her eye. Freddy got really concerned about Roxy and decided to accompany her at Parts and Service.

He raised a brow at Roxy, "You do know you can hang out with Y/n after you're fixed, right?"

She grumbled and replied with, "I know that! It's just the techs are taking too long to get down here! They're wasting my time!"

Freddy sighed. He hopes these two trouble making friends of his finally have the idea of sharing you and not cause a ruckus around them...again...

You my angel, girl, I think you come from above

Tonight is like one of those tiring days for Monty. Only wanting to recharge and go look for you  relax, to end his day of entertaining children.

He's walking back to his room, he went from Parts and Service cause of his right arm got damaged during one of his play fights with the little ones. He doesn't know how they did that, but that was surely impressive to him.

He stopped his tracks, he hears a faint sound of someone laughing. And then he realized, it was your laugh.

It sounds like you're coming to him because of how louder your laugh is becoming.

He looks around, trying to find you until he looks up and-

...Woah..

...Is it just him? Or do you look like an angel right now?

There you are, high up in the ceiling. Your laughs, sounding like sweet melodies to his ears.

He's in awe stuck right now, wanting to take of his glasses and take a good picture of you until he noticed him...

Oh...You're with the lanky freak... How irritating..Why the fuck is he glaring at him from behind you?

He was about to send him a scowl, until you called him to get his attention. "Hey Monty! How are you?! I hope you're doing well!" You wave your hand.

"...Uhh.." Was all he could say, could you blame him? You're just so fucking beautiful! He can't help but focus on your angelic ass!

But then he noticed that Rock headed jester, leaning his head beside your ear to whisper something. He unfortunately, couldn't hear what he's saying.

You began to move away, "Oh! Moonie needs to do his patrols with me now! Make sure you rest well and have a good night!" You yelled.

"Damn that bald bitch" he hissed quietly. Next time he sees him it's on sight...

...Oh well, at least he's got things to look at while he's resting.

My diamonds glisten, shinin' in the tunnel of love

And now we kissin', girl, I think your tongue is so fun

"Oh Monty! You saved me!" You yelled in joy, running at him to give him a big hug.

Before he returned your hug, he quickly kicked Moon's damaged head and opened his arms, inviting you to his embrace. "No problem doll, I'd do anything for you~" He may have said that in a flirty way, but he really does mean it when he said he'd do anything for you. May it be taking orders from you or committing crimes for you.

You leap into his arms, snuggling on his chest. You cooed on how brave he was for facing such a dangerous monster, but then you stopped and looked up at him.

"Y'know... You've done so much for me Monty.. I think I should give you a reward~" You said in a playful way.

He left his cheekcs warm up, you're not... asking him to kiss you, are you?

Oh no, the thought of kissing you got him warm he had to cool his body down. He smirks at you, trying to play it cool on the outside while going absolutely feral on the inside.

"I wouldn't mind getting any kind of reward from you Angelcakes." He purred.

You hummed, looking at the side and tried to think of a reward to give him right now and then looked back at him with bright eyes and a big grin. "How about a kiss?"

His eyes widen, his tail is wagging really wild from the question. Man, he can't believe that!

But he has to play it cool, he didn't wanna ruin this moment, or else it will be engraved on his mind forever.

"Sure Babes, I'd love that." He grinned.

"Well, you have lean down tough guy. You're too tall!" You stand up on your tippy toes, trying to reach him.

"Ah..Right.."  He leaned closer.

Surely, but slowly, he leaned closer, and closer, and closer...

...Until you two kis- "Hey Monty!" You barged in into his room, making him stop his daily daydreams.

He let out a loud shriek and fell of on his chair, he looks around and found you. He gave you a glare, "You scared me!" He yelled. He slowly got up and went into his chair. "Why are you here anyway?" He asked, not wanting to look at you because oh my god you out of all people interrupted him on his daydreams that involves with you.

You raised a brow, but still kept a smile on your face. "Didn't you tell you need me to come into your room to fix your leg?" You reminded him as you shook the toolbox you are holding.

"Oh.. that.."

Play Mac DeMarco, now we chillin' under the sun

"...How?" You asked, looking up at Sun with worry and...

Confusion..

Sun is... Having a hard time right now.

"He did it Starshine! He's such a big jerk!" He hissed, pointing at Monty with his free hand.

You look at Monty, who has a big fat grin on his face, probably feeling satisfied with his work. "Monty... Why did you tie Sunny up with Moonie's cable?..And also, how did you tie up Sunny with Moonie's cable?" You're surprised Sunny didn't drop kicked his ass or something.

"To teach him a lesson." He answered with a tone of smugness in it.

"...And what exactly did he do to make you 'teach him a lesson'?" You asked, crossing your arms and raising your brow.

"He just jealous that you and me spend more time together Starshine! He's being such a big, petty, BABY for tying my up to "teach me a lesson"!" Sun answered the question, still trying to untie himself free.

You sighed, you're not really surprised that they're not getting along, but you'd be lying if you said that you didn't find it annoying to deal with their bullshit sometimes.

You went up to Sun and helped him, "Monty, you should go back to your room. I'm going to head there to fix your curtain anyways, I'll catch up with you right after i'm done helping Sunny." You said, voice laced with tiredness to deal with anymore bullshit.

Monty felt a pang on his chest, he made you upset and he feels really guilty of it. So he did you what you told him to... But then he saw Sun giving him a middle finger, and he gave one back, stomping his way back to his room and wait for you there.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first time writing for Monty so I apologize if he's ooc in this Fic 🧍‍♂️ Monty ain't really my man (Y'all probably know that) but the song reminded me of him everytime I listen to it. And I think y'all would like the song too! And also, if there's any wrong grammar and misspellings please let me know,it would be a big help and i'll be sure to fix it quickly! I hope you guys enjoyed reading this!!

[llunarum]

A small wave of relief washes over her upon hearing the other's acceptance. Too many held it against the man for nothing more than a sharp glare given in their direction. He was only doing his job, one that just conflicted with other's desires.

And this visitor's desires were vague, all the easier for her. With no need to focus on any detail, or any person, her energy wouldn't be too badly exhausted. Another relief knowing that Minyades wouldn't too upset when her job was done.

❝A glimpse into the future and what awaits you... What I'll see is only snippets of sections that lie ahead, I apologize without much focus they'll be rather vague. If you have anything else you want me to see after to make up for it, do let me know.❞

Closing her eyes as she draws in a deep breath, gathering for a moment before picking the thread. Hazy images skipping through her mind like a slideshow. What an expansive life they must have lived so far... Hazy as it was there was beauty in it, a show of stars she had never seen before and probably never would again.

With the images growing in haze the thread is let go of. Reclining in her seat, eyes closed to avoid the dizziness that accompanied the blinding light after using her blessing- it was bad manners to get sick in front of guests.

❝You've met many people, experienced things no one else could ever claim to, what a wonderful life you must lead. To see such beauty and only have more lie in your future must be a blessing. You have such an expansive future that I'm afraid I couldn't see much the further it went on, but such is the way with beings like yourself. I would have told you if I knew, but it was my fault assuming you to be human.❞

An apologetic tone taking over her voice as hindsight kicks in. To assume someone's nature was a fault, but hopefully one that could be forgiven.

❝What I could see was, in truth, not too much different. Expansive beauty. Wandering, not lost but exploration. For the most part it seemed bright, yet there was one cold blockage. I couldn't tell you exactly what it was, but I assume it was due to another being. Unfortunately with how hazy and fast it all moved I couldn't give you a description, only that it was dark- almost like there was no soul to it.❞

"I .. I guess that's just some of the risks I take. It's fine really."

An abrasive familiar only seemed to make sense to Atieno. Didn't one want a being that would be so protective of the person he was around? They found his protectiveness very reasonable more than anything else.

"I really do believe you that it's not personal. Hm."

As they took a seat, Atieno wasn't sure what exactly to ask for but they found themself curious.

"I guess maybe it's not personal to me really, but it would be interesting to see what feels prescient, on the horizon - what are some images that come to mind?"

[ptergwen]

web of lies

take a leap. if you start to fall, the net will appear to catch you.

photographer!peter x journalist!reader || masterlist

w/c: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, one drinking mention, descriptions of anxiety, and angst if ya squint

summary: peter can’t stop holding your hands, betty and ned are the modern day bonnie and clyde, ned is a terrible guy in the chair, the osborn’s are up to something, and mj hates you all

a/n: y’all i’m super excited about this series like i haven’t had an idea i’ve really loved in months? so it’s good to be back !!! there are tons of things i have planned and i can’t wait to share them with all of you hehe i really hope you enjoy part one <3 happy reading

to be honest, which is what you do best, you’ve had a thing for peter parker your whole time at the daily bugle. you actually almost told him once.

a couple months ago, peter walked you home on a night you worked overtime. he’d came in last minute to leave some pictures on your boss’s desk. no one else but you was there, hunched at your computer in the dim office lighting. peter was pleasantly surprised to see you, yet concerned for your well-being. you had to put your finishing touches on a story.

he didn’t feel comfortable letting you travel alone at that hour. so, he went with you when you were ready. his company was more than welcomed. you told peter about your article while you two sat on the subway. he’d listened intently, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around you. he made sure you got to your apartment building alright as well.

“hey, peter?” you’d asked, halfway up the steps. he was waiting until you were inside and safe to leave. “hm? you good?” he’d smiled sort of expectantly. “yeah. i... i wanted to say...”

your words got caught in your throat when he gave you the softest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. you couldn’t do it. for some reason, you were too scared to confess how you felt. “thanks again for walking me home,” you’d settled on. he’d seemed disappointed that was what you wanted to tell him. nevertheless, he said not to worry about it before taking off.

that one moment perfectly captures it all; how yours and peter’s narrative plays itself out.

—

“we’ve got an update on hydra v. the people!”

“those freaky giraffes escaped the zoo... again.”

“shoot one more spitball and it’ll be your last.”

“does anyone have an aspirin?”

welcome to the daily bugle, where the chaos never ends and the calm never starts. you’ll find new york’s finest writers, publishers, and creatives of all kind right here. that would include you. you’re one of the top journalists in the whole building, according to mr. norman osborn. he’s the brilliant and slightly insane man who runs this place.

although it’s rare for someone in your field, you were hired straight out of college. norman read a few pieces you’d written and loved them so much that he offered you a job. full time, full benefits, no questions asked. there was something special about the way you wove your words together. your writing had its own voice. a strong voice, one the paper was severely lacking.

you’ve been with the bugle for just over a year now. it’s not the quiet, nine to five gig you were initially expecting it to be. you’re each very unique individuals in your office, and there’s never a dull moment because of it. your coworkers can be found hosting debates on the riskiest topics or tackling each other for blueberry muffins, and that’s just a regular tuesday. the place is stranger than strange. but, it’s become home.

thanks to mr. osborn being so accommodating, you actually settled in rather quickly. another big help has been the friends you’ve made. your first was michelle jones, who prefers to be called mj. she’s a fellow journalist with a wickedly dark humor that trickles into her writing. if you had to describe her in one word, it would be blunt. mj is as real as it gets, and also eternally loyal. she keeps her circle small, so you’re honored you get to be in it.

mj sits right next to you, which means you’re always talking through your days. that’s due in part to the way your office is set up. there aren’t any cubicles, tables and swirly chairs taking up their space instead. norman heard it was more progressive, probably from his son harry.

harry is about your age, only a couple of years older. he hangs around quite a lot, but doesn’t do much with his time besides that. according to norman, he’s still seeking out his passion. he’s banking on him finding a suitable career at the bugle. he’d like to pass this all on to harry some day, hopefully sooner than later. either way, you don’t mind having harry here. he’s super funny and friendly with everyone.

there’s also ned leeds, who’s an editor and reviews most of your pieces. he’s sweeter than candy, even when he’s ripping your grammar to shreds. on the rare occasions you’re not discussing breaking news, you two talk about movies. ned is a film buff and gives you the best recommendations. you’re convinced he was a critic in his past life.

last but so from least is peter parker. he only works for the bugle part time, since he’s still in school. you both graduated from your respective colleges the same year. peter wants to get his masters degree, though. he’s a photographer who’s aspiring to be a cinematographer. him and ned have their passion for the industry in common, and that’s what makes them such great friends.

you learned this and more from the times you and peter have partnered up on stories. he’s one of your best friends not only at the bugle, but in your entire life. the many long nights you’ve spent collaborating have brought you close to each other. they consist of drinking and deep talks, along with some actual work. he takes the pictures, you do the writing. you’ve been told you make a lovely pair.

peter says it himself, too. you’d like to believe he means it as more than coworkers. he’s so caring, and smart, and pure, and peter. yeah, you like him an awful lot. you can hardly stand the feeling of it sometimes.

the fact that you you haven’t come clean already is ridiculous.

“goddamn. not again,” you mutter out. “em, you better come look at this. it’s bad.” mj wheels over to you in her chair with a puzzled look. her eyes follow yours, landing on your computer. “leeds just sent this? to everyone?” she questions, your reply a short hum. you’re both staring daggers at the email your screen displays.

ned is responsible for assigning each journalist their own topics to cover. he’s been lacking a bit recently, having you write up think pieces on fluffy things. in other words, stuff that no one cares about. he asked you to compare oat milk and almond milk just last week. you’d hoped this week would be better, but here you are.

“this is ass. who does he think we are, buzzfeed?” mj scoffs at her own words. the daily bugle prides itself on being a reliable news source, on paper and tv. you’re starting to stoop down to the low level of your competitors. “he assigned me some tiktok dance trend. i’m not writing a single word about that app.” she sets her elbows down on the table, head in her hands.

“aw, why not? grandma mj isn’t down with the kids?” you tease and click out of the upsetting email. “i don’t write for kids,” mj deadpans. she pushes her glasses up on her nose. “what’d you get?” “the evolution of memes,” you gloomily reply. you’re surprised norman has been approving these topics. then again, ned is the head editor. he can do whatever he wants regardless of approval.

mj glares over at the kitchen, where betty brant currently resides. she’s making two hot chocolates instead of her usual one. “i blame her,” mj mumbles to you. your eyebrows furrow. “dude, what? betty is an angel. she doesn’t even work in editing.” betty is the bugle’s highest rated anchorwoman. her and her news team are on people’s televisions every night.

“no, but she has been spending a generous amount of time with leeds,” mj grumbles. she’s admittedly very nosy. the upside is that she tells you any juicy office drama there is. “my theory is betty’s making him give us crap stories so she can report the good ones.” she glances over at you to see what you think. “no way. that can’t be allowed... or legal,” you laugh back.

as if on cue, ned appears next to betty in the kitchen. he takes the extra hot coco that’s piled high with whipped cream. betty tucks a sheet of paper into his suit pocket and kisses his cheek, then he’s gone. you can only gasp as you watch this unfold. what has she done to poor, clueless ned?

“not such an angel anymore, huh?” mj smirks in satisfaction. “suddenly, she has red horns and a pitchfork,” you bitterly agree with your tongue in your cheek. betty waves to you two on her way back to broadcasting. mj gives her a fake nice finger wave, you ignoring her. “we can’t sit back and let this happen, em. we have to do something,” you decide. “let’s tell norman.”

uninterested, mj takes off her glasses and starts to clean them. “like he’ll believe us. yeah, golden girl betty brant is sabotaging the writer’s room,” she rewords her previous statement to put its stupidity in perspective. you throw your hands up. “she is, though! we literally watched it happen!” mj puts her freshly wiped glasses back on and sighs.

“i doubt norman would care, y/n. every newspaper to ever exist is corrupt somehow.” your pessimistic old pal has a point. however, you’re not so willing to accept it. “why can’t we be the first one that isn’t?” you offer a small smile. mj snickers, wheeling back to her own computer. “those are words of the innocent.” she’s already tapping her fingers across the keyboard.

“i thought you weren’t doing the tiktok piece,” you say under your breath. you’re slightly pissed mj turned you down, since she’s the reason you know about betty’s meddling. “i’m not,” mj answers sharply. “i’m gonna email quentin and ask if we can change our topics. happy?” quentin beck is another editor in the building. he’s not bad, but he is intimidating. no one typically goes to him as their first option.

“i’m thrilled,” you confirm and grin at mj to emphasize it. “thanks for stepping up. you’re forgiven.” “i didn’t realize i had to be sorry,” mj notes, this time in a playful manor. she shakes her head as she begins writing. “you and your morals.”

what you value most in your career is honesty, under any circumstances. of course, the other daily bugle writers are the same. norman strictly prohibits clickbait and crazy headlines because that isn’t real news. you leave that to companies like buzzfeed. you’re honest in the sense that you say whatever has to be said, what everyone else is too afraid to. you’ll speak your truth no matter who tries to stop you.

it didn’t used to be that way. there’s some childhood trauma that remains deep in the back of your mind. you’ve left that behind you now, having over a decade to cope with it. hey, they say the past is in the past. what’s important is your takeaway, that you would never let yourself or anyone else be silenced from there on out. never again.

quentin ends up giving you the okay to write different stories. he lets you and mj choose choose your own because he’s got “better things to do” and you’re “big girls.” what a peach he is. mj goes with how capitalism is continuing to provoke global warming. she has something to say about every major world issue, and you admire the hell out of her for it.

you’re a bit stuck when it’s time to write your article. it’s terribly ironic because you pushed for this. you aren’t too worried, though. the city is crawling with material, so you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually. lucky for you, some much needed inspiration comes skipping out of the elevator.

“morning, peter,” you hear liz greet him at the front desk. she’s your floor’s receptionist. her wisdom and patience keep this place going. “hi, liz. how’s it going?” he asks. “things have been quiet... mostly. can i do anything for you?” liz peers up at him. peter sports a shy smile. “uh, yeah. mr. osborn wanted to see me?” “right. hang on.” she nods, dialing his office phone number.

it’s endearing how peter calls him mr. osborn, seeing as the rest of you go with norman. he’s probably the politest guy you’ve ever met.

grinning, liz puts down the phone. “you can go in whenever you’re ready. good luck!” peter laughs nervously and turns to leave. “thanks, you too.” his face falls when he realizes his mistake. “wait, i- i didn’t mean to say that. that was stupid. you’re not-“ “it’s fine, peter,” liz reassures him. his anxiety makes him trip over his words sometimes. that, and he’s a bit dorky in general. you find it rather adorable.

you also wonder what exactly he needs good luck for. he’s not even supposed to be working today, so your curiosity as to what’s going on has been piqued.

“um, i’m gonna go now. bye!” peter rushes off, his face tinted pink from the embarrassing encounter. you’re hoping he’ll stop and talk with you for a little while, but he heads straight to norman’s office. your whole body deflates at that. mj notices from her peripherals.

“what’s the matter? missing your hubby?” she coos, her words dripping in sarcasm. “no,” you lie. “i’m... i don’t know what to write about.” ok, there’s some truth. mj gives you a couple pats on the shoulder. “ask parker for help. you two work... well together. don’t you?” this must be the zillionth time you’ve heard that.

“we do,” you murmur and glance at norman’s closed door. peter is hidden behind it. “i just don’t wanna bug him. he has finals soon, and whatever norman is putting him up to. it’s my job, anyway.” mj pokes your arm. “those sound like excuses to me,” she concludes, still jabbing at you childishly. “you really just don’t wanna tell him you like-“

“can you keep it down?” you hiss, yanking your arm back. “he’s literally right over there.” peter stands up and shakes norman’s hand. you catch it through the blinds on his window. “y/n, you were drooling over his mere presence only minutes ago,” mj prefaces, a smile pulling at her lips. “you can handle three little words. i like you, that’s it. spit it out already.”

you’ll never admit this to mj, but she’s right. you lost your momentum after your first failed attempt to say the three little words. you’re still not sure what stopped you. you’d shared the details of that faithful night with her, and she’s been pushing you to try again since.

the door to norman’s office opens, and out walks peter. he’s beaming after their conversation, which seems like a good sign. harry passes peter on his way in to pay his dad a visit. he claps him on the shoulder, peter happily accepting before continuing his stride back into the main office. it takes a moment to register that he’s coming towards you.

you quickly set your focus back on your computer so he doesn’t think you’ve been watching him. even though, you definitely have.

“y/n!” peter calls your name. he’s on the opposite side of your table, in front of you. “peter!” you match his tone. “i was just dropping by. i thought i’d say hey while i’m here.” he’s still grinning. “what’re you doing?” he looks cute as ever in an oversized and cream colored sweater. his curls are slicked back with a tad too much product, cheeks rosy. you gaze up at him when he rests his arms on the table.

“pretending to be productive,” mj answers for you, pressing her lips together. peter cocks his head to the side. “pretending?” “ignore her. she’s being a shit stirrer today,” you explain. “like every other day,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you. mj just tuts and keeps writing. “talk about me like i’m not here,” she mumbles to herself, then gets back into her article.

“anyways, i thought you didn’t work today?” you ask to take the attention off yourself. also, because you’re curious. “oh! get this.” peter perks up even more, if that’s possible. he has energy like no other. “you know alex in broadcasting? betty’s camera guy?” “what about him?” you wonder. “he called in sick earlier this morning, with the flu or something.” he’s oddly excited to announce this. that prompts you to make a funny face.

biting back another smile, peter elaborates. “mr. osborn needed someone to fill in for him, so he picked me. i’ll be here all week.” it makes sense, since peter knows how to work a camera and does so wonderfully. you give him a celebratory push at his chest. “peter, that’s amazing! this is the perfect way to transition from pictures to film, right?” he’s nearing his finals at school, which consist of more movie-like projects. the news will be great practice.

then, he’s off to hollywood. you’ll put that out of your mind for now.

“exactly! i think it’ll be a good place to start. the pay isn’t bad either.” peter wiggles his eyebrows at you, you giggling once again. you do a lot of that when he’s around. that’s going to be more often now. “plus, i get to see you. everyone wins.” he squeezes your hand that was just on him. your heart begins to thump. “except alex,” you challenge, playing with his fingers. “but, for real. i’m happy you get to do this and that we’ll be spending more time together.”

“thanks, y/n/n. me too.” peter grins and leans over, taking a peek at your computer screen. there’s a blank word document on it. “you never told me what you’re up to,” he chuckles. “guess mj was right... nothing.” “i’m always right,” she chimes in from next to you. you look between the two of them with a scowl. “i haven’t found my story yet. i don’t know, this never happens.” peter nods as you share your dilemma. “no good ideas are coming to me,” you murmur.

“they will. you have a way of attracting things.” he licks his lower lip, your heart completely stopping this time. “well, i gotta go set up for rise and shine with betty brant.” he waves his hand like he’s presenting his words. that’s what betty calls her morning news segment. “be careful with her. she’s being really sketchy these days,” you warn peter, mj grunting in agreement.

confused, peter purses his lips. “really? ned says she’s a sweetheart. they’ve been going out for a while.” mj pops her head up and adjusts her glasses. “did ned also tell you she’s bribing him to give her all of our scoops?” she’s asking rhetorically because she already knows the answer. of course he didn’t. “it’s one thing to not like her. you’re just making things up now,” peter huffs.

mj kicks your foot under the table. “i told you no one would believe us. not even peter gullible parker.” “it’s benjamin,” he corrects her. “whatever,” she brushes it off, resuming her work.

peter does tend to be sort of naive, to only see the good in things when there’s plenty of bad. you’re the same in that way, unless you hang around mj for too long.

“is that true? betty’s stealing your stories?” peter turns to you and asks. you gesture to your screen. “i don’t have one, so you do the math.” he hums sympathetically. he’ll listen to you, never mj. “i’m sorry. thanks for telling me, y/n. i’ll watch out for her.” he bends his fingers to look like goggles, putting them around his eyes. you sigh lightheartedly.

“are you twenty two years old or twelve?” mj remarks, but not without a comeback from peter. “you’re, like, eighty five. worry about that.” they’ve had this type of banter for as long as you’ve known them. it’s equal parts amusing and exhausting. “don’t be late on your first day.” you snap peter out of it with a knowing smile. he returns it.

“i hope something crazy happens so you can write about it.” he’s walking backwards now, towards the elevator. “see you later, pete,” is all you say back, yet another laugh threatening to escape you. “see you. bye, michelle,” peter says just to bug her. “it’s mj,” she groans without looking up. he shrugs. “not so fun, is it?”

after peter is gone, you try to get back into work. or rather, you try to start your work. what he said about you having a way of attracting things keeps ringing in your head. was he flirting? no, he couldn’t have been. peter parker doesn’t flirt. words aren’t his strong suit, and you have countless memories that prove this to be true. earlier with liz, for example.

you’re probably reading way into this. peter was simply doing what any good friend would do and gave you advice.

it’s late in the afternoon when anything worth mentioning happens again. peter is still with betty, as far as you know. they’re probably preparing for the nighttime news now. all you’ve done since seeing him is nibble on snacks and bug mj, who’s almost done with her story despite your distractions. this is really bad, considering your deadline to submit is at the end of today.

you’ve never missed a deadline.

mj emails her work to quentin while you repeatedly bang your head on the table. she hits send before deciding to entertain you. “whatcha doing over there?” she cautiously prompts, powering off her computer. “trying to get an idea. i’m desperate, if you couldn’t tell.” your voice is muffled. “i could.” mj grabs your shoulders and pulls you back so you’re sitting up. you childishly pout.

“y/n, the only thing that’s gonna give you is brain damage,” mj says sternly, then softens her tone. “why don’t you ask for an extension? norman gives me them all the time.” whining, you slump down in your chair again. “yeah, but you’re you! we do things differently, have different expectations put on us.” she’s back to cold mj after you say that. “alright. at least i did something today besides pine over that little-“

mj’s insult for peter is interrupted by harry. “ladies, what’s shaking?” he comes up to you two with a the hint of smirk on his face. you manage a nod to acknowledge him. “oh, hey... harry,” mj unenthusiastically replies. she’s the one person who isn’t really a fan of him. “not much. y/n was just having a tantrum.” “she was not,” you dismiss her. “it’s work stuff. you know your dad.”

harry clicks his tongue in a teasing way. “yep, the grind never stops in this joint. boss man is...” he does the sign for cuckoo with his finger. you laugh a little at that. “in a good way,” you add on. mj only watches you two, blinking blankly. harry gives you a definitive pat on the back. “before i forget, he wants to see you.” that gets mj talking. “norman?” she questions. “your dad?” you choke out at the same time.

“who else? he said you two have to talk.” harry flashes you a weary smile. “have fun in there, old sport.” you’re too busy biting the skin off your bottom lip to respond. “mhm... she will,” mj speaks on your behalf. even she sounds worried. saluting you both, harry leaves to go pester your other colleagues. you’re completely and totally fucked.

“that’s it for me!” you grin sarcastically, freaked out by harry. “i’m fired, aren’t i? i’m definitely about to get fired, and it’s all because-“ “relax!” mj cuts off your rambling. she reaches down and grasps at your wrists. “get it together, y/l/n. you’re the best we have, okay? you aren’t going anywhere.” your grin becomes a frown. “then why does norman wanna talk to me? and, why don’t i have a story?”

mj always has the answers, but this time is the execption. she lets out a breath. “i don’t know. you’ll go find out and tell me what happens.” there’s no use protesting. you’re going to have to face whatever you’re about to at some point. “ok,” you give in, defeated. “i’ll be back soon, i hope.”

the walk to norman’s office feels like a walk of shame. mj can do nothing but sit back and observe it. if this ends the way you think it will, you’ll be collecting your things and won’t ever return. norman is a kind man, and he’s usually pretty understanding. he doesn’t mind the workplace shenanigans as long as you get your job done. unfortunately, you haven’t today.

you hear your boss’s booming voice when you approach his door. inhaling deep, you knock on it, and the room goes silent. “come in,” norman responds after a few seconds. mustering up a smile, you open the door to be met with your doom. “hi, am i interrupting something?” you check. “not at all! you’re just the person i wanted to see. sit, sit,” he beckons you over. he’s not using his angry voice, so maybe you’re in the clear. you enter the room as told.

you’re shocked to see a terrified peter is already in one of the chairs. he visibly relaxes a bit now that you’re here. what the hell is happening? whatever you were expecting, this was the last thing.

taking the armchair next to peter, you sit facing norman’s desk. you nudge his arm to get his attention. his big brown eyes lock with yours. “what’s going on?” you whisper. “no idea,” peter whispers back. the two of you turn to norman again when he claps his hands. he’s plopped down into his cushy leather seat.

“so,” he begins, gaze flicking from peter to you. “you kids know why you’re here?” “is it because i missed my deadline?” you blurt out. you’re once again a nervous wreck. peter doesn’t speak, just winces. “not that. although, i did hear from ned that you turned down his assignment.” norman flicks at a post-it on his desk. “i asked quentin for one instead. me and mj,” you explain, peter’s eyes going wide.

“you talked to quentin? that guy’s bad news,” he murmurs to you. “how so?” norman questions, since it’s his employee. “he- he, um,” peter clears his throat before answering, “he’s super critical, you know? hates all my pictures.” “i love your pictures,” you assure him, the corners of his lips turning up. “your style is so cool. yeah, though. quentin’s pretty bitter.”

considering this, norman drums his fingers on the desk. “i’ll look into that. but, that isn’t why you’re here. i’m letting you off the hook this time.” your whole demeanor changes and a huge weight lifts off of you. “really? you are?” “i have a scoop of my own that i want you to cover,” he continues, peter bumping your knee happily. a toothy grin takes over your face.

“since peter will be sticking around for a while, i want him to join you.” norman waits a beat in case you have any questions. it’s been a minute since you last worked together. peter laughs in disbelief. “you want me to take over for alex and do this?” norman nods proudly. “y/n will need the extra hands, if you have them.” “yes, sir. i do,” peter immediately confirms. “my last class is next thursday, so i have the time.”

“wait, so you’re almost done? that’s awesome!” you bump peter’s knee this time. “yup, all that’s left is finals... and studying.” he mindlessly takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. you’re enjoying his gentle touches. “thank you so much, norman. seriously, i appreciate this a lot,” you tell him and mean it. “hey, no problem,” he chuckles at your eagerness. you grip peter’s hand tighter.

“what’s the story?” “ah, yes. the most important part,” norman starts, peter sharing an excited look with you. “how familiar are you two with spider-man?” his excitement fades at the question posed. it’s unbeknownst to you, caught up in the moment. “uh, same as everyone else, i guess,” you casually reply. “how come?” “he’s your subject.” norman points at you both. “you’re gonna study him over these next few months.”

peter’s hand goes limp in yours, and he gulps hard, throat feeling dry. “you mean, like, an exposé?” “no, no. there will be no exposing,” norman clarifies. “i’m sure he wears the mask for a reason.” that settles peter only slightly. you’re not sure why he’s so tense all of a sudden. “what’s our aim here, then?” you steer the conversation.

“see what new york’s favorite hero gets up to every day, how his life is beyond the crime fighting,” norman further describes your task. peter exhales a shaky breath, shifting away from you in his seat. the golden sun hits his face and reveals a bead of sweat dripping down it. you stare at his figure in worry. “you okay, peter?” “fine. i’m just... hot,” he murmurs back. his sweater does look pretty heavy, so you concede.

getting back to norman’s story, you grimace at the idea. “do you really think people will want to read that? for lack of a better term, it sounds kind of...” you pause. “basic.” “i thought the same thing at first,” he surprisingly agrees with you. “harry pitched the idea to me this morning. you won’t believe it! the other night, he caught spider-man hanging outside his window.”

“harry... harry saw him?” peter squeaks out. he uses the wool material that feels like it’s swallowing him to dab at his forehead. “he stopped on his balcony. must have been pretty late, the kid’s a night owl,” norman says about his son. your face lights up as you listen to him. “he took some shots of spidey in action, when he swung off. i saw a few. they were pretty great.” he’s grinning at his son’s success.

“maybe he’ll get into photography with you, pete,” norman suggests. peter gives him a weak smile in return. “we’d be happy to have him.” he usually has a lot more to say about his career than that. his behavior is starting to genuinely concern you. “anyway,” norman gets back on topic, “it got me thinking. how much do we really know about this guy? we’re supposed to blindly put our trust in him?”

you’re beginning to see the appeal now. you’ve written your share of pieces on the avengers and their methods, tackling the same questions norman just asked you. spider-man shouldn’t be overlooked, especially when he operates so close to your home. this could be another revolutionary superhero story in the making. and, you get to bring peter along for the ride.

“you know what? this has a lot of potential,” you smile at norman, then peter. he has his phone in his lap, fingers flying across the screen. it must be something important. you’ll discuss with norman while he takes care of that. “we could make it a weekly thing, about spider-man’s adventures. find out what we can about the man behind the mask...” peter shoots up in his seat. “without taking it off,” you finish, putting his mind at ease.

“see, i knew you were gonna love it! it was a blessing in disguise, you missing that deadline.” norman bangs his fist on the table with a hearty laugh. “what do you say, peter? you still in?” peter slips his phone back in his pocket. his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “oh, of course. i can’t wait to work with you, y/n/n,” he speaks in a monotone voice, adding on, “again.”

something is definitely bothering him, and it isn’t the weather.

“i gotta go. betty needs me upstairs, so,” peter moves to get up, his body stiff. you assume that’s who he was texting. “thank you again, mr. osborn.” he’s rushing out of the room just like that, until you call after him. “um, don’t you wanna set a time to meet up? so we can get started?” you reasonably ask. “i... i really gotta go. find me later,” peter tells you, giving you both a tight lipped smile and running off.

“the dynamic duo is back!” norman announces to you. you’re disappointed you can’t share that sentiment with peter.

he’s absolutely booking it down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the next elevator. this is bad. this is a nightmare.

peter went from having one of his best days in a while to the worst in not even a full round of work. today started off fine, and got better when norman promoted him. it got way better when you came along. he saw your smile that makes his insides tingle, heard your laugh that’s the prettiest sound to grace his ears, held your hand that he never wants let go.

things went a bit downhill after that. betty was pushy and yelled at him a lot, demanding he only film her good angles for the segment. you and mj weren’t wrong when you told him to be careful.

later on when he saw you again, everything was okay. he was physically shaking as brad told him mr. osborn requested to see him. brad is mr. osborn’s assistant. a try-hard for sure, but good at his job. why did mr. osborn call him in? did betty complain already?

they’d been sitting in mostly silence, save for small talk until you came knocking on the door. simply being next to you was enough to ground peter and his racing thoughts. it was enough, then it wasn’t.

the whole day had gone to shit after he found out you were going to be writing stories about his alter ego. not only that, but he was helping. during the pitch, he’d texted ned to meet him in the bathroom. he was really anxious and needed a friend who understood why.

ned accidentally found out peter is spider-man last year. it’s a long story that involves peter hiding from some bad guys in the building and ned shrieking so loud the lights flickered. they’re cool now that peter talked things through with him. his secret has been kept, from what he knows.

pushing open the men’s bathroom door, peter is a mixture of sweat and ragged breaths. he’s panting from his fast descent down the staircase. he takes in his disheveled appearance using one of the mirrors. his styled hair is now damp and undone, hands trembling and palms sweaty, chest heaving. here’s his daily reminder that anxiety is not cute. as if he didn’t know.

his stupid, gigantic freaking sweater is only making things worse. it’s suffocating him. no one else is in here, so peter pulls it over his head and tosses it to the ground. he’s got a t-shirt on underneath that happens to be black. what a convenient day for him to wear the hottest material there is.

peter splashes his face with some cold water next to try and cool himself down. that doesn’t do much for him. his face still feels like it’s on fire, but now it’s wet. he takes his hands through his mop of curls, backing away from the sink.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck,” peter repeats to himself. he’s silent for a moment, then rage overcomes him. he kicks open a bathroom stall. “shit! i can’t do this. what am i supposed to-“

the door creeks open, so peter shuts up in case it isn’t ned. it thankfully is, and he wears a deep frown at the sight of his best friend. “dude, what happened? you look...” “terrible. i know,” peter finishes for him. he tugs at his locks in another attempt to tame them. ned approaches him carefully. “you’re not, like, dying... are you? because betty was telling me you have to-“ “of course you were with betty,” peter exhales in frustration. “no, ned. i’m not dying.”

in ned’s defense, the text he received was very alarming. all peter wrote was, ‘EMERGENCY. SOS.’

“i mean, yeah. it was my break.” ned sits on the ledge by the window, close to peter. “you do the same with y/n.” the mention of your name upsets peter all over again. he hides his face in his hands as ned watches. “if you’re not dying, then what’s the problem?” ned finally asks. “me and y/n...” peter removes his hands from his face, meeting ned’s worried eyes. “mr. osborn wants us to do a project together.”

“uh, peter? you’ve been saying how much you miss her forever, dude! you’re not excited?” ned snorts at him. he means well, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. “no. it’s supposed to be about spider-man,” peter answers angrily. this isn’t the support he was hoping for. realizing the severity of the situation, ned gets serious.

“oh... but, you’re still doing it?” he questions. “i didn’t have a choice,” peter scoffs out. “i can’t let either of them down.” “you’ll expose yourself!” ned escalates things further. “it’s not like that. we’re gonna follow spider-man around and post updates on him,” peter says, technically in the third person. he’s given an are you insane? look from ned.

“you are spider-man! and, no offense, but you’re not so good at hiding it,” ned refers to himself finding out. “how are you gonna be in two places at once?” damnit, peter hadn’t thought about that yet. he can’t be taking pictures of spider-man and swinging from building to building simultaneously. “i- i’ll figure it out,” peter stammers, unconvincingly.

ned looks him over in a disapproving way. “jeez. you’re really putting your life on the line for this girl-“ “woman,” peter interjects, not loving ned’s attitude towards you. “have some respect.” unfazed, ned gets up from the windowsill. “speaking of women, remember betty? you’re still on the clock,” he changes the subject. peter nearly forgot he has to go film her segment.

“i’ll head up to her now,” peter gives in. he scoops up his discarded sweater, not bothering to check his appearance again. ned follows behind him to the door. “we wrote her script together, you know,” he gladly informs peter, who already knows from you. “not really a flex,” peter mumbles his response. “peter, lighten up.” ned hits at his shoulder. the two of them exit the bathroom.

“you’ll figure this out later. i can always help.” he shoots him a sugary sweet smile. “thanks, ned. for talking with me and everything.” peter doesn’t smile back. they do a quick bro handshake, then they’re going their separate ways. “have a good show, dude!” ned yells back, to which he doesn’t get a response. peter doesn’t have it in him.

he allows himself to take the elevator back up to broadcasting. he’s so drained from the several anxiety attacks he endured. while peter waists for the elevator, he contemplates all the issues he’d better solve. it’s a relief to hear it ding because it brings him back to earth. that doesn’t last long because both you and betty are there when the door opens.

you’d each had the same idea, to find peter. unlike betty, your intentions were good. you asked liz if she saw peter leave. she told you he went downstairs, so you did also. betty was already in the elevator when it got to your stop. she was looking for him because, you guessed it, he had to record the news. the small space was filled with tension as you and betty occupied it.

“perfect. we’re going right back up,” betty beams, motioning for peter with her index finger. “hop in!” “coming,” peter does as told, going to stand between you and betty. she presses the button for your floor and theirs. the doors close. “pete?” you speak up, voice soft. “you kinda ran off earlier. i thought you were with betty.” “clearly, he wasn’t,” betty sneers.

you’re less concerned with her and more with peter. the sweater he looked so huggable in is now folded in his arms, his face splotchy and jaw clenched. he must have gotten triggered by something back in norman’s office.

“are you sure you’re okay? you... you can talk to me about it.” you take a step closer to peter, your doe eyes searching for his. he meets them with a tiny smile. at least, it’s real this time. “i’ll be fine, y/n/n. ‘s nice that you came to check on me, though.” “don’t mention it.” your arms loop around his neck and bring him into a hug. peter hugs you back by your middle, chin resting on your shoulder, breathing out in relief.

you keep your hands on his shoulders when you pull back. his stay on your sides, a lopsided grin now crossing his features. “spider-man...” you quirk an eyebrow. “how are you feeling about that?” “should be cool,” peter somehow maintains himself. “i’m mostly looking forward to doing it with you.”

listening in, betty joins the conversation. “what’s happening with spider-man? anything i should know?” her hand reaches into her bag and emerges with a notepad. does she ever think of her own content? “she’s nothing if not persistent,” you grumble to peter. chuckling, he pulls you into his chest. if he didn’t hold you back, you would’ve pounced on her.

“we’re gonna do a piece on him,” peter tells her. “you can’t copy or steal this one because it’s already been approved,” you contribute, smiling smugly as peter holds you tighter. betty is taken aback. “are you accusing me of stealing? who said i-“ “ned ratted on you... sorry,” peter says in a sing song voice. squealing, you jump away from him. “he did? we were right?”

“mj’s never wrong,” he reiterates. “mj knew about this? oh my god, i can’t believe her!” betty stomps her foot. “we got you on candid camera.” you make a clicking noise with your mouth. peter mimes taking a picture to back you up. “alright, alright. i won’t do it again,” betty mumbles, turning away from you two in annoyance.

“finally!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which peter gives you. “we really do make the best team,” he hums. your fingers intertwine with peter’s, and he lays his palm flat against yours. he prays extremely hard you don’t notice that it’s sweaty. you do, but you couldn’t care less.

“i was wondering when you’d wanna start our... research?” peter asks you, his lip between his teeth. “you were saying something earlier. maybe we could make a schedule.” “how elaborate of us that would be,” you tease. that earns a breathy laugh from peter. with a knowing smile, you put your free hand back on his shoulder.

“what are you doing tonight?”

-

peter parker taglist

@saturnpeter @tpwk-grande @itstaskeen @missyouhollnd @becicamina @dummiesshort @zspideyy @watchitimreadinghere @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @dpaccione @karispotters11 @theofficialzivadavid @thehumanistsdiary @kelieah @aayaissaa @petersgroupie @annab-nana @tayyx @swtltlmrvlgrl @magicalxdaydream @haoluvver @kjune113 @captainamirica @marvel-dork98 @emmastarz @killingbxys @viriditie @misshale21 @veryholland @liliswifts @tommydarlings @rebelemilu @peterspideysense @cr-uelsummer @dreamy-clousds @quaksonhehe @quxxnxfhxll @blackbat2020 @babyblue19 @falconxbarnes @zachary-s @dirtytissuebox @dracoswhore007 @heavenlyholland @thsquad @etheralholland @dhtomholland @awh-lilies @tomshufflepuff @multifamdomfan12

-

if i forgot you please lmk!

[nat-20s]

fill of @jonmartinweek day 6 prompt- flirting AND jealousy, though much heavier on the jealousy than the flirting. Set in a classic “season 5 jmart time travel bac to season 1″ au

~*~

“Mr. Blackwood-Sims, if I didn’t know any better, I would assume you’re trying to proposition me.”

“Mr. Sims-Blackwood, I would never. For one, neither of us are inclined towards those sorts of activities, for second, we’re both married men. What would my husband say?”

“I believe your husband would say he never specified exactly what you were propositioning, and he would be more than amenable to kissing, preferably sometime in the next few seconds.”

“Mmm, suppose I’ll have to find him and take him up on that, then. If that’s really how he feels.”

“Trust me, it most certainly is.”

Christ, would those two shut up already? Granted, it’s late enough that they probably think they’re alone in the archives, but, still. This is, technically, a work place, and Jon would’ve preferred not to have accidentally gotten an eyeful as he made his way past the open door in the breakroom. Now, the image of (supposedly) a future version of himself sitting on the couch, with (supposedly) a future version of Martin straddling his legs, using one hand to cup his face, and the other to run his hands through that Jon’s longer hair, was seared into his mind, and he hated it. Look, contrary to what people who don’t know him very well seemed to believe, he’s hardly a prude. He’s more than fine with descriptions of physical intimacy, as well as public displays of affection. If he’s being honest with himself, deep down, he doesn’t even care all that much about professionalism, especially considering it is after hours.

But of course, he’s not being honest with himself, because then he’d have to admit that it bothers him that it’s them. He doesn’t know what to call the acrid burning in the pit of his stomach, the too tight ache in his chest, that’s present whenever the fun house mirror versions of himself and Martin are besotted with each other, but he knows it’s there. It doesn’t help that he’s the only one that seems to be bothered by it, the only one that frowns at the flash of wedding rings or the orbit those two always seem to occupy around each other.

Or, no, he’s not the only one. Occasionally, while witnessing the two of them being...the Two of Them, he can’t help glancing over to Martin. Lo and behold, Martin also doesn’t look thrilled about all of this, usually skewing more towards confusion or, oddly enough, resignation. At least, that’s what Jon thinks he sees there, it’s one of the few times where he can’t fully get a read on Martin.

Still, as much as Martin might share in being somewhat perturbed, as anyone who meets their “future selves” should be, Martin doesn’t seem nearly as upset as Jon is. That brings him back to his current predicament of feeling that level of upset, but not being able to determine the root cause of it.

It is not that he’s jealous. It’s not! He does not feel a pang of envy at seeing someone who looks extremely similar to himself loving openly, and being openly loved in return. He doesn’t find his thoughts drifting to the imagined feeling of lips pressed to his temple or arms around his waist or fingers running through his hair. He certainly hasn’t looked down at his left hand and been disappointed by the fact that its bare. He doesn’t even want those things, as he’s been telling himself for a number of many lonely years. One of these days he might even believe it.

Fine. Fine. Maybe, but only maybe, there’s a part of him that’s jealous. Maybe there’s even a part of him that despairs, because try as he might he can’t connect point A to point B, can’t see the steps he would have to take to be like that other version of himself, and he knows his Martin (well, not his Martin, but..) will never look at him like that, will never see him in that light. And, damn it all, it hurts, so if they could kindly stop ru-

Oh. Wait. He can’t hear them outside his office door anymore. Huh, perhaps they-

“Knock knock.”

Startled out of his...contemplation, Jon looks up to find himself looking back. Sims is leaning against the door-frame, with mussed hair, swollen lips, and pupils blown wide. Jon loathes him and wishes to be him in equal measure. In a move he usually would’ve thought more characteristic of Tim, Sims doesn’t wait for a response, instead sitting himself across from Jon and saying, “Figured you’d still be here.”

Trying not to sound too much like he’s speaking through gritted teeth, Jon asks, “Did you now?”

Sims gives a lackadaisical shrug. “With any luck, you’re not going to become me. I not sure you can become me, at this point, diverging paths and all that. However, we do share the first 28 years of our lives, and I certainly didn’t believe in the concept of a work life balance, so why would you?”

“Is there something you wanted?”

“Yes, actually. I want you to ask out Martin, your moping is getting insufferable, and considering how much of our misery has been entirely outside of our control, you shouldn’t put up with what is in your power to fix.”

Jon blinks. Jon processes. Jon stammers. “I-what?! I am not, you can’t just-. Martin doesn’t even like me, and if you really were the same person as me, you know I’m not all that keen on him either.”

“Uh-huh. Is that why you can’t stop thinking about his hands?”

“I do no-”

Sims puts a hand up in surrender, though the smirk doesn’t entirely drop. “Sorry, sorry, I know that’s rather unhelpful. What I mean is, you’re already loved, right now, as you are. No, that love is not coming from Martin, but it could be,t because he doesn’t dislike you.  He doesn’t know you, because you have done everything in your power to make sure he doesn’t. You also don’t know him, even though you’re interested in him, because you’ve been trying not to be. It’s stupid. Get to know each other. It’ll probably work out.”

“I...is that how you did it? Because this seems like an objectively terrible idea.”

Sims snorts. “God, no. It took a coma before I was able to untangle my own feelings. The whole point is that you won’t have to take the same looping, painful path that I did.”

Jon wants to reject it outright, almost does, and yet. “Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really. Why?’

“Nothing, just. We’re usually a more stubborn on these sorts of things. I was expecting more of a fight.”

“Mm. Normally, I would be, but I’ve been forced to watch two rather obvious proof of concepts waltzing around in front of me, and agreeing will hopefully get you the hell out of my office.”

Sims studies him for a moment, then a surprised smile spreads on his face. “All right then.”

Jon makes a dismissive hand wave, and Sims obliges, and he spends the rest of the night trying not to think about what he’s agreed to.

~*~

The next day, about half an hour before the end of the work day, Jon calls Martin into his office. From his tight shoulders and carefully blank expression, it’s clear Martin very much does not want to be there. Great. This is going to go so well.

Jon gestures for him to sit, Martin does, and he dives in. “As we both now know, I don’t have the ability to fire you. In all reality, even though I am, on paper, your boss, I truly don’t have any power or authority over you.”

Martin leans back in his seat, letting a heavy pause fall between them before saying a stilted, “Okay?”

“So, I want you to know that I am about to ask you a question, and you have complete freedom and choice over your response, without fear of any negative consequences. Alright?”

“Um. Sure.”

Jon takes a breath, slowly lets it out, and bites the bullet. “Would you like to get dinner sometime?”

Martin stares. Then he squints. Then he studies. “Oh. Jon, you...we’re not them, you know that, right?”

“I’m aware.”

“So..why?”

Jon lets out a sigh, and tries to gather his thoughts in a way that makes sense to either of them. “Well, though I myself have some trouble with the concept, they’re not..entirely removed from who we are, and there’s enough foundation there that I have reason to believe we might...get on? Maybe we don’t, maybe we end up being friends, maybe we end up like them. That’s already enough to pique my own curiosity, but, alternate future versions of us aside, I mostly would just like to get to know more about you, and I’m hoping you might like to get to know me better as well.”

Martin’s shoulders relax, and he chews on his bottom lip for a moment before replying, “Okay. Yeah, why not?”

“Oh. Oh! Great! Does this Saturday work for you?”

“Works perfectly. Let’s give a shot.”

The first date is..fine. A Bit of a mess, but fine. The second date, however, is the best Jon’s ever been on. It’s so wonderful, in fact, that he doesn’t even mind when he catches Blackwood passing a fiver to Sims the day he can’t stop smiling at work.

[mviswidow]

my girlfriend’s got a gun

Fallon Carrington x Reader

Word Count: 2,185

Warnings: gun

Prompt: Maybe one where we're Fallon's girlfriend, but also at the same time her bodyguard/personal assistant to keep up a facade since she doesn't want anyone to know about the reader. - @another-fantasy-world​

Summary: Three scenes of Fallon and R dating.

“I don’t want to see that happening anymore. If I have to ask you again you’ll be fired,” Mr. Carrington said peremptorily. 

You nodded your head, clutching the iPad in your arms tighter to keep yourself from fidgeting, “Of course, Mr-”

“Excuse me?”

Your shoulders relaxed the slightest bit when you heard the voice of your girlfriend, her heels clicking on the floor until she was standing beside you, a few feet away, “Why are you trying to fire my PA?”

“Fallon, she comes out in almost every single one of the photos that the press takes of you. She is not your babysitter. It’s ridiculous, a quarter of the articles that have been written about you in the past five months have been speculating that the reason you broke up with Michael was because (Y/n) drove you apart and-”

“What is your point, Daddy?” Fallon challenged, her arms crossed. “She’s my personal assistant, her entire job is following me around.”

“Going to clubs, parties, and galas with you is not in her job description,” He said, jaw clenched and brow furrowed. “She doesn’t need to be there.”

You felt uneasy, the two of them talking about you as if you weren't even there.

“No, but I want her there. There’s no harm in befriending your staff,” Fallon said simply, eyebrows raised, as if she wanted him to argue with her because she knew she would win.

“Fallon-”

“I’m the one who gives her a paycheck, so it isn’t up to you. I’m not having this conversation again,” She left Blake with no room to say anything else, her eyes flicking to you for a moment. “(Y/n), go get me a coffee and come up to my room so we can discuss the schedule for this weekend.”

“Yes, Ms Carrington,” you nodded, taking your leave before either of them could say anything more to you or each other.

You made it to Fallon’s room five minutes later. You’d taken a bit longer in the kitchen because you had to bug one of the chefs so they would give you a croissant for Fallon.

You knocked on the door with your knuckles, waited two seconds, and then opened the door to see Fallon in one of the lounge chairs in the corner of her room, doing something on her phone, “You took a long time to get here,” She said without looking up.

“Sorry, I was getting you a croissant,” You walked over and placed the plate on the low table that stood in between the two chairs before taking your usual seat from when the two of you went over her schedule, on her bed bench that was at the foot of her bed.

Fallon slid her phone underneath one of her thighs and smiled softly at you as she took the plate into her lap so she could eat the baked good, “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” You shook your head with a small blush spreading on your cheeks from the way that she looked at you, unlocking your iPad and pulling up the schedule. “Your father has two meetings scheduled for you this weekend, one Saturday and one Sunday-” “Cancel the one on Sunday, he knows I don’t take more than one meeting during the weekend unless it’s urgent,” She interrupted before taking a bite out of her croissant.

“Okay, Sam requested that I add ‘go to the mall with Sam’ on your schedule, so I fit it after the meeting on Saturday, but of course, if you want it to be cancelled I can always do that. Steven asked that I make a dinner reservation for him, you, and Sam, for the Seafood Room on Saturday night-”

Fallon interrupted you, once again, with noises of protest as she tried to swallow the bit of croissant she had in her mouth quickly, “Not happening, you know Saturday night is our night.”

“I know, but you haven’t gone out to dinner with them in two months, and besides it’s almost Steven’s birthday.”

“I don’t care, cancel the reservation,” Fallon said sternly, placing the plate back on the table once she had finished crossing her legs at the ankles.

You sighed and nodded, “Alright, and finally, Sunday is the banquet for the children’s organization I told you about on Monday.”

Fallon’s eyebrows furrowed at the way you said it, “But?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go with you,” You bit the inside of your lip, nervous for the reaction she was going to have.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, “You have to stop letting my father get to you.”

“He’s right though,” You shook your head, opening a tab to search up her name. “Look, there’s articles about us all over the internet.”

“When will you learn that I don’t give a damn about what the press says? I’ve been scrutinized by them since I was a child, I can handle it. I don’t care if they call me lonely and desperate or if they say that you’re trying to ‘befriend’ me for money or whatever it is they’re coming up with.”

“You read that one?” You asked, a wince on your features.

Fallon sighed, looking between your eyes before standing up and going to sit beside you, taking the iPad from your hands and putting it behind her so she could take one of your hands in her own, “Do the articles bother you?”

You bit the inside of your lip again, nervous habit, before speaking, “Kind of.”

“Okay,” Fallon nodded, trying to think of a solution. “I know you aren’t used to this stuff and keeping us a secret is probably really stressful for you... If doing this - us, is too much, I understand-”

You frowned and shook your head, tears pooling in your eyes at the idea of what she was trying to say, “No, I love you, I love us. Stupid articles are nothing, I can ignore them.”

“I don’t want you upset over this stuff, baby,” Fallon frowned a bit and reached the hand she wasn’t holding yours with up to cup your cheek, running her finger along your cheekbone. “Although I don’t exactly think you should be reading these articles, I know you do whatever you want, but if you read one that bothers you, you come to me and I’ll make the calls I need to get it taken down, okay?”

“Yes, darling,” You smiled softly and nodded, leaning into her hand.

Fallon smiled, “For now I rather enjoy no one knowing about us. It’s so private and I guess it feels more intimate in a way? But, I do eventually want to announce that we’re dating, so I want to tackle these issues now so you’re hopefully much more comfortable in the future.”

“Really?”

“Of course, baby,” She smiled softly and leaned forward to kiss you languidly.

You sighed into the kiss before she pulled away slowly and kissed the corner of your mouth before sitting back, “So, I’m either going with you, or I’m not going at all. It’s a shame that all those children will have to suffer the consequences of your decision,” She said, making a face.

You rolled your eyes, and ducked your head to hide your smile, “Fine, I’ll go, asshole.”

Fallon grinned and clapped her hands, she had known she was going to get her way, but was happy that you weren’t miserable about it, “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, my love.”

------

Your brow furrowed when you got a call from Fallon at around 5:30 while you were out running an errand for her. She was supposed to be in a late meeting with her father, Jeff Coulby, and a few investors for Carrington Atlantic, an odd and dangerous mix of people.

You answered the call and heard it connect to the bluetooth of the car, “Hello?”

“Can you come get me? Please,” Fallon asked, her voice sounding a bit shaky on the other line.

“Yes, of course, where are you?”

...

You pulled into a parking spot on the side of the road of the address Fallon gave you, “Okay, I’m here, babe. Can I hang up now?”

Fallon let out an ‘mhm’ and ended the call, and it took you 30 seconds to see her walking out from between two buildings towards your car, which you unlocked and waited for her to get into the passenger seat and close the door before you spoke.

“Are you okay?” You asked, outstretching your hand and tilting her head towards yours when she wouldn’t look at you.

“‘M fine,” She nodded, her eyes watering.

“Okay I get that you didn’t want to talk about it over the phone but don’t think for a second that I’m believing that crap. You look like a kicked puppy.”

She groaned and closed her eyes for a moment, “There were no investors. Just Daddy and Jeff-”

“Hold on, since when do they tolerate each other?” You asked, resting a hand on her knee.

“I don’t know but they apparently do now. Or at least, when it’s convenient,” You could almost hear her roll her eyes as you turned forward again to pull out of your parking space.

“What did they do?” You urged her on and took your hand off her leg to put it on the center console, but she quickly grabbed it and laced her fingers with yours before putting your hand in her lap.

“They cornered me about something I leaked to the press, not Crystal related this time, and- the whole thing was really embarrassing, I don’t really want to get into it right now.”

You squeezed her hand gently and nodded, “Okay, that’s perfectly fine. Though I have to say I had no idea you leaked something, I haven’t checked any articles in like, two days.”

Fallon chuckled, “Oh boy, just wait til you read these.”

------

“Screw you, I’m not going anywhere. I need to talk to you about the C-R-A-Z- why does the crazy lady have a gun?” Fallon asked, her jaw slack.

You were on your way to follow Fallon into the dining room, but stopped when you heard what was going on. You turned on your heel, quickly and quietly walking towards where you knew Fallon kept her gun.

“She’s not crazy, she’s been faking her brain injury,” Crystal replied calmly.

“Why fake such a miserable life? Actually- that’s a rhetorical question. I think I know exactly why. I think you’ve been faking lots of things.”

“Sit down,” Claudia said, gun pointed at Fallon.

“You never had a brain injury, did you Claudia?” Fallon asked, shaking her head.

“Of course I did, I almost died,” She said quickly.

“That’s true, she and Mathew were in a terrible car accident,” Steven interjected.

Crystal cut in, too, “I remember it.”

“I bet,” Claudia spat before turning her head back to Fallon. “That was the night I found out he was cheating on me, I just didn’t know who the other woman was.”

“All you knew was that one minute your husband was cheating, the next he wasn’t going anywhere because he had to take care of you, and then you got better,” Fallon said with a raised eyebrow.

...

When you got close enough again to be able to hear, you heard Fallon speaking, “Girls can be engineers, too, Dad. When I was a kid I told you I wanted to be one so you introduced me to Mathew, who told me his wife was an engineer. That was before your accident, of course.”

You smiled to yourself as you listened, God you loved her. You clicked the safety of her handgun off, just waiting for the right moment to come in.

“You killed him, you killed Mathew,” You heard Crystal say.

“No, I loved him. You killed him,” Claudia replied, which made you furrow your brow and you almost let out a scoff at how ridiculous this lady was. “He told me he was leaving me even though I was sick.”

“Even though you were faking it,” Fallon corrected.

“He didn’t know that. You took him from me, and once this snake ran me over, I saw my chance to do something about it-”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” You said, stepping into the room, the barrel of the gun pointed straight at Claudia, using one hand to aim and the other hand used to steady the gun, just like Fallon taught you. “but I think you guys have let her pity party run for too long.”

And with that, Claudia faltered and you took your shot, shooting the gun right out of her hand before giving Fallon her gun, “I think this is for you.” Fallon smiled proudly and took it, taking her aim at Claudia, who was not left defenseless, “I wouldn’t try anything,” She said with a smirk once she saw Crystal pick up the gun Claudia had been pointing at her. “Not sure if you’ll be able to pull it off as well as you pulled off the brain injury.”