#just confused and vaguely disappointed on why you feel like you need to argue with a nobody on tumblr about this

[rfsak2]

Y’all are the fuckin’ best. I love all of y’all so very much. Please continue to leave me comments and likes. Let me know if I can do anything for you!

Onward!

Spitfire, Pt. 3

Everyone always thought Daryl was the rough one. DarylxOC

Warnings: violence, lots of bad language words, discussion of r*** and the a**** of children.

Part 2

**

Rick unrolled the small cache of weapons Carl had found the day before. “Everybody takes a weapon.”

“These aren’t the kind of weapons we need.” Andrea set a hand on her hip. “What about the guns?”

“We been over that?” Shane huffed. “Daryl, Mitzi, Rick and I are carrying. We can’t have people popping off rounds every time a tree rustles.”

“It’s not the trees I��m worried about.”

Mitzi arched a brow. “Might as well be. Walkers do not think, do not strategize. We just need to stay quiet and smart. Guns are not quiet and guns in untrained hands are not smart.”

Andrea bit the inside of her cheek. “How is it smart to go out there without guns?”

Mitzi rolled her eyes. “Because you don’t need a gun for a single walker. It’s a waste of ammo. Using a knife or a machete is more practical and safer.” She turned to the rest of the group. “If you don’t feel ready to take down a walker without a gun,” Mitzi gestured around them. “Today’s the day. We can do some practical self-defense training. Practice makes perfect.”

“It’s easy for you to say we don’t need guns.” Andrea sucked on her teeth, gesturing at her suppressed hunting rifle. “You’re carrying a gun.”

Mitzi grinned. “A gun I won’t be using if we come across a single walker. Pinky promise.” She patted her hunting knife in its holster.

“That’s not all.” Shane scoffed. “Say somebody fires at the wrong moment, a herd happens to be passing by. See, then it’s game over for all of us. So you need to get over it.”

Andrea looked disappointed, but didn’t press the issue.

“Th’idea’s to take the creek up about five miles, turn around and come back down the other side.” Daryl nodded vaguely. “Chances are she’ll be by the creek, it’s her only landmark.”

“Stay quiet and stay sharp,” Rick added. “Keep space between you but always stay within sight of each other.”

They all nodded and Shane directed people to assemble their packs while Rick turned to Dale.

Daryl crossed to the abandoned Ford pickup behind her. He tapped Mitzi’s side as he passed and jerked his chin toward the truck.

She followed, checking the clip on her handgun as she watched Andrea and Dale argue over the CDC incident.

Daryl caught her eyes and Mitzi made a face.

“What?”

She sighed and whispered so only he could hear, holstering her pistol. “Not sayin’ either of them are right or wrong. Dale needs to mind his business and she needs to stop blaming him for her not makin’ the decision she wanted to make… Regardless, I’ll be glad when the soap opera is over.”

He nodded. “Don’t trust her with a gun.” He shrugged. “Not ‘cause wanted t’off herself neither, she’s too jumpy.”

“She thinks she’s smarter than everyone else. And maybe she is, but she can’t grasp why we don’t want everyone havin’ guns. Doesn’t sound so smart to me.” She noted.

Daryl patted her thigh and moved to lead the group down to the creek.

Carl and Lori passed by her and she reached over to ruffle his hair. When he turned to look at her, she stuck her tongue out at him.

Carl smiled and stuck his tongue out at her in return.

Lori smiled at her. “You’re good with kids.”

Mitzi huffed out a laugh. “Don’t know about that.”

“No, you are. You never really interacted with them at the old camp, but I saw you playing foozball with them at the CDC. They have fun with you.”

Mitzi shrugged. “I have younger brothers.”

Lori looked shocked and, when Mitzi looked confused, she shrugged. “I’m sorry but I just- I feel horrible, I haven’t thought about your family.”

Mitzi waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. None of us have really had time to think beyond right now.”

“How much younger than you are they?”

“Davey is seven years younger, Mikey almost fifteen.”

Lori hummed. “Your parents spaced them out.”

Mitzi sighed. “I appreciate you not assumin’.” She grinned. “We had different mothers. My dad was a dick.”

Lori chuckled slightly. “Sorry.”

Mitzi made a face, dismissing the apology. “It is what it is. They were- are still my brothers.”

“Do you know if they’re okay?”

Mitzi shook her head. “When all the stuff started comin’ up on th’news, I spoke to them. Wasn’t able to get them on the phone since then. They’re with my cousin and Will’s always been somethin’ of a prepper, so I like to think they’re alright.”

Lori smiled again, nodding. “You and Daryl, yeah?”

Mitzi frowned. “Can’t be much’a surprise.”

She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t. Y’all make sense.”

“Birds of a feather and all that.”

“That’s part of it, sure. You have some similarities in temperament. You’re both very direct, willing to help.” Lori smiled down at her. “But you two seem more at ease with each other than you are apart.”

Mitzi nodded. “As at ease as you can be.”

“Well… for that matter, you both are well-equipped for this.” She made a motion around her.

“Not much of a choice.” Mitzi tsked, making a face. “Die or do not. I can say for my part, that this is exhausting. And it’s not sustainable. I’m trained to do it, sure. Spend the majority of a six or eight-month long deployment moving from place to place, hiding out in the wild, but-“ she whistled.

Lori nodded. “I agr-“

Mitzi held up a finger and pointed behind them, where Carl was speaking with Shane.

Lori reached out and motioned Carl in front of her, between her and Mitzi. “Gotta keep up.”

Carl sighed heavily. “I am.”

Mitzi glanced at Lori and then back at Shane. She caught Lori’s eye and whispered, ‘Dick.’

Lori took a deep breath and addressed Carl. “You okay?”

Carl hung his head. “I think Shane’s mad at me. Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Lori rubbed at his back. “No, honey I promise you. He’s just worried about Sophia is all. Come on.”

Mitzi nodded. “Sometimes worry makes adults jerks. Sure he didn’t mean anythin’ by it. You wanna show me your knife?”

Carl smiled up at her, passing her the little 3-inch blade Lori had let him carry. “Isn’t it cool, Ms. Mitzi?”

She nodded. “Pretty cool indeed. I’ll have to show you how to clean it later.”

Carl nodded enthusiastically and she handed it back.

“Mitzi.”

She looked up the line where Rick was motioning for her and stepped around Glenn. As she cleared Rick’s side, she saw a small tent in a copse of trees.

Daryl caught her eyes and motioned her to come closer. “Need’ya to cover the entrance as I check it.”

She nodded and passed her rifle to Rick, shooting a look at Andrea as she pulled her hunting knife from its holster.

Shane rounded the line of trees. “She could be in there.”

Daryl advanced quietly, Mitzi at his shoulder, Rick and Shane behind. “Could be a lotta things in there.”

She squatted about a foot away from the zippered door, knife in hand, while Daryl attempted to peek in the door and window.

He motioned vaguely at Rick who turned to direct Carol to call out for Sophia.

Daryl caught her eye and Mitzi raised her knife at the door when no response came.

Daryl gingerly opened the zipper, parted the flap and coughed. The smell hit Mitzi a second later.

She winced, eyes watering, but fought to keep her eyes open. Keeping her voice low, she nodded at Daryl. “Whatever’s in there is dead but it ain’t movin’.”

Daryl nodded and stepped in, emerging a moment later empty handed. “It ain’t her.”

She heard Carol’s relieved sigh and Mitzi took Daryl’s hand, allowing him to pull her to a stand.

“What’s in there?”

Daryl turned to Andrea. “Some guy. Did what Jenner said. Opted out. Ain’t that what he called it?”

He shouldered his crossbow and they all jumped when the church bells started ringing.

**

“What happened?” Mitzi was still about 15 yards away when she saw the small gaggle of group members. The anxiety in their body language reading loud and clear across the distance.

Then she saw Andrea and Dale running full speed across the field and Mitzi felt her gut drop.

“Is he dead? Is he dead?”

“What the fuck happened?” She closed the distance fast but was still a couple yards away when Rick turned and caught her eyes.

“Mitzi, stay back!”

She ignored him, arching to see what they were gathering around. She caught sight of the crossbow on the ground and froze.

“Is that Daryl?” She pushed forward.

Rick turned to her again, pulling a limp arm up over his shoulder. “Mitzi-“

“Is he…” she swallowed dryly. “Is he dead?”

Glenn turned, shaking his head and reaching for her shoulder. “No, he just passed out.”

“Passed out?” Breathing deep, she passed her rifle off to Glenn. She stepped around him and shouldered her way between Shane and Daryl’s other side, pulling his arm over her other shoulder. “What happened?”

She noticed the blood along the hem of his shirt and caught Rick’s eyes. With shaking hands, she lifted his shirt to expose his side.

She gasped when she saw the puncture wounds, the lump in her throat loosening suddenly. “He wasn’t bit.”

When no one else seemed to relax, she frowned. “What?”

She felt something on her shoulder and saw blood dripping from a cut near Daryl’s temple. She pushed his hair away from the wound and her blood boiled.

It was a bullet graze wound, clear as day.

She turned, catching Andrea’s terrified eyes. “You shot him?”

Andrea stuttered. “I thought he was a walker… I couldn’t see.”

“You couldn’t see and you still took the fuckin’ shot?” Her voice rose and she saw Andrea blanch. “Are you fuckin’ stupid?”

Rick abruptly shifted, forcing her to take more of Daryl’s weight. Shane shifted closer to her elbow.

“I’m sorry… I was just-“

“Fuck your sorry.” Mitzi cut her off, snarling.

“I was just trying-“

“If you say that you were trying to protect the group, I’ll knock your teeth down your throat.”

“Mitzi-“ Rick crossed his arm over Daryl’s back to touch her shoulder, taking more of Daryl’s weight back. “It was an accident.”

“A fuckin’ avoidable one. You two bozos keep coddlin’ her fuckin’ feelin’s and now y’see where it gets us.” She shifted Daryl’s weight against hers. “Now git outta my way or help me get him to th’house.”

Rick nodded. “Glenn, grab his bow, please.”

**

“M’fine.”

She whittled a piece of wood of the branch she was holding. “I know you’re fine. If you weren’t, she-“

“Baby.” Daryl huffed out a raspy laugh. “M’fine.”

She glanced at him, rolling her eyes. “You’re lucky, stupid bitch coulda killed ya.”

“She was tryin’ to protect the camp.”

Mitzi grit her teeth and set her knife and wood down. “I know what she was tryin’ t’do. I do. But what she was tryin’ and what she did are two different things.”

“It was an accident.”

“Oh, I’m so tired of hearing’ that.” She rotated her neck, agitated. “Excuse after excuse. No one willing to sack up and tell her the truth.”

“It was an accident, Spitfire.”

“A dumb one. She shouldn’t ‘ve taken a shot she couldn’t spot. She shouldn’t ‘ve picked up a rifle when she hasn’t even been trained on the handgun.” Mitzi scoffed. “Shouldn’t ‘ve shot a lone walker.”

He conceded.

She picked at her nails. “To be honest if she helped more, if she wasn’t so fixated on doin’ the one thing she hasn’t been trained to do, I wouldn’t be so angry.”

“So it wasn’t just ‘cause she hurt me?” Daryl smirked at her. “Here I was thinkin’ you were bein’ my white knight.”

She chuckled. “Next time, I’ll leave you layin’ in the dirt.”

He smiled and held his hand out to her. She stood, laying her hand in his. He tugged her gently to the bed and she sat gingerly next to him.

“I could kinda hear ya. I wasn’t all the way out.”

She hummed and teased her fingers through his hair.

“You sounded scared.”

“I was.” She shrugged.

“Scared to lose me?”

She took a moment to observe him, the quiet stillness that always followed a question that felt more vulnerable for him.

She nodded. “I’ve never…” she searched for the word, “clicked with someone this way. I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I enjoy who I am around you. Feel accepted, seen, for the first time in a while.”

He nodded, squeezing her knee.

“So yeah, I’m not quite ready to be without ya, Daryl Dixon.” She leaned over and kissed him softly. “Not nearly.”

There was a knock at the door and they both turned to Carol.

She smiled shyly. “I brought y’all some food.”

Mitzi smiled. “Thanks, Carol.”

Carol nodded and lingered at the door. She fidgeted and then steeled her shoulders. “I just wanted to say: you did more for my daughter than her own daddy did for her his whole life.”

Daryl nodded awkwardly. Carol leaned down after a moment and pressed a kiss to his head.

He stuttered. “Watch out. I got stitches.”

Mitzi hid a smile until the door closed behind Carol. Once it did, she giggled. “You’re blushin’.”

Daryl turned to eye her. “You like when I blush.”

She grinned. “I do but you got stitches.”

**

“Mitzi-“

Mitzi shook her head, forcibly cracking a branch over her knee and tossing it in a kindling pile.

“Can I talk with you please?”

“No.” She set a log onto a wood block.

“Please.”

She lifted the ax over her head and brought it down hard on the log she was splitting. Continuing to ignore Andrea, she tossed one half of the log out of the way and set the other up to be split again.

Andrea shifted, uncomfortable, and jumped when the ax came down.

“Mitzi-“

“I said ‘no.’” She snarled over her shoulder. “I ain’t ‘bout’ta waste m’time talkin’ at someone who don’t fuckin’ want t’listen.”

She tossed the two new halves and picked up another piece.

Andrea sighed. “I’m ready to listen.”

Mitzi turned on her. “Oh, you’re ready to listen? After you shot someone? That’s goddamn convenient.”

“Daryl accepted my apology.” She sounded almost incredulous, impatient.

Mitzi went back to splitting wood. “That’s his prerogative. You shot him.”

“Then why can’t you?”

She tossed a split log in the general direction of Hershel’s wood shed.

“I don’t know what your problem is.”

Mitzi shook her head. “That’s ‘cause you don’t listen.”

“No,” Andrea was indignant, hand on her hip. “You have never said-“

“Are you really that stupid?” Mitzi turned back to Andrea, ax in hand. “Or is your head that far up your ass?”

“I accidentally-“

“I know it was an accident. If I thought it had been on purpose, we woulda been dragging your ass back to camp, not just Daryl.”

Andrea’s eyes were on the ax and Mitzi could see Rick and Shane watching her from near the RV. She huffed out a laugh and lifted the ax, bringing it down on the wood block she had been chopping on.

Andrea jumped.

“You see that?” Mitzi pointed at the former cops who were still watching them. “If I had laid your ass out in that field, I would’ve ended up with my face in the dirt, even though you almost killed someone.”

Andrea nodded, arms crossed over her chest. “You’re a hothead, so-“

“I am. But I’m not gonna ax ya because you’re stupid.” Mitzi turned away again, tossing another split log into the pile. “No matter how entitled you are.”

“Entitled?”

“Yeah. Entitled.” Mitzi spat to the side. “Walkin’ around like your shit don’t stink. Like we fuckin’ owe you shit.”

“I do not act like you owe me anything.” Andrea huffed. “I help out. I protect the camp.”

“By takin’ shoots even when you can’t see what you’re shootin’ at. I know.” Mitzi clapped sarcastically. “Good job you.”

“I was trying to help. I thought he was a walker.”

“You failed, you missed. Thank whatever god applies for that because Shane and Rick wouldn’t ‘be been able to stop me.” She huffed. “Even if he had been, he would’ve been a single walker. It would’ve been better to use a knife or machete. You don’t know who or what could’ve heard that shot.”

“If Daryl had been a walker-“

“Glenn, Shane, and Rick were already on their way out.” Mitzi gestured at the RV. “You put the group in danger by firing that shot, even if he had been a walker.”

Andrea rolled her eyes. “I disagree. I handled what I thought needed to be handled.”

“Why can’t you take accountability?” Mitzi threw her hands in the air. “Not only did you fuckin’ miss, so you didn’t handle nuthin’, you also took a wholly unnecessary shot that you couldn’t spot properly. This is why I don’t trust you with a gun in camp. You don’t respect the power, the danger that comes with a weapon like that. You just want to do the easy thing.”

Andrea pulled back, like she had been hit. “This isn’t about the CDC.”

“I didn’t say it was.” Mitzi stared her in eye. “You consistently avoid tasks that you don’t want to do or have decided are beneath you. You don’t want to get your hands dirty. You want all the benefits but none of the costs.”

Andrea looked confused. “What cost?”

“The training, killing walkers in a safe way, the hard way, the day-to-day tasks of living, scavenging, hunting, the laundry, the cooking.” Mitzi said. “You want to sit on high and let the grunts do it for you.”

“That’s bullshit.” Andrea rolled her eyes. “Why is it the women do all the cooking and cleaning? Why is it that the men sit and do the watch?”

“They don’t. Glenn consistently risks his life scavenging or being fed to a walker in a well.” She shot her a hard look. “T-Dog does whatever needs to be done, he scavenges, siphons fuel, he cooks. If you pulled your head outta your ass, you’d see that.”

She gaped at Mitzi, who rolled her eyes. “We all do what we can. Not everyone in this group is equipped the same way.”

Recovering quickly, Andrea squared her shoulders. “By that logic: I know how to use a gun, therefore I should help in defense.”

“The minute we can do some training on gun safety, the minute I have materials for suppressors, I am all for making sure everyone can use a gun competently, for arming everyone. However, until such a time as that, untrained people with guns are clearly dangerous. Case in point.” She gestured at Andrea.

Andrea chewed on the inside of her cheek. “So you’re the exception.”

“Excuse me?”

“They respect you, they don’t talk down to you or ask you to do laundry-“

“You gonna make me explain it again?” Mitzi stared at her. “I do laundry. Mine and Daryl’s.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I’m not some uppity bitch that’s too good to wash my own clothes.”

“And Daryl’s?” Andrea ignored the jibe and looked like she had discovered some dirt. “Why do you do his laundry?”

“Because I’m fuckin’ him on the reg and while he’s just as attractive in dirty clothes, clean clothes sure are nice.”

Andrea had obviously not expected her to be so blunt. “So he makes-“

“He doesn’t make me do anythin’. He is not focused on what he wears, he doesn’t give a shit if his shirt is clean. I’m going to do my laundry anyways, because again, I ain’t too good for chores, so I might as well do his, too.”

“You don’t cook.”

Mitzi snorted. “And no one wants me to, I assure you. I lived off of McDonald’s and MREs.”

“So you do it all, Mitzi.” Andrea gestured at the camp. “You keep us safe, you hunt and clean, but god forbid any of us want to do something more important-“

“I swear to god, there’s bees in your brain.” Mitzi point at her temple, exasperated. “There is no task that is more important than any other task. Everything is vital and everyone is vital no matter what they are skilled at.”

“Can’t keep surviving, if we get eaten by walkers.”

Mitzi gestured, sarcastically. “Can’t get eaten by walkers if we starve to death.”

“If everything is just as important, why can’t I do what I want to? Why can’t I help with the defense of the camp?”

“Because you don’t know how to handle yourself with a gun, as evidenced by today and by this conversation.” Mitzi threw her hands in the air. “But then, you apparently know best, despite the fact that you’ve only been usin’ a gun for two months, so who am I to say?”

“How long is gun training in the Army? Can’t imagine you’ve been using guns that long.” Andrea looked smug.

Mitzi gaped at her. “You are catastrophic levels of stupid. Ima explain it one last time. Listen good. First of all, I’m a sniper, so that is an abysmally dumb assertion. Secondly, I was active duty for over ten years before all this happened- meaning, in case you didn’t catch it: I used a high-powered sniper rifle routinely for ten years. Lastly, I have been competitively shooting since I was ten.

“So yeah, my twenty plus years trumps your 60-something days. I am easily the most experienced gunman here. Easily. More so than Shane and Rick combined. So this idea that you are entitled to carrying a weapon and only taking guard shifts, based solely on your ownership and ‘experience’ with a gun, is imbecilic.”

Mitzi turned away again, dismissing her. “If I need any information on the penal code, I’ll call you up, though. Don’t worry, Andrea, you’re still an expert in something… I guess.”

Andrea reached for her arm. Mitzi shook her head and put space between them. “I want to learn, I am willing to learn, but I don’t understand why you are so against me being armed.”

Mitzi shook her head. “I thought you were ready to listen. Until you are trained, I don’t feel comfortable with you havin’ a gun. When you are, feel free to take a watch shift, but even then, that’s not all you can, or should, help with. Carol and Lori aren’t your maids.”

“I never said they were-” Andrea held up her hand to stop Mitzi from interjecting.

It didn’t stop Mitzi. “But you act like they are.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

“Use your goddamn brain and get your hands dirty.” Mitzi gestured at the camp. “Do what needs to be done. Not just what you want to do. Take some goddamn accountability for how you’ve been actin’.”

**

“Uh… guys. So… the barn’s full of walkers.”

Mitzi raised another forkful of eggs to her mouth. She chewed and swallowed and what had just came out of Glenn’s mouth still didn’t make sense.

“What?”

She looked at Daryl, who looked at her. She looked at Rick, who looked at Glenn.

The silence dragged on and then suddenly the rubber band snapped. Everyone seemed to shove to their feet at the same time, panic and fury setting their feet into motion.

Mitzi wasn’t the first to the barn, by virtue of her shorter legs, but she outstripped most of the group.

She circled the barn, knife in hand, looking for any hole big enough for a walker to escape through.

When she returned to the front, the rest of the group anxiously watching Shane stare into the crack in the door, Rick turned to her. “Anything?”

She shook her head. “It’s sealed up pretty tight.”

Shane pulled away from the door. “For now.”

“For now.” She parroted, squatting in front of the doors. She felt Daryl walk up behind her and leaned against his leg.

Shane scoffed and stalked at Rick. “You can not tell me you’re alright with this.”

Rick matched his aggression. “No, I’m not. But we’re guests here. This isn’t our land.”

“This is our lives, man!”

Glenn raised his hands, warning. “Lower your voice.”

Andrea joined the fray. “We can’t just sweep this under the rug.”

T-Dog shook his head, hands on hips. “It ain’t right. Not remotely.”

Shane had started pacing. ��Okay. We have either got to go in there. We got to make this right or we’ve just got to go. Now we’ve been talking about Fort Benning for a long-“

“Fort Benning is a pipe dream, Walsh. There is very little possibility that it is operational. And if it is, the only way that’s possible is if they are turning away civilians.”

“You don’t know that, Donovan.”

Mitzi rolled her eyes. “I know it’s real comforting to think that the military is there to protect you but,” She stood, dusting her hands off. “It ain’t. It’s there to maintain the power and authority of the US government. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“That what you tell yourself? Justify you deserting?”

“Shut up, Walsh.”

“You too mucha coward to take a legitimate chance.”

She pegged him with a hard stare. Daryl hooked his hand around her elbow. “It ain’t a legitimate chance, Walsh. You have no proof that it is still operational.”

“And you have no proof it ain’t.”

“No, Shane.” She pointed at her chest, stalking toward him. “I have experience which is somethin’ you don’t have. I have been to Fort Benning, I trained at Fort Benning. If it is overrun, is a death trap. If it is operational, it will not offer the safety or help we need and we will have wasted a hundred miles of fuel.”

He turned to the group. “This deserter-“

Daryl tried to keep her behind him. He turned to Shane. “Watch what you say.”

Shane sucked on his teeth. “Fuck off, man. Just cause you fuck her don’t mean you gotta put up-“

Lori looked aghast. “Shane!”

“Th’fuck ya say?” Daryl stepped forward, Mitzi fisting a hand in his shirt.

“I said just ‘cause she sucked y’off, don’t mean you have-“

Rick stepped in. “Shane, enough!”

Shane rounded on Rick. “She is a coward, man. She deserted and doesn’t wanna go back. That’s why-“

“Last chance, Walsh. Say it again.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I ain’t playing with you today. Watch y’mouth.”

“Or what?” He grinned when she turned to glare at him.

Daryl blocked her way, arm across her chest, as she pushed aggressively against it. “I’ll knock all your teeth out so you can watch it better.”

Shane opened his arms wide. “Bring it, bitch. You ain’t gonna do nothing. Nothing but a cowar-”

She was on him before anyone could react.

Shane lifted a hand, to block her, hold her off, she didn’t care, she batted his much larger hand out of the way, popping him in the face with her south paw.

He swung. Dodging, she delivered two heavy blows to his solar plexus. As he tried to shift away, doubled over, holding his side, she kneed him in the face, before sweeping his legs out from under him.

“Mitzi!”

She felt hands on her shoulder and shook them off, kneeling on his chest to bring her fist down on him hard. Once, Twice.

Shane grunted, vaulting to his feet and slamming her down on the ground.

“Shane!”

She could see the others crowding around, trying to pull him off of her. She ignored them.

She slapped her hands over his ears and elbowed him across the jaw when he reared back.

Two more quick jabs to his face and she pulled him into her, wrapping a leg around the back of his neck and hooking her foot under her other leg.

She squeezed.

She snarled. “Stupid fuckin’ prick. I told you not to fuck with me.” As his eyes became unfocused, she released him and kicked him away.

He fell back, shaking his head, blood coloring his face from a cut over his eye.

All at once she became aware of the cacophony of noise.

“Daryl, get her off of him!” Rick hollered. She could hear crying, more shouting.

Daryl’s hand came into view and she took it, letting him pull her to her feet. He prodded at the back of her head and came away bloody. “Shit.”

She brushed off his hand, now armed with his bandana. “M’fine.”

“Keep your bitch in line, Dixon.” Shane shoved to his feet, wiping at his split lip.

“Why? You couldn’t handle me even if, little boy.”

Shane stepped aggressively toward her.

“Shane! That is enough.” Rick growled, pushing him back. “Mitzi! Stop it.”

Daryl put pressure on her head wound as Shane and Rick argued.

“We ain’t going to Fort Benning. Mitzi’s likely right. She makes bad choices,” Rick pegged her with a hard look. “But she knows more about the military and Fort Benning than any of us. The chance that it is operational is low.”

“You’re gonna take this rabid-ass, hick-bitch’s word over mine?”

“A hick-bitch that just beat your dumbass.” She lurched at him again and he stepped back. She grinned. “You scared? You oughta keep my name outta your mouth or Rick won’t save ya next time.”

Rick pointed at her. “Stop it.”

“Why, Rick?” Shane pressed towards Rick. “Why not Fort Benning?”

Carol steeled her shoulders. “Because my daughter’s still out there.”

Shane let out a frustrated, patronizing laugh. “Okay… okay, I think it’s time that we all start to just consider the other possibility.”

“Shane!” Rick looked even more disappointed in Shane. “We are not leaving Sophia behind.”

“I’m close to finding this girl.” Daryl insisted, lifting Mitzi’s hand to hold the bandana to her head. “I just found her damn doll two days ago.”

Shane all but rolled his eyes. “You found her doll, Daryl. That’s what you did, you found a doll.”

Daryl stalked toward Shane and threw his hand out in a frustrated wave. “Man, you don’t know what t’hell yer talkin’ ‘bout.”

Shane stepped back, glancing at Mitzi as she took a step forward after Daryl. “Look, I’m just saying what needs to be said. You get a good lead, it’s in the first 48-hours.”

Rick pushed him away. “Shane, stop.”

Shane turned back to Daryl. “Let me tell you something else, man. If she was alive out there and saw you coming, all methed-out, with your buck knife and geek ears around your neck, she would run in the other direction, man.”

Daryl lunged at him, Rick getting in the middle as chaos erupted again.

She made to join the fray but Glenn stepped in front of her, albeit nervously. She moved to step around him and Glenn caged her in.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Glenn.”

He grinned sheepishly. “I don’t want you to hurt me either, so don’t.”

She stepped around him and made it to Daryl’s side as Rick separated them. He glanced down at her and moved so she was behind him.

“Let me just talk to Hershel. Let me figure it out.”

Shane scoffed, shouting back at Rick. “What are you gonna figure out?”

“If we’re gonna stay, if we’re gonna clear this barn, I have to talk him into it. This is his land.”

Dale stepped in. “Hershel sees those things in there as people, sick people. His wife, his stepson.��

Rick sounded frustrated as he turned to Dale. “You knew?”

Dale nodded. “Yesterday, I talked to Hershel.”

Shane advanced on Dale. “You waited the night?”

“I thought we could survive one more night. We did.” Dale stared Shane down. “I was waiting until this morning to say something but Glenn wanted to be the one.”

“The man is crazy, Rick. If Hershel thinks those things are alive-“

Rick pushed Shane back again. “Enough!”

The commotion aggravated the walkers, who shook the doors and snarled, forcing a number of the group members to fall back.

**

She had planted her ass in a chair the minute it was over, face blank.

“You just don’t care, d’ya?”

She glanced at him. “Of course I care.”

Daryl scoffed. “Don’t seem like it.”

“How should I show that I care, D?” She huddled deeper into her camp chair. “What do you need to see? Cryin’, weepin’? All the walkers are dead, so I can’t go beat up on them.”

He snarled and began pacing.

“There’s not much to do about any of that now that will do any good. So if it’s any difference to you, I’m gonna try not to think.”

He kicked a camp chair clear across camp. “Maybe Shane’s right…”

She picked at her nails. “About what? Gunning down people in front of their family members?”

Daryl spat to the side, before glancing at her. “Maybe you are just a coward-“

She recoiled like he had hit her. “Fuck you, Dixon.”

“You didn’t even pick up a gun. Just sat and watched.”

“I had the pistol Shane tried to give Carl. There were already enough people firin’.”

He huffed. “What is it then? You wanna stay here? Even though it ain’t safe?”

She shook her head. “I never said that. I don’t give a fuck about this farm. I do think we need somethin’ more permanent, more protective than a tent camp, but I don’t feel particularly easy here either,” she shrugged. “I don’t wanna go to Fort Benning because it’s a waste of time.”

“But what if it is still runnin’?”

She sighed. “Best case scenario: say it is. Say they take us in. I will be right back in the field. Right back under the thumb of the government. Battle, killin’ walkers isn’t the concern. It’s being cannon fodder for the government.”

He shook his head. “You were an officer- a captain.”

She smiled softly at him. “Baby, I know you think that means somethin’, that I’m valued or important to the government, but it really doesn’t. I am a weapon, that is all. A weapon with a cunt, what’s worse. They do not give a fuck about me.”

He scoffed and paced away, angrily pulling up the stakes to their tent and packing up their shit.

When it was all done, he turned back to her. Quiet and intense.

He set his hands on his hips, worrying his lip between his teeth. He grunted and kicked a pile of logs over. “Sumova bitch!”

She watched quietly as he paced. He glanced at her, caught her eyes, and stopped. “Sophia-“ He stopped and sucked in a breath. “I looked for that little girl for days.”

She nodded.

“And y’thought she was dead.” His tone was accusatory and she winced.

“I wanted her t’be alive.” She gestured at the barn. “I was gonna keep lookin’ until we found out for sure. But, baby… she ain’t you. You could survive out in the woods for a week at her age. I wasn’t sure she could.”

He snarled. “Y’didn’t say anythin’ t’me. You just let-“ He turned away from her.

She sucked in a breath. “I didn’t- I didn’t know anythin’ for sure-“

“Y’still coulda told me! Trusted me ‘nough.” He threw his hands in the air. “I’m not some dumb fuck who wouldn’t ‘ve listened. ‘Stead y’let me-“ He huffed in frustration.

Her mouth opened and then closed.

He trailed off. “Lemme assume you’re on m’side.”

“I am on your side.” He scoffed and turned away. She stood, approaching him. “I thought what you were doing was right, that’s why I was doing it with you. I’m sorry th-“

“Everyone in that camp thinks I’m fuckin’ stupid!” He gestured at the camp. “Thinks I’m some grunt-work hick. Rick’s goddamn errand boy.”

“That’s because they’re assholes.” She reached for his shoulder. He shook her off. “I know that you’re intelligent and fuckin’ sharp as a tack. I know that you are the most capable person here. They know you’re the most capable person here. They know that you can do what they ask you to do. Whether they have a right to ask is a different story.”

He sucked on his teeth. “They think you’re just some fuckin’ hired gun… some fuckin’ some grunt on a tower.”

She sighed and set her cheek against his shoulder blade. She shrugged. “Point and Shoot.”

He shook his head, turning to look out over the house and camp. “You’re more than tha’.”

She smiled and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “You are too. They’ll see it.”

“Sometimes I don’t wanna wait.” He turned over his shoulder, looking down at the top of her head. “Jus’ leave, you ‘n me.”

She nodded. “Me too, but there is something about having a job, a purpose, a group that has been helpful… processin’ all this.”

“Better numbers.”

“Not just better numbers, shared experience.”

He sighed. “This group is broken.”

She shook her head against his shoulder. “Not yet. What happens in the next couple of days may make it so.”

He hummed in agreement.

She turned him to face her and set her hands on his shoulders. “I am on your side. I’m sorry. I didn’t want t’say anything that I didn’t know for sure. Break Carol’s heart, break your heart. I didn’t want t’be right. But I should’ve talked t’you, should’ve trusted you t’hear me.”

He was silent for a moment and nodded. “I’m still fuckin’ pissed… necessarily at ya but-” He gestured vaguely.

She leaned up to press her forehead to his. “You have every right t’be pissed. Yesterday was horrible, it fuckin’ sucked the life outta all’a us.”

Daryl deflated and she flattened herself to him. “Why did’ya pack everythin’ up?”

“I’m movin’ our shit, further from the house.” Daryl pressed his face into her hair. “Tired of bein’ their errand boy.”

**

“Mitzi.”

She turned to see Rick striding toward where she sat cleaning guns. “Yeah?”

Rick jerked his head away from the camp and she stood, frowning at him as she set the pistol she had been cleaning in the chair. She turned over her shoulder and locked eyes with Daryl, following.

Rick was pensive, silent as he led her around the house toward the barn. When he was satisfied with how far away they were, he started pacing.

She crossed her eyes over her chest. “Look I’m sorry I beat the shit outta your friend.”

Rick pinch the bridge of his nose. “No, you’re not.”

She grinned and rubbed her thumb over her busted knuckles. “No, I’m not. He fuckin’ deserved it.”

Rick nodded vaguely. “He has been testin’ fate with you since Atlanta.”

“So if you’re not plannin’ on reamin’ me for Walsh, what is it you want?”

Rick sucked in air. “I needed to ask you somethin’.”

She huffed. “Just say it. It can’t be-“

“We need information outta Randall. The size of his group. What they are like…”

He was met with Mitzi’s uncharacteristic silence.

“I need to know. If I kill this kid… I need to know that I’m makin’ the right decision.”

She frowned hard. “You need him interrogated? You’re a cop- go interrogate him. What are you askin’ me for?”

“I can’t get anythin’ outta him except for the same bullshit.” Rick scuffed his foot in the dirt. “He won’t speak at all to Shane.”

He looked over her shoulder. The touch on her waist told her Daryl had followed.

She forced out a long breath. “Why do you think I’ll fare any better? I’m a sniper not psych ops.”

Rick winced. “You’re a woman… maybe he’ll let his guard down.”

She stiffened. “Excuse the fuck outta me, but what? You want me to what?”

He sighed and leaned over to get closer to eye-to-eye with her. “You are a capable soldier, an excellent judge of character. See what you can get outta him-“

“So what, flash him my tits, give him a handy-“

Rick blushed, saying emphatically: “No.”

Daryl shifted behind her, rasping, “Then what are y’askin’, Rick?”

“I wasn’t asking for that kind of handy.” Rick caught her eyes and held them. “You are… exceptionally skilled at causing’ pain. If it’s necessary…”

“You want me to beat the shit outta him.”

He nodded. “I appreciate that what I’m askin’ for is unsavory, but we need information and you absolutely have the right to say no, but-“

“I’ll do it.” Daryl squeezed her hip. She turned to him and he nodded. “I’ll do it.”

Rick nodded. “Alright.”

She shook her head. “D-“

“Ain’t bouta let my woman go in there by herself.” Daryl sucked his teeth. “Kinda pissed you asked her at’all, Rick.”

Rick nodded. “Kinda think your woman could handle herself. Proved it today.”

“Just ‘cause she can, don’t mean she should. She’s not some hit man.”

She shook her head. “Stop talking ‘bout me like I’m not right here. Let’s think this over some more.”

Daryl shook his head. “We need’ta know right?”

Rick nodded.

Mitzi bit her lip. “I’ll go with you.” Daryl sighed, about to argue. Mitzi shook her head and made toward the shed. “Ain’t bouta let my man go in there by himself. Let’s get this over with.”

Daryl looked at Rick who looked back.

Rick made a face. “She’s your woman… said so yourself.”

Daryl nodded. Rick reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “Picked a helluva one.”

“D! We fuckin’ doin’ this or not?”

**

Daryl tapped her ass lightly. “Sit.”

She shook her head, leaning back against the little curio cabinet he was leaning against. He hummed, pressing closer to her.

Glenn sighed, twisting his hat in his hands. “So how do we do this? Take a vote?”

Andrea shifted. “Does it have to be unanimous?”

Lori supplied, “How about majority rules?”

Rick stepped forward. “Well, let’s just see where everyone stands. Then we can talk through the options.”

“Well, where I sit,” Shane leaned back against the mantle. “There’s only one way to move forward.”

“Killing him?” Dale interjected. “Right? I mean why even bother taking a vote? It’s clear which way the wind is blowing.”

“We’ll, if people believe we should spare him,” Rick leaned over the back of the couch in front of him. “I wanna know.”

“Well, I can tell you it’s a small group. Maybe just me and Glenn.”

Glenn flinched away from the disappointment in his eyes. “Look… I think you’re pretty much right about everything, all the time, but this-“

“They’ve got you scared!”

“He’s not one of us.” Glenn sighed. “And we’ve lost too many people already.”

Dale turned to Maggie, motioning with his hat. “How about you? Do you agree with this?”

Maggie shifted, uncomfortable, looking at Daryl. “Couldn’t we continue keeping him prisoner?”

Daryl shifted. “Just another mouth to feed.”

“It may be a lean winter.” Hershel added.

“We could ration better.”

Dale seized on Lori’s comment. “Well, he could be an asset. Give him a chance to prove himself.”

“Prove what?” She pressed back against Daryl. “That he isn’t like his psycho friends? How do you prove somethin’ like that?”

Glenn gestured vaguely. “Put him to work.”

Rick shook his head. “We’re not letting him walk around.”

Maggie nodded. “We could put an escort on him.”

Shane scoffed. “Who wants to volunteer for that duty?”

Dale stepped forward. “I will.”

Rick held up a hand. “I don’t think any of us should be walking around with this guy.”

“He’s right.” Lori sighed. “I wouldn’t feel safe unless he was tied up.”

Andrea addressed Dale. “We can’t exactly put chains around his ankles and sentence him to hard labor.”

“Look…” Shane sighed. “Say we let him join us, right? Maybe he’s helpful, maybe he’s nice. We let our guard down and maybe he runs off, brings back his thirty men.”

Dale’s voice broke. “So the answer is to kill him to prevent a crime he may never even attempt? If we do this, we are saying there’s no hope. Rule of law is dead, there is no civilization.”

“He sat and watched two teenaged girls getting raped in front of their father. Even if he didn’t join in…” Mitzi met Dale’s eyes. “Nice people- civilized people don’t do that. If you need a crime to feel better ‘bout this, there ya go.”

Dale scoffed. “You hear that before or after you tortured him?”

Mitzi sighed. “During. And I don’t think he was lying. Except maybe about his lack of participation.”

“You don’t know that!” Dale’s voice was getting louder. “People will say anything when under duress.”

“They’ll say anything to get out of duress, sure. How does confessing to bein’ into little girls help him, Dale?”

“Could you drive him further out?” Hershel looked at Rick. “Leave him like you planned?”

Lori shook her head. “You barely came back this time. There are walkers, you could break down, y-you could get lost.”

“Or get ambushed,” Daryl added.

Glenn leaned over his lap on his elbows. “They’re right. We should not put our own people at risk.”

Patricia worried her hands in front of her. “If you go through with it, how would you do it? Would he suffer?”

Rick looked at Shane. “We could hang him, right? Just snap his neck?”

Rick shook his head. “I thought about that. Shooting may be more humane.”

T-Dog shifted forward. “And what about the body? Do we bury him?”

Dale held his hands up. “Hold on! Hold on! You’re talking about this like it’s already decided.”

Daryl made a circular motion over her shoulder. “We’ve been talkin’ all day, goin’ ‘round in circles. You just wanna go ‘round in circles again?”

Mitzi shrugged. “No amount of lipstick on this pig is gonna make it prettier. Might as well sack up and handle it.”

Dale was visibly distressed. “This is a young man’s life and it is worth more than a five minute conversation. Is this what it’s come to? We kill someone because we can’t decide what else to do with him? You saved him!” He gestured at Rick. “Now look at us. He’s been tortured. He’s gonna be executed. How are we any better than those people that we’re so afraid of?”

Shane softened his tone. “We all know what needs to be done.”

“No, Dale is right. We can’t leave any stone unturned here. We have a responsibility-“

Andrea stepped forward. “So what’s the other solution? We haven’t come up with a single viable option, yet.”

“So let’s work on it!” Dale pleaded.

“We are!”

“Stop it.” Carol interjected. “Just stop It. I'm sick of everybody arguing and fighting. I didn’t ask for this. You can’t ask us to decide something like this. Please decide- either of you, both of you but leave me out.”

Dale shook his head. “Not speaking out, killing him yourself, there is no difference.”

Rick stepped between them. “Alright, that’s enough. Anybody wants the floor before we make a final decision has the chance.”

**

Hershel whispered. “I don’t know how much longer we can stay here.”

Carl stayed between them, blue eyes turned up at his dad. “I'm not leaving without Mom.”

Rick kept his voice low as she watched the walker that just passed them through her scope. “So we just walk away? Not knowing if my wife, your girls are still out there? How do we live with that?”

Hershel shook his head, looking down at Carl. “You’ve only got one concern now, just one, keeping him alive. Nature may be throwing us a curveball, but that law is still true.”

Mitzi sucked her teeth. “I ain’t leaving’ without knowin’ one way or another. I’ll go back to the farm and check every goddamn walker if I have to. None of our people are gonna be left like that.”

“Mitzi,” Rick shook his head. “That’s not an option.”

“Then I guess we’re waitin’ then.” She checked her magazine and reinserted it into her M110.

Rick was breathing heavily and knelt in front of Carl. “Carl, it’s not safe here. I’m sorry.”

Mitzi bit her lip, fighting not to scream every cuss word she knew by and attract every walker in the area. “You all leave. I ain’t leavin’ until I’m sure. Not gonna potentially leave Daryl wanderin’ the Georgia countryside like that.”

Rick reached for her shoulder and Carl pressed his face into Rick’s sternum. “Mitzi, you can’t-“

He paused and they both turned to look down the Highway.

“Holy fuckin’ shit.” She smiled widely as Daryl guided his bike over the median, Carol behind him, followed by the truck and an SUV.

She waited patiently for Daryl to swing his leg over the bike before passing her rifle off to Carol.

Daryl reached over and pulled her into his chest.

“Fuck, Spitfire, I thought you died.” He buried his face in her hair. “One minute you were standin’ on the RV, the next you were gone.”

She clutched at his vest, tangling her fingers in the laces at his side. “Last I saw, you were shouting from the hog, like it was fuckin’ Tombstone. Scared the shit outta me.”

Part 4

[touchastar]

Then you're not one of the people being talked about, are you? The people who DO are cringe, in no way did that post say everyone who has DID is cringe. It's about people who fake it and tell a bunch of bullshit about it to impressionable teens who don't know any better.

why do you care about me and my opinion so much? do you know me? do you follow me? are you invested in me and want to hear my genuine opinion and truly understand why i replied the way i did?

anyway.

the original poster is a singlet. im going to assume you are too. neither of you get to decide what is or isnt fake or cringe. neither of you have the "privilege" (if i can call such a tasteless and cheap shot a privilege) to joke about it either. its not an issue that affects you directly and its not your voice that needs to be heard.

why do you want to make fun of those you think are faking did? are you affected by them? is your disorder being stigmatized? or are they just an easy target to make yourself feel better, look good, and sound witty?

do you want to support those living with did?

by joking or talking (in the manner that you and the original poster are) or shaming those that you believe are cringe or faking, you're not making people with did look good nor are you defending them. you're punching down misinformed people, lumping in people with did with those that may or may not be faking, and reinforcing the concept that people with did are cringy and fake. which is enough of a problem without singlets feeling the need to bring up time and time again.

half of the online (im not even going to touch upon irl issues) stigma surrounding dissociative disorders comes from these kinds of jokes, these kinds of comments. yes, i do concede that those faking do cause damage and there is misinfo, but not nearly as much damage as the repeated jokes, the constant comments, over and over about how fake they all are and how cringy and weird and unfavorable the wrong kind of mentally ill person is.

just... let... us deal with the problem.

because i told the original poster that their post is in poor taste, you probably thought im "faking" too, right? but for some reason, i just dont find those comments funny. and i dont like how half of the people on the internet think that my fragmented brain is some kind of fnaf / anime larp.

sure maybe, maybe they dont mean me. how do i know that? how do i know im not being lumped in with the sixteen year old on tiktok that may or may not be faking it? ive known many people whose opinion on systems were formed by these exact comments, these exact jokes.

and of course, i have my own opinions on the ones you consider cringe, but i really doubt you want to hear that. you're only refreshing my blog over and over for an argument that you can't even put your url on.

[aye-write]

An aye-write Guide to Beta-Reading and Feedback!

Beta reading and feedback is an important part of the writing process! Whether you’re looking to fix simple spelling and grammar errors in a short drabble, or a full examination of a 150k epic, it’s really valuable to you and your beta-reader to have a good grasp of how to give - and receive - feedback!

How to Ask for Feedback One of the things that I will always suggest giving your beta-readers is a Beta Reading Worksheet. Simply put, the writer puts forward a list of questions, topics, or points they’d like the beta-reader to address. I did this when I sent my murder mystery out to betas: 

As you can see above, the questions I chose gave me a great overall impression of how my betas felt about the novel and also I was able to address specific concerns that I had. Another great reason for giving beta-readers a list of questions is that it also helps them give you meaningful feedback, especially if the beta-reader is unsure of what you want from them or struggles to think of “good things to say”. 

Be as specific as possible! Do you want your beta-readers to look out for spelling, punctuation, and grammar? Let them know! You don’t want them to comment on the overall story but more on the technical details? You need to tell them! The more you help them, the more help they will be able to give you!

.-.-.  

Ideas for Questions for Getting Great Feedback  Here are some questions that I’ve either seen used or used when considering feedback for all sorts of pieces! Some may be of use to you, others not, so feel free to adapt any of them to suit you!

GENERAL

As a reader, what did you like about the story? 

What makes you want to read on? 

What makes you want to stop reading? 

What questions did the story make you want to ask? 

Did the story hook you in? 

PROSE AND TECHNIQUES

Was the prose easy to read? 

Were the sentences too short or too long? 

Were there too many adverbs or other writing quirks that stuck out? 

How well is the prose written?

Is there too much description, too much dialogue? Not enough? 

Does the text feel repetitive in places or are there descriptions missing? 

DIALOGUE

Is the dialogue believable and easy to follow? 

Can you tell who is speaking? 

Are there too many distracting dialogue tags? 

Does the dialogue seem boring or does it move the plot along? 

CHARACTERS 

Are the characters believable and interesting? 

Do you know what their motivations are? 

Were they described enough to picture them, or too much?

POV AND TENSE

Do you know what the POV (point of view) is? 

Does the story stay in the right POV or does it switch and become confusing? 

Does the written tense stay consistent? 

Does it change or come across as confusing? 

SETTING AND WORLDBUILDING

What did you think of the setting? 

Was there enough detail to set the scene, or too much detail that overpowered the story? 

Could you tell where the story was set easily? 

Does the setting/world building come across realistically? 

PLOT

Can you follow the plot of the story? 

Does the plot seem too obvious or vague? 

Does the story end satisfactorily or do you feel cheated/bored? 

Are there any plot holes? 

 How is the story paced? 

Does it move slow, drag on and bore you? Or does it move too fast and feel rushed? 

Can you tell the theme of the story? 

Does the plot and characters evoke any particular emotions? 

Personally, I wouldn’t send everything on the above list to a beta-reader, you don’t want to overwhelm them after all, but you could pick and choose a couple!

.-.-.  

Be Good to Your Betas  Whether they’re beta-ing a three page short or a 400 page novel, beta-reading is a huge commitment, and can be a tough, and sometimes thankless, job. Giving them guides for betaing like above can really help! Here are some more top tips to help out your lovely betas: 

Give them an as polished a draft as you can! This will help both you and your beta-reader get the most out of the experience.

Give them plenty of time! My betas had three months to read my 104k novel. More time for more words and more detailed betaing. 

Be flexible! Life happens and things do go wrong. 

It’s fine to disagree with what a beta-reader has to say - they are only one opinion after all - but asking for clarification or more details will serve you better than getting annoyed!

.-.-.  

What If I Don’t Like my Beta Feedback?  It’s definitely disappointing when you get some feedback that you don’t like. Especially if it’s a piece you’ve put a lot of heart and soul into. If you think there’s some problems with your beta feedback, consider the following points: 

Get a second pair of eyes (or third... or fourth!) It’s always better to have multiple eyes on a piece of work - even just to make sure nothing gets missed - but especially if there’s discrepancies between feedback. If four out of five beta-readers pick up on an issue, odds are it’s something you may have to address, even if not in the particular way the beta-readers suggest. 

Is the feedback fit for purpose? Does the beta-reader have an innate bias or dislike for a certain aspect of your work? So, if you’re told that your dialogue between two girlfriends is “cringe” and you discover your beta-reader dislikes romance, that feedback may not be fit for purpose. This is another reason why you should lay out your expectations and explain what your piece will explore before taking on a beta reader. A good beta-reader should be able to tell you how/why something works despite their own personal preferences. 

Are you asking readers... or writers?  A lot of people think readers make the best betas. Others argue writers. Personally, I think there’s value in asking a mix of both. Reader feedback may be able to indicate where things don’t “feel right” but may not be able to articulate exactly why. But reader feedback can also be invaluable because they’re the target audience! Whereas writers can usually articulate the problems “under the hood” of the piece, as it were, and help you with more targeted support. Fellow writers are also fabulous for earlier drafts. 

Trust your instincts!  At the end of the day, beta-feedback is just feedback! And your story is your story. You’re the one who knows it inside out, you’re the one who knows what you want to get out of it, and ultimately you’re the one who decides what goes into the piece. You don’t have to take every piece of advice as gospel. 

[stuff-from-the-void-matron]

Laurel Wreaths & Animal Teeth (10)

--

(technoblade x fem!reader)

--

(a/n: y’all seemed to like chapter 9 so here’s chapter 10! I know, I know. still no technoblade! BUT! he WILL be arriving soon~ very soon. >:3c but for now just enjoy the rest of the utter nonsense that’s the election. and remember! reblogs and comments REALLY make writing the next chapter possible. if y’all lose interest then so will I. so reblog and comment y’all! <3)

--

There was an eerie silence hanging over everyone in attendance. Nobody quite knew what to say, or even how to react to this startling new information. Not a soul spoke as a few people on stage and in the audience shared confused glances, not even whispering their questions to each other lest they shatter the heavy stillness. At least that was the case before HBomb hopped up out of his chair and gave a loud and cheerful “WHOO! NEW PRESIDENT!” that successfully slam dunked everyone back into the moment at hand. 

Suddenly you were surrounded by noise as everyone started talking at once. 

Meanwhile you remained mostly unaware of it, well more like distantly aware of it.

You stared up at the stage, locked in place from how floored you still were.

What in the absolute hell was Wilbur talking about?? 

You can’t have won! Because you weren’t running! 

So there’s no way for you to WIN something you were never actively competing for! 

There had to be a mistake. Maybe this was just some more of their silly pranks and japes before they read off the real winner, which actually wasn’t that huge of a stretch for this SMP if you were being honest. Or at least that’s what you were telling yourself anyways. Vaguely you could hear voices talking all around you, but it seemed far away, so you weren’t really registering what was being said. You were mostly just staring blankly at the stage, not really seeing any of the people up there as you tried to process what just happened.

It took Tubbo grabbing your elbow and shaking it to snap you out of the almost trance like state you'd slipped into. You looked down and he actually looked excited, but you could also see shock in his expression as well. You looked behind you to the rest of the crowd and some were clapping and cheering while others stood silent, shocked like you if you had to hazard a guess. You looked back up at the stage when you heard Tommy calling you to come up with them. You were still sorta frozen but thankfully Tubbo nudged you forward, reminding you that you needed to move. Silently you made your way up to the podium, mouth feeling dry and stomach feeling like it was full of stones.

Now that you were zoned back in you could hear the arguing coming from the podium. You were sort of dreading coming face to face with Wilbur, already knowing how… not great he took Schlatt winning from the original timeline. And he apparently knew and was friends with the ram hybrid. So you couldn’t see him being happy you won.. But when you got to the stage where the others were you couldn’t focus on Wilbur because all at once your vision was overtaken by Tommy, who was babbling about how you won! And how the hell did you win?? You weren’t even running! And how he’s pretty down they lost but at least Quackity and George didn’t win! (that got a ‘fuck you!’ out of the Spanish speaking young man) You gave a weak chuckle and said you’re not sure how or why you won but it was crazy indeed. 

Quackity, Schlatt, and George were the most vocal about not thinking the results were fair. Though to be clear, Wilbur didn’t look thrilled either, but he was doing his best to look professional or put together you guessed. Or at least not blow up in front of literally everyone. You kept an eye on him while Tommy led you up to the mic and told you to give your first decree as president. But you sorta… didn’t want to be president. You hoped you wouldn’t upset anyone by not accepting the job. But you didn’t think you’d make a good leader. So you turned away from the mic, hoping nobody but the ones beside you on stage would hear when you asked if you had to accept the role. 

This caught all the mens’ attention and Wilbur was quick to give you an out, saying no you didn’t technically HAVE to accept the presidency. In fact if you weren’t ready or willing to fill the role then the runners up, aka him and Tommy, would happily do so for you. But then Quackity, Schlatt, and surprisingly Fundy said that wasn’t fair either since both Pog2020 and Schlatt/Swag2020 were tied with the amount of votes. And you had to admit, that didn’t seem fair. But Wilbur perked up and you’d swear in that moment he was the embodiment of the ‘lightbulb above head’ phrase. Then he grinned and turned to Fundy and Niki and asked to speak to them before urging them and Tommy off the stage, leaving you and Schlatt/Swag2020 on the stage alone.

Not wanting to leave everyone in the audience hanging, you gave a polite smile and assured them that the others just wanted to…. recount the votes! They weren’t sure Wilbur counted them right so they figured recounting with some other witnesses there would clear things up! The crowd shared confused glances but it was Tubbo who yelled out that that sounded sus as hell! And if he were you he’d think they were trying to cheat or something! You snorted a laugh but assured him it was alright and you didn’t think they’d be that ballsy~

-0-

Fundy and Niki followed behind Wilbur and Tommy, the latter of the two males just as confused about what Wilbur was up to as the pair behind him. But then they all gathered in the white house and Wilbur turned to the members of Coconut2020 and said he had a proposition for them! The brunet said that since it was clear that you weren’t really up to being president, his tone derisive like your refusal of the position was tantamount to spitting in his food, then if Fundy and Niki agreed to combine their votes with Swag2020 then Wilbur could be president again and things could go back to normal!

But the blonde woman and fox hybrid didn’t look convinced.. Niki said they’d just be giving them their votes so they could win, while they got nothing? Fundy frowned and asked what positions he and Niki would have in the Pog2020 cabinet if they joined their votes with theirs. Here is where Wilbur hesitated, unsure what positions he could give them. But then he smiled and said Niki would be the First Woman, since she was the first woman to join L’manberg! And Fundy would of course be everyone’s Little Champion! He couldn’t help but baby talk his son, he’d never been able to take Fundy seriously, not really anyways. What with his alert little triangle ears, furry face, soft little paw beans, and fluffy tail. He was just too cute for Wilbur to take him seriously. Even now. But it was this attitude that would be his downfall. Because it’s what caused Fundy to snap.

“No, Wilbur! This is serious! I’m not some baby for you to dress up and prance around! I’m a fucking adult! I have my own house, I pay taxes, I fought in a war for fucks sake!” the hybrid shouted, clearly upset.

Wilbur was shocked but tried to calm Fundy down, not fully realizing how mad his son was until the red haired male practically snarled, 

“I’m not going to sit here and hand over the votes Niki and I earned just so you can treat me like a child!”

Without another word he turned on his heel and stormed out of the white house, leaving three stunned people behind. Tommy looked up at Wilbur, opening and closing his mouth, wanting so badly to say something, maybe lighten the awkward mood but not knowing what or even if he should speak at all. Meanwhile Niki just sighed and gave Wilbur a soft disappointed look. She knew Wilbur loved his son, and that often translated to him babying the hybrid. But she’d warned him, as kindly as she could, that it seemed to upset Fundy that his own father wouldn’t treat him like anything but a kid. She’s not a parent herself, so she figures it must be hard for a parent to see their child as anything but a child, even after they’ve grown. 

But she can see Fundy’s side too. It must be massively frustrating to be looked upon like you’re just a kid. Especially since Wilbur doesn’t even treat Tommy, his own younger brother, as a child as much as he does Fundy. And she’d seen first hand how Wilbur’s attitude towards Fundy, whether or not the brunet intended for it to happen or not, did in fact influence how others treated the red furred hybrid. She’d seen Tommy, Tubbo, Eret, Sapnap, and even herself a couple times sort of not treat Fundy with the respect you’d show to a fellow adult. She tried her best to kick that habit, and her and Fundy’s friendship had really blossomed thanks to it, she thinks. But she believes Wilbur just pushed his son to his breaking point…

“He’s right, Wilbur. You can’t keep babying him. He’s a grown up now..” Niki said neutrally.

Then she let out a tired sounding breath of air and turned to follow after the fox hybrid, saying she would go check on him. But she also said Wilbur needed to talk to him later, man to man, and make things right. Said brunet looked rather flummoxed, not sure what the hell just happened. It was Tommy who broke the silence by giving an almost weak sounding ‘holy shit’. Wilbur turned his perplexed gaze to his brother and asked what the HELL that was all about! Said blond winced and gave a sigh while awkwardly scratching the back of his head, not thrilled with the weird turn this conversation took, but answered Wilbur,

“Ehh… looks like you and Fundy have some unresolved personal issues, bud..”

Wilbur barked that this wasn’t the time for Fundy to let some personal vendetta against him cloud his reasoning! They were in the middle of the do or die of the election! If they couldn’t get Fundy and Niki to agree to join their votes with theirs then they won’t win! And they’ll be in a tie with Schlatt and Quackity! Wilbur jerked his hands down, like he wanted to slam them against a table or something. But instead he just viciously scrubbed his fingers through his curly hair, feeling embittered with everyone around him. All he’d wanted was to lead HIS country! Like he rightfully should have been able to! All this election bollocks and now he was having to try and convince HIS OWN SON to help him stay president?! If it were him and Phil needed help he’d give it! Well he would if Phil were ever fucking around..

The sound of a crowd cheering caused the two to whip their heads towards the area where the stage was before they looked at each other. Not a word was spoken between them as they both took off in a run towards the stage, wondering what happened and what they were missing. They rounded the corner of the building to the left of the stage to see you smiling and waving daintily to the crowd. Not sure what they’d missed, Wilbur rushed up to Niki and asked what happened. Did you accept the presidency already?? 

Niki raised an eyebrow at her friend and nodded, saying you’d finally relented and accepted the role as president after she and Fundy came back from ‘recounting the votes’. Niki hummed and said she figured that you finally accepted the results after it was made clear that if you didn’t then everything would be stuck in a tie. But then Niki’s reflecting mood brightened and she said she really thought you’d do a good job as the new president. Even joking that you had to be better than Schlatt. 

Niki never voiced it out loud but she’d been worried Schlatt and Quackity would win. Schlatt was the biggest worry for her. To his credit, he was actually a really funny guy and she could see why Wilbur was friends with him, they just had a good chemistry and their senses of humor bounced off each other well. But… Schlatt could also be blatantly power hungry and hateful if not kept in check from the few times she’d met him or heard stories about him from Wilbur. Niki felt like giving him the amount of authority that came with being president would only end poorly. And Quackity was an alright guy in her opinion but he could be vindictive and petty too. She got the vibe that any amount of power given to him would instantly go to his head and turn him into a jerk.

But again, these were just her personal (and not spoken aloud) opinions…

She always hated being mean to people and saying hurtful things. So she kept her opinions to herself more often than not. Unless it was super important anyways. So instead of elaborating on Why she was so relieved that Schlatt and Quackity hadn’t won she instead flashed the two members of Pog2020 a smile and said it had been a fun race, and despite all the drama she really thinks Tommy’s friend will do a good job. Then with a keen raise of her eyebrows the blonde suggested with a cute smile,

“Oh, maybe you could be a member of Reader’s Cabinet! I’m sure she’ll be needing a vice president, secretary of defense, treasury, and other positions!”

Niki was honestly just trying to cheer up her friend, but the cheerful smile slipped off her face at the dark look that crossed Wilbur’s. She grew concerned when she saw how hard he was clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. His behavior over the last few weeks had been slowly worrying her, but this was starting to make her anxious. And when he started marching towards the stage she shot a panicked look to Tommy, who could do nothing but give her an equally worried and confused face before they both tried to hurry after their brown haired friend. But he got up onto the stage before either of them could grab his arm, and Niki was about to call after him but he reached your side, clearing his throat and alerting you to his presence. 

You looked down and saw him standing at attention next to you, hand outstretched for a handshake and a polite but serious smile on his face. You were surprised, thinking he was handling this with more grace than you’d expected, but a feeling deep in your gut was still on edge. You knew the destruction Wilbur Soot was all too willing and capable of doing in the selfish pursuit of keeping power over the country he made. The lives of his friends and family be damned. So while you really really wanted to hope that Wilbur will be better since you won over the other parties… you’re also highly skeptical that he will manage to keep his sanity. 

But instead of showing any of your reservations you instead simply smile and shake his hand, thanking him for congratulating your win and promising him you’ll do your best with the presidency and taking care of L’manberg. And if you noticed how his smile looked a little too angry at the edges then you didn’t say anything..

So instead of dealing with the mess that was Wilbur Soot you focused on the crowd and let go of Wilbur’s hand to stand at the sort of comically short podium and spoke out to the people you were now responsible for,

“Well, this all was certainly unexpected..”

Chuckles erupted from the crowd at that, making you feel a bit better about all of this. At least you weren’t the only one to see how wild all of this mess was.

“I’m actually really shocked! I wasn’t intending to run for president but I suppose life has other plans for me. But regardless, I’m honored you’ve all put your faith in me to lead you. I swear to do my absolute best for you and help L’manberg flourish.”

Applause from the crowd made you give a genuine smile. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad?

-0-

In the audience, watching this all unfold behind a mask and tapping his foot, stood the familiar looking figure in a green hood. Hanging around next to him was Sapnap in all his black and white dressed glory. And at some point George had gotten bored with the drama on stage and had left Quackity’s side (not that the duck hybrid had even noticed or cared) and wandered over to stand with his two friends. They watched Wilbur hand over the presidency to you and George made an off hand comment that Wilbur sure didn’t look pleased with losing, a smug laugh in his sleepy tone. Sapnap snickered but stared at you and elbowed his taller friend, asking in a curious tone while subtly gesturing to you,

“Speaking of, why didn’t you tell us you’d let someone new on the server, Dream?”

His friend glanced at him for a second longer than normal before replying with a tense tone to his voice that he hadn’t let her on. That caused both Sapnap and George to jerk their heads up to look at him in visible confusion. While George stammered through a series of ‘what’s’ and ‘wait hold on-’ Sapnap was loudly questioning what the hell he meant. The mask wearing player shushed them both before looking up to see if anyone had heard them or looked over at the twos’ loud exclamations. Thankfully nobody had. So he sighed and led them a bit further away from the crowd and explained that he’d not authorized any new members to the server. and it was true, he hadn’t. But both hybrids still looked confused and George asked, clearly puzzled,

“Well then how did she get on the server?? Nobody else can let people on, right, Dream?”

Sapnap nodded but stopped when their taller friend let out a flat hum before shaking his head ‘no’. That caught the shorter twos’ attention so he elaborated by asking them,

“Who on this server is known to have Creative Mode?”

The two blinked before it dawned on them and they looked even more shocked than before, only now it was coupled with anxiousness. Sapnap harshly whispered to the two, asking why the hell fucking GOD himself would actually let someone onto the server?? DreamXD never bothered with players and stuff, only being rumored to be seen by players if they broke server rules. George added on that this all sounded really weird. And an idea hit him and he couldn’t help but voice it. 

“You don’t think… she’s linked to DreamXD.. do you? Like working for him or something?” he asked a touch nervously.

The other two didn’t say anything, not really knowing what to say to that. Sapnap could only shrug while the tallest of their group remained silent, none of them having any answers to the string of questions they’d just let loose.

They would just have to wait and see it seemed.

-0-

@lady-bee-fechin @kacchasu @putridjoy @lunawritesstories @galaxypankitty3030 @paradigmax @zachariethememerie @killmewithafanfic @trinity-1002107 @hufflepuff-demigod @truthdaze @exorcisms-with-elmo @redbloodtea @heythereimhaylz @olyink @jackalopedoodles @nikkineeky @artsimatsu @hufflepuff-demigod @corpiet @beepa99 @anxiousnarwhale @bananaaddictmilkshake @realitycanbeajerk @lostandsouciant @thegeekisheere @sparkling-gayyy

[fruitcoops]

i feel like you write really good arguments, as a few people have brought up before, where the parties make mistakes but own up to them and acknowledge the other side. Same thing with Captain Sirius- his reprimands are always respectful. It feels mature and just well-thought out. But we know Sirius wasn't always like that, because he came to dumo's house knowing arguments=violence. Would you write a fic where Sirius learns how to argue/captain? maybe from Dumo-the-parent? Does that make sense?

Father-son bonding on this fine Thursday! I love it! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

Dumo’s phone rang halfway through his lunch, which wasn’t unusual, except for the fact that it was Sirius calling and not…well, literally anyone else. Sirius seemed rather allergic to his phone—text replies often went unanswered for an average of 3 hours, and he wasn’t sure he had ever managed to reach Sirius on the first ring. Concern flickered in his chest and he lifted it to his ear.

“H—”

“Oh, thank god,” Sirius said, breathless. “Hi, hello, it’s me—uh, it’s Sirius—and I was just calling to ask for some help because I’m the captain now—you know that, what am I doing—and I don’t have a fucking clue what to do and I’m kind of—”

“Sirius,” Dumo interrupted as soon as his astonishment faded. He had never heard Sirius say so many words in so little time. Silence fell on the other end of the line. “Sirius, are you still there?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Okay, take a deep breath, then tell me what you need.”

Another beat of quiet passed. “So, I’m the captain now.”

“You are.”

“And the guys really like you, but I don’t even know where to start, so I was hoping you could give me a hand with this.”

“With what?”

“How do I make people like me?” Sirius asked, sounding uncharacteristically timid.

Dumo paused, confused. “They already do.”

“But I’m the captain now. They have to like me more, right?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, torn between laughing and laying down to stave off a headache. “Why don’t you come over and we can talk in person, alright?”

“Right.” Sirius cleared his throat. “Right, yeah, about that.”

“Sirius. Are you—are you currently on my porch?”

“…maybe.” Dumo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s kind of cold out here.”

“You have a key.”

“I thought it would be rude to just let myself in.”

“Oh my god,” Dumo muttered, rising from his chair with a huff. The autumn wind howled as he opened the front door, stripping the trees of their leaves and turning Sirius’ cheeks vivid red as he stood on the top step with the phone still at his ear and anxiety written all over his face.

“Bonjour.”

“You can hang up the phone now.”

Sirius bit his lip and slid it back into his pocket, waiting awkwardly until Dumo motioned him inside and he hurried out of the chill. “Thanks for picking up, by the way.”

“Of course. I’ll always pick up the phone for you.” He guided him toward the kitchen with a hand on his shoulder. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Still so polite. The coffeepot was still warm from Celeste’s late breakfast, and Sirius’ eyes grew wide at the steam curling off the top when Dumo handed him a mug to wrap his frozen hands around before sitting across from him. “Back to business. Number one: the team already likes you, and you need no help from me getting their approval. Got it?”

Sirius nodded and took a sip.

“Number two: If you ever need my help, please don’t wait on the front porch in freezing weather when you could just knock.” A sheepish smile twitched at the side of his mouth and Dumo shook his head. “I won’t be responsible for your hypothermia. Now, what did you want advice about?”

Sirius let out a slow breath. “I don’t want to be the hardass captain that everyone hates. I just—this is an amazing opportunity, but honestly I just want my friends.”

Dumo hummed, even as his heart panged. “At the risk of sounding vague, the way to do that is to not be a hardass in the first place. Be a leader instead.”

“But I have to tell them what to do—”

“—and a leader does that the right way. There’s a difference between being a leader and being a tyrant. Push them to be better, but don’t be cruel about it. Set an example through the things you do, not the things you make other people do.” He touched the back of his hand gently and Sirius’ eyes flickered over. “Don’t lead through fear, but through respect.”

“I don’t know how.”

“That’s why you called me, non?” He waited until he saw the small smile return. “Alright, how would you approach a situation where one of your teammates is lagging behind in their speed trials?”

Sirius blinked. “Tell them to do better?”

Different tactic. “How did your coaches talk to you when you lagged behind in your speed trials?”

“…told me to do better.”

Orion Black, I will break your kneecaps the next time I see you. Dumo poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. “That may have been a strategy for you, but for someone who is already trying their best, it could be very discouraging. They might resent you for trying to seem better than them.”

Sirius’ brows furrowed. “But I’m not.”

“I know. But they wouldn’t. In my opinion, the best course of action would be to ask what’s wrong, and how you can help. It might not get better overnight, but that teammate will trust that you can help them with their problem and will know that you care about them.”

“So I should just let them fail for a while?”

“You push them toward success gradually, and don’t berate them for any hiccups along the way. Failure can bring growth.”

His mouth set into a line of frustration. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’m not explaining this right,” Dumo muttered, chewing the inside of his lip. How to explain to the new leader of your team what leadership is... “Let’s put it this way. You want Pots and Harzy to run a specific play, but they don’t understand it. How do you fix it?”

Sirius started to answer, then closed his mouth and thought for a moment, staring into the depths of his coffee. “I…I would walk them through it section by section, because I know they’re smart, but they might have problems with different parts.”

Dumo wondered if the room had actually become brighter, or if the pride in his heart was just shining through into the real world. “Exactly. And afterward, when they get it right?”

“High-five and run it again.”

“Now you’re getting it!” Something more difficult... “What if Kuny and Nado won’t shut up during Coach’s breakdown?”

“Tell them to be quiet.”

“But then Nado calls you a buzzkill and starts whispering to Kuny, and giving you looks.” Sirius’ whole face fell; if Dumo wasn’t so committed to making sure he got it right, he would’ve felt bad. “What do you do, Sirius?”

“Apolo—”

“No. People don’t respect those who apologize every time they face pushback.”

“But you said I need them to like me.”

“You need them to respect you. They don’t have to like you at all hours of the day.” He poked him lightly on the chest. “It’s your job to keep the team in line, now, and that means being a bit of a buzzkill sometimes. Not an asshole. Just a leader. What do you do if they start whispering about you?”

Sirius scrunched his nose. “Tell them to cut it out again,” he said grudgingly.

“And if they don’t?”

“Can I make them run laps after the meeting?”

“Yep. How many?”

“Three, because I had to ask three times.” He frowned. “And they should run at separate times, otherwise they’ll keep talking. God, they really don’t shut up, do they?”

That’s rich coming from you, Mr.-Chats-with-Pots-24/7. He decided to keep his thoughts to himself—that wasn’t what today was about. “Good job, Sirius.”

“Really?”

“Oui. If you lay down the rules early, you won’t have to keep correcting mistakes. They won’t want to disappoint you in the first place.”

“I don’t want to disappoint them,” he said quietly.

“You won’t.” If there was one thing Dumo was sure of, it was that Sirius would be the best captain the Lions ever had. “Ready for the toughest part?”

“Yes?”

“Are you ready?” he asked again.

Sirius swallowed, then nodded. “Yes.”

“I don’t like the way you’re captaining this team.”

From the look on his face, Dumo might as well have whacked him over the head with a spatula. “What?”

“I don’t think you have the guts.”

A combination of hurt and anger flashed in his eyes. “Hey!”

Dumo prodded him on the shoulder. “You’re not going to be able to stick up for yourself when it comes down to it. You can’t say no to your friends.”

“I can!”

“Then do it,” he challenged. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re—” Sirius pressed his lips together and stood up. “Fuck you. I came to you for help—”

Dumo rose as well, leaning forward half an inch. “Then tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you can captain the shit out of this team.”

“You’re wrong!”

“Say it like you mean it!”

“You’re wrong!” Sirius repeated as his jaw set, louder. “I’m going to captain the shit out of this team and fuck you for thinking I can’t!”

“But I don’t like it!” Though they were both shouting at each other, Sirius’ defensiveness and timidity in the face of conflict were nowhere to be found.

“That’s not my problem!” His cheeks were turning pink again, but not from the cold. “I’m the captain, so you either listen to me or tell me what the hell your problem is!”

“There you go!” Dumo cheered, stepping around the table to crush him in a hug. “That was perfect.”

Sirius went still with befuddlement. “What?”

“You didn’t believe you could captain this team until just now, did you?” He stepped back and held Sirius’ shoulders, beaming. “You just did exactly what you were supposed to do. You cannot let yourself be pushed around if you want to lead and keep your friendships strong. I am so, so proud of you.”

Sirius stared at him in shock for a moment, then moved forward again and rested his chin on Dumo’s shoulder as he pulled him in for another hug. “Thank you.”

“You are going to do great things, Sirius. I’m just glad I could help.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Dumo smiled and patted his back, giving him a squeeze. “Yes, you could. That’s how I know you will.”

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 4

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite , who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310 , @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria . Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 2877

Additional note: This is the final chapter. There'll be an epilogue, but you'll have to wait a bit because there are a lot of challenges I've signed up for and I'm way behind schedule.

Enjoy 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

Devastated and angry at the world. That's how Ivar is feeling.

Holed up in his room since the night before, and despite Lagertha incessant requests, he doesn’t plan to come out, not now at least. Come to think of it, he might as well decide never to leave his room again.

He can't stand the idea of facing his brothers. He doesn't want to have to tell them about his failure. He doesn't want to endure Ubbe's pity and condescendence. He doesn't want to see the look of triumph on Sigurd's face. The thought makes his stomach lurch while at the same time a murderous urge creeps into his mind. No, he definitely can't see his brothers.

Surprisingly, and unlike Lagertha, his brothers have left him alone, as if sensing that entering his room would be as moving into a minefield. Only Hvitserk had taken a chance earlier, cautiously poking his head through the door. His disapproving look obvious when his eyes had taken in the scene before him, Ivar's belongings scattered on the floor, some of them smashed into pieces.

"I got you a chocolate muffin from the kitchen, baby bro," he had explained, putting it on a nearby shelf, and it had almost brought a smile to Ivar's face. To Hvitserk, there's no predicament that can't be improved with comfort food.

"Look, Ivar," scratching his neck, Hvitserk had then said, "I don't know what happened and I don't want to pressure you. You tell me when you're ready, if you are. But I'm here, okay? Whatever the time of day or night, you don't have to be alone if you don't want to. If I'm upstairs, just call me, okay?" With these words, he was gone, the door closed.

Ivar can't get the events of the previous evening out of his mind. Like a waking nightmare, they are playing over and over in his head: how he had freaked out when he heard the beeps; the confused and then so disappointed look you had given him when he sputtered his need to leave; finally, his shameful escape into the night.

What could he have done? What should he have done?

He does know the answer. He should have been more cautious. He should have checked the time, asked for your number and just walked away.

On the other hand, what difference would it have made? He would still have no future with you, right? He would still be a cripple, and you would still be... you... perfect... too good for him.

So yeah, he had run away like a coward. He lets out a bitter chuckle to himself. Run away? Who is he kidding? He hadn't run away, that would have been too easy. Cripples don't run away. Without his cane – why the fuck did he leave it behind?? – he had pathetically limped away, stumbling, his feet sinking into the sand. He had still been on the beach when the battery had died. He had had no other choice but to crawl like a worm the rest of the way, silently praying to the gods that the darkness of the night would prevent you from seeing him like this.

Tears of despair run down his cheeks for the umpteenth time. He's used to feeling humiliated, but feeling humiliated and heartbroken simultaneously is really too much to take. He feels like he's dying from the inside over and over again, cursing himself for wanting to attend the party, for wanting to see you again. He should never have let his walls down, he should never have dared to hope. What was he thinking? He may have walked, and even danced with you, but at the end of the day, he still is a pitiable cripple with stupid, crooked legs, in love with a girl way out of his league.

If he's being honest, that's what hurts the most. He now realizes how delusional he had been. Holding on to a dead dream for years, he had not forseen the painful yet unavoidable reality check. And now, it's like he's been hit by a train. Because there's no denying it, dreaming of a life with you is no longer an option, not after last night. And even though it's almost unbearable, he knows now he has to let go of you, of the idea of you and him being together. As much as this mere thought is devastating, he has no other choice. He has to stop fooling himself, for his own sanity, if nothing else.

Giving a guttural cry, much like that of a wounded animal, Ivar doesn't hear when the front doorbell rings. Not that he would have reacted even if he had heard it, too busy wallowing in self-pity.

***

"Thank you for having us here on such short notice, my dear." Your uncle states joyfully, his eyes sparkling, as Lagertha greets him with a handshake and a tight-lipped smile. Even though you don't know why, it's obvious that she's not his biggest fan.

Your uncle, who doesn't seem to notice – or doesn't care, you're not sure – keeps giving her a beaming smile. "My niece here," he turns his head toward you for a short moment, "has a weird request. She met a boy yesterday, during the party. He lost something and my sweet Y/N has been adamant since this morning that she wants to find him and personally return it to him. We were wondering," he turns his gaze in the direction of the couch, "if it could be one of your wards."

There are indeed three young men, half sprawled on the couch, who get up as one when Lagertha gives them a stern look. If you vaguely remember having seen them before, a single glance is enough for you to know that the one you're looking for is not among them.

You're on the verge of saying so but your uncle doesn't give you a chance to. "See boys," he unceremoniously grabs the cane you're holding behind your back, "here is the lost item. A cane! Fairly uncommon, if you ask me. Anyway... Does this... thing belong to any of you?"

Since you know it doesn't, you're surprised when two of the guys both take a step forward. "Actually, it's mine," they say in unison, each of them only then becoming aware that the other is speaking.

Dumbstruck, you look at one then the other successively. They've got a lot of nerve! You know they're lying, and you would have known it even if these two idiots hadn't spoken at the same time. They just look nothing like your handsome stranger – if he's a stranger.

"Sigurd, you know it's mine!"

"Don't play dumb, you never use a cane, Ubbe! Whereas me, I do sometimes. Everyone knows artists tend to be eccentric, right?"

The blondest one – Sigurd if you heard right – points his finger at a guitar leaning against the wall and then winks at you, "I'm a musician, you know?" You don't even have time to roll your eyes as the other one – Ubbe? – yells, his nostrils flaring.

"Shut up Sig, you're so full of shit! You know I've got a sprained ankle!"

"A sprained ankle, no kidding? Who did a ten-kilometer run today, huh? It's not me! So, you are the one going to shut up, you fucking douchebag!"

It's almost funny to watch them arguing back and forth. If you weren't so pissed off, you'd laugh. But right now, you're mostly mad at them. Their blatant lies make your blood boil with anger.

Are they really thinking you're a complete idiot? That you can be fooled so easily? Who do they think they are? Who do they think you are? Some stupid chick ready to fall for their good looks? If they think that, they're kidding themselves.

"You're the fucking douchebag, Sig!! Don’t forget I'm the oldest!"

"And what's the difference, huh? You can't have all the girls, Ubbe! Keep fucking Margrethe and just let me be! Stop being a controlling asshole!"

"STOP!!!! BOTH OF YOU!!!"

Lagertha's shout is deafening and if looks could kill, these two morons would be lying dead on the floor right here, right now.

"Y/N, my dear," Lagertha gives you an apologetic smile, "I'm so sorry for that. I swear they usually know how to behave, better than that at least. Guess they don't know how to handle your striking beauty. Now sweetheart, tell me, is one of these two knuckleheads the one you were with last night?"

The silence that falls on the room after her question is so complete that you could hear a pin drop. Acutely aware that all eyes are on you, you shyly lower your gaze, shaking your head slightly, as you clasp your hands over your belly. You eventually speak, your eyes meeting Lagertha's, and you can see she knows what you're going to say. "No, the guy I was with last night is not one of them."

"How can you be so sure?" Sigurd's voice is soft and tentative now, and Ubbe adds, seemingly for once in agreement with his younger brother, "yeah, how can you? It was pretty dark after all."

You give them a smile. "How can I be so sure? You mean beside the fact that you obviously don't need a cane? Neither of you?" The third brother, who still hasn't opened his mouth, chuckles, giving you a thumbs up. "Look, I appreciate your interest, I really do, but neither of you are the one I am looking for. Therefore," you look at your uncle, "we should leave, don't you think?" Checking the time on your watch, you shrug. "What about the Eyvindsson family? Didn't you tell me about three brothers? We may have time to go and see them tonight if we hurry."

Your uncle nods, handing you back the cane. "You're right, Y/N, we should leave." Taking two steps forward, he grabs Lagertha's hand. "Sorry dear, we will waste no more of your time."

You're about to thank her when one of the boys clears his throat. "Ahem..."

Turning your head, you're surprised to see the third brother, the silent one, raising his hand. "I think I might know who this cane belongs to." Frowning, he glances at his brothers. "And you both know it too."

"Shut up, Hvitserk!" Sigurd spits, clenching his hands into fists. "Don't bring the fucking cripple into the conversation."

"Sigurd! Keep your mouth shut!" Lagertha glares at him for several long seconds then her face softens as she looks at Hvitserk, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What are you trying to say, Hvitserk? Do you think this cane belongs to your baby brother?"

Hvitserk nods. "I know it does, actually."

"Come on, Hvit, you're talking nonsense. It cannot be, it just cannot. That guy was standing. It wasn't our brother. Our brother wasn't there last night." Ubbe stubbornly insists, but Hvitserk just shakes his head.

"Of course, he was. I saw him. And don't bullshit me, Ubbe, you saw him too. With Y/N." Hvitserk states. That's when you realize that your palms are sweating and your pulse is racing.

Hvitserk keeps going, now speaking to his guardian. "I know what I saw, Lagertha. It was him. I don't know how, but he was standing, Ubbe is right. He was even walking. It may sound weird but I swear, it was him."

Lagertha nods. "I believe you, Hvitserk." A beaming smile spreads across her lips and she tilts her head. "I wouldn't be surprised if Floki had something to do with such a miracle. Go get your brother, Hvitserk, please."

Your heart leaps at these words, you're barely able to contain your excitement and as you let out a nervous chuckle, you cannot help but jump for joy. Needless to say, Ubbe and Sigurd seem much less enthusiastic than you.

***

Reluctantly following his brother, Ivar mutters under his breath, "you're pissing me off, Hvit. I'm fucking not in the mood for whatever you have in mind."

Hvitserk pays him no mind though, a small smile dancing on his lips. "Trust me, baby bro, you'll be in the mood."

Ivar wants to protest, or maybe just turn around and wheel back to his room but all at once the sound of your voice reaches his ears and he stops, frozen in place, his eyes wide open. He may have stopped breathing.

Patting his shoulder reassuringly, Hvitserk whispers, "It's Y/N, baby bro, but I have a feeling you already know. She's here for you, she was looking for you, Ivar. Go..." before giving a single push to his brother's wheelchair, his right hand on the backrest.

Ivar honestly doesn't know how he manages to wheel himself into the living room. What he does know, however, is that you're suddenly standing right in front of him. The heart stopping smile you flash him blows all the air out of his lungs, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, and the outside world – Lagertha, his brothers, Harald – ceases to exist.

A little voice tells him he should be feeling self-conscious with his hair all messy and wearing worn sweatpants, but he can't bring himself to care, not when you kneel in front of him with stars in your eyes.

"Here you are, finally," you breathe, gently placing a hand on his knee. Ivar didn't know until now that one could die of happiness, but that's exactly what he's feeling and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

Swallowing, he blinks several times. When he speaks, his voice trembles, his bottom lip quivering. "Hello Y/N, you were... looking for... for me?" He has trouble getting the words out, his nervous fingers fidgeting on his lap.

Grabbing both his hands in yours, you nod, your thumbs stroking his knuckles tenderly. "I was, yes, and for a very long time."

Shyly lowering his head, Ivar, almost feeling dizzy, can't wrap his head around your words. They're just too good to be true. "But... why?"

"Why?" You giggle, your laughing eyes lighting up your face, and he's positive, you're even more beautiful like this. "Isn't it obvious? I want to know more about you, what's your favorite color, what you eat for breakfast, where you see yourself in ten years. I just want to spend time with you, Ivar."

'Ivar' You've just said his name and it's like the sweetest music to his ears. He can't believe it. Wow. "You... You recognized me?" There's so much hope and joy in his voice, he cringes.

You shrug, your smile never leaving your lips. "I wasn't sure at first. You've changed a lot." Your hand cups his cheek. The sensation on his skin is so overwhelming he has to hold back the tears threatening to gush. Yet, he can't help but think you're speaking about his legs.

He grits his teeth. "Yeah... Standing tall can change a man."

"No! no, no, no," you retort without missing a beat, "That's not what I meant. In my memory you still looked like you did when we were ten, but look at you now, all grown up! Your hair was so short back then." Reaching out, you brush a strand of hair back and tuck it behind his ear before letting your fingers run slowly down and up his bulging biceps, your hand finally lingering on his forearm, "Plus, you clearly work out a lot. So, yeah, I thought it was you, but I wasn't sure. When we were dancing last night, I thought I'd ask you right after, but then you left and... well... I didn't have a chance..."

Ivar wraps his fingers around yours, a frown creasing his forehead. "About that, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left like–"

You shush him, holding a finger to his lips. "It doesn't matter, Ivar. You don't have to explain. All that matters is that I found you." Standing up, you lean forward and gently kiss his cheek and he feels like he's floating. Intertwining his fingers with yours, you whisper in his ear, "I reckon we got some lost time to make up, you and me. Can we go stargazing now?"

Hearing this makes Ivar's insides turn to jelly. Barely able to think, he is on cloud nine and wishes with all his heart never to come back down to earth again. But despite the daze, despite the fog in his head, despite the blinding happiness, he knows one thing: no matter how many stars he sees, you'll be the brightest one.

"Yes, Y/N, you're right," bringing your hand to his mouth, he gives it a kiss, "let's go stargazing."

And as he leaves the room, you walking alongside him with your hand on his shoulder, his heart filled with joy and wonder, he doesn't miss the thumbs up Hvitserk gives him, nor the scowl on Ubbe's and Sigurd's faces.

For a fleeting second, he thinks he should – he could – taunt them. They deserve to be laughed at, don't they? But then, he realizes he doesn't have time for that. The time for happiness has come, and it's far more important.

Giving you a beaming smile, Ivar inhales deeply before releasing a sigh of satisfaction. Yeah. Happiness. Happiness sounds good.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar’s taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @adrille88

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings @heavenly1927 @dini73

[wonjaekook]

One Minus One Plus One

Pairing: college student!Mark x college student!reader

Description: In all of the years you’ve known Jungwoo, you should have figured out to not take his words at face value because, though you haven’t even met, Mark Lee seems to hate your guts.

Word Count: 9.9k

Genre: kind-of-enemies to lovers! fluff? angst? humor? I honestly don’t know how to categorize this

Warnings: vaguely suggestive ending, some minor swearing

A/N: This is my (late) holiday gift for a friend and to you all, I suppose. It’s an enemies-to-lovers but not really, as they’re not really enemies and it’s more passive-aggressive!Mark and very confused!Y/N. To the intended - I love and appreciate you so much; thank you for always supporting me and listening to me ramble about even the most ridiculous ideas <3 If you ever need anything, I hope you know that you can always shoot me a text or DM! Please enjoy c:

Mark Lee is always sweet. It’s the kind of sweetness that’s warm and fulfilling, leaving a pleasant feeling in the pit of the stomach, like a steaming up of hot chocolate rather than a strikingly sweet popsicle. His nature isn’t something he particularly prides himself on, as it’s partially unintentional, driven by awkwardness and politeness at times, or by the compulsion to simply make people happy. Jungwoo has told him that he’s allowed to be a little more selfish once in a while, he’s allowed to say no and take breaks sometimes. Except, he’s ever the people pleaser, ever the hard worker, ever the yes-man. Mark Lee is always sweet.

Except when he isn’t.

You’re fairly certain that Mark Lee has hated you since before you even met him. When you decide to transfer to the same university that your high school best friend Jungwoo attends, he talks your ear off about all of his great friends and all of the places he is going to take you and all of the fun you’ll have. He’s always been the descriptive type, telling you far too much about his good pals Mark, Donghyuck, Johnny, Taeil, Jaehyun, Kun, Lucas… and countless others, whose names you sometimes have a hard time keeping track of. Jungwoo has a lot of friends, something which has remained true since high school. Whenever you catch up with him, he speaks particularly fondly about Mark, who is one of his roommates and someone he considers to be one of his closest friends.

“You’ll love him,” he says, “but not too much, I hope. That would be super weird, you and Mark.” He wrinkles his nose at that and doesn’t make any more abnormal comments. You don’t think much of it.

In short, you let Jungwoo decide your opinion on Mark Lee before you ever met him. With everything else about moving to a completely different university occupying the majority of your thoughts, it’s easy enough to accept that Mark will be awkward and painfully sweet and that you will become fast friends. That’s your first mistake.

Before you even finish moving in, Jungwoo drags you over to his place to meet some of his friends, who he insists will become your own. It’s just past noon and he claims that everyone will be awake and ready to greet you once you get there. He’s half right, in the sense that only half of the apartment is awake. The early-risers, who Jungwoo didn’t even have to shake before he came over to get you, are at the table in their common area, sipping on various caffeinated beverages. These consist of Mark and Jaehyun. Donghyuck is presumably still curled up in his bed, asleep after a late night of playing games, and Johnny, who had stayed overnight and doesn’t actually live with them, is passed out on their couch, an arm slung over his face to block the light. Your friend has shown you enough pictures for you to recognize them.

Jungwoo practically deflates as soon as he walks in to see only two members of the current household conscious. “This is why we can’t have nice things,” he grumbles before striding over to Johnny and yanking off the blanket covering his long torso.

The elder groans, clearly having only been dozing and not deeply asleep, and moves his arm so he can glare at Jungwoo. “Your disrespect for my sleep schedule is why we can’t have nice things.”

“You don’t have a sleep schedule,” Jungwoo says back, glaring at his friend with the blanket in his hand. “Plus, Y/N’s here.”

Johnny lazily looks over and sees you in the entranceway, to which his response is to roll slightly so that he’s propped up against the back of the couch with one leg crossed over the other rather than just lying down. “Sup. Name’s Johnny.”

“Ew, don’t use your flirting voice!” Jungwoo whines at his friend, kicking him in the shin. In all honesty, you’re both amused and slightly flattered that Johnny is attempting to flirt with you when he’s just woken up. The messy hair is kind of a look. “Y/N’s a friend.”

“Yeah, we’ll be good friends, alright,” Johnny says, looking directly at you and wiggling his eyebrows in the most ridiculous way. That gets a giggle out of you while Jungwoo gawks, kicking Johnny again for good measure, slightly harder this time.

Jungwoo looks like he’s about to start arguing again when Jaehyun kindly interrupts, shifting the conversation. He gives you a small smile, perfectly polite and handsome, his hair straight and soft over his forehead. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Jaehyun.”

You lower your head to acknowledge him. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” You look towards the other boy at the table, who you now realize hasn’t glanced up at you once. Jaehyun had been at least half watching the mock fight between Jungwoo and Johnny, but Mark had just been staring at his cup from behind circular glasses, not even drinking it. His own hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends, making him appear somewhat young. “You’re Mark, right?”

Finally, he looks at you, but looks away quickly. “Yeah.”

That’s… that’s not right.

You try again, smiling as brightly as you can, even though he won’t glance in your direction again. His side profile is full of both soft shapes and hard angles, afternoon sunlight coming in through the window falls as highlights on his cheeks and nose and chin. He appears exactly as your friend had described him to you, but his attitude proves him to be a walking contradiction. You shift on your feet, grasping for the right words to say. “Jungwoo has told me a lot about you.”

“Uh… yeah. He’s told me about you, too.”

You almost outright frown at that. Isn’t he supposed to be super nice and friendly? Instead, it sounds like Jungwoo has been spreading all sorts of nasty stories about you. Hypothetical stories that, apparently, only Mark has been listening to. Neither Jaehyun nor Johnny are acting strangely towards you at all.

All three of the other boys do seem to notice the change in behavior for Mark, though. There are a few moments of tense silence before Johnny elbows Jungwoo. The latter speaks up. “Hey, Mark, can you go resurrect Donghyuck? I think he might be dead.”

The switch is instant and very startling to you. His face loses all of its tension as he looks at Jungwoo, nodding. “Yeah, sure. If I don’t come back in ten minutes, I’m the one who’s dead.” He pushes himself up out of his chair and exits the common area.

After he’s gone, you look at Jungwoo. He stares back. You make a motion with your head towards the front door, where you retreat to and he follows. You stand somewhat stiffly, hands linked behind your back. “Did you say something to him? About me?”

Jungwoo puts his hands up defensively. “Nothing bad, I swear!” He looks back towards the common area. “He must just be having a bad day or something…”

That doesn’t explain the sudden warmth when someone else spoke to him, though. You frown. “Okay… I guess I’ll just have to try harder to get him to like me.”

Your friend seems to perk up at that. “That’s the spirit!” He proceeds to grab you by the shoulders and steer you back to the common area.

You have an amiable enough time chatting with the boys who had remained there. Eventually, Donghyuck emerges from his room, looking even more ruffled than Johnny had, and Mark shuffles out with him. Once again, he doesn’t even spare you a glance. Every so often, as you’re talking to the others or just listening to their strange, all-over-the-place conversations, your eyes flicker over to him. He contributes to the chatter, but it’s like he’s purposefully avoiding you, even though you’re literally in the room with him. It kind of hurts.

Still, you try not to let it bother you too much. An hour passes, which you realize with a start, and you remember that you’re not even nearly done unpacking. As you’re rising from your seat on the edge of the couch, Jungwoo throws a comment out to you. “You’re welcome to bust in here any time!”

He’s met with a chorus of agreement from the others, except one.

The next day, Jungwoo makes a point to introduce you to the rest of his circle. Not long after, you’re added to a group chat with a whole phonebook of unfamiliar numbers. Most of them, minus several who your friend had told you in the past do a poor job of checking their messages, send their names pretty quickly. Jungwoo tells you who the others are. With a pang of disappointment, you realize one of the missing numbers was Mark.

On your first day of classes, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that you share an economics lecture with Donghyuck, who acts both very tired and also full of energy, chatting your ear off before and after class, but looking as if he’s about to pass out when the professor gives her introduction and starts to go over course material. That day, you also learn that you have an ethics class with Jungwoo’s friend Doyoung, stoic and serious and exactly the opposite of Donghyuck, but still smiling at your lame jokes and carefully making sure you get the homework down.

The second day starts out much more slowly. You settle down for your third class, a curriculum development course, and it takes you about a solid minute to realize that Mark Lee is sitting in the room with you. He had come in while you were busily typing out a text to a friend from your previous university. The classroom is not particularly large and you had taken a seat near the middle, so there aren’t many places for him to hide. When he walks in, he takes a seat by the wall closest to the windows. You consider greeting him, walking to his desk to try and talk to see if he had a change of attitude from the last time you saw him, but then your professor enters the scene. As he passes by the far side of the room, Mark looks up from his own phone and smiles, mouth instantly opening to greet him. You stay in your seat and try to look busy as you listen to them chat amiably. Mark laughs in disbelief at something your professor says about his vacation.

At the end of the lecture, you pack up your things quickly and make the effort to take a few small, light steps to catch up to Mark, who’s already leaving. “Hi, Mark! I didn’t realize we had a class together.”

He gives you a sort of half-shrug, keeping his head pointed straight ahead. Almost imperceptibly, his pace increases. “I guess we do.”

He opens a door to a stairwell, not making any particular effort to hold the door for you. Reflexively, you grab the door and slip through after him. You try again as the two of you head down. “Are you going to be home tonight? Jungwoo invited me to have dinner with you guys.”

“No,” he says, voice edged with irritation. He reaches into his pocket, fishing out his phone and a pair of earbuds. “I’ll be out.”

“Oh.” You slow down slightly. “Well, we should hang out sometime. My next class is this way, so… see you.” By the time you’re done talking, he’s slipped both earbuds into his ears and is pushing the doors at the bottom of the stairs open. You hold back a heavy sigh and shrug your backpack higher onto your shoulders.

As he told you, he’s not in his apartment that evening. Though Jungwoo had invited you to help cook dinner, he shirks his responsibilities, slipping away to play games with Donghyuck and leaving you and Jaehyun to cook, with relatively unhelpful commentary from Johnny, who was once again on the couch when you arrived. At some point, their friend Yuta slips in, steals some noodles, and leaves.

After the cooking is done, you and Jaehyun celebrate with a firm high-five, and Jungwoo and Donghyuck un-disappear, coming out of the younger boy’s dark bedroom. The lot of you are halfway through eating when Donghyuck perks up. “Wait, where’s Mark? He said he would do calc homework with me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and hold back from saying that he told you he wouldn’t be home.

Thankfully, most of Jungwoo’s friends are nice to you and it’s easy enough for you to make friends of your own. You ease yourself into a routine of classes, homework, and hanging out with your new social circles. Mark doesn’t hide that he tries to avoid you about half of the time. At the same time, you try to split yourself between friend groups, as to not force him either to be around you or to not hang out with his own friends. There are the occasional large scale events that both of you are invited to, but there are enough people that you usually aren’t forced to interact. After a month of classes, you stop trying to start conversations, but you still greet him. He greets you back with the indifference of an overworked, tired stranger. During your class, he firmly ignores you. He does more than ignore you - he speaks to virtually every other person in your class except you. All of your friends carefully avoid the topic of his blatant dislike for you, though you know they all think it’s odd.

Finally, one of those large events comes to pass via the boy known as Zhong Chenle. He doesn’t go to your school, but is still somehow acquainted with all of Jungwoo’s friends, so he became acquainted with you as well. He’s eccentric and sarcastic and sometimes you see him playing basketball with Mark and Jaehyun in the school recreation center. So, when he rents out the local ice skating rink and invites you, you’re excited to go. It’s not often that you get onto the ice - it’s always a thrill after you re-learn how to skate, and you enjoy the feeling of the smooth gliding and wide, curving turns on the blades. You imagine that you’re painting with your feet.

Things go down smoothly, like you envisioned. After just twenty minutes, you’ve confidently found your ice legs and you’re racing around the rink with Donghyuck, playfully tipping each other off-balance with carefully or sometimes not-so-carefully timed pushes. A few minutes later, a new player enters the arena. Maybe if this new person weren’t Mark Lee, you wouldn’t have noticed their entrance, but your eyes are instinctively drawn to him.

The boy in question is clinging to one Lee Jeno, another friend of Jungwoo and Donghyuck and all the rest of them, as they both try to find their balance. Jeno seems to be having somewhat of an easier time with the skates on his feet, making slow pushes so that he glides short distances with Mark holding onto him. Mark is adorably flushed, in a way you haven’t seen before, his cheeks aflame with cold and embarrassment. His body is swallowed by an overly large hoodie, completing the cozy and cute look.

Your racing buddy has also slowed down to watch with you, staring at the scene. He suddenly nudges you with an elbow. “You should help him.”

“Jeno? I think he’s gotten the hang of it. Plus, I don’t know him that well.” It’s now a game of who can dodge implications rather than who can dodge physical pushes.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, skating lazily alongside you. “You know I’m talking about Mark. This would be a great opportunity to get on his good side.”

“Why don’t you help him? He’s your boyfriend, after all.” If you weren’t focusing on turning your skates and keeping your balance because you’ve reached the short end of the rink, you would cross your arms and huff at him more dramatically.

He clicks his tongue sharply, something you know by now that he does when he’s irritated. “Mark isn’t my boyfriend. Doyoung and Taeyong are boyfriends. Mark and I are soulmates. And he’s still painfully single.”

“So are you!” As you protest, you realize that Mark and Jeno are getting closer. Donghyuck fires something back indignantly, but you’re just thinking about what he said before. The offer to help lies in front of you as a real possibility, but how would you feel if someone you hated came up and asked if you wanted help skating? If you really hated them that much, you would just think they were being condescending. The last thing you want to do is give Mark a reason to think you’re acting that way towards him. So, as you skate closer, you pick up your pace and speed on by, not even glancing at the two boys with their arms interlinked. Luckily for you, Jungwoo is just ahead, so you hook arms with him and jerk him forward with your momentum, making him yell out in surprise.

As you’re gliding along, laughing at your friend’s reaction and attempts to push you, Mark stares at you from behind with a small frown on his face.

“Mark?” Jeno’s voice snaps him out of it and he looks towards the younger boy. “Do you need me to slow down?”

“No,” he says rather grimly, “let’s go faster.”

You don’t speak to each other at all for the entire night.

The next month and a half passes unremarkably. Then, suddenly, midterms are rolling up and you find yourself swamped with work, especially in the class you share with Mark and your new friend Yuqi. At the current moment, you’re at your place with your head buried in your arms, groaning dramatically. “I can’t do this.”

Yuqi nods, looking somewhat dead inside. “Professor Lim hates us.”

“I don’t know what chapters we even covered half of the material in. Did he just make it up?” You lift your hand to paw through the textbook in front of you lazily, so much of it seeming foreign. “It doesn’t help that the Instructional Systems Design Model is such a big part of the project.”

“Maybe that’s in Chapter 1?”

You flip through her suggestion before slamming your book shut. “Nope.”

“I know!” You perk up at your friend’s revelation, looking at her from across the table. “We can just ask Mark! He’s good at this class, he probably knows.”

You stiffen at her suggestion. There was only one time you dared to ask him for help, in which he just brushed you off and said he was busy. Since then, you’ve resigned yourself to only asking Yuqi for help, no matter how clueless she is in this class sometimes. A brief moment of panic sends your heart racing as she whips out her cellphone. “Don’t mention me.”

She turns to look at you, finger poised to press call over her phone. “What?”

You put your head back down, muffling your words. “Don’t say my name when you talk to him.” She gives you a weird look, but shrugs, pressing the call button. “Wait! And put it on speaker so I can hear the answer. Please.”

Wordlessly, she rolls her eyes, but pulls the phone away from her face, setting it on the table in front of her. The call connects after two rings and you hear Mark’s voice with the staticky phone call filter over it. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mark! It’s Yuqi.”

“Oh, hi, what’s up?” He seems to brighten up, showing a pleasantness that you rarely hear from him these days.

“I just had a question about our curriculum development class. Do you know what chapter goes over the Instructional Systems Design Model? I can’t find it.”

“Oh, sure. Hold on, let me grab my notes.” From the other end, you can hear the distorted shuffling of clothes and paper for a moment. “It’s Chapter 4, I think. We didn’t really go over that chapter in class, but Prof. Lim told me when I went to his office hours.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much, Mark! You’re a literal life saver,” Yuqi gushes, about to practically kiss the phone in joy.

You press your hands together in front of you in a silent thank you. Mark laughs lightly into the phone. “No problem! If you ever need anything, let me know. I’m always happy to help.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! Bye, Mark!” After receiving a goodbye from him, Yuqi presses the hang up button. She claps her hands twice in excitement. “That makes things so much easier!”

You’re stuck thinking about what Mark said before hanging up. It’s exactly in line with how Jungwoo used to talk about him - polite, helpful, friendly. An ugly part of you has to wonder what you did wrong once again. What part of you is undeserving of his kindness? An even uglier part feels the green flash of envy. “How do you have Mark’s number?”

“We had a class together like a year ago and he’s a pretty cool guy. Also useful to have around.” The image of them studying together, chatting like close friends, heads bent closely over shared notes, makes the parasite of jealousy dig deeper in your belly. The logical side of your brain knows you shouldn’t be feeling like this, but the two sides of Mark Lee make you want to throw an uncharacteristic fit. She tosses her phone to the side before flipping open her textbook to Chapter 4. “Why?”

“Were you guys ever… like…” You bite the inside of your cheek, not wanting to say it out loud.

“Me? Mark? No, we just worked on a project together. I have no idea what gave you that idea.” She wrinkles her nose at you.

“You just talk to each other so casually,” you huff, trying to expel the negativity from your system, “I don’t know.”

“He’s like that with everyone,” she says easily, leaning back in her chair. “Except you, I guess.”

“Except me. I guess.” You parrot, not feeling any better about the situation. When you proceed to ask her if you did anything weird on your first day of class that would have put him off, she denies it, telling you that you were completely normal. Resigned to forget the mystery for the night, you open up your textbook.

Midterms pass with relative success. At least, with more success than you had at your old university. You’re excited for a break, a reprieve from the pain of studying. Johnny arranges a potluck and movie night at his place, assigning everyone a dish and putting you on dessert.

In your class with Doyoung, who is often assigned as the chef of the group, you pressure him for everyone’s favorites. “Something fruity? Chocolatey?”

“We’re split there. There’s not much you can do that would appease everyone, honestly. Some of them are the pickiest guys I’ve ever met.” He continues to scribble notes as you grill him for info, not even looking up.

“What if I did something different? Like matcha cookies?” You tap your chin in thought and Doyoung lifts a hand to point at you after the suggestion leaves your mouth.

“Yes, do that one. Basically everyone likes green tea.”

“Basically everyone?”

“Not Mark.” Doyoung shakes his head disapprovingly. “He’s not arriving until after we eat, though, so I’m sure it’s fine.”

You’re not sure what to say to that. That night, you work hard making your matcha cookies, setting aside a bit of time for a side project. When you arrive at Johnny’s apartment with two dishes, one quite a bit smaller than the others and labeled with Mark’s name, safely hidden in the pantry until everyone has stepped out of the kitchen area and you can put it somewhere you hope he’ll see it. You can only hope that he at least appreciates your effort. When he arrives a bit later into the night, non-gifting you his usual non-existent glance, you can’t help but impatiently squirm a bit. Before you leave, you make a pass by the kitchen and, disappointingly, but not surprisingly, the container is in the same place as you left it, your note still affixed to the top.

The mystery continues, however, when you approach Johnny a few days later to ask about retrieving your containers.

“There was more than one? I only have that big rectangular one that you brought the matcha cookies in. They were really good, by the way - I can only wish the cookies I make turned out like that…” He scratches his head and you feel like the gesture perfectly represents how you’re feeling as well. If he doesn't have the box… who does?

A small part of you holds onto the hope that the intended person retrieved them after you weren’t looking.

The class you share with Mark is not nearly the most interesting one you have, nor is it one that is particularly memorable most of the time. There’s something so terribly tedious about it that makes you suffer a disproportionate amount whenever you do a chapter of the reading, though you think that you’re usually quite good about your work. Still, though you’re not exactly the most studious of your classmates, you can’t stand resounding silences in the classroom. So, when your professor asks a question and no one volunteers, you try to at least say something somewhat intelligent. Today is one of those days. Except, as you speak, you realize with dawning dread that your words aren’t making any sense of all, are barely related to the question, and are progressively spiraling into completely different subject matter. Still, you find it hard to stop, eventually coming to a stuttering stop with your answer. Even Professor Lim can’t hold back something of a put-off expression. You sink lower into your seat and, as your professor says something along the lines of your comments being “not quite relevant,” your cheeks burn.

You spare a glance to the side, looking for some sort of pity or reassurance from Yuqi, but you end up looking past her at Mark. You half expect him to smirking at your failure, like a villain in a high school drama, but, instead, his eyes meet yours. He offers you the barest twitch of an encouraging smile before looking away, his face neutral again. You’re almost unsure about how to interpret the look - it’s the closest thing to a positive emotion he’s ever shown you. Confused, you fix your eyes on your open notebook and keep them there, scratching random notes and doodles into the margins for the remainder of the lecture.

When you think about Mark Lee, you feel like you’re going insane. It would honestly be pretty easy for you to make one of those crazy conspiracy theorist maps with the red strings and thumbtacks attempting to connect a bunch of pictures with all the strange, fragmented experiences you’ve had with the boy. At one position, you could put all the information you supposedly knew about him before even meeting him, all of the things Jungwoo told you, all the smiling pictures from before you arrived. Somewhere else, you could put all of the times Mark has brushed you off or outright refused to acknowledge your existence. In a third location, you could put all the things you’ve actively seen or heard him do that align with the person you thought he was. Finally, you could put the most recent developments of him subtly starting to not ignore you together. The whole diagram would be circled with giant question marks all over it and one question written in capital letters: WHY?

You’re trying to do your damn curriculum development homework and all you can think about is Mark Lee and the first smile he ever gave you. And, from the way your heart is beating, pushing heat into your face and ears, making you wistful and longing to see his smile again, you think you know the direction your feelings have headed.

The next few times you head over to Jungwoo’s place, it’s hit or miss as to whether Mark appears to be actively avoiding you. Finally, one day, you’re pressed shoulder to shoulder with Jungwoo, your eyes fixed on the small screen of your phone as you show him a funny video you found. You don’t notice Mark until he opens his bedroom door loudly enough that you look up and you meet his cold gaze. He’s in casual clothes, a hoodie and jeans, with earbuds hanging from his ears, his hair slightly tousled from the wind outside. The eye contact lasts for only a moment before his door acts as a barrier to your vision. You blink hard.

“Just when I thought we were getting somewhere…” You sulk, speaking lowly as to not be overheard by him.

“You and Mark?” Jungwoo asks, not even looking up. The video ends and your friend puts down your phone, folds his hands in front of him, and turns to look at you. “Did you ever figure it out?”

“Did I? How could I figure it out when he won’t even talk to me? Did you?” You lean away from him, crossing your arms. “Should we even be having this conversation over here? He’s just in his room.”

Jungwoo shrugs. “He has his headphones in, he can’t hear anything. To answer your question,” he pauses, leaning in closer to whisper like he’s telling you a secret, “I have no idea.”

“You must have some ideas at least?”

“I have many ideas, many theories, and quite a few formulas. Most of which don’t particularly apply to this situation.” You grumble something under your breath about engineering majors as he continues. “For Mark? He might be letting all the negativity he’s ever felt out on you, honestly. Maybe because you’re the same major?”

You sit up slightly straighter. “We’re the same major?”

“Yeah?” Jungwoo replies, giving you a look. “He’s trying to be music education instead of history education, though.”

“I never knew the specifics,” you mumble, letting your posture fall back into a slouch. In reality, it’s more than just not knowing the specifics - there’s very little you’ve managed to learn about Mark that you haven’t actively had to pry out of your shared friends. You know about some of the foods he likes, some of his hobbies, and a bit of general information. It’s awfully hard to get to know someone when they refuse to acknowledge you.

That notion makes your developing crush feel even stupider.

You attempt to turn the subject back to where it began. “Why me, though? Why not literally anyone else?”

“You’re a pretty cool person and you’re good at a lot of things. Mark’s developing an inferiority complex?” Jungwoo taps his chin as though he’s pretending to be some great thinker.

“I’m not going to lower myself to help some man’s ego,” you huff, your nails digging into your palms as you make tight fists. “Plus, there’s nothing I’m particularly good at that he’s not also good at, if not better.”

“It’s not really about ego, I think…” Jungwoo says, trailing off. “I dunno. He’s not like that with anyone but you.”

“No one but me, huh.” Honestly, you’re kind of getting sick of that expression. This isn’t the kind of exceptional you want to be to him. Not at all. You’re honestly not sure when it stopped being a simple need to be on pleasant terms with Jungwoo’s friends and started to get romantic. Your lips press into a thin line for a moment before you exhale sharply from your nose. “Everything is a big ‘I don’t know’ and I hate it. If it’s not an ‘I don’t know,’ it’s still stuck in the ‘why?’ stage.” You lay your head down and you have to resist the urge to scream into your arms. “I’m going to lose my mind.”

“You really make no sense at all.”

“It really makes no sense that I-” You bite your tongue to stop yourself to stop yourself from admitting out loud to the feelings you’ve just recently realized. Jungwoo just gives you a sly, knowing smile that you don’t like the look of one bit.

Before you know it, finals are around the corner and, with it, one of the last organized events you’ll have with your friends until testing is over. This time, it’s a group dinner where people can come and go as they please, and a few of you have taken it upon yourselves to do all the cooking. Namely, you, Doyoung, Jaehyun, Kun, and, surprisingly, Donghyuck. Suffice to say, the kitchen is not enough space for all of you. Still, you manage to pull it off, completing a hearty Korean-style dinner that slowly disappears from their dishes as all of the others eat. By the end, you’re worn out from the sweltering heat of the stove, the occasional bickering with the other chefs (‘Donghyuck, stop eating all the radish!’), and chatting with nearly every single one of your friends. Names and faces scroll through your head and you’re honestly not sure who you’ve seen and not seen by the end of it. Except for one person.

Mark Lee is, once again, nowhere to be found.

You make sure to smack away hands going for seconds in order to wrap up a moderately sized portion of food for him anyways. When all of the food, save for what you’ve set aside for Mark, is gone, Taeyong offers himself and some of the others up to clean, which you and the rest of the cooking boys eagerly accept. Most of them have headed out by now, but the few remaining begrudgingly agree to the job at Taeyong’s call.

You lean against the wall idly, watching the work being done and listening to the rhythmic sound of the water running and the sponge scraping against metal. Finally, Jungwoo happens upon the wrapped plate you had prepared for your missing guest.

“Who’s this for?” He asks to the room, almost salivating at the sight of the food. Damn, that boy can eat.

“It’s for Mark. You can give it to him when he gets back.” Your words are half informative, half threatening. Jungwoo takes the hint and carefully replaces the foil covering the food.

It takes another minute for him to look back over at you, seeing you looking bleary-eyed, close to swaying onto the floor from fatigue. He steps over, patting you on the head. “Y/N, you can go rest on the couch if you want. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I might just do that,” you respond, not clarifying which part of his sentence you’re talking about. At his behest, you shuffle over to the couch. It only takes a moment for your eyes to flutter closed. The music of washing dishes lulls you quickly to sleep.

You’re not sure how long has passed by the time you stir to the sound of the front door closing. You recognize that water is no longer running and that there are only two voices left in the kitchen area. Lying there for a moment, unsure of if you should make your presence known yet, you determine that the voices belong to Jungwoo and Mark.

“Oh, Y/N made sure to grab this for you,” you hear Jungwoo say, followed by the faint crinkling of the foil covering the plate.

“She did?” Mark’s voice is surprisingly soft, warm, everything you’re not used to from him.

The voices drift closer towards you, accompanying the slip of socks against the wood floor. “Don’t act surprised. Also, she’s on the couch sleeping right now. I’ll probably wake her up in a minute so she can go home.”

“Oh.” You’re listening as hard as you can, trying to determine whatever Mark is feeling just by his tone. “Is she okay?”

Your heart beats faster and you want to squirm, ask questions, anything. You remain still.

“Just tired.” A beat of silence. “Why are you looking at her like that?”

“Dude, I just…” Mark has some sort of lightness to his voice that you’ve never heard.  “Nothing.”

“Do you think I can’t tell? Come on, I’ve known you long enough.” Jungwoo would normally be teasing saying something like that, but right now you just hear a kind of weariness that you’re entirely familiar with.

“Not as long you’ve known her.” The sentence comes out bitter, the first negativity you’ve heard from Mark all night, and Jungwoo sighs in response.

“Do what you need to do and then I’ll wake her up.”

They walk farther away. The telltale sound of the microwave opening and shutting after the foil crinkles again, followed by the beeping of the buttons and the hum of the machine, tells you that someone is heating up the food. Under the microwave ambiance, you hear what you think is plastic against plastic. The machine is stopped before it can beep shrilly. The smell of warm, reheated food fills the air briefly. There’s shuffling as Mark presumably walks.

“Night.” Jungwoo echoes Mark’s sentiment and you hear more shuffling towards you. A touch on your shoulder. You keep your eyes closed, trying to control your breathing for a moment longer. Your friend shakes you slightly. “Y/N, wake up.”

You try your best to play up your awakening act, like you hadn’t been listening to the entirety of the last conversation. Rubbing your eyes and blinking, you look up at Jungwoo. “What time is it?”

“Almost midnight. Everyone went home to sleep and study.” You get up slowly, rolling your shoulders once you’ve sat up. “I can walk you back, if you want.”

“That’s okay, it’s not a long walk.” You get to your feet, padding to the kitchen area. There, on the table, is the plastic container you’d brought Mark’s cookies in weeks ago. “Oh, that’s my container. Did Johnny find it?”

Jungwoo reaches up to ruffle his hair, looking between you and the container. “Mark did, actually.” “Huh.” Shrugging, you pick it up and make your way to the door. “Tell him thanks for me.”

“You could tell him yourself?” Jungwoo offers, looking vaguely hopeful.

You smile, but cringe at the same time. “Yeah… you know.”

He shakes his head, seeming disappointed once more. “Fine. Text me when you get back?”

“Will do.”

As you walk home, your container clutched in your arms, you think about how more pieces are being unveiled, but nothing is really making that much more sense at all.

Finals pass as they always do. You study with Yuqi for your curriculum development class. The situation from midterms repeats itself almost exactly at one point, with her calling Mark for help and you staying quiet as he talks, and the test is no harder than any of the others you had previously in the semester. You force yourself to keep your eyes on your exam and to not glance over at Mark except when you’re walking out of the classroom at the end. All you can see of him is the back of his head, his hair slightly disheveled. Idly, you wonder if you’ll get over your baseless crush if you aren’t able to look at him and mull over the problem during class anymore. You think that’s the last you’ll see of him before you run into him at an event next semester.

On the last day of finals, your group chat receives two messages from Jungwoo.

JW: END OF THE SEMESTER PARTY TOMORROW NIGHT TO CELEBRATE FINALS BEING DONE BEFORE EVERYONE LEAVES. ATTENDANCE IS MANDATORY.

JW: I don’t care if you planned a “date” with your “girlfriend,” I expect to see all of you there :))

A minute later, your phone buzzes again with an individual message from the same boy.

JW: Y/N, my lovely best friend, you’re part of the planning committee and you’re going to help me set up. Be there an hour early xoxo

You know there’s no use fighting it so, the next day, you show up to his place as expected. Jungwoo, Lucas, Yuta, and Johnny are all milling about, trying to seem busy but, honestly, there doesn’t look like there’s much to do. Some of the furniture has been moved to the side, there’s a giant mysterious tub that is partly filled with a reddish liquid that Lucas and Yuta are leaning over, and Johnny is affixing colorful lights to a wall. As soon as your shoes are off, Jungwoo is steering you to the common area.

“Y/N, you’re late!”

“I’m like ten minutes early-” You start.

“No, no, no excuses. I have an important job for you!” It takes you a moment to realize that he’s not leading you to the kitchen, but towards someone’s bedroom. “You like crafts, right?”

“I mean, I guess? I-”

“Great!” He pushes open the bedroom door, Mark’s bedroom door, and pushes you not-so-gently inside. Mark is sitting at his desk, bent over something with a look of surprise on his face. He looks cozy, dressed in a simple red t-shirt and gray sweats with circle glasses perched on his nose. “I want to hang about one hundred paper cranes around the apartment to add a little flare to the party. You can’t leave until you’re done, Mark has the paper, bye!”

He shuts the door behind him.

You and Mark stare at each other in bewilderment as you process whatever just happened. You’re in Mark’s bedroom for the first time. You’re also being actively forced to interact with him one on one for the first time. None of your friends had ever forced you to try and work out your issues until now and you’re certain that Jungwoo’s implication was that you’re not allowed to leave until you’ve talked it through. Some part of you knew he would eventually snap and force you to interact, but you always ignored that possibility. Until now.

“Um,” you start, twisting your fingers together in front of you, “he said you have the paper?”

“Yeah…” he looks back at his desk, grabbing some of the myriad of square sheets and holding them out to you. “Here.”

“Thanks.” You carefully make sure to prevent your fingers from brushing against his as you take them from him. Stepping back, you settle cross-legged on an empty spot on his floor. After you sit, you take a moment to look around. His walls have the occasional band poster plastered on them, there’s a hoodie on the floor across the room, and some of his drawers are partly open, illustrating a pretty typical college boy’s room. A couple of books are pushed to the side on his desk as he works on folding the cranes. Remembering that’s what you’re supposed to be doing, you get to work, making careful creases. Your first crane comes to life on yellow paper slightly lopsided. Good enough, you figure.

You’re in the middle of your second crane when Mark’s chair screeches quietly against the floor and he stands up, gathering his paper. To your great surprise, he sits down a few away from you and mirrors your pose. When you meet eyes with him briefly, you look away as fast as you can, returning to your crane before you can even try and read what he’s feeling. The next three cranes pass quickly with your eyes locked firmly on your work. When you dare to look up again, you find that Mark is intently watching your hands. He startles when you see him. Realizing he’s been caught, he speaks of softly. “Do you… know how to do it?”

Even when he’s the one talking quietly, looking embarrassed, you feel so small. You look down at his own paper pile, which has a few crumpled sheets surrounding it. “I can show you.” He nods and you cautiously scoot closer so that you’re side by side. As gently as you can, you explain each fold and he copies your movements. Soon, you have a relatively even green crane and he has a somewhat lopsided pink crane, very similar to your first.

“Thanks,” he says, staring at his creation, “all of the tutorials I googled weren’t making any sense, but I think I got it now.”

“No problem.” You nod, moving back to your spot across from him. Not wanting the experience to end quite yet, you think about what Jungwoo said last weekend. “Thanks for returning my container.”

He instantly knows what you’re talking about. “Thanks for-”

Before he can say any more, he stops and his expression hardens. He proceeds to look back down at his hands, making slow, purposeful folds in the paper in front of him. You frown, but do the same. A few cranes later, you can’t stop it anymore. After months, months, of him treating you like this, you can’t go one more crane without finding the truth. You throw a half-completed crane to the floor and, though the noise isn’t loud, he looks up. “Mark, what did I do?”

He seems entirely too surprised by the question, which sparks a kind of anger that you didn’t even realize you were holding in. “What?”

“What did I do! What made you act like this to me? Did I do something? Do you just hate my face? What did I do wrong?” You squeeze your knees brutally, trying to resist doing something like tearing up the few pieces of origami you had completed.

“Nothing.” His simple, one word answer only serves to make you more upset. Though he appears initially dismissive, he sees that you’re about to start shouting and quickly continues. “You really didn’t do anything!”

“Then, why? Mark, you’re making me lose my mind!” Now, you feel like you’re on the verge of crying out of frustration. So far, you’ve managed to not cry at all about this stupid boy who has largely chosen to ignore your existence, but you can feel the telltale warming of your cheeks and the pout in your lips.

“It’s not something you did! Not really.” He takes a shaky breath, appearing almost as upset as you, though there are no tears in his eyes. “It’s about Jungwoo. Please, don’t cry.”

The initial confusion helps you swallow your building tears. “If you’re upset at him, why do you have to take it out on me? I really wanted to be friends with you, Mark. I really did.”

“I wanted to be different.” Now, he’s quiet, refusing to look at you for the months of shame he’s feeling rise to the surface.

“From Jungwoo?” You’re not quite following still. You just know that, even though he’s subtly broken your heart and led you in circles over and over for the past few months, you want to know why he’s hurting and you want to stop it. Even if he hasn’t been full of kindness to you, he has been to everyone else. And you know almost for a fact that this isn’t something he’s told anyone else.

“From you.”

Pushing aside papers, crumpled partial cranes, complete cranes, you move closer to him. You’re not sure if you’re overstepping your boundaries and you still kind of feel like one wrong move will make you cry, but the yelling has left your system and your instincts say proximity will help you understand. “Will you explain it to me?”

“There was a you-shaped hole in Jungwoo’s heart ever since he had to go to college and stop spending so much time with you.” Mark’s resignation is quiet, soft-spoken, like the boy you’d heard so much about but only now had gotten to truly meet. “Whenever he came back from breaks, he would talk about you so much and about how similar you and I are and it just made me feel… it made me feel… like… I don’t know. Like I’m just replacing you while you’re not here.”

“Mark…” You’re not sure quite what to say that he hasn’t logically figured out for himself already. Maybe it would help to say the obvious anyways? “You’re not a replacement. You’re you and I’m me and he has different places for both of us.”

He lets out a puff of air. “I know that. It’s just the type of feeling that you can’t really get to go away, even when you try really hard to believe the opposite.”

“I get the feeling.” And you do. It’s like the nagging feeling that you’ve had that you did something unforgivable to upset Mark even though you were almost certain you didn’t.

“I was mean to you because at least that would make me different enough to not be replaced, I guess. It worked because you never stooped to my level to be mean back.” Though he hasn’t quite apologized, he sounds genuinely sorry.

“It worked because you couldn’t have been replaced in the first place,” you say back. You look over and he has a small smile on his face.

“That too. Also-” He stops himself, seeming conflicted. “No, it’s a bad time. A really bad time.”

That piques your curiosity. “Huh?” He’s not smiling anymore, instead looking awkwardly to his side, away from you, and drumming his fingers on the bed. “Mark, you might as well say it. Whatever it is.”

“Okay, after a few months, I realized that you weren’t going to replace me and things were fine. But, you know that thing that kids do?” You’re confused and he’s growing red, practically steaming at the ears in embarrassment, which you can see even in the dim light of the room. “So, I kept being mean because then you kept looking at me even though whenever I thought about what I said to you later, I always felt really bad-” “Mark, you’re rambling. What are you talking about?” You ungracefully interrupt him, touching his arm to get his full attention. He seems to grow even redder at your touch and suddenly exclaims his next words.

“You’re really cute!”

Slowly, his words make more sense. You try to piece them together out loud to make sure you’re understanding him correctly. “So… the thing kids do… where they’re mean to the person they like?”

He moves his head up and down in a tiny nod. Now, your face is heating up, too. Even more than it was when you were on the verge of crying. After a moment, he groans and presses his face into his hands. “Damn, I’m such an idiot. I know this is, like, what middle schoolers do, but since the beginning of the semester I’ve just been so confused, except you’ve probably been way, way more confused than me, and I didn’t even think about it, but all of our friends are probably confused, too, and-” As he jabbers, when your thoughts and feelings had been processing slowly previously, you now feel like your whole reality is crumbling. You spent the last while beating down your feelings when he’s become a pile of mush in front of you about the same problem? At this rate, he’s never going to stop rambling either. Not that you particularly want him to. It’s the most he’s directly said to you ever. And it’s adorable. What else would be adorable? You wonder, teasing him a bit before you tell him the truth. For how long he kept you hanging, you deserve to create at least some tension of your own, you figure. Just for a moment.

“- you’re probably thinking about how dumb this is and I don’t know how you’ll ever forgive me-”

You sit up straight and cross your arms over your chest. “Mark.”

He stops talking and looks at you, more panic seeming to rise in his face at the serious expression you wear. “Oh shit, I never let you talk. Y/N-”

“Mark.” He finally stops, staring at you. “I don’t forgive you.” The panic turns into sheer terror. He clearly hadn’t expected you to put it so forwardly. However, before he can say anything truly depressing, you continue. “I don’t forgive you because you haven’t actually apologized yet.”

His eyes are like tiny suns, round and bright and holding all the feeling in the universe. “I- I thought…” He looks to the side, thinking about everything he had said, and realizes that you’re right. “You’re right. Y/N…” He presses his hands together in front of him. “I’m so sorry.”

It’s probably the most succinct and straightforward he’s ever been with you, but you don’t have much time to think about that before he’s leaning forward in a full bow, pressing his forehead to the ground.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-”

“Mark, stop!” As soon as you realize what he’s doing, you shuffle forward, putting both hands on his shoulders so you can attempt to yank him back upright. “I was joking, please stop!” He remains upraised, once again looking confused. Slowly, you move backwards about two feet to put some breathing room between you. “You don’t need to do that. I like you, too.”

One slow heartbeat passes. Then a second. You’re not sure how long the thick silence hangs between you, but the tension is so heavy that you don’t even hear any outside noise from the other boys who are supposedly getting ready for a party.

“You… what… wait, no, really?” Mark’s baffled face as he stutters back to you paired with the anxiety of the entire situation makes a laugh bubble out of your chest. He seems to be entirely at a loss. He continues to just stare at you wide-eyed, like he’s witnessing some incredible event instead of just ogling you in the dim light of his bedroom.

“Don’t look at me like that…” You can’t help but reflect some of his flustered behavior, eye contact becoming almost painful. He’s never met your eyes with such enormous positivity and cuteness before and it makes you want to run laps around the building or something. “Mark, I’m serious!”

“How could you like me back? When I was so mean to you? For months?” He begins to twist in place, trying to lean over and look at your head from multiple directions. “Did you fall down the stairs on the way over here and hit your head or something?”

“Mark!” You uncross your legs and shuffle closer on your knees, reaching out to still his movement by grasping his shoulders once again. “Please stop.” When you touch him, he freezes, still moon-eyed. After he stops moving, your hands slide down so that you can hold his. His hands are warm and stiff, just like the rest of his body.

He finally breaks eye contact, looking at where your hands are connected. “I just really don’t get it. There’s no way you like me.”

“You almost sound like you’re upset about it.” You tilt your head, smiling at him softly.

“I am!” He’s insistant, his hands holding onto yours firmly now. Though his grip is tighter, he visibly deflates, his shoulders sinking. “It’s so unfair to you. I was such an ass.”

“But you’re not. One ass-like behavior does not an ass make.” You almost confuse yourself saying it, but you continue. “It’s not about the times you were weird to me. It’s about the times you were nice to everyone else. Like when you helped Yuqi with our class. Or when you helped Donghyuck with his calc even though you aren’t even taking it with him. It sounds kind of dumb, but because of that, I knew you weren’t a bad person. Even if you were trying to be one to me sometimes.” Your thumbs run over his idly, making soothing strokes over his skin as you speak. “Still, you weren’t really all that mean to me, per se. More cold, if anything. Then, when you stopped doing so much of that, it got really confusing. I do have a question, though.”

“I’ll try to answer it, I guess.”

“Did Jungwoo really say we were that similar?”

He blinks. “Maybe once or twice? It just really stuck out to me, for some reason.”

“You’re cute.” He blushes furiously at that. Carefully, you untangle one of your hands from his and bring it up to his cheek, cupping his blazing face. “Do you want to try this? The being together thing?”

“I want to, but-” He presses his lips together, making his cheeks puff out slightly as he thinks. “I don’t know. I feel like I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve a chance with you.”

Silence sits between you for a moment. Your hand moves back down so you’re holding both of his again. “I know what you can do to make it up to me.”

His eager eyes on your face prompts you to continue. Slowly, a grin threatens to split your face in half.

“I guess you’ll have to kiss me at least once for every time you were mean to me. Maybe more than once.” Your brilliant smile changes form in the air between you and reappears as the stars in his eyes.

“Practice round? Just to make sure I get it right.” The subtle flirtatiousness of the idea that leaves his mouth absolutely appeals to you and you agree. You move as close as you possibly can, your knees pressed together, your breath on his lips and his on yours, his soft bangs grazing your forehead. The touch of his lips against yours is awkward at first, but transforms into something sweeter with a little time. Once you both pull away, it seems you have the same idea when you both go back in for a few quick pecks afterwards. Finally, when you’re content for the moment, he leans forward quickly to press a kiss to your cheek.

You figure that a return to the work of folding cranes will help calm down your rapid heart rate, but every time you steal a glance at Mark, the butterflies return. You know for a fact that he keeps looking at you, too. By the time the noise level outside of the room increases and music is being blasted through the apartment, you’re nowhere near being done with all one hundred cranes, but both of you are sure your mutual friend doesn’t actually care about that. Together, you emerge from his room. You don’t answer any prodding questions from your friends for most of the time you’re mingling, though you’re pretty sure that a good number of them see him sneaking kisses at least once or twice.

Some of them definitely see when you sneak off to his room again before the clock has even turned to midnight. At the same time, you could be damned if you really care.

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

Colours

Word count: 1754

Genre: Angst and fluff

Pairing: Natasha x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing (let me know if I need to add more)

Request: How about a natasha x reader Soulmate AU?

Summary: Soulmate AU. Reader has never really liked the idea of a soulmate and is fine with not having one until she wakes up in a hospital able to see colours and Natasha is on a long mission.

A/n: This one took me awhile to get around to, but at least it’s here now. This was requested by both an anon and @casperlikej​ so I hope you and everyone else likes it! I keep deciding to catch up on my fics and then procrastinating so sorry I still have a lot I haven’t written yet. Enjoy!

You zip up your tactical suit, grinning across the jet at Natasha. She smiles softly back as she straps her guns to her thighs. You can’t help but stare at that movement, admiring how hot she looks before quickly taking your eyes away before she notices.

“Alright team,” Steve speaks up, “we need to find the weapon’s stash which is located in the red building in the north cluster.”

“Um Stevie, some of us don’t have soulmates and don’t fucking know what red is.” You remind him and he sighs, exasperated with your nickname for him.

“Just follow me.” He tells everybody but Tony, Bucky and Bruce. “And Y/n, how many times do I need to tell you that you haven’t found your soulmate yet, not that you don’t have one.”

You roll your eyes. “You know how I feel about soulmates Stevie.”

He opens his mouth to respond but Tony cuts him off. “As much as I would love to see the two of you argue about soulmates for the thousandth time, we’re landing.” 

The mood instantly turns serious as the jet touches down and everyone gives themselves a quick check over to make sure they have everything. You once again look at Natasha and grin as everyone makes their way off the jet. She doesn’t notice which is probably for the best because sooner or later she was bound to notice your small crush on her.

“Let’s get ‘em guys.” Tony says as you all rush towards a building in the back, following Steve’s lead.

The fire fight when you got to the cluster was heavier than expected and you were dodging bullets left and right. The hydra agents were dropping fast though and before long there were only a few of them left. You smile at your assumed success when you feel a sharp pain in your chest and you hit the ground and your vision starts to blacken. You can vaguely make out the voices of your teammates shouting at you to wake up but it takes too much effort so you let the darkness overcome you.

Wanda runs over to you, the first to see you fall, checking for a pulse, sighing in relief when she finds one.

“She’s still breathing.” She calls out and the rest of the team follows her lead, sighing in relief before taking down the few remaining hydra agents.

Steve steps forward, gingerly picking you up. “I’ll bring her back to the jet to get medical attention, the rest of you finish the mission.”

“But-” Natasha starts to protest but falls silent under Steve’s stern gaze. Steve takes you back, trying to find the balance between quickly getting you to the jet and trying to to jostle you. When he gets back he yells for the medics and places you on the table.

You feel as though everything is blurry. “Stevie?” You slur.

“Shhh, don’t speak, it’s going to be alright.” He tells you. You hear nurses come into the room, then the sharp prick of the needle then nothing.

Only a few minutes pass before the rest of the team comes bursting into the jet.

“Is she okay?” Bucky asks frantically as Natasha walks over to you and the others look on.

“She’ll be fine,” one of the doctors assures, “we just need to stitch her up and she needs some rest.”

“Good,” Natasha says shortly, reaching out to hold your hand, “HOLY SHIT!!!”

“What?” Multiple voices ask her.

She lets a small smile spread across her face. “I can see colours now.”

---

The first thing you hear is the tell tale beeping of machines that let you know that you were in either the hospital or medbay. You shift around in your bed, opening your eyes, taking in the room.

In your dazed state it takes a second for you to realize that you can see colours. “What the fuck?!?!?!??” 

“Isn’t it exciting?” Steve’s voice asks and you turn to the side to see him and Natasha sitting in the two chairs by the hospital bed. 

“Exciting?” You ask. “This is horrible! I don’t want a soulmate!”

“Don’t say that.” Steve says sternly.

“If that’s the way she feels it’s ok Steve, no need to get mad at her.” Natasha says before turning to you. “Now that I know you’re awake I have to leave for a mission.” With that she strides out of the room. 

“Be safe!” You shout after her.

When you turn back to Steve he’s shaking his head at you. “Why don’t you want a soulmate?” 

“Because the concept is stupid,” you explain as though it should be obvious, “I touch someone skin to skin and suddenly I can see colours? Now I’m automatically supposed to be in love? What the fuck is that?”

Steve sighs. “It’s hard to explain but Bucky makes me the happiest I’ve ever been, give your soulmate a chance.”

“No can do,” you say apologetically, “tell whoever it is sorry but I don’t want to shack up with some random person just because I’m supposed to.”

Steve looks disappointed in you but doesn’t disagree. “If that’s what you really want.”

---

It had been two months since the soulmate thing and honestly things were good. As much as the idea of soulmates still repulsed you you had to admit that seeing colours was pretty cool. The only bad thing was that Natasha had been gone on a top secret assignment since she had talked to you in the hospital and you missed her more than you should have.

Tony and Steve walk by and you stop them. “Do you guys have any idea of when Natasha is going to be back?”

They exchange a look before Tony speaks up. “We actually just got off the phone with Fury and her mission just ended but he’s giving her a little off time so she’s not coming back until next week.”

“Is Natasha okay?” You ask, frowning. “She doesn’t usually take off time.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. We’ll see you around later.” Steve says, brushing off your concern and walking away with Tony. You watch them walk away, suspicion clouding your thoughts. It was unlike Steve to not seem to care about his teammates so you know that something is wrong. You also are a bit suspicious of the glance Steve and Tony had before answering and you know for sure they are hiding something about Natasha’s mission. You snort to yourself, being a spy was your old job and they still thought they could hide things from you.

You decide to go and see if Fury will tell you anything about Natasha. You aren’t super concerned because you know if she was seriously injured or even dead Steve would have told you, you’re just very curious. 

“Come in.” Fury says when you knock on the door of his office.

You get straight to the point. “Why is everyone acting weird about Natasha’s mission and why is she taking time off? And don’t feed me some bullshit answer.”

He stays silent for a minute, appearing thoughtful. “I will tell you because I fear otherwise could damage team dynamics. However if this is information you don’t like, you have to pretend not to know it.”

“Of course sir.” You respond confused.

He slides a file across the table and you eagerly grab it and start to read, only to find out it’s your file.

“Why are you giving me my own file?” You ask him. He points his finger at a spot near the bottom of the page.

Soulmate: Natasha Romanoff

You look up in shock. “Natasha’s my soulmate???” He nods. “Shit!”

“I assumed you would be happy to find out she was your soulmate.” He tells you. “Please don’t let anyone, even Natasha, know that you know.”

“No sir,” you explain, “I am happy she’s my soulmate, I thought it was some random doctor I had never met, but I said, right in front of her that I didn’t want my soulmate.”

“I know Y/n, who do you think she begged to be allowed on a mission?” You look down sheepishly after he says that. 

He takes pity on you and scribbles an address down on a scrap of paper and hands it to you. “Take one of the small jets and don’t mess this up.”

“Thank you.” You tell him before rushing out of the room, immediately making your way to the jets.

---

Ten hours later you’re exhausted but finally are here and you knock on Natasha’s hotel room door. 

“Hello?” She questions when she answers the door. “How did you know where I was staying?”

“I know we’re soulmates.” You tell her, ignoring her question.

Her eyes grow wide. “You better come inside for this conversation.” You step in as she holds the door open and take a seat on the edge of the bed as she closes the door. Instead of sitting beside you she stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, her stance defensive.

“You can sit down.” You tell her, patting a spot beside you. 

She hesitantly makes her way over and takes a seat. “Thanks.”

You look at her, unsure of how to exactly express how you feel. “I’m sorry Tasha.” 

“There’s no need to be sorry,” she responds, “I’ve always known how you felt about soulmates.”

“Yeah but that was before I actually had one.” You say.

She scoffs. “Don’t back track now, I was in the hospital when you said you didn’t want a soulmate.”

“Tasha,” you breath reaching out to touch her hand with yours, biting her lip when she pulls away, “that was before I knew it was you.”She scoffs again, looking away. You put your hand on her chin and turn her to face you again. “I’m serious Tasha. I thought my soulmate was some doctor I didn’t know, not my friend who I happened to have a little bit of a crush on.”

She blushes and bites her lip. “So you do want me?” She asks, in a heartbreakingly timid voice.

“Always.” You say before leaning in to kiss her. She kisses super softly at first, like she’s scared you’re not there but quickly getting more comfortable. When you break apart you rest your forehead against hers, lips still close to touching. 

“My soulmate.” She says in a voice that’s the perfect mix of sweet and possessive to make your knees weak and your heart jump.

“Your soulmate.” You agree.

---

Tagging: @fayhar​ @stephanieromanoff​ @acertainredhead​ @stop-drop-and-drumroll​ @peggycarter-steverogers​ (if you want to be added, comment, send an ask, or message me)

[dereksmcgrath]

I had said before that the number 108 can be unlucky. It wasn’t unlucky at all for My Hero Academia: Vigilantes. But 108 is kind of unlucky for this episode: not only are we focusing on the Villains, but we just aren’t giving their story the structure and emotional weight it deserves.

(I either opened with those remarks or just made a bunch of corny jokes about how “Meta Liberation Army” can be abbreviated as MLA--and I’m saving those jokes for a future review.)

“My Villain Academia,” My Hero Academia Episode 108 (Season 5, Episode 20)

An adaptation of Chapters 220, 221, 222, 223, and 224 of the manga, by Kohei Horikoshi, translated by Caleb Cook with lettering by John Hunt and available from Viz.

My Hero Academia is available to stream on Crunchyroll and Funimation.

Spoilers up to My Hero Academia Chapter 325.

When I teach literature, I refer to the plot as a problem: it is something that the protagonist is trying to solve. This problem can take various forms, but it is often as an antagonist that the protagonist confronts. When this episode has the Doctor refer to a “villain” as someone “who turns nonsense into action,” that’s kind of the point: the villain is here to get the plot rolling. Without them, you don’t have a hero, you don’t have a story.

It has been long accepted by a lot of fans and scholars that superheroes tend to uphold the status quo. I think the first time I gained awareness of this popular argument--although likely not the first time I encountered it--was Dr. Horrible’s mangled remark that “the status is not quo.” More recently, however, I have been reading academic books on superheroes, and not only does that argument persist--that superheroes represent law, order, and upholding traditional norms even in the face of new evidence or out of sheer obliviousness to the need for systemic change--but the argument has become that, if a superhero story does not have the heroes doing something to effect systemic change, then it’s not a good story. I may be misunderstanding that argument, but if I don’t, then it’s not an argument I can stand behind.

The argument is that superhero stories tend to reduce complex issues to having avatars for each side of the issue--the good guy and the bad guy--get into a fight, where we are focused on the spectacle rather than on seeing actual people engaging in the actual work needed to address problems not on the individual level--again, one good guy physically fighting one bad guy--but on a larger scope.

I am oversimplifying this argument, as even those same scholars will point out that, initially, of course there were superhero stories that had the protagonist taking the fight against the system. Superman is one of the ones named most frequently, whether in his initial comic book premiere doing what police and media would not to face down a corrupt senator (a sign of things to come in his later fights with Luthor and in Justice League Unlimited) or fighting the Klan (in the meta sense, fighting their analogue on the radio show and, more recently, literally in the comics). It kind of makes Superman look like one influence on the Peerless Thief in My Hero Academia, but we’ll get to him far later in these episodic reviews.

Even with that exception of Superman, it’s not hard for me to agree with the argument that heroes prop up the status quo. That has been the plot point for My Hero Academia and why this war against the villains has been incoming: a system that depended on just All Might, now depending on a wife-beating abusive father like Endeavor with his crimes not popularly known, has a level of corruption that cannot stand up with just one man’s shining example of honest goodness and integrity to be the Symbol of Peace. It was why I appreciated the manga eventually showing that, yes, there was an entire network of assassins within the Hero Public Safety Commission to keep All Might’s hands clean--and, in retrospect, while Lady Nagant was our first named example, given what Hawks ends up doing to Twice, deadly force may be frowned upon by law in MHA but has to have been something Hawks was told he had legal authority to do. (Also, as I will never stop pointing out, Endeavor unintentionally and unknowingly killed another Pro Hero in Vigilantes, and we’re just supposed to pretend that was fine.)

But going back to this academic argument, about how superhero stories tend to stick to one-on-one battles and don’t let the heroes effect systematic change, I’m ambivalent. There have been a range of superhero or superhero-adjacent stories that have the protagonist making on-page, on-screen, obvious work to not just get into fisticuffs with the bad guy. I already pointed out Superman’s first appearance and his fight against the Klan. I can also identify other examples, some hamfisted like Captain Planet, others more nuanced like Korra reaching out to Kuvira in The Legend of Korra. While the scholarship I read bristles at the idea of reducing these fights to just avatars for good and evil, I shrug and say that kind of comes with the territory of a superhero story. I hate justifying tropes: it’s like saying “this fanservice is acceptable because that’s part of the genre”--which leads to its own set of problems, especially when I hear fools defending sexualized fanservice that is just not needed for the story and is abusive by gender and representation. Heck, The Brave and the Bold animated series had Equinox and Batman battle as giants representing the avatars of chaos and order--which is confusing enough, with Equinox having a vaguely yin-yang motif that debunks any clean separation between chaos and order. And yet, here I am, arguing that this kind of fanservice of a hero and a villain beating each other up is to be expected: you have a debate about ideals of what a hero should do when you see Iron Man and Captain America each representing a side in a fight, whether the poorly handled comic book Civil War or the better film version, and even then, that film also lets the individual personalities get in the way of saying anything meaningful about government oversight and individual agency, ideas better handled in that other Captain America film, The Winter Soldier, and even then that film also gets stuck in just being about Steve and Bucky’s relationship.

All of this is me saying that, when you add a superhero to the fight, you’re going to feel disappointed that almost nothing systematically changes in its setting, not only because, as I’m hinting, these are stories about individuals fighting each other and not stories about the individual against society or nature, but also because a superhero can only change so much of their world for the better before that world no longer looks like our own or a new societal problem has to emerge to create the problem that is the plot itself for wherever the story goes next. Once a hero makes the setting into a utopia, either a new problem emerges to show the fiction of that story and that a dystopia is always married to a utopia, or the utopia is revealed to be hollow (Shigaraki’s word of the day) and fake. My Hero Academia already showed the utopia of a world where people get to live with their Quirks is fake, not only by (largely necessary) regulation of those Quirks but also, as we’ll see more with Spinner, Compress, Toga, Gigantomachia, and others, looking different, or being socially aware, or having disabilities, or being the “wrong” size, excluded you from that society.

What I’m trying to say is that, once you add superheroes into a story to fix the problem, you can’t show what systematic change looks like. How do you write a story where it makes sense that no hero came to save Tenko Shimura from becoming Tomura Shigaraki? What’s a story like My Hero Academia supposed to do to show the problems with a society, if you have superheroes who can fix those problems by beating up the bad guys?

Solution: You have the bad guys beat each other up.

In this corner, the League of Villains, people who were made outcasts because they did not fit in--which reveals the flaws of a society that is not accepting people who may not be able to change their past or their bodily conditions.

And in this corner, the Meta Liberation Army--which reveals how society breeds people in business, media, and politics who abuse laws and societal norms to elevate themselves and create a social Darwinist nightmare.

Granted, these are some foolish schmucks for starting up this fight in public, but I’ll address how the MLA just doesn’t work in a later episode review.

But for now, let the fight begin. No matter who wins, at least we see how society at large allowed these Villains to emerge--and we can either see All For One’s dictatorial forces get wrecked, or see Re-Destro’s fascistic oafs get wrecked.

Unfortunately, no matter who wins, the Pro Heroes are going to lose, too.

I am overly impressed with myself for realizing all of this. And I say “overly” not only because this is arrogant of me but also because I’m pretty sure just about every other person following this series already came to this conclusion: if you want to show actual systematic change, you have to show what the villains are up to, because they are the ones showing the holes in our society that need to be fixed. Either a villain exploits those holes to cause damage to people, or the villain is themselves representative of unfairness in the system and, by breaking the law to save themselves and others, are unfairly maligned as villains.

That being said, I’m not a big fan of the “[Insert villain’s name here] was right” arguments. Yes, Magneto is justified in his goals and ethics, and the debate is the means he takes to them, so his existence is to show why the X-Men are screwing up and need to be more radical. Yes, Killmonger is right that Wakanda’s isolationism is reckless and allows for travesties to persist, but his choices are largely out of individual desire for vengeance, so he’s an example that T’Challa can follow. Taken too far, though, and you get people who preach anti-establishment notions without having an alternative or are just trying to sound edgy rather than actually pointing to the actual problem: it’s someone who celebrates the Joker without recognizing that, no, you don’t want to be that asshole, or who celebrate villain-turned-hero Vegeta just because he looks cool and without appreciating what steps he took to change and what fall he experienced before he got to the point of being a villain.

In all these cases, if done poorly, you have the same tired trend of a villain existing only so long so that the hero changes for the better. It’s as tiresome as I unfortunately sometimes feel reading post after post celebrating how complex and sympathetic the League of Villains’ members can be when, still, a lot of them are just assholes using empty excuses to defend atrocious behavior (primarily, just All for One) or, for the most part, are people put into desperate situations (Shigaraki, Toga, Spinner, Dabi, Twice) who are doing the best they can (Twice, Spinner) even if their actions are not defensible (Toga) or also out of line (Shigaraki) due to their own refusal to seek the legitimate help they need to work through their issues (Dabi).

It’s hard to read posts online calling the League members sympathetic when we have not had a chance in the anime to know their full story. And as with the slow revelation that this setting is not really as welcoming of people of all shapes and sizes as initially hinted, so too do the villains’ backstories show that they were justified in some actions they took, except for those that led to deaths. Too bad none of that really pops up in a meaningful way in this episode that would rather tease out Shigaraki’s back story, keep dangling the obvious answer to who Dabi really is, and short-sells what should be a meaningful friendship between Twice and Giran but is just dropped as fast as Shigaraki takes off Twice’s mask. Jeez, Shigaraki, that is a dick move to Twice…

But I’m already on Page 4 of this rant, so let’s get to the episode already.

Pulling back the curtain yet again, these reviews tend to follow a pattern. Since I first wrote about the MHA anime, my process would be to first re-read the chapters, then watch the episode in Japanese, then watch the episode in English, so as to retrace my steps in how I first encountered most of these stories, as well as to see any patterns in the production process moving from manga to anime to localization. But with this episode, that practice was made nearly impossible given how prevalent the hostility towards this episode, this arc, and this season have been, especially when a friend shared numerous reactions from other viewers about this episode. Seriously, for all the whining I just did the previous four pages, you could read this person or this person who are much better at explaining why the introduction of Re-Destro to the anime sucks, for more than one reason.

So, I had a different approach: I already had the flaws to this episode shared with me by other viewers, then I listened to the English dub, then I re-read the chapters, then I watched the Japanese dub with English subtitles.

And, boy, am I grateful I took that approach, because this episode is a ton of talking--too much talking. For an anime adaptation that cut so much of Spinner’s Leonardo from Ninja Turtles narration, I’m shocked that they kept the boring parts of his narration and cut the only good parts, including the very opening that had a lot more action and gave us a reason to sympathize with these Villains.

I know I’m a snob regarding animation; I have expressed before how, despite my love for animated works, I tend to appreciate them more for what they do with storytelling rather than the spectacle of the visuals. I really dislike works where the value of the work is in the animation alone: I am here to see a story unfold, and if there is no narrative, no plot, no beginning-middle-and-end, then what I’m encountering is a museum piece, not a work of cinema. (Feel free to bash me for that hot take: I’m still railing against Patty Jenkins’s ridiculous argument from this week.)

And as with most forms of karmic punishment I experience, I pay the price: if I rail long enough about works that are only all about the animation and not the story, then my punishment is an episode where all we get is a lot of story and not much in the way of animation. Yet I can’t even say we got a story here, so much as back story, exposition, needless narration--it’s Blade Runner only bad. As much as I have loved how this anime’s storyboards stick so close to the manga panels, the pan over the League listening to Shigaraki’s vague back story felt like the least interesting way to handle this scene, especially when it excises so much of Spinner coming around from questioning Shigaraki to sympathizing with him. Who would have imagined cutting so much of Spinner’s initial narration and the opening from Chapter 220 would screw up how to adapt Shigaraki’s back story from Chapter 222.

The anime cuts how this arc begins in the manga: Chapter 220 starts with Spinner facing off against an extremist group that hates him for his reptilian appearance--a moment that would have garnered more sympathy from the audience for these Villains than this episode is exhorting. We needed a scene to get behind these villains and agree with them, before we are shocked to hear Shigaraki say what we have long expected, that he just wants to destroy everything and make everyone as miserable as he has felt, to wake us up that, no, you may sympathize with these outcasts (to use Twice’s one-word self-description), but you shouldn’t agree with Shigaraki’s goals. (I know Shigaraki relents somewhat when asked by Toga, but it’s hard to backtrack from “destroy it all” to “destroy it all but not the stuff my friends like.” How on Earth is Shigaraki going to destroy Izuku when Spinner somewhat admires the guy and Toga...well, yeah, best left unsaid.)

While watching this episode, I also was reviewing other topics about anime and manga I’m going to go into more detail about later this month, and one topic of discussion is the assumption that anime and manga, by their visual style and story tropes, especially shojo and shonen, tend to be about big expressions--emotional outpours in words, movements, facial expressions, and actions to more easily communicate what is happening, regardless of context.

I hate to keep repeating “ambivalent” in my reviews (another academic word I need to expunge from my lexicon for a bit), but I’m ambivalent about that argument, that anime and manga, especially shojo and shonen, are better at communicating. If your character is unreadable, that likely has an intentional reason: we don’t get much of a read on the Doctor in this episode, not helped by his mustache and glasses, but we also don’t get a read on what Shigaraki is up to.

This episode only heightens my regard, not just about anime, manga, shojo, or shonen, but in animation and comics at large, that not everything is readable in what a character is planning.

On the one hand, I do agree that visual works tend to make ideas easier to comprehend for some people who can engage with such visual works. As someone who teaches English literature and writing in a United States setting, I use comics in my teaching to cross language and cultural barriers, especially for students for whom English is not their primary language or who are the first in their family raised in the United States. And this teaching approach also helps in reverse: I include manga and anime in my teaching to show how not all details cross language and cultural barriers in a one-to-one correspondence, hence the challenges of translation and localization, and how all of us struggle to make ourselves understood within our own primary language to someone else who is fluent in that language, let alone trying to translate into another language or to present ourselves in a different set of cultural norms.

On the other hand, anime and manga are not a fixed genre. Yes, I agree that the images tend to emphasize big eyes, big expressions, and big motions--but that’s like saying all animation is Looney Tunes, or all animation is Disney, or is Dragon Ball, and so on. Likewise, as I’ve discussed elsewhere, shonen is more than just one type of storytelling, and the same goes for shojo. This arc of My Hero Academia is placing focus, after admittedly far too long, on the Villains as the protagonists--and their behavior pokes holes in the idea that things are obvious, when the Villains are themselves such liars, so crafty, have their own hidden agendas, are keeping secrets from each other. It’s as if their behavior is a commentary on this plot and how BONES is adapting it: the Villains are keeping secrets, so this plot is going to keep its secrets for just who Re-Destro and the Meta Liberation Army are, what their personalities are like, and what Shigaraki and the Doctor have in mind for getting what he wants. We’re even kept in the dark as to Shigaraki’s full back story; we’re in the same position he is, knowing just little bits and able to make assumptions from a handful of visual cues and memories, without fully knowing who the hell Tenko is. Add to that Spinner’s struggles to narrate all of this and to get into Toga’s mind and Shigaraki’s mind, as well as Dabi’s own secrets and agenda with Hawks, and we have a story that blows up the notion that anime and manga are easier for reading a character’s mindset: no, they are not always easier, not when the creators deliberately mislead the audience or keep them in the dark for a surprise.

By keeping so much of the audience in the dark, so that we become aware of how deceitful villains can be, and we are put into Shigaraki’s place of not knowing where he came from. This should be a set of brilliant choices by BONES to adapt this arc in this manner. But the problem is, no, almost none of this gets anywhere close to brilliant. It’s not brilliant--it’s frustrating, because we already know what is going to happen. You can just pull up the manga at low cost with a Viz account and read all of this in the order it was originally presented and get the answers ahead of time. And if you’ve been reading the manga all along, you already know how this arc ends, and you know stuff from the next set of arcs so that you do know already what Shigaraki’s back story is, what Dabi was really up to, who survives, who dies. You even learn more about Compress’s back story--stuff that really should have been hinted at much earlier in the manga, and could have been hinted in this adaptation but as of this episode has not.

Maybe that is why the anime removes Re-Destro murdering his assistant: it’s such an odd moment that it is challenging for me to get a read on Re-Destro, as he alternates in the manga between being very friendly and devoted to his comrades but also violent and heartless.

It may be obvious that I didn’t like much of this episode. I think when I stopped taking this episode seriously was when I heard the voices. Like I said, I tend to start with the Japanese dub first before getting to the English dub. And I have nothing at all against English dubs: I would not be listening to them as much as I have, often first before I ever hear the Japanese, and I would not be a fan of so many English-speaking actors in dubs if I had any animosity to the craft, their work, and the benefit they provide for creating a larger audience for these stories. And nothing against Larry Brantley and Sonny Strait, but some of this casting feels off. I wasn’t able to take this episode seriously as soon as I heard the voice distortion that was used for Re-Destro’s phone call: that took me out of the story. If I had the chance for localization, I would really need Twice or someone to call out how freaking ridiculous that Mickey Mouse voice sounded. You have freaking Sonny Strait here: use the Krillin voice, use the Chibi Ragnarok voice, use the Usopp voice--use something, really go bizarre here, it’s just a voice distortion device! And as I said, nothing against Strait, but when I hear Re-Destro when I read the manga, that’s not the voice I have in mind. For right now, HIroaki Hirata in the Japanese dub is closer to that smoothness I expected for this character. But I have no doubt Strait will do excellent as Re-Destro’s empowered form: think Strait’s role in The Intruder II from Toonami. It’s just that Re-Destro in the English dub is lacking that odd refinement I was expecting.

Granted, it’s the same problem for me when I hear Brantley as Spinner: I am making unfair assumptions that don’t suit the goals of the creators when it comes to this character. It is sadly not as obvious in this episode as it is in the manga: this arc in the manga starts with Horikoshi invoking Laird and Eastman’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles by having Spinner, who is already a sword-wielding reptilian martial artist, narrating just like how Leonardo narrating at the beginning of the very first issue of TMNT. I wanted a voice for the English dub that is like Leonardo’s, a little higher pitch and more youthful, like what Brian Tochi brought in the live-action Turtles film or what Cam Clarke and Michael Sinterniklaas bring in the animated versions. I think, for the Japanese dub, Ryo Iwasaki’s performance as Spinner is very close to what I expected. But that also may seem too obvious: Spinner may be young, but giving him an older-sounding voice can belie his inexperience, youthfulness, and naivete, similar to how people make assumptions about him by his reptilian appearance. The anime is putting me into my place--I think of Spinner one way other than who he really is, so I’m no better than the people around him who have discriminated against him for his physical appearance.

Just as I have a set of assumptions that unfairly influence how I would cast Spinner, I also think Re-Destro should have sounded more refined and less graveley in the English dub. But my expectations belie that, just the Joker whom he resembles, Re-Destro puts on this cultured facade to hide that he is just another violent gangster thug, someone who would kill his own assistant. I know I cited examples above about how complex Re-Destro is, but it’s hard for me to see him as sympathetic just because he’s crying over something he did out of his own volition: he coldly killed his office assistant Miyashita, his tears and kind words don’t suddenly make this a warm and cuddly death, we don’t get to think of him as our woobie. It only makes it more irritating that BONES so far has cut not only that scene of Re-Destro killing Miyashita but also Re-Destro’s TV commercial: it would clue us in that the reason he has that gravelly voice is because, no matter how much he tries to present himself on TV, he is not that kind of a man.

But since I invoked the Joker comparison to Re-Destro, yeah, I’m disappointed we didn’t get Troy Baker as Re-Destro, as unlikely as I imagine that would be to happen, regardless of Baker’s previous work with Funimation. It does lend a bit more to conspiracy theories on my part, though, given casting director Colleen Clinkenbeard telling Twitter followers to stop expecting Mark Hamill in MHA, it’s never happening--we can’t even get Troy Baker doing his Mark Hamill Joker.

(I’m not being fair to Baker: I’m not saying his Joker is at all bad--it is not, he has been excellent as Joker, especially playing him and Batman in the Ninja Turtles crossover film, but it is obvious Baker is performing the kind of Joker that came out of Hamill, so I’m trying to say he’s doing the “Hamill Joker,” rather than the “Nicholson Joker,” the “Ledger Joker,” or the “Caesar Romero Joker”).

It’s also a challenge to sympathize with these characters when we aren’t getting what this arc should give them: a re-introduction. I hate approaching this episode in a post-James Gunn The Suicide Squad world, but seeing how much MHA owes to not The Suicide Squad of the comics but that motif in so many superhero comics, there is that missed opportunity to reacquaint the audience with who are the members of the League of Villains. So, where the hell is my freeze-frame re-introduction to each League member? There was that fan theory a long time ago that Giran was really Present Mic in disguise: imagine doing Present Mic’s introduction of characters by name, Quirk, and pithy comment, only it’s Giran in the announcer seat this time.

(Don’t even get me started on how annoying it is to have Izuku handling the post-credit preview: give that to Spinner.)

Again, maybe it is brilliant for BONES not to include some re-introduction scenes, whether narrated by Giran or happening naturally in conversation between these characters. These Villains barely know each other’s back story, so there’s no artifice where they would believably share their back stories to each other in conversation in this context. And as I said, Shigaraki does not know enough about his own past, and Dabi is hiding his real identity. But when we’re stuck with Spinner as our half-hearted narrator, who seems not to know why he and Toga are still here with Stain being gone, and when Toga is this dull in her answer about what keeps her going after Stain’s arrest, and when Spinner himself seems not to know what he’s still doing here, all of that does not communicate a reason for us to keep going with this story.

I know this arc is going to get better, storywise at least, just based on how it went in the manga. I can only hope that the animation can capture the chaos that the original manga illustrations showed. But I am trying to think what a new viewer is going to do if this is their introduction to this series. I’m not invoking the Episode 7 Rule, I’m not doing a hypothetical experiment to gauge which episodes are the best to bring a newbie into this series--I am asking, honestly, if a fan was already into this series, and was watching it one Saturday morning, and a friend or roommate or relative saw them watching, they would be utterly lost about why they should care about this. Even the explanation for why Twice is indebted to Giran is presented as such an afterthought that does disservice to a potentially emotional moment, to what is supposed to be a pretty deep friendship, as deep as it can be for a weapons trader like Giran and an outcast-turned-criminal like Twice, so that, when Twice helps rescue Giran, we feel that emotional payoff.

It is honestly shocking that, for all the throwbacks, recaps, and flashbacks we get, including how Giran’s fingers match up to previous places where the League fought, that this still leaves a new viewer in the dark. And the problem lies at the feet of MHA arriving at a fifth-season slump: the series has gone on so long that things feel lazy and making far too many assumptions on what knowledge the audience is bringing. You’re not getting a bigger audience if you keep appealing to the diehard fans and the people reading the manga. After all, why would you keep doing ridiculous recaps and flashbacks if the fans already know what happened?

But speaking of the recaps and flashbacks, that should have been how this episode redeemed itself. As I said last time, if you re-worked the order of episodes to start with the Oboro Shirakumo story, that would be more shocking. But what if this episode could have been the very first episode of the season, and following the trend of previous seasons, make it a recap episode? We already had Izuku narrating a clip show, Class 1A at the pool, a photojournalist visiting the UA Dorms--it would be so much more interesting seeing “League of Villains camping in the woods while in the background Shigaraki gets squished by a giant.” Have the Villains tell campfire stories about how they got here: it would be a great excuse to re-use the animation and save on the budget. You could fit in a few gags, as Toga starts telling a really gruesome story but gets distracted by all the blood in it, while Twice’s story bounces between sugar-sweet happy and grim-and-dark chaos, while Compress and Spinner are stuck trying to keep them focused. It’d be a hell of a lot more interesting than how BONES somehow screwed up a potentially emotional volatile moment between Izuku and Amajiki that would put into question whether Izuku is going to have to kill a Villain and just how devastated Amajiki feels after Mirio lost his Quirk.

And speaking of whether Izuku is going to have to kill a Villain: obviously, this arc is setting up how much more dangerous Shigaraki is than UA gave him credit. Back in Season 2, I hated how Nezu and UA staff referred to him as a “man-child,” given the connotations that have surrounded masculinity and being a man. I wrote that before 2016; in this post-2016 atmosphere, and the increased prevalence of toxic masculinity, I am, once again, that annoying word ambivalent. I am likewise ambivalent how well this series has shown Shigaraki to be able to form the plan he does by episode’s end. We’re only told by Spinner how much faster Shigaraki is getting and how much slower Gigantomachia has become--but the animation doesn’t show that. And we’re being told how great Shigaraki’s plan is--when it sounds ridiculous.

By cutting so much of Spinner’s narration from the manga, we also don’t get a scene where Spinner confronts Shigaraki to ask him what is his plan. Up to that point, Shigaraki has said that, with Kurogiri gone over the last month and the computers at the old League hideout destroyed, they can’t reach the Doctor. Spinner is insistent: what is the plan? Shigaraki responds that he just told them--as Gigantomachia crashes through their hideout. The other characters explain for readers like me who aren’t following: Shigaraki just said Kurogiri was gone; to contact the Doctor, Kurogiri sought Gigantomachia; Gigantomachia would sniff out where Shigaraki is and bring him to the Doctor. Brilliant--that shows more attention to Shigaraki’s planning and scheming, and now, it’s not even here in the episode to make me think this guy is that smart. (This episode also had Shigaraki reveal his plan to have Gigantomachia attack the MLA, whereas it was Spinner who predicted that was going to be Shigaraki’s plan--so, again, we’re not letting Spinner stand out as smarter than we expected, either.)

I know Shigaraki is supposed to be our chessmaster, given his association with gaming, especially when he was faking his ignorance about shogi to lower Overhaul’s guard before defeating him and stealing his Quirk-cancelling bullets. But I’m having the same problem I had when following All For One throughout this anime: it just feels like these two antagonists are getting ahead out of sheer luck and because everyone else is a fool, not because either of them are that great as villains. Give me a Xanatos, give me a Luthor, give me a Norman Osborne (not Clone Saga Osborne, a different one). Show me Shigaraki is more than a pawn for All For One and the Doctor, because I don’t feel anything here, not even when we’re supposed to feel that Shigaraki has some legitimate concern for All For One that just isn’t getting communicated to me, whether by my stubbornness or because the content is not giving the animators and actors what they deserve. Eric Vale can sell the hell out of a scene, but Shigaraki’s talk about All For One is not giving that opportunity to the actor.

My remarks this time are a lot more disorganized and doesn’t really arrive at any conclusion. I have more to say about how this arc works and doesn’t work, especially when it comes to how ridiculous the MLA comes across in underestimating the League, but we’ll get to that next time.

[peakyswritings]

Black Widow

Luca Changretta x fem!reader

Requested by: @lilywinchesterlove

Summary: Luca thinks he has finally found the one, but what happens when finds out that she hides a deep, dark secret? Eventually, the truth always comes to light

Warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of murder, mentions of death, drinking, swearing, angst

A/N: this took really long, but I made it! I changed the request a tiny bit, I hope you like it!❤️⭐️

The gif is not mine, credits to the owner

Long dresses, neatly pressed suits, bright jewellery, alcohol flowing. Luca had never liked big parties. Despite his luxurious lifestyle, those ostentatious displays of wealth weren’t exactly his cup of tea; not to mention the fact that all of those strangers wandering through his house made him extremely uncomfortable. He’d much rather spend time with his family, or his closest men, instead of taking part in those boring business talks with men who took a despicable pleasure in showing off both their richness and their trophy wives who, in turn, were engaged in an endless competition. But even his birthday was a way to expand his business and make new alliances.

Nevertheless, that night his mind was occupied by something else, way more important than the middle-aged man who was bragging about his new Bentley. He was on edge, absentmindedly taking frequent looks around the room, waiting for Matteo’s face to appear in the crowd. After almost two weeks of waiting, he was about to get the answers to his questions.

“I don’t like her, she’s hiding something”

“You don’t know her”

“Apparently, neither do you” Vicente argued, trying to talk some sense into his son. “I’m just telling you” he added “to keep an eye on her”

His father’s words ringed in his ears as he watched his mother hug you, thrilled to finally see you again. He wasn’t expecting her to like you so much when he introduced you to his family, the way she had welcomed you was a pleasant surprise. She was quite good at reading people, her sixth sense was seldom wrong. However, his father didn’t really agree with his wife and, as soon as he found himself alone with him, he didn’t hesitate to point out the fact that you didn’t seem like someone who could be trusted. You were suspiciously vague when they asked questions about you, or your past.

As much as he hated to admit it, Luca knew he was right. You never talked about your past or your family, you dismissed every question, changing the subject whenever he tried to find out something more about you. At first he thought that there was something that you weren’t ready to talk about - the scars on your body were the proof - and he was fine with that, but the more time passed, the more he realised that the secret you were keeping was deeper than he thought. So he followed his father’s advice, hiring his most trusted man to gather information about you. He felt guilty, like he was breaking your trust, but he had to be aware of the woman he wanted to marry.

Matteo glanced at him from the other side of the big room, nodding towards the door. He distractedly excused himself from the men he was talking to and headed towards his office, feeling his impatience grow second by second.

“Did you find anything?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

Matteo placed a folder on the desk. “Everything’s written here. I also found some documents that might interest you”

“Good”

Luca wavered for a moment before opening it. He could feel the agitation rise moment by moment. It was still perfectly sealed, as he had ordered. No one, except for him and the man in front of him, must know anything. He had no idea about what he would find out and he didn’t wanna risk to expose something that you didn’t want to be known.

His eyes meticulously scanned the pages, the more he read, the more he tensed up, not recognising the woman that they described. He looked up from the sheet, glancing at Matteo. Even though he knew what was in that envelope, he didn’t comment nor ask unwanted questions. His discretion was the reason why he had been chosen for the job, after all. He shook his head in disbelief, tossing the papers on his desk. You couldn’t have fooled him like that. No one fooled him like that.

“That’s all?”

“Yes, sir”

He nodded, trying to regain his composure. He cleared his throat, neatly stacking the sheets again. “Call Y/n, tell her to come here”

He didn’t need to say it twice, because Matteo immediately walked out the room.

Luca sat on his chair and waited, tapping his fingers on the wooden surface. Mixed feeling fought inside him, anger, disappointment, betrayal, confusion. One question kept on haunting him.

Why?

The creaking sound of the door opening made him lift up his eyes. “Did you want to see me?”

“Sit down” he said, gesturing towards the chair on the other side of the desk. You frowned as you did as he said, waiting for him to start talking. You guessed it must’ve been urgent, since he hadn’t even waited for the guests to go away.

He examined you, trying to find the smallest bit of evidence that could prove what he had read was true. But you sat in front of him, looking at him with your big eyes. If your intentions were malicious, you were way too good at hiding them behind your sweet voice and charming smile.

“Why don’t you tell me about your husband?”

You froze on the spot, feeling the colour drain from your face. “What?”

“I’m sorry, maybe I should say your first husband” he corrected himself, oddly calm. “He died on your wedding night, right? He hit his head, it was a bad accident”

As much as he tried to hide it, rage radiated from every cell in his body. You could see it in the way his back stiffened, in the way his hands gripped the arm of his chair until his knuckles turned white.

It couldn’t be happening. You had moved far away from home, changed your style and habits, you even changed your surname. There was no way he could have known. You put your initial shock aside, the realisation of what it all meant was enough to make you get suddenly defensive. “Did you look into my past behind my back?” you raised your voice, getting up from the chair.

“And how about your second husband?” he added, unfazed, completely ignoring your question. “The one who died in suspicious circumstances. It must’ve been a nightmare for you, becoming a widow twice”

Despite his straight face and apparent calmness, the sarcasm in his voice was clear.

“Stop it.”

“Good thing they were rich, the papers here say that you inherited all of their money” he noted, pointing to the documents. “They also say that you probably poisoned your second husband, hence the reason why you’re known in your hometown as a Black Widow”

Black Widow. That’s what everyone called you. You could almost hear their whispers, filled with ill-concealed inquisitiveness and detriment. It was easy to talk. Two words had so much power that they could turn someone’s world upside down in a matter of days. Hours, even.

“You don’t know anything about what I went through” you gritted your teeth.

He got up and poured himself a glass of whiskey, as his could feel his unmoved facade was starting to falter. “Now you’re going to tell me a fake heartbreaking story, trying to get me to pity you, aren’t you?” he mocked you, drinking it in one go. “You wanted to do the same to me, after all”

His harsh words were like punch in the gut. He was nowhere hear the truth, but the distance in his eyes made you feel like it didn’t matter what you’d tell him, he wouldn’t believe you anyway. He probably already had his own version of the truth. “So you’re going to judge me without even listening to what I have to say?”

“I want to hear what you have to say” he snapped, slamming his glass on the desk, avoiding your gaze for the first time. “I want a fucking explanation” he growled.

You nodded, looking away from him. As hard as it was to talk about it, there was no use in beating around the bush. Being straightforward was the best way of getting on with it. “It’s true” you stated. “I killed my first husband”

He shot his eyes towards you, not expecting you to actually admit it. If you had to be honest, you didn’t expect it either, your own voice seemed foreign as you said those words out loud for the first time. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it right away, deciding to let you talk instead.

“My father needed an alliance with him to expand his business, so he arranged our marriage” you added, crossing your arms. “I didn’t even know him. On our first night, I refused to sleep with him. He beat me with a cane”

He clenched his jaws at your words. That explained the scars on your body, the way you hid them and the reason why you would never tell him how you’d get them. The feelings he felt for you overpowered the bitterness for a moment, the thought of someone hurting you made his blood boil.

“At some point, I managed to take it from him and I hit him on the head. My family covered it up and I wasn’t charged”

The more you talked, the more you realised that there was no going back. He was about to know the whole truth, he was about to decide whether to believe you or throw you away, because he couldn’t risk it.

“After his death, my father arranged another marriage. I didn’t like the man, but he was decent. He died from a disease, I didn’t kill him. Of course, word spread and everyone believed I had poisoned him or something like that. After that, I cut contact with my family, packed my bags, changed my surname and moved here. That’s all”

That’s all. Like it hadn’t been the hardest time of your life. Like it hadn’t been more then a simple change. But you couldn’t afford to let your feelings get the best of you, not after all you had done to come to terms with what happened to you.

Luca didn’t know what hit him the most, your story or the way you had told it. The emptiness in your eyes, the coldness in your voice. Or maybe your calmness. It seemed like you were telling someone else’s experience, not your own. But could he really trust you? Or it was just a trick to make him end up in a wooden box, just like the others?

“You’re telling me that as if it doesn’t touch you”

“What, did you expect me to cry?” you narrowed your eyes, turning to him again. “That would be the right reaction to what happened to me, wouldn’t it?” you rhetorically asked.

He blinked, taken aback by you question. He tried to say something, but you interrupted him. “You know, my reaction is exactly the reason why people started talking. You have to act like a victim, or else you’re the guilty one. But I’m not a victim and I don’t need anyone’s compassion. Not even yours” you added, taking a few steps towards him.

Your tone might have been calm, but the almost imperceptible tremble in your voice gave away the stream of feelings running inside of you.

“I’m independent, I run my own company” you paused, stopping just a few inches away from him. “I didn’t need their money, or yours. You can choose to believe me, or you can leave”

You steadied your voice, looking him straight in the eyes. You didn’t want him to leave, a small voice in the back of your mind was begging him to stay. You didn’t listen to it, though. You loved Luca, you truly loved him and the fact that he thought you could ever hurt him was killing you. But it was his choice. He was free to leave, if he wanted. It didn’t matter how much it hurt, you would find a way to go on, like you always did.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Something changed in him, his gaze softened, his voice dropped. It seemed like rage wasn’t blinding him anymore, leaving space for the tenderness he only reserved for you.

“I didn’t want my past to define me” you admitted. “I wanted to leave it behind me, I didn’t want you to look at me and see...” you stopped, not knowing how to express it with words. “I’m more than that”

Luca looked at you in silence. He still had the woman he loved in front of him. You were the same woman he had met the previous year. Everything you were slowly building together felt too genuine and spontaneous to be fake. No one could lie like that. Maybe it was risky, but something in him knew told him you were telling the truth. He knew you were telling the truth. You did what you needed to do to survive. He brought a hand on your cheek, gently stroking it.

“What I see” he said “is a strong, beautiful, independent woman who went through a lot, but who’s capable of making it on her own, without anyone’s help”

You leaned into his touch and placed you hand over his, relieved at his words. Luca was he only man you had ever loved and trusted and the prospect of a life without him terrified you. It would’ve been way too hard to pick up the pieces and find a reason to go on, it would’ve taken too much time for your heart to heal. You had finally found something you wanted to hold on to.

And he loved you too much to leave you.

“I would never hurt you” you whispered “I love you”

He leaned in and kissed you. At first it was soft, tender, until it became desperate, almost rough. He grabbed your waist and pulled you closer, as you brought your hand to the back of his neck.

He slightly moved away, placing two fingers under your chin to make you look at him. “No more secrets”

“No more secrets”

-

Tag list: @arwyn-the-cyrptic-bisexural @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys @lucillethings @peakyxtommy

[white-hemlock]

For @drarrymicrofic

Prompt: First Time (am I late?)

Words: 3 238 (micro lol)

He woke up at the sound of people arguing. He couldn’t make out much though. Pain was coursing through his entire body. His head in particular.

He felt someone moving by his side and soon after the pain began to fade away.

"You have to leave. I'll come back later to inform you of his condition but right now I need to take care of my patient."

"I have been waiting for twenty hours. Twenty hours! You had plenty of time to inform me. So if you want me to leave this room you will have to give me answers, and satisfying ones. Otherwise you can be sure I'll be in your way until I lose it and finally strangle you!"

He opened his eyes. He saw two men in front of him. The one with the white coat and tired and disapproving look was obviously a doctor. The other one was tall with short blond hair and a very classy suit. The doctor noticed that he was awake and gave the other man an even more disapproving look.

"Mr Potter, I apologize for the noise. I'll lead Mr Malfoy to the exit and be back for you."

But the so-called Mr Malfoy was already by his side: "How do you feel?"

He looked at him for a few seconds, trying to figure out what was going on: "I'm fine but who are you?"

The man raised an eyebrow and gave him a look of pure confusion.

The doctor sighed: "That is precisely why I wanted to speak to you before allowing you to see him... Mr Potter, you had a serious accident. We believe that the trauma on your head may have resulted in a partial, if not total, memory loss."

He paused, allowing the two men in front of him to assimilate his words.

"Can you tell us what you remember?"

He opened his mouth to answer. But the words didn't come and he closed it. He couldn't think of anything. It was not really a blank. He felt as if the memories were right there but as soon as he wanted to grab one, it eluded.

Feeling his confusion, the doctor tried to help him: "Can you tell us your name?"

That should have been easy. But again, it slipped away. So, in embarrassment, he replied: "You called me Mr Potter."

The man at his side snorted and with a cold and most unpleasant voice he hurled: "If this is a joke, you'd better put an end to this because it really doesn't amuse me and you might not like the consequences."

He started to feel irritated by the way this man was behaving. He was arrogant and presumptuous, nothing very likable.

"I'm afraid this is no joke… Sir, your name is Harry Potter, you are 34 years old, you work as an Auror and were injured on duty. The man by your side is your husband. " He paused, aware of the awkwardness of the situation. "Now rest assured we will do everything to assist you in your recovery. There are many ways to help people suffering from amnesia. But for the moment, you need to rest. Mr Malfoy, please follow me."

Harry had felt a wave of horror when the doctor had told him that this tall blond man was his husband. He had never imagined he could be someone so close. If this man was sharing his life, how could he feel nothing looking at him? How could he not remember his name? Then he realised he couldn't even remember his own name. He looked into Mr Malfoy's eyes and saw a reflection of his own shock and fear. But the blond man said nothing as he slowly got up and followed the doctor, leaving him all alone with his thoughts and his fleeing memories.

***********************************************************************

The couple had just left. Hermione and Ron they called themselves. They seemed really nice. He was glad to know he had friends like that. They told him a lot about his life. The life of the Boy who lived, twice. Three times now, they said as a joke. But their laughter never reached their eyes.

Everything seemed so unreal, as if he were told the story of someone else. He, the hero who saved the world? Really?

He asked them about his husband as well. Draco Malfoy. There was a very awkward silence before Hermione started to share the story of the young boy, raised in a pure blood family, son of the closest ally to the one who killed his parents. They told him plenty about their rivalry at school and his difficult position during the war. Not so much about how they ended up together. He didn't insist. It was already a lot to process. He was exhausted.

He woke up an hour later when his husband entered the room. The man saw his sleepy face and offered to come back later but Harry declined. He was uncomfortable when Malfoy was around. That man was his husband but didn't behave that way. Not once had he made an affectionate gesture, nor told him he loved him, nor called him by a nickname. He didn’t even smile at him. He was distant but also embarrassed and Harry couldn't blame him for that.

This time he came with a bag from which he took what looked like a large and heavy book.

"The doctor suggested that pictures could help. We never really took time to create a proper album so I tried to gather a few pics…"

He looked exhausted, his eyes were red and his shirt was creased.

He sat on the chair by his side and dropped the album on his knees. Harry stared at the cover with apprehension. It was one thing to hear his story from the mouths of others, it was another to see images of himself living a life he couldn't remember.

He took a deep breath and opened it.

The first photo he saw was one of a couple dancing near a fountain.

"These are your parents. Don't bother trying to remember them, you were one when they died. I thought you might want to know what they looked like though."

He had shifty eyes and seemed even more uncomfortable than usual. Harry didn't comment and listened to his explanations as he browsed through pictures of his parents, their friends, his godfather. Eventually he started to see pictures of him, as a young boy with a young Ron and a young Hermione. Him with other friends. Malfoy even added some articles from the newspaper. And as he turned the pages he saw himself becoming older. He saw himself with a baby making his first steps. His godson apparently. He saw himself at Hermione and Ron's wedding. Then himself holding another baby. Rose he said, his friends' daughter.

As time passed he was less and less talkative. But Harry didn't mind. He didn't need more, that was already a huge amount of information to assimilate. It was hard to accept that the young man with messy dark hair in those pictures was himself.

Soon after he started to see pictures of him and Malfoy. And his husband fell completely silent. There was a picture of Malfoy rolling his eyes in some restaurant, a picture of him struggling with a tie, fancy-dressed for some occasion, a picture of the two of them at Christmas where he was watching Malfoy unwrapping a present, a loving smile on his face.

He paused a long time at the sight of him in a prestigious black and gold wizard dress, Malfoy by his side in full white and silver, flowers falling all over them. Malfoy was whispering something in his ear, making him laugh out loud. They seemed genuinely happy, both of them.

He glanced at Malfoy but the man was looking somewhere else, his jaw clenched. Harry felt sad and a bit angry. None of these pictures were bringing any memory, not any emotion, not even a vague feeling of déjà-vu. He could only imagine his husband's disappointment.

He kept browsing through the pictures of his wedding, hoping one of them would trigger something. There were pictures of them in an exotic country, on a white sand beach. More Christmas. A picture of him holding another baby. A picture of his husband holding that same baby. And more and more pictures of this baby, turning into a white blond hair child, always smiling from ear to ear. He felt a shudder of horror crawling down his spine as he turned the pages and kept seeing that kid playing with him, hugging him.

Unable to continue, he put the book down.

"Malfoy…” He took a deep breath, shivering “Draco?"

As he called him by his first name for the first time since he woke up, his husband turned his head slowly to face him, demons in the eyes.

"Do we… Do we have a child?"

Draco didn't answer right away. First he leaned down to turn a new page of the book, revealing the picture of them with the young boy holding a tiny baby the best he could, his smile wider than ever.

"Two actually…"

Silence fell as Harry froze. He felt nauseous. How could he? How could he forget something that important, forget that he was a father, that he had a family?

He stared at his husband, hoping for an impossible answer.

Draco tried to explain, his voice broken:

"I didn't know how to tell you… I'm sorry."

And he burst into tears.

And for the first time he saw that proud, lordly man in all his vulnerability. For the first time, what was a mask finally fell down.

He squeezed his arm, hoping to provide some sort of comfort as the tears kept falling down.

A weird thought crossed his mind. He surprised himself thinking of a bathroom and leaking water, of coldness and red blood running on white tiles. Definitely not an appropriate thought for the situation, so he pushed it away.

***********************************************************************

Harry was waiting in front of the main chimney. Draco came toward him, showing a file in his hand:

"All done! Are you ready?"

Harry breathed deeply; he was not ready, he was terrified.

"No, but I don't think I'll ever be."

Draco grabbed a pot filled with floo powder before handing it to his husband:

"I told you everything you need to know. Even if you miss a few things, they'll forgive you. They know about your accident and they are so eager to see you that details won't matter."

Harry nodded and grabbed a handful of the green powder before entering the chimney. He gave a last look at his husband and gathered all his courage to yell the address Draco gave him before dropping the powder.

The first thing he noticed when exiting the floo was the smell. A complex mix of wood, coffee, hot bread, lemon, herbs and so many things indescribable. But a somehow very familiar smell. He knew that scent. He knew it so much it moved him. It was linked with a feeling of safety, of love and happiness. It reminded him of relief when coming back from work, busy mornings, animated lunch… it smelled like home.

Draco joined him right before a tiny blond storm rushed toward him, yelling:

"DADDYYYYYYY"

Unconsciously, Harry kneeled down and opened his arms, catching his son and hugging him tight. The boy started to cry and Harry felt overwhelmed. A few tears rolled down his cheek as he realised that for the time he understood, deeply understood that the story people had told him was true. This was his home, this was his child. He may not remember everything but he knew all this was part of his life.

He raised his head and noticed a little boy hiding behind Draco's leg. He moved an arm to invite him to join the hug but the child didn't move. With a very small voice he asked:

"Are you still my daddy if you can't remember me?"

The question hit him like a punch in the stomach. Draco had warned him. Albus didn't talk much but when he did he always surprised them with a maturity way too advanced for his age. He tried to compose himself and answered:

"I may not remember everything, I may have forgotten the day you were born, your first words, your first steps... but nothing, you hear me, nothing will ever stop me from being your father. I am still here and we'll make new memories together, I swear." His voice broke. It wasn't fair. A child shouldn't question his father's love. Especially not his own child.

Slowly, one tiny step after another, Albus reached for his father, hugged him and grabbed his t-shirt so tight, Harry felt as if it was his heart that was squeezed by this tiny hand. He suddenly remembered staying up all night, trying to soothe a terrified baby Albus holding his finger as if his life depended on it while a thunderstorm was shaking the windows.

Finally, he thought. It wasn't much but it was a start.

***********************************************************************

Harry was enjoying a glass of firewhisky in front of the fireplace when Draco came in, poured himself a glass and sat by his side on the sofa, obviously exhausted.

"Two hours later, they are finally asleep!"

Harry giggled softly:

"I could have done it, you know. It really doesn't bother me."

Draco frowned.

"Of that I have no doubt. But it's been weeks since you came home and it's time they accept being tucked in by their other father."

Harry smiled but didn't answer. Draco was right of course, but he really liked sharing that moment with his two sons.

His husband suddenly stood up and took a letter from the coffee table.

"The minister asked me to give you this. They want you to come back to work quickly. Again. I don't understand how they can harass you like that after what happened. What would it take for them to give you a break? You losing an arm?!"

He sat down on the couch and emptied the glass in a single shot.

Harry didn't even bother to open the letter. He made it fly directly to the fireplace. His husband raised an eyebrow, silently asking for an explanation.

"I'll answer by telling them that I quit. That should calm them down."

Draco couldn't hide his surprise.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I certainly had very good reasons to do this job but I think I've done more than my part. It's time I get a bit more selfish and focus on myself."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet… something far less dangerous, that's for sure."

They fell silent as they both watched the flames devouring the paper. Draco was obviously concerned but Harry gave him time to put the right words on his feelings. When he finally spoke, Draco avoided his eyes, like he did when he felt vulnerable.

"If you ever want to ask for divorce I would understand… All the reasons you married me probably disappeared with the rest of your memories."

Harry couldn't help but smile and took a sip of his drink before answering.

"You know when I first woke up, I thought that you were an arrogant little prat."

His smile widened when he saw a faint blush on Draco's cheeks.

"Then I realized that there was more to you than met the eye. Every passing day I understand a little more why I married you in the first place. It would be a shame to end things now, don't you think?"

His husband didn't answer right away and Harry added, suddenly more serious:

"That is if you want to give it a try as well. After all, I probably changed and I may not be the man you married anymore."

Draco took a few seconds to consider the matter, his eyes lost in the dancing flames of their chimney.

"You did change. You seem more… peaceful. I guess some memories are best forgotten."

He stopped and Harry turned toward him, his arm laying on the back of the sofa.

"You didn't answer the question."

Draco smirked and Harry noticed that he really liked the curve it gave to his thin lips when he did so.

"In sickness and health. Those were my vows. And I still remember them. Sure I wasn't expecting amnesia but I still knew that with you it was far from being empty words."

He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something else but closed it as he changed his mind.

Harry exhorted him to keep going.

"But?"

Draco bit his lips and stared at his empty glass.

"No but. I still want to believe in us. It's just… complicated. In the beginning I felt as if you were a complete stranger. Almost as if my husband was dead and his body was being possessed. And yet sometimes you do or say something and I feel like nothing ever happened. The weirdest part is that it makes me feel… guilty. Almost as if I was cheating on my husband with you." He paused and nervously tapped his glass with his long fingers. "Sorry, that's ridiculous."

Harry smiled tenderly. There was something about Draco's vulnerability that was touching and addicting. The fact that he chose to expose himself to him and only him was the only thing really making him feel like the Chosen One.

"It's not ridiculous. I myself am struggling to make a connection between who I am and who I was." He added with amusement:

"You know what's ridiculous? The links my brain makes sometimes! I mean, the smell of wet grass makes me think of Quidditch games with Scorpius. OK, I get it. I must have played with him many times while it was rainy. The smell of your shampoo under the shower makes me horny. I think I can get that one too. But why on earth would I think of cinnamon cookies when I see you smile?"

And to his greatest surprise, Draco burst into laughter. A real, uncontrolled laugh, brightening every cell of his face. For the first time since he woke up, Draco let go of the fears, the doubts and the sorrows, only to fully embrace the moment. And he was gorgeous that way.

Draco bit his bottom lip to regain control and explained with a mischievous smile: " Well I may have tried something called positive reinforcement to make you like me when we both started working for the minister. But damn, I didn't know it worked that well."

Harry didn't listen, still mesmerized by Draco's smile. He felt a sudden burst of heat as his heart missed a beat. The words left his lips before he could even understand them.

"I think I'm falling in love with you again."

He almost regretted his words when Draco's smile froze. But then a small blush colored his husband's cheeks and as they closed the gap between them, nothing else mattered.

Their kiss was soft and shy. A light touch of their lips, asking for a permission to hope, slowly getting firmer as if to anchor the moment into reality.

It was far from being their first kiss, but it definitely felt like one.

[eelistolvanen]

Bruises that you left behind - Travis Konecny

A/N: Soo, I recently came up with the idea for this fic. It’s nowhere near finished but I figured I’d post the first part. Let me know if you like it and want more :) 

Words: 3k

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, no proofread  

Summary: Two years after getting your heart broken by the love of your life, you run into someone from your past life. And you have to face the fact that you can’t run away forever but have to face your past and everything that shattered you. (I know this is vague but I don’t want to spoiler this...)

Italics indicate flashbacks.

_______________________________

Hannah peaked her head trough the door. “Y/N! You’re still here? Shouldn’t you be at home by now?” She send a confused look. Y/N gave her a soft smile. “I’m just finishing up something, Han. One of my students is a little behind in class and I’m trying to figure out ways to help him. And you’re still here too. ” “You’re too kind for your own good”, Hannah replied with a quiet sigh “I would be long home if it wasn’t for this parent talk I had tonight. You should go home too, it’s late.” “I will, once I finish this” you reply with a glint in your eyes. Hannah knew better than to argue with you. Everyone knew how stubborn you could be. Hannah send you a final wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night Y/N!” “Good night Han!”

You stayed for longer than you probably should have. And you were definitely feeling it the next day. Thankfully you had a free afternoon. So you did what you usually did on a Thursday afternoon. You sat in your favourite little café and were preparing for the upcoming week. While the café still screamed Philly, it was far enough out of the city to be quiet. It felt so local and intimate, nothing like the big, busy city. That’s probably the reason you loved it so much. Most costumers were locals and by now you got to know a couple familiar faces. You had been living in this part of town for about a year now. And while you were reminded of your old life every now and then – flyers jerseys being worn by the locals, banners hanging around your part of town, a familiar face in the newspaper- that life seemed far far away now.

The ringing of the doorbell ripped you out of your thoughts and let you focus back on the computer in front of you. You hadn’t gotten very far today. Somehow you head was somewhere else, definitely not focused on the task at hand. You also hadn’t noticed the man approaching you’re table. Only realising his presence as he slipped into the seat across from you.

“Y’know I knew you couldn’t hide from me forever. I couldn’t believe my eyes the other day, I thought I was dreaming, when I saw you walk out this door.” He hadn’t changed that much in the last 2 years, eyes still as pretty as ever, still wearing that cheeky little smile of his. For a moment you froze, unable to get a word out or even move a muscle. But your wall wasn’t down for long.  “What are you doing here, Nolan? This isn’t your part of town.” You cringed at your ice cold reply, but was he really expecting you to welcome him with open arms?

“Well yeah, I admit it was a fluke that I saw you the other day. I’ve been around this part of town a lot recently.”

You really didn’t care about his stories, you weren’t best friends anymore, you couldn’t even consider him a friend really. A stranger with shared memories maybe. It hurt you to pack up your things and get up to leave but you couldn’t sit here and make small talk with Nolan. You might have left that life behind but that didn’t meant that it wasn’t still haunting you. You could see the disappointed look on Nolan’s face once he realised what you were doing. But he didn’t stop you. Of course, he didn’t. Sweet, loving Nolan, he never met you with anything other than kindness. But here you were,  walking out on him again.

“You know, I don’t remember us breaking up too, Y/N.” The sadness in his voice was unmistakable.

“Leave it, Nols!” you muttered just as your voice cracked. Tears sprang into your eyes as you left the café in a hurry.

_______________________

The bar was beyond crowded. It was a Friday night and if it were up to you, you’d  be curled up on the couch with a glass of red wine. But somehow Hannah and some of your other friends managed to drag you out of your house. Now you were squeezed into a booth, somewhat tipsy, and were listening to your friend Liz complain about some guy. To be honest you were actually enjoying yourself. A night out with your friends was exactly what you needed right now. Hannah looked up behind you, as you felt someone approaching your booth.

“Hey Kelsey, how is it going?” Hannah asked with a smile on her face. You vaguely remember the brunette approaching your table as one of Hannah’s neighbours. You’d seen her around but never really held a conversation with her. “Hey Hannah, hey girls! I’m just dropping this drink off.” She replied as she placed a tall glass in front of you. She gave you a gentle smile. “Nolan said it is your favourite.” It was a Long Island Ice Tea and it used to be your favourite. Not anymore. You accepted it anyway.

“He’s here?” you replied probably a bit to sharp as Kelsey slightly winced. She nodded her head towards the bar. You turned around and looked straight into Nolan’s eyes. As if burned you flinched and turned back around just as quickly. Kelsey gave one last wave before turning towards the bar.

The rest of the night was torture. You wanted nothing more than to get out of the bar and go home. Just as you were leaving the bar, seemingly escaping any other run in with the past, you felt his presence behind you. As soon as you were outside he spoke up.

“Give me a chance, Y/N. I know you’re angry and mad and hurt, but I don’t deserve this. Not this silent, cold shoulder treatment.” You knew he was right. He’d never done anything to you. He let you cry onto his shoulder when your heart broke. When he broke you. Nolan was nothing but supportive, the greatest best friend any one could ask for. And then you walked out of his life, without as much as a goodbye.

You turned around, tears in your eyes. God, it hurt to see him like this. So full of sorrow, so hurt. “I can’t Nolan. I’m so sorry.” With that your voice broke and you turned around and did the only thing you knew. You ran away. Again.

________________________

It was Sunday morning, almost lunchtime as you dragged yourself out of bed. You still hadn’t recovered from this week, let alone from everything that happened the Friday prior. Not feeling like making breakfast you decided you treat yourself to brunch at the café.

The doorbell rang as you entered and you were so hungry you took a beeline straight to the counter. As you ordered your food and paid, you started walking towards your usual table. Only to find it occupied.

“Y/N! Come sit down, we need to talk.” You took a deep breath to steady yourself. “Just let it be, Nolan. There’s nothing to talk about.” But before you were able to fully turn around and find another way out of this, he’d already grabbed your wrists and pulled you towards the table. You let yourself fall into the booth defeated.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Nolan.” You could hear him sight audibly. “Fine, then we’ll talk about something else.” You looked up at him and realised it wasn’t worth fighting him. So you decided to take the lead, at least this gave you the chance to dictate the conversation.

“Soo, you and Kelsey, huh? Are you like together?” You internally cringed at you passive tone. Nolan’s face lit up. “Yeah, she’s great you know. I feel like she could be the one.” Your mood started to lighten up. “That’s good. I’m happy for you Nolan, I really am. I know how much you wanted to meet someone special. The one, huh?” He chuckled lightly. You really were happy for him, if someone deserved all the good things it was Nolan. “When I met her, I just kinda knew, you know?” You stayed silent. Oh, you knew. You knew what it felt like to meet the one. Nolan quickly identified the look of sadness on your face. “I mean, yeah… She means a lot to me.” You gave him a thankful smile. He knew you didn’t want to talk about him. He reached across the table and took your hand in his.

“I just… Y/N, you were my best friend, you still are. Don’t push me away. I know your hurting but I’m your friend.”  You knew this was coming. But you still wished you could run away from it. But you couldn’t. Not this time. Nolan didn’t deserve this. “You’re also his friend!” you tried to keep your emotions at bay but it just flowed over. “That’s not fair and you know that. I didn’t just lose one friend that day. I lost two. My two best friends.” His voice cracked and he turned his head to the side so you wouldn’t see his watery eyes. You felt a sudden lump in your throat. You never thought about how he felt. God, you were so selfish. “I’m so sorry Nolan. I was a shitty friend.” He gave you a sad smile. “No, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve what happened. I get why you left. Why you ran away. Get away from it all, let the dust settle, start again. I just always thought that I’d hear from you. Maybe that you would come back even. But I got nothing. No call, no text, nothing. I had to call your sister to know you’re still alive but that was all I got.” You were crying silent tears now, slowly you stood up and moved over to hug him. “God, I’m so sorry Nols. I wanted to, I just couldn’t. I needed to restart my life. And you were such a big part of the life I used to have, I just didn’t think I could handle the pain.” He squeezed your shoulders. “Just promise me not to run from me again. Don’t shut me out, you weren’t the only one hurting.”

 That evening you were standing in front of your drawer. It seemed like it took you hours to muster up courage to open it. You hadn’t touched it since you moved in. And you hadn’t touched it’s content in over 2 years. Slowly you pulled it open. A wave of emotions crushed over you. All the memories kept flooding back. In this drawer was all the stuff you weren’t able to throw away. You just couldn’t bring yourself to it. All your memories of your life back then. Your hand moved over it’s content. Until it landed on the little velvet box. You took it out and opened it. Instantly tears started to fill your eyes as the memory came flooding back, knocking you over.

“Y/N, you’re the most important thing in my life, you’re my best decision, my greatest friend and adventure. You’re the love of my life.” Slowly Travis took a knee in front of you and pulled a little velvet box out of his pocket. “I love you so much, Y/N! Will you marry me?” with that he opened the little boy and revealed the most perfect engagement ring. You couldn’t contain your excitement, nearly knocking him over as you tried to kiss him. “Yes, yes, I will marry you!” Thankfully he caught you and lifted you up, kissing you. As he slipped the ring on your finger he softly muttered “I can’t wait to marry you, Mrs. Konecny!”

 _________________  

The following week was thankfully less stressful. On Thursday, when you had you’re afternoon off, Nolan just so happened to have an off day. He was currently sprawled out on your couch, taking in his surroundings. “I like your place, it’s nice. When did you move in?”

You froze. Your hand was hovering above the water bottle you were  trying to grab out of the fridge. You knew you had to tell him the truth. And you also knew he wasn’t going to like it.

“A bit over a year ago.” You grabbed the water bottle and turned towards Nolan, just as you heard him suck in a deep breath. When you looked at him you could see the tension that had risen up.

“A year ago? A year, Y/N?! You’ve been back in Philly for an entire year and you couldn’t even send a text that you’re back?”

God, you hated to disappoint him like that. You knew it was wrong to not reach out to him, he’d done nothing wrong. Still, you didn’t feel strong enough to let someone from your past life back into your new life. You felt like this was the only way to move on.

Before you could reply something, he continued.

“So when were you going to reach out Y/N? I mean eventually you would-“ He paused, studying your face. Of course he would be able to read you like an open book.

“You weren’t.” The utter disappointment in his voice nearly took your breath away.

“No.” Your voice was so quiet, you weren’t he even heard you. He didn’t need to, he already knew the answer. In one swift motion Nolan rose to his feet, taking a few steps towards the windowfront of your apartment. He dragged his hands through his long hair a couple of times before turning back to you.

“Why? I was your best friend Y/N. Why?”

“I already told you Nolan, I couldn’t.” You barely got those words out before Nolan spoke up again.

“But why? I get that you needed time away, that you needed to restart and I also wouldn’t have blamed you if you never returned to Philly. But I just never thought you would cut all ties with me. I always thought our friendship would survive this, that one day at least the two of us would be back to normal.”

You didn’t know how to start. How could you let him down easy with this. How could you tell your best friend that you planned on never seeing him again. Slowly you sat down on the couch and waited for Nolan to join you.

“You have to know I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted to leave you without saying something but I was in so much pain, so angry and hurt I wasn’t functioning properly. And at first I wanted to call you, reach out to you. But I just thought that I needed to have some time by myself for a while. And the longer it took the harder it got. I felt like I had to completely leave this life behind, so I could move on, so that it would hurt less.” Tears were rolling down your cheeks and your vision had started to get blurry. Everything that you had buried deep down was starting to resurface.

“I’m sorry Nolan. But I just felt like I had to leave this life behind me. Everything from this life, him, you, the team, my friends that I’d made here. You were such a big part of my life then, I couldn’t think about you without being reminded of him. So I realized I had to let it go. All of it. Even my best friend.”

You body was shaking with sobs now. Nolan pulled you into his chest, keeping you close. One hand soothingly stroking your hair.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to be collateral damage, Nolan.” You mumbled into his chest, sobs still raking your body.        

You stayed like this for a while. Nolan stayed silent, letting you cry into his chest. It took ages till you felt yourself calm. You had let everything out. Of course you had cried before but not like this. The last time you’d been crying like that was a bit over 2 years ago while Nolan held you close and whispered countless “It’s going to be okay” into your hair. I hadn’t helped though. His words empty promises, that the both of you knew weren’t true. In that moment, 2 years ago, your heart truly shattered. And no matter how hard Nolan tried, there was nothing he could do to fix it. To late, the damage had already been done, just a few hours prior.

 “Gosh, you look so beautiful Y/N!” Your sister Lauren tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I still can’t believe this is happening, sis. You’re getting married!” You had never seen you this happy. And you’d never been this happy either. You had dreamed of such a wedding since you were little. Suddenly all your Pinterest Wedding boards had seemed to come alive. You were smiling ear to ear.

There was another knock on the door, like there had been so many others this morning, but you didn’t really realise the new presence until Nolan was approaching you. He had a weird look in his eyes and as he came closer you realised that his eyes were slightly watery. Before you could say anything he had wrapped you in a hug. You felt like he was going to squeeze you to death. As he pulled back you could see the sad smile on his face. Something was wrong.

“You look so pretty, Y/N. My beautiful best friend.” You could see that he was trying to masque his feelings but you knew him all too well. Panic set in.

“What’s wrong?” You searched his eyes for answers but he only had eyes for the ground. “Nolan, what’s wrong? Did something happen to Travis?” The blood in your veins seemed to freeze. Suddenly the room started spinning. Still no answer from Nolan. “Nolan! Please, what’s wrong with him?” Finally Nolan seemed to be ripped out of his trance. When he lifted his gaze up to look into your eyes you could see the tears running down his cheeks. “He’s fine, Y/N. He’s …” “He’s what?” you pushed. You knew from the look in his eyes that the answer was going to shatter you.

He slowly shook his head. “He’s not coming, Y/N.”

Part 2

[pandoraborn]

im so sorry for the vagueness of this, but please. any kind of ghostbur+sbi angst. please.

Characters: Ghostbur, c!Tommy, c!Techno, c!Phil Word count: 1497 words Content: canon divergence, techno’s execution, post exile, Tommy is sick, Techno is injured, gore, blood, whump, angst, hurt/comfort, mention of death, SBI, sleepybois inc,

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

He sees the anvil drop.

He sees Techno crumble, falling to his knees before springing back up. Ghostbur can only stare, as if hypnotized by the gory scene before him, because Techno is very much a skeleton, slowly being stitched back together by some unseen force. Logically, he knows it’s the totem of undying working its magic, but emotionally, Ghostbur knows he’s never going to purge this memory from his brain.

He holds Friend closer to himself as he watches Techno jump away and disappear in the following madness. If he had a heart, it’d be pounding rapidly. If he had lungs, he’d be wheezing and gasping in fear. The ability to cry is also nonexistent, leaving the ghost unable to do anything but stare at the empty cage. Ghostbur stares for a long time.

When he looks up at Phil, trying to find some explanation for what happened, he finds that Phil’s house is empty. Phil must’ve snuck out in the chaos, when Tubbo and the rest of the ‘butcher army’ hadn’t been watching.

Now he’s alone. There’s no one else around, no distant voices to help him come back to reality. Reality is watching a long time friend turn into a skeleton and magically stitch himself back together, before running for his life. Reality is his father being put under house arrest simply for protecting Techno.

Reality is Friend bumping into him, startling him out of his swirling thoughts. Ghostbur puts a smile on his face, taking the lead and tugging Friend inside Phil’s house. The sheep will be safe here for the moment, while Ghostbur thinks of someone to turn to. He needs comfort from someone who can actually speak to him.

Tommy comes to mind.

Part of Ghostbur wonders if he should even talk to Tommy, because he hadn’t seem Tommy since before his party. Would Tommy be angry with him for not showing up? Maybe it’s a risk worth taking, because it’s Tommy, and they love each other. A dim memory surfaces; he remembers Phil mentioning the other day that he’d been in contact with Tommy, and Tommy’s now safe from any sort of harm. Ghostbur wonders if that means Tommy’s at the cabin, so he heads in that direction.

It doesn’t take long for Ghostbur to reach the cabin. He hopes the others are already here and in one piece, but Ghostbur can’t get the image of the execution out of his head. If he had the ability to feel sick, he’d probably be vomiting in the snow.

Techno’s clearly home, because Ghostbur can see the trail of blood leading toward the cabin. Carl, his horse, is also just outside, unharmed.

Before Ghostbur can enter, he hears raised voices. He pauses at the door, leaning closer to hear more clearly, but nothing he’s hearing sounds great.

“Techno, hold still, you’re bleeding everywhere! You’ll also wake Tommy.”

“I’m sorry, I had to rip my arm out of an entire bar, right after being executed! I’m not exactly going to remember my manners for the stupid kid beneath us. He can always sleep later!”

“If you don’t shut up and hold still, I will splash you with a weakness pot and smack you over the head so I can heal you properly. Your bones need to set and you need stitches.”

Ghostbur’s heard enough. He barges in, trying to plaster a smile on his face, but it feels off when he sees the wound on Techno’s arm. It’s not just a deep gash, but a giant hole where muscle and skin should be. There are tears in the pig’s eyes, there’s an expression of anger in Phil’s eyes that render him almost inhuman. If Ghostbur were to actually let himself think about it, he’d admit he was terrified of them both right now.

“Ghostbur,” Phil says curtly. “Go downstairs and check on Tommy.”

“Your arm-”

“I’ll explain it to you later Ghostbur,” Techno grumbles. “Do what Phil says and don’t ask questions.”

“I was there! I saw what happened! Phil, I left Friend in your house.”

“Ghostbur, go downstairs and sit with Tommy. He needs someone more than Techno does.” Phil’s voice has an air of finality to it; Ghostbur doesn’t want to argue with him. Shoulders slumping in disappointment, he disappears down the ladder to check on Tommy.

 Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen the boy since before his beach party. Would Tommy be mad at him for not showing up? Why is Tommy even here, isn’t he supposed to be on holiday? Everything is far too confusing anymore, but even those thoughts are pushed out of his mind when he sees the teen sitting in a bed.

Tommy is far too thin and sickly looking. His skin is too pale, almost colorless, with dirty, greasy hair falling into sunken eyes. Each breath he takes is a painful wheeze, his fingers tremble too much to grip the bowl of food he’s trying to eat.

Tommy’s gaze flicks up briefly when he sees Ghostbur, glancing back down a second later. “Hello.” Even the boy’s voice is rough.

First he watches Techno die, now he has to see his brother sick and malnourished? What kind of holiday had he been on?

“Tommy?” He moves closer, just as afraid of the teen as he was of Techno. Ghostbur already wants to forget today’s events and go back to being ignorant. He’s happier when he doesn’t have to think about anything.

“Surprise, we’re all alive.” Tommy’s tone is unbelievably dark, as if he doesn’t believe it himself. “One minute I’m contemplating everything that went wrong, and the next, Philza’s carrying me here like I suddenly matter. I go to sleep, and wake up to Techno missing half an arm. Dunno what happened there, neither of them will tell me.”

“I watched Techno die,” Ghostbur blurts. He probably shouldn’t have phrased it like that, but the words are out. “He had a totem though, so he survived. It’s a good thing, I think.”

“Ah.” Tommy sets the bowl of food aside, lying back down. Rather than looking colorless now, he’s turning a shade of green. “That’s information I didn’t need while trying to eat.”

“I’m sorry Tommy.”

“Are you okay?” Tommy asks. “Forget about me, I’m in great shape. You, on the other hand, look pretty shaken up.”

“Ah, yeah.” Ghostbur looks away. “Tommy, I forget a lot and I’m not the best, but what happened to Techno isn’t fading. I’m not sure how to process it.”

“You need a hug or something?” Tommy stretches one arm out toward Ghostbur. “Because you look like you could use one.”

“Are you sure you’re not using that as an excuse to get a hug for yourself?” Ghostbur can’t resist the tease. Nor can he resist the offer, letting himself move closer until he’s in Tommy’s arms.

“Fuck you, I don’t need a hug from anyone.” Tommy’s voice is muffled. “I’m independent and can do anything I want to on my own.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Phil’s voice interrupts. “Even on your deathbed, you’re going to give us all a headache.”

Ghostbur’s eyes nearly bug out. “Deathbed?” His gaze whips back toward Tommy to make sure Tommy isn’t actually dying. “Does he need a tot-”

“Ghostbur, relax. Tommy isn’t dying, and I assume you’re here to talk about Techno. He’s not dying either. Everyone here will be fine.” Phil rolls his eyes. “All three of you are the most dramatic shits I have the misfortune of knowing.”

“Fuck you Phil,” Tommy groans. “I can still fight you.”

“If you can get up without fainting, I’d love to take you on,” Phil laughs.

“Is... Techno’s really okay though, right?” Ghostbur asks. “Because-”

“Ghostbur.” Phil sombers up to give the ghost his full attention. “I’m sorry you had to see that earlier. I know it’s not easy, and judging by your reaction, your brain isn’t letting you forget it so easily. Techno’s strong, Tommy’s strong. We’re all going to make it out of this in one piece, alright?”

Ghostbur looks down. “Three of you will. I’m afraid it’s a little late for me, dad.”

No one has a come back to that. Whatever fragile bonds still connect this broken family are still fraying. Ghostbur may be there, they may be able to see and hear and touch him, laugh with him even. At the end of the day though, it’s a harsh reminder that he is not Wilbur, that the Wilbur they’d all loved is still dead, and not even his ghost can replace him.

“Hey Ghostbur?” Tommy tugs on his sleeve. “Will you stay with me for awhile?”

“Yeah.” Ghostbur lies back down, wrapping his arms around the teen. Everything about the boy is too bony, nothing about his appearance is okay. He wonders if Tommy actually is dying.

Nothing more needs to be said though. Broken family or no, at least all four of them are together.

[gyllenhaalstories]

KINKMAS DAYS 3 & 9: DEGRADATION AND PUBLIC  SEX WITH (rapper!)JAKE.

request:  For kinkmas, could I possibly have 3 and 9 with Jake please?    

warnings: curse words, degradation, humiliation, name calling, strong dominant/submissive dynamic, public sex, exhibitionism, choking, squirting.

word count: 830

this was asked to change to rapper!jake, but i kept it very vague, so it’s basically just jake with an attitude and not much patience! yif you’re not into the whole rapper!jake fantasy, you’re all good. thank you for sending this! <3

You were at a fancy hotel, somewhere in the world after Jake’s new album. Maybe you were in Los Angeles, in Las Vegas, in Toronto, in London, in Dubai or in the middle of nowhere. You forgot basically everything as your boyfriend pounded in to you merciless.

“Stop whining like a dumb bitch and take what I give you.” He grunted . His thrusts were so rough and fast, you would slide off the bed if you did not grip on the sheets like your life depended on it.

Jake was already mad, understandably so. His tailored suit got stuck at the customs and his stylist spent the whole day arguing over the phone to get it for the next event. Then it was the cleaning service who changed the sheets and accidentally took one of his expensive rings with the dirty laundry. And finally, you added oil to the fire by being in an overall cranky mood. Jake had enough. Enough of the attitude, enough of this shitty day and enough of waiting to release all the tension.

So that brought the two of you back to your luxurious suite, you both had just enough time to remove your pants before Jake made you fall on the bed and took you raw (well, almost; his lust filled eyes, heavy breathing and degrading nicknames he told you in the elevator made you wet your panties). His black hoodie was hot against your skin. It was not the friction you desired.

“That’s it, just give in already.” Jake chuckled when you moved up slightly, meeting his thrusts. “Like it when I bruise your cervix, huh? What am I gonna do with a cockslut like you?”

You fought to keep your eyes open, and against your need to cum again around his thick shaft. He called you pathetic for cumming after a few thrusts only, you did not want to disappoint him again. So you stared ahead of you to the large doors that led to a private balcony.

Private was a big word, you were the only ones who had access to it and that was basically it. Anyone who looked up could see a happy couple sipping coffee in the morning, a lonely lady watching the sunset or...

“Oh, you want everyone to see just how desperate for cock you are, is that it?” Jake slapped your right ass cheek; his favourite for some reason. “Is that why you lookin’ outside, wanna look at the weather?”

Your eyes widened with confusion as you felt him pull you backwards, helping you back on your wobbly legs. “People are going to see us!” You protested when he walked towards the large bay window doors, forcing them open.

“I hope they hear us too.”

It sent an electric wave to your core, which was filled to the brim with Jake’s cock. You were pushed against the metal handrail.

Jake had not slipped out of you, it was not like he could anyway. Your walls clenched so hard around him as if you wanted this to last forever. “Such a whore,” He whispered at your ears when he started to push himself into you again, impossibly faster and harder than before. “All mine.”

“I’m yours, Jake!” You swore you heard the echo of your voice. You looked around you, curious to study your surroundings and also hoping to distract your body. You could not cum, not just yet. You wanted to enjoy this new feeling. It was fear mixed with excitement and a little bit of hope. You hoped someone could catch you, and see just how  good you were for your boyfriend.

Jake helped you spread your legs so he could change his angle. He moved one hand to your front, groping roughly your breasts before sliding his hands down to press on your clit. He did not rub it, he just pressed on it. His other hand went around your neck.

You knew what was coming next. Pun intended.

“You’re my little cum dump, my filthy and freaky lil’ cum dump.” He chuckled low in his throat, his words cut off by moans. “You’re so tight around me, want me to fill you up? Hopin’ for people to watch you do all you’re good for?”

All you could do is nod frantically. Your legs and your chin trembled, his hand tightened around your neck in anticipation.

As much as it turned Jake on, he did not want to alarm the whole neighborhood. “Cum for me.” He instructed,

His balls tightened, your walls did too. And you finally released yourself on him. He kept unloading himself inside of you while you felt warm juices falling down your thighs. He helped you ride your orgasm until the end, his heart was filled with pride at just how good you are to him.

“If I knew fucking you out in the open was the fastest way to get you to squirt, I would have done it earlier.”

[miraculouscontent]

Luka confronts Alya for abandoning Mari on Chameleon

Sometimes, Luka hated being perceptive. With how quiet his sister was, he had to learn to read subtle movements, learn a person’s tells, and figure out how to act without pushing any buttons. He liked helping people, so one might think it wasn’t a problem, but it could be hard reading someone’s emotions before they’ve had a chance to really figure it out for themself.

And clearly, Marinette had a lot to figure out.

“So, that’s what happened,” Luka said slowly, piecing together the vague details that she had shared with him.

“Yeah. That’s why I’m sort of…” Marinette fell back and laid on his bed, letting out a sigh. “really exhausted.”

He snorted. That was clearly the reaction she was hoping for, given the way she smiled at him.

“Thanks for letting me relax here for a while.” She rolled onto her side to press her face into his pillow. “My parents usually ask how my day went and I still have to think up what to tell them.”

The, “plus, my friends might show up with Lila,” went unspoken.

“No problem, Marinette.” He strummed a few notes on his guitar. “Juleka’s staying over with Rose, so you can rest for as long as you want.”

She hummed gratefully in response. He didn’t comment on it, but how comfortable she felt around someone not in her class was a huge tell. He loved her company, yet she was such an open book to him that it hurt seeing her like this. Maybe it was the fact that Juleka was so subtle; if he could read her, reading Marinette felt like listening to music at full blast.

The twitch of her eyebrows. The flex of her fingers against his pillow. Heck, the fact that she was in his bed at all like she was ready to be bathed in comfort…

He could only hope he was enough.

“Luka,” a voice suddenly called from the doorway.

Luka turned his head to his mother, who apparently wasn’t at all surprised about the girl currently laying in his bed.

“Got a visitor,” she explained. “She’s lookin’ for the lass here. Glasses, big hair, carries her phone around like—”

“Alya,” Marinette cut in, sitting up a little too quickly. Luka was pretty sure - no, he knew - that she hadn’t caught the disappointment in her own voice.

Luka looked back at his mother again, searching her eyes. Despite her craziness, she was readable in her own way, and he could tell that she hadn’t told Alya anything about Marinette specifically being there; probably mumbled something about “not knowing, but would check,” if Luka had to guess.

Marinette carefully swung her legs off the bed so as not to bump into Luka. “I should—”

Luka’s hand shot up, hastily grabbing her shoulder to stop her. It hadn’t been fully voluntary and she jumped at the gesture in surprise.

“Luka?”

“Do you want me to talk to her?” he offered, his tone calm but with a silent plea that she really consider what he was saying. “You should rest.”

Marinette blinked at him, then tilted her head. She legitimately couldn’t seem to comprehend the concern he had for her, but the way her brows furrowed indicated that she was acknowledging something she hadn’t before.

“…Okay. Thank you.”

Luka was up immediately, handing his mother his guitar as he walked towards the stairs. He heard footsteps coming the other way and wasn’t even halfway up the staircase before he saw Alya stopping at the top when she noticed him.

“Hey,” she greeted with a smile, as if the school day Luka had been told about hadn’t happened. “So, is Marinette here?”

She went to peek past Luka, but he side-stepped. It was only somewhat more voluntary than his earlier motion with Marinette.

Alya recoiled, thrown off by the movement, then raised a brow at him skeptically. “Uh—?”

“I…” Luka paused to consider his wording. “I don’t think you should see Marinette right now.”

“Why not?” she asked, slightly accusatory, the smile long gone since he’d denied her.

Luka supposed that, in a way, he and Alya had something in common. They both sought the truth, whether that was journalistically or emotionally.

The difference, though, was their method of getting there.

“I heard about what happened at school.”

Alya looked confused. “What do you mean? There was—” She glanced away in thought, then back at him again, gaze suddenly suspicious. “What did Marinette tell you?”

He remained calm, not answering. “I’m sure it’s easy to get swept up when someone tells you a lot of amazing things—”

Alya waved him off. “Look, you’ve got it all wrong. Marinette has been after Lila for a long time. Back when Lila first showed up at the school, she gave me an interview about how she was friends with Ladybug, and—what?”

Luka cleared his throat, uncovering his mouth from the snort he’d nearly let out. “Sorry.”

“…Anyway, Marinette saw it and started freaking out when she saw Lila starting to drag away Adrien. Ever since then, she’s been trying to catch Lila in a lie. Lila was getting a lot of attention since she just got back to class and she was sitting next to Adrien before the seats got moved back.”

He didn’t respond at first, not because he had a hard time replying, but rather to let Alya’s own words sink in with her. Finally, he asked, “Do you think that’s all?”

“What?”

“Do you really think Marinette would do that?”

“Oh, do a lot of crazy stuff over Adrien? Definitely.” She leaned in, half-whispering, “I know you haven’t really seen it, but when she’s around Adrien, she goes nuts.”

He thought it best not to point out that, when Adrien had arrived on the Liberty and Marinette hadn’t been under any sort of pressure, the worst she did around Adrien was stutter. “But you think she’d ruin that girl’s reputation, just for Adrien?”

Alya opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to realize how bad it must’ve looked on her to believe that her friend would do something like that. “Well… Marinette can be a little delusional. She doesn’t mean to.”

“And you think she’s lying about everything.” It wasn’t a question. “And that Lila really does know Ladybug?”

“Yeah?” she replied, as if it were obvious. “Marinette didn’t even have any proof when I asked her for it!”

“Did you?” Luka countered, not missing a beat.

She let out something akin to a strangled noise, not expecting to be challenged. After a moment of hesitation, she managed a, “Proof of what?”

She was playing dumb and he wasn’t sure if it was intentional or an unconscious way of protecting herself. “Proof that Lila knew Ladybug.”

Alya’s eyes briefly darted around the area, only returning his gaze when she replied, “She—she had a lot of stories about how great Ladybug was to her and it all sounded amazing! Ladybug’s the best, so of course she’d do all that for Lila! Lila’s really nice. It made total sense!”

Luka tried not to make his deep breath obvious. He didn’t want to look confrontational, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t frustrating to hear Alya talk in such a way. He didn’t know her on a personal level, but for someone who was supposed to be Marinette’s “best friend,” he wasn’t impressed.

Maintaining a straight face, he began steadily, “I’m sure it seemed that way.”

Alya sighed. “Not you too. You don’t even know Lila.”

“But I know Marinette,” Luka argued. “I know she likes Adrien, but she wouldn’t do something like that to another person. Lila might’ve given you a lot of hope, but that’s just what plays well. Maybe she did actually do a few of the things she’s telling everyone, but not all of them.” He paused for effect. “I know Jagged never had a cat for her to save.”

She shook her head. “So you’re saying I should just… not believe anything Lila says now?”

“No,” Luka replied, a little more firmly now that he could see how little she was getting it, “but Marinette deserves to be treated at least as well as you treat Lila. Why does Marinette need proof when Lila didn’t have any either?”

Alya looked hurt at that. “Because—it’s Marinette who’s the jealous one,” she retorted, clearly grasping. “Lila didn’t do anything.”

“Alya,” he began, “you didn’t mean to hurt Marinette, right? Of course you didn’t, but you sent her to the back of the classroom, alone.”

“I sat with her later!”

“Later,” he echoed. “But it doesn’t matter what you play when the concert’s already over. You were still okay with her sitting in the back and you asked her for proof when Lila didn’t have any. Do you know how that must’ve made Marinette feel?”

Alya didn’t respond, the fight seeming to leave her. She broke eye contact with him, now staring at the space connecting the floor to the wall. Her mouth twitched, gaze still sharp even if not as certain as before. “You’re pretty invested here,” she huffed.

Luka couldn’t tell if he was being judged or not. “Because you’re Marinette’s best friend. I don’t want to see your friendship broken up over a lie.”

Alya opened her mouth, hesitating, but her eyes darted to the side to look past him before she’d said anything. Luka turned, seeing Marinette standing there, staring at the both of them.

“Marinette,” he whispered. He turned to see Alya’s reaction, but the footsteps started and she was already running off. He decided to pay her no mind, instead walking down the stairs to meet with Marinette.

Already, he felt bad. He’d probably talked Alya down far longer than necessary, but he supposed there was still that protective instinct inside of him, courtesy of being Juleka’s big brother. Regardless, it was no excuse to meddle.

“Sorry. I know I should’ve asked you first. I didn’t want to get between you two, but you were so tired—”

A soft gasp left his mouth in place of words as Marinette stepped forward and hugged him. Out of all the reactions he thought she might have, that wasn’t one of them.

“Thank you,” she murmured against his chest. Giving him a squeeze, she sighed and added, “You were right. I really needed that—um… rest.”

He relaxed, then smiled, knowing exactly what she meant. Gently grabbing her shoulders to half-return the hug, he assured, “It’s no problem, Marinette. You deserve it.”

Her cheeks were a cute pink when she looked up at him, eyes fond. She smiled back at him, asking, “Can I listen to you practice for a little longer?”

He hummed, already hearing his mother making sure his guitar was tuned in the other room. “Of course.”

She held his hand on the way there.

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Selfish

Leviathan x poly gn!MC x Mammon

(formerly titled Relationships)

Words - 1486

Content Warnings - angst, lots of comfort, lots of cuddles, Levi is the focus of this story, Mammon is only mentioned

Prompt/Inspiration - none

Summary -  You head to Levi’s room to spend the day with him, only to find him upset and in need of some comfort.

AO3

It had been 6 months since you had been summoned to the Devildom for an exchange program that you only vaguely remember applying for. You had some trouble adjusting at first, but after some ups and downs you had finally gotten into the swing of things, and formed many close relationships with the brothers you were living with.

Two brothers in particular caught your eye more than all the others, and after a lot of back and forth, bargaining and negotiations, you had managed to form a healthy relationship with both Levi and Mammon. One would think that being caught between Envy and Greed would be an unpleasant thing, but your experience had been anything but. In fact, the pair complimented each other quite well, and you were lavished in attention and affection. All you had to do was make sure to split your time up evenly between them, (and yourself of course; here were literal timers involved here, and a very detailed color coded calendar), and everyone was happy.

Today was a “Levi day”, so you headed towards his room first thing in the morning to drag him down to breakfast with you, not wanting to miss a moment with your favorite otaku. You knocked on his door to give him a heads up, but didn’t wait for a response since you had done this so many times before.

When you entered, you found Levi curled up in his tub, apparently still fast asleep. You decided to join him for some early morning cuddles, slipping in beside him and spooning him from behind. You pressed a kiss to the back of his neck once you got settled, causing him to stir.

“Good morning, sleepy head.”

Levi didn’t respond, and instead pulled his blanket tighter around himself, so you kissed him again with a smile on your lips expecting him to roll over any moment, beet red, and ask you to stop doing that “so early in the morning.”

Except he didn’t.

He only burrowed deeper into his blanket, and you began to suspect something might be wrong.

“Levi?”, you called to him, “Hey, are you ok?”

You sat up a little, propping yourself up on your elbow, and gently stroked his face with the back of your other hand. It was then you realized that his cheeks were in fact damp, and that he had been crying, alone, in the dark, for who knows how long. The thought made your heart ache, so you carefully slid over him, to his other side, so that you would be facing each other.

You didn’t say a word as you wrapped him up in a tight hug, and he didn’t bother asking you any questions either and simply snuggled into your chest as you held him. You knew he sometimes had days like this where he just woke up with his thoughts so dark he could hardly crawl out of bed, but it had been awhile since the last time it had happened and you had started to hope that maybe he was past that.

After a while of laying there like that, Levi finally started to move and wiggled his arms free so that he could return your hug and pull you even closer. The gesture brought a smile to your face and you kissed the top of his head in return.

He was so happy to have you close to him, and so thankful that you seemed to just understand and hadn’t peppered him with questions. He felt disappointed in himself for allowing himself to get so upset, but he wasn’t sure how to verbalize that yet. He just knew that there had to be something wrong with him for feeling so hopeless. You tried so hard to make him happy and to make sure he felt loved...but sometimes he just...didn’t.

Sometimes all he could think about was how useless he was, how much better everyone else was at pretty much everything, how little the few “good qualities” he had actually mattered, and how much happier you could be if he was out of the picture. Sometimes the doubts grew so great that he even wondered if perhaps your whole relationship was a farce, and you were just humoring him because you didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

“You ready to talk?”, you asked, giving Levi a small squeeze of reassurance.

“Just feeling off, I guess,” he mumbled into your chest.

“That’s ok. You can feel off sometimes,” you said, kissing the top of his head.

“...is it really?”

“Is what really?”

“Okay to feel off sometimes?”

“Yeah it is. No one is happy all the time.”

Levi thought about that for a moment, before deciding to tell you a bit about what was on his mind.

“...sometimes...I get worried that...that you’re just putting up with me…”

“...you mean you think I don’t love you?”, you asked, pulling back a little, trying to get a look at his face. But Levi only pulled you closer and ducked his head down further.

“...yeah…”

“Aww, sweetheart…” You rested your cheek on top of his head, as you began to run your fingers through his hair. You weren’t sure how to respond to that. Your knee jerk reaction was to simply tell him that wasn’t true, but you didn’t think that would do much on its own to comfort him. You needed something that he couldn’t reason away, that would stick with him and give him something to think about.

“You know how Mammon gets when he’s pouting, right?”

Levi didn’t speak, but you heard him snort, which you interpreted as a response.

“Do you think I’d willingly sign up to listen to that every time I make plans with you, if I didn’t like you…?”

You paused for a moment to let that idea sink in, knowing that he wouldn’t deny how annoying Mammon could be when he didn’t get his way.

“And you know how you get when you don’t get your way either…”

You felt him flinch in your arms, but kept going…

“Or when you get upset that you weren’t chosen in a raffle…

Or how clingy you get when someone gets a little too close to me when we are on a date…”, you said, continuing to run your fingers through his hair.

“Or how obsessive you can be when you discover a new interest…

Or how needy you get after I’ve been away for awhile…

Or…”

“ALRIGHT ALREADY! I GET IT! I'M A PAIN TO DEAL WITH!”, Levi snapped at you, pulling away from you so he could glare at you. As strong as his doubts were sometimes, he didn’t expect you to make him sit and listen to an exhaustive list of all his own flaws.

But when he saw your face, and the soft smile you gave him, he was utterly confused. Why were you looking at him like that, with so much love in your eyes?

You gently cupped Levi’s cheek with your free hand, stroking him with your thumb, before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his forehead. You then looked him in the eyes once more, tilting his face ever so slightly with your hand to keep him from turning away so that he’d have to look at you too...

“So you know all that...all those things that you think are so undesirable about yourself...all the flaws you think you have...you know all that, and you still think that I am spending time with you even though I don’t love you?”

You watched as Levi’s eyes so full of doubt, and anger, and self hatred a moment ago, started to clear with realization. He either had to admit he was wrong for thinking you stuck with him just to be “nice”, or he’d have to admit that he was actually good, pleasant company to have around, and you wouldn’t have any reason to fake a relationship with him in the first place.

“I love you, Levi. I really, really do. I love every little thing about you, even the things you don’t like, and I enjoy every minute I spend with you. And I promise you if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here. You might think I’m a wonderful person, but I’m really not. I’m an incredibly selfish person that wants to fill my free time doing the things I enjoy, with the people I love.”

Levi closed his eyes and nodded his head. He really couldn’t argue with that. Who would spend so much time with a yucky, otaku like himself if they didn’t like him at least a little bit? He felt you kiss him on the cheek before wrapping him up in a tight hug once more, and he clung to you, burying his face in your neck, like you were the only thing keeping him afloat.